#look there’s no way I’m going to tag all of these

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [10] - Storm

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: A sudden storm can be overwhelming.

Word Count: 3670

CW: Explicit language, blood, injuries, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

Getting too caught up in a relationship hadn’t been an issue since you’d had Theo, but before him, there was a reason why all your friends accused you of being a romantic. When you fell in love, you didn’t even think about the possibility of a break up but—

You really should have.

“Logan?”

Logan looked down at you, running his fingertips over your spine while you played with the dog tags around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“I have a question but you need to promise me you’ll be honest.”

A rumble of a chuckle vibrated in his chest, making you bite back a smile as you looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

“The last time you made me promise that, you ended up asking me what animal I thought I could beat in a fight.”

“That was for science.”

“How?”

“In case one day we decide to go on a safari and end up getting stranded in there.”

“That’s a possibility?”

“You can’t be too careful,” you said. “I’m used to thinking about every scenario—anyway, this is another question.”

“I’m listening.”

“So you have the super strength and all that…”

“Yeah.”

“What supernatural creature do you think you could take down in a fight?”

Logan blinked a couple of times. “That’s the question you want me to answer honestly?”

“Could you take down a werewolf?”

“We’re actually talking about this,” Logan muttered to himself. “Okay.”

“A werewolf,” you insisted. “Could you take down a werewolf?”

 He took a deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t think it’d be that difficult to take down a werewolf,” he stated and you hummed.

“A little cocky, but I’ll let it slide,” you said, laying your head on his chest again. “A vampire.”

“Please, vampires are lame,” he said with a grimace. “I could definitely take down a vampire, are you kidding?”

“You sound so sure of yourself that I’m half-tempted to ask if you’ve ever taken down a vampire.”

He let out a chuckle. “I’m not going to be beaten by a creature that can’t survive in the sunlight even if it’s hypothetical.”

“They are pretty powerful.”

“To repeat, they burn in sunlight. Doesn’t sound powerful to me.”

You clicked your tongue.

“How about a zombie?” you asked. “Could you take down a zombie?”

“Those things fall apart anyway, shouldn’t be difficult.”

“What if it’s a herd?”

“Same logic.”

“You’re telling me you could take down one hundred zombies?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You hid your yawn behind your hand. “Um, mermaids.”

“Mermaids aren’t even scary.”

“No, not that type of—like those in Pirates of the Caribbean, have you watched that?”

“No.”

“I’ll put that on the list. It’s like—it’s like sirens, they lure you to the sea and then drown you.”

He paused for a moment, then hummed.

“Yeah, I think a mermaid could take me down.”  

“Really?”

“I’m not good with water.”

“Can you swim?”

“I can swim but if I try to stay still in the water I sink,” he said slowly. “Because of the skeleton. And like I said, I’m not good with water.”

Something in his voice sounded distant so you decided not to push him. You were way too sleepy for a big conversation anyway, and you didn’t want to force him to talk about anything he didn’t want to talk about. Heaving a sigh, you nuzzled closer to him and he dipped his head to press a kiss on top of your head.

“How about you?” he asked. “What supernatural creature could you take down in a fight?”

“Do you know any creatures you can disarm with the power of speech?” you asked, making him let out a laugh.

“Not really.”

“I mean I think I’d have a better chance surviving a vampire than a werewolf,” you murmured, your voice already drowsy. “Werewolves have fewer weaknesses I think, and yes vampires can hunt you down but only in night time. Well, werewolves can only hunt you down during the full moon, there’s that but I feel like as far as supernatural creatures go…”

You didn’t even realize you were falling asleep.

Until a soaring pain pulled you out of it.

A scream left your lips as your eyes snapped open, your hand shooting to your other arm to grab at it. You sat up straighter in the bed, now realizing Logan was also awake and upright in bed, breathing hard and unsheathing his claws. Your name spilled from his lips in a whisper as you looked down at your arm, the blood pouring from the open wound, coating your hand and the sheets in red.

“I’m fine—” you managed to say breathlessly while Logan stared at you, complete terror in his eyes. “I’m fine it’s just…um—”

“Let me see,” he said in a low voice and you tried to blink back the tears with a grimace. Logan carefully lifted your arm, letting you see the three gashes through all the blood under the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

Shit.

“You need stitches,” Logan muttered as he grabbed his jeans to put them on. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Stitches?” you repeated, looking down at your arm. “Are you sure?”

“Those are deep cuts,” his voice sounded a little distant again and you couldn’t tell it was because of the blood loss you were currently suffering from. He bunched up his white shirt to press it against the wound, making you hiss in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry.”

“What—no, it’s fine!” you said in a haste, trying to focus through the fire burning your arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

“Logan—” you started but he went to grab your sweater off the chair at the corner of the room, then made his way back to you. He helped you get into it, then into your jeans while you held onto his shoulder trying to move your arm as little as possible.

“I can carry you—”

“Logan, it’s just my arm,” you assured him with a huff of a laughter. “I can walk. It’s totally fine.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, his jaw clenching tight.

“Right,” he muttered through his teeth. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

                                               *

You really, really hated hospitals. As a child, you were quite the troublemaker so you’d had your fair share of hospital visits, and each and every time was quite painful. Even now, as a grown up, you couldn’t help but feel tense whenever you had to go to hospitals.

And Theo’s very scary birth hadn’t helped the situation.

But if anything, this really wasn’t a big deal. A couple of stitches and you would be fine, but Logan looked much more tense than you were. He was completely quiet and withdrawn, standing in the corner of the hospital room like a guard dog while the doctor worked on your arm.

“So how did you get this, exactly?” she asked and you tried to smile at her.

“Oh, uh…I work in a diner,” you said. “And as it turns out, night shift and sharp objects aren’t a good combo.”

“I’d bet,” she said as she pulled back to look at the stitches, then took off her latex gloves. “Well the good news is, it’s a very clean cut so it’ll be much easier to heal. Keep it dry the first day, and after tomorrow you can wash around it with clean water twice a day.”

“Okay.”

“Take the antibiotics, apply the cream I prescribed and…well, be careful around knives?” she said with an assuring smile and you let out a small laugh.

“Noted. Thank you so much, doctor.”

“Have a nice night,” she said and walked past the cubicle curtain. You let out a breath, feeling around the gauze before lifting your head to smile at Logan.

“Hey,” you said. “You okay?”

For some reason, Logan couldn’t hold your gaze like he usually would, so instead he stole a look at you before fixing his gaze on the floor and nodded.

“Sure.”

“You don’t like hospitals either huh?” you asked, “I mean if I hate the smell, I can’t imagine how you feel with those enhanced senses of yours.”

Logan didn’t answer, instead he rushed to help you when you grabbed your coat so that you could put it on.

“Thanks,” you said and he pulled his hands back as if he could burn you if he kept them on you a second longer than he needed to. You pulled your brows together, but didn’t comment on it as you started walking beside him to get out of the building.

You didn’t really do well with quiet so the music coming from the radio and your nonsense chatter were the only things filling the silence in the car. Logan met your questions with occasional grunts to signal that he was listening and at best you got curt, one-word answers.

It was only when you walked into your apartment and Logan followed you like a quiet guardian that you turned to him, putting your hand on your hip.

“Logan.”

He closed the door behind him. “Hm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I can talk until the sunrise but this is becoming a one-way street,” you told him. “Are you okay?”

He blinked a couple of times as if he couldn’t believe you were asking him that.

“Are you?” he asked back after a beat and you shrugged your shoulder.

“It’s not the first time I’m getting stitches,” you said. “And to be completely honest with you, after childbirth everything else they do to you in a hospital kind of pales in comparison. I’m fine.”

He snorted, then clicked her tongue. “Sure.”

“No seriously, it’s just stitches,” you said, walking to the kitchen to fill yourself a glass of water. “And you heard what the doctor said, it’ll heal pretty easily.”

You popped the painkillers in your mouth, then downed them with water before putting the glass back on the counter, then walked back to the hallway.

“If I go to sleep right now, I think I can survive on three cups of coffee instead of four tomorrow,” you joked with a grin, but he couldn’t even smile back, he just followed you to the bedroom. After helping you get into a comfortable oversized shirt, he took a step back as you sat down on the bed. You frowned, tilting your head.

“Are you coming?” you asked, motioning at the bed and Logan shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice deep. Your frown deepened.

“What?”

“I should uh—” he motioned at the living room. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I’d still hear if you needed anything at night and it’d be safer.”

“Safer?” you repeated. “Logan, come on.”

“I can’t risk another nightmare and you ending up with…” he nodded at your arm and you scoffed a laugh.

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Alright, this was strange.

Logan was never this curt with you. He wasn’t the most open person in the world, yes, but whenever he spoke to you, his voice would always be warm, melting your insides. Now he sounded way too distant, way too controlled.

You might as well have been speaking to a robot.

“Why are you punishing yourself right now?” you asked, looking him in the eye and something in his gaze shifted before his jaw clenched again, then he shook his head.

“Call my name if you need anything,” he said, walking out of the bedroom and you blinked a couple of times in confusion. A sigh left your lips and you rubbed at your eyes, then slowly lay down on the bed, grimacing when a sudden spark of pain shot through your arm. You put your pillow under your arm, then grabbed Logan’s pillow to bury your face into it, the pleasant smell of his cologne soothing your senses before sleep creeped up on you, pulling you into its warmth.

                                                 *

 When you woke up, you were still groggy and your arm was throbbing. A grimace twisted your face and you took a deep breath, then pulled yourself up to sit up in the bed, and looked down at your arm, feeling around the gauze. It wasn’t extremely painful, but it still made sure to let you know it was there so you had a feeling you were going to have to be extra careful carrying plates at the diner, at least for a while. The delicious smell coming from the kitchen made you turn your head and you nibbled on your lip, then slowly pushed the covers off of you and got up from the bed to make your way to the kitchen.

“Hi stranger,” you said with a grin and Logan looked over his shoulder, then put the grilled cheese sandwich right next to scrambled eggs on the plate.

“Morning.”

“If breakfast is your way of apologizing for not sleeping next to me last night,” you said as he poured you coffee, then placed the cup on the small table next to the plate. “It’s the right path.”

A forced smile twitched the corners of his lips upwards before you sat down, then grabbed the sandwich to take a huge bite.

“Aren’t you eating?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Not really hungry.”

You blinked a couple of times; that was new.

“Logan,” you said, clearing your throat before putting the sandwich down. “I think we should talk about what happened.”

“I agree, but after breakfast.”

You pulled your brows together in confusion, then shrugged with one shoulder before grabbing your coffee cup to take a big sip. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave you as if he was trying to take in the sight of you as much as he could, as if he was trying to burn this- you, this moment- into his mind. The look in his eyes wasn’t distant anymore but worse; it was just haunted. You could feel your stomach doing an unpleasant flip before you tried to shake off the chill running down your spine, then chewed your bite and cleared your throat.

“What time did you wake up?”

Logan shook his head slightly.

“Didn’t sleep.”

“At all?” you asked, gawking at him and he shrugged his shoulder almost nonchalantly.

“It’s fine.”

“Well it’s actually—” you started but were cut off when your phone started ringing in the bedroom.

“One moment,” you said and rushed to the bedroom to grab it off the nightstand, then answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey love,” Stacey’s voice reached you. “Did I wake you up?”

“No no, I was already up,” you said and sat down on the bed. “What’s up?”

“Okay so, the boss is going to kill me, but…”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’ll be late again.”

You let out a small laugh. “Stace.”

“Okay I know what you’re gonna say but this time it’s totally not my fault.”

“No?”

“Well, my body decided to have a hangover after last night, so technically it’s not my fault.”

You hummed. “How much did you drink?”

“Well it was my friend’s birthday and Paul and his friends were at this bar and we decided to go have fun, and then my friend hooked up with Paul so I had to drink a lot to stop myself from visualizing what was going on in the bathroom.”

“I can imagine,” you said. “It’s fine. I’ll cover for you, no worries.”

“Ugh, you’re an angel and I love you.”

“Love you too Stace,” you said with a laugh, then hung up the phone and shook your head before making your way back to the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” you told Logan and sat down. “It’s Stacey, you’ve met her.”

“You’re going to work today?” Logan asked. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Oh yeah, it’s totally fine,” you said. “I barely feel it to be honest, and I’ll be careful.”

“But…”

“Besides, I need to cover for Stace,” you said. “Apparently her friend hooked up with Paul—you remember our line cook Paul? He’s kind of a womanizer, I’m kind of surprised she and Paul never had a thing—they sure do flirt a lot but anyway, Stacey’s friend and he hooked up last night and knowing Stacey, she probably drank everyone under the table, and now she has a hangover. Shocking, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded slowly without pulling his gaze off of you.

“Did I tell you about how when Stacey and I first met, I ended up getting black out drunk?” you asked, biting into the grilled cheese sandwich. “It was my first day at the diner, and she convinced me to have a night out with her, and I swear to you, that girl is a goddamn sponge when it comes to alcohol. I was out a couple cocktails in, and she still had numerous shots and cocktails after. Julie was taking care of Theo that night, so I ended up sneaking into my own apartment so that he wouldn’t wake up, and rambled to Julie for like two hours straight about kittens, and then fell asleep watching cat videos.”

A small, sad smile curled Logan’s lips and you smiled back at him, then took another sip of your coffee and put your empty plate into the sink.

“Compliments to the chef,” you said with a grin despite the strange tension almost palpable in the kitchen. “If you ever get tired of going on missions and stuff, you could go into culinary world I feel like.”

He scoffed a laugh and you took a deep breath, then cleared your throat.

“So,” you said. “Can we talk?”

Logan swallowed thickly and nodded his head, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened, at all,” you said. “It was an accident. You…you had a nightmare right?”

Logan paused for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Logan, that’s an accident,” you insisted. “You really shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t.”

“You should.”

“Well then sucks to be you because I’m not gonna,” you said. “And unless you want to get separate beds like those weird couples in the 1950s, I don’t see how you’re planning on—”

“I think we should break up.”

That managed to shut you up mid-rant. Your eyes snapped up to his and for a couple of seconds, you could only gawk at him in complete silence, your throat getting tighter.

“…What?” you managed to rasp out, your voice lost somewhere in your throat and Logan crossed his arms, leaning his back to the wall.

“It’s going to be safer for you—”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Do you realize what could’ve happened?” he asked back, his voice tense. “We got lucky, if you can even call last night that.”

“Logan, it’s a goddamn scratch!”

“Yeah, this time!” he insisted. “This time it was only a scratch on your arm, what about the next time? What if it wasn’t your arm?”   

“You cannot be serious,” you said, blinking back the tears as you shook your head. “You can’t.”

“I’m not going to have your blood on my hands,” he said, his eyes locked in yours. “I can’t hurt you. Not…not you. I was so wrapped up in this that I forgot how dangerous I could be for you—”

You let out a breath, running a hand over your face. “Don’t give me that speech again.”

“I’m not talking about some silly heartbreak,” Logan told you through his teeth. “I’m talking about life and death. You might see it as nothing, but we both know that it’s not nothing.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm and sniffled, blinking back the tears again.

“I told you, I’m going to be the one who decides whether this relationship is dangerous or not.”

A dry laugh climbed up his throat.

“Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I…” he couldn’t even finish the sentence as if the mere thought was way too painful. “I can’t put you in danger.”

“You’re not putting me in danger,” you insisted. “You can hear my heartbeat, can’t you? You can smell it when I’m scared, when I’m—when I’m nervous. So tell me; last night, was there even a second that I was scared of you? Or this morning? Have I ever been nervous around you because I thought I was in danger?”

That made him pause for a moment before he shook his head. “No.”

“There you go. There’s your answer to your moral predicament.”

“That makes it even worse,” he rasped out and you frowned.

“How?”

“Because now it falls on me to do it,” he said. “And I can’t even fucking convince myself that you want it.”

You sniffled, shaking your head.

“Don’t do this,” your voice was a low whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

He stared at you, the look in his eyes so painful that for a moment it made you think you were somehow tormenting him with mere words before he clenched his teeth and stepped closer to you so that he could carefully wrap his arm around your waist. He moved slow as if he was terrified that he could somehow hurt you just by touching you and he dipped his head to press a kiss on top of your head as you sniffled, making his grip around your waist tighter for only a moment. You could feel him nuzzle into your hair and stay there completely frozen for a couple of seconds, as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say after a beat and pulled back, then walked out of the kitchen. You heard the front door open before it closed, and as if on cue you fell on your knees, burying your face in your hands.

Then the sobs started.

[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! - Alastor x f! fallen angel!reader

Request: Hi! I recently read one of your alastor pieces & ohhhh my god! It was amazing. I was wondering if you would do something alastor x f!reader where they have an argument, add some angst, some fluff, some heavy heavy smut? Almost like alastor begging for reader & wanting to do anything for her to forgive him ?? Just a little idea. :) thank you so much for your wonderful work!’

Hey nonnie! I’m absolutely thrilled to fulfill your request. I hope this hits the mark! Let me know if it does! 😘

Word count: 6678

Warnings: established relationship, breakup, angst, fluff, Alastor is a very jealous and possessive but also in love man, thigh riding, (angelic) bloodplay, vaginal intercourse

Please like, comment, and reblog to sustain me! Let me know if you'd like to be on my tag list and remember that requests are open!

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon. He stares at the heatless green fire in front of him, whiskey in one hand, the other tapping against the arm of his chair.

That was Charlie’s unsolicited advice, a rehash of old material. It starts with sorry, Al.

Well, he stubbornly doesn’t believe he’s in the wrong to begin with, so why should he go and grovel at your fucking feet?

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon, and that’s that.

He throws the whiskey across the room suddenly, with such force that the crystal crashes into the opposite wall, forcing him to look at it.

Oh, it’s luxurious. A four poster bed with a white linen canopy. A mattress that adjusts itself to your whims, night by night. Silken sheets in the exact shade of your favourite colour. All of it for your benefit and yours alone—for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even sleep! He doesn’t need to sleep, he just needs…

Alastor stares at the bed, imagines how he’d sit next to you as you slumbered, glancing over at you occasionally for the sake of your comfort and security. He remembers how you’d snore lightly and how he would push hair out of your face as you snoozed. He remembers smiling…

He remembers smiling.

He also recalls other little activities the two of you got up to in this bed, satisfying a hunger he’d never known before you, but that isn’t something he craves anymore. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

‘Sorry’ isn’t a word in Alastor’s lexicon, even though… even though…

It needs to be.

He sits there thinking of everything from the beginning. The day you first met, all those mysterious luminous creatures floating along, moving your furniture past the lobby. Your soft and kind smile, the one that sickened him at first. That damnable dress you wore the first time the two of you hit the sheets, and how fun it was to rip it off your body. The way his shadow always tried to steal feathers from the wings of your shadow. The first time you yelled at him for that.

He thinks of where things went wrong, the man that caused that incredible din, but the only thing he can think of, if he is finally honest with himself, is himself. His own jealousy, his controlling nature, thinking he knew what was best for you. That was what sparked the argument, wasn’t it?

It his fault, certainly, but ‘sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, period.

The lilies are still on the bedside table. They are dried, desiccating, the little leaves and petals falling onto the surface. He had gotten the lilies to say ‘sorry’, in his own way, but you never did come back to his room.

He lays back on the bed and plucks a dying lily from the bouquet, keeping it in his hand. It's not difficult to imagine you there beside him, your arms wrapped around him as he presses his face against your shoulder, and oh, that’s when it really hits him.

Your scent. He remembers it so well that he smells it now, a phantom chased by nothing. His eyes close and he rolls until his head meets your pillow, breathing in your scent deeply.

‘Sorry’ is not in his lexicon, but goddamn it, there are lilies.

What would it take, what flowers would fix things, if lilies were not enough? Pink roses? White orchids? Tulips? A hundred dozen daffodils, flooding the entire hotel?

Alastor notices now how his hands are shaking at his sides. He clenches his claws into fists and closes his eyes, breathing in your scent again. The best thing to do is to incinerate the pillow, the bed, the lilies…

No, no. His jaw tightens. No, that would be the easy thing to do. Not the best, or even the smartest. It was the cowardly thing to do.

‘Sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, but he’s no fucking coward.

He can almost hear your voice in his ears, whispering his name with such sweet affection. He remembers your laugh, a sound like music to him. A laugh reserved for him and him alone. Something special.

He's never needed anyone else's company before. He never bothered with the emotional needs of other people. You’re the only person he's ever cared for, the only person who has ever truly meant anything to him. He feels weak and vulnerable over your absence. He doesn't like feeling like this, but you’re the one woman that can break down his walls.

Alastor doesn't like needing you, he doesn't like letting you have this power over him. But at this moment, he doesn't care. He'd give anything to just hear your voice again, even if it’s just to yell at him and tell him to fuck off.

Again.

The sound of your voice, the way you looked into his eyes, your little imperfections that only served to make you all the more perfect in his eyes. He remembers how your lips felt against his skin, the soft warmth of your touch.

He doesn’t like to need you, but he does love it.

He opens his eyes, clutching the now withered flower so tightly that all but a few brown petals fall from the stem. He stares at it for a long moment, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. A green fire erupts from his palm, scorching it first, then turning it to ash. He stares at it, the lightness of it in his palm.

He's always had such strict control over himself, even under stress or grief, but not anymore. Not when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to cause feelings of weakness and helplessness within him. He hates himself for feeling this way, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to hate you. No, never you.

He closes his eyes again, imagining you lying beside him. You would have wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the side of his neck. Sometimes, you’d start leaving the tiniest of kisses down his neck. It would make him shiver, it would make him…

Just like that first night when things turned physical. Your hands would always find a way under his shirt, running your fingers over the muscles of his chest and stomach, your fingers tracing reverently over his scars.

He can almost feel the softness of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Alastor sighs in consideration of his current position. One of, if not the most powerful Overlord of hell, lying in a bed he does not need, pining after a fallen angel who once (admittedly, accidentally) broke a horn off his shadow. He breathes in your scent again. A fallen angel who made his mama’s jambalaya for him. A fallen angel who was never once intimidated by him. A fallen angel who created life, “along a certain slant of light”, as you put it, most of them visible only to you, except for shimmers of light, like oil on water.

A fallen angel who wouldn’t speak to him even if he said sorry.

Alastor sighs, sits up, holding her pillow like a child holding a fucking teddy bear.

“Fuck.”

He smacks himself on the forehead and drags his hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

He says it again, getting a taste of the word, the pride of it in its coarse formation and meaning.

Alastor sighs, holding the pillow, looking at the bouquet of dead lilies. “Fuck.”

He wants to feel the softness of your lips again. To feel the warmth of your skin, the press of your body against his. But more than anything, he wants to hear you laugh again. He wants that beautiful smile back, the smile you give to him and only him.

But he doubts that will happen. You’ve probably already moved on from him, and honestly, he wouldn't blame you for doing so. Well, that’s a lie.

He knows he's difficult, and demanding—sometimes too demanding. You’ve always been far more patient with him than anyone else, but even that has its limits. And he's certainly pushed those limits.

You’re probably in the arms of some other man right now, maybe even him, laughing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You probably don’t even think about Alastor anymore.

‘Sorry’ may not be in his fucking lexicon, but like hell he’d ever allow another man into your bed, and certainly not…him.

Alastor makes sure he’s impeccable before riding the dark to your room. He decides it would be a rather stupid idea to appear inside your room without permission, so he settles on the hallway and knocks on your door.

“Come in!”

The sound is muffled, and he feels the sharp need to lecture you on not checking who is at the door before letting them in, but he refrains. He turns the doorknob and walks into your room for the first time in a while and finds you—

Down on the floor, halfway underneath the bed.

“This seems like a cliche pornographic film,” he comments as he shuts the door.

Herbert, the only one of the little light creatures that he can see, floats towards him.

You try to sit up right when you hear Alastor’s voice, banging your head. You get out from under the bed and stand up.

“Herbert, leave him alone,” you say.

“Nonsense! Hello little creature,” Alastor says to the glowing bastard he had tolerated at best before the breakup. He summons up an apple for the mischievous little son of a bitch to snack on and Herbert quickly zips away with it, disappearing under the bed.

“How did you know that being stuck is a porn cliche?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your arms crossed. “Been watching a lot of it lately?”

“I think you know that I have not,” Alastor says, leaning forward on his staff. “We just so happen to live with an adult film star who tries to pull the ‘help me I’m stuck’ routine on Husker at least twice per week. What were you doing under the bed, darling?”

“Herbert! He’s been stealing from me,” you say. “I knew I didn’t lose those emerald earrings you gave me. I found those and then some in his little nest under the bed.”

He can’t help but swell with pride. One of his favourite things to do was present you with gifts and he loved seeing them on you every time.

“What do you want?” you ask, and that deflates him a bit.

Alastor takes a breath, his chest rising. “I need you to instruct me in something.”

“Go ask literally anyone else.” You open up the door, gesturing for him to leave, but with a bit of boldness Alastor flicks the door closed again.

“I’m afraid there’s no one better to ask than you, my dear.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alastor, I broke up with you so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like this anymore.”

Alastor pauses for a time. Honesty tumbles its way past his lips. “You are all that I love.”

The room goes silent, save for the sound of Herbert cronching his apple.

You give a sigh, a pained expression on your face, one that he hates to see. All of him wants to go to you, but you wouldn’t want that—not yet.

“Goddamn it,” you whisper. “Is that what you needed instruction for?”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, loving you needs no instruction.”

You let out a breath. That’s all you can do before your head is in your hands.

“My dear, may I sit beside you?” Alastor asks after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, fuck you!” You stand up and circle around him once. “Fuck you, Alastor!”

His eyebrows rise. “That is not the response that I anticipated or desired.”

“Oh it’s not?” you ask mockingly.

He’s never seen you act like this before, and it is surprising him. An unseen variable, one that choked him. His grip on his staff increases.

“My dear, I sense that you still harbour quite a lot of animus—“

“Shut up! Shut up!” You pace back and forth the length of the rug, also a gift from him. “Fuck you! Fuck you for saying the right things the wrong time!”

Alastor takes a chance and sits down on your bed, watching you closely. “Do you want more earrings?”

You immediately go to your armoire and start throwing jewellery at him. He’s quite literally stunned by this behaviour. Herbert comes out from underneath the bed and snipes a few rings.

“Darling.”

You say nothing, you just keep throwing things at him.

“Darling.”

“Just take it. Take it all back. Give it to someone else.”

Now he looks offended and straightens his posture. You run out of jewellery to throw at him.

“You know there can be no other,” he says, somewhat angry. “You know I’m not capable of having any such enjoyment with anyone else. You are all I love and all that I desire to love. All I can love. There’s none but you and nothing will ever compare, never come close. Do you understand?”

“Then keep them for yourself. Or let Herbert have it all, enable his fucking kleptomania.”

“They belong to you and you will have them. Every last jewel.”

“Alastor, you shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“That is a consideration I undertook before coming.” He leaves his staff on the bed and goes to you. “I need your instruction.”

“On what?” you snap.

He lets out a deep breath. “How many lilies will it take to be forgiven?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Forget the lilies then,” he says quickly. “Just disregard the matter of florals altogether. What token is needed?”

“Token?”

“It doesn’t need to be a physical object, not a coin one inserts into a slot in exchange for heroin or soda,” he says quickly. “I am explaining myself poorly. I’ll be truthful and direct, if you will allow me.”

Your arms cross again, a defensive posture. “Okay.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to be without you anymore. It’s maddening. I find myself missing you in all these vacant spaces that were not vacant before you. You created space in me that only you can fill, and now it is…empty. You made me this way, and it is your fault,” he says quickly. “And what am I to do, now? Accept that I am now empty? Accept that I will walk through eternity alone, with all this space within me, space that you and you alone can occupy?”

“And you hate it, don’t you Alastor? And you hate me for it.”

“I considered that,” he admits. “I tried to insist it to myself, that I did not need such adulations and that I didn’t need you, specifically. I tried not to need you, but your absence insisted upon you. I do not hate you. Nothing could force me to feel that way, not myself, not you, not Herbert.”

“Herbert?”

“Correct. Herbert.”

You sit down beside his staff, touch the microphone knowing you were the only person ever allowed to do so. You sigh. “I love you, too. And just like you, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I know exactly what to do with it,” he responds.

“Yeah?”

Alastor nods. “We just…go back to before. Move forward. But together. I would sooner die than see you with another man.”

You lift a warning finger to him. “You’re not helping yourself.”

Alastor huffs. “It is the truth. You value honesty as well as I do.”

Now you scoff. “You deal in subterfuge, not honesty.”

“Not with you, and you know that,” he says, pointing at you. “I am a flawed man, but I’ve given you my very best. Better than I thought I had capacity for. Can you truly say that it was never enough?”

“Of course it was,” you say softly.

Alastor sighs and sits beside you. He thinks to put an arm around you, but manages not to.

“You are so used to getting everything you want,” you say. “You have the power to get whatever you want except me.”

He winces. “Please do not put it that way, darling. Please don’t say…we’ll never find a way. Please.”

Slowly, you reach over and touch his hand. When it curls together with his fingers, he places his other hand firmly on top, squeezing.

“Four hundred.”

He waits for you to explain, but you don’t.

“Four hundred what, dearest?” he asks.

You look at him and smile. “Four hundred lilies.”

Alastor snaps his fingers and four hundred lilies arrange themselves in vases on top of every surface in the room. Smelling them, Herbert whooshed out from underneath the bed and floated all along the flowers, playing with the tiny white bells in a way that Alastor could admit might be considered ‘cute’ by others. He looks back to you.

“Do you want to count them all, darling?” he asks.

“I don’t need to,” you say softly. “I feel like I should tell you something.”

“I do not like that,” Alastor says immediately. “I do not like the sound of that. Is it him?”

“Don’t bring this full circle to the last argument,” you warn. “There is no other man. I just thought…you really came in here and said things that I didn’t think you could. You really laid it all on the line and I feel like you deserve the same from me.”

Alastor nods along slowly. “No other man?”

You shake your head. “No other men. Will you stop? Will you please stop? Will you let me talk now?”

“I suppose,” he says, pulling you closer. He settles so that his head rests against your chest. “I am listening.”

“It’s not exactly easy for me to open up either,” you say before clearing your throat. “There’s a wealth of differences between us but similarities that are significant. We both struggle with making space for other people in our lives and typically won’t.”

“That is true,” he says, fingers running along your shoulder.

You start to play with his hair, the fuck-ass bob you only came to love because it was his preference. You’re tempted to touch one of his ears, but now’s not the time for that.

“Sometimes it’s simply hard to believe that there’s this perfect person that really…loves me,” you say softly, quietly, almost wishing that you hadn’t.

Alastor tightens his hold on you. Neither of you could handle personal vulnerability quite so easily, but yours makes his heart clench. “Do I make you feel…less loved when we argue over other men?”

You sigh. “Alastor, it’s not just an argument about men, it’s you basically calling me a whore—“

“No, I didn’t,” he interjects quickly. “No. I have never called you that or thought it of you. You are my favourite, my treasure, my prize, and I would never think so lowly of you. Never, not in all of eternity until what you call ‘the inevitable heat-death of the universe’. I would argue that heaven and hell are a different universe but that is yet another argument we should never cross again.”

“Agreed,” you say, nodding your head. “Just like the argument about—“

“Horses running on their fingers, I know.” Alastor can’t help the fondness in his smile. No matter how heated the arguments, the passion between the two of you manifests itself in all ways possible.

You smile back at him and decide to take the chance to kiss him again. Just once. Just to show him he was still loved, cherished, longed for. It was only right.

Alastor cups the back of your head to keep you there. Fuck once, now that he’s gotten to kiss you he chooses to interpret it as carte blanche to take as many as he wants. Damn, how he had missed this…

You gently remove his hand and pull away. “I’m not done speaking.”

“Apologies,” he mutters.

You nod and continue. “I want to be the one you love. I want to be the only one you love, just as much as you want to be the only one that I love. You just can’t treat me like a soul that you own.”

Alastor’s eyes widen at that. Had he really…?

He looks you dead in the eye. “If I ever do that again, correct me with a good slap.”

You shake your head. “No. I won’t lay my hands on you with anything but affection and…shall we say, intimacy.”

“Intimacy,” he repeats, and almost moans then and there. It has been…too long.

“I know,” you say. “I know.”

“Will you ever be…comfortable with the idea of it again?” Alastor asks.

“I’ve practically undressed you with my eyes since you came in here.”

He goes to make a move but you rebuff him once more, sitting up in the bed. “The fact remains that I am hurt by you when you start questioning me about the attentions of other men, attentions that I do not notice more often than not, if they exist at all. Especially not from him. I keep telling you, he does not look at me that way, he doesn’t think of me that way.”

He nods several times in thought before sitting up beside you, turning to face you. “I am afraid.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve seen him express all sorts of emotions in front of you before but never, not once, had even alluded to fear.

“W-why?” you ask with a bare whisper.

“I’m not a good man, and you know that. You know what I do almost better than anyone else. You are too good for me, therefore I fear another man will come along, catch your fancy, and leave me with the choice of either killing him and devastating you or simply languishing in my own self-pity. Why are you so far?”

(Obviously he would kill the other man.)

Alastor drags you into his lap and you give no resistance. He holds you tight, intending to never let go, not now when there was a chance.

You lay your head on his shoulder and breathe him in. You’ve missed his scent, too.

“I’m not too good for you,” you mutter against his neck. “And I won’t hear of it. Understood?”

He smiles begrudgingly. “Fine. You will have it as you wish, my dear.”

“So,” you say. “What now?”

“Move forward,” he says again. “Be with me again. Allow me to present you with jewels. I will…continue to put up with that little abomination eating the lilies.”

You gasp and look towards Herbert. You clap your hands together loudly. “Herbert! No! They might be poisonous to you, and besides, they’re mommy’s!”

Alastor can’t help himself but laugh. “Mommy’s, you say?”

“I made him, I’m mommy!”

Maybe…maybe it was possible. You’re not a sinner, after all, and Charlie does exist…

Maybe he can give you fawns, bond you to him for all eternity, heat-death of the universe be damned.

Alastor chuckles, lets that thought slide by (for now). He whisks the lilies away before the little bastard can make himself sick and throws another apple at him. Herbert gasps softly, takes it, and back under the bed he goes.

“See?” Alastor says. “I am suitable.”

You smile at him softly. “Promise?”

“Yes, dear. I do promise. There are many things I can’t. We will continue to argue over pointless things, that’s already in the cards. We will bump heads and piss each other off. I will be jealous, I will certainly be possessive, but I will never express it to you in a way that makes you feel like a harlot. And I will try not to over-analyse every interaction with him. Perhaps I will never express it at all, that would be best, I know…

“And I will fail. And you will, too. We will have our… fuck-ups, as you often call them. However, for all the fuck-ups we ever had before, not a moment passed when I did not know that I loved you. You created space in me, made my lungs full. I cannot be without you now, and I think you…I think that you are the same. I hope you are the same.” He pauses. “Please, darling.”

You kiss him, and in that he understands your acceptance of this. Of him, his words, the explicit and implicit promises. Words were difficult sometimes.

He grabs you tightly and rides the dark to his bedroom, to the bed he made for you.

You break the kiss with an air of incredulity. “You know I hate when you shadow whoosh me!”

“And you know I have exactly one rule about where we are intimate.”

You sigh. “Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“Indeed. Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“And who said anything about being intimate?” you ask, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

He smirks. “There she is.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” you say.

He grins, his eyes burning with a dark, sinful desire as he responds huskily, his lips against your ear. “Ah, my love, I want to do everything to you. I want to touch you, taste you, explore every inch of you until nothing exists to either of us except each other. I want to hear you moan and gasp my name, to make you feel things you've never felt before.”

You give him a wicked smile. “We should do that.”

He grows in agreement, his eyes burning with need and desire as he responds in a low, guttural voice. “We absolutely should. We will. I’m going to explore every inch of you, to make you feel things you've only dreamed of. Are you ready for that, my love?

He pulls you so that your back is snug against his chest, not a bit of space between your bodies. His clawed fingertips run from your knee all the way to your hip. He can hear that little gasp you try to hide, can feel that little shiver. The hem of your dress hiked up, his hand moves to cup your mound. He smirks to himself when he feels you rub against it.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. He rubs against your underwear for a few moments, allowing you to rock your hips against his hand, and oh, there it was again. Control. Control over you, the greatest prize of all, and you gave it to him so willingly.

His hand slides his hand inside your silken undergarments easily—ones that he bought for you. It’s gratifying as hell, almost as good as feeling your slick folds against his fingers. He blunts his fingertips and rubs against you.

Alastor’s teeth catch on your neck and he’s more than tempted to bite down, but not just yet. You moan and he relishes it.

“You like that?” he murmurs against your ear. “You love it, don’t you? Being a good girl for me.” Alastor uses his free arm to wrap around your hips to stop you from moving. “Now, be very good.”

You give a soft little whimper when he won’t let you move anymore, knowing you’re at his mercy when he’s in a mood like this. Fingers slide inside of you, his thumb rubbing over your clit.

“Be still, and be quiet,” he instructs, smiling against your ear.

He can sense the struggle almost as soon as he says it. That little tremble in your thighs. The hand that shoots up to cover your mouth.

“Oh, no dear,” Alastor says, pushing it away with his free hand. ”Don’t test me again. No cheating, no tricks. No magic, no power. Only me.”

Listening to you trying to contain all your little sounds is priceless. Alastor knows how to play your body like a Stradivarius. His fingers move lower, deeper.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he asks, sucking a dark mark against your neck.

You’re not sure if it’s a trick or not until his little ministrations pause, causing you to whimper again. “You!”

“Atta girl,” he says affectionately. “You’re so wet for me.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin, his chin rubbing against your neck as he kisses and teases you. "My love, I can feel. You like it, don't you? You like how I can make you fall apart in my hands, helpless to my touch."

He bites your neck softly, his teeth scraping against your skin.

You take a few shaky breaths. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

Alastor pauses, as if deliberating, and the lack of movement in his fingers is excruciating. Your pussy throbs at the loss, clenching around them, and you’re near the point of begging.

“No,” he says momentarily. “No, you are not allowed to speak yet. Good of you to ask, darling, but now is the time for you to listen, not to speak. Now, stand up.”

Confused, you manage to get up from his lap and stand one rubbery legs before him. Your eyes give the inquiry your lips cannot.

Alastor parts his knees wide and pulls you to straddle one of his thighs.

Oh!

Your cheeks warm and your jaw opens slightly. You almost shake your head, but Alastor reaches for your chin and holds it between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs one of your hips and forces you to start moving, the grind against your wet, clothed pussy causing you to gasp.

“I’ve missed you in more ways than one,” he says, slapping you on the ass to encourage to ride his thigh on your own.

“It was my own fault, I know that,” he continues, and places both hands on your hips to support you as you move. “I was insane with jealousy, yes, and that is also my own fault. I cannot tolerate the mere notion that someone else would get to see you…like this. You are so very beautiful, darling. You are so very, very much mine.”

He could never let anyone else have you. He knew that he never would. Surprisingly, his possessive words seem to make you grind harder against him, your hips working more quickly. Alastor welcomes this with a grin.

“Ah, my dear.” His hands move from your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you moan for him again. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you fall. Come for me.”

Still unsure if you’re allowed to make any sound, you bite down on your lip hard, your eyes on his when a little golden rivulet drips from your poor, abused lip.

With a growl, Alastor lunges at you, though you are still in his lap. You fall down to the rug and he’s on top of you, licking up every trace of golden blood. Nothing could ever compare to it, he’d once said, and it turns him feral every single time he sees it or smells it. He kisses you, gently sucking at that tiny wound until it closes way too soon and his fist pounds the floor in anger. He raises his head, looks at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay, but in bed,” you say.

Alastor picks you up quickly and tosses you onto it. He takes off his coat and throws it across the room. His bow tie is next, but you hold your hands out.

“Wait!” You say, reaching for him. “The shirt is my job.”

He grunts in his feral state, but he allows it, and soon his shirt is off and on the floor, forgotten.

“Where?” he asks raggedly.

“Where do you want?” you ask with a shrug. “This is your thing, but I’m happy to oblige. A bit. Not enough to make me dizzy.”

Permission granted, Alastor falls on top of you and goes straight for the jugular, literally. Just some sharp teeth and bam. He was drinking golden blood straight out of your neck, and you gave him the extra sensory delight of playing with his ears while he did so. He’s moaning, again and again, and you can feel how hard he is, pressed up against your body.

Eventually you decide he’s had enough and push his head away gently. Alastor kisses you instead, still giving animalistic energy, and rips away every article of clothing that separates you.

You can taste your own blood on his lips.

Somehow in this state Alastor remembers that he told you to come but didn’t let you and he quickly works to remedy that. His fingers enter you again. He knows your body well, he knows how to make you come in moments and you do, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Alastor finally leans back to look at the wreck he’s made of you and he smirks.

He holds one of your thighs against his waist and enters you fast, all at once, and the pace he sets is equally feral. Any time your blood came into the mix he truly could not help himself. His strokes are hard, deep, enough to make your knees wobble.

You hear him take a deep inhale and look up at him.

“My darling, the way you react to me, the way you react…Fit so perfectly, like your cunt was made just for my use.” Alastor bites at your neck again, but he won’t try to draw blood.

You grab one of the pillows and put it underneath your hips. This was an especially careful operation, considering how he was pounding you, but it tilted your hips and allowed for a more delicious angle.

Alastor’s clawed hand grabs your other thigh and squeezes hard. “What do you think, darling? Do you think this pretty little pussy was made for me?”

You nod several times, finding it harder and harder to catch your breath, but he’s without mercy this time. “Jesus…”

“Not an acceptable response, dearest,” he says with a little groan of exertion. He squeezes your thigh again. “Now, I believe I asked you a question. There’s only one correct answer, so give it to me.”

The sheets twist beneath your hands. There’s a decision to be made. Be forthwith and tell him yes or tease him until he’s out of his right mind.

“Damn it, darling,” he says impatiently.

You smirk. Let the teasing begin. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Alastor’s claws on your thigh almost drew more golden blood.

“You asked if my pussy was made just for you,” you say, your words coming out through pants because of his force.

His antlers grew larger, longer. His glare was menacing. His voice was dark.

“Then I suppose I must show you.”

The bed began to shake, and his tone shifted.

“Ah, my sweet darling, what I want to do to you right now is beyond description. I want to feel your softness, your warmth, your very essence against me, writhing under my touch. I want to take you, claim you, make you mine completely, with no doubting.”

“And how will you do that?” you ask playfully.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you completely against him. He leans in, his lips trailing along your neck, his voice a low, dark growl in your ear.

“How will I do that, my sweet darling? I'm going to make you feel so good, make you scream from the pleasure of it. I'm going to kiss you, and touch you, and taste you, until you're so lost in pleasure you don't remember your own name or where you are.”

Your breath comes more and more harshly. “Did you soundproof the room?”

He gives you a look of pure incredulity. “Of course the room is soundproof! These precious little moans and gasps, they’re all mine, understand? Only I get to hear them, they belong to me!”

“Yes, yes!” You gulp for air.

“You do things to me, darling,” he says, “things that drive me absolutely wild. Your touch, your scent, your responsiveness, it all makes me ache and desperate for you. And you know it, don’t you?”

“I do my best.” You wink up at him. “Out of curiosity…what do I smell like?”

Alastor growls. “Ah, darling, you smell simply divine. I can't get enough of your soft, sweet scent. You smell like honey, like flowers, like the fresh air of a sunny day. It's intoxicating and completely addictive. I can't get enough of it, and I can't get enough of you. There will never be enough.”

“Keep me,” you whisper.

“Oh, darling,” he says. “Let there be no doubt in that. Yes, you're all mine. Mine to touch, mine to kiss, mine to have. I'm going to make sure you never forget that, darling. You're mine. Do you understand that?”

His hand comes up to gently squeeze at your throat, a warning.

You swallow, knowing he could feel every movement, and nod. “Yes, Alastor! Yes!”

His grip on your throat softens somewhat. “You just love to be under my control, don’t you?”

“I love being at your mercy,” you say with a moan.

“Is that so?” There’s a grin on his face that presses against his voice, dark and velvet. “And why is that? Tell me.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Because I’m the only one safe at your mercy.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, pushing your thigh higher against your chest. “Look at you. Hair all mussed, lip swollen, bruises on your throat. And I did all of it. Tell me, darling. Tell me.”

“You did it. You did all of this to me, you’re the only one I want…”

That was what he truly wanted to hear, you knew. His jealousy is a problem and in all likelihood will continue to manifest itself, but at the root of it he just wanted to be the only one you had an appetite for. He fucks you harder and harder until you start screaming for him.

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing at your clit now. “Go on, make all of those beautiful, lascivious noises for me…”

You huff and gasp for breath. “Alastor, please, please let me come!”

He chuckles. “Yes, darling. That is the goal.”

When it hits you, you gasp first. Your hips grind against his, moving through it, along it, until it’s just too much—

But Alastor doesn’t stop. He holds you down, fucks you harder, draws it out for as long as he can. He smirks down at you as you shake for what he is doing to you—for you. His thumb circles your clit one last time before he’s finally merciful.

“So tight for me, darling,” he says, sucking the words between his teeth. It’s almost more than he can take, and he knows that it’s coming fast. He just…he needs something first.

He speaks in a gentler tone now, watching the bulge in your stomach move as he fucks you. “Darling…"

You’re still gasping for breath. “Yeah, honey? What is it?”

“Promise me that I’m…enough.”

“Enough?” You laugh, a raspy sound. “You’re too fucking much.”

Alastor lets out a gravelly moan, its intensity changing the pitch. You could almost swear that you can feel his cum inside you, all white and hot. When he finally stops moving, he leans against your thigh, chasing his breath.

“Bravo,” you say, putting your arms around him when he lays down beside you.

"I thought perhaps I had pleased you," he says, shuddering when you rub the base of his ears.

You laugh softly, breath finally caught. "Reconciled?"

Alastor nods. "Indeed. We are reconciled. If...you'll have me, anyway."

"I think that I will," you say, and from the corner of your eye, you see something on the wall and sit straight up, pointing. "That son of a bitch shadow of yours is stealing my feathers again!"

The smiling spectre flaunts his new feather and cuddles closer to your shadow. Maybe they were reconciled, as well.

[chleem]

Rest of my life

One shot: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: babysitting drew’s niece leads to the realization that you’re the one for him.  

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Warnings: so sweet u get cavities

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Which girl did you knock up?” 

Is the first thing you say upon entering Drew’s apartment, your eyes landing on Drew, who has a baby securely strapped against his stomach in a white carrier, the baby looking over at you with doe eyes. 

Drew freezes for a second, then shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he sets a large bag down on the kitchen table. "Oh, y’know, some girl I met on set."

There’s a reason why you and Drew are perfect for each other; the playful banter comes so naturally between you two that it feels like breathing, like there’s no awkwardness in this situation; finding Drew with a baby you’ve never seen before. 

Although, this baby looks oddly familiar. 

“Remember Lils?” Drew asks, as you walk over to him, setting your own bag on the table as well. 

Your eyes light up at the name, recalling the times Drew would show you pictures of his niece. “Oh hi,” you immediately pitch your voice higher, making it soft and playful. The baby, with her big, curious eyes, reaches out her tiny hand, and before you even know it, she’s grabbing onto your finger. 

Her little grip is surprisingly strong, and you can’t help but smile at how adorable she is. “She grew so big,” you comment, looking up at Drew. 

He’s got a soft smile on his lips. “I’know, and I got her for the whole day.”

Your raise an eyebrow playfully at him, “I thought we’re going to the beach today.”

“Yeah, we are,” he emphasizes on that word, his eyes bouncing back between him and Lil. 

Lil lets go of your hand, so you cross your arms at Drew. You roll your eyes, yet the grin on your face gives away your amusement. “Fine. I won’t rob you of your uncle-niece time.”

A chuckle escapes Drew’s lips, and he brings you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your waist. “Lil says it’s okay for you to be there,” his voice, low and playful, as he plants a kiss on your jaw. “Third wheel, you okay with that?”

“Delightful,” you try to sound annoyed at that idea, but really, you looked forward to it. 

Originally, it was a beach date with Drew, but his sister must’ve had some emergency, leading to the sudden babysit. You had no idea that it was going to turn out like this, but you don’t mind. 

Besides, it gives you a chance to see what uncle Drew is like. 

“Aww, don’t be jealous,” he teases, rubbing your elbow, a habit he’s grown into since knowing you. 

“I could never compete with this girl,” you smile down at Lil, whose lips slowly forms an O. You coo at her, playing with her little adorable fingers.

Drew glances down at his watch, snapping you out of the little world you’ve absorbed yourself with Lil in only a few seconds. “Hotdog stand might close. Let’s go.”

“I’m trying the taco one!” You happily chirp, remembering how the last time you went there, a long argument between the two of you resulted in you getting the pizza flavored hot dog. 

“Alright, alright,” Drew assures, taking both of the bags off the table. 

You make an attempt to grab at least one bag from him, but he declines, carrying it all the way to the car himself. 

——

Unknowingly, the whole day at the beach has passed. 

Drew had been so focused on spending time with his niece, he didn’t even notice the way the sky changed. One moment, they were splashing in the shallow waves, building sandcastles, the next, the sun was dipping low.

He walks back to the beach with hotdogs in his hands; buying the snacks now since the crowd has disappeared. 

He replays scenes of today in his mind, thinking about how easy it’s been today. How effortless it felt, spending time with you and Lil. He’d watched you interact with his niece all afternoon—how you encouraged her to explore the sand, showing her the little crabs skittering along the shoreline etc. 

And now, as he makes his way back, he can’t shake the image of you laughing with Lil, your face lighting up when the baby made a funny sound or reached out for you.

He reaches the blanket that the two of you had spread out earlier on the sand, and he glances over your shoulder, expecting to see you playing with Lil. 

Instead, he freezes. 

There you are, holding his niece in your arms. Lil’s fast asleep, her little body relaxed against your chest. 

Drew’s first thought is how cute his niece is. 

His eyes then drift over to you; And that’s when it hits him.

The realization of this moment, the quiet way you’re holding his baby niece, strikes him. His heart skips a beat as he watches you, a quiet warmth flooding his chest. 

The sight of you with her, so natural, so right, feels more profound than anything he expected.

What is this feeling? He thinks.

He tries to shake it off. It’s not just about Lil. It’s about you, the way you make everything feel so simple, so easy. He never expected to see you like this, to see you so gentle, so present.

Is this what love feels like? He doesn’t know. But in that moment, staring at the two of you, something in him clicks. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it’s there—this pull, this feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything he thought he wanted was right here in front of him.

“Drew?” 

Your voice is gentle and soft as you call out for him, afraid to wake the baby up. 

Your gaze meets his, and for a second, the world feels smaller. His heart skips again, mind racing around as he scrambles for words in his mind. 

“Hey,” he manages to breathe out, sitting down beside you. He’s careful with his movements, even when handing you your hotdog to your free hand. His lips curl into a soft smile,  almost shy, “she’s out cold, huh?”

He watches as you completely ignore his words, biting down on the hotdog you’ve been waiting for for the whole day. His smile grows; his mind reminded of how easy it is to be around you. It’s not that you’ve said much or done anything extraordinary—just the way you seem to savor the simple things, like food, time spent together—it draws him in every time.

“Good?” Drew asks, teasing hinted in his voice, yet his eyes soften as he waits for your answer. 

“Strange. The pizza flavor’s better,” you comment through chews. 

Laughter erupts in his chest, making you look confusingly at him. You swallow, looking at him with doe eyes. “Let me take her,” he says, his hands reaching for his niece. 

You let him, mainly because of how hungry you are. The exchange is smooth; he now holds Lil in his arms, and you hold onto the two hotdogs, eating away one of them. 

“Y/n?”

You quickly finish the bite, humming at Drew continue talking. He’s looking at you with a soft gaze, almost smitten. He calls for your name, but doesn’t say anything. 

“You want a bite?” You ask, filling in the silence. 

Drew chuckles, and with his free hand, he pulls you by the back of your neck closer to him. He kisses you, slow and soft. You relax under his touch, letting the warm and bubbly feeling flow through you. 

You eventually pull away, needing to catch your breath. Drew’s lips are apart as he stares at you; the look in his eyes making it hard to steady your heartbeat. 

For seconds that felt like minutes, silence lingers between you two, eyes locked into each others’ as if any move, would disturb the calmness of this moment. 

Well, the moment is disturbed, because the smell of poop enters the air, as well as the sound of crying. 

Lil's awake, and in a stinky emergency.

You’re the first to pull away, chuckling as you glance down at Lil. “Shit.”

“Yup,” he purses his lips. You get ready to put the hotdogs down, wanting to help change her diapers, when Drew stops you. “I’ll do it.”

“Do I even have the appetite anymore?” You joke, the smile reappearing on Drew’s lips after hearing that. 

“When do you not?” He comments, setting Lil down and reaching for the diaper bag. 

You hit his arm playfully again, laughter coming out of you. You turn and look out onto the ocean waves, putting the hotdogs down to the side.

This moment right here? You want to remember it always. Remember this beach, this adorable little baby, this hotdog (just important as everything else), and this man, that you’ve found yourself to rely on more than you should. 

You hope Drew feels the same way too; that this moment right now, will forever be engraved in your heart. 

Little did you know; it's already engraved in his, as the moment he fell in love with you. 

The moment he realized, that you’re who he wants for the rest of his life. 

-------------------------------

word count: 1.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: my first time writing something of pure fluff...hope you enjoyed reading! i was in the mode for something sweet, craving a bf real bad T_T

and yes, im a creep that stalked his sister's ig to find the name of his niece. im sorry im sorry im sorry

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[novaursa]

To Save Us Both

- Summary: Aegon was your shadow ever since you were a child. And once you come of age and Viserys gives your hand to Lord Tyrell's son, Aegon makes a decision that would save you both—and ruin you all the same.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

You had always been the quiet one, the shadow lingering just outside the gilded glow of your family’s attention. As the second daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, you lived in the space between your mother’s careful plans and your father’s indulgent dismissiveness. Helaena had her dreams and riddles, and Aegon—your elder brother—had his bravado and recklessness. And then there was you.

From the earliest days, Aegon sought your attention with a peculiar intensity. At first, it was innocent enough. He would seek you out during lessons, deliberately sit beside you at the long table in the Red Keep’s library, or tug on your sleeve when you were absorbed in your Valyrian texts.

“Y/N, look at this!” he exclaimed one day, barely past eight, holding a wooden dragon he had carved—or at least claimed to have carved. It was crude, the wings uneven, but you smiled at him regardless.

“It’s… unique,” you replied, your voice soft, careful not to wound his pride.

“Unique?” His face fell slightly before he puffed up with exaggerated bravado. “I think it’s better than that. It looks like Vhagar, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a little smaller than Vhagar,” you teased gently, a rare flicker of mirth dancing in your eyes. Aegon’s pout faded into a grin, and he sat beside you, his body leaning just a little too close.

It was always like this with Aegon. He thrived on your smiles, craved your laughter, and seemed to falter when you turned away from him. When Helaena pulled you into her world of strange, whispered riddles or Aemond showed off his knowledge of dragons to impress you, Aegon’s mood would darken.

One afternoon, the court gathered in the gardens for a brief reprieve from the heat of the Red Keep. You had found a shaded spot beneath a weeping willow, a book of High Valyrian poetry resting in your lap. Aemond stood beside you, his expression serious as he recited lines from memory, his voice low and earnest.

“Se perzys ipradagon ziry ry,” he said, his pale gaze fixed on you. “The flame consumes it all.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your lips curving in approval. “You’ve improved,” you said, your voice warm, and Aemond’s face lit up with quiet pride.

From across the garden, Aegon watched, his jaw tightening. He drained his goblet of wine in one swift motion and made his way toward you, his steps purposeful.

“What’s this?” Aegon interrupted, his tone light but sharp around the edges. He flopped down beside you, ignoring Aemond entirely. “High Valyrian poetry? How dull.”

“It’s not dull,” you said, looking up at him with a small frown. “Aemond has been practicing.”

“Oh, Aemond’s been practicing,” Aegon mocked, his voice dripping with exaggerated awe. “How impressive.” He reached over and plucked the book from your lap, flipping through it carelessly. “You should do something more fun, Y/N. We could go riding or—”

“She doesn’t have time for your games,” Aemond said coldly, stepping closer.

“And you don’t have time for your lessons, apparently,” Aegon snapped back, his smile sharp. “Run along, little brother.”

“Aegon,” you said, a note of warning in your voice. He turned to you, the sharpness in his expression softening instantly.

“What? I’m just saying we could have more fun.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’d rather spend time with me, wouldn’t you?”

Your brows knit together, and you glanced between your brothers, torn. “Aemond and I were having a conversation.”

“But I’m more interesting,” Aegon pressed, his grin widening as he tilted his head, his violet eyes searching yours.

You sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only for you, dear sister,” he replied, the words carrying a weight you didn’t fully grasp.

As you grew older, Aegon’s attempts to claim your attention became bolder. When suitors began to glance your way at feasts, he was quick to position himself between you and them, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, his voice louder, his laugh more boisterous.

One evening, a young lord from the Reach had spent far too long at your side, his compliments earning your shy smiles. Aegon, seated nearby, clenched his goblet so tightly that the metal bent under his grip.

When the lord finally excused himself, Aegon slid into his place, his eyes narrowing as he looked after the retreating figure. “Do you actually enjoy listening to that drivel?” he asked, his tone laced with disdain.

“He was kind,” you said simply, glancing at him.

“Kind? He was duller than a broken sword,” Aegon retorted, his gaze fixed on you. “You deserve better.”

“And who would that be?” you asked, your voice carrying a note of challenge.

His smirk faltered for a moment, his expression turning uncharacteristically earnest. “Someone who knows you. Someone who’s been by your side all along.”

Your breath caught, his words lingering in the space between you. But before you could respond, he laughed, the moment breaking as quickly as it had come. “But not him,” he added, his usual arrogance slipping back into place. “You’re mine, little sister.”

You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scold him, but the possessiveness in his tone left an unspoken promise lingering in the air. Aegon would always vie for your attention, no matter who tried to steal it away.

The announcement had been made during a routine gathering of the family, with King Viserys seated at the head of the table, Alicent by his side. His words were spoken with the offhandedness of someone making a trivial decision, though the weight of them crashed into Aegon like a hammer.

“It’s time we secure another alliance,” Viserys had said, his gaze landing on you. “Lord Tyrell has expressed interest in a match between his eldest son and our daughter.”

You sat frozen in your seat, your wineglass trembling slightly in your hand. Across the table, Aegon’s face darkened. His lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, he stared at Viserys, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.

The conversation moved on, Viserys discussing trade agreements and naval concerns, but Aegon heard none of it. His mind was a whirl of chaos, his heart pounding so fiercely it drowned out the voices around him.

Later that evening, he stormed into Alicent’s chambers, his face pale and his violet eyes wild. She was seated by the hearth, embroidering a handkerchief with practiced precision. When she saw him, her calm expression shifted to one of concern.

“Aegon?” she asked, setting the embroidery aside. “What’s the matter?”

“I need to speak with you,” he said, his voice strained. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair, the usual air of arrogance stripped away. “It’s about Y/N.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her motherly instincts kicking in. “What about her?”

“They can’t marry her off,” he blurted, turning to face her. “Not to the Tyrell boy. Not to anyone.”

“Aegon,” she said softly, rising from her chair. “It’s a good match. Lord Tyrell is powerful, and his son—”

“I don’t care about his son!” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising. “I don’t care about alliances or power or any of it. She belongs here, with us. With me.”

Alicent froze, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied her eldest son. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t let this happen.” He took a step closer, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Mother, you have to stop it. You’re the only one he listens to.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. “Aegon, you’re being irrational. Y/N’s future—”

“My future doesn’t exist without her!” he cried, his voice desperate. “Don’t you see? She’s the only thing in this world that matters to me.”

Alicent’s lips parted, her expression shifting from concern to something more conflicted. “Aegon…” she began, but he cut her off.

“She’s everything to me,” he said, his voice softer now, trembling with vulnerability. “When she laughs, it’s like the sun breaks through the clouds. When she looks at me, I feel like I’m someone worth being. And the thought of her—of her with someone else—” His voice broke entirely, and he turned away, his shoulders shaking.

Alicent watched him for a long moment, her mind racing. Finally, she spoke, her tone measured. “You care for her deeply.”

Aegon let out a bitter laugh. “Care for her? Mother, I love her. I’ve always loved her. And if they take her from me, if they marry her off to that Tyrell boy or anyone else…” He turned back to her, his face etched with anguish. “I’ll die. Do you hear me? I’ll die.”

The rawness of his words struck Alicent to her core. She had always known Aegon’s feelings for you went beyond brotherly affection, though she had hoped it was a passing infatuation. But the desperation in his voice, the tears brimming in his eyes—it was undeniable. This wasn’t a childish crush. This was a man willing to set the world aflame for the one he loved.

“You must speak to Father,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Convince him. Tell him it’s not the right match, that she’s too young, that the Tyrells aren’t trustworthy—anything. Just stop it.”

Alicent hesitated, torn between her role as a mother and her duty as queen. Finally, she nodded, her voice firm. “I will speak with him. But, Aegon…” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “You must tread carefully. This path you’re walking—it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her by my side.”

Alicent sighed, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Then let us hope the gods are merciful.”

As Aegon left her chambers, a flicker of determination replaced the despair in his eyes. If his mother couldn’t stop the betrothal, he would find another way. He would fight, scheme, beg—whatever it took. Because losing you wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.

The candles burned low in Aegon’s chambers as he paced the floor. The wine on his table sat untouched, an unusual sight for him. Tonight, Aegon’s mind was too sharp, too focused, to indulge in his usual vices. The Tyrell betrothal still loomed like a sword over his head, and every moment that passed without a resolution tightened the noose around his heart.

He had spoken to Alicent, begged her to intervene, but her assurances felt fragile against Viserys’s iron will. His father had grown increasingly indifferent to the pleas of his children, too consumed by his own decaying health and dream of uniting the realm. If Alicent couldn’t sway him, Aegon knew he needed to act. He needed to ensure that there was no choice but to keep you by his side.

The idea had taken root in his mind slowly, twisting and growing until it consumed him entirely. It wasn’t honorable, nor was it kind, but Aegon was neither of those things. He was desperate. And desperation made monsters of men.

That night, as the Red Keep grew silent and the court retired to their chambers, Aegon found you in the library. You were alone, the firelight illuminating your soft features as you poured over a book. It was a scene he had seen a hundred times, but tonight it struck him differently. Tonight, he couldn’t afford to wait, to hope that things would somehow fall in his favor.

“Still reading?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

You glanced up, startled but not displeased to see him. “I could say the same to you. It’s unusual to find you here without a cup of wine in hand.”

He smirked, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose even I have my moments of sobriety.”

You smiled faintly and returned your attention to the page, but Aegon didn’t move. He stepped closer, his boots soft against the stone floor, and you glanced up again, your brows knitting in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re hovering,” you said plainly, though there was no malice in your tone.

Aegon chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to his ears. He sat beside you, closer than usual, his knee brushing yours. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. “About the Tyrell boy.”

You stiffened slightly, your gaze dropping back to the book. “Father has made his decision. There’s little point in discussing it.”

“Do you want to marry him?” Aegon pressed, his voice low and urgent.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said, your tone soft but resigned. “My duty is to the family, to the realm.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, leaning closer. “Do you want him, Y/N? Do you want to leave the Red Keep, leave me, and go to Highgarden?”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with surprise and something else—confusion, perhaps. “Why does it matter to you?”

Aegon swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Because I can’t lose you. You’re mine.”

“Aegon—”

“Listen to me,” he said, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “You don’t belong with him. You belong here, with your family, with me.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened. “Aegon, you’re not making any sense.”

“I love you,” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I can’t let them take you from me.”

Your lips parted, shock evident on your face. “You’re my brother.”

“And that makes it wrong?” he challenged, his voice trembling. “Our blood of the dragon is the same, our bond stronger than any lord or knight could ever offer you. Don’t you see? We were meant to be together.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, but before you could respond, Aegon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he were testing the boundaries of what you would allow. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

You pushed him back abruptly, your eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. “Aegon, this is madness.”

“It’s the truth,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’ll prove it to you. If they try to marry you off, I’ll stop them. I’ll make sure you stay here, with me.”

“How?” you demanded, your voice rising. “What are you planning?”

He hesitated, the weight of his scheme hanging heavily between you. “If Father won’t listen, then I’ll give him no choice. If you’re mine, truly mine, he can’t send you away.”

The implication of his words hit you like a blow, and you took a step back, your chest heaving. “You mean to ruin me,” you whispered, horrified.

“To save you,” he countered, his expression desperate. “To save us.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “Aegon, this isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way,” he said, reaching for you again. “Don’t you see? I’d burn the whole world to keep you.”

You turned away, your heart pounding, and fled the library, leaving Aegon alone in the flickering firelight. He stood there for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists, his mind racing.

If you wouldn’t accept his love willingly, then he would ensure there was no other path for you to take.

Whatever it cost, whatever it took, you would be his.

[devotedfem]

«Frankenweenie»

Synopsis: Namjoon loved his dog with his whole heart, but she passed away. But that didn't stop him from trying to bring her back to life, what he didn't expect though was his princess pet coming alive as a human girl.

K. Namjoon x f. Reader

3.3K words.

Genre: Frankenweenie (Tim burton) au | yander-ish.

Tags: Bringing back the dead, inspired by Frankenweenie by Tim Burton but with a dark twist, grief, angst, obsession, unhealthy coping mechanism, scientist Namjoon, morally grey Namjoon, codependency, cute and adorable reader, confused reader, possessive behavior, jealousy, plot twist, hurt, secrets, smut, dubious consent and painful s3x (but in the second part), revenge, Namjoon is a little fucked up in the head and not only in a hot way, he has issues but don't we all?, captivity.

Part I, II.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

Namjoon wiped away the silent tear that dropped from his left eye, his face was red and restrained, the heavy lump in his throat felt like a rock trying to choke him. He closed his eyes to compose himself, he was an adult but one who was very much in pain. He sighed before adding more soil to the grave.

He’s doing this alone so no one would make fun of him, he wanted to grieve in silence and with no one around him trying to soothe him or telling him that he could find a new pet, that it wasn’t that deep. But it was, his love for his princess dog was very much deep.

He cleared his throat turning away from the little grave he made on his backyard, his princess’s favorite place.

The sting he felt when he entered an empty house, void of life, was unbearable.

She was with him since she was a little pup and he a little kid, he never loved anything in the world as much as he loved his pet. She was a sweet puppy, always loyal to him, accompanying him in the worst and the best. His parents were a little bit worry that this day will come and Namjoon would be heartbroken, but what was even more sad is that Namjoon’s parents left this world before his princess, deepening the bond between them both. But now she left Namjoon too, and for him that wasn’t fair at all.

Why is everyone leaving him?

The lump in his throat grew more, suffocating him with a vice grip. And then the sobs came out with force, making Namjoon to drop on the floor, wrapping both of his legs with his arms, hiding his wailing face between his knees. His sobs were heartbreaking, his chest stung with acid pain burning his heart. This is why he grieves alone, because no one would understand the weight of his hurt.

When the night fell, Namjoon’s face was swollen by the amount of tears he shed, his gaze was detach and dissociated, he didn’t have anymore tears in him to drop. So this is it, his grieving was over. This was the second time in his life he’s mourning a loved one, the first time was for his parents, and she was beside him to bear the pain. And now he’s mourning her, alone.

With a dull face, he put on his lab coat, he has work to do. At least he can distract his mind by working. But he knows that when he returns home, the pain will come back twice as hard.

Everything was normal in the lab, some coworkers asked Namjoon if everything was alright, but they didn’t keep pushing it when Namjoon only gave them a fake smile. He didn’t have any friends here, his only friends were Seokjin and Yoongi, but they moved out from the city last month.

Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone-

“Hey, I have something to show you,” someone whispered besides him, startling Namjoon out of his thoughts. His brows knitted with annoyance, he didn’t want to be bothered right know.

“Jungkook I’m not in the mood-“

“It’s important! I really need you to see it!” The brat interrupted Namjoon, fueling his anger. He was about to tell him to go fuck himself until he watched Jungkook’s wide eyes and pale face, he looked terrified but at the same time… excited?

“Okay fine, show me. But if you waste my time, I’ll snitch on you to the boss.” His bitter remark went ignored by Jungkook.

Namjoon frowned and narrowed his eyes with suspicion, the younger was too eager even for himself.

They went to an empty hallway, and Jungkook watch to his left and right before opening a door, with Namjoon following behind.

For a second, Namjoon’s heart beat fast with a little bit of excitement, until he watched before him a rat on a table, and nothing more. Namjoon closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly having a headache.

“Jungk-“

“I’m a god hyung,” Jungkook fucking interrupted Namjoon, again.

“What the fuck Jungkook? What kind of drugs are you on!?” He barked at the younger losing his patience, but Jungkook didn’t even blink at his shout, making Namjoon stop and feel unease.

“I’m not high.”

“Then you’re insane! I’m done, I’m leaving your freak ass,” he said turning around, but Jungkook’s next words stopped his movements.

“I bring that rat back to life, it was dead. And I revived it.”

The deep hush and quietness that took over the room after Jungkook’s words made Namjoon feel chills on his body, freezing his limbs and stopping his heart beat for a second.

Everything around Namjoon spined, and he was about to literally pass out and fall to the floor if it weren’t for Jungkook rushing to help him.

“Hyung! Are you okay? Fuck… I didn’t mean to scare you like that, i swear I’m not on drugs,” Jungkook’s brows were knitted and his eyes wide with worry. Namjoon chuckled a little by the kid’s words.

This felt like a sign from heaven, encouraging Namjoon to do this.

The older composed himself quickly straightening his back and turning around to see the rat closely.

“What’s the failure percentage? How many times have you done this? Is this your first subject? Have you tried this with… humans?” Namjoon’s voice lowered at the last word. He was all professional right now, but some things like bringing dead people back to life, can be considered unethical. But Namjoon wouldn’t judge Jungkook if that was the case. He was a scientist before anything.

Jungkook’s eyes widened with horror at the mention of reviving people.

“No! I haven’t done this with any human, just a couple of rats. This is my third subject, but-but I came to the conclusion that this won’t work on human’s corpses anyway. For now, it works only for animals.”

When Namjoon turned his head to look back at Jungkook, the younger widened his eyes for a second before averting and dropping his gaze to his toes with anxiety, he was shifting his weight to one foot to another, not meeting Namjoon’s prying eyes. The boy was nervous, and it was normal. This kind of stuff like reviving dead animals behind their lab managers backs wasn’t legal at all. Jungkook could be in trouble for all Namjoon knows, but lucky for Jungkook, this serves Namjoon’s best interests.

“Hey,” called softly Namjoon. Approaching Jungkook to rub his shoulder and ease the tension, Jungkook startled with surprise by the touch, and Namjoon only smiled at him.

“I won’t tell anyone about this Jungkookie, I promise.” He crooned with sparkly eyes crinkling at the corner, spreading Jungkook’s smile who relaxed quickly at Namjoon’s words.

And then, all of sudden Namjoon’s face dropped with seriousness, making the younger frown.

“But only if you do me a favor,” he mumbled with a deep and dark voice, his eyes were crazed and fixated on Jungkook, even his “tender” touch on the younger shoulder tighten with force, making Jungkook flinch with pain.

“Wh-what kind of favor hyung?” Jungkook couldn’t help the stutter, the older man made him feel intimidated all of sudden.

It’s like he’s witnessing a dark side of Namjoon he didn’t knew about.

And then, Namjoon grinned widely, like wolf.

“Help me bring back my princess.”

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

The two of them were on Namjoon’s basement, he has some lab tools and machinery down there. He chose that place to hide from prying eyes like their coworkers or bosses. Unfortunately, Jungkook felt extremely scared being alone in a basement with Namjoon. Now and then he throwed the older side eyes, waiting for any weird movement from him to run the fuck away from this house.

They spent 4 hours trying to revive the dog lying on the lab bench, but nothing happened. The younger watched how Namjoon was losing himself in the process, and he almost felt bad for him, he didn’t know he had lost his pet, and that he loved it this much. But it was the natural process of life, if Jungkook knew he was speaking to a grieving person, he wouldn’t tell him about his little experiment.

Namjoon hit the bench with a curse, fighting back tears. Jungkook took this as a sign to stop.

“Hyung, I already told you this may take up to 24 hours. I think you should rest…” he said carefully, as if he was dealing with a wild animal. In fact, Jungkook only wanted to go home.

“Yeah, you’re right. You can leave.” The older said crossing his arms and staring at the corpse of the dog.

Jungkook find it quite disturbing, but he said nothing when he turned around to get the fuck away.

“And Jungkook, this better work. Because if not, you’ll be the next corpse I’ll try to bring back to life.” That threat freeze Jungkook’s movements with primal fear, he watched with horror Namjoon’s back before literally running away.

Namjoon wiped away the silent tears, bringing a chair to sit in front of the bench with a tight heart. His pet wasn’t moving at all, her body was covered in dirt and inflated, giving off nasty odors.

It was like a reality check for him, he had hope for a second, but that was ripped away from him. His eyes dropped with exhaustion and hurt heavy in his chest. Dreaming about his parents and his pet, and colorful moments.

Then it was midnight.

A lighting struck outside the window, the sound made you lift your upper body. You gasped in amazement when you watched all of your limbs, they looked human. Your skin was soft and hairless, but where is your fur!? Now how you’ll survive the cold? Your eyes and mouth opened when you felt some type of fur coming from your scalp, it was very long and it covered your chest. You frowned when you touched your chest, you had two lumps of flesh popping out of it. You played with them a little, feeling a weird sensation between your legs when you stimulated them.

But you got distracted by the long limbs from the lower part of your body. You were giggling when you moved them.

“Who the fuck are you?” The strident and angered voice startled you, you didn’t notice Namjoon watching you like a hawk.

You blinked when you recognized him. It was him! Your beloved owner! You missed him so, so much.

“Joon!” You chirped with happiness, getting out of the bench with shaking legs, walking like a newborn and throwing yourself into Namjoon’s lap.

He was startled and a little bit horrified, he had a naked and unknown woman sitting on his lap.

“Missu!” you said wrapping your arms around his neck.

He frowned lost and disturbed.

“What? Who are you and what are you doing here you freak.” He said with his brows knitted, he was about to throw you away and call the police.

You didn’t understand some of his words, but you did notice that he wasn’t recognizing you, and that made you pout.

“Me me! y/n me! Joon you! Me y/n!” You were distressed because you couldn’t bark anymore and you didn’t know how to speak Namjoon’s language very well. You grabbed both of his shoulders to make him understand you.

A thousand of emotions flash on Namjoon’s face, surprise, fear, pain and… relieve.

His gaze softened immediately, and you grinned with teeth recognizing that sweet gaze Namjoon used only for you. His hand lifted to stroke lovingly your cheek, and you dropped your face into his palm, closing your eyes and enjoying his touch.

But you startled when you felt him wrapping both of his arms around you with a tight grip, burying his face in your neck and smelling your scent. You melted at his touch, giggling at the sensation of his breath brushing your skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, this time grabbing both of your cheeks to look at you better. His eyes scanned all of your face and body. You watched something dark and strange flashing his eyes when he looked down at your body, but he returned to your eyes quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to come back as a human… but I’m not complaining either,” he said smiling with dimples and sparkling eyes, you felt a happiness bubble burst inside of your chest at the sight.

You were so happy that you lapped his mouth with your tongue like you always did when you were, well a dog. But this time Namjoon freeze with shock, you watched him gulp hard and avert his eyes, making you pout.

“Okay, we should put clothes on you I guess,” he said clearing his throat, he was about to get up from the chair but you glued yourself to him, wrapping tightly your arms and legs around him, making him laugh.

You giggle when he tried to dress you on his clothes, you only let him put one of his oversize shirts on you, but you didn’t let him dress you in pants or underwear, you didn’t like the feeling of being covered in clothes.

Namjoon let you be for today, after all his shirt was big enough to cover you mid thigh.

He noticed that you can’t walk on two legs, you were tripping like a newborn, always pouting at him to carry you. He always melted and do as you wish, he wouldn’t denied you anything.

“Missu,” you whispered at him when he was hand feeding you after you made a mess with the cutlery and food.

He hummed staring at you with those piercing eyes.

“You mean, you miss me?” He asked softly, and you nodded with a wide smile.

You were about to lick his face again but you stopped, not sure if he would like it. He noticed your hesitation, gripping your chin gently.

“Humans usually don’t lick each other like dogs do, I don’t mind if you do, but we have other ways of expressing our love.” He said lowly, making you blink with curiosity.

“Kis’?” You asked with knitted brows, you heard that on tv before going inside the kitchen with him.

Namjoon chuckled at you, nodding with heart eyes.

“Want me to teach you?”

You nodded more fiercely this time, eager to show and receive love.

He brushed his lips on your cheek, pecking the skin softly. You enjoyed it, but on tv the people were doing that with their mouths together, and they were using tongue too.

You frowned a bit disappointed, then you grabbed boldly his chin and crashed your lips against his. You licked his lips a little bit carelessly. But you enjoyed it better like this, it felt right. You were closing your eyes and melting in the feeling, until Namjoon gripped tightly your waist to put you away from him, breaking the kiss.

His gaze was dark and his breath a little labored, he looked scary and affected like this, you thought that maybe he didn’t like it.

“Darling, if you do that again, I will lose control over myself. Be careful next time or I won’t stop.” His jaw was clenched and his nostril flared.

You recoiled a bit into yourself at his intense expression, it reminds you when Namjoon gets angry when you misbehaved. If you had your dog ears right now, they would be back and your tail between legs.

Namjoon’s eyes softened immediately, stroking your locks.

“Let’s go to sleep, princess,” he said carrying you to his bedroom.

You watched with widened eyes and parted lips how he laid you down on his mattress and not the floor, you giggle with happiness basking at the feeling of the soft bed sheets wrapping you, you rolled until you turned yourself into a human burrito, making Namjoon break a loud laugh at you.

“All right, stop being silly and let’s sleep.” He said lying next to you on the mattress.

You stared at him with a big smile before launching yourself at him, making him groan, he faked a hurt whine making your smile drop and your brows frown.

You sit on his waist with your legs on each side of him, grabbing his cheeks into your palms to look for any injury.

But Namjoon took you by surprise when he changed the positions, turning your bodies around to make you lay under him. He was staring down at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Sleep well, my love.” He said before turning off the bed lamp, and positioning himself this time behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you warm with his chest against your back.

Your eyes dropped immediately, ignoring the possessive snake-grip that was holding your body.

You were so happy, you wanted that happiness to last forever.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

When the first sun lights stroked your face, you blinked your eyes open, yawning and stretching your limbs. You freed yourself from Namjoon’s tight grip, hearing the sound of people and cars outside the house. You were curious to explore the world as a human, so you try to walk some steps on your feet but you ended up tripping and falling to your knees. You look behind your back if you woke Namjoon up, but he was still like a rock.

You crawled to the living room, approaching the front door. This time you stood on your feet without tripping, turning the door knob and feeling the street breeze brushing your face. You watched in amazement the cars and the people outdoors, you put a foot outside until you were dragged roughly into the house again. You whimpered with pain by Namjoon’s violent hold.

He slammed the door shut, turning around and staring daggers at you, his jaw was set and his fists clenched. His breathing was labored and his steps were heavy when approaching you. By instincts you crawled away from him to hide in a safer spot, but he stopped you, pulling your body towards him.

“Don’t fucking do that again! You want to be killed by a car again!? You want to die and leave me alone a second time!? It’s that what you want!?” He shouted to your face with a vein popping on his neck, you didn’t understand half of his words, but either way they made you cry with hurt.

It was the first time you felt afraid of him.

Namjoon calmed down a little at the sight of your tears, but his strong hold on your upper arms didn’t ease.

“You’re mine, you won’t set a foot outside of this house or get away from under my watch ever again, did I make myself fucking clear?” His crazed eyes were fixated on you, you didn’t know what to answer, so you just nodded with fear.

He pulled you against his chest to hug you, but instead of feeling warm you felt trapped.

“I own you, remember that my love.” He whispered hotly against your ear. And that word, owning, that you understand.

The moment was interrupted by a knock from the front door, you felt Namjoon tensing.

“Hyung! It’s me Jungkook, did the experiment worked with your dog?”

You heard Namjoon cursing and tightening his grip on you, but you frowned confused. Experiment? Dog? Was that man talking about you?

It was the first time in your short life that you had doubts about your owner, even thoughts, before… before all of this you never really think, you just feel and bark. But now, everything changed.

And you were about to find out what was happening, and what was Namjoon hiding.

He can own your body but not your mind.

Or that’s what you thought.

a/n: want to read part II right away? click here to early access.

Part II will be posted on my tumblr in 4 weeks.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg @acherry04 @lizziekitty

[ham1lton]

SIMPLE !

pairings: jude bellingham x lewis hamilton’s assistant!reader

summary: after your first few dates with jude, everything seems to be going smoothly. however, there’s just one problem: your boss seems to hate your new boyfriend.

warnings: judeyn being dumbasses.

author’s note: part of my dream girl universe. for best enjoyment, read after the first instalment. assistant2 also makes her first official appearance!!

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📍 berlin, germany.

tagged: judebellingham

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, jobebellingham and 2,837,918 others.

yourinstagram: the photos he takes of me vs the one i take of him. i think you all can see the better photographer.

view all 1,108,928 comments

user1: LOVE seeing hot people date each other.

-> user11: i love seeing two hot people be BESTIES.

user2: JUDE IS TAKEN ???!!!! NOOOOOOO

-> user3: babe… you didn’t have a chance at all. like please be serious.

-> user13: thank god they aren’t actually dating tho.

user4: my gf <3

-> judebellingham: who even are you.

-> user4: we can share <3 i can keep her satisfied thru the weekend u have the weekdays king.

jobebellingham: love this yn. he looks so depressed and ugly.

-> judebellingham: U JEALOUS ASF 😹

-> jobebellingham: yn i’ll paypal you £50 rn if you post more ugly pictures. which is all his pictures really.

-> yourinstagram: challenge accepted 🫡

lewishamilton: you look good yn!

-> user5: and what about jude??

-> lewishamilton: what about him?

-> user6: NOT YN’S HUSBAND HAVIN BEEF W/ HER BFF 😭

user7: lip combo?!!??

-> yourinstagram: i’m not a gatekeeper. it’s on my tiktok!! my most recent one <3

user8: you did my king so dirty with that one pic…. LMFAO DO IT AGAIN

-> yourinstagram: 🫡🫡

user10: their friendship is so cute!!

user12: yn is moving up in the world!!! from bts delulu to besties with JUDE BELLINGHAM

-> yourinstagram: blocking you! 😃

-> user12: you can block me but you can’t erase ‘hobisbabymama’

-> yourinstagram: HELLO?2&/9£/

user9: WHERE IS LANDO?!

-> user10: she blocked his main and his ten other side accounts because she’s secretly in love with him and wants to leave loser jude for him.

-> user9: hi lando 😁

user10: no roscoe pic?

-> yourinstagram: sorry babe :(( he’s at home with his dad and i’m on holiday. assistant2 has some highlights of him on her page!! <3

judebellingham: why do i look so depressed

-> yourinstagram: idk <3 want to get ice cream?

-> judebellingham: .. yeah

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title: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, i don’t really post on here, but i’m at my wit’s end and need advice. i (j, m21) have been dating my girlfriend (y, f24) for a couple of months now, and it’s been brilliant. she’s smart, funny, beautiful, and honestly the kindest person i’ve ever met. here’s the catch: her boss (l, m39), who also happens to be an insanely famous athlete and very wealthy, clearly hates me.

y works as his personal assistant, and from what she’s told me, l has always been good to her. she’s known him for years, and he’s helped her out a lot in her career. she always says he’s like family, but ever since she introduced me to him, he’s been awful.

it started small, like him calling me “mate” in that condescending way that makes you feel about two feet tall. but last week, i went to pick y up from work, and he gave me this look—you know the type, the kind that says, “you’re not good enough to breathe the same air as her.” i tried to play it off, but it’s eating at me.

another time, we ran into him at a café, and he made this offhand comment about how “footballers aren’t known for their brains.” y tried to laugh it off, but i felt like an absolute idiot.

then there was the incident with the tickets. y mentioned she’d been offered two box seats for a big match, courtesy of l, and we were both so excited to go. but when she told him i was going with her, he suddenly “remembered” he’d promised them to someone else. i know it sounds paranoid, but it feels deliberate.

to make matters worse, y thinks i’m overreacting. she says l is just protective of her because they work closely together, but i can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. she brushes off his weird behaviour, but come on—this is the same man who asked her to taste-test a box of chocolate truffles because he couldn’t decide which to order for himself. (weird, right?)

it’s not just the comments, though. y told me l doesn’t usually care who his staff date, but she mentioned he’s suddenly started asking loads of questions about me, like whether i’ve been in trouble before or if i’m serious about her. it’s like he’s looking for a reason to disapprove. y thinks he’s being protective, but i swear he just doesn’t like me. here’s the problem: i’m pretty sure he hates me. actually, scratch that—i know he hates me.

i’m spiralling here. what if l starts sabotaging our relationship? y says she’s not going anywhere, but i can’t shake the feeling he’s got some weird power over her. am i just being insecure, or is there something seriously wrong here? what do i do?

top comments:

soggy_pigeon: nah, this is classic alpha behaviour. he’s marking his territory. he probably sees her as more than just an assistant, if you know what i mean. tread carefully.

fluffybananas: footballers aren’t known for their brains. maybe he has a point.

spicy_gravy: dude, he’s probably jealous you’ve got abs and a girl who loves you. chill.

randomuser_123: sounds like you’re dating your boss’s work spouse.

tofu_throwaway: i think l’s just jealous because y spends more time with you now. he’s like a toddler upset that someone’s playing with his favourite toy.

ladybantheboys: ok but what if it’s the opposite? like, what if l approves of you but is being mean on purpose to test if you’re good enough for her?

football4ever: j, mate, you’re overthinking. l’s just a famous bloke who doesn’t want to lose his assistant to some random guy. show him you’re not random. take him out for a pint or something.

memequeen420: this reminds me of when i had a cat and got a new dog. the cat hated the dog at first but now they’re best friends. just give it time.

plshelpme1998: have you tried googling “how to win over your girlfriend’s boss”? there’s bound to be a wikiHow.

bananabreadbae: mate, if he wanted her, he’d have made a move by now. maybe he just doesn’t like footballers. not everyone does, you know.

user2847: honestly, the truffle thing makes me think he’s the weird one. does he do this with everyone or just y? if it’s just her, he’s probably got some weird older-brother complex going on.

ultimategoblin69: maybe he wants to adopt you. famous people do weird shit like that.

yogurtbutter: ok but what if you’re the problem? maybe you’re just a bit annoying and he senses it. famous people have great instincts.

iamnotanon: have you considered sabotaging him back? like, nothing serious, but maybe show up in a better suit than him one day. alpha vibes only.

opinionatedowl: this is a power thing. l’s rich and famous, and he’s used to being in charge. stand your ground, but don’t disrespect him. he’s probably testing you.

thecheeseman: it sounds like a bad rom-com where l secretly approves of you but can’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated. if i were you, i’d play the long game.

spicywaterlover: wait… what if l is secretly in love with y and you’re the obstacle? plot twist.

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edit: wow, ok. this has been a ride. thanks for all the comments, even the wild ones. i think i’ll try the “pint” suggestion, but i draw the line at sabotage. will update if anything changes (or if i get adopted).

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liked by messyassuser, lando11priv and 1,938,882 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: football star jude bellingham seen cuddling and being affectionate with his new girl! she has been identified as yn yln, she is the personal assistant of f1 icon lewis hamilton. they were spotted outside a restaurant in las vegas after the grand prix all boo’d up! according to sources, they were all loved up at the after party. they ‘didn’t leave each other’s space’. what do we think about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: who tf even is she

-> user2: a baddie. she’s seriously so funny and sweet. you guys should see her tiktok or insta pages. jude is punching above his weight.

user3: oh!

user4: HOTTIES!!!

user5: why they doing the most in public???

-> user6: they’re in love? girl lmao.

-> user7: she’s his beard or he’s hers. idk yet. i need to consult the stars.

-> user8: ^ me when i’m off my meds.

user9: am i the only one who thinks they’re cute? good for them!!

user10: um i think she’d be happier with lando.

-> user11: lando please how are you still making new accounts.

-> user10: i’m totally not the handsome and gorgeous lando. i’m actually… pando. hi.

user12: my gf and my bf are dating??? i’m gonna be sick.

-> user13: they got two hands.

user14: they’re rlly dating???

-> user15: no bitch. they’re just coworkers 🙄

-> user14: oh! thank you :D

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UPDATE: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, it’s j again. thanks for the advice on my last post—it was a mix of helpful, hilarious, and… well, a bit unsettling. but it gave me the push i needed to talk to l. here’s what happened:

i decided to man up and ask him out for a pint to clear the air. i figured it was the most normal thing to do. well, turns out l’s teetotal (thanks, y, for not warning me properly). when i suggested a pint, he just looked at me for a second and went, “i don’t drink, mate,” in that calm, terrifying way he has. i panicked, said something about tea, and left feeling like an absolute idiot.

but two days later, he called y at work and told her to invite me round to his place for tea. TEA. this man lives in a house that looks like it’s straight out of a Bond film, so you can imagine how intimidating it was to rock up with a packet of biscuits like some budget offering.

long story short, we had tea, and he cleared the air. he admitted he’d been giving me a hard time because he wanted to make sure i was serious about y. he said she’s like family to him (didn’t say “work spouse,” thank god), and he needed to know i’d treat her right. honestly, it was a bit awkward, but also kind of sweet.

so yeah, we’re good now. he even said he’d save me a seat for the next big race. i don’t know if that was a peace offering or a power move, but i’ll take it.

thanks for the push, reddit. you lot are mad, but in a good way. most of the time.

comments:

ladybantheboys: told you he was testing you! this is literally every rom-com ever. next step: you accidentally bond over an inside joke, and he becomes your biggest fan.

bananabreadbae: this is so british it hurts. “sorry i was mean, let’s have tea.” mate, at least you passed the test!

football4ever: called it! blokes like him just want to make sure you’re solid. now you’re in his good books, you’re set for life. congrats, mate.

memequeen420: so… what kind of biscuits did you bring? was it something boring like digestives, or did you go all out with hobnobs? we NEED to know.

randomuser_123: this is like when my dog hated my boyfriend at first but then they bonded over cheese. sometimes it just takes time.

tofu_throwaway: glad it worked out, but honestly, i’m still a bit scared of l. even through your post, he sounds like he could crush a man with a single stare.

iamnotanon: congrats on passing the test. now don’t mess it up, or i guarantee he’ll make you disappear. rich people have connections.

ultimategoblin69: you went to his house?! are you sure it wasn’t a trap? like, did he subtly scan your fingerprints for future blackmail material?

plshelpme1998: like, this whole thing is giving weirdly protective father vibes. good luck, mate.

user2847: what does his house smell like? no, seriously. i feel like rich people’s houses have that “old money” smell, like leather and expensive wood polish. was it intimidating?

(deleted): send feet pics.

opinionatedowl: so… when’s the wedding? i’m assuming l will walk her down the aisle now that you’ve been knighted into his inner circle.

thecheeseman: this is the most British solution ever. “i made you feel terrible, but here, have some earl grey, and now we’re mates.” glad it worked out though!

memequeen420 (again): STILL no answer on the biscuits. j, you’re avoiding the REAL questions here. were they branded or store-brand? did he eat one? this is important.

weirdcookieperson: did he sniff you when you walked in? like, does he have a heightened sense of smell? rich people are weird, man.

alphamale_uk: mate, you handled this all wrong. never apologise, never offer tea, and NEVER back down to another alpha. you should’ve walked in, sat in his chair, and asserted dominance. that’s how you gain respect. next time, bring steak, not biscuits. real men bond over meat, not tea.

j (op): l’s vegan, mate. bringing a steak would’ve been like waving a red flag at a bull. also, this isn’t Planet of the Apes, it’s just tea. chill.

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j (op): wow, i forgot how weird reddit is. for the record: branded hobnobs. because i’m not a monster. no sniffing, no fingertip scanning and i’ll get someone to update you if i go missing. cheers for the laughs.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @23victoria @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[rootedinrevisions]

Let's Find Out Together

SUMMARY: After a painful breakup, you turn to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, your longtime friend, for support. But as he steps in to help you heal, he reveals that he’s been harboring feelings for you all along. What starts as a comforting distraction quickly turns into an intense, unexpected connection that blurs the line between friendship and something more. Now, as the sparks fly, you're left questioning everything you thought you knew about love, friendship, and passion.

A/N: Thank you to the Anon who sent this request in! this was a fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT: "What do you like?" "I don't know." "Well, then how about we find out together?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. (Biting, Marking, Oral Female Receiving)

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The Hard Deck was alive with its usual buzz—boots scuffed against the wooden floors, laughter echoed from the pool table, and the jukebox played a classic rock song that you barely registered. You sat at the bar, staring down into the bottom of your glass like it might hold the answers to every question rattling around in your head.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind you.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw slid onto the stool beside you, his presence like a balm for your frayed nerves. His aviators hung from the neckline of his shirt, and his easy smile faded the moment he got a good look at your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone softer now, concerned.

You tried to muster a reassuring smile but knew it fell flat. “Nothing. Just… a long day.”

He wasn’t buying it. Bradley had known you long enough to spot when something was bothering you. His brow furrowed as he leaned in closer, his voice low. “Come on. It’s me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. Then, with a quiet sigh, you admitted, “I broke up with Derek.”

Bradley’s expression flickered—something unreadable passed over his face, a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. He took a moment, then asked, “What happened?”

You swallowed, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I caught him cheating on me.”

Bradley’s hand clenched around his beer bottle, his jaw tightening. “That asshole,” he muttered under his breath, then louder, “He can go screw himself.”

You snorted at his bluntness, a small laugh escaping despite yourself. Bradley’s intensity softened as he looked back at you.

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You deserve better than that. Better than him.”

“Yeah, right,” you replied with a hollow laugh. “Good guys aren’t as common as they used to be.”

Bradley shrugged casually, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “I think I’m a pretty good guy.”

You blinked, caught off guard, then smiled at him. “Yeah, you are. One of the best, actually.”

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the bar. “Then let me take you on a date.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. “Bradley…”

His brown eyes held yours, steady and earnest. “I mean it. Let me take you out.”

“You don’t mean it,” you said, shaking your head, though your pulse quickened at the thought.

“I do,” he countered, his voice unwavering. “I’ve liked you for a while. But you were with Derek, and I wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Now that you’re not…” He trailed off, his gaze softening. “I just want to show you how you should’ve been treated all along.”

Your heart twisted at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t process how Bradley—your steady, dependable Bradley—was suddenly baring his feelings to you like this.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted quietly.

“Say yes,” he said simply.

Your lips curved into a small, hesitant smile. 

“Okay,” you said, the word slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

His face lit up, and he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against yours where they rested on the bar. The touch was tentative, warm, and for the first time that night, you felt the weight on your chest ease just a little.

“Let me take you home,” he said. “You’ve had enough of this place for one night.”

You nodded, letting him help you off the stool. As he led you toward the door, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of something you’d been too blind to see before.

The drive back to your place was quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine filling the space as you leaned back in your seat, watching the lights of the town blur past. Bradley’s hand rested casually on the gearshift, his fingers drumming lightly against it in time with the song playing low on the radio.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, “is this you taking me home and tucking me in? Or is this you taking me home?”

Beside you, Bradley’s lips twitched into a grin, though he kept his eyes on the road. “Depends,” he said smoothly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “What do you want it to be?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked.” His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something that made your stomach flip.

“Just so you know,” you said, folding your arms across your chest in mock indignation, “you’re terrible at tucking people in. I seem to remember you leaving me to sleep on a couch last New Year’s while you stole my blanket.”

Bradley laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “First of all, that blanket was fair game. Second, you’re the one who insisted on watching that terrible rom-com marathon. I was being a good friend by suffering through it.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Suffering? You cried during The Notebook.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine. Maybe I got something in my eye. A guy can be moved by powerful cinema without crying, you know.”

“Sure, Brad,” you said, unable to keep the smile off your face.

The banter continued, easy and familiar, until he pulled up outside your place. He shifted the car into park but didn’t immediately move to unbuckle his seatbelt. Instead, he turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes searched yours.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his voice low, “it’s up to you. I meant what I said back there. I’m not in a rush. I just want to be here for you.”

Your smile faded into something gentler as the weight of his words settled over you. “I know, Bradley. And… I appreciate it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air in the car thick with something unspoken. Then you reached for the door handle, breaking the spell.

“You coming in, or are you going to sleep in the car?” you asked, your tone teasing but your heart pounding.

Bradley grinned, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You know I’m not letting you go in there without company.”

You reached your front door, fishing your keys out of your bag, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Bradley trailed behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. As you tried to slot the key into the lock, your hands trembled—whether from the chill or the way your heart was racing, you weren’t sure.

Before you could get the door open, you felt him. Bradley’s hands slid gently around your waist, his touch tentative at first, as though giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back.

“Bradley…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

His only response was to lean down, his lips brushing softly against the curve of your neck. The first kiss was light, testing, a feather-soft touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second lingered longer, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice low and husky against your neck.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. “Yeah,” you hummed, the word barely audible.

You swore you felt him smile against your skin before he continued, his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. His lips trailed down the side of your neck, tracing a path toward your shoulder. His hands splayed across your stomach, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

Every kiss sent a wave of warmth through you, the world outside your little bubble fading away.

“Bradley…” His name slipped from your lips, half a sigh, half a plea, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking for.

He hummed in response, his lips still trailing over your skin. His touch wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was deliberate, reverent, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he cared to admit.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his gaze, but he paused, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he spoke. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you turned fully in his arms, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. His brown eyes searched yours, and whatever he saw there must have been enough, because his lips were on yours a moment later, warm and sure, pulling you even closer.

Bradley’s lips never left yours as his hands moved down your back, his fingers grazing over the curve of your hips before gripping your thighs. With an effortless motion, he lifted you, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support.

Your breath hitched as he adjusted his hold, steady and sure, like he’d done this a hundred times in his mind. The strength in his arms sent a shiver through you, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered how he managed to make it all look so seamless.

Still cradling you securely, Bradley leaned back just enough to reach behind you, pushing your door open with one hand. The kiss never faltered, his lips still moving against yours in a way that made your head spin. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, his boots echoing softly against the hardwood.

With a swift motion, he kicked the door shut behind him, the solid thunk of it closing grounding you in the moment. Then he turned, pressing your back gently against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as his lips traveled down, brushing over your jawline and back to your mouth. The intensity of his kiss deepened as his tongue slipped past your lips, teasing, exploring, drawing a soft moan from your throat that you couldn’t hold back.

Bradley’s hands slid down your sides, his touch leaving trails of heat in its wake. When they settled on your waist, his thumbs stroked slow, deliberate circles against your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. The way he held you—firm but gentle, steady but utterly consuming—made your pulse race.

Every movement, every touch, felt purposeful, like he was trying to show you with his hands and mouth everything he hadn’t yet said out loud.

“Bradley,” you murmured against his lips, your voice breathless and shaky.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he paused just long enough to look at you, his brown eyes dark and full of something that made your stomach flutter.

You couldn’t form the words, but he didn’t seem to need them. Instead, he dipped his head again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss that left no room for doubt about how he felt—or how much he wanted you.

Bradley pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his lips hovering near yours as his warm breath brushed your skin. His hands still rested on your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your sides as his eyes searched yours with a mixture of mischief and heat.

“So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “do you still want me to just tuck you in?”

The question made your pulse quicken, but instead of faltering, a surge of boldness rose within you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging his head back gently but firmly, exposing the strong line of his throat. His lips parted slightly, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound sending a shiver through you.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw as you whispered, “I want you, Bradley.”

His reaction was immediate. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer against him as his eyes darkened with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he muttered, his voice rough and full of unspoken desire.

Without another word, he shifted you in his arms with ease, his hold on you unwavering as he stepped back from the wall. Your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he turned and started down the hallway.

The journey to your bedroom felt electric, every step punctuated by the tension between you. Bradley’s grip on you was sure and steady, his strength making you feel both weightless and completely grounded.

As he reached the door to your room, he paused, glancing at you with a small, almost cocky smirk. “Last chance to back out,” he teased, though his voice held a note of seriousness beneath the playfulness.

Your response was simple: you leaned forward and kissed him, pouring every ounce of your pent-up feelings into it. That was all the answer he needed.

With a quiet chuckle, he carried you over the threshold, his lips finding yours again as he stepped inside and nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

Bradley walked you over to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second. Gently, he lowered you onto the soft mattress, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he leaned over you. The room felt still, save for the quiet rustle of sheets beneath you and the sound of your own uneven breathing.

He braced himself on one arm, his other hand brushing a strand of hair from your face as his lips met yours again. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. Then his mouth began to travel, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and back down to your neck.

Between kisses, his voice came out low and teasing. “What do you like?”

The question caught you off guard, and you froze for a moment, your mind blanking under the weight of it. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bradley stilled, his lips hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You’ve... you’ve done this before, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with an awkward uncertainty.

A laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the tension. “Yes, I’ve slept with people before,” you said, your tone light and reassuring. “It’s just... all the guys I’ve been with only ever did missionary.”

His expression shifted instantly. First, his eyes widened in disbelief, and for a split second, you thought he might be about to argue. But then his lips curled into a slow, confident smirk, the kind that made your pulse race.

“Missionary,” he repeated, the word almost incredulous. “That’s it?”

You shrugged, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Bradley leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low, teasing murmur. “Well, then... how about we find out together?”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, and his hands began to explore, sliding over your sides and down to your thighs.

Bradley’s fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with anticipation.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

With deliberate care, he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, his hands brushing against your skin as he did. The warmth of his touch lingered, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze didn’t waver as it roamed over you, and the look in his eyes made you feel more seen—and more desired—than you ever had before.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice reverent but with an edge of heat that made your cheeks flush. His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans next, his thumbs hooking into the fabric as he paused to look at you again. “Still okay?”

You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat.

He made quick work of the button and zipper, easing the denim down your legs and leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear. He straightened, his gaze sweeping over you as you lay back against the pillows.

“God,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re so beautiful. No... you’re sexy.”

The compliment hit you like a spark, and for a moment, you wondered why you had never let yourself see Bradley like this before. He wasn’t just your dependable, loyal friend. He was this—sweet, confident, and undeniably attractive.

He knelt back down, his hands gently trailing up your thighs as he leaned in. “You tell me if there’s anything you don’t like,” he reminded you, his voice soft but firm.

“I will,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

His lips found your neck again, pressing gentle, lingering kisses against your skin. Then you felt his teeth graze your neck—a new sensation, one that sent a jolt through you. Before you could process it, he bit down gently, and you gasped, the sound escaping you unbidden.

You felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “You like that?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Do you want me to do it again? Do you want me to mark you?”

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching. “Yes. I want to be yours.”

The words barely left your lips before he leaned in again, his teeth sinking into your neck just enough to sting, followed by the soothing press of his mouth as he sucked on the tender skin. The sensation was unlike anything you’d felt before—electric, heady, and intimate. When he pulled away, you could feel the heat of his gaze as he admired the dark mark he’d left.

Bradley smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face as he leaned in to kiss you. “Can’t wait to see what you look like with those all over,” he whispered, his tone filled with a promise that made your pulse race.

You couldn’t help but smirk back at him, a boldness blooming in your chest. “Where else do you want to put one?”

His eyes darkened with a mix of mischief and intent, and his smirk widened. Without another word, he lowered his head, his lips trailing along your collarbones before dipping lower, stopping just above your breasts.

He paused for a moment, looking up at you as if to ask for permission. You gave him a small nod, and he bit down again, his mouth working to leave another mark, this time on the skin between your breasts.

The sensation sent another wave of heat coursing through you, and when he pulled back, his expression was pure satisfaction as he admired his work. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Bradley's hands slid up your sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of your bra. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, silently asking for permission. When you gave him a slight nod, he reached behind you with practiced ease, unhooking the clasp and gently sliding the straps down your shoulders.

The garment fell away, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his gaze filled with reverence and hunger that made your skin flush.

One of his hands moved to cup your breast, his palm warm against your skin as his fingers squeezed gently, exploring. The sensation was new, different, and surprisingly intoxicating. You couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped your lips as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your skin before his lips wrapped around one of your nipples.

The feeling sent a jolt of electricity through you. No one had ever paid much attention to your chest before; past partners had always been more focused elsewhere, making offhand comments about your body that left you feeling unbalanced. But this—Bradley’s touch, his mouth—was deliberate and consuming as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Then you felt his teeth, a brief, unexpected pressure that made you gasp, your back arching as you unconsciously pushed your chest further into his mouth.

Bradley hummed against you, his lips curving into a smirk as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin to soothe it. 

“You like that,” he murmured, not as a question but a quiet declaration.

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your voice too tangled in the haze of sensation to respond properly.

He didn’t wait for words. He pulled away, his lips leaving a trail of warmth as he shifted to your other breast. His hand replaced his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers while his lips found their target. This time, he didn’t hesitate, biting down gently but firmly, drawing another involuntary gasp from you.

The sound made something flicker in his eyes—satisfaction, excitement, and a hint of possessiveness. His tongue swept over the spot he’d bitten, his mouth working with a combination of suction and teasing flicks that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Bradley pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he looked up at you. “I love hearing those sounds you make,” he said softly, his voice a rough whisper that sent a shiver through you. His hands slid down to rest on your waist again, grounding you as his lips brushed a gentle kiss against the curve of your breast. “I’ve got so much more I want to show you.”

Bradley’s eyes never left yours as he slowly made his way down your body, his lips brushing over your skin with a slow, deliberate pace. His hands were gentle but firm, guiding you closer to the edge of something new and thrilling. When he finally positioned himself between your legs, his gaze flickered up to meet yours once more.

He smiled, a look of both excitement and admiration in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear the sounds you make when I do thi,” he said, his voice low and husky. The weight of his words settled heavily between you, making your heart race.

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly as he traced his fingers along your thighs, his touch light and teasing. His lips followed, pressing a soft kiss to one thigh before moving to the other, a trail of warmth in his wake. Then, with a careful touch, he slid your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you feeling exposed, but strangely safe in his hands.

He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, before lowering himself further. The air between you two was thick with anticipation. His hands gently caressed your hips, grounding you as his lips finally reached your center.

The moment his mouth made contact, your body jolted with the sensation, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as you arched into him, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Bradley was slow, methodical, taking his time to explore and bring you closer to the edge. Every touch, every movement was carefully tuned to your reactions. He wasn’t just trying to make you feel good—he wanted to know what made you tick, to learn the rhythm of your body in a way no one else had before.

Bradley’s focus never wavered as he continued his work, taking his time to explore, making sure every movement was deliberate and sure. Each kiss, each touch, each gentle caress sent shivers through your body, and you couldn’t stop the quiet gasps that escaped your lips as you reacted to him.

He shifted slightly, and his movements grew more confident. His lips found that sweet spot, the one that made your breath catch, and when he applied a little more pressure, a moan slipped from you—louder than you’d intended, and unmistakably full of need.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but then Bradley’s voice, low and full of approval, reached your ears.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips curling into a satisfied smile against your skin. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He repeated the motion, coaxing another breathy moan from you. The sound was so raw, so genuine, it made him groan in return.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your body arching further into him as the sensations built. “Bradley…” you moaned, almost too loudly, your eyes squeezing shut as a wave of heat coursed through you.

He growled in approval, the sound so deep that it sent a rush of excitement through your veins. “You sound so good, baby. Keep letting me know how you’re feeling.”

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through it, gripping him closer. The intensity in his gaze grew, and the way he praised you made you feel both empowered and desired in a way you’d never experienced before. You felt your body reacting to him, to his touch, to the way he made you feel so seen, so good.

Every movement he made, every sound you gave him, only fueled the connection between you two. This wasn’t just physical—it was raw, emotional, a dance of vulnerability and trust. And Bradley loved hearing you like this, loved knowing he was the one who could make you feel this way.

Every touch, every flick of his tongue, every deliberate movement made your entire body hum with need. You felt yourself coming undone, the sensations overwhelming as your breath hitched and your body responded to him.

Then, with one final, deliberate motion, Bradley pushed you over the edge. Your back arched as the release washed over you, your body trembling in waves of pleasure. A gasp escaped your lips, followed by a low moan, as the intensity of the moment left you breathless, unable to form words. It was the first time a guy had made you finish just with his mouth and hands, and it left you gasping, completely undone.

Bradley’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as he crawled back up the bed, his hands gently brushing the hair away from your face. His eyes were soft with affection, his gaze intense as he looked down at you, making sure you were okay. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice hushed, a mix of concern and pride.

You nodded, still panting slightly, the aftermath of the orgasm leaving you weak but content. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice unsteady. “I’m… I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Bradley chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, a tender contrast to the intensity of the moments before. “I’m glad I could give that to you,” he said, his voice warm and full of sincerity.

You smiled up at him, feeling a mix of vulnerability and comfort, knowing that this moment was something you’d never forget. His presence, the way he made you feel, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

Bradley settled beside you, keeping you close, his hand resting on your waist as he held you. Bradley’s hand gently traced patterns on your skin as he settled next to you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. 

“So, what do you want to try next?” he asked, his voice low, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You blinked up at him, feeling a newfound boldness. Without missing a beat, you shot him a playful smirk. “I want to ride you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Bradley’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching at the unexpectedness of your response. A grin spread across his face, his hands moving quickly as he pulled you on top of him, your bodies aligning with a hunger that was only growing. 

“Damn, baby,” he groaned, the thought of you in control sending heat shooting through his veins. 

You both shared a laugh, the playful tension still crackling in the air, before the moment turned more serious again. But this time, there was no question—the night was only just beginning.

[aventurineswife]

idk if this one is a little too dark or anything

but as a req i liked the idea of a dissociating!reader x aven, who always tries to be there for when it happens. 🤍

i hope in some capacity this made sense 😓 (and i might be calling myself out a bit here oop-)

on an end note-i hope ur doing well and remembering to take care of urselfff!! 💕

I'm With You

Summary: When you experience dissociation, Aventurine stays by your side, offering quiet comfort and patience. Through his gentle presence and soft words, he grounds you, bringing you back to reality and reminding you that you’re never alone in the struggle.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Fluff, Established Relationship, Gentle Aventurine, Emotional Support, Reassurance, Intimacy.

Warnings: Themes of dissociation, implied mental health struggles.

A/N: It's completely fine, anon! It's not dark at all! And don't worry about it, I enjoy a bit of challenges (not really lmaoo). Remember to take care of yourself too!!

The cool, dim evening has settled, casting long shadows over the room as Aventurine sits beside you, his arm resting gently on your shoulder. You’re barely aware of the world around you—an unexplainable heaviness has clouded your thoughts, and the sense of reality feels like it’s slipping away, leaving only a distant, hollow feeling. You’ve been here before, in this numb, detached place. And though you can barely hear or feel it, Aventurine’s presence grounds you, his hand warm and reassuring, like an anchor in a storm.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and calm, like a thread trying to pull you back. You don’t immediately respond, but his words have a way of finding their way through the fog. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be here, alright?”

Aventurine’s presence is steady, warm, filled with patience. He sits beside you without demanding your attention, offering quiet comfort, his fingers lightly stroking your shoulder. Slowly, he reaches over and takes your hand, wrapping it in his. He knows how the dissociation pulls you away from the present, away from him, and yet he never resents it. Instead, he finds ways to help, little reminders that you’re here, that he’s here, that you’re not alone in this strange, untouchable place.

“You know,” he starts, a small smile gracing his lips, “I saw this mooncake the other day that had a little cat face on it. It looked so…well, I thought it was too cute to eat. I even took a selfie with it.” He chuckles softly, and the gentle sound of his laugh breaks through your haze, if only a little. “Imagine that, me, a mooncake, and a cat face. Pretty ridiculous, right?”

You blink, and the faintest hint of a smile plays on your lips. Aventurine notices, and he gives your hand a small, comforting squeeze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his eyes full of warmth and relief. “You don’t have to come all the way back to me yet. I’ll meet you wherever you are.”

It’s strange, having someone who understands like this, who doesn’t push, who knows how to reach into the quiet, lonely parts of you and make you feel seen, even when you’re fading from yourself. Aventurine is still holding your hand, tracing circles over your knuckles. His touch, his presence—it’s grounding, a small reminder that you’re tethered to something, to someone who cares for you deeply.

After a moment, he speaks again, his voice still low and soothing. “You’re so much stronger than you realize, you know that? But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You have me.” His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, softening the edges of your dissociation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bit by bit, the room starts to feel more tangible. You’re aware of his arm around your shoulder, the light pressure of his hand in yours, his steady breathing. You turn slightly to look at him, his familiar, comforting smile waiting for you.

“Thank you.” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but Aventurine hears it. His smile widens, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Always,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “For as long as you need, I’ll be right here.”

You settle back into his embrace, feeling the weight of his arm, the warmth of his presence filling the spaces that felt empty only moments ago. And for the first time in a while, you feel safe, at peace in the comfort of his love, knowing he’ll be there, no matter how far you feel from yourself.

[spatialwave]

Kiss prompts with two dialogue prompts!! For Reader x Jayce, please! 🩷 Thank youuu!

"i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me"

"shut up" (affectionately)

ask and ye shall receive!!! tysm for sending!!!

pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader word count: 1.1k tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, alcohol use, jayce gets flustered, notes: ok this was so fun omgggg hehehe. my asks are open for more with any char (i'll do my best to stretch my range, but of course i love jayce, hehe). i only have a few more to write which i will be doing tonight & tomorrow!!

“You’re a lightweight,” A smiled pulled across Jayce’s lips, his tanned cheeks were coated by a rosy colour as his hand wrapped around the half-full glass of beer. Honey eyes flickered over your face, noting the way your lips parted as you laughed, the smile reaching your eyes as you waved a hand in front of your face.

“Hardly,” you breathed out as your laugh settled, wobbly on the stool you sat on, “I can handle my liquor just as well as you can.”

“Wow,” he commented with a lift of his brows, “that is a very incorrect statement,” he guzzled the remainder of the dark beer that filled his stomach with heat and left his mind the perfect amount of fuzzy. Enough to make him relax and forget all about the stress of the research that weighed down his shoulders.

As if it were a competition, you finished the rest of yours, the taste bitter on your tongue as you forced it down and ignored the teasing remarks he threw your way.

“Enough,” he laughed, pulling the glass from your lips as some of the liquid dribbled down your chin, “I’m not carrying you home.”

The sound of his laughter caused your heart to ache, a devastating feeling you’d been trying to avoid for weeks. It was disrupting your day-to-day, stupid Jayce Talis and his stupidly beautiful smile and even stupider laugh gave you goosebumps.

“I’m fine!” You swatted at him, your hand smacking his chest playfully as you nearly toppled forward against him.

Jayce was quick to grab you steady at your shoulders, supporting you back to your seat as he dropped his head low enough to get to your level, “Fine? Okay, get up and stand without making a fool of yourself.” 

“What?” You scoffed, furrowing your brows together.

“You heard me, get up and prove you’re fine,” he smirked, letting go of you and resting an elbow on the bar top as his eyes analyzed your movements. His cheek pressed against his knuckles, relaxed, as he waited for you to topple so he could come to your rescue like the knight in shining armour he wanted so desperately to be for you.

You tilted your chin up, huffing as you slid off the stool with calculated ease. Your hand stayed against the stool for support, and it was immediate how the alcohol affected you. The world wasn’t spinning, but you were certainly unable to stand still.

“This is bullshit” you argued when you removed your hand from the stool and stumbled forward, catching yourself before Jayce had the chance to step in. You flashed your eyes at Jayce, “Bet you can’t either.”

He rose to his feet, several inches taller than you, as he crossed his arms over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow, staring down at you, and you rolled your eyes once again.

“You’re so annoying,” you murmured, shifting forward so you could lean against him. You were silent as you felt him drape your coat over your shoulders, knowing what was coming next, “take me home.”

This had become a common occurrence, two young scholars at the academy looking for ways to blow off steam on the weekends. Alcohol was your poison of choice for the past few weekends, indulging in any and all forms of liquor to forget about the upcoming academic week that would certainly leave you exhausted.

“You know,” you murmured, “this is the third weekend in a row we’ve found ourselves in this situation,” you said, arms wrapped around one of Jayce’s so you could steady yourself as you ventured through the quiet late-night streets of Piltover, “are we alcoholics?”

Jayce snorted, “You are.”

“Shut up,” you giggled affectionately, arms gripping tighter around his, and he was forced to clear his throat as he kept his eyes away, redness burning at his cheeks from your closeness, “I like it. I mean, uh, it’s been fun,” your voice was soft as to not echo too loudly off the surrounding buildings, the only other sounds being two pairs of shoes clacking against the pavement, “I don’t know… Sorry, I’m rambling. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

His eyes flickered to you, slowly blinking as he watched the way your eyes focused ahead and unaware of the way he admired you. To him, you were everything. An unrequited love.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” You mumbled, looking up to catch his gaze before he was able to look away.

“I recall you being the one who told me to shut up,” he answered, lips pulled into a smile.

“You’re awfully annoying, has anyone told you that?” You rolled your eyes, tearing your gaze away as you approached the building of your apartment. 

Jayce watched as you pulled away from him, taking the first step up the brick staircase and turning around to face him. You were eye-to-eye now, rather close in proximity, but you hadn’t cared so much. You had enough liquid courage settled in your stomach to clear your mind and lose most of your inhibitions.

“Well,” he sighed after a few moments of awkward silence, eyes flickering away for a moment, “goodnight.”

You hadn’t returned farewell, your feet planted firmly where you stood. With a curiously raised eyebrow, you noted the way his eyes had flickered to your lips a few times, jaw clenching. He was horrible at being sly.

You smiled.

“You’re forgetting something,” you chimed, head tilting playfully as you bit onto your bottom lip.

“No, I’m not,” he returned the raised eyebrow, oblivious to your flirty tone.

“I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me,” you said, a sickly sweet smile playing along your lips. You watched in delight as Jayce became frazzled, cheeks burning a deep red as his lips parted, struggling to say anything. 

“Uh, well–” he stuttered, swallowing a lump down his throat. A much different demeanour than the cocky attitude he had back at the bar.

“I’m kidding,” you laughed, patting his chest a few times, “goodnight, dork,” you hummed fondly, turning to take an unbalanced step toward your apartment.

You hardly moved away when you felt your body being tugged back, turning around just in time to feel Jayce’s lips press against yours. Your eyes widened, shocked that he’d actually done it, your stomach exploding into a mix of butterflies and fireworks.

He pulled away, but you chased, closing the distance once more as your hands lifted to the back of his head, brushing through the short strands of his hair. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your body close as your lips moved together in an electric kiss.

One that had been avoided for so long, desperate and sweet. Needy.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered through an anxious chuckle when you both pulled back for air, foreheads pressed together and noses bumping. Your breath mingled, the smell of alcohol tickling your nose. You stayed there for a few beats, quietly holding each other and watching the way his eyes dilated as he stared into yours.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, out of breath.

“Shut up,” he whispered, crashing his lips to yours.

[winwintea]

my apology letter

PAIRING ↬ boyfriend!zhong chenle x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ heavy angst. some fluff. no happy ending this is a breakup fic you have been warned

SUMMARY ↬ Chenle always thought that love truly wins all. Your relationship with him was filled with joy and connection. But lately, cracks have begun form. Between small misunderstandings, unspoken frustrations, and the growing sense that he’s not enough for you, Chenle begins to doubt his theory. Is love enough to bridge the gaps between you or is letting go the ultimate act of love?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.0k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ i'm sorry in advance !!!! not really. suffer. happy birthday chenle. i hate (love) you so. very. very. much. title and fic based on my apology letter by kim yeon woo!

PLAYLIST ↬ my apology letter - kim yeon woo, who - lauv (feat. bts), lie with you - ten, line without a hook - ricky montgomery, the scientist - coldplay

CHENLE SITS DOWN, AND BEGINS WRITING HIS LETTER.

He’s lost track of how many times he’s sat in this exact seat. It used to be different. So different. At first it was nice. You were beautiful in every way possible. Kind, patient, and thoughtful. You always made him feel like the most important person in the world, even while surrounded by others. This table was a place of warmth, laughter, and love. Now the mood was only as tense as ever. 

He takes a deep breath, letting his thoughts consume him as he begins to write. 

I miss your laugh. I miss making you laugh. I miss that joyous echo of good times I could feel around the apartment, and I swear to god it was my favorite sound ever. I miss that. I miss us. 

He remembers how the mornings would go. You’d both sit at the table, sharing a simple warm breakfast that you or him had prepared. All that really seemed to matter was the two of you in that moment of time.  

He looked at you, the sunlight reflecting off of your face. You were always smiling at your phone, lips quirking as your fingers began typing. You placed your phone against your chest after hitting send, waiting for him to react. 

As Chenle was absentmindedly scrolling through the news, he noticed a notification pop up on his screen.

My Love: “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

Quiet, huh? You always enjoyed texting him to get his attention. Thought it was funny. He looked up to see you smiling at him with a concerned expression. Not wanting you to worry too much Chenle smiled and shook his head, but did not say anything else.

The two of you continued eating in silence. 

Chenle sets down the pen, this burden in his chest growing heavier. Where did it all go wrong with you two?

The two of you used to be inseparable. Days consisted of stolen glances, shared jokes, silly photos and videos, small moments that brought this intimacy together. Now, you barely interact with each other, barely talk to each other. His mind drifts to details of last night. 

You sat on the floor, folding the laundry in front of the TV. Your movements were slow and graceful, thoughtfully folding every article of clothing. Chenle sat on the couch behind you, staring mindlessly at the TV, playing some show he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t look at you, you didn’t look at him.

The silence was tense and deafening, yet neither of you made moves to break it.

Chenle picks up the pen again with a stronger grip.

I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how to fix it. Actually, that’s a lie. I do. But maybe I’m not cut out for that. I know I’m losing you, and it feels like I’m losing myself too.

Chenle’s mind drifts to a day where everything seemed perfect, but always something tugging at the back of his mind.

The amusement park date. Your laughter was vibrant and warm, eyes sparked with determination as you tossed beanbags, threw balls at cans, aimed darts, always determined to best him. The two of you definitely had a competitive streak, but Chenle always made the sacrifice for you. You ended up winning a small stuffed dolphin, holding it high above your head like a trophy.

Chenle mock pouted, and laughed, “Guess I’ll stick to basketball.” He pulled you into his arms, the dolphin nearly squished between you as he pecked your cheek, while the two of you broke out into fits of giggles. 

But even in the moment of happiness and joy, there was still something eating at him from inside. 

Chenle grips his pen tighter as he recalls those fleeting moments of joy, moments that now feel bittersweet. He lets the ink flow on the paper again, writing some more.

I think about how happy we’ve been, and yet there’s always this weight, this worry I can’t stop thinking about. Even in our brightest moments, something felt... off. It’s not because of you, but because of me. It's slowly destroying me.

Later that evening, the two of you had dinner at your favorite restaurant. Chenle thinks about the way your face lit up when the waiter placed your meal in front of you. He could never get over these small things that you did that make his heart feel giddy as well. 

You slipped out your phone and took a photo of the meal, sending it to him with a caption to the photo.

My Love: [Photo Attached]

My Love: "We should make this at home sometime! You’re practically a chef. 😊"

Chenle chuckled, replying out loud, “Only if you clean it up afterwards.”

You smirked and rolled your eyes, ignoring him as you dove into your meal. For a while, everything felt easy, like it used to.

But then you got home.

It started with something small. Just a simple misunderstanding about weekend plans. Chenle couldn’t even remember the exact details now, only how frustrated he felt when his words seemed to fall short. He’d tried to explain, stumbling over his thoughts, but the look on your face never changed. You remained calm, patient, nodding along as if you understood every word.

You always did that—nodded and smiled. But had you really understood him?

Chenle sets the pen down again, and stares at the words he just wrote on the page.

"You always tried to meet me where I was, even when I couldn’t meet you halfway. I see that now. And I hate that I didn’t see it sooner."

He swallows hard, glancing toward the bedroom door. The stuffed dolphin you won that day lay peacefully tucked away in the closet. It reminds you of the time when things were simpler, or maybe just felt that way.

He stares at the words, hoping they’ll somehow fix what’s broken. But words alone aren’t enough.

They never have been.

Chenle’s been so lost in his memories and thoughts that he hasn’t noticed how much time has passed. He lifts his head and sees you standing in the kitchen. You’ve been here the whole time.

Preparing a lunch for the two of you, you move quietly, chopping the vegetables and stirring a pot on the stove. He barely hears your movements, soft and careful. He wonders if you feel the tension between you two as acutely as he does.

And for that moment, he just watches you. Your posture is relaxed, your head tilted slightly as if you’re caught in your own world. You seem so at peace, and it breaks him.

Chenle wants to reach out to you. To stop this moment from becoming what he knows it has to be. He wants to take your hand, to hold on to you just a little longer. But he knows that’s selfish. This cannot wait.

He swallows hard, his throat tightening as he tears his gaze away from you. His hands clenched into fists on the table, fingers trembling slightly. This is it. 

Taking a deep breath, Chenle forces himself to speak. His voice is low, almost breaking, the words that come out of his mouth are barely audible.

“Y/N, let’s break up.”

Chenle had been distant lately, but you didn’t press him. He always had this quiet side to him, and you figured he’d come around when he was ready. You trusted him.

Lunch was extra special today. You were making tteok-bokki—Chenle’s favorite. It wasn’t a particularly hard dish, but he appreciated the effort you put in for it. You focused on the ingredients, the soft sizzle of the stove and the aroma that filled the kitchen. Smells like these made everything feel brighter.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of cooking, chopping vegetables and stirring the sauce until it thickened just right. He had taught you how to make the dish originally, cooking it to perfection until you got it just the way he liked it.

You glanced over your shoulder at him briefly. He was at the dining table, hunched over something. A notebook? His phone? You couldn’t tell. He didn’t look up.

It wasn’t like him to be so withdrawn. He’d always try—he’d send funny memes or silly videos to make you smile. Lately, though, his texts had seemed less and less. You told yourself he was just busy, and would make time as usual to make it up to you.

When the food was nearly ready, you began washing the dishes in the sink, suddenly remembering something you’d been meaning to ask. You turned around, leaning slightly on the counter, and smiled.

“Chenle,” you said, your voice soft but clear. “Take off early for work today and let’s go out to eat dinner together, alright?”

Your hands begin to move, signing something quickly as you mouthed the words out, the gestures being full of emotion to convey your thoughts and feelings. It was your way of making sure he understood. He didn’t know a lot of sign language, but he always made the effort to try and guess.

He initially looked at you with a serious face, his lips in a tight thin line. His eyes were conflicted. Why he looked so pained for some reason, you had no idea. But as soon as you started signing his lips curved into a smile once more, a familiar smile that you loved looking at all day long. 

Eventually after no reaction, Chenle seemed to process your words and nodded his head. He held his hand up in a ‘ok’ position to ensure that he had understood and got the memo. 

Pleased with his response, you turned back around and finished up your task in the kitchen. 

Chenle had asked you to prepare him lunch. You suggested his favorite. He needed this moment to himself, to let the words leave his mouth and test the weight of them in the air.

“Let’s break up,” he had whispered while your back was turned. The words had tasted bitter, like ash on his tongue, their weight heavier than he could have anticipated.

But you hadn’t heard him.

You’d been deaf since the moment he met you. He could still remember your first conversation. It was brief and awkward, with you typing out sentences on your phone and holding the screen in front of him. He’d smiled at how patient you were. A patience you still had today. From that moment, he was hooked.

Yet now, after all this time, he hated himself for how little he’d tried to understand you better.

Chenle leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The guilt felt like a heavy weight, weighing his shoulders down.

He loved you. God, he loved you so much. But it wasn’t enough. Love alone wasn’t enough to bridge the gap of happiness between the two of you.

He thought about all the times you had signed something to him, your gestures full of emotion, but he could only guess their meaning. You never scolded him for not understanding, never grew angry when he needed you to repeat yourself or resort to texting instead. You were always kind and understanding. Patient and calm. 

But you shouldn’t have to be patient. You shouldn’t have to wait for him to change. You shouldn’t have to wait this long. 

He had taken advantage of your patience, convincing himself that things would work out eventually. He would catch on quickly. Or so he thought. 

He had barely scratched the surface of learning sign language, and didn’t put in as much effort as he should’ve. 

He wasn’t enough for her. His mind flooded with these thoughts and revelations. These words were sharp and seemed to pierce his heart, filling him with immense pain.

The gap between his hearing and your not hearing had grown too large, too large to ignore. At first, he had thought together you could leap over it, that your love would be enough. But he was wrong.

You deserved someone who would dive into that gap and build a bridge, piece by piece, brick by brick. Someone who would work to understand every gesture, every look you made, every unspoken word.

He wasn’t that person. He would never be that person.

Chenle glanced at the letter on the table, the words he had written laid out before his own eyes. He wanted to say goodbye, but he couldn’t find a way to do it face to face. Not properly. Not without him breaking down. 

Maybe he wasn’t strong enough to say the words. Call him a coward. He couldn’t face you. He couldn’t even say he wanted to break up with you outright. Yet he wasn’t brave enough to stay and keep letting you down.

He heard you call his name again, your voice soft and light, the way you always spoke just for him. Your hands moved as you spoke, signing the words with ease, your face glowing after looking at him. 

And in that moment, he realized: no matter who he met in the future, he would never love anyone the way he loved you.

But that love wasn’t enough.

The apartment felt emptier than ever when you walked in one day after work. 

You’d noticed the change the moment you opened the door: the subtle shift in the air, the absence of his shoes by the entrance, the way the quiet seemed louder than usual, some space seemed emptier than you remembered. Your chest tightened as you stepped further inside looking around the living room.

That’s when you saw it.

A neatly folded envelope sat on the table, your name written on it in Chenle’s familiar handwriting. Beside it, the small dolphin you’d won at the amusement park laid out next to the letter on the table, its glossy black eyes staring back up at you.

You took a deep breath and swallowed, your hands trembling as you picked up the envelope. You didn’t open it right away. Instead, you stood there, staring at the letter, trying to steady your breathing for a bit. You knew this was coming. You tried to ignore the signs, but you were correct.

When you finally sat down, it was in the same chair Chenle always used. You never sat in it, since it always seemed like his spot. The cushion still felt warm somehow, as though he had been there just moments ago. You placed the envelope on the table in front of you, staring at it for what felt like an eternity before you finally gathered enough courage to open it.

The letter was written in his careful handwriting, each word deliberate, each line heavy with emotion. As you began to read, tears blurred your vision.

My dearest Y/N,

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be gone. I know you probably saw it coming—I’ve been distant for a while now. And I know you deserve more than this. A goodbye in words rather than on a page. But this is the only way I could say everything I need to. 

From the moment I met you, you were the brightest part of my life. You lit up every room you walked into. You taught me so much about patience, about kindness, about love.

And I failed you.

Things have been different, haven’t you noticed? I miss your laugh. I miss making you laugh. I miss that joyous echo of good times I could feel around the apartment, and I swear to god it was my favorite sound ever. I miss that. I miss us. 

I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how to fix it. Actually, that’s a lie. I do. But maybe I’m not cut out for that. I know I’m losing you, and it feels like I’m losing myself too.

I’ve tried to convince myself that our love would be enough to bridge the gap between us, that I could make up for my shortcomings. But the truth is, I haven’t. I’ve barely tried to learn about you and your world. You’ve carried so much of the burden, of the weight of our relationship, and I just let you.

You deserve someone who won’t let you do that. Someone who will learn every gesture, every sign there is in the vocabulary of sign language, who will work tirelessly to meet you where you are.

That someone isn’t me.

I hate myself for not being enough for you. I hate that I couldn’t give you what you deserve. And I hate that my love for you isn’t enough to fix this.

You always tried to meet me where I was, even when I couldn’t meet you halfway. I see that now. And I hate that I didn’t see it sooner.

I think about how happy we’ve been, and yet there’s always this weight, this worry I can’t stop thinking about. Even in our brightest moments, something felt... off. It’s not because of you, but because of me. It's slowly destroying me.

I hope that someday, you find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved. Someone who will put in the effort I didn’t, someone who will never let you feel alone.

I’ll never stop loving you, Y/N. I just hope that letting you go gives you the chance to find the happiness I couldn’t give you.

I’m so sorry.

- Chenle

Your hands trembled, shaking the letter slightly, your tears dripping onto the paper and smudging the ink. You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle the sobs threatening to escape, but it was no use.

The dolphin on the table stared back at you as if it held all the memories you’d shared—the laughter, the quiet moments, the love.

You folded the letter carefully, placing it back in the envelope as your tears continued to fall. Sitting there in the silence, you felt the weight of his absence settle around you.

And yet, even through the pain, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame him.

Because you understood. And that hurt the most.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000 @polarisjisung @peterm4rker @sleepyvic @chenlesfavorite (u too pookie)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer. 

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.” 

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?” 

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?” 

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.” 

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?” 

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.” 

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry. 

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer. 

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts. 

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand. 

“Me too,” Samira mimics him. 

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs. 

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls. 

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases. 

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze. 

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings. 

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed. 

“Hey, Lex,” you begin. 

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt. 

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school. 

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.” 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers. 

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading. 

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew. 

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it. 

“Wash em after,” Ashton says. 

“These are Louis’,” you snarl. 

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back. 

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria. 

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store. 

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.  

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one. 

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments. 

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter. 

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...” 

“How would you know?” 

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip. 

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.” 

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you. 

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.” 

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton. 

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask. 

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now? 

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever. 

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?” 

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight. 

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction. 

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal. 

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way. 

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs. 

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out. 

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird. 

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help. 

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you? 

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows. 

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler. 

The laughter gets louder. 

“Jaden,” you hiss. 

The laughter stops. 

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--” 

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.” 

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask. 

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs. 

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp. 

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn. 

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud. 

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.” 

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn. 

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--” 

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.” 

“Fine, then go away,” you spit. 

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away. 

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up. 

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--” 

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--” 

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--” 

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--” 

“I’m trying, trust me--” 

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there. 

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep. 

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home. 

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone. 

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good. 

You turn-- 

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek. 

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end. 

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation. 

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.” 

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask. 

He chortles, “like because I can.”  

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?” 

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do? 

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.” 

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!” 

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You growl. 

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.” 

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away. 

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.” 

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy. 

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.” 

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down. 

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose. 

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight. 

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps. 

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh. 

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.” 

Old. Man. 

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in. 

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip. 

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan. 

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.” 

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small. 

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up. 

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes. 

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately. 

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.” 

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out. 

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.” 

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet. 

“I want out. Now.” 

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.” 

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 5.)

Summary: after the exchange on the dressing room, you try to test Melissa’s worst limits, but of course things don’t go as planned.

tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

The tension in the parking lot of the Liberty Plaza Philadelphia mall was nearly suffocating to the point where it left you breathless, gasping for air.

As you stood there, your pulse racing under Melissa Schemmenti’s predatory gaze, a mix of both excitement and nervousness filled your chest. You were trying to maintain the confident, almost bratty persona you had adopted since the arrangement began to shield and protect yourself from any consequences, but it felt like it was unraveling with each passing second. The weight of the shopping bag in your hand suddenly felt much heavier, like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to keep.

The redhead stood before you, her body still as steady as a rock, and you could see the glimmer in her green eyes. It was a challenge, an invitation to see how long you would hold onto this new persona you had tried on. Her smirk widened as she observed your hesitation, and you could almost feel her enjoying the subtle power she held over the situation.

“What’s it gonna be, babygirl?” she quips, a dangerous lilt in it that sends a shiver down your spine. “You gonna stand there like un idiota all day, or are you gonna stop pretending and answer me like big smart girls do?”

You quickly scrambled to regain some sense of control. The flood of emotions in your chest was overwhelming, and instead of addressing it, you did what you always did when you were out of your depth. Reacting in the worst way possible; testing everyone who messed with you to their worst limits.

And Melissa Schemmenti would be no different. It doesn’t matter if she is being your sugar mommy and giving the financial support or a chance to get out of your miserable life, the fact that sometimes you were treated almost like a plaything was too much.

“Cat got your tongue again or are we playing shy?”

With a quick jerk of your wrist, you pulled away from her grasp, giving her a coy grin. “I’m fine, Schemmenti. Now get off me.”

The tone of your voice was thick with something that was half-uncertain and half-defiant. Without giving her a chance to respond, you hopped into the passenger seat of the sleek black car with exaggerated nonchalance, slamming the door behind you shut a little harder than necessary. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared straight ahead, pretending like the whole situation didn’t affect you.

Although, it was affecting you in the worst way possible.

Melissa didn’t immediately follow you. Instead, she stood there for a beat, staring at you with an almost innocent genuine curiosity. You could feel the heat of her eyes on you, and for a moment, you thought she might say something, but instead, she just got into the driver’s seat with a calm, measured air. The silence between you was clear, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like the calm before a storm, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long this game would go on before you were forced to break.

But you weren’t going to break. You couldn’t. Not yet.

“Think you’re funny, right? Well, I’ll show you what happens when you disrespect someone who you are meant to obey,” the older woman promises quietly to herself. Not even daring to look at you. Yet. In fact, Melissa was dying to see if she could destroy you at her penthouse.

You stared out the window, trying to keep your breathing steady as you wrestled with the whirling thoughts in your mind. The bag with the purple lingerie sat between you on the seat, a constant reminder of the secret between you two, a reminder of the power shift that had started earlier. Melissa’s teasing words, her quiet commands, were still ringing in your ears, and the thought of wearing the lingerie, of being under her control in that way, made your skin flush with heat.

The drive to her home felt like it took an eternity, every minute stretching longer than the last. When the car finally pulled into the garage of the penthouse, you didn’t even wait for her to open the door. You threw the bag over your shoulder and stormed inside, your steps fast, though you knew Melissa wasn’t far behind. The sound of her footsteps echoed in your ears, and despite the bravado you tried to put on, a knot of anticipation twisted in your stomach.

Inside, you dropped the bag on the white couch without a care in the world and made a beeline for the spare bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You felt a strange rebellion and longing bubble up in your chest as you sank into the armchair by the window, grabbing your copy of The Price of Salt from the bedside table— one of the only books you bought from your now old crappy apartment complex. You cracked it open, pretending to lose yourself in the story, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest and the fire you knew was in Melissa’s olive eyes.

But it didn’t take long before you heard her footsteps approaching. She was never one to let things go, never one to let you wallow in your own little stupid act for too long. There was a pause outside the wooden door, a silent moment that stretched, before she spoke, her raspy voice really low but dripping with intent.

“Done with this stupid bullshit? I want to see you, honey,” she huffed, her tone nothing short of commanding. “Now.”

No response came from you.

You could hear the heat in her voice, the fire, and it made your heart race. You still didn’t answer, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in your lap, even though you had no idea what the words said anymore. Melissa Schemmenti’s presence was overwhelming, and you could already feel her annoyed gaze burning into you through the door.

“Don’t make me ask again,” the Italian woman growled, her words laced with a mixture of frustration and something else—something darker, more possessive. A shiver ran down your spine. You hadn’t expected her to come at you so hard, but you should’ve known better. Melissa didn’t wait. She always got what she wanted.

Still nothing.

You stayed silent, gripping the book tighter, trying to ignore the sudden heat that pooled between your legs. But it wasn’t enough to hide the anticipation you felt at the idea of her seeing you in the purple lingerie. The thought alone made your breath catch in your throat.

Finally, the door of your temporary spare bedroom opened with a soft creak. You didn’t even bother to look up from the book, but the moment Melissa quickly stepped inside, you could feel the change in the air. It was different now—charged, intense. She was close, you could feel her presence at your back, just standing there, waiting for you to make the first move.

You just hummed, a lazy hand on your chin trying to look like you didn’t give a fuck about her. She watches you in silence for a moment, her gaze intense, and then she closes the door with a quiet click, leaning against it as her sharp eyes sweep over you.

“So?” Melissa says firmly, annoyed and unyielding. “You’re just going to sit your ass here and read instead of wearing what I bought you?”

You move to face her and look up, swallowing hard. Her tone is challenging, almost daring you to keep playing this game, but something in her gaze tells you she’s nearing the end of her patience.

“Where are your good manners, kid? Answer me. You little piece of shit.”

Again. She referred to you using a fuckin’ nasty title.

You give a shrug, hoping to keep up the act. “I like this book,” you mutter, sinking further into the armchair, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “And I don’t want to be interrupted right now. Can you please show up another hour?”

Melissa tilts her head, her full lips curling into a smirk. Despite the feeling she has of wanting to throw you against the wall to teach you manners, she only takes a deep breath. “You know,” she says, pushing off the door and moving towards you, “I don’t mind the brat attitude. But we both know you’re dying to wear that lingerie for me.”

She kneels down beside you, her manicured hand resting on the arm of the chair, her face close enough that you can feel her breath against your cheek.

“Tell me.”

“Don’t,” you sigh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

The redhead studies you for a moment, her gaze unrelenting. “Why don’t you just admit it, sweetheart?” Her voice is softer now, coaxing. Trying to convince you in the sweetest way possible. “You want to be the one I spoil. You want to feel wanted, seen… I can see it in your pretty eyes.”

You feel yourself squirm under her gaze, the weight of her words stirring something deep inside you. But instead of responding, you turn your attention back to the book, pretending to read as if her presence isn’t setting your entire body alight.

That was the last straw.

Without saying a word, Melissa lets out a low groan, seeing through your attempt to brush her off. She reached over and tugged the book from your hands, tossing it aside like it was nothing. You still didn’t look at her, though you could feel her staring at you, eyes boring into your skin. Her act made your mouth drop open in disbelief as you whipped your head up to glare at her.

“Schemmenti, what the hell is this?! Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

She smirked, her wicked expression unapologetic. “Oh, now you’re paying attention. Mommy already told you, doll, I don’t like being ignored.”

You tried to respond, but the intensity of her gaze—so confident, so knowing—left you speechless.

Instead, you bite your lip, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach as her gaze holds you captive. She stands up, her eyes never leaving yours, and gestures to the bag she bought from the living room with a slight nod of her head.

“Go on,” she says softly. “Put it on for me, babydoll.”

Your cheeks flush as you stare up at her, feeling the pull of her words, the irresistible command in her tone. She’s challenging you, daring you to step out of your comfort zone, to let yourself be vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. And as much as you want to keep up the act, to play it cool, you can feel yourself caving under her intense presence.

With a shaky breath, you stand up, taking the bag with you and retreating to the bathroom. Your heart is pounding as you slip out of your clothes, unfolding the delicate purple lace, feeling its softness between your fingertips. The thought of her olive eyes on you, her hands on you—her mouth on you makes your skin tingle, every nerve ending coming alive with anticipation.

When you finally gather the courage to step out of the luxurious bathroom, you find her sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze immediately locking onto you as you enter the room. Her eyes darken as she takes you in, her expression shifting to something almost predatory like a wild animal.

“Come to Mommy,” she says, her voice soft but filled with authority. “Be a nice pet.”

You walk toward her, each step bringing you closer to the edge of a cliff you’re not sure you’re ready to dive off of. But as you stand before her, she reaches out, her hands resting on your gorgeous hips, pulling you close until you’re standing between her legs.

The older woman looks up at you, her face filled with pride and admiration, her strong hands running up your sides, tracing the curves of the lingerie, making you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. “You look stunning,” she murmurs with genuine awe. “Even better than I imagined.”

Your breath catches as her hands continue to explore, her touch both gentle and possessive. Melissa pulls you down onto her lap, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

“I knew you’d look perfect in this,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Do you know how much I want you right now?”

Her words make you shiver, and you can’t help the small whimper that escapes your lips. She smiles at that, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she leans in, capturing your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss that leaves you breathless. Before you can even process the moment, she pulls back, her hands gripping your hips with a new intensity. Without warning, she swiftly pushes you onto the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets as she hovers above you, her eyes dark with desire.

Her chest rises and falls with each quick breath, and you can feel the heat radiating off her. “Stay right there,” she commands, her voice low and commanding, yet tender in its own way. You lay there, heart pounding, the anticipation building as she hovers over you, her body a perfect blend of control and affection.

The redhead’s lips trailed down your stomach, soft and slow, leaving a hot trail of kisses in their wake. Each touch of her wet mouth made your body tremble, a wave of heat rolling through you with every caress. You could feel her breath, warm and steady, against your skin, and it sent shivers of anticipation down your spine.

“God, you’re perfect,” she muttered under her breath. Her hands roamed over your body, her fingertips grazing your sides as she took her time, savoring every inch of you. When she reached the waistband of your panties, her fingers lingered, and you held your breath, feeling the anticipation coil tighter and tighter inside you.

Then, without warning, she sucked at your tummy, just above the line of your purple underwear. The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through you, and you gasped, your hands instinctively grasping at the sheets beneath you. The feeling of her lips on your skin, the way her mouth moved against you, was almost too much, and you couldn’t help but moan.

But then, something shifted. Melissa pulled away abruptly, her body stiffening. Her gaze flickered down to your lacy underwear, and the moment she saw the giant wet spot there, her expression changed, hardening with something you couldn’t quite place.

Her pupils darkened with lust, but also something else—something that felt almost like a challenge. She stared at the spot for a long moment, her breath coming faster now, before she let out a low curse.

“Well, well,” she said, her tone thick with arousal, but edged with something else, something dangerous. “Look at you. You’re already soaked as fuck. And I haven’t even touched you like I want to yet.”

You stopped, caught in the intensity of her gaze, feeling the wetness between your legs become even more noticeable, your body betraying you in ways you hadn’t fully processed until now. Melissa’s eyes flickered back up to yours, and the look she gave you was one of pure, unfiltered desire.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” she asked with an edge of authority that made your breath hitch. “Tell me, baby... what’s going on inside that head of yours?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The weight of the moment, the fire in her eyes, had you frozen in place, unsure of what to say. You stared back at her, caught between wanting to speak and the overwhelming flood of emotion and need she stirred in you.

Melissa didn’t wait for you to answer, though. Her hand slid down to the waistband of your panties, and without breaking eye contact, she tugged them down slowly, her fingers brushing over your skin with deliberate slowness. The tension between you two was palpable, and you could feel the urgency building, the need to be touched, to be consumed by her.

When the panties were fully off, she threw them aside carelessly, her hands now sliding over your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Her lips returned to your skin, this time moving with an almost possessive energy, as though she was claiming you, marking you as hers.

You let out a shaky breath, unable to look away as she kissed her way lower, her hands parting your shaky legs just enough to let her settle between them. There was no hesitation now, only the heat of her mouth moving down, down, until she was at the apex of your thighs.

And then, just as you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, she paused. Her breath hot against you, her eyes flickering up to yours with that same fire. “You ready for Mommy, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice rough and low.

You nodded, your body aching for her touch, but still, Melissa waited. She let the silence hang between you, knowing just how much it was driving you wild. Finally, she leaned in, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh, right near where you needed her most. The moment was electric, charged with tension, but before she could go any further, she pulled away again, looking down at your body with a satisfied grin.

“Melissa?!” you protested.

“Do you see what you’re doing to me?” she scoffs, picking up your discarded panties from where they lay crumpled beside her. Her fingers curled around the damp fabric with a deliberate slowness, her movements unhurried, as if savoring every second. She held them up, the wet patch glistening faintly under the soft light, and her lips curved into a smirk.

You supported yourself in your elbows, gasping realizing what she was about to do. Melissa brought the fabric closer to her face. Her eyes flicked up to yours, watching you closely, reading every flicker of nervousness and arousal on your face. You swallowed hard, your body frozen under the weight of her attention, and when she finally closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, your breath caught in your throat.

“Goddamn,” she muttered, as her lips parted slightly. Her eyes remained closed, and she looked almost lost in the sensation, like she was savoring something sinful and exquisite. “You smell... so good. So fucking good.”

Your cheeks burned, your body tingling as her words washed over you. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing—Melissa Schemmenti, the confident, composed woman you secretly and strangely adored, utterly undone by a piece of your underwear.

She opened her eyes slowly, the hunger in them making your heart pound. Then, without breaking eye contact, she licked the damp fabric, her pink tongue sliding over the spot that carried the evidence of your desire. The motion was slow and deliberate, her expression one of pure satisfaction as she let out a low whimper.

“Jesus,” the redhead murmured, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she savored the taste. "You taste even better than I imagined."

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, your body trembling under the intensity of her gaze. She tossed the panties aside carelessly, leaning over you once more, her hands braced on either side of your hips. Her face was inches from yours now, her breath warm against your lips.

“You’re mine,” she growled.

Before you could say something else, Melissa’s lips crashed against yours again, and the fire she’d stoked between you finally ignited into an inferno. Her kiss was full of hunger and need, stealing the breath from your lungs. Her hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as she devoured you with an intensity that left you trembling. Her tongue brushed against yours, and the taste of her, mixed with the faint saltiness of your own arousal from her earlier tease, made your head spin.

She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your swollen lips. “You have no idea what you’ve started tonight,” she murmured, her fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh. “There’s no turning back now.”

That hung heavy in the air, a promise and a warning all at once. Your pulse raced as you stared into her eyes, which burned with a fire you’d never seen before. This was a side of Melissa that you hadn’t fully understood until now—powerful, commanding, and completely unrelenting.

And as her lips trailed back down your body, stopping just above the apex of your thighs, you realized she was right. Whatever line had been crossed between you tonight, it was far behind you now, and there was no going back to the way things were before. Not when you wanted her this much. Not when you were hers, completely.

It hit you like a tidal wave—you’d sold your soul to her. You hadn’t realized it at first, back when this arrangement had seemed simple. Back when it felt like you were just playing a role, dipping your toes into something thrilling and temporary.

But it wasn’t temporary anymore. It had never been.

From the moment you agreed to this dynamic, every look, every touch, every indulgent gesture from her had pulled you deeper. The woman didn’t just spoil you with gifts and attention; she consumed you. She’d made you hers in ways you hadn’t fully understood until now. The luxury, the power she exuded, the way she looked at you like she owned every inch of you—it was all a part of something bigger. Something you couldn’t escape from even if you wanted to.

And right now, with her mouth teasing your body, the reality of it settled over you like a weight you couldn’t shake. You weren’t just playing a role. You weren’t just letting her take the lead for fun or indulging in her dominance out of curiosity. You’d given yourself to her, willingly, piece by piece.

There was no turning back. Not anymore.

Speaking of her, Melissa pulled back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your mound as she smirked. “You’re quiet, hon. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Your breath hitched, your voice catching in your throat as the truth clawed its way forward. She wasn’t just your sugar mommy now. She was everything. And now, she had you—completely, undeniably, irrevocably.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, but Melissa’s knowing expression told you she already knew. She always did.

[joosthead]

agora hills || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ But today—10th of November, Joost’s 27th birthday and 8 degrees celsius in Amsterdam, you shouldn’t have brought a jacket. 

₊˚⊹⋆ happy (late) birthday <3. part of normal au (previous parts here). set joost's birthday 2024 <3

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader (she/her pronouns used). notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 7.3k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw(s): smut (established relationship, light exhibitionism, semi-public sex, remote control vibrator, slight aggu x reader, slight mention of m!receiving vibrator/assplay because i’m crazy, unprotected piv, creampie, customary joost fic drinking and smoking), normal au sappiness LETS GOOO

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “agora hills” by doja cat, “pressure” by martin garrix ft. tove lo, “shu madame” by ski aggu, “heaven” by mitski (literal direct quote from this song LOL) 

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: vibrator ! au of an au where skiklein isn’t divorced 🩷 lowkey this is a bit normal au worldbuilding heavy! as always thank you to @howisjoostfanfictionforfree <333 my creative partner in crime !! not edited oops

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

You shouldn’t have brought a jacket. 

At least, you shouldn’t have let Joost place his around your shoulders on the way here—it’s his birthday, shouldn’t he be the one being taken care of? Either way, you’re holding his hand as he navigates you to the booth your friends are already at, tugging at the collar as you brush past so many people, an endless supply of warmth cloaking you from all sides. 

This would be fine any other November day in the Netherlands, so cold you contemplate moving somewhere warmer every year if not for your very proudly Dutch boyfriend keeping you here. 

But today—10th of November, Joost’s 27th birthday and 8 degrees celsius in Amsterdam, you shouldn’t have brought a jacket. 

You teeter on high heels; Christian Louboutin So Kates that Joost bought you a while ago and loves, your legs are weak, not at the thin stilettos, but at the dull pulsing between your legs of the remote control egg vibrator nestled securely between them. You two brought it home one day from the sex shop nearest your house, bright pink and surprisingly high tech, an app used to control it through Bluetooth. Even on the lowest setting, it’s strong and steady, and you’re really trying to keep it together as it pushes against your g-spot with every step forward.

Joost pulls you next to him by the hand and puts his arm around you. “You are doing so amazing, mijn schat,” he says, kissing your temple as you squeeze in between people together, and you nod. 

“I better be.” 

“Much better than I did.”  

The policy is always this: you will never try something he wouldn’t try himself first. It’s only fair, considering the multitudes of ideas he has about things you two should try in (and out) of the bedroom. 

His turn: you lubing up your fingers and fingering him open, him slipping the vibrator inside himself, you impishly giggling about the app controls and how pretty it all looked when you knew he’d be destroyed in a matter of moments.  

It was only a week ago—taking a walk in the park near your house at 3 AM together so no one would see you, your hand and your phone in your coat pocket going from low to high, low to high as he gritted his teeth and walked alongside you. You set it the highest vibration pattern it could go—a minute later, he was collapsed on the ground. “Is he alright?” a passerby asked you, eyes alarmed at your sweet boyfriend lying face down and practically convulsing. 

“Yeah, he’s alright. Just weird,” you said, and you two shared a nod and they went along with their day. By the time you trudged back home, getting Joost to the edge and turning it off completely so he wouldn’t get any satisfaction, he was practically begging to be inside you. 

It’s your turn now, but you didn’t exactly expect it to be on the first club outing of the night of his birthday. You’d given Joost his presents earlier today—some boudoir photoshoot pictures you had done months ago, Christian Louboutin boots he’s wearing tonight, a belt buckle of the copyright symbol you found thrifting, some gacha capsules and trinkets you got in secret on your trip to Japan together, a long handwritten letter (5 pages!) waxing poetic about your small and beautiful life with him that he cried at when he read it over the breakfast you brought him this morning. 

There are more presents to be given later today, all planned and gift wrapped, but this one—all indulgence, no planning, no stipulations about how far he can go and when it’ll end for you. Joost asked you if you could do it when you were getting dressed together before this. Pretty black lingerie he got you on a trip to Paris, a dress he surprised you with from some big fashion house, helping you slip on the shoes he so kindly bought you when he asked you on his knees—”Please, schat, can I use it on you tonight?” and you couldn't resist that look on his face, those big blue eyes. 

“Very proud of you, mijn schat,” Joost yells over the music as you near your table. Everyone’s too distracted already to acknowledge you or your strangeness—Tantu and Joost dap each other up, but Ruby is off somewhere else; Appie and Alanis and Stuntje are doing a drinking game they’re very focused on; Aggu (Aggu???) and Marina (Aggu and Marina???) are talking with each other very intently, his arm on the back of the booth behind her. “Do you think you can get us some drinks?” 

You look back up at him, eyes wide. “By myself?” 

“It’s my birthday, baby. I wanna sit down.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him slip into the booth and turn away, annoyed and feeling faint already. The vibrator feels bigger than it looks, pulses harder than it already is; the pattern is periodic like an alarm clock. Once you're halfway to the bar, you look back to Joost and he’s on his phone and torturing you manually—you want to yell, want to scream. In agony, or pleasure? 

There’s so many people at the bar—so many of them you recognize from weekends upon weekends and term breaks after the other partying with Joost and your friends. Some of them you know better than others; Mia and Femke who do Joost’s makeup from time to time; Luuk (Luuk???) from work; Thijs and Enzo and Myron and Brunzyn and Donnie and Donny and oh, this is going to be really bad, isn’t it?

You bob and duck your head—hopefully no one recognizes you as you try and reach an empty stretch of bar where you can hold onto as the vibrations get stronger and stronger. The DJ tonight is playing Buurman Uit Berlijn and you’re unsure if it’s the thrumming bass of the song or the thing stuck inside you that’s dizzying and all-consuming. As you reach out for the bar, you close your eyes and focus.

The mass of dancing and yelling bodies behind and next to you, the pink and purple strobe lights flashing all around, your boyfriend’s music loud and blaring through the speakers, these beautiful torture devices of heels, the sweat sheen on the back of your neck, the matching wetness between your thighs as the high intensity vibration subsides and turns more mellow. 

Joost has finally given you reprieve. 

In waiting for the bartender to get to you, you feel like you’re looking over your shoulder like a madman every second, scared of looking suspicious, but scared of making eye contact with any of the people you know. You stand pin straight, scared of moving it any further, scared of pressing it into your spot. From your right, you hear your name and wince, preparing for some acquaintance or worse—one of Joost’s close friends that you’ve said hi to once but don’t know very well past that.

Turning—it’s just Ruby, and you breathe a sigh of relief once she bounds up to you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug as if you and her haven’t spent the last week together upon her return with Tantu. 

She pulls away from you and you give her a small smile, realizing that the pulses have subsided completely, and you can let your guard down for a moment. 

The smile you give her must not be very convincing—“You look like you're about to be sick, my darling,” Ruby says, placing the back of her hand on your forehead to test out your temperature. She’s going to be disappointed when she finds out the real reason you’re feeling hot. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly, shaking your head. The only person you’re trying to convince at this point is yourself. “Don’t worry, I—“You open your mouth to speak, but the toy just—Joost is so mean to you. So, so mean, because he’s turned it up more, seconds long stretches of it pulsing hard and fast and then nothing, over and over again. Does he have a clear view of this from the booth? Does he just know? All you can get out is a little sigh, hopefully one she wasn’t able to hear over the loud music and all the talking. You close your lips and try to shake it off. 

“Cat got your tongue?” she giggles, then yells to the bartender who you didn’t even know came over, “Two Bacardi colas, thank you!” 

“Thank you, I appre—” you close your eyes as the vibrations become incessant, punching against every part of you. You can imagine Joost’s face back at the table, grinning, pupils dilated and hungry for how embarrassingly wet you are between the legs. “Ruby. For reasons. For reasons I cannot say, I have to pause speaking. I’m going to hold onto you for balance. Please do not say anything about this to anyone,” you say as you drop your head, trying to hide your face from her as you let out a groan. 

Even without seeing her reaction, you’re sure Ruby knows what’s up—you shared a wall for almost four years until she moved to Berlin after graduating, and you’ve heard your fair share of each other’s activities. When you pop back up, gritting your teeth in a grimace that’s supposed to be a smile, Ruby’s giving you a look of surprise and then she rolls her eyes. 

“I can't believe you two, you're disgusting!” she laughs, throwing her head back and giving your arm a squeeze. “You’re both freaks, I guess you were made for each other. Anyways—“ 

Ruby goes into a long tangent about the new apartment she’s about to move into next to her work building in Berlin, how she hopes the album will finally just drop soon so Tantu can stop fussing over the finishing touches, how she really thinks you probably should get back to the table because you’re white-knuckling the sticky bar and it’s concerning her—she’s trying to give you an out by talking to you normally, but you're really unable to get with the program. 

The bartender comes back to you with the two drinks and Ruby hands them to you—”Do you want me to help?” No, you shake your head, because you’re trying to prove yourself to someone, you’re not sure if that’s you or Joost. “Good luck, babe.” 

You teeter back with two Bacardi colas in hand and a calmer vibration keeping you intact for your journey back; if you spilled these drinks all over yourself, you’d have some very choice words for Joost later, and his birthday would be spoiled. But as you near the table (not without Myron trying to wave you over, and you throwing an apologetic look and a raise of your glasses her way, Mia making eye contact with you but you pretending not to notice), you find your stride, and can actually seem to walk without hunching into yourself to hide. Maybe this won’t be bad after all. 

Tantu’s seemed to join in on the drinking game with the others, Aggu and Marina watching them as you place down the Bacos in front of Joost. “Thank you, mijn hart,” he says looking up at you and pursing his lips for a kiss which you give him. Bending over is a terribly bad idea, you find out, the angle of the vibrator adjusting to your new position, and it hits you head on—you open your eyes and glare at him, and he gives you a big smile, kissing you on the cheek. 

It sours your expression even more when you see how close these quarters are, how Tantu and Appie are practically squished together as Stuntje and Marina have a chugging contest, how even with Ruby still at the bar, there isn’t any room for you. 

“There’s nowhere to sit, you can sit on my lap.”

“I can see that,” you mumble, taking off your jacket and giving it to Joost before perching on his lap, his left thigh underneath your ass and the bottom of the table above your legs. 

“Having fun, baby?” Joost says into your neck, the grin on his mouth evident as you sit back on him. 

“Having the worst time, Joosti.”

“Aw, why is that? It’s my birthday, it’s the second best day of the year—what’s not to love?”

“The demonic object you’ve placed inside of me, that’s what’s not to love.” 

You haven’t even gotten the chance to talk to everyone or even say hi—the night’s not about you but they’re still your friends. After the drinking games are over, you’ll have to face them, and they’ll talk to you, and your guilt will be all over your face and you’ll never be able to show yourself at this club ever again. 

You pick a piece of glitter off his cheek, brush some off the thick black rim of his glasses—he’s wearing that jacket he got a while back, the one he wore at Jere’s gig all adorned with pink fabric and women dominating men and “BRAT” over its leopard print background. This jacket exemplifies him perfectly, and you knew that when you recommended it for him to buy. 

“Don’t worry, schat, I told them you were tired from work. They won’t bother you.” 

“It wouldn’t be a bother if you just turned it off.”

“That is no fun, isn't it? I think you should have thought about that in the park last week if you wanted me to be nice.” Joost’s hands run along your sides, snake to your front, splay out on your stomach as he hugs you closer, his chin on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t embarrass you, lieverd,” he says softly, and your nerves are soothed. He kisses your neck and automatically, you roll it to give him more space to kiss, to nip at your skin. “You can trust me.” 

Everyone’s so distracted—what do you even have to worry about? Your group lets out a collective shout, whoops and claps at Marina beating Stuntje decisively even though she looks positively disgusted at the taste of the beers she emptied. Tonight is good—no one is paying attention to you; Joost is absentmindedly mouthing at your pulse point, at your jaw, the stupid vibrator and the terrible app forgotten, apparently. 

You sling your arm around his neck and he brings you closer.“ You haven’t even touched your drink, Joost,” you say, cupping his cheek as he kisses yours, trailing his lips against it until he reaches your own and kisses you deeply, fingers squeezing your thigh as his hand inches up. 

“The drinks can wait.” 

“Can you? We’re in public, remember?” 

“They probably won’t even remember tonight, what’s it matter?” 

From behind you, Aggu’s deep voice in German, the small vocabulary you know from Ruby: “I feel left out, mausi,” said amused, said with Joost’s hand almost between your legs. 

A nickname you gained from your short time on the Friesenjung set, the few interactions you had with August, as he introduced himself. 

You’d never felt intimidated by anyone Joost’s introduced you to—you weren’t even intimidated by Joost when you first met at this very club. You weren’t intimidated by the Dutch celebrities he’d introduced you to; not the Slavs or the Swedes; not Otto, even when he’d treated you and Joost to a Michelin starred dinner and told stories about his decades in the industry. 

Your appearance was a surprise to no one except for Joost—you told him you had work and couldn’t be there for him on the first day of filming. When you showed up, hiding behind your friends you knew on set, you’d made the mistake of not hiding well enough; in the middle of a scene, he spotted you behind someone’s shoulder, entire face lighting up and so happy, he dropped what he was doing and sped to you, hugging you and picking you up off the ground.

“Joost!” you scolded, laughing as he kissed you on the cheeks. “Please, there’s so many people around.” 

“I thought you said you had work?!” Joost said, kissing you again as the people around you dispersed, the scene they were filming fully interrupted now. 

“I wanted to be here for you, it’s a big day.”

His scene partner and someone you’d (sort of) talked to over Facetime when Joost would call him to talk about the song sauntered over, and Joost pulled away from you, keeping his hand around your waist. “This is Aggu, lieverd, and Aggu, this is—“ he gave him your name, “my baby,” “love of my life,” “the busiest person on the planet,” “mein schatz, or whatever you guys say here,” attached to the end of it, and you nodded. 

“That’s me,” you say softly to the other blonde mulleted man now entering your life. You held out your hand to shake and then regretted your decision remembering that it was 2023–who shakes hands in 2023?

Nonetheless, Aggu shook yours. Big hand but a gentle handshake, eyes intense but soft at the same time. You could barely meet them and it seemed like both Joost and August knew. “Wie eine maus,” he said, and you could use enough context clues to figure out what he said about you. “I’m August.”

There was something different about August—Aggu. Even if he was just as rambunctious as your boyfriend, he was quieter than he looked. This aloof, masculine energy seemed to just exude off of him without him having to announce any of it. Half of his face was covered most of the time you saw him, but you already knew he had reason to be so confident. 

As with most interesting things in your life—meeting him on your own happened out on a curb outside of the actual party. Later that day, there was a scene filmed at a corner store, and it turned into a party that went into night, 50 people crammed into the tiny establishment. You took a smoke break while Joost went to the bathroom, and there Aggu was, right behind you, right next to you. 

“You know, you’re very cute,” he said, and you practically sputtered out your drink, practically dropped your cigarette on the ground. 

“I’m Joost’s girlfriend,” you informed though you were sure he knew, and he nodded. 

“I know. He never stops talking about you.”

“Do you care?” 

Aggu laughed, and you smiled at the ground. “I do.” You offered your cigarette, and he shook his head. “Just surprised, you are so different from him.” 

“We’re surprised sometimes, too.” 

Aggu turned to you and you shared a look. You dropped the stub on the ground, the music spilling over and out of the corner store. Wind rustled your hair, and still, he was gazing at you. 

“Baby,” Joost called from behind you, and he was next to you in an instant. 

“I was just talking to Aggu—“

“August,” he corrected. “August,” you repeated softly, and you felt like…like something was being interrupted, but you weren’t even sure what. 

“Bye, mausi,” Aggu said, leaving you and Joost.

The entire exchange was strange—still couldn’t speak firmer or louder than this, couldn’t even look him in the eye in front of Joost. Joost poked fun at you for being so shy—“What’s the matter, baby? He doesn’t bite.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe that.” 

Tonight, Aggu isn’t wearing the goggles—he’s a handsome man with or without them, but you prefer the look without him, getting to see his full face. 

“Why don’t you talk to Aggu, mausi?” Joost snickers and you roll your eyes. 

“You don’t look like you do PDA,” Aggu says, and your cheeks burn. You were never the type to before Joost, but now here you are with a remote-control vibrator inside and his lips on your jaw as you try to speak with his friend. 

“I don’t?” You ask, knowing full well you don’t. 

Joost cups you over your tits, and you almost gasp—He’s normally not so handsy, even if you two are the worst perpetrators of public affection in your group by far. 

“Joost,” you say softly, shaking your head and moving his hand down even though it’s strangely—it’s strangely arousing having him claim you so decisively in front of Aggu. 

“He doesn’t care,” Joost says, but keeps his hand where it is, right under the curve of your breast. 

“I don't care,” Aggu confirms, and you roll your eyes as Joost kisses behind your ear. “Are you two going to do anything for Joost’s birthday?” 

“We’re—Joost, let me talk to him,” you giggle as Joost nips at your neck. “We’re going to Portofino after Joost goes to Berlin.” 

“No invitation for me?” Aggu teases and you roll your eyes, smiling. “It was my birthday a few days ago too, you know?” 

“You’d have to ask Joost for one, I don't make the rules.” 

Joost pauses his lips on you to turn to Aggu and says a simple and decisive, “No,” then turns back to your bitten neck, your jaw. You’re half sure he’s doing this for his own pleasure—it feels like you’re being pecked at by an annoying, albeit very cute and enthusiastic bird. 

“I would take you if I could, Aggu,” you joke, and Aggu gives you a surprised look. Finally, Joost lets off of you, and you can finally turn to your conversation partner fully and give him some attention. 

“Braves mädchen, do you think your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“He likes you—he won’t.” Under you, Joost starts tapping his toe—nothing to distract him now, you guess, his leg moving under you. 

“Nahhh, he’s the jealous type, no? At least when it comes to you.”

You laugh until you don’t—until you widen your eyes, dropping your mouth open and furrowing your eyebrows because wave after wave after wave of pure pleasure hits your g-spot, the vibrations so strong they go through the tail and reach your clit, and you have to stifle a moan by covering your mouth with your hand. You turn back to see Joost on his phone—still restlessly tapping his foot, moving the vibrator even more inside of you. 

“Are you alright, mausi?” 

“She’s alright, just weird,” Joost snickers from behind, using your words from the past against you. 

“I’m-I’m just fine, Aggu,” you say as you clench your thighs together and give him a thin smile, looking back at Joost who’s trying to hide his face from you, thumb still moving on his phone screen. 

“You look—“ 

“I just—oh my god,” you sigh out, clenching your fist as you involuntarily rock back onto Joost and his jostling knee under you, the vibrator being turned up all the way and turning your brain into mush as it kisses your g-spot. You can’t even begin to care about what this looks like, or the fact that Aggu is watching you and your face contorted in pleasure, as much as you’re trying to control yourself. 

“Ah,” Aggu says. 

Just from the look of amused disbelief on his face, the way his eyes flit down at your hands in your lap desperately trying to cover your thighs though there’s nothing to cover up, at least to the eye—you’ve been caught. 

“Joost, what is that?” he says, then leans behind you so Joost can show him the app, the wavelengths on the screen sure to be high frequency. Aggu moves his hand behind you—is he really letting Aggu control it right now? Judging from his movements and the changing patterns of your 

Aggu daps Joost up, then gives you a sly smile and a pat on the cheek. “Don't worry, schatzi, I will keep your secret.”

He looks around at your friends; Ruby and Tantu lazing on the very end, Stuntje and Appie and Alanis and Marina having a heated discussion about something you can’t hear over the music, over the exchange happening between the men on either side of you. 

“Come on, Joost. You’re being mean to her,” Aggu says as Joost brings his arms back around your waist, placing you more on his crotch than his legs. His phone is in his hands (as usual), but this time, he’s got the app wide open. 

The vibrations are at the very top of the little control area, and you can feel it as you drop your head again, concealing your face completely so you can revel in the pleasure without anyone watching. 

Does Joost feel it right now, as you grind back on his lap without even meaning to? Through his jeans, he’s hard, and you can feel it clearly on your ass. 

“She can take it.” 

“Can you?” Aggu asks, turning to you, and you nod almost automatically, even as your thighs start tensing with the lead up to an orgasm. “Whatever you say, schatz.” 

Enough of him—you shift so you're turned away, mostly facing the crowd, mostly facing Joost. You drape your arms around his neck, face scrunching up, mouth dropping open as the vibrations pulse hard and fast so deep inside you. 

“Feel good?” Joost says, and you nod, trying to keep it together even as that knot ties in your stomach. He watches your face intently, pupils blown out and his hand rubbing circles on your back as you hold back a sob. The song over the speakers is Normalje Bass, the bass booming through your body inside-out. You hope and pray none of your friends are watching—you know Aggu is, even if your face is hidden from him. 

“I’m cumming,” you say as quietly as you can, lips parting with your quiet sighs as the waves of your orgasm start, so intense from all of the internal stimulation. 

“I know,” Joost soothes. “Just kiss me.” 

You moan into his mouth, pushing against him so he can muffle your sounds; you know that even if you were louder than this, the music would just drown you out, but his lips on yours, his hands on your body—they relax you. Joost moves his big hand to the nape of your neck, licking into your mouth. 

He tastes like cigarette smoke, smells like his heady cologne, nose bumping against yours. You gasp into his mouth as the vibrations continue, whining as it takes you past your point, your legs shaking with the comedown of your climax but the continued overstimulation inside of you. 

“Zo vies, holy shit guys,” Marina yells over the music so you can hear, fake gagging, which earns you a chorus of more fake gagging from the rest, clapping from Ruby and Tantu. 

“It’s my birthday—ik mag doen wat ik wil.” Joost laughs, waving them off. At the same time, he takes out his phone and turns off the vibrator completely, and every muscle in your body relaxes, the waves subsiding. 

Joost gives a chaste kiss to your lips, your cheek as you try and catch your breath as subtly as possible. “You did so good, lieverd.” 

You nod, giving him his own kiss on his cheek for letting up on the toy. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” you breathe, and he grins. 

“You don’t need a break—”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

Standing, you get off his lap and pull at the hem of your dress as you wait for Joost to get up. Your legs are still a bit shaky, the heels not helping at all, but you're too excited to go. 

“Leaving so soon?” Marina pouts, her head on Alanis’ shoulder and big eyes shining at you. You almost want to stay, but—you want Joost inside of you more. 

“They’ll be back,” Ruby teases, rolling her eyes at you both. Cheeks burning as you smile, you shake your head. 

“Maybe,” you say, it’s Joost—this is only the beginning of the night. 

Joost gets up from the booth, his hand on the small of your back immediately and guiding you away. Before you can go, Aggu holds his hand out to your boyfriend—“You’re a lucky man. Can I come?” Aggu grins, winking at you. 

“Fuck no, man,” he says, dapping him up, and you laugh as Joost takes your hand and pulls you along with him through the sea of people all dancing and drinking to his music, all of the friends you and him have made over the years. You give quick hellos to everyone you know, saying sorry and you’ll talk to them later—you’re half sure everyone knows where you’re headed, but you can't seem to care tonight. 

You and Joost are almost to the staircase, not without making several stops to have people wish him gefeliciteerd, hugs for both of you, promises to catch up later, there’s just something you both need to do. The first step on it, a raspy voice yells behind you, “Joostttt!!!” and you look to see Donnie, long hair in French braids and expensive jewelry all along his wrists as he pulls you in for a hug that you reciprocate. “Mijn meisje, how are you doing?” 

“I’m good, Donnie, how are you?” 

“Good, good, celebrating your boy,” he yells, reaching behind you to dap Joost up, the excitement at seeing each other heavy on their raspy laughs as Joost hugs him.

Your boy doesn't think you understand Dutch as well as you do, even after 5 years of him giving you impromptu Juolingo (as he calls them) lessons and even longer living here—“Don’t go to the bathroom for the next 20 minutes, man, alright?” he says to Donnie in the language, and you roll your eyes at his boldness.

“20 minuten? Christ, man, jullie zijn allebei verdomd gek,” he laughs in disbelief. 

“Het duurt 10 minuten, Donnie, maak je geen zorgen!” you yell back as Joost keeps pulling you up the stairs, and Donnie cackles as you leave him behind. 

There are several bathrooms downstairs, but the one you’re headed to is upstairs and down a hallway and another, so far away from the action it’s no wonder no one uses it—your favorite bathroom to use for…activities, seldom used yet still seedy as hell, the old fluorescents warm and flickering, the mirrors cracked and grimy. The sinks and the stalls are always relatively clean though; whether it’s from the lack of use or the club owners actually upkeep it, you don’t know and don’t care as you step into the middle of the three stalls, you and Joost’s favorite one. 

Even if you know that there’s no one in here, the drip of the leaky faucets echoing against walls and not other people, Joost still bends down and checks under and between the stall gaps for you before squeezing into the tight stall with you, locking it. 

Joost takes you by the arms and turns you around so you won't have to touch the slightly gross toilet at any part. “Finally alone,” he breathes, taking your face in his hands and giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose, which you laugh at. 

“What’s that for?” you say as Joost kisses both of your cheeks, then your lips three times in quick succession. 

“I missed you!”

“I sat on your lap the entire time.” 

“You weren’t facing me—I missed you!” 

You pinch his cheek and smile—how lucky you are to spend his birthday together. It wasn’t always like this; whether it was the constant cat-and-mouse game you both played in the beginning of your relationship or your job and school or his abundance of creative projects, every birthday over Facetime and belated celebration makes you love Joost and this even more.  

“You look very sappy,” Joost says, hands on your hips as you brush his bangs back then cup his face.

“I am sappy,” you say softly, and he laughs and kisses you. 

“We don't have time to be sappy—you said 10 minutes to Donnie, didn’t you? Mean, by the way.” Joost takes your hand and kisses your wrist, the silver chrome pendant of his initial dangling from the chain link bracelet he bought you last anniversary. “But I am sappy too, I hope you know.” 

He pretends to chomp on your hand before pulling you in for another kiss. “I’m so happy you're with me.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “Best birthday ever.” Kiss. 

Last year was the best birthday ever, too—you're just glad it only gets better. “I love you too.” Joost squeezes you tight and you groan once he squeezes you too tight, laughing once he lets go. 

“Sorry, I just love you.” 

“I know,” you say, patting Joost on the chest then running your hands down to his new copyright belt buckle, undoing it. He’s so obviously hard, it’s laughable thinking about how he walked through a crowd greeting his friends with a big tent in his jeans. 

You mouth at his neck, saying a quiet, “Hi Lola,” which he laughs at as you kiss along the side, sucking on the skin just slightly—he marks so easily and you've both already made it so obvious what you’re doing at his own birthday celebration. 

Reaching into his pants, you wrap your hand around his shaft and give him a few lazy pumps, the head already leaking precum. Joost smiles into your kiss—such a great birthday present for him. You suck his lower lip into your mouth momentarily, then come back together again, one hand lightly squeezing over the column of his neck, and his dick twitches in your hand in response. 

“Every time,” he whispers, shaking his head at his own arousal giving him away. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “That's why I do it.” 

You give him a few more jerks before turning around to face the other way. 

There are so many Joost doodles from your years together at this club, adding onto the muddled canvas on top of the stripping paint. Your favorite doodle inside your favorite stall is one you have to look up at. A heart around your name + JOOST in thick black Sharpie on the stall door in a little gap between all the graffiti, the dick drawings…the “Ruby was here ♡” in swirly cursive around eye level. Huh. Interesting. You never noticed that one before. 

“Hehe. Us!” Joost says, pointing with his finger at your names together like he didn’t write it there around a year ago. 

“Us,” you say, touching it with your finger. 

There isn’t much time for you to focus on it when Joost snakes his arms around you, one hand reaching into the cups of your dress to knead your tits, and the other reaching under it so he can rub you over your panties. 

“I almost forgot the thing was still inside you,” he murmurs, tugging at the tail of it gently, which makes you sigh out in pleasure. “My new favorite toy, but let me take it out.”

Placing your hands on the stall door, you bend over a little, which is really, about as much as you can bend with how tiny this space is. A few moments pass and you look back to see Joost kneeling on the ground—“Are you…seriously on your phone right now?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Sorry,” Joost says, squeezing your thigh. “I just have an idea.” 

“Okay,” you say, shimmying your thong down with your fingers and letting it fall to your ankles. You lift up the back half of your dress, exposing your ass.

Finally, Joost places his fingers on the back of your thigh, tugs it using his thumb and forefinger again. Slowly, he pulls it out of you and the impossibly wet sound of it, Joost’s eyes so intent on you, makes your cheeks burn fire. You clench around air—it feels so empty now. 

Joost bites your ass cheek, and to your surprise, licks a strip up your slit, which makes you have to hold onto the stall. You turn to look and he's giving you an exaggerated pout. “Can I eat you out?” he asks earnestly, big blue eyes pleading with you and you shake your head no. 

“What does it look like ditching your own celebration for so long? When we get home you can do it.” 

“Fine,” Joost grumbles, getting back up. You watch as he pumps his cock a few times, spreading the precum down his shaft. He swipes the head through your slit, dipping the tip inside of you a few times,  “My god, you’re so wet, schat,” he says, and you can feel it, the smooth and frictionless glide of him through you, “This is crazy.”

“Stop fucking teasing, oh my god,” you sigh, and as you say it, Joost still teases you, the tiniest little thrusts with your pussy enveloping only the head of his cock. 

“Bossy,” he mumbles, and then you hear the familiar loud vibration of the pink toy in his hand. You look at him with wide eyes and he shrugs. “We can use it while we do this.” 

“Mmm…okay,” you say, turning back around and getting ready for him to enter you again. Joost wraps his arms around you again, one holding the toy to your mound and sending the vibrations through your body again, the other cupping your tits from below. 

Slowly, Joost thrusts inside of you, the wet slide of his cock inching inside of you making you shudder. Once he bottoms out, his hips snug against your ass, he whispers into the side of your face, “Ik hou van je,” and you nod, eyes closed in intense pleasure at how big he feels, the pulsing vibrations on your clit. 

Joost pulls you back onto him by the hip, thrusting forward at the same time so they punch against your g-spot even harder. The moans just tumble out of his mouth, strangling out your name, various curses, his pace steady but unforgiving to you in the throes of your arousal. In this position, he’s so big, and you’re so wet, and the vibrator is so strong—you could collapse. 

“So good, baby,” Joost breathes out against your shoulder, and you turn your head to kiss him. He does, but at the same time pressing the toy even harder against your bud, making you sob out his name, clenching around him. “Taking me so well, baby, so good.” 

Your shared moans and breaths bounce off the tile walls, the clack of your heels as you adjust your stance to get him deeper inside of you, Joost’s raspy voice in your ear and his teeth in your neck. The sound of your pussy around him fucking into you incessantly—you should be ashamed at how filthy it sounds, but you aren’t, and you know Joost isn’t either. 

Joost slows down his hips, and you whine at the stalled pace—“Mijn schat, can I see you?” Joost asks, breathless as he slides out of you with that sound again that’s music to your ears, and you turn to face him, wetness smearing your thighs. The vibrations subside completely again, and Joost takes the vibrator off of you. 

“I want to see you, too,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. “But how are we gonna do that?” 

“You’ll just have to trust me.” 

“That isn’t hard to do.” 

Reaching down, he squeezes your thigh, lifting it up and you help hike it up for him. The palm of his hand is under your bent knee, and you look back up at him to tilt your head and give him a confused face.  

“Did you see this in like, a video or something?” you laugh, especially looking down at the absurdity of it all; crammed in the smallest bathroom stall known to man, crotches together, teetering on a high heel while your boyfriend holds up your leg for you. 

“Being away from you so often,” he says, hiking your leg up further and making you yelp and laugh as you almost fall. “It means I get lots of ideas about how I want you.” 

Joost wraps your arms around his shoulders, his neck so you can have better balance—the heels make you perfectly in line with his cock and you both look down and watch as he uses his free hand and his hips to guide his cock into you slowly, parting your folds as it disappears inside of you. Your lips part, brows knit together at the feeling so perfect that you sob out once he bottoms out so deeply in you. 

The sounds are so filthy when Joost starts thrusting, you might actually be ashamed of it for once; the hollow clap of his hips against your pelvis echoing against the dingy walls, the wet slide of his cock in and out and in and out of you—every moan out of your mouth is one you couldn’t dream of holding back, mewling into his jacket shoulder, clinging onto him and leopard print fabric tightly as he fucks into you, tight hand around your hip sliding him into you over and over again. 

Usually you’re the one calling the shots around here, Joost hanging onto your every word as your sweet and loving life partner, but he’s got you in his palm, your hands clawing at the back of his jacket, gripping onto the long hair at the nape of his neck, your heavy breaths and choked out moans as you sob his name out. 

“I’m close, schatje,” Joost breathes into your ear, his big hands kneading your ass as he thrusts, arms wrapped tight so he can keep your leg up for you with how much control you’ve lost over yourself at how amazing he feels inside of you. You nod, not really caring at all, close to the edge yourself and your hips tired from the position—it’s his birthday. He deserves this and more. 

“I love you,” you breathe, resting your cheek on his shoulder and closing your eyes as your orgasm starts, the waves coming through you as you tighten and clench around his cock. You're so stretched open, it’s mind blowing for you, and Joost tells you such, babbling about how tight you feel, how good you are for him as you release hard and fast around him, muffling your sounds with his mouth. 

This stall is so stuffy—sweat on sweat and when you open your eyes, Joost gazes at you, eyes half-lidded as he places your forehead against yours, thrusts firmly as his face contorts in pleasure, as the heat rises between you two, skin slapping on skin, all of your love filling all of the room. 

“I love you, schat, I love you,” he says, kissing you as he groans out into your mouth, painting your walls white, warm and full as he gives you the final hard and stuttering few thrusts, fucking every last drop of his cum into you. 

Joost licks into your mouth, spit on your chins as he softens inside of you, breathy moans coming out of him at the overstimulation of your movements. Now that you’ve both stilled, the setting his come back to you—the drippy faucet, the music bumping through the walls sounding like muffled nonsense though you know it’s Joost’s, the stall door cold against your back and the cum already leaking out of you around his cock. 

“Joost, can you let go of my leg, please?” you say quietly, eyes closed as you catch your breath, both of you somehow lean against the stall door now, him panting into your neck, your leg around his hip. 

“Oopsie,” Joost says, giving you a kiss on your neck before placing your leg on the floor gently and straightening up; he pulls the cups of your dress up so they’re covering your chest again, pulls the hem of it down your thigh so you aren’t so exposed. You can feel it drip down your inner thighs as he reaches down and brings your panties back up—Joost is so sweet. You’ll never get used to it.

“Happy birthday to me,” he sings, laughing as he presses a kiss to your lips and you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in. 

“Happy birthday to you.” 

i so appreciate all of your guys' patience with me when it comes to my writing and i hope you enjoyed!! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) askbox anon on hereeee - juno

[screamintoad]

Twst oc Mathilde “Mattie” Darrow

“Our fates are within us, you just need to be brave enough to see it.”

Voice claim: Rayla-The Dragon Prince

Character info

Mathilde has stubbornness and fire flowing through her veins. As the dorm head of Befated, she takes great pride in it. Many of her classmates gossip and say she would be better at NRC but she thinks otherwise. Wanting her freedom to do what she wants, she takes every opportunity she can to be outside or even just around nature. She loves playing spelldrive and uses it as a way to let out any pent up stress or energy, which she has a lot of at RSA. 

  She grew up around myths and legends and folk tales. She was taught to not believe them as reality, yet, Mattie took them as lessons that you can learn from. Like the old story of the princess who accidentally turned her mom into a bear yet ended up saving her and their bond. She lives a humble life with her family in the Shaftlands. Although they don’t always see eye to eye, her family DOES always end the day around the fireplace surrounded by laughter. 

Fun facts: She almost joined the archery club but when she saw the Spelldrive team practicing she decided right then and there that she wanted to do it too. When she was younger she was self conscious about her looks because of other kids poking fun at her for it, now that she’s older she’s quite confident in herself. Uses her magic to summon the string and arrows for her bow. Is a Eurasian brown bear beastfolk. She remembers meeting an old lady who lived in a cottage and this lady addressed her as “princess”, she especially remembers all of the bear carvings she was selling and the odd talking crow. 

Basic info

Age: 17

Height: 178cm, 5’10

B-day: June 15th (Gemini) 

Dominant hand: Right

Family: mom, dad, and 3 younger brothers

2nd year

Class A

Club: Spelldrive

Best subject: P.E

Hobbies: Archery, Horseback riding

Pet peeve: People not listening to her for various reasons (“I’m older”, “You’re just a girl”, etc.)

Favorite food: Berries

Least favorite food: Blueberry tarts

Talent: Self preservation, athletics

Unique Magic: Wisps Call, growing up around myths and legends gave her a knack for finding lone spirits and attract wisps to her. In dire need of guidance these wisps will lead the way. 

Character dynamics (listen there’s only like 2 RSA students that we know the personalities of)

Neige: They don’t interact very often but they are in the same grade so sometimes, very rarely, they’ll be paired up for school assignments. He has a a bit of complimenting her and first she scoffed until she realized that it’s just how Neige is. 

Chen’ya: Even with her enhanced senses, Mattie can’t predict where Chen’ya is going to be. He’s a drifter and so they run into each other at random times but, she thinks he’s funny and will go with him sometimes to visit NRC. 

Richie: They first met when she was trying out for the spelldrive team. He challenged her to a 1 v 1 match and if she won, she could join the team. After she joined the team they gained a friendly rivalry, on and off the field. Mattie also has the habit of throwing him over her shoulder and walking away if he’s about to or has made a fool of himself. 

Mina: They met when there was a spelldrive tournament between NRC and RSA. Mathilde was immediately drawn to Mina as she stood out so much compared to the other NRC students. Her kindness was welcomed by Mattie’s enthusiasm and friendliness, she’s also the main reason why Mattie visits NRC. 

Bruna: Vice dorm head of Befated. Rats. 

RICHIE AND MINA BELONG TO @twtysevapr

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