#not sure what to tag this for in regards to content warnings

[joemama-2]

"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you. 

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’. 

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty. 

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up. 

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him. 

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke. 

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction. 

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.” 

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?” 

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone. 

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear. 

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner. 

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him. 

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before. 

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life. 

And you did. 

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him. 

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him.  “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering. 

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you. 

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires. 

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.” 

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up. 

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for. 

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru. 

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality. 

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls. 

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief. 

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment. 

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously.  The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji. 

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed. 

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face. 

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted. 

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment. 

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you. 

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

[savior-of-humanity]

hauntsect​:

“Oh, you’re worried as to the contents here? You should not be!” Cheerfully, the man speaks, twirling the syringe only slightly. Though seeing him act so apprehensive towards the tool did make him feel a slight tinge of delight, a smile kept pristine.

“This liquid here is good for you, rest assured. You needn’t know the intricacies of it.” Another virus? A vaccine? Both? Something else entirely? He’d keep his mouth shut as to the details, for now. “After all, it’d be a waste to lose such a fine specimen. Do you not know just how valuable you truly are… alive?”

The Monarch pauses, keeping careful fingers over the other’s neck. He appreciated the restraints on him, knowing himself lucky not to have to wrestle with a man that had weathered much and more than he could ever begin to imagine. The needle approaches, slowly penetrating the man’s skin. It sunk carefully, in a straight diagonal line.

“Now, take a deep breath for me, will you? That way, it will not hurt.” Or rather, it’d hurt less… Second by careful second, he pushes on the top of the syringe, allowing for the liquid to slowly seep into the body. His eyes pay close attention to the reactions of Leon, hoping not to go completely overboard. After all, though called a liquid that would potentially help him, every other test subject had low tolerance for even small dosages of it. Despite that, he trusted Leon to be better than the rest – he knew him to be, so he’d push his limits… for as long as he could.

Ah, yes. Because of course the man who was likely behind his kidnapping knew what was best for him. Leon clenched his jaw at the idea of him being considered valuable - let alone him being seen as nothing more than just a specimen. Not a human being, but some thing to be poked and prodded at and split open to study just what made him tick.

He gave a testing tug with one of his arms - no luck. The restraints that held him still didn’t budge even the slightest. His hands curled into tight fists, hissing slightly at the feeling of the needle piercing skin, of whatever was in the syringe being injected straight into some vein in his neck.

He wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact that he didn’t know what it was, or the fact that he could feel it in his blood as an icy cold sensation, creeping through his flesh like watercolor paint on an empty canvas.

Moments passed, and aside from the uncomfortable feeling of ice settling in his veins, nothing happened. Obviously, Leon didn’t know what the effects of the liquid he’d just been injected with was supposed to do, but he’d been expecting some  immediate result - why else would he be strapped down, aside from keeping him from attacking his captor?

“I don’t think your serum’s working as intended, doc.” Leon quipped sarcastically. Rather, he would have, because he was abruptly cut off mid-sentence by the sense of his entire nervous system starting to burn.

It wasn’t world-destroying agony, but it was not pleasant whatsoever. It felt as though someone had taken a bucket of liquid nitrogen and boiling magma and poured them simultaneously straight into his blood. Even with the restraints holding him down, the agent tensed up; eyes screwed shut, teeth bared, a low groan of pain escaping his clenched jaw as he tried to ride out the pain of fire and ice in his veins, of his muscles spasming, of his skin crawling like it was about to become alive and peel itself off of his own god damn body.

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #2

A/N: Fucking FINALLY got something written for once. Enjoy some crumbs, lovely readers <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, virgin!Spencer Reid, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, fingering, groping, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk, rough sex, fluff

Some tags: @rafeyscurtainbangs @loserboysandlithium @hotwritergf @bloodibambiidoll

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Spence?" You ask Reid as you're straddling his thighs, the two of you naked in his bed as you have been so many times before. Although, it's different this time, because he's just asked you to take his virginity from him.

"Yes. I'm ready." He replies softly, sitting up against the headboard, his hands resting at your waist. He's brought you here on many occasions, though up until recently the most you'd do is make out until your lips were sore.

He'd met you at a book shop a few months ago, reaching for the same first edition of some dusty old classic. Sherlock Holmes, maybe, or perhaps even Moby Dick. He doesn't quite remember (and his unmatched memory captures everything), as he was far too focused on the gorgeous, soft hand that brushed against his own in grabbing for the book. A shared laugh soon followed, light and airy, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your beauty enraptured him instantly, and he nearly tripped over himself to give you his number and await your call to plan a date of some sort. It was so unlike him to do so, it made him seriously question his sanity for an hour or two. But after a conversation with you that lasted hours into the night when he returned home that evening, he was pleased to find he'd made a very wise decision.

Fast forward to the last month or so, and things have rapidly progressed from hand-holding and passionate kisses to touching various naked areas with your hands and mouths. You've been patient, guiding Spencer along each stepping stone towards intercourse, encouraging him, exploring him in every way imaginable. Despite your insistence (and multiple comments he receives from certain coworkers of his), he's never exactly found himself to be attractive. Not really.

He's spent most of his life a full step ahead of everyone else in terms of education and career, leaving him considerably younger than most of his peers. That fact alone has made it rather difficult to experience a lot of 'firsts' in regards to intimacy. He's been kissed before you came along, maybe even felt up a little bit, but nothing beyond that. In all honesty, a part of him is glad to have been spared the awkward adolescent groping and vulgar attempts at playing grown-up, because now he's been able to share all of these amatory encounters with you.

"I want this. I want you." Spencer reiterates as you haven't made any next moves yet.

"I want you too, baby. I just have one more question." You say softly, brushing a wispy hair out of his face before cupping his cheek.

"And what's that?" Reid asks, unable to help smiling as you gaze at him adoringly.

"Do you want me to put a condom on you, or are you okay without one?" You ask, the words sounding a bit more clinical than you'd like. But it's a fair question.

"I-I dunno. Should I?" His brow furrows, unsure how to go about this. He's aware you're on the pill, though that statistically isn't 100% effective. And he may be a virgin, but he's aware of the mess sex can make, and it might spare a bit of cleanup afterwards. He's getting stuck on it now, pondering inside his head as you play with the foil wrapper between your fingers.

You giggle at his momentary trance, shaking your head. "It's only if you want to, Spence. It's not exactly a life-altering decision."

"That's not true. You could still end up pregnant." Spencer retorts, about to rattle off statistics at you about just how many children were born to parents who assumed oral contraceptives were enough. You put a finger over his mouth to stop him, and he sighs when he realizes how intense he's getting about this. He gently moves your hand away, speaking again. "I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

"No, you're not. It's sweet that you're so concerned." You reassure him, giving him a soft kiss. He hums into you, allowing your tongue to slip into his mouth for a moment. You pull away shortly after, taking his breath with you. With your lips still brushing against his, you meet his dizzied gaze. "I only ask, because I want your first time to be extra special. And it'll feel so much better if you fuck me without a condom on." You say seductively, making his pupils dilate with lust.

"Actually, studies show that there's little to no difference in sensat-" Reid's gargantuan mind starts up again, leaving you no choice but to cut him off by taking his cock in your grasp. "-fuck." He mutters, losing his train of thought entirely, his eyes flicking down to look at the scene between his legs. His stiff, ample length throbs in your hand, pearly beads of precum dripping down the side as you lazily stroke him.

"Baby, look at me..." You purr, drawing his gaze to you. "I'm gonna ask you again. All I need is a 'yes; or 'no', okay?" You wait for him to give an understanding nod. He does, as well as letting out one of the filthiest little moans you've ever heard. "Do you want to wear a condom?" You ask, letting his dick fall from your hand for a moment. He whines at the loss, the sound sending a flare of arousal between your legs.

"No. I want to feel you. All of you. Please." Spencer begs, and you could just about melt at the pitchy whimper in his voice. You've noticed he grows rather needy in bed, and it doesn't take much to rile him up. The way he takes everything you give him like a precious gift is so goddamn intoxicating.

"So do I, Spence." You say with a smile, one he mirrors. "Is this position okay? We can do it any way you want."

"This is fine, makes me feel close to you." Reid says sweetly, squeezing your hips a little.

"You wanna warm me up a little bit first?" You ask, longing to feel his touch.

"Of course." He nods, leaning in to press his lips to yours. Spencer always starts with a kiss, no matter what it is you end up doing. It's really romantic, and makes your knees weak every time. You let him lead, allowing his tongue to dominate yours in a fervent dance. His hand leaves your waist, trailing along your supple skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His long fingers brush past your inner thighs, reaching their intended destination without him having to look. He rubs slow circles on your clit, making you moan against his mouth. It doesn't take long for him to venture further, slipping two fingers inside your drenched cunt.

"Fuck, Spence." You moan aloud, the way his fingertips can reach your g-spot so quickly and easily takes you by surprise every time. You grab hold of his cock again, mainly holding it to keep him ready. Although, the sounds you're making and how wet you are seem to be doing that job just fine. The air of the room heats up, growing thinner as the seconds pass. Unabashed moans escape the two of you as you work each other up, building towards the one thing you've both desired for so long. "I'm ready when you are." You say breathlessly, eager to finally feel Spencer inside of you.

"O-Okay." He stutters, nodding his head enthusiastically. He pulls his fingers out of your cunt, bringing them to his lips. He sucks them clean, moaning at the taste of you. "Mm."

"Dirty boy." You tease, making a deep blush bloom wildly across his cheeks. You start to stroke him again, very slowly. You get up on your knees to position yourself over him.

He watches your every move, unable to say a word. It's finally happening. He's going to have sex. With you. Reid feels like a silly teenager with all these thoughts running through his head, but they all fall away the second you bring the tip of his cock to glide through your folds. You share a moan at the sensation, gazing at one another with parted mouths. Hearts pounding in anticipation, breath stolen from your lungs, arousal leaking from you both and mixing together in the indescribable friction. Spencer could cum just like this if he isn't careful.

"Ready?" You ask one final time, just to be absolutely sure that he wants this.

"Yes." Reid nods, trying to keep himself from squirming. You feel so good, and he's not even inside you yet. He's certain he won't last long, but you've already told him a hundred times that it won't be a problem.

You don't waste anymore time, holding his cock at your entrance and gradually sinking down onto him. "Fuck, Spence. You're so big." You moan as he splits you open. He's a bit larger than you've had before, and it's been quite some time since you've done this, so every inch is deliciously stuffing you full.

Reid, on the other hand, has gone completely mute. His mind has stopped working, and all he can do is grip onto your hips with all the strength he has without hurting you. You're absolute heaven inside, if he believed in such a thing. So hot, and slick, and snug, squeezing around his dick perfectly. He finally understands what all the fuss is about. He could just about cry from happiness in this moment. Once you're fully seated on him, your walls constrict out of reflex, which appears to get Spencer's sex-addled brain working again. "Oh, my...fuck- I, um, wow..." He babbles, unsure what to do with himself. His hands fidget at your sides aimlessly, and his expression twists and bends in all manner of ways as he attempts to get a grip on one singular thought.

"Shh, look at me, Spencer." You coo to him, leading his chin with your finger. He meets your eyes, though his own desperately want to roll back into his fucking skull. "That's it, baby. Just breathe, alright? Nice and slow, 'kay?" You guide him through the initial shock, nodding together slowly as he takes deep breaths. "There you go. I'm gonna start moving now, okay? Don't worry if you cum early, and just tell me if you need me to stop." You say softly, keeping things light and low-pressure. The last thing you need is him worrying about his performance.

"Okay." He breathes, chest shuddering as you start to ride him. You lift yourself up, almost letting him fall out altogether, and come back down at the same pace. You do this a few more times, gradually picking up a bit of speed.

"That feel good, baby?" You ask him, rolling your hips as you set a steady rhythm.

"Yeah, so fucking good." Spencer huffs, feeling close already. But he puts that out of his mind, focusing instead on enjoying this with you. "Do you feel good?" He asks, needing more than your vulgar moans as confirmation.

"So good, Spence. You fill me up so well, I'm so fucking wet for you." You admit these lewd thoughts to him, no stranger to being vocal during intimacy with him. Reid enjoys it immensely, adding words to the actions just makes everything astoundingly better. "Tell me how it feels to fuck me, Spencer." You say through a moan, riding him a little bit faster now.

Spencer groans at your increased speed, doing his best to hold back his orgasm. "I-It's exactly what I'd always hoped it would be." He starts. "I can hardly find the words to describe how much I'm enjoying this right now. You've blown my mind to pieces with this perfect fucking pussy." His grip on your waist grows rougher, taking you by surprise. He's following his instincts, leading you with his hands as you bounce on his cock. His assistance punctuates every landing you make, your noises growing louder as pleasure builds inside you. "I can feel you making a mess all over me, fucking soaked." He says, marveling at the drenched patch on his crotch. Your arousal glistens in the light as it's caught on his coarse hair and pale skin. "It drives me crazy to know you're loving this just as much as I am."

"I am, baby. You're so deep, hitting all the right places inside me." You say, speeding up a bit more. Spencer's hands migrate to your ass, squeezing your flesh roughly as he continues to keep up with you. You're surprised he's lasted this long, oddly proud of him for doing so.

"Fuck, you're incredible." Spencer groans, getting dangerously close to the edge again. He'd tell you to slow down, but everything feels too good to stop. Instead, he tries to drag you down with him, starting with diving face first into your tits. His mouth nips and sucks at your flesh wildly, struggling to land where he wants with your ceaseless bouncing. The noises he makes are borderline animalistic, groaning and grunting against your chest.

"Jesus, Spence!" You can't help letting out a breathless laugh at his urgency, picking up on the fact that his end is closer than your own. "You wanna try to help me out?" You offer, eager to feel him take some of the control. He doesn't say anything, just nods and makes an unintelligible sound at you. He thrusts his hips up, following what his primal urges are telling him to do. It appears to be working, given the shocked gasp that leaves your lungs at his effort. He keeps doing it, his mind turning to mush more and more as he fucks into your cunt to meet you halfway. "Oh my god! Yeah, keep doing that." You pant the words out, clinging to him by the shoulders.

Reid grins against your flesh, still biting and suckling while he pounds into you over and over. He's doing it, he's really doing it. He's keeping control of himself, he's going to make it. "Feel so fuckin' good, gonna make you cum, gonna make you scream, I promise...promise, promise..." Spencer murmurs to you, vowing to not give up, even though his balls are screaming for release right now. He has to get you there, if it's the last thing he'll ever do. "Such a perfect pussy, so good for me, so, so wet, fuck-" He groans when your walls constrict around him a bit, almost making him blow his load entirely.

"Don't stop, baby, you can do it, fuck me, make me cum, please, Spence..." You plead as your orgasm builds near the point of toppling over. His filthy mouth and feral actions have set you on fire from the inside out. You knew sleeping with Spencer would be special, and intense. But this is an entirely new level. His craving of you has blocked out all else, leaving him only with the mission to chase release. His, and your own.

"Oh, god, lay down, lay down, I'm gonna cum, gonna cum..." Spencer babbles, attempting to push you over onto your back. You follow his lead, his cock still sheathed inside you as you let him lead you where he wants. As soon as your body hits the mattress, he proceeds to ram himself into you as hard and as fast as he can.

"Fuck! Spencer!" You cry out as he hits an entirely new angle inside you, your ass resting over his knees as he thrusts forward. His hands grip your hips so hard, sure to leave dark bruises once he's through with you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna cum deep inside this pussy..." Reid grunts, sweat slicking him down, stomach clenching as he's about lose it.

"Keep going, baby. Don't stop, I'm almost there. Cum for me." You whine as his cock slams into you again and again.

"Fuck!" He nearly shouts when he finally feels it, his balls tightening, bliss washing over him, his hips stuttering as he fills you with thick ropes of white.

All you can do is bear witness as Spencer cums, harder than he ever has in his life. His brows knit together, mouth falling open as he moans so fucking loud. He keeps slamming his cock into you, hoping to pull you down alongside him. Feeling his load spill inside of you, as well as his desperate thrusts sends you tumbling over the edge. "Oh, god! Spencer!" You cry as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Your pussy clenches down on Reid's spent length, making him gasp as he keeps thrusting to get you off. You thighs shake violently, stars blurring your vision, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. It's the most beautiful thing Spencer has ever seen.

You both slowly come down from your high, soaked in sweat and totally spent. Spencer carefully pulls out of you, though you still wince a little. "You okay?" He asks, noting your discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit worn out." You laugh lightly, crawling over to the right end of the bed to lie down. Spencer joins you, pulling the covers over you both and taking you into his arms.

"Sorry about that, I don't know what came over me." He says, a little embarrassed for losing control the way he did.

"It's okay, baby. More than okay, actually." You reassure him once again, stroking his damp face with your thumb. "I'm surprised you had it in you." You chuckle, and he does, too.

"So am I. I guess you...bring it out in me." He explains, and you nod in understanding.

"And I take that as a compliment." You say with a sleepy smile. "Did you have enjoy yourself?" You ask.

"Very much. Even more than I thought I would." Spencer says earnestly, making your heart skip a beat.

"Me too, Spence. And I'm so happy you chose me to enjoy this with." You reply, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. This night has been the best one of your lives (so far), and you look forward to sharing many more moments just like this one in the future. Together.

[zepskies]

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[euphor1a]

Just the tip

* part of “boyfriend chronicles” — can be read as a stand-alone.

ꨄ pairing: mingyu x f!oc

ꨄ genres: non idol!au, established relationship, fluff, smut, slice of life.

ꨄ summary: he tried his best, he really did. but lord, for how long could he control himself when you looked like a pretty, little angel, all his to ruin?

ꨄ rating & word count: 18+ ; ~9.5K  

ꨄ warnings/tags: fluff (called me single in 100 languages typa way), plentiful pda, they’re so in love that it repulses me /j, profanity, explicit sexual content; dom/sub undertones (a bit of switch action as well), semi-public sex, breast play, biting/marking, size kink, praising, pet names, fingering, teasing, dacryphilia, begging, “just the tip”, unprotected, penetrative sex, big d*ck!gyu, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), creampie — this is a work of fiction and it doesn’t represent mingyu in any way.    

ꨄ a/n: this series is slowly starting to look like my villain origin story 😔... like wdym i can’t have kim mingyu 💔💔? *sigh* anyway, it’s been a while, enjoy <3!

His footsteps are light despite him being in a hurry. It’s almost as if he could start flying at any moment. Mingyu wishes that was an option. The sunlight filtering through his living room windows barely makes it to the kitchen, where he’s struggling miserably. 

Large, shaky hands grip onto the petite looking sliders he has just finished making, carefully placing them inside the various colorful lunch boxes splayed out on the kitchen island. Mingyu is heaving ever so slightly, a bit of perspiration starting to collect on his forehead. He’s nervous. And it’s silly, he knows. But he can’t help his rushing heart that is hammering against his chest. 

It’s been over ten minutes since you texted him that you’re on your way to the park you two are going to meet up for your date. And he’s still here, in his pj’s, trying to finish packing the picnic basket as quickly as possible without absolutely destroying it. Even though Mingyu woke up criminally early with the intentions to cook everything himself, he somehow managed to fall behind because of the stupid cupcake batter that refused to make anything edible out of itself. 

With what feels like the umpteenth sigh of the day, he manages to complete arranging the boxes inside the basket. However, he almost slips while hurrying to reach his bedroom. A string of curses leave Mingyu’s pouty lips, the muscles in his arms flexing to support his whole body against the wall. He still needs to get ready, leave his house, and buy some sort of dessert from the local bakery before finally meeting you.

Thanking himself for picking up and ironing the outfit yesterday night, he dresses up in a flash. Mingyu ponders if he should do something with his hair, but ends up keeping it the way it currently is. Sure, it is kind of messy, but it also gives him that ‘casually sexy’ look. A satisfied smirk and the bare minimum skincare along with sunscreen later, he regards himself in the mirror for one last time. Looking more than good to go.

That state of peace only lasts for a moment though. Not wanting to be even more late than he already is, Mingyu grabs his phone, wallet, keys and the basket. After another minute of scrambling, he puts on a random pair of loafers and heads out. Even though you haven’t contacted him since earlier, he feels anxious. Who knows for how long you’ve been waiting all alone? 

His long legs help him blaze past the bustling neighborhood, hands clutching on the basket’s handle in an attempt to stop it from swaying unsteadily. Mingyu is so wrapped up in his thoughts of you that he actually walks past the bakery — before realizing and taking a 180° turn. The elderly owner smiles at him brightly as he enters the cozy shop, somehow catching up on what exactly is happening with the usually calm and collected guy he has seen for so long. “Aah, Mingyu! Welcome, my boy! Long time no see, eh? What brought you here all of a sudden? Mayhaps a special day with a special someone?” 

“Hi, Mr. Owen! Hah, really though… I don’t remember the last time I found myself having a little dessert. Glad to be back here! Although, I’m just gonna pretend that I didn’t hear the last part…” Mingyu trails off, eyes taking in the pretty pastries and all sorts of baked goodness displayed in front of him. His heart jumps a little when he thinks about how your face contorts in pure joy whenever you ravish the sugar rush from something sweet. “Uh anyway! Please pack me a dozen of these pastel colored macarons! And maybe four of those glazed donuts? Oh my god… are those heart shaped pies?? Looks so cute! Please pack two of them too!” 

The man nearing his late 60s can’t help but laugh at Mingyu’s excited rambling as he points at the things he wants. “Calm down, calm down, I’ll get to everything one by one.” He folds up some new boxes before putting the delicate confectioneries into them. “You really don’t have to say anything though, the answers are written all over your face.” 

Mingyu, who was busy admiring the heart shaped pies, looks up, confused. “Huh?” 

“The question I asked earlier. Which you pretended to not hear. The answer to it is written all over your face.” Owen shakes his head with a smile on his face. 

“Oh–” Mingyu looks down at his feet. Is he really that obvious? But even if he is, should he care about it? Feeling happy and elevated to meet his girlfriend doesn’t always need to be embarrassing. 

“Don’t mind my little teasing now, will you? Do you want me to put these in your basket?” He’s brought back to reality by Owen’s voice. Mingyu nods and brings the picnic basket up on the counter. 

While the old man adds up the prices to write a bill after carefully putting all the desserts in the almost full basket, Mingyu finds himself zoning out. Would you like all the things he’s bringing? What if you have some secret allergy he doesn’t know yet, and you’re unable to eat? A pout forms on his lips. But then he remembers — he’s been pretty late by now, and you’re waiting for him in a place you’re not familiar with at all.

He hurriedly pays and grabs his basket, apologizing to Owen for not being able to hang around longer and leaving immediately. Once he’s outside again, he quickly takes his phone and calls your number. Mingyu almost feels jittery, scenarios going through his head that aren’t exactly nice. Thankfully for him, you pick up after a few rings, greeting him cheerily.

“Mingyu! Hello baby! I’m here already, are you on your way?”  

That alone is enough for the six feet tall, grown ass man to wish he could disintegrate into thin air right now. Not in a negative way, though. He just finds it extremely devastating that you called him “baby” like that. But Mingyu is quick to recover from that feeling. “Hi angel, I’m on my way!! I’m sorry you have to wait there all alone… I’m like a three minute walk away from the park. Do you, maybe, wanna keep talking over the phone?”

“Aw sure! And don’t worry about it please, I’m just standing beneath a large tree and enjoying the scenery! It’s so pretty here!” 

Three minutes feel like thirty seconds with you, as he already gets through the park’s elegant looking entrance. His eyes immediately start searching for you. “Baby, I just got through the main gate! Where are you?” 

“Oh! That was quick, Gyu; should I come over to the entrance?” 

“Nono princess! Stay where you are, I’ll be there. Just give me some directions!” Mingyu insists. To his surprise, you don’t give up for your cause.

“Why?” Your voice is nearly a whine, “It’ll be way easier if I just go where you are!” 

With his heart doubling in his chest from fondness, he sighs, “Fine… I guess. Come over quickly then, will you?” 

“Yep yep, already on my way! I can’t wait to see you!” You giggle excitedly, keeping your eyes on the path as you wander back towards the main gate. Mingyu waits by the side of a decorative statue for you. His gaze is searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person he’s grown to adore endlessly. 

It’s only a matter of seconds for you to spot each-other, two pairs of eyes lighting up with joy. You run to him giddily, colliding into his firm chest that you’ve fallen asleep on several times now. His large arms wrap around your small frame to pull you closer, as if on instinct.

You inhale his scent deeply, a mix of his cologne and the smell of fresh laundry from his black polo shirt. However, you do avoid getting your face smushed up against him— for the sake of your skincare and makeup. Both of you stay locked in each other’s embrace for a while, before eventually pulling away.

“You look so unbelievably pretty, my love.” Mingyu leans down to place a kiss on your head. “And smelling like a dream, as well.” Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you fiddle with the belt loops of his beige trouser.

Only now, you’ve become aware of exactly how fucking good he looks today. This black polo fits him like a glove, paired with trousers that accentuate his long legs. Oh and, he also has a pair of eyeglasses that adorns his handsome face. The whole imagery is pretty devastating to your brain as it fails to process everything your eyes have registered. Why is it even legal to look like this?

You suddenly feel majorly weak in the knees, but Mingyu supports you with his unoccupied hand, flashing you a cocky grin. “What happened, baby?” He teases, clearly aware of the effect he has on you. You hold onto his arms and regain composure, clearing your throat from embarrassment. 

“Uhm, you look… really really great as well.” His eyes twinkle as he smiles upon your compliment, the hand around your waist pressing you into him. Your heart flutters in your chest from the close exposure. Mingyu seems a bit more touchy-touchy than usual, considering that you guys are in public.

“All for you, my angel,” your boyfriend mutters right against your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As if that wasn’t satisfactory enough, he lets his lips brush over the shell of your ear, catching you even more off-guard. What the hell is in the air today? 

“Uhm– let’s go find a spot for our date? Or are we gonna just stand here?” You look up at Mingyu questioningly, doe eyes causing his heart to skip a beat. He sighs, just slightly annoyed with how his mind goes to unspeakable places with just that.

“Of course, baby, let’s find a place to sit down.” He smiles brightly, watching you wrap your smaller arm around his. To his dismay, his hungry eyes once again take in how pretty and irresistible you look in this flowy, white sundress. 

The soft material caresses your thighs with each stride; Mingyu wishes it was his hand instead. It’s absurd, but the way this dress has pretty flowers and hearts printed across it makes him wanna mark you up. The poofy sleeves, the sweetheart neckline that shows just enough to drive him crazy — God. Even the way your hair is loosely braided with stray locks tucked behind your ear? He genuinely wants to cancel all plans and take you to his home and do you all day.

It’s crazy, really. How can you just look like that and expect anyone to act like a normal functioning human? Mingyu shakes his head a little and inhales shakily. You deserve to get pampered on a picnic date as much as you deserve to get mind-blowing orgasms. 

“You’re not paying attention to me at all…” The sound of your dejected voice breaks him out of his reverie. Shit.

“No, no! Baby, please, I’m sorry… Uh, to be painfully honest with you, I’m distracted because you look so exceptionally pretty, like an angel who’s descended on Earth. But still, I’m really sorry for not listening to what you have to say. I promise I’ll focus from now on!!” He laces your fingers together and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“You’re such a flatterer, Kim Mingyu.” You try to hide your smile, sounding a bit angry to tease him. Your beloved boyfriend hates it when you call him by his full birth name; and this time is no different. However, to your surprise, instead of throwing a tantrum like he usually does, Mingyu leads you to the side of the path. 

“Wha—” you start, but close your mouth out of shock when he covers your frame entirely and leans down to press a sweet kiss on your lips. Your hands press against his toned stomach for support, your head emptying entirely. His lips are so soft against yours, the heat radiating from his body warming you up a bit too much. 

You pull away first, your whole face heated from his sudden action. As you take deep breaths to compensate for the air you lost during the kiss, Mingyu finally speaks up. “Don’t be mad at me today, my love. Please. I’m gonna be so, so sad. I promise I’ll do better but god, please don’t be upset.” His lips have formed his signature pout, your heart melting at the spot. 

You let your thumb caress over his pout, tip-toeing to peck him. Mingyu’s lips stretch into a smile, his unoccupied hand curling around your waist. “You’re so cute, how can I be mad at you?” You giggle, absolutely adored by this soft giant begging you to not be upset. 

“If I am cute, then what are you, princess?” Mingyu grins, nuzzling your hand before you move it away. You shake your head, not willing to debate on who’s the cutest. 

“Anyway, we should really find a place to sit down and get our picnic started. I was just saying that there aren’t a lot of people in the park right now, but we should still find a place with enough privacy.” 

The way Mingyu nods is like a puppy tilting its head. God, the way you’d commit arson for this guy. With a soft sigh, you continue. “And, I also have my own basket, which I left at an empty space I found by where I was standing. Let’s go there first, then we can move further into the park where not a lot of people will potentially find or bother us.” 

It takes you guys a few minutes to go and fetch your own basket, and probably another ten to fifteen minutes to find a spot for your picnic date. Mingyu is extremely happy with the grassy little patch surrounded by tall bushes and large trees, a big smile on his face as he takes out the picnic blanket he brought along. He can’t wait to show you all the food he made. 

Once he’s done setting the blanket, you take off your pastel pink mary janes and settle down on the blanket with your picnic basket nearby. Mingyu looks at you, a bit surprised. “You’re taking off your shoes?” The question makes you narrow your eyes. 

“And why wouldn’t I be taking off my shoes? To make this brand new blanket dirty?” His mouth forms an ‘O’ shape, before he nods. You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. “You can keep your shoes on, if you want. There’s no need to stink up this place.”

“HEY! I’m not that unhygienic, that last time I just forgot about laundry for some reason. I already told you… And I’m not wearing any socks today…” Mingyu trails off, discarding his loafers with a ‘hmph’. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop sulking, Gyu.” You watch him as he sits down as well, adjusting his trousers a bit to be more comfortable in this position. He overlooks you for now, reaching for his basket and carefully taking out the desserts first. Then, he produces a bunch of different tupperwares out of it, placing all the food in the center of the mat, between you two. 

You reach for your own basket as well, cautiously eyeing your boyfriend who seems to be extremely invested in unpacking all the food. The only things you’ve brought along today for the picnic date are flowers, a flower vase, a small canvas and some tubes of watercolor, besides your necessary belongings. Although it’s kinda embarrassing, it can’t be helped because Mingyu insisted on bringing everything for the date. 

“Gyu,” you murmur, hands anxiously gathering the loosely made bouquet inside your basket. It’s oddly nerve-wracking. You’ve never really received or given flowers in a relationship before. 

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up, eyes furrowed as he rummages through his basket. With a sharp inhale, you slowly retrieve the flowers, extending them towards him. Mingyu immediately turns to look at your shaky hands holding a bouquet of Jasmine and Lilacs, his face heating up as he realizes what’s going on.

“____, my baby,” he coos, bringing his hands to wrap around your trembling ones. “It looks so pretty, did you bring them for me?” You avoid eye-contact, but nod to give him confirmation. The wave of weird emotions that hits Mingyu is hard for him to explain. Usually, he’s been the one giving flowers to his partners in relationships. But, being on the receiving end for the first time, he feels as if he’s on top of the world. 

“C’mere.” He leans in to grab your waist, bringing you closer to him, before hoisting you up a little to place you on his lap. Mingyu fixes your dress, then  pulls you closer to rest against his chest. His left hand remains wrapped up around your midsection. “Thank you so much, love. I’m over the moon that you got me flowers. I’m so lucky to be dating you, angel.” He presses a kiss on your cheek, your heart almost bursting inside your chest. 

“Do you know Victorian floriography?” you look at him, slightly embarrassed. When he shakes his head as ‘no’, you go on, “It’s the language of flowers. Back then, gifted flowers used to have hidden meanings… But it’s kinda coming back in trend, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Mingyu ponders, “Then, does this bouquet of Jasmine and Lilacs have a secret message as well?” You nod, looking up at him with a shy smile. 

“Find it out later, okay? For now, please explain what you’ve brought along in so many boxes…?” Trying to change the topic, you take away the flowers to put them inside the vase you brought along, settling it in an empty space between all the packed boxes of desserts.

He chuckles nervously, suddenly remembering all the food he brought. “Uh… right. I might’ve gone a bit overboard with it, but I promise, sixty percent of everything you see is made by me, with so much love.” 

“Whoa!” you exclaim. “That’s a lot of things you made with your own hands… I’m honored.” Mingyu presses a kiss on the side of your neck, nuzzling it affectionately. Goosebumps spread across your skin, and you stop yourself from making any noises. It’s… weird that he’s being so intimate while you are pretty much in public. But god, does it do things to you… 

“You haven’t tasted anything yet, though. Heck, let me show you what’s inside first.” He reaches for the closest tupperware, and to your surprise, you see various, colorful fruits, all cut up in small heart shapes and laid out in rows. 

“Omg, so cute!!” you squeal, clapping your hands together in excitement. Mingyu beams at you, clearly happy with your reaction. 

“Hehe, there’s a lot more to see!” He stretches to grab two more boxes, each revealing tteok-bokki, your mouth inevitably watering from the sight. You’ve had these delicious rice cakes made by him a few times prior, and you loved it to bits. 

He leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Should I take out the chopsticks?” Mingyu closes the box with fruits in it, moving it to the side. “Let’s go from spicy to sweet, hm? I also made tiny sliders because you seem to like miniature food a lot! After these, we can have the desserts!” 

You nod in agreement, snuggling up to him more. Receiving treatment like this makes you feel like a princess. Even though you’re not sure how much he has brought along, you internally make up your mind to at least taste everything and applaud the effort he put into it.  

Once you guys are done eating everything he had prepared himself, you urge Mingyu to take a break and save the desserts for the very end. He agrees, not willing for the date to end anytime soon. 

“I brought along something else as well… if you let me go for a bit, I can take my basket and you can hold me again.” You say after a while of chatting about this and that. Your boyfriend eyes you curiously, loosening his arms around your waist momentarily. That is enough for you to grab your basket and settle down on his lap again. 

“What did you bring? I’m so curious! Wait— tubes of paint?!” To add more to his surprise, you take out the small canvas, a literal gasp escaping Mingyu. “What can we possibly do with these? I don’t see any brushes…” 

“It’s so surprising to me that you’re always on Instagram, yet you have no clue about this.” You tease, placing the canvas in a position where both of you can access it very comfortably. He raises an eyebrow at your comment, feeling very attacked. But he refrains from saying anything.

“Let’s just start doing it, okay? It’ll make sense immediately because it’s nothing complicated.” You sigh, taking Mingyu’s palm in yours. He looks confused as you take the red watercolor tube first, getting rid of the cap and squeezing out a generous amount on the top of pinky finger. 

“Oh…” He lets you take his hand and bring it to the center of the tiny canvas, pressing the paint covered finger carefully against the paper. “But what’s that supposed to do? It just looks like a blob of paint…” Mingyu looks at you questioningly as you retreat his pinky from the canvas. 

“Oh hush, don’t be so impatient!” You scold him jokingly, pointing towards a bunch of tissues. “Clean up your finger now! You’ll find out soon enough.” He puffs out his lower lip, reaching for a tissue while grumbling.

You take the tube of blue watercolor and cover your whole thumb with a thick layer of paint. Mingyu watches you curiously while you press on your thumb in the opposite direction of his ‘blob of paint’, trying to get the sizes as close as possible. “That is so fucking adorable?!” Your boyfriend erupts in cute aggression when you lift up your thumb, revealing a heart made with your fingerprints. 

“It’s so cute, you’re so cute, fuck, I–” He stops himself before any inevitable words roll off his tongue. Mingyu is well aware that you prefer to take things slow, and he wants to make sure that you can process everything at your own pace. His thoughts are interrupted by your giggles. 

He tightens his hands right beneath your chest, pushing you close to nuzzle the crook of your neck. “Is it that funny? So fun to watch me lose my shit because of how fucking adorable you are, hm?”

“It’s not like that…” you murmur, goosebumps all over your body. “I just thought that it’s kinda amusing how you were all clueless and nagging about it earlier, then suddenly, you were screaming about how cute this is.” It’s hard for you to not make any sounds when he’s caressing your sensitive areas, but you attempt to keep your voice low and steady. 

Mingyu wishes he could explain how much that tiny heart shaped painting actually means to him. It’s almost like all your heart is into those two blobs of red and blue paint, looking back at him, telling him secrets you’ve never shared with him before. He feels all warm and fluffy inside, his senses all wrapped around your nuances. “Can I keep that for myself?” 

“Of course!” You smile brightly at him, extremely giddy that he wants to keep this small token of your feelings for him which will last way longer than the flowers. “Let the paint dry first, though.” 

“Sure, baby.” He squeezes you in his arms. “Can we have the desserts now? I know it doesn’t look like it, but there are plenty of them.” Mingyu whines, feeling sort of desperate to show you everything he bought earlier. Thankfully for him, you nod, perking up at the mention of many desserts. 

He reaches for the box with pies first, knowing very well you’ll absolutely adore them. And you do, blessing his ears with one of those cute squeals of yours, eyes sparkling at the sight in front of you. “OMG!! So pretty! And it looks delicious!” 

“Mhm, I had a feeling you’d love to have these. Let’s dig in!” Mingyu takes out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, squirting out some of it on both of your hands. These pies are very conveniently palm-sized. With its crust shaped like a heart, ruby red filling made out of cherries — it sure does make you feel hungry just by looking at it. 

“C’mon, take a bite,” your boyfriend muffles out, mouth already full of the big bite he has just taken. You nod gingerly, taking a shy bite of the pie as well. The buttery, flaky crust, paired up with a bit of the sweet cherries melt in your mouth, a satisfied sound rumbling in your throat. 

“Mm, it’s really good!” The smile on your face is like a whole trophy to Mingyu. You liked it. He’s so glad that he can’t really explain. 

“Yay!!! I got you donuts and macaroons as well!” He blurts out, all giddy looking at you savoring the sweet dessert. Once you’re done with the pie, he reaches for the boxes of both donuts and macarons, earning a small whine from you.

“I can’t eat that much… I’m almost full.” 

“Why? You only ate a little…” A frown forms on your boyfriend’s lips.

“Gyu. I had a ton of tteok-bokki. Then sliders. Then fruits. On the dessert side, I already had a pie. I’m really, really, sorry, but that looks like a lot of macarons and donuts. My stomach will either burst or I’ll just throw up at the end of this!” You try your best to make your point stand, pleading with your eyes for him to understand.

Mingyu heaves out a sigh. “Fineee. You’re gonna take the macarons back home with you, then. I bought these especially for you. And I’m not listening to any complaints about that.” 

“Gyu, that kinda makes me feel bad though… you basically did everything for this date.” 

“Baby, I did everything voluntarily because I wanted to treat you like this. Like you deserve to be treated. And c’mon now! You brought flowers for me, and came up with a fun little activity to do. What about all the dates we’ve had before that were totally planned by you? So pretty please, with a cherry on top, don’t turn me down?” 

You turn in his lap to face him, blinking back the silly tears that clouded your vision. He hums in approval as you wind your arms around his neck and pull him in for a sweet kiss. Although, you pull back soon enough, resting your foreheads together instead. “You mean so much to me,” you mutter, eyes locking with him. 

A strange warmth spreads throughout Mingyu, radiating inside-out and filling up his heart. He doesn’t really know what to say back — simply because he’s over aware of the fact that he is completely and utterly in love with you. But he doesn’t want to hurry, he wants to move with you, as you slowly open up your petals to him, like a flower does to a sun. 

“I wish there were words in my vocabulary capable of explaining how much you mean to me.” He smiles softly, pressing a butterfly kiss to the corner of your lips. Mingyu absolutely adores the sound of your giggle that drifts to his ears. 

“You’re so cheesy, I kinda like it.” 

“Just 'kinda'?” He can’t help his own chuckle. “And here I thought I was getting a lot of charm points for being cheesy.” 

“You can be cheesy all you want, baby. I think most of your charm points come from your physical features at a first glance.” You boop his nose, both of you bursting out in laughter. 

“Are you saying that I’m handsome?” 

“Mhm. Very handsome, in fact. Very tall as well. Very… very big too.” You can see the playful glint vanishing from his eyes. Mingyu inhales a shaky breath. 

“Let’s get to those donuts now. Please?” 

You nod, moving around to get back on your previous position. He bites back a groan as your hands feel around, squeeze and grab on his thighs before you settle down. “What donuts did you bring?” 

“Glazed donuts, cause you really liked them the last time!” He wraps an arm around your waist, adjusting you to be closer to him. Mingyu is well aware that he’s barely holding up. But, he’s trying to convince himself that being closer to you can get him through his… hard times.

“Whoa omg these look so good?!” His inner monologue is interrupted by your squeal. A small smile curls up his lips. 

“Right? Dig in, baby!” He encourages, leaning forward to take a donut for himself. You follow suit, excited to bite into the sugary heaven. 

The sweet dough crumbles in your mouth upon the first bite, the sugar glaze hitting your taste buds just right. As you savor the pleasant taste of it, a satisfied hum rumbles in your throat. “Gyu, this tastes heavenly. Way better than the last time we had it! And I loved the ones we got back then?!”

“I’m so glad, my angel. I’ll get you more the next time we meet up~” Your boyfriend nuzzles your hair affectionately, his heart doubling in his chest from adoration. It’s hard to explain how great he feels simply by seeing you happy, enjoying your food. Maybe, it’s because Mingyu himself loves to eat heartily and cook for his people; he hopes that he can see you like this forever. 

It would be so nice, he would cook for you everyday and help you out whenever you felt like cooking, and dine-out and order in as your heart desires. 

You’re almost done with your second donut by now, but Mingyu hasn’t said anything or even touched his portion after saying that he’d bring you more. Kind of worried, you turn your head to look at him, finding his eyes transfixed on you. 

“... Hello? Why’d you go silent? Is something in my hair or—” you stop halfway when you notice his gaze has shifted to your lips now. It makes you swallow nervously, anticipation building up in your system. You know that look all too well. 

“There’s something on your lips.” His voice is nonchalant, relaxing your senses a bit. You nod, attempting to wipe off the crumbs with your hand, but he catches your wrist, leaning in swiftly to wrap your lower lip between his. 

Goosebumps spread all over your body, hands automatically winding around his neck as he suckles on the delicate flesh of your lips. His free hand rests against the small of your back, urging you to turn towards him fully. 

You really don’t understand how he can kiss you this good when you are yet to open up to his tongue. Your body has already started to heat up, breathing uneven. With shaky hands, you clumsily take off his glasses, his lips curling up in a smile against yours. 

Soon enough, he coaxes your mouth open, his hand letting go of your wrist and cupping your jaw instead. You both moan simultaneously, crazed by the sweet aftertaste of the desserts. Mingyu is extremely eager, taking the lead as always, your body starting to quake from the mind numbing kiss.

Picking up on your struggle to breathe, he pulls away just enough to whisper against your lips. “You have to keep breathing through your nose, baby. You can’t just forget to breathe, even if I’m kissing you so good for so long that your mind goes blank.” 

You flush at the mention of your usual complaint against him whenever he has to give you space to breathe during a make-out. “I… I try, I swear, but it’s…” you trail off between huffs, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, am I giving my princess a hard time?” Mingyu pats your head, nudging you to get back up. You nod, a small chuckle escaping him. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he leans in for a brief peck. “And so pretty, looking like a fairy today.” 

He returns to the kiss with full passion, tongue immediately entangling with yours, a low groan escaping him. You taste so maddeningly sweet, like an endless source of honey to his bee. He suckles on your tongue, his teeth nibbling on your lips, reducing you to an absolute mess. You are, quite literally, shaking, arousal dripping down your core and ruining the pretty lace thong you wore for today’s date. 

“Aah–” you gasp as he trails down to press wet, sloppy kisses down your neck, hands pulling at the sleeves of your dress. You don’t stop him, threading your fingers through the luscious locks of his wavy hair. Mingyu has nearly forgotten that you guys are technically in public, and has made you do the same. He drags your bra strap off your shoulder using his teeth, biting and sucking on the newly exposed skin.

One of his hands is wrapped around your waist to secure you, his other hand slipping beneath the skirt of your dress, stroking your thighs. Only now, you suddenly remember that you’re on a picnic date in a somewhat secluded part of a very public park. “Mm–mingyu– don’t—” you struggle with your words,  overwhelmed by his ministrations. He’s everywhere — touching, squeezing, licking, kissing and biting. “Stop, please.” You whimper, his actions halting immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu lifts his head to assess your situation, looking dazed himself, his voice hoarse. You swallow nervously, your own eyes glazed with tears that had appeared because he made you feel a bit too good.

“We… we’re in public,” You state firmly. “We can get caught in a very indecent state if we keep going.” 

Mingyu takes a look around the surroundings. Tall bushes and plenty of large trees cover this small patch of area entirely. He knew exactly what he was doing when he chose this spot. One would have to wander off very far into the park and physically push off bushes to get in here like you guys did. Which, to him, seems extremely unlikely. 

“I wouldn’t call this public, my love.” He takes both of your hands to entwine your fingers. “And I highly doubt someone would come this far and specifically peek around the bushes to catch us. You do remember how long it took us to get here, no?” 

“Yeah… but, what if—” 

“There are no ‘what if’s, my angel. Even if someone did come this far into the park, they’d still have to manhandle the bushes to be able to see what’s on the other side. Please, trust me…” 

His broken look stirs something in you, and you lean in to touch your foreheads together. “I do trust you. And I want you as much as you want me,” you whisper shyly, your thong uncomfortably damp and sticking to your skin. “But, wouldn’t it be better if we go home quickly, and um, finish what we started…?” 

Mingyu sighs, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you as close as possible. “I don’t think I can hang on for that long, baby. I need you so fucking bad. I’ve been struggling to keep myself together for an embarrassingly long time now. You– You just look so goddamn pretty. Like a tiny little fairy who is all mine to ruin. Fuck, just… just see what you’ve done to me.” He takes one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, blood rushing to your face. 

“If you want me just as much as I do, you must be soaking wet, right?” His whisper is hot against your neck, right hand holding your own to his growing bulge while his left hand slips between your thighs. You gasp when he rubs his fingers against your ruined underwear, a satisfied grunt reverberating in his throat. “Fuck.” Mingyu curses under his breath, his hips bucking up to your joined hands.

“You really want us to go home in this state? Hm?” His voice is a whine, only adding more to your devastation. To be really honest, all logical reasoning left your system the moment he made you feel his hard-on. And then he had to feel your drenched thong in return as well, arousing you to the extent where you don’t really give a fuck about being in the open anymore.

“Hngh, fine— do it quickly.” You whimper, every inch of you begging for his touch, to be relieved. Mingyu smiles, ecstatic upon your words, hungry lips finding yours for a kiss. You moan at the contact, pussy clenching around nothing. 

“As my princess wishes.” He hums, pulling down your dress to reveal your bra. His pupils dilate at the sight in front of him. Even when he dragged down the straps of your bra with his teeth, he didn’t think you’d be wearing a rather provocative lacey piece today. “Fuck,” Mingyu bunches up your dress around your waist, a groan escaping him.

Is this another fantasy of his? Cause no, fuck, you sure do look like it. 

The delicate lace work barely covers anything, his cock throbbing inside the confines of his boxer-briefs. He feels like he’s high. “Baby,” your boyfriend rasps, “do you even understand what you do to me? Hm?” 

“You like it?” your voice is a whisper, fingers digging into his shoulder from nervousness. A part of you knows the answer already, but still, hearing it out loud from him always makes you feel butterflies. 

“You’re really asking me that? Fuck, I love it, you’re so fucking pretty, I can’t believe that you’re real, and mine.” Mingyu groans, one of his hands reaching for your bra and pulling at its cups. His mouth immediately attaches to your left breast as soon as it is released. You gasp, body quivering at the touch. He bites and suckles on the soft flesh teasingly before reaching for your hardened nipple. 

You whimper out his name, fingers gripping on his hair. The way his tongue swirls around and suckles on the sensitive bundle of nerves makes you dizzy. More arousal leaks out of your core, desperation cresting higher and higher. You need him in you, right now.

But Mingyu is lost in your breasts, reaching for your right one after a while, teeth dragging over the nipple before his tongue slurps at it. You quiver and whine in his arms from all the sensations you’re feeling. He knows exactly what to do to make you feel good, and he never slacks off at that. 

“You’re so perfect, my little angel.” Mingyu hums, his right hand groping your left boob. “Fits so perfectly in my hand, so cute,” he murmurs before looking up at you. As he meets your tearful eyes, he loses a bit more of his sanity. 

“Damn it, you look so—” he stops short, breathing heavily. Will he ever get used to the way you look during intimacy? Probably not. The flushed face, teary eyes and parted lips always gets him.

“Gyu,” you whine, hugging him tightly. “It hurts, please do something,” your whisper is hot against the shell of his ear. Mingyu can’t help but smirk, wondering if he should tease you. “Need you in me.” your sweet plea stirs him, more blood rushing towards the south.

“Fuck it.” He reaches between your thighs, cupping your pussy. The soaked, warm fabric makes him growl. Your hips immediately start rocking, generating friction — something you’ve been craving for so long now. You sigh in relief, using his hand to stimulate yourself.

“What if someone sees you like this right now? So needy, humping my hand?” Mingyu asks, amused. Goosebumps spread over your skin, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. However, you don’t stop moving your hips, inner walls clenching in desperation. 

“Do–don’t say that,” you whimper, “so embarrassing.” 

“Is that so? But you’re still rubbing into my hand, though.” 

“It’s because you won’t help me…” 

Mingyu can’t help but chuckle, his thumb finding your clit and pressing on it firmly. You scream out, a strong pulse of pleasure spreading through your nerves. He shushes you, alarmed. “Shh, you can’t be so loud today, baby… what if someone hears you and decides to check what’s going on?” 

You bite your tongue, absorbing his words. The thought paralyzes you from embarrassment, but for some reason, your pussy has a mind of its own. “It’s all your fault,” you croon, “it’s all because you can’t control yourself.” 

“I already said this like a hundred times, but, you look so fucking pretty in this cute little dress, baby. So fucking pretty. How am I supposed to control myself? When all I can think about is ruining my sweet angel?” Mingyu rasps, his calloused fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles. You’re certain that your legs will give up at this rate, your whole body teetering from the stimulation. 

“Bu–but—” you lower your voice to a whisper, “people will catch us like this, what then?” He presses a fleeting kiss on the corner of your lips, pushing the soaked lace of your thong to the side and sliding his middle finger between your labia against your slit. You swallow back a moan, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Guess you’re gonna have to keep it quiet in that case.” Mingyu pushes the digit into your sopping hole, making a ‘shlick’ sound that surprises both of you. “Fuck, did you hear that? Did you hear how wet you are for me?” You squeeze him in response, nerve endings on fire. It feels so incredibly good to finally have something fill your aching core. 

“Move, please,” you whimper, getting impatient. As if to test you, he slowly starts dragging his finger down, before pushing it back inside in a rough manner. You muffle your squeal against his shoulder, overwhelmed yet wanting more of him.

Soon enough, Mingyu loses the patience to tease you, his own urges kicking in. His ring finger slides into the depths of your molten warmth as well, your walls clenching around him from excitement. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he hisses under his breath. Slow, languid movements let him feel the way your arousal coats his skin in a silky veil, making him feel kind of suffocated around his crotch.

“Baby,” you whine, “wan’ more, please.” The burning ache for a release fires through your system, every single one of your cells begging for more. A breathy laugh rings in your ears, to your dismay.

“Want what exactly, love?” Mingyu’s eyes are twinkling with mischief, knowing very well that he’s pushing your boundaries right now. 

“Harder,” your choked whisper is hot against the shell of his ear. He clenches his teeth, thumb pressing down onto the swollen nub before anything. A gasp escapes you, face falling to rest in the crook of his neck, breathing uneven. His fingers pick up speed eventually, your lower stomach in knots, a shiver running down your spine. If your mouth wasn’t pressed up against his skin, you probably would’ve blabbered about how good he’s making you feel. 

It doesn’t take long for you to crest up towards the pinnacle, whole body convulsing, preparing itself for the rushing relief it’s about to experience. Mingyu, knowing very well that you’re about to finish, adds a third digit into your slippery warmth, seemingly triggering your orgasm. You muffle your cries in his neck, falling onto him as your legs give up entirely. He holds you securely with his free arm, feeling kinda dizzy himself. His neck is all slobbered up, covered with messy bites you left while trying to silence yourself. 

It takes you longer than usual to recover, finding the strength to stand on your knees. Blood rushes to your face when you regard the state of your boyfriend’s neck, even the collar of his black polo a victim to your actions. Mingyu, on the other hand, barely holding on, finally starts to pull out his fingers from your pussy, your juices leaking out on his hand profusely from the movement. A breathy whimper escapes you, nerves alight for pleasure once again. 

“Fuck, take a look at this,” He holds up his hand between you two, the slightly viscous liquid catching the sunlight and glowing, making you flush. “You treat me s’well, baby, servin’ me liquid gold.” His words only make you even more embarrassed, eyes avoiding him at all costs. The lewd sound of his slurping sends a tingle through your core, droopy eyes shyly catching him lick his fingers clean. You shudder a little when he moans satisfactorily, eyes trained on you the whole time.

In a sudden surge of boldness, you reach out to caress his jawline, bringing him closer for a kiss. Mingyu hums, a smile forming on his lips before attacking your mouth with full force. You gasp and moan while he finds his way to your tongue, the growingly familiar taste of yourself on his saliva causing a new surge of arousal to your core. Quite desperate to feel him now, you fumble with the button on his trousers blindly, undoing it quickly before reaching for the zipper. 

“Fuck,” Mingyu pulls away with a hiss, his stomach tightening from the feeling of your hand lightly pressing onto his clothed cock. Your eyes greedily devour the outline of his boner, almost poking at the material of his boxer briefs. Pussy clenching at the thought of him filling you up, you pull at the waistband of his underwear. 

“My god, Mingyu,” you swallow nervously, unsure how to react as his heavy cock springs out of its confines, slapping against his tummy. You’ve never seen it this angry and twitching, head covered with a light sheen of his pre-cum. Heart almost beating out of your chest, you reach for him, hands delicately wrapping around his length and giving it a few, slow pumps. 

“Baby, fuck—” His eyes shut close, teeth digging into his plump lower lip to restrict any noises. With your thumb, you spread the gathering pre-cum all over his tip, making him whimper in the process. If you don’t get fucked right now, you might just lose your mind. 

“Need you,” you whisper, pressing a fleeting kiss on his nose. Mingyu looks as if he’s pained, a defeated sigh escaping him. 

“My love, I– I need you too. So, so bad, can’t explain.” His eyes tear up suddenly, “B-but—” 

“What happened…?” You ask, alarmed by his expression.

“I— I don’t have a condom.” He frowns, wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face in the comfort of your chest. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Your heart drops to your stomach because of how devastating his tone is. 

“Nooo! It’s okay… um, we didn’t know this would happen, y’know? So, um, don’t apologize, please. And don’t talk like that.” You nudge him to look at you. 

“Yeah but… what are we gonna do now? We agreed to be safe from the beginning, so–”

“Well, I’m on birth control for my periods either way, so it’s okay.” You cut him off, desperate for him at this point. 

Mingyu looks up at you, hesitant. “Angel, are you really sure about that?”

A sigh escapes you. You know why he is feeling uncertain, you know that you are the reason. “Gyu, I don’t know anything, but I might just go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He inhales a shaky breath, your words toying with the few last strings of self-control left in him. “Okay, what about this — I’ll only put the tip inside, make you feel super good so you come quickly for me, and then I’ll pull out before I make a mess.” 

Your body shakes from anticipation. “Just the tip?” 

“Just the tip, baby.” 

Even though it’s not exactly what you had in your mind, you agree quickly. Anything to have him inside you. Also, you’re not too sure how that will possibly work out. You’re almost certain that you’ll end up getting more than just the tip.

Mingyu grabs your waist to position you right on top of him, the urgency in his actions painfully obvious. You gladly comply, too needy to say anything. As you feel his bulbous tip lining up against your entrance, you lean in to touch your foreheads together. “Gyu, I can’t wait anymore, need you right now.” 

With a groan, he slowly guides you down his length, only letting his tip and the following inch inside. You whimper, struggling a little as you get used to the stretch. It’s kind of astonishing how even just that fills you up satisfactorily. But still, you crave all of him, your body knowing the euphoria of having him up in the furthest nooks of your pussy very well. “You’re so big,” you murmur, inner walls clenching around him greedily, eager for more. Mingyu huffs out deep breaths, his ears turning red. How cute.

He collects himself in a moment, firm hands around your hips to make sure you don’t slide down further than he intends to give you today. “You feel s’good, so wet and hot, I feel like I’ll melt.” Mingyu sighs, helping you ride him, his thumb rolling your clit in lazy circles. 

You muffle your cries as he moves your hips in a slow and steady pace, inevitably sliding down his cock, little by little. However, he doesn’t really notice it, lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing him so deliciously. “Gyu, harder,” you plead, a bit tired of this torturously slow pace. 

Mingyu complies almost immediately, pulling you even closer, his own hips bucking up to meet you halfway, while he continues to guide your movements. You moan out happily, arms winding around his neck. His thrusts are shallow, but the frenzied movements trigger more pleasure in you.

Eventually, he loses control over your movements, momentarily giving up against the fiery impulses running through his nerves. With all the lubrication between you two, you slide down as much as possible with nothing to restrict you. A string of incoherent words leave you, your body extremely giddy to get what you’ve wanted for so long. 

“Fuck, no, this isn’t working,” Mingyu finally regains his senses, groaning as the untouched parts of his cock are engulfed by your warmth. He swiftly pins you down on an empty side of the picnic blanket. “Bad, bad girl.” 

You squirm under him, whining while he pulls out of you, until only the tip is inside. “Now tell me, what should I do, now that you’ve broken our little deal.”

“Fuck me.” you whimper, your eyes teary by now. Mingyu tuts, shaking his head. You try your best to channel your pitiful, puppy dog eyes, ready to beg if that’s necessary.

“Such crude words from my sweet, little angel.” He sighs, “You’re really into testing my patience, aren’t you? Does it make you happy? Watching me lose my senses over your words?” 

“Don’t hold yourself back, please. I want to make you feel good too. Please, Gyu. Fuck me, make me yours, I don’t even care if people see or hear us anymore. Please.” Your voice is broken, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. Mingyu swallows nervously.

“Fucking hell.” The growled expletive marks the end of whatever self-control shit he was on. With one hard thrust, he smoothly fills up your touch-starved pussy entirely, coaxing out a loud moan of relief from you. His right hand immediately covers your mouth. “You might not care about some rando catching us like this anymore but I’ll be damned if someone sees you like this.” 

Mingyu lets go of your wrists, putting his left hand on the small of your back to support your body. “Don’t you dare complain about how you can’t walk later. You brought this upon yourself, remember.” He nibbles on your earlobe teasingly before starting to move against you. His thrusts are on the rougher side, your stomach tightening as the pleasure starts to build-up. 

With your free hands, you reposition his palm covering your mouth, suckling on his fingers instead. In response, you feel his cock twitch so vividly in your pussy, a groan reverberating in his throat. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” 

Mingyu pounds into you in a frenzy, quite obsessed with the raw feeling of your spongy flesh gushing around his cock. You moan and cry around his fingers, clenching happily as you feel your release right around the corner. He also picks up his pace, grinding down onto your clit in the process. Your brain has lost all the critical thinking power, salty streaks running down your cheeks as you’re overwhelmed by the sensations.

You remove his fingers from your mouth, desperate to be heard. “‘m gonna come–” 

“Fuck, come for me, love, I’m gonna pull out,” Mingyu grunts, his pace faltering as his movements lose rhythm, inching closer to his own release.

“No, no— come in me, baby. Please. Don’t ruin my dress.” He has no idea what you are on about, but he’d be lying if he said that it doesn’t sound tempting.

“Princess, do you even know what you’re saying?” He still asks, praying that you come back to your senses, for both of your good.

“I want you to come in me.” You manage to blurt out before your body convulses as the orgasm hits, gummy walls squeezing his cock to a halt. Mingyu curses under his breath, putting his fingers back in your mouth before you can scream your lungs out. Soon enough, he also reaches his peak, the thick, milky white liquid filling up your pussy to the brim. 

“_____, fuck…” he whimpers, reveling in the newfound intimacy between you. You urge him to lay on top of you, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “you mean so much to me.” Mingyu nuzzles your face adoringly, pressing butterfly kisses over your bare skin, wherever he can reach.

“And to me, you’re like the sun.” His silly words make you laugh.

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I’m like the earth orbiting around you, thriving because of your warmth and light?”

You flush at his words, beyond touched that he’d think of you in such a beautiful way. “You make me sound so insincere, Gyu.” Mingyu laughs at your pout, starting to get back up. 

“Yeah well, I still have to figure out what your flowers mean, remember?” He reaches for the packet of napkins lying nearby, sighing at the sight in front of his eyes.

“Yeah…” you trail off, “Do that once you’re home, okay?” He nods, seemingly distracted.

“I’m sorry love, I made such a mess.” 

“We.” 

“Hm?” 

“We made a mess. So don’t be sorry. I’ll help you clean up.” You offer him a smile, which he matches happily. 

Mingyu scrutinizes you one last time, making sure that you look presentable from head to toe. “Yeah, everything looks okay… except that your dress is all wrinkled…”

“I told you it’s fine, I’ll fix it up after a wash, don’t worry!” You reassure him, redoing your braid. “And please wash this outfit as soon as you get home, okay? I know it all dried up now, but still…” 

“I could say the same about your panties.” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah, but I doubt it’ll be wearable after today.” You sigh, checking yourself on your selfie camera. “C’mon, let’s go now. It’s afternoon already!” 

Mingyu hands you your basket, holding your free hand as you slowly take a few steps. “Are you sure you can walk?” 

“Yes, positive! I have to get home somehow.” You smile through a wince, making him shake his head. 

“Let’s go to my place. You can go back tomorrow morning after you’ve recovered from the pain. I’ll cook us dinner, help you take a bath, give you meds and cuddle you to sleep.” Mingyu offers, pushing off the bushes so that you guys can finally leave your little sanctuary. 

You both step out on the nearby trail, intertwining your fingers together back again. “Why do you always make it so hard to decline, Gyu?” He gives your hand a firm squeeze, winking at you playfully. 

“It’s a part of the package, baby.” His cocky chuckle infuriates you, but lord, is he right about that. 

This man might just be the end of you. But would you really mind it?

end of act one ♡ next

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 end notes ꒱

wahhh you made it to the end!! thank you so much for reading 🥹🫶🏼; i apologize if there are any mistakes in there, this is very roughly edited jdjfhfjhjff!! BUT i really hope that this was enjoyable and i was able to portray the lovebirds well 🤭! do let me know what you thought of this, please! reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated <333! you can also send feedback through asks if you’d prefer that! 💖

until next time!

p.s: i’m pretty new to caratblr and i’d be grateful if you guys could recommend me some blogs to follow 🥺... (you can recommend your own blog as well)!

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER ONE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff | lmk if you want to be added! wc: 7.1k notes: see masterlist for content warnings. buckle up, here we go 🙂‍↕️

'South Carolina Basketball Star Tess Kennedy Hits Rock Bottom'

On March 31, the South Carolina Gamecocks went head to head with the Iowa Hawkeyes in the heavily anticipated Final Four match-up. For South Carolina, this was their two-peat season, coming off of an electric championship win back in April 2022 against the formidable Connecticut Huskies. For Iowa, this was their underdog season. Their last Final Four appearance was back in 1993. With powerhouses such as Kamilla Cardoso, Aliyah Boston, and Tess Kennedy, South Carolina was a fan favorite to win, but Caitlin Clark and the Hawkeyes would prove to be a wrench in the plans.

Late in the third quarter, Tess Kennedy fell to the ground clutching her knee as Clark drove past her. To those on court, the injury was obvious. She was carried off in a stretcher. We would later receive the news that Kennedy had officially tore the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in her left knee and would undergo surgery within the week. Kennedy would have the entire offseason and most of the regular season to rehab and hopefully return for the 2023-2024 season, but onlookers quickly found that would not be the case.

April 9 marked the beginning of what was taunted as the "Tess Kennedy Destruction Tour." It had simple beginnings - a Twitter reply here, a heated Instagram argument there.

[IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION: USER GAMECOCKS4LIFE33: "TESS KENNEDY YOU SUCK, THANKS FOR THROWING OUR BACK TO BACK SEASON, I HOPE YOUR ACL NEVER HEALS!!!" | USER TESSKENNEDY25: "I'M PRAYING THAT YOUR WIFE HAS AN ABORTION. I'D STRANGLE MYSELF WITH MY OWN UMBILICAL CORD IF I CAME OUT OF THE WOMB AND YOUR FACE WAS THE FIRST THING I SAW." END TRANSCRIPTION.]

As recovery progressed, Kennedy soon frequented a local bar nearby the University of South Carolina campus. Kennedy would spend nights there, often inebriated and starting arguments outside. Her nights out would only end when other members of the South Carolina women's basketball team came to rescue her. They have all declined to comment at this time.

Kennedy's supporters have gone online with desperate cries for anyone at all to get Tess Kennedy the help and recovery she needs. South Carolina has been unnaturally quiet regarding their star player's self-destruction. Kennedy has expressed that she wishes to enter the WNBA draft after her senior year, and considering that an ACL tear often makes or breaks an athlete's career, it does not surprise us in the least that Kennedy is having a difficult time with her injury. The only question remaining is if someone will pick her up, or if Tess Kennedy will be left to her own devices and continue to sink.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MAY 3, 2023

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

The silence in the conference room is palpable. Tess is currently battling a migraine, though she’s not sure if it’s from her hangover or the absolute bullshit her manager just subjected her ears to. She’s surrounded by Amaya, the aforementioned manager, Diana, her publicist, Coach Staley, a counselor from the university’s counseling and wellness center (though she’s already forgotten her name), Paige Bueckers, for whatever fucking reason, and two other unfamiliar people.

When Amaya called her to schedule a meeting, Tess didn’t know what it was for. Amaya didn’t say and Tess was too shitfaced to argue, especially when Amaya was yelling at her bright and early at 7 am. The regret pools low in her belly and she tells herself for the millionth time that she should have skipped this meeting.

“Tess, we’ve brought you in today because everyone is worried for you,” Amaya states. “Frankly, we should have done it earlier. That has been a critical error on our end. Your teammates have told us that you either lock yourself in your room for hours on end or go out and get plastered. I’m sure you’re familiar with what the media is calling the ‘Tess Kennedy Destruction Tour?’”

Paige, quiet from the other end of the table, raises a brow while Tess scoffs. “I feel like that’s a little excessive,” Tess says.

Diana frowns. “Since your ACL injury, you’ve been in several arguments online. You frequent bars and are at risk of a severe alcohol addiction. We know you’re not rehabbing nor are you taking your medication.”

And, at the heart of it, Amaya and Diana aren’t wrong. Maybe when Tess is a few drinks in and she opens Twitter and sees what all the trolls are saying, constant repeats and barrages of Tess Kennedy sold South Carolina’s game – she deserves so much worse than an ACL tear and South Carolina made a mistake in recruiting her, maybe she responds to them, because why wouldn’t she? She’s a college athlete, she understands trash talk and competitiveness, but everything that is said about her is downright cruel. She loses all of her inhibitions when the tequila flows through her veins – making the trolls feel just as bad as she does is one of the simplest remedies she could offer. The alcohol makes her forget about her injury, about the guilt of costing her team the game and the championship. It’s simple. So what if she drinks a little more lately? She’s not addicted. She’s just trying to forget.

Her avoiding rehab and her medication were just unfortunate casualties of war. Her injury was too fresh on her mind for her to fully commit to attending, even though Kamilla tried her best to get her to the physio’s office. Her medication was a different story – she had to be weaned off of her lexapro for a couple days before her surgery so she could safely be anesthetized for it. Then she wasn’t allowed to take her medication for a few days post-surgery given the nature of her painkillers. It all spiraled from there. She was off of her rhythm in multiple ways, and the last thing on her mind was her anxiety medication.

“We know you won’t listen, so we are not giving you options,” Amaya says firmly, forcing Tess back into the moment. She resists an eyeroll. “You’re at risk of killing yourself, Tess. You’re at risk of losing your basketball scholarship because your grades have slipped after finals – you’re lucky enough that your GPA was high enough from the past two years to cushion straight C’s this semester. Your brand deals are inches away from dropping you entirely. So, we are going to fix that. Three times weekly, you will meet with a trainer for mandatory physical therapy. Once a week, you will meet with a psychologist for your mental health and alcohol dependence. And during this off-season, we’ve made the decision that you and Paige Bueckers will be in a fake relationship so you can repair your images.”

Which brings us to where we are now.

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

Tess’s eyes nearly fall out of her head. Paige seems equally as shocked from across the table, jaw slack, though her expression hardens with indignance as Tess demands, “Why her? What is fake dating going to do about any of this?”

“Your brand deals are at risk of pulling away from you because you are destroying your image,” Amaya says again. “You’re too volatile. Paige’s brand deals are at risk of pulling away from her because…” Amaya struggles to find the words.

“I’m not ‘family friendly’ enough,” Paige supplies, fingers raised in air quotes.

At that, Tess snickers. “And by that, she means she sleeps around too much, people are noticing, and her conquests are bitter.”

“Why the attitude? Jealous I ain’t sleepin’ with you?”

“Oh, sure, because I’ve always wanted an STD.”

“At the rate you’re destroying yourself, you might be closer than you think.”

“Enough,” Amaya snaps. Tess and Paige close their mouths. Paige at least has the decency to look a little ashamed while Tess glares. “But yes. Paige’s brand deals feel as though she’s too… all over the place. Having a fake girlfriend will placate her brands and consumers who are upset with them for not taking action. The two of you together will show that Paige is not a womanizer and that Tess is not a flight risk.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Tess states.

Amaya hums. “I’ll take your grievances into consideration.” She pauses for a moment, tapping her chin dramatically as if thinking hard, before smiling. “Okay, I’ve considered. You and Paige will fake date. You’re going to go to all of your appointments and you are going to try to get better. Your doctors said you would be able to play again depending on your recovery. Why are you trying to destroy yourself? Why are you making this harder on yourself than it needs to be?”

Tess doesn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one she’s going to admit in front of her Coach or Paige Bueckers. Paige got lucky – she tore her ACL and she’s almost fully healed now. The chance that Tess might not be able to, no matter how slim, fills her with indescribable envy. Taking her destruction into her own hands gives her some semblance of control that she otherwise doesn’t have. She wasn’t in control when her ligament tore. She wasn’t in control when she was in surgery for hours and the doctors were meticulously replacing it.

When she doesn’t respond, Amaya sighs. “Paige flies back to Connecticut on Saturday. I want you two to take this week to get to know each other and soft launch – how you do that, I don’t care. We just want the public to know you’re seeing each other currently.”

After some more fine-tuning between Amaya, Diana, and Paige’s manager and publicist, the meeting concludes. Tess doesn’t waste any time before she’s hauling herself to her feet. She grunts as the pain shoots through her leg, gripping the table to stabilize herself. “Tess, hold on,” Coach Staley calls. “I need a word with you.”

Tess resists a sigh. No matter how fucked up she might be, she’s not going to be the one to test Coach Staley. The conference room filters out, though Tess doesn’t notice Paige’s lingering gaze as she leaves. “I know you probably feel a little trapped right now,” Coach says. “That we’re forcing you into this. Which we are – I mean, I won’t sugarcoat it. I know basketball is your dream and you feel like it’s all slipping away because of your injury. Let me be the first to say that the Tess Kennedy I know wouldn’t let this stop her. I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t know why you’re spiraling, but I do know that our team is a family and we are always here to support you if you’d just let us in. You are an amazing player, an asset on and off the court. Please give this your all, if not for me, if not for your teammates, but for yourself.”

Tess can feel the tightness in her throat and the slight sting in her eyes. Part of her knows that Coach is right – she always is. The other part of her is so overwhelmed by her grief that it’s hard to fully absorb it. “I’ll try, Coach,” she says softly, feeling more sober than she has in weeks. Coach Staley squeezes her shoulder, walking out of the room. After wiping the tears pooling in her eyes and taking deep breaths, she walks out, too.

“Hey –”

Tess nearly jumps out of her skin, a hand over her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, Paige.” The blonde guard can’t help but snicker, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not funny, dude. You’re an asshole. I can’t believe people line up to sleep with you.”

“They do that?” she asks, smiling smugly. “Didn’t know.”

Tess rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Do you have a reason to be talking to me or are you just trying to make me start drinking at 9 am?”

Paige shoves her hands in her pockets. “Amaya told me your first PT appointment is in an hour. She wants me to go with you, help you out and shit.” Paige must recognize the look on Tess’s face because she huffs. “Look, I wanna be doing this as much as you do. But work with me a little. I wasn’t this insufferable when I tore my ACL.”

At that, Tess’s gaze turns into a hard glare. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit about my injury.”

She scoffs. “I know more than you think I do, and I think that’s why you’re all pissed,” she says, voice low. “Yeah, you’re in pain 24/7, but it’s the mentality that fucks you up. You’re scared you’re never going to play ball again and you’re taking it out on other people. You’re taking it out on yourself, Tess; you’re literally killing yourself over an injury you can bounce back from. It’s hard and it’s scary and it’s fucked up. And as shitty as it sounds, tearing your ACL is something that only happens to other people, right? It wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” Tess’s mouth morphs into a guilty frown, watching as Paige shifts her weight to her healthy leg unconsciously. “So, face it. You tore your ACL. You trashed your reputation to cope with it and now we gotta dig each other out of the mud. But your recovery is up to you. Commit to it, follow the PT, do what you gotta do – or you’re never playing on that court again.”

Despite her harsh words, Paige’s eyes are soft with understanding, not pity. Tess was used to seeing the commiseration on her teammates' faces. They didn’t understand; understanding an ACL tear came with the fact of having one, and as mad as she was at the world right now, Tess would never wish something like that upon her teammates. Do what you gotta do – or you’re never playing on that court again. Paige’s words run around her head on repeat. Tess isn’t surprised that it makes her angry. She is surprised to find that the anger isn’t directed at the blonde herself, who she’s about to be stuck with for months on end. Tess is pissed at herself. Her actions may have just cost her weeks, if not months of extra recovery time. She was so lost in what-ifs that she didn’t focus on the things that were actually around her.

Tess would work on it. That is as much as she could promise herself.

Unable to fully process the genuine culture shock of Paige’s rant, Tess swallows thickly and looks anywhere but the blonde’s blue eyes. “Do you, um, wanna grab coffee before PT?” she asks forlornly.

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she seems to recognize the invitation for what it is – an olive branch. “Yeah. Sure. You should swing by your apartment and grab your crutches, though.”

Tess almost rolls her eyes at the mother-hen tone of Paige’s voice. “I don’t need them anymore,” she retorts. “Doctor said 2 to 3 weeks post-surgery. I’m very much 2 to 3 weeks post-surgery.”

“Pretty sure 2 to 3 weeks depended on good behavior,” Paige states. “You did literally the opposite of that. Plus, I saw you wince when you stood up. Go get your crutches, Tessa.”

“Okay, first of all, Tess isn’t a nickname,” she gripes, but she leads Paige towards the athlete apartments. “Tessa is not on my birth certificate. Second of all, don’t boss me around.”

Paige hums. “Okay,” she concedes, which shocks Tess enough that she turns around. Paige has a solemn look on her face, but the look in her eye tells Tess all she needs to know. “According to Amaya, we’re girlfriends now. That means I gotta look out for you. So lighten up, ma. Get your crutches and let me buy you a coffee so you don’t get cranky in PT.”

Tess wrinkles her nose. “Do not call me that either.”

“Okay, Tessa.”

“You’re actually so fucking annoying, it’s unreal.” Tess turns around again, leaning on her right foot to take the pressure off her left knee. She clasps her hands together, trying to distract herself from the way Paige smiles smugly at her, eyes bright. Tess suddenly feels stupid for not realizing any sooner that Paige was just fucking with her. The worst part about this whole situation was how Paige’s banter did manage to chip away some of the guilt and anguish that slowly frosted over her heart. She’d never admit that much to the blonde, though – her ego is already the size of Jupiter. “Don’t call me ma. Don’t call me Tessa.”

“So what’s actually on your birth certificate?” Paige asks when Tess starts walking again.

“Tess Kennedy.”

“Middle name?”

“Why do you care?”

Paige scrunches up her face. “We’re girlfriends –”

“We are not girlfriends,” Tess interrupts.

“Okay, what the fuck ever,” Paige gripes. “Middle name. We need to know stuff about each other. Mine’s Madison. You might as well just tell me anyways ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’s on your Wikipedia.”

Tess heaves a sigh. Paige has to get off on being an annoying fuck – there’s no other reason why she’d be harassing her right now. “It’s Alessandra. Tess Alessandra Kennedy. I was named after my mom.”

“Tess Alessandra,” Paige repeats. Her name sounds far too good rolling off her tongue and Tess gets mad all over again. Paige is a woman of many talents it seems, although it’s unfortunate that shutting up is not one of them. “Cute. Is that Italian?”

Tess softens at the genuine interest in her tone, realizing she's being an asshole. “Yeah. We moved here from Italy when I was seven. I grew up in New York, came down here for ball…the rest is history, I guess.”

“Can you say the thing?” Paige asks with too much glee.

Tess glances at her warily. “What thing?”

“You know, the ‘Ay, I’m walkin’ here!’”

“Jesus Christ,” Tess mutters. She and Paige exit the athletic facility, and the South Carolinian guard leads her on the short path back to the athlete apartments. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met. It’s impressive.” 

“I like setting the standard.” Tess glances at her. Paige looks comfortable – too comfortable – sporting an easy-going smile, as if being perpetually on Tess’s nerves is enjoyable for her. Tess isn’t sure what to make of her. “So, what was coming to the States like?”

The shorter of the two shrugs. “It was an adjustment. My English was decent, but I struggled to make friends. Basketball made me feel like I belonged here, although it reminded me of home, too.”

“You still consider Italy home?” Paige asks softly.

Tess mulls it over, humming. “Home is a feeling,” she states. “I never had to second guess myself in Italy – whether or not I was using the right words or doing things the ‘American way.’ I feel at home when I play ball. I never doubted myself there, either; it’s what my brain is wired for.”

“And now that you can’t play, it feels like leaving everything you’ve ever known?”

Tess’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Something like that.”

Paige makes a noise in the back of her throat that sounds vaguely like understanding. “No wonder you went on a destruction tour.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “And the moment’s over.”

“Nah, I was being for real!” Paige defends. “I’m just sayin’ – I get it. Basketball means something different to everyone, right?”

Tess softens. “Yeah. Guess so.” She opens the door to the athlete apartments, leading Paige to the elevators. She pushes the number three and the elevator closes. She sighs, leaning against the wall, and lifting her leg slightly. “So what about you?”

Paige glances at her. “What about me?”

“Your ACL. What was different for you?”

Paige wiggles her leg. “Well, I’m still recovering. Want to be 110% before I’m on the court again.” She stares at her reflection in the elevator mirror before her eyes look anywhere else. “It was tough. It is tough. I felt useless for a long time but my teammates and family pulled me out of my slump before I let myself sink. It just took me a while to let them in.” At that, Tess feels hot all over, looking down at her feet and not at the blonde next to her. “I just wanna play,” Paige admits. “But it just feels like every time I get into a groove, there’s something that benches me. I don’t like letting my teammates down.”

“You’re not,” Tess states, surprising herself.

Paige looks up, meeting Tess’s eyes, lips curling into a solemn smile. “Aren’t I?”

The ding of the elevator saves Tess from having to answer. She frowns, but heads in the direction of her apartment. She hopes that Kamilla and Bree are out. Walking in with Paige Bueckers attached to her hip would be an uncomfortable conversation. Tess sticks her key in the door, opens it, and nearly drops her lanyard in surprise at the sight in front of her.

“Tess, what the fuck? I woke up this morning and you weren’t here. I thought –” Kamilla’s rant slows to a stop as Tess walks in, Paige in tow, who suddenly looks like she wants to be anywhere but Tess’s apartment.

“Good morning, Kamilla,” Tess says guiltily. “Say hi, Paige.”

The blonde waves. “What’s up, Kamilla?” Kamilla blinks at the two of them. “Uh, I can just wait outside.”

“Stay,” Tess says, her words coming out like a demand. Paige nods, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Um, I had a meeting with Amaya. I’ll tell you about it later, Kam, I promise, but I have PT in like, 45 minutes, so I really need to go.”

Kamilla doesn’t say anything as Tess hobbles to her room and exits with her crutches in tow. The two roommates stare at each other for a beat before Tess inches forward and wraps her arms around Kamilla, who freezes in shock before returning the hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk,” she whispers. “I’ve been an asshole to you and Bree. You guys didn’t deserve that. Thank you for trying to take care of me when I didn’t want to take care of myself.”

“Hey, we’ll talk later,” Kamilla says softly. “We love you, okay?”

Tess’s eyes burn with unshed tears. “I love you, too.”

Kamilla releases her with one last lingering look, smiling softly before glancing at Paige. “Best behavior, Bueckers,” she says coyly, much to Paige’s amusement, who raises her hands in mock surrender. “See y’all later.”

Paige, as if sensing Tess’s inner turmoil, allows her to lead them to the on-campus Starbucks in silence. It’s not too far away from the athlete dorms. Tess and many of her teammates would frequent it over the years, seeking caffeine for study sessions, though she’s aware of how different the situation is now. When they walk in, Tess is thankful to find it relatively empty. The two baristas on duty hardly offer them a second glance. Paige settles a tentative hand over the small of her back. “What d’you want, ma? You can sit and I’ll get your coffee.”

Tess is less bothered by the nickname the second time around. “Vanilla sweet cream cold brew. Please?”

Paige nods. “Got you.” She walks up to the counter while Tess grabs a spot at a booth out of sight. Tess pulls out her phone as she waits, having it on Do Not Disturb for the better part of the morning. She feels guilt all over as her notifications are full of missed calls from Kamilla and Bree and countless text messages. She clears them out and sends another “i’m sorry” to their group chat, to which both Kamilla and Bree quickly respond with heart emojis. Tess texts her parents back, who’d been blowing her up with reasonable concern after her media escapades. She tells them she’s doing better but doesn’t wait around to see their response. Tess has countless other messages she needs to get around to, but settles for silencing her phone again, promising to get back to them later.

Paige returns to their booth with their coffees in hand. The blonde passes her a straw and Tess quietly thanks her. “How much was it? Let me pay you back.”

Paige scoffs. “Bro, get outta here with that. I told you I was buyin’ so you don’t get cranky.”

“I’m already cranky, Paige–”

“That’s just your personality.”

Tess cracks a smile, the first genuine one all morning. “I’m serious. Let me pay you back.”

“You can pay me back by workin’ with me on this,” Paige says. She takes a long sip from her coffee, humming at the flavor.

“I’m good now,” Tess grumbles. “Trust.”

Paige snorts. “Trust?”

Tess nods solemnly. “I was kind of a jerk earlier. I’m sorry for calling you a whore.”

Paige blinks. “We don’t gotta talk about that, Tess, really –”

“No, just hear me out, okay?” Tess says. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. Your business is your business. I shouldn’t have used that against you.”

“I shouldn’t have used your ACL against you, either,” Paige concedes, “when I said I wasn’t insufferable when I tore mine.”

Tess smiles weakly at her. “I kinda deserved that one, to be honest.”

“Well…” Paige trails off, grinning menacingly, and Tess rolls her eyes. “Hey, we’re cool now. We’d be even more cool if you’d answer my DM, but it’s whatever.”

“I ghosted a lot of people, you’re not special,” Tess gripes.

“I am,” Paige insists. “We’re ACL buddies now. ACL girlfriends if you wanna be real. Two knees, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona–”

Tess buries her head in her hands, unwilling to let Paige see the smile on her face. “We are not girlfriends. And what was that? Did you just compare our knees to Romeo and Juliet?”

“We’re star-crossed lovers, ma; you more than me since Caitlin crossed you up and snatched your ankles,” Paige jabs. At that, Tess can’t help the laugh that rips from her mouth.

“I actually hate you,” she says, but the words lack bite. She takes a sip from her coffee, too. “Okay. How do we want to do this?”

“Amaya wants it, like, obvious that it’s us, right?” Paige says. “You could post a picture of our coffees on your story. Don’t gotta show my face but you could keep my chain in the photo.”

Tess glances at Paige’s collarbones, where her necklaces rest delicately. There’s a chain with a silver cross on it and her signature #5 chain right next to it, albeit it’s a smaller, less loud version of the one she wears for hype videos. Tess knows the online fans are freaks with how they notice things – they’d instantly clock it. “You could post me at PT,” Tess offers. “Like holding my crutches or something.”

“Or something,” Paige agrees, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You trust me?”

Tess eyes her warily. “Not particularly, no,” she admits. “But it’s your story and your soft launch. It’s your call.”

“Bro,” Paige sighs. “We’ll work on it.” She adjusts their coffees then fiddles with the chains around her neck. “Look good?”

Tess tries not to focus too much on the way Paige’s collarbones protrude slightly, the fairness of her skin. “Mhm,” she says noncommittally, readying her phone. Paige reaches for her own phone, angling it just slightly so the edge of her purple case is in view. Satisfied, she takes the photo, flipping the screen to show Paige, who nods. She sits for a moment, pondering the caption, before typing out, ‘and a new day will bring about the dawn.’ She shows Paige again. “You like?”

“Frank?” she asks, smiling when Tess nods in confirmation. “It’s a little cheesy maybe. But it shows, like, you’re optimistic and shit. That you’re getting better.” Tess makes a noise of agreement, centering the text to her liking. Paige lays a hand on her wrist before she has the chance to post. “We should set some rules before we do this.”

Tess sighs. “Really, Paige?”

“Yes, really,” Paige retorts. “We’re lying to millions of people right now. Gotta make sure we got our shit straight or we’re fucked. When did we start talking?”

“You DMed me after my injury,” Tess offers hesitantly. “Offered support.”

“Lotta help I was with you spiraling for a month straight,” Paige grumbles.

Tess smirks wryly. “A little bit of truth in the lie goes a long way, right? You messaged me, I didn’t want to accept help, but you still tried – maybe you flew out to surprise me? You’re here now.”

Paige pauses, swirling the straw in her drink. “That works. We bonded over our ACLs, realized we had other shit in common. I pulled you out of the deep end–”

“And I got you to settle down.”

Paige raises a brow. “Oh, so that’s where we are now? You won’t even friendzone me but I’m settling?”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re literally on my last nerve.”

The blonde smiles smugly. “Alright. How open are we being with the media?”

Tess shrugs, chewing on her straw. “Maybe just be all coy and shit? We’re in different states so our options are limited. Repost couple-y stuff on TikTok, get active in each other’s comments, that kind of stuff. Maybe in month or so I can fly up to see you and we can hard-launch?”

Paige nods. “Works for me. Let me know when you’re thinking and I can pick you up from the airport or something.” They fall silent for a moment. “I feel like we’re media-trained enough that we don't need to overthink it. Just don’t invent an anniversary.”

“Agreed.” Tess stretches out her leg, rubbing her knee with a sigh. “You wanted rules?”

“Mhm,” Paige hums as she opens the notes app on her phone. At #1, she writes COMMUNICATE in uppercase, bold letters. Tess can’t disagree. “We have to make sure we do this right. If either of us gets uncomfortable, we need to talk about it and fix it or end it. I’m sure there’s community service or some shit to show we’re redeemed people. For public appearances, we gotta, you know…kiss and stuff to sell it.” Paige’s cheeks flush red as she says this. “Uh, we can talk about it later. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Tess agrees awkwardly. The thought of having to kiss Paige leaves a stirring feeling in her chest that she can’t quite place. At #2, Paige writes No seeing other people on the DL. “That’s pretty self-explanatory. You sure you can handle it?” she teases.

Paige rolls her eyes but she has the decency to look guilty. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not a womanizer, Tess Alessandra,” she sasses.

“I believe you, Paige Madison,” Tess retorts.

At #3, Paige writes Nobody can know. “My teammates have big mouths,” Paige states. “But also I feel like it adds to the story.”

Tess frowns. “Well, I kind of already promised to tell Kam and Bree. I owe it to them after being a shitty person for a month straight.” Paige stares at her for a beat before adding, Nobody can know, except Kamilla and Bree. Tess nods, satisfied. At #4, she writes, NO CATCHING FEELINGS. She blushes as she writes it and Tess raises a brow. “Is that a concern of yours?”

“No!” Paige says a little too quickly for Tess’s liking. “I can do casual,” she adds, voice lower. “Ion know about you. But you can’t fall in love with me. That would ruin all of this. We can’t let this get out of hand, you know?”

“Sure,” Tess agrees. “But you can’t fall in love with me, either.”

Paige’s jaw ticks. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good.”

They fall into a brief silence. “You wanna add anything else?” Paige asks.

Tess shakes her head. “Shake on it?” Their hands meet in a crisp dap and Tess finally hits post on her story. She closes the app immediately, knowing that her notifications will explode. Paige finishes off the rest of her coffee, eyeing Tess curiously. The blonde has an unreadable look on her face – Tess isn’t quite sure what she’s thinking, and it rattles her. She glances at her phone, noting the time. “You ready?”

Paige nods, collecting their empty cups and tossing them in the trash. “Lead the way, ma.”

Tess settles into her crutches, feeling uncomfortable as they dig into her arms, but relieved as they take the pressure off her knee. Tess leads Paige back to the athletic facility, listening to the blonde’s rant about something Azzi said to her. She wonders how much of Paige’s brain is basketball stuff and how much is the random shit that apparently floats through there. Tess has only spent maybe an hour and a half one-on-one with Paige Bueckers, but she’s convinced the inside of her brain is a Where’s Waldo picture. Sure, they’ve chatted after games – okay, it’s probably more accurate to say they trash-talked after games, especially after South Carolina kicked their ass in the championship last year, though it was all in good fun – but getting to know her on a personal, less basketball-focused level is different.

They reach the physio’s office just in time for the start of Tess’s PT session. Craig, the trainer, greets her warmly, saying, “I’m glad to see your days of skipping PT are over, Tess.”

The South Carolinian guard rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I have an enforcer now.”

“Present!” Paige chirps.

Craig begins with a preliminary check-up, asking a few questions that Tess is tempted to sugarcoat if not for Paige’s convincing glare. Admitting that she hasn’t done much outside of skipping her PT to Craig’s face makes her feel embarrassed all over. The overall lack of proper rest and elevation coupled with overuse is expected to tack on another two months at most to her recovery, Craig estimates, but the idea that she still has a chance does enough to quell some of her worries.

With the questioning out of the way, Craig leads her through a couple of stretches and exercises. Paige joins in, working on her knee, and it makes Tess feel less silly about herself. It’s a strange thing to say. People always advise you to do it scared when you’re worried about trying new things, but Tess has come to find that the issue isn’t being scared – it’s doing it alone that makes it so difficult. She’s slightly ashamed to admit how much easier this whole process has become with Paige sitting next to her, extending her knee and breathing through the pain.

When Craig steps out to grab something from the storage area, there’s sweat beading at Tess’s hairline from the exertion of working her knee productively. She lays an ice pack over it, breathing through the slight pain and regretting everything that’s led her to this moment right now. “I’m never guarding Caitlin Clark again,” she mutters, half-serious.

Paige breaks out into infectious laughter. Tess has to fight back a smile at the sound. “You gotta get your lick back,” she says. 

“Trust, I’m working on it,” Tess says. “I’m gonna get better out of spite and break her ankles next season. Though she’ll probably drop a three on my head right after. That’s ball, baby.”

Paige reaches out, dapping her up and agreeing, “That’s ball.” Then, she pulls out her phone. “Soft launch time?”

Tess groans. “I know I said it was your call but please don’t do anything weird. I can’t handle it after this PT session.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “You gotta trust me, ma,” she chides. She readies the camera and reaches out for the ice pack, swatting away Tess’s hand. Her right knee bumps into Tess’s left thigh as she scoots ever so slightly closer, pressing the ice pack onto her knee. “Get your bracelet in there.” Tess does as Paige instructs, inching her hand closer in frame. Her bracelet is silver with a few notable charms, though the one that stands out the most is her jersey number, 25. “This okay?”

They look like a couple, Tess has to admit. Their proximity is one thing – you could say that’s just being friendly, but the fact that Paige is icing her knee feels weirdly intimate. “Yup,” she manages to get out. “All good.”

Paige takes the photo wordlessly, handing the ice pack over to Tess once she’s 100% satisfied with the way the photo has come out. She ponders the caption for a moment until she settles on the female doctor emoji and an ice cube. Tess snorts as she hits post and immediately silences her notifications. “You’re so creative.”

Paige rolls her eyes, but a smirk tugs at her lips regardless. “My bad. Next time I’ll use a cheesy ass Frank lyric.”

“You said it worked!” Tess exclaims, much to Paige’s amusement. She doesn’t get the chance to say more as Craig walks back in with the supplies he’d gone out to find. He wraps Tess’s knee and secures a huge ass brace around it. Given that she fucked up so much of her early recovery, he advises her to wrap her knee every morning and ice her knee on and off each day for about a week. Craig tells her to keep strenuous movement to a minimum and to use her crutches at all times – basically, everything her doctor told her to do in the first place. She nods along, promising to follow Craig’s instructions, but after a long day of PT and general emotional realizations, all she can think about is getting back to her room and taking a long nap.

Craig finally releases her from her session, reminding her to show up at the same time on Friday. Tess doesn’t fight him on it. He gives her one last gentle smile before she and Paige take their leave, walking back to Tess’s apartment in a comfortable silence. Paige scrolls on her phone before chuckling at something, nudging Tess, and showing her the screen. Her messages are full of questions from her teammates, with Nika Mühl’s sticking out like a sore thumb, reading, ‘I KNOW you didn’t seriously cancel on me and Lili this week to play doctor in SC!!!’ Tess can’t help but laugh out loud at that one. “The articles are crazy, bro, look,” Paige says, closing out of her iMessage and opening Instagram, where Overtime has shared pictures of both of their stories with the wide-eyed emoji. “‘Fans are speculating that Paige Bueckers flew out to meet up with South Carolinian shooting guard Tess Kennedy amidst controversy and Kennedy’s recent ACL injury,’” Paige reads.

“‘Amidst controversy’ is crazy work,” Tess huffs. “It wasn’t even that bad.”

Paige snorts, scrolling down. “We got detectives and shit,” she comments, showing Tess her screen. An Instagram account called ‘wcbbupdates’ has shared both of their stories again, having marked Paige’s chains and phone case and Tess’s bracelet in bright red circles. Paige narrows her eyes at a comment as she reads it aloud to Tess. “‘They are not slick, this is the hardest soft launch I’ve ever seen. I always knew Paige and Tess had sexual tension. Do you guys remember the regular season game in Paige’s freshman year where she was all up on Tess?’ Bro, what the fuck?”

Tess glances at Paige knowingly. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Paige scoffs. “I was not all over you,” she says. “We call that playing good D around here.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re such a fucking liar,” she grumbles. “Just wait until I’m healthy again. I’m gonna cross you up so bad you have to retire from college ball or you have to take a super senior season just to fix your busted stats.”

The blonde smirks at her. “Oh, yeah?”

Tess doesn’t like the goading in her tone, nor the insinuation in her response. “You’re so –”

“Annoying?”

“So fucking annoying,” Tess confirms, much to Paige’s delight. 

“I love when you say nice things to me,” Paige croons.

Tess rolls her eyes, not responding, which draws a quiet laugh from Paige as they continue walking. Once they make it back up to Tess’s apartment, Paige lingers behind Tess, as if she’s unsure what to say for once in her life. The South Carolinian guard turns on her heel, leaning against her crutches and watching Paige carefully. 

“You’re here until Saturday?” Tess asks noncommittally, although she knows the answer. Paige nods. “You, uh, wanna come to PT on Friday, too?”

Paige shoves her hands in her pockets, giving Tess some sort of half smile. “Yeah. I can do that. Could get coffee or something.”

Tess studies her, lips quirking, but not giving anything away. “Or something,” she agrees. “Just text me. We can figure it out later.”

The blonde unlocks her phone and hands it over to Tess. She punches her number in and saves her contact. “Don’t ghost me this time?” Paige asks coyly, taking her phone back.

Tess snorts. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says gently. “See you later, Paige.”

Paige gives her one last fleeting smile. “Later, Tess. Be good for Kamilla.”

At that, Tess rolls her eyes, waving goodbye to Paige and finally inching inside her apartment. The door shuts with a click behind her. Tess sighs, leaning her head back against the wall, feeling the pressure of a migraine building behind her eyes. She doesn’t think Amaya is fully aware of what she’s asked both of them to do. Tess is struck with the realization that she’s in way over her head with Paige, with their silly little fake relationship, with her busted knee, and all of the mending she has to do over the next few weeks.

Tess takes a seat on the couch, propping her leg up on the coffee table in front of her. She turns the TV on and flips through various shows until she settles on her weekly rewatch of 2 Broke Girls. She makes it through the first episode before a knock at her apartment door forces her to get up. There’s nobody on the other side, but when she looks down, there’s a Chipotle bag and a drink on the ground. Confused, she picks it up. Her name is on it, but the cherry on top is the note attached to the receipt. 

Realized I took you to PT on an empty stomach. Hopefully I got your order right. You seem like a chicken and veg kinda girl. Sour cream and guac’s on the side. Lemme know if you don’t like any of this and I’ll order something else so you don’t bite Kamilla’s head off. See you Friday!

Tess barely registers half of the note. All she knows is that she’s well and truly fucked.

[freddyoiar]

Tagging etiquette in the magnus fandom

Use #the Magnus Archives or #tma when discussing the Magnus archives episodes, characters, fanart, headcanons and theories when relevant to the original series only.

Use #the Magnus Protocol or #tmagp when discussing the Magnus Protocol episodes, characters, fanart, headcanons and theories when relevant to the new series only.

Overlap can happen but when a post is only relevant to one series, please then only tag the relevant series. Some people also use the tag #magnuspod as a catch all.

The #tmagp vague tag is ONLY for VAGUE comments on the episode’s. spoilers or anything specific that could give greater context to the episode are not allowed. You really are supposed to be vague. (Also please do not clog up this tag with just general protocol posts.)

A example of a vague post is:

“What a wild episode, y’all aren’t ready!”

“The Magnus Protocol sure is a podcast.”

“OMG?? [redacted] ?!?€?”

please remember to tag phobias illustrated in art or discussed in posts properly with a content warning tag. (This is in regards to the character of Needles as people have not been tagging him properly.)

Thank you for reading!

With kind regards,

Freddy.

[dixons-sunshine]

⋆✮⋆ You can just call me Krys.

⋆✮⋆ I’m a woman, and I go by she/her pronouns, although I don’t mind she/they!

⋆✮⋆ I’m old enough to legally buy alcohol.

⋆✮⋆ I love reading and writing, although sometimes I can get into my own head about my writing skills.

⋆✮⋆ I’m bilingual. English isn’t my first language.

⋆✮⋆ I love The Walking Dead, Stranger Things, Marvel, and a lot of other things.

⋆✮⋆ Daryl Dixon’s sunshine (confirmed).

⋆✮⋆ Steve Harrington’s princess (also confirmed).

⋆✮⋆ Richonner for life.

⋆✮⋆ My favourite season of The Walking Dead is season six.

⋆✮⋆ My favourite season of Stranger Things is season two.

⋆✮⋆ I have kinemortophobia, which is ironic, considering my love for The Walking Dead.

⋆✮⋆ I have one dog. I love him more than most other things in my life.

⋆✮⋆ I’m not a fan of spiders or snakes.

⋆✮⋆ I tend to stay up way later than I should. I’m a night owl.

⋆✮⋆ I’m a chronic overthinker.

⋆✮⋆ I am socially awkward and typically feel very nervous meeting and talking to new people, but I love meeting and talking to new people as well. I don’t really understand it.

⋆✮⋆ I feel like I can be quite annoying at times, so I apologize in advance if I annoy you. Please know that it is not intentional.

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⋆✮⋆ My blog is generally okay for everyone. I specialize in fluff. However, although my blog contains some contents that are 18+, I am not going to force anyone under that age to get off my page, and quite frankly, going through everyone’s blogs to ensure that they are over 18 and then blocking them if they’re not takes a lot of time. You know what you’re getting yourself into when you click “keep reading” on my posts that will always be appropriately tagged with warnings. I am in no way responsible for your media consumption.

⋆✮⋆ My requests are: OPEN!

⋆✮⋆ I take requests for the following people:

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝:

↬Daryl Dixon

↬Rick Grimes

↬Michonne Hawthorne

↬Glenn Rhee

↬Carol Peletier

↬Negan Smith.

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:

↬Scud Frohmeyer

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↬Vincent Bauer

↬Van (Floating 1997)

↬Stanley (Pawn Shop Chronicles)

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬:

↬Steve Harrington

𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:

↬Connor MacManus

⋆✮⋆ I always try my absolute best to keep appearances regarding the reader neutral so that everyone can enjoy my stories. However, if I slip up, I apologize!

⋆✮⋆ I’ll write any tropes/kinks I’m comfortable with, and I’ll let you know if I’m not! Some tropes/kinks I’m not comfortable with writing, though, is non-con, dub-con, incest, stepcest, pedophilia, pervert!(character), piss kinks, mommy/daddy kinks, huge age gaps where the reader is barely pushing 18 and daryl is in his late 40’s, hardcore degradation, cheating (if it’s Daryl cheating on the reader in a Daryl x reader story, for example), explicit, in detail sexual abuse scenes, and foot fetishes.

⋆✮⋆ My default when writing is Fem!Reader since I myself am a female. However, I am very open to write for GN!Reader. Just be sure to specify it in your request!

⋆✮⋆ I don’t feel comfortable writing for Male!Reader. I can’t place myself in that situation, meaning there’s no fun in it for me and the story will most likely suck. However, I do know of blogs who’d happily write that, and I’d be more than happy to show you to their blogs. Just ask me and I’ll do it!

⋆✮⋆ I will not write character x character. I obviously have my favourite ships that I want to go canon, but I don’t feel comfortable writing fanfiction like that. It’s just not my thing.

⋆✮⋆ I will not write character x random OC, meaning an OC I didn’t personally create/isn’t a friend’s OC.

⋆✮⋆ I will not write actor/actress x reader. They are real people and I’d feel weird writing that about somebody who actually exists. Absolutely no hate to those that do write it, but it’s just not my thing.

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⋆✮⋆ You can find all of my works under krys writes .ೃ࿐.

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(Profile picture by @dixondystopia)

[seethesin]

multitasking

pairing: Shane McCutcheon x F!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, facesitting, cunnilingus (mdni, 18+)

a/n: based on this prompt. enjoy :)

The dinner party invitation from Bette & Tina came as a surprise to you. You accepted, of course, wanting nothing more than to spend quality time with Shane's loved ones. However, a part of you couldn't understand why you were added to the guest list. What you and Shane had was—for lack of better words—a situationship. Neither of you expected more out of the other than incredible sex, mutual respect for boundaries, and someone who was always down to have fun. Something as intimate as attending a dinner party together screamed commitment. Regardless, the two of you agreed to go together. Shane insisted on picking you up by 7:00 to be there for 7:30.

"It makes it easier," you remember Shane justifying over the phone. She babbled on about something regarding limited parking space; in hindsight, it was a lame excuse just to spend more time with you.

As promised, Shane was punctual. She was at your home by 6:30 sharp for a pickup. However, you were nowhere near ready. Thankfully, you showered, dried, and styled your hair already. But, you still needed to pick your outfit and put makeup on. You were going to need at least a half hour.

Shane blaring her car horn while parked in your driveway brought you back into reality.

"Oh my god," you mutter to yourself, searching your bedroom for your phone. Finding it underneath the dresses splayed over your bed, you smash the call button by Shane's contact and wait. Her car horn finally stops and your favorite husky voice answers on the other line.

"I'm here, [Y/N]."

"Yes, I know Shane. As does the rest of my neighborhood."

She chuckles, tickled by your tone.

"Are you ready?"

"Not yet, I still have to do a few things."

"Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

Silence. Shane's laughing now.

"Should I come in and wait?"

You sigh, defeated. "I'll unlock the door."

You end the call and hustle over to the front door. You unlock it and hold it open for Shane as she makes her way towards you, a smug smile glued onto her face.

She looks good. She always does. But there was something about the tailored suit jacket, dress shirt, and trouser combination she donned that made her look even sexier than usual. You shake that thought out of your head; you need to get ready.

"Hey, [Y/N]," she greets you, stepping into your home as you shut and lock the door behind her. You turn to face her and she's already leering at you. Her smirk does not falter.

"You sure you don't want to wear that tonight?"

Glancing down at yourself, you blink back your shock. Since you couldn't decide on what to wear, you kept your bra and underwear on but threw a robe over yourself for modesty's sake. If you weren't crunched for time, you would have taken it to throw a smart comment back at Shane. Instead, you playfully punch her in the shoulder, unable to stop yourself from grinning back. She holds up her hands in mock surrender.

"Do you want anything?" you ask, getting ready to step into the kitchen. Shane shakes her head, settling down on your couch instead.

"I'm going to finish getting ready. If you need me, I'm in my room, okay?" Shane salutes you like a soldier, snatching up the TV remote before turning it on. Half seriously, you roll your eyes before slipping down the hallway.

Your brain kicks into overdrive as you check the time. 6:34. Okay, you have some time.

Exhaling slowly, you look at the three dresses spread on your bed. Childishly, you close your eyes and whisper out the eenie meenie miney mo spiel to yourself. Once you finish, you open your eyes and take in your randomized decision. It was a batwing, beige a-line dress with a white floral pattern. Good enough.

Shedding your robe off, you slip into the dress before smoothing it out. You check yourself in the mirror and, once content with how you look, put the other dresses away. You then pull the chair out to your vanity and take a seat.

You’ve just finished applying a layer of foundation when you see Shane enter your bedroom from the corner of the mirror.

“Hey,” you offer, looking back at yourself and you start blending blush into your cheeks. She nods in reply.

“I got bored.” she finally admits, settling down on your bed. It sounds like Shane wants to add something to her statement, but she ends it curtly. She's fiddling with her rings, looking around your bedroom as if it's the first time she's been inside. If you didn't know any better, you would think something was making her nervous.

“So you’ve come to bother me?” you question teasingly, your tone light as you move onto bronzer.

Shane flashes a boyish grin at you, watching as you paint across your hairline with great interest. “Absolutely.”

“Lucky me.” It’s hard not to smile back at her, so you don’t bother to hide it.

Shane lays back on your bed, her legs draped over the foot of it while her head hits just under your pillows. She's staring at the ceiling, eyes wandering until she notes the windowsill above your headboard. Her brows furrow and then, a wicked thought crosses her mind.

"[Y/N]?" Shane's sitting up now, watching as you finish your highlight.

"Yes?"

"How much more do you need to do?"

"Just my eyes and lips, why?"

Shane beams.

"How good are you at multitasking?"

You don't follow. Your interest, however, is piqued.

"Pretty good. Why?"

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips as she stares at you. You know that look all too well.

"Set your stuff up on the windowsill and c'mere."

You watch her incredulously through the mirror before turning around to look at her directly. She's serious; she's waiting for you expectantly as she drums her fingernails on her thighs. You glance at the clock. 6:45. Fine, you'll humor her.

Gathering the rest of your makeup and a desk mirror, you walk towards your bed before putting everything down on the windowsill. You take a moment to set up the mirror before you look down at Shane.

"I'm here, Shane," you mimic her from earlier, watching as she lays back down on your bed. Raising her hands toward you, she wiggles her fingers in a come hither motion.

"Take a seat."

"Shane—"

"Multitask," she chides, one hand dropping to the hem of your dress. "Unless you really don't want to."

Truthfully, the idea of grinding your cunt into Shane's mouth sounded heavenly. Receiving an orgasm or two out of it sounded even better. So you relent, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear before sliding them off. Scooping up the skirt of your dress, you climb onto your bed and kneel over Shane's face.

"You ready?" you ask, watching Shane nod eagerly before seating yourself on her face. She grips your thighs, readjusting you so you're positioned comfortably on top of her. You reach for a makeup brush and shudder once you feel Shane lick a stripe from your slit to clit. Fifteen minutes you remind yourself as you start with your eyeshadow.

Shane, meanwhile, does not feel the same time crunch. She's consuming your cunt with open-mouthed kisses, pivoting to kitten licks to get a feel of what you like in this position. Her blunt fingernails dig into your thighs, grounding you as her mouth continues to work. A devious suck to your clit makes you whine and her smirk sears into your skin.

Meanwhile, you've managed to complete your eyeshadow for one eye and have moved on to the other. Shane is insatiable though; she rips another moan from your throat as her tongue rubs tight circles around your clit.

"Fuck," you whisper, trying to compose yourself before starting the other eye. Shane hums in pleasure underneath you; the vibration against your pussy makes you squirm. The coil in your stomach is beginning to tighten and desperately, you try to control your panting. You instead focus on breathing through your nose as you blend the powder into your lid. Shane keeps you on edge, her tongue flickering against your clit before sliding down to your slit.

It's when she slips her tongue inside your pussy that your resolve falters. You finished with the eyeshadow, but you didn't trust yourself enough to put eyeliner on. Or mascara for that matter. One hand sinks into Shane's hair, grabbing tightly as you lurch forward. You choke on a groan as your hips teeter, enjoying the feeling of her tongue pistoning inside you.

It's garbled, but Shane is snickering beneath you.

"Shane." It comes out as a pitiful rasp while you shake like a leaf. Maybe no eyeliner tonight. She pinches your thighs playfully to retort, making you swivel around her tongue. You opt instead to put your lipstick on. You remove your hand from Shane's hair to grab the tube in front of you. Popping the cap off, you twist before applying a quick swipe on your bottom lip. Another whimper peels from your throat as you feel the flat of Shane's tongue stroke against your clit. The tip pumps into you, maintaining the same rhythm as before.

The sensations are starting to overstimulate you. Quiveringly, you swipe your upper lip before mashing them together, rubbing the lipstick in. You snap the cap back and nearly toss it onto the windowsill, in favor of grabbing the edge of it for purchase. Your thighs keep Shane's head vised in place as your orgasm washes over you. You're gasping and panting as you cum, eyes screwed shut as your body goes rigid. Shane's pace slows, opting instead to let you rut into her tongue to ride out the remainder of your orgasm. A few moments later, you slump forward.

You feel her tap on your thigh gently and taking the hint, you scramble off her face. Shane takes a few seconds to rest before sitting back up. Her chin is shining with your slick and she rubs it off with the palm of her hand, throwing a half-lidded gaze in your direction.

"You look good," she slurs huskily, taking the time to drag her eyes down your face. You're not sure if you're flushing from her compliment or if it's just the afterglow.

"Thank you." You glance at the clock and your eyes go wide. "Fuck!"

7:05.

You spring back up to the windowsill, swiftly grabbing the tube of mascara before twisting it open and brushing it through your lashes.

"We're gonna be late!" you hiss, scanning through the rest of the products spread out in front of you. There was no time for anything else and you instead take a moment to look over yourself in the mirror. Hopping off the bed, you swipe up your underwear and pull them up, smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

Suddenly, Shane's hands are on your hips and she yanks you into her chest. You stop moving and peer up at Shane through your lashes. Your heart flips in your chest as she flashes you a rare, genuine smile.

"You know, there's a thing called being fashionably late, [Y/N]." She winks and you can't help but mirror her grin. You press a kiss on her cheek, almost upset that the lipstick didn't transfer.

"Doesn't mean we have to keep everyone waiting." You got her there. Nodding, she released your hips before motioning to your bedroom door.

"After you, sugar."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

[inuette]

Official (Anti) RQ Archive

[PT: Official (Anti) Radqueer Archive. END PT. ]

　Last Updated (DD/MM/YY): 08/01/24. This archive will be updated over time, so make sure to check back regularly if you can! If you have anxiety regarding opening links, no worries! All these posts are archived under our "archived" & resources tags.

Anti-RQ Terms/Flags

'PRAT' meaning

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You Cannot 'Coin' A Medical Disorder/Talk of "MUDs"

Intrusive Thoughts About =/= Actually Believing in Them

'I have intrusive thoughts about ...' isn't a 'Valid' Excuse

Transitioning When It Comes To TransIDs and TransX Identities

Transethnic People Aren't Valid (Focuses on East Asians & Koreans)

There Are Better Ways to Cope with Atypical Dysphoria

Why Arissomei/Arissodic is its Own Term

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Reaffirmation of Why RQs are Bad (TWs included in the post)

BIID (Body Integrity Identity Disorder) =/= Radqueer (Affirmation)

[dreadfutures]

regarding sept 19:

This needs to be clarified because misunderstanding has resulted in some usually very nice people getting incredibly nasty and bullying others.

This past week, many people - press, and content creators - were allowed a hands-on experience of the new Dragon Age game. They played for about 6 hours. The attendees of this event are under an NDA until Sept 19.

After September 19th, the people who played the game are allowed to speak about it in some amount of detail. The press embargo is lifted, so to speak.

No one who attended this event has come out, twirled their mustache, and said they're going to spoil major game stuff without warning.

If you think you're about to tell me that yes, someone did - no she didn't. I know it's too much to hope for but someday you must learn to not hear every tweet and text as if the other person was personally intending to harm you. Few people really are so malicious. If you approach text neutrally you can tell when people are, or not. Really.

They have instead warned that there will be info shared from this event, probably tagged and warned about (hopefully), but the reporting, sharing, reposting, etc., of that info will be - like all things in fandom - a mess dependent on individual fans. If you care about spoilers at all, get your filters and blocks ready for that. For sure!

But again, it only seems like they had 6 hours or so to play. I doubt the people who attended will be malicious or rubbing stuff in our faces. I doubt the people who attended will even be spilling every single deet. Most people who we know & are connected to the fandom that were in attendance have said they themselves avoided main game stuff, because they didn't want to be spoiled either.

So that is the real information, as best we know it, without fear mongering about a flood of spoilers - and do with that what you will!

A lot of people are starting to wholly block all of the new game's tags because they don't want to see anything else until it drops! This is definitely the time to start. Maybe you do need to go dark and hop off the internet to keep your boundaries, or maybe you feel confident in your dashboard, your friends, and your filtered content, that you won't be seeing untagged spoilers being shared. (I'm in the latter category; nothing has appeared on my dash without being filtered, for months.)

Control your space with the tools you have, but cruelty should not be one of them.

A lot of people (on twitter, love DA twitter, where the worst aspects of all your friends' personalities come out 😒) have been incredibly, viciously belligerent to those who attended this event. They have used really terrible language to bully them as individuals and make personal attacks against them. The dog-piling has been amplified by certain people who were not invited to that event, and by the wording of others who are giving "warnings" about spoilers running rampant, floodgates opening, mayday, everyone is going to be rubbing spoilers in your face after Sept 19.

Whatever you think about the marketing about this game - whatever you think about what EA thinks are spoilers - whatever your personal stance on what you want to know going into the game (or not):

Content creators and press, their job is to talk about the game. In detail. It's their job! Ideally they do it as (is typically done! as many of them have already been doing!) with warnings/tags/whatever when something spoilery might come up.

Harassing them and wishing them harm or calling them terrible things and slandering their character is just an expression of your own frustration, lack of control, whatever - and it's not a good look.

[dancingbirdie]

Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into. 

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen. 

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come. 

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you. 

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…” 

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it. 

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind. 

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them. 

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.” 

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up. 

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest. 

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!” 

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room. 

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so. 

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?” 

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it. 

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion. 

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.” 

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression. 

“Why?” you whispered. 

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin. 

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively. 

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone. 

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument. 

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute. 

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled. 

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise. 

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.” 

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips. 

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room. 

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him. 

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging. 

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure. 

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence. 

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises. 

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been. 

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit. 

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm. 

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace. 

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

[beefrobeefcal]

KEPT feat. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Pairing: Javi G x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 5,369

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: smut (p in the v intercourse), imbalanced power dynamics, birth of a toxic relationship, alluded sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship (not officially called it in this fic), slight dub-con (Javi is the aggressor, but reader is consenting), talk of weight gain, ambiguous ending, Javi jerking off, clothes tearing, pet names and a few sentences in Spanish manipulation, swearing, this is not your regular Javi G - he is overweight and a complex man with many facets [might have some BigFish energy here]

Author's Notes: This was written for my beloved @noxturnalpascal, who requested this way back when we were celebrating 900 friendos and I have finally delivered! I don't know if I nailed the request all the way but Javi is fat in this so I got one thing right!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal, @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3 & @bitchesuntitled for their wonderful eyes, minds and grammatical skills. Also tagging @xdaddysprincessxx bc this is right up her alley.

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“You hear who’s coming to the office today?”, Loretta, one of the legal support staff members whispered as you used the photocopier by her desk.  

You smiled as you correlated your documents and fed them through the copier. “Who?” 

Her grin widened. “Javi Gutierrez.” 

It had been a long time since you’d seen Javier Gutierrez - not since before his big Hollywood break, courtesy of Nic Cage. You’d gotten the low down on his current events from people in the law office you worked in, given your boss, Craig, was one of the partners at the firm representing him as his entertainment lawyer and had done most of Javi’s legal work remotely. Your last interaction with him had been nothing short of unforgettable as he was congratulating you on your promotion to becoming your boss’s executive assistant – a role you resented given your education. He’d curled his tongue around your name as he took your hand into his larger one, then let his eyes wander over your frame. You’d returned the intensity of his gaze in kind and put his broad shoulders and soft-yet-sturdy frame, his pouty lips, gorgeous nose, and deep brown eyes to memory. If it had been the first and only time you’d met, you would’ve sworn it was love – or lust – at first sight. But you’d met with him many times over several months and each time, he seemed ever so slightly bolder.  

That was almost three years ago.  

You looked at Loretta and she grinned wildly. She was there when Javi had asked about you once you’d moved up in the company and no longer handled his affairs, and noted the disappointment that flickered in his eyes when her boss would tell him again that you wouldn’t be joining the meeting. She’d bothered you and teased you about this, but you’d tried to act aloof. Oddly, she’d only let up when she saw him again about six months ago, randomly telling you about the encounter. Her bringing him up again now seemed oddly suspicious. 

“Loretta…”, you sighed. “What gives?” 

“Just thought you’d like to know. He’s coming here. To the office. Today.”, she grinned incredulously. 

You gave her an irritated scoff as you collected your documents, copied and printed. “Not sure what you’re playing at.” 

You turned and walked from her desk as she called out to you. “Might not recognize him anymore. Figured I’d give you a heads up!” 

You shook your head and walked back to your office.  

***** 

A few hours later, you were buried in case law regarding a dispute over the ownership of vintage hand-blown glass dildos when there was a knock at your door.  

Not looking up from the file folder, you called out, “Come in!” 

The door opened and you heard his honey toned voice. “Hola hermosa.” 

Your head shot up and the person who you’d assumed that voice would be coming from was not standing in your office. This man had the same eyes and nose and lips, but his frame was larger and softer. The pale blue dress shirt he wore was tucked into his tailored sand-coloured chinos and his belly stretched both to their limit. Your eyes roved over his body as your brain screamed at you to say something. 

“M-Mr. Gutierrez!”, you finally spat out with a smile. “Oh… wow, you’re here!” 

He gave you a slightly nervous smile, seeming to be just as flustered as you felt but was better at hiding it than you were.  

“Sí, yes, here I am.” 

You awkwardly exchanged pleasantries standing either side of your desk before your office phone rang, pulling you both out of the trance of your meeting.  

He motioned to your phone with a nervous smile and asked, “Do…. Do you need to get that?” 

The smile dropped from your face, and you clumsily reached for the phone, pulling it off the cradle and up to your ear. Before you could even start the first utterings of ‘Hello’, Craig began a f-bomb laden tirade, ripping into you about that Miller vs. Miller case that he had bungled and was in turn getting heat from his partners about. Momentarily forgetting that you had someone else in the room with you, you rolled your eyes and silently sighed, then caught Javi out of the corner of your eye and straightened up, mouthing ‘sorry!’ to him. But he no longer looked nervous or bashful. Gone was his sweet smile and big, brown baby cow eyes; in their places was a tight-lipped scowl and dark, storm filled eyes, glowering at your phone. You furrowed your brows in confusion at him and watched as he reached forward, pressed down on the receiver, and ended the call. You stood motionless and gob smacked, staring at him wide-eyed. 

He kept staring back at you, his eyes like dark, burning embers, seconds away from causing a flash fire, when you heard the heavy and quick footsteps of Craig.  

He threw your door open and stormed into your office. “What the fuck is wrong with y- Mr. Gutierrez!” 

Craig’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Javi turned and looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  

“What are you – I thought you’d left!” Craig tried to hide his nerves behind a chuckle and moved to shake his hand. 

Javi didn’t move. His arms stayed firmly at his sides, both fists clenched.  

“I had business to attend to with your assistant.” His voice was cold as he spoke through clenched teeth. “And you are interrupting.” 

“B-business? With her?”, Craig prattled, pointing at you. 

“Yeah.”, Javi nodded with a vicious smile. “Business. With her.” 

You swallowed hard as you watched Javi control the room with a quiet fury. Craig was not a small man, but Javi seemed to grow larger and more intimidating with each movement he made, no matter how small or minute.  

Craig took a step back, recognizing that Javi was mad, and he was more than likely the reason for it. You needed to diffuse the situation, knowing if you didn’t and Craig lost Javi as a client, you’d be in the doghouse, and hot-tempered words would be the least of your problems. 

“I’m sure that any business you have to discuss, Mr. Guiterrez, Craig is the more capable out of the two of us.” You kept your voice bright and feminine and forcing a sweet smile on your face.  

Javi’s head snapped to you, his look giving you a silent warning, then slipped into a wry grin.  

“Of course! How silly of me!”, he chuckled a little too keenly, smiling at Craig, setting him a little more at ease. “Of course, I should discuss with you that I’m poaching your employee and firing you as my legal representation.” 

 ***** 

You weren’t really sure how you ended up sitting across from Javi on his private yacht in the Mediterranean. It had been less than 48 hours since you were escorted out of the law office with a small box of your personal effects and slid into Javi’s limo. It was a whirlwind of packing a few things, grabbing your passport, and being told that you’d never have to worry again as long as you agreed. Agreed to what? You weren’t sure and Javi insisted that business would be discussed once you were settled. 

You nodded, not realizing that ‘settled’ meant being on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.  

“Hermosa, I  -“ 

“Mr. Gutierrez, I think th-“ 

“Javi.” 

“What?” 

“Call me Javi.” 

You took a breath and nodded. “Javi. I think tha-“ 

“I love hearing you say my name.” 

You smiled, slightly confused and a little nervous at the way he smiled at you. He picked up his champagne flute and clinked it against yours, then downed the contents and waved the glass at one of the staff who then quickly filled it again. 

“Uh… Javi. I think that we should talk business n-“ 

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.” 

You sat stunned. You were jet lagged, unemployed, and completely disoriented. You didn’t feel beautiful and, gauging by the warped reflection of yourself in the grapefruit spoon at your place setting, you didn’t look it either. 

“I… uh… oh. Thank you?” 

He chuckled and flashed his smile at you. “I was so excited when I knew I’d be in your office and get to see you again.” 

You gave him a tight smile as you started to lose patience. You fidgeted with your napkin and tried to hold back your temper.

“Javi. I think we really need t-”

“You looked even more perfect than I remembered.”, he cooed with a dopey grin on his face. “But I have to say, hermosa, you look a little-uh… stressed.”

“Well, Javi, that is because I would like to talk with you about whatever business you managed to have me quit my job and fly all the way to the Mediterranean and sit here jet lagged with you for!”

You blurted out quickly before he could interrupt in a sharp tone that became harsher and snappier as you spoke. When you were done, both you and Javi sat staring at one another in a stalemate.

Your shoulders rose and fell, and you cocked your head and raised your eyebrows, daring him to provide an answer.

A few seconds passed before a huge smile erupted on Javi’s face. His eyes were wide and his pupils were nearing the size of his irises, leaving the deep brown engulfed in them. His own breathing was a bit labored, almost panting, and he licked his lips, and growled. “Yes… yes, mi amada [my darling]. You are perfect.”

“Perfect for what?!”, you demanded, standing up and slamming your fists on the table. 

Javi looked as though he may either pass out or orgasm, nodding dumbly as he looked up at you. 

“Perfect for me. Perfecto para mí y mis millones [Perfect for me and my millions]. I need someone like you, mi amada. Someone like you on my arm at events and next to me during business meetings. Someone who not only has the beauty but also the brains!”, he declared dramatically. He then stood up to face you, banging his own fists on the table. “And the passion!”

You stared at him, your own frustration temporarily paused as your confusion took over. “What?”

“You shall be with me, guiding me, helping me throughout my business ventures. And in return, all I ask is that you let me take care of you.” His voice was calmer but there was an undertone of dominance. He paused, then said with a darker, slightly sinister tone, “And we are going to make sure you look lovely doing it all.”

+++++

You sat in your private room on the yacht, staring at yourself in the mirror. It had been just shy of 11 months since you’d arrived and your whole life felt surreal. You’d been to parties with people you’d only ever seen in magazines as you waited to buy your milk, you’d been handed a credit card made of metal - apparently having no limit - and told to shop for a whole new wardrobe. You’d been gifted with jewelry that seemed too ornate to be real, but came with certification papers proving otherwise. Even your slippers were worth more than a month of your previous salary.

Because of all this, you didn’t feel you could say no to Javi’s requests. It started out with him asking. He would ask you to join him for a meeting, you would go. He would ask you to wear a specific shade of azure for a party, and you agreed. Then his asking turned to requesting, and then turned to him just telling you. He would tell you when to go to bed and when to wake up, when to eat, when to work out, when to shop, when to relax… He was always kind and gentlemanly when he did dictate what your next move would be, but there was an undercurrent of “or else” with each order.

There was one thing he still only asked of you - and didn’t demand - to call him Javi. He said once that he felt like you were othering and demeaning yourself when you called him Mr. Gutierrez. That, and he remarked that he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

The only thing he hadn’t demanded of you - or mentioned at all - was sex. Some nights, he would retire to his room, and there was never an inkling of him waiting for you to follow, nor did he ever express any interest in entering your private quarters, regardless if you were on the yacht or one of his villas. You never shared a room; in fact, any bookings were made to have as much space as possible between your quarters. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t catch him looking you over. There is one dress you figured out that he really liked you in. You’d bought it in a soft pink colour, and after wearing it once, 16 of the same dress in various colours appeared in your closet soon after. When you walked into parties and events, he would hold you close to his body, his hand on the small of your waist and he would keep you there all evening. Without giving you the strict instructions verbally, his body language alone told you that you were there for him and him alone -  no one else. During fancy dinners, if anyone spoke directly to you, his hand would migrate slowly to your knee and halfway up your thigh. It wasn’t a warning, it was more of a reminder. 

You were lonely every night. Yes, you had any and everything money could buy, but there was no emotional connection. You’d never brought it up to him but in the contract you’d signed, there was a clause that forbade you from having intimate relationships with anyone while you were ‘employed’ by him. Javi was denying you the chance to find love so he could have you by his side - untouched and unloved.

The idea that he had essentially bought you should have made you recoil in horror. Instead, it left you most nights, whimpering his name into your fist as you came on your vibrator, imagining his weight slamming into you or him under you, gripping your hips as you rode him. But they were only fantasies; fantasies that were becoming harder to ignore.

The way his fingers would gently graze your collar bone to brush the hair away as he adorned your neck with a new necklace. How he would straighten out your shoulder straps. The way he would look you in the eye for just a brief moment before asking if you were ready as the car came to a stop in front of the venue. All of it said he wanted something more; so why did he not just tell you what to do?

You’d decided as you ate breakfast that that evening, post dinner, you were going to broach the topic. He had said that you could speak freely about anything, as long as it was never in front of anyone else -  you had to be alone.

The day had been uneventful, filled with meetings and business calls. By the time you were back in your quarters on the yacht, getting ready for dinner, the mundanity of the day had almost erased the reminder to ask for a moment alone with him. You quickly fixed your makeup then changed into one of the dresses you know he enjoyed. 

Javi smiled up at you as you walked into the dining room. He stood up, as did the other two men who sat at the table, and moved to take your hand and pull out your chair. His eyes trailed up and down your body and a satisfied smirk adorned his mouth.

He moved in to kiss your cheek as he took your hand, softly breathing out, “You look beautiful tonight.” His words smelled of whiskey. 

You leaned in quickly after he softly kissed you, and responded.“I’d like to sp-.”

He interrupted you with a quiet yet firm, “No.”, then winked and gave you his characteristic half grin as he pulled back. His fingers gently nipped your chin so demeaningly, then motioned for you to take your seat.

You felt deflated, never having been denied anything like that by him before.

+++++

Dinner, while delicious, was nothing of note. The men were talking amongst themselves, occasionally including you, while they got even more drunk and ate their food. You just sat there pushing your fork through your food, keeping a sweet smile on your face as you internally panicked about what you had done to upset him or if Javi knew what you were going to talk about and that’s why he cut you off.

It seemed that being lost in your own thoughts made time pass quickly; before you realized it, your barely-touched plate was being removed from in front of you and Javi was standing with a slight waver to see his dinner guests off. You looked up at him, noting how apparent his enjoyment of dinner was by the stretching of his buttons across his belly and glazed look in his eyes.

You stood up as you were abruptly brought out of your thoughts and Javi gave you a predatory smile, a slight chill in the way his lips curved insincerely.

“Mi amada, if you please. I think it’s time for you to retire.”

You fought the lump in your throat and forced a small, polite smile onto your face. 

“Oh… of course, Mr. Gutierrez.” 

You held eye contact with him for a beat and he looked back at you with his jaw tightened, then turned to leave the room. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and you hoped that using formalities when he had almost begged you to not would give him a taste of how disappointed and hurt you were. 

+++++

You were back to sitting at your vanity, post shower and in your silk night robe, removing the last remnants of your makeup. You’d cried once you got back to your room, and again in the shower, feeling so humiliated that you’d let yourself fall for a man who clearly wanted you around for keeping up appearances and nothing more.

You replayed every interaction you’d had with him, trying to see where you’d misinterpreted his actions, his touches, his gaze, making yourself feel even more humiliated and foolish for convincing yourself you were just seeing what made your ego take less of a beating over being this man’s paid arm candy. You had an excellent education and were on track to doing great things and now you were whoring yourself out for a hollow lifestyle that was never meant for you. 

After the last smudge of mascara was removed and your night cream was absorbed into your skin, you heard Javi down the hallway. You paused and listened, hoping he might stop at your door, but he continued past it and towards his room. Sitting on the chair, your mind whirled. You could just wait until morning to confront him, to demand that he release you from this humiliation and torment. You’d had enough. If he was unwilling to give you what you wanted then you wanted out. 

It took you some time to get riled up enough and have the courage to rip open your door, stomp down the hallway and bang on his door. At first, there was no answer, then you heard what could have been a ‘come in’, but you couldn’t be sure. You waited a moment, then heard another sound, and decided that was all the permission you needed to enter.

The door was unlocked, and you pushed it open and stepped into the entryway of his suite. You heard a grunt and a few heavy breaths. Your brows furrowed and you stepped around the corner to see Javi seated on his couch, pants around his calves, his shirt buttons open over his belly, one hand pumping his erect cock furiously and his other bunching a pair of panties that were unmistakably yours under his nose.

You covered your mouth as you gasped and he looked up, wide eyed, his hand stopping and squeezing his cock. 

“Oh god! Jav-Mr. Gutierrez! I am - I am so sorry!”

He stood up clumsily, pulling his pants up and stepped towards you, helplessly panting your name. You turned and tried to bolt, but as you opened the door, Javi’s arm shot out and shoved it closed with a loud slam. His body was behind you and his heavy, whiskey-laden breaths were painting the back of your neck. Your hand was still on the door knob and the hand he held up on the door came down over it. His other softly came to your hip, gently holding you in place.

“Mi amada.”, he breathed as his lips tentatively ghosted over your skin. “Por favor quédate [please stay].”

You almost choked on how dry your mouth had gotten, and you trembled slightly in his hold. You knew he was drunk and that this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened, but you wanted more than it made you uncomfortable. The hand on your hip moved, his palm now splayed below your belly button and he pulled you back against him, his stomach forcing you to arch your back. 

“Please. Just…” His voice sounded desperate and he pressed his still-hard cock against your backside. “Don’t run…”

“M-Mr. Guti-”

“Please, for the fucking love of god!”, he snarled through rough breaths,angrily squeezing you harder against him. His large hand grabbed your wrists, holding them firmly against your chest and the other came down and began bunching your night robe up in the front, exposing your thighs and black lace panties. He forced his hand between your legs and cupped your mound. “How many fucking time do I have to ask you? Beg you??”

You struggled against his hold and let out shallow breaths as his fingers pushed against the scrap of fabric and felt them becoming damper with your arousal. He roughly pushed your panties aside and the pad of his fat finger found your clit, circling it roughly. You whined out, gasping and dropped your head forward, watching his hand be engulfed at the crux of your thighs.

“Try it again… what’s my name?”

You were slipping under his spell until he spoke, being brought back to reality when his tone was less pleading and more commanding. Then you were reminded of why you were coming to confront him in the first place and you felt the determination to at least make this harder for him ignite.

“Mr. Gutier-”

His hand came up quickly, and his fingers slick with you gripped your chin, turning it to face him. 

“Don’t you dare do this.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching with the tension in your body. The haze of alcohol was in his eyes and you couldn’t help but continue to tremble in his hold, given the way you were restrained against him.

“Mr. Gu-”

As soon as the first syllable left your mouth, his eyes burned and anger erupted over his face. He yanked you back away from the entryway, cursing under his breath in growls and tossed you onto his bed. You tried pushing yourself up, adrenaline and arousal screaming through your body, but his large frame stood over you and he gripped your ankles, hauling your backside to the edge of the mattress and the force of his pull made you fall back again.

“So fucking difficult. I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t be decent enough to even use my name.”, he snarled as he got onto his knees on the floor. “You walk through my halls, adorned in my gifts to you, but you won’t even use my name!”

His fingers dug into your thighs harshly, and you squirmed. It didn’t deter him, and each time you moved, his grip tightened. 

“And then tonight, you show up for dinner looking so fucking beautiful and you sit at my table and you woo my guests. You’re testing me, mi amada.” Javi’s words come out in a low snarl. You felt one of his hands grip your panties’ waistband and rip the flimsy fabric off you. You yelped out at the sudden snap! followed by him pulling your thighs further apart and he grunted as he moved his face closer to your core.

He sighed and his voice was softer. “Teasing me. I can’t have you like I want, hermosa.” He pressed his face into your cunt and inhaled, forcing a choked gasp from you. “Te quiero tan mala, mi amada [I love you so much, my darling]. You can’t have it both ways.”

You let your hand move down to his hair and you gently let the tips of your fingers feel how soft it was. The caramel streaks mixed with the deep mahogany curls felt like heaven, and the way his head moved with each breath caused the soft light to catch the odd grey woven into the beautiful waves of his hair. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on your inner thigh, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself this comfort.

“Javi…”

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you through his brows menacingly. “Oh, now you want to behave?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, shaking your head. What had he done to you? He was reducing you to a needy mess, with no hope of having a backbone with him again.  “Javi…”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you want something, huh?”

He pulled his heavy body up from the floor, his normally fluid movements slightly awkward from the whiskey, and stood at his full height. Pulling off his jacket, his eyes stared daggers at you.

“Take that off, mi amada. Or you want me to buy you a new one of those, too?” He spat out at you as his mouth pinched in a bitter scowl as he stared at you, and you knew that was an order, not a real question.

You sat up and began removing the robe, but you weren’t moving fast enough. He reaches forward and ripped it off your body, tossing it onto the floor. You were shaking at this point from pure adrenaline, arousal and fear. Your arms quickly covered your chest but his hands yanked them away. “Don’t you fucking dare! I want to see what my money has gotten me.”

He released you and stood up, licking his lips and smirking as his eyes stared at your tits. He shoved his already open pants and briefs down, and his thick, hard cock bobbed heavily, slapping against his full belly.

“J-Javi…” Your voice came out in a meek whimper.

He pumped his cock. He smiled darkly back at you, and sneered,  “That’s right, hermosa. Fucking Javi.”

The smile and his movement towards you egged you on. “H-how do you want me?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kneeled between your parted legs on the bed and shoved you back down. He lifted your knees, then gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, and loomed over you menacingly.

“I want you to take it like you take everything else I give you. With a thank you and a fucking smile.”

Javi pushed in, the pressure and stretch forcing the breath from your lungs. You clung to him and as he buried himself as deeply as he could, Javi grabbed your leg, securing your ankle on his shoulder, and began pounding into you. Any memories you had of his soft touch and gentleness were turned to ash in that moment with how hard he was fucking you, but you were reveling in it. Even if this isn’t what you thought you wanted, you took solace in the truth of it all - you were right. He did want you; you didn’t misread the signs. Closing your eyes, you lost yourself in the feeling of him and the thought of how right you were and smiled as he pounded into you, groaning praises about your pussy. 

He pulled out and shoved you down onto your side and flopped down onto the bed behind you. Engulfing you in his arms, he slipped back in and pounded into you from behind. He held you firmly and your hands gripped his thick wrists. His sweaty body was sticking to yours, and he pushed his bulk halfway on top of you, crushing you sideways into the mattress and his mouth was sucking sloppy kisses onto your shoulder, face and neck. It was overwhelming; the heat and the friction and the stretch and the way he was coating you in his alcohol-infused sweat and spit - you could feel your climax building. You wanted him to stop but you needed him to keep going.

“Feel so fucking good, mi amada… m’close…”…”

Crying out, you came and he groaned and bit down hard on your shoulder. You writhed and squirmed, screaming into the mattress, as his thrusts fell into disarray. Your core was spasming as he fucked into you a few more times, grunting and panting through the clenched teeth in your flesh, then he went rigid and stilled. 

Both of your breathing was rapid and staggered as your bodies relaxed. His bite lifted and he kissed the angry skin softly, then he sighed.

“I can’t, mi amada.”

Javi disengaged from you and pulled away. He stumbled as he got up, pulled on his night robe and left his room. You laid in silence alone, waiting to see if he would return. Eventually, you got up and went back to your suite, no Javi in sight.

+++++

The days that followed bore nothing that would have hinted at your encounter other than the invites in your e-calendar for upcoming meetings had been wiped clean, your schedule was now open and both your night robe and black lace pantied had been replaced silently without your knowledge. 

Javi was distant, but still kind. The odd hand on your leg still happened, but the gentle looks and soft edges of his words were missing. 

One evening after you had been dismissed from the dinner table, signaling that he didn’t need you in a meeting you had organized, he knocked at your door. 

You opened your door and he pushed his way in without a ‘hello’, and crowded you against the wall, pushing his mouth to yours. His hands were trying to make quick work in getting your clothes off. 

Shoving him back, you yelled angrily, “Javi! What the fuck?”

The same fury you knew was written all over your face was staring back at you in his. He stepped towards you again.

“What? This not what you wanted?”, he sneered, grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him. 

“No! Not like this! I wanted - “

“No!”, he barked. “No! You cannot have it like that!”

“Javi - why? I though you want- -”

“Thought i wanted what? Wanted you as my partner? My fucking equal?”

You stared up at him, feeling your heart sink and your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, and the realization of what he was saying washed over you. You really couldn’t have it both ways.

Sensing that you were finally understanding him, he leaned in, mouth ghosting over yours and said softly, “You think just because you finally got what you wanted that I'll let you have a say?”

He nudged his nose against yours and shook his head slightly, keeping his tone soft. “If you wanted me to respect you and your opinions on my business, then you should have kept your fucking legs closed.”

You sucked a breath in and your chin quivered. The tears that had threatened to fall finally did. He nodded and kissed you and you didn’t push him off you again. He may have won this round but you were smart and we’re ready to demand that seat back at his table in due time.

You weren't going down without a fight.

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[synamartia]

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text banner created via TextStudio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen trope (Love Potion) ; Oral (m + f receiving) ; Spanking ; Dirty talk ; Praise kink ; Dom!Alastor ; Dacryphilia ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,183 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita Author's Notes: Ya'll ready for this? don't lie now Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. Tagging my darling moots and the lovely Kat for allowing me to use her art for a series banner~! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask! And thank you again to Mink and Danny for helping me nail down Alastor's dialogue! You're the best! ❤

You weren't sure how you ended up here - bent over the large desk in Alastor's bedroom, but you weren't particularly worried about the circumstances surrounding your... situation. You could vaguely recall speaking with the Radio Demon about an issue regarding one of the many drug stashes belonging to Angel and what exactly each piece of paraphernalia could be - specifically, what the small spray bottle filled with a pink liquid might have been. Had you known it was an aerosolized product of Love Potion by the Vees, you never would have sprayed it on Alastor - having mistaken it for one of Angel's various colognes.

At first, the man who towered over not only you, but the entirety of the hotel staff had been upset with you, ready to give you a proper tongue-lashing for your carelessness. However, that was before the potion took effect- his original intentions went right out the window the moment it did. You had to hand it to the Vees; it only took 7.8 seconds for Alastor's pupils to dilate and his ears to flatten against his head as the drug took hold of his senses. Alastor barely held on to his sanity the second the drug went into effect - it took every single fiber of his being, every ounce of self-control to stop himself from tearing at your clothes and having his way with you right then and there. Had it not been for the distant murmurs and subtle hisses at the nearby bar, he would have. But he wouldn't subject you to such ignominy, no matter how inebriated by that god-awful concoction he was. Alastor was, first and foremost, a gentleman.

Alastor leaned in close - his face mere inches from yours, a frenzied look in his half-lidded eyes as he inhaled the distinctive spicy aroma that your minty toothpaste had given your breath. He'd rather not waste any time talking, but the one thing that horrible, awful, wonderful drug couldn't override in his brain was the innate, inherent need for consent in such acts. He could only hope you would have some mercy on the few remaining ribbons of his tattered soul and provide him with the only word he wanted to hear - yes. "I- ... I'm so sorry, Alastor- ... S-sir! I mean, M- ... Mister Alastor! I thought it was just a... a cologne..." You started - at first mistaking the look of lust in his eyes for one of malicious and sadistic intent. You had heard the rumors (who hadn't?). So when you noticed his wraithlike shadows swirling around your form and felt one of his tentacles wrap around both of your ankles, you immediately thought that you were about to be the next voice heard on his radio broadcast.

"It seems this... cologne..." you heard his voice ring out as your world went black for a few moments - the caliginous haze having engulfed both of your forms. You felt a slight breeze with how fast the darkness transported Alastor and you from the foyer up the grand flight of stairs and down the halls. At first, you had assumed he was taking you to his studio to broadcast your screams of agony for all of hell to hear. However, you were pleasantly surprised when the smoky substance dissipated, and you found yourself in the safe confines of Alastor's bedroom. "... is an aphrodisiac so potent that it's affecting even me," he said, having remained in the same bent position as he began to size you up.

"I- ... I know. I realized too late," your voice trembled as you stared back at him, fidgeting with your nails nervously. "I'm so sorry, Alastor - I'll be more caref- ...?!" The deer demon pressed a singular clawed digit against your lips to prevent you from any further stammering, shushing you as his eyes traveled down to the valley between your breasts.

"If you're truly apologetic, why don't you show me, hm?" he asked you smugly, pointed teeth parting for a moment to pull his bottom lip between them. He bit down lightly, waiting for your consent as patiently as he could manage. He refused to touch you any further until you had given him the go-ahead; he was a demon, sure - a pretty damn bad one, at that. But this was one thing he would never forego. "Will you help me through this high? After all, you are the one at fault here." You could've sworn your head was about to explode from all the blood rushing to your cheeks at that exact moment. Did he just ask you that? There's no way Alastor - one of the most feared Overlords to have ever walked the scorched wasteland of hell in recent memory; the one that broadcasts the screams of the souls that he eviscerates and atomizes for miniscule slights; the demon that has made friends with an entire town of cannibals (except one - ugh, Susan) and has brunch with their Overlord every Thursday; the man that is unapologetically contumelious and has brazenly challenged the king of hell; THE GODDAMN RADIO DEMON - is shamelessly asking if you would let him fuck you... right?

This had to be dream or an illusion of some sort. Yeah, that had to be it. But, in all honesty, it would be a lie if you said you hadn't thought about any of this - about how his lips tasted; what his nails would feel like being raked up and down your back; how far down your throat you could take him; the sweet, sweet sting of his cock stretching your walls open; or what it would feel like to have rope after rope of his hot seed spurting inside you during his climax. You wondered if he was vocal during sex, and what he would sound like while he chased that rarely sought-after release. Would it just be whimpers and sighs, or would he say the filthiest of words while he rammed his shaft into you with reckless abandon? You assumed the latter since Alastor loved to talk; to hear himself talk - you hoped he would whisper all the ways he wanted to defile you right before doing just that.

Alastor tugged your bottom lip down to reveal your bottom row of teeth as you stared at him in both bewilderment and awe, your brain struggling to process this whole exchange. After a few more moments of silence passed, you shifted your gaze down his torso to the already prominent, still-growing tent within his trousers. Using the same clawed hand that had pulled down your lip, Alastor lifted your chin so that you were forced to look him in the eye.

"Do you want this? I need an answer, Mon Ami. Now."

Having been pulled out of your dazed imagination, you took one more moment to compose yourself before responding. With a frantic nod of agreement, you threw caution to the wind as Alastor's eyes took on a subtle glow, causing your heart to race at from just the idea of sleeping with him.

C'est la vie, right?

He didn't allow you much time to think after that, immediately leaning down so that he could wrap his hands around the backsides of your thighs and hoist you up so that you were at eye-level with him. With a couple long strides, you found yourself being set down on the desk. Easing your legs apart as gently as he could, Alastor stepped between them and brought his hands up to the button-down shirt you wore, the fine layer of sweat resulting from your earlier fear of disembowelment causing patches of the white fabric to become translucent. In one swift motion, all the buttons went flying across the room as he ripped it open, exposing the black lace bra you wore beneath it. He looked like a man starved by the way his predatory gaze traveled over your half-nude form.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you still struggled to make sense of everything that's happened so far, the anticipation of whatever else may come consuming you. Hands shaking and breath rapid, you nervously brought your hands to the black bow tie wrapped beneath the lapels of his crimson dress shirt, your trembling fingers having difficulty in undoing the knot at first. You noticed the subtle flinch and how Alastor tensed when you finally managed to get the tie undone, quickly moving your hands south to undo the buttons of his suit jacket. Inebriated or not, Alastor still struggled with any physical contact that wasn't strictly on his terms. In an attempt to ease his discomfort, you pulled your hands away and looked him in the eye. "Is it okay if I touch you?" you asked him. A moment passed, and then another; then he nodded his head, granting you permission to slide his coat off his shoulders and down his arms to fall to the floor.

Eyes locked with his, you could tell he was still a little tense; so, you took things a bit further in the hopes of calming his nerves. "I'm going to unbutton your shirt now. Is that okay?" you announced, awaiting his approval once more before you continued to undress him. With another nod, Alastor let out a barely audible sigh when he felt a sudden rush of cool air on his torso a few seconds later - his shirt now being untucked and fully unbuttoned. You took a moment to take in this rare sight: Alastor's clothes disheveled and chest bare, eyes frenzied as he began to relax into your touch little by little. The tips of your fingers traced the outlines of his toned pecs down the center line of his abs and along the few tufts of cherry red hair that were the beginnings of a happy trail (fuck, now you owed $10 to Angel) - and then back up again to his broad shoulders. Alastor practically ripped the cufflinks from his wrists, a shiver running up his spine as you moved your hands past the lapels of his shirt, pushing the fabric off in the same manner as his suit coat.

With his upper garments now pooled at his feet, Alastor let one of his arms wrap around your waist and pull you to the edge of his desk - his groin coming into contact with yours. You held his gaze as one of your hands came up to wrap around the back of his neck, your other going behind you to help support your weight as you began to shallowly roll your hips against his clothed length. A soft moan escaped your throat at the friction you created, causing Alastor's muscles to tense, his spine going rigid beneath your touch. "... Do that again," he commanded you, his cock twitching within the painfully restricting confines of his trousers. He hadn't expected such a simple noise to have this profound of an effect on him physically. "Make that noise again," he rasped, pushing his hips further into you as his other hand pushed your pencil skirt up to reveal your undergarments.

"Hhhmmm... Alastor," you obliged, adding his name in a husky whisper as you rolled your hips against his once more. Alastor growled in response just before crashing his lips down on yours, swallowing the moans that were pouring from your throat. How has he never noticed the ethereal way his name sounded rolling off your tongue until now? He wondered what it would sound like being screamed so loud, that dick Lucifer could hear it all the way up on his 'holier than thou' high horse throne. You inhaled sharply through your nose as you felt a claw tug and then eventually tear at your matching black lace panties (he was SO buying you a new set; this was your favorite pair, damn it!), your skirt now bunched up at your waist, leaning your lower half completely bare.

Breaking the kiss, you pulled back just enough to see Alastor's face - eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, a thin layer of sweat accumulating on his face and torso from the prolonged proximity. "Alastor..." you whispered his name again and his cock twitched again against the now much too uncomfortable fabric. You moved to sit up straight, bringing both of your hands to the buckle of his belt, stilling them as you opened your mouth to ask if he would let you continue. Before you could even form the question, Alastor was already granting you permission to free it from the agonizing confines of his pants with a feverishly desperate nod; his free hand maneuvering between your bodies to stroke a solitary digit through your folds. "My, my," he chuckled, voice teasing as he pushed his finger past the first ring of muscle of your embarrassingly slick entrance. "We've only just started, and you're already this aroused?" he clicked his tongue against his teeth as he teased you, deriving pleasure and amusement from the pout you gave in response.

"Dirty girl."

"I- ... It's your fault," you chided him, throwing his earlier statement back in his face. "You're the one to blame. So, are you going to help me or not?" you asked him in a mocking tone of voice, sticking your tongue out in the process. Alastor leaned in closer to your face - pretending to go for another kiss, only to lightly sink his teeth into the tip of your tongue and pull it further out of your mouth. "A-ah!" you yelped in surprise just before he wrapped his lips around the already sore muscle, sucking gently to ease the pain for a few moments. When he pulled away, he gave you a playful wink just before adding a second digit to your heated core. "I suppose I could help you," Alastor teased you right back, slowly pumping his digits in and out, careful not to hurt you with the sharpened edges of his nails.

"... But I want to hear you beg for it first."

Before you could react, Alastor pulled himself free of you and yanked you to your feet; spinning you around and forcing you to bend over the edge of his desk with his slender fingers wrapped around the back of your neck - keeping you in place. He used his other hand to wrangle both of yours, holding them together at the wrist and pressing them into the small of your back as he kicked your feet apart.

So now, here you were - bent over the smooth surface of his desk; trapped, exposed, and completely helpless.

"Come now, Mon Cher. Let me hear you beg me to fuck you," Alastor commanded you, releasing your neck and bringing that same hand down to spank against the bare skin of your ass. A yelp escaped your lips at the sudden sting of his palm striking your rear, your cheek pressed against the cool wood as you tried to angle your head just right to look back at him. Chewing on your bottom lip as you contemplated his command, you were trying to decide which route was more beneficial: compliance or defiance.

Another slap resounded throughout the room when Alastor struck your bottom again, harder this time as a warning to make up your mind quickly. Deciding that compliance would get you to that first release faster (albeit less fun), you opened your mouth to acquiesce. "P-Please!" you started, "... please, Alastor... I need you..." you whispered shyly, the words somehow making your face heat up even more. But it wasn't good enough, since Alastor smacked your ass again. "You can do better than that," he stated matter-of-factly, rubbing the palm of his hand against the reddened skin where he had struck you. Biting your lip again, you closed your eyes and tried to muster up the courage to say out loud all the thoughts running through your dirty little mind. You hoped no one was nearby to hear any of this (not that Alastor would let them live for very long if they did hear your escapades). Swallowing the saliva that was building up in your mouth, you let out a shaky breath before opening your eyes and craning your neck further back to look at Alastor again.

"Please! Please, please, PLEASE fuck me, Alastor ...! I need it so bad! I wanna feel your cock in me, please! I promise, I'll be good!" you started out, your face now rivaling Alastor's ruby hair in terms of color. "I'll be good, I swear!" you tried to wiggle your hips against his still clothed cock (having only succeeded in undoing the belt buckle and zipper before he whipped you around), only to feel another harsh slap to your ass, warning you to behave. "Please just fuck me- ...! Make me cum on your cock. I wanna cum on your cock! Alastor..." you whimpered, earning a short chuckle from him in response as he slowly began to grind against your backside, providing you with some much needed friction. "Good girl," he murmured while rubbing soothing circles on the red imprint of his hand forming on your ass cheek. Leaning over you so that his lips were right by the edge of your jaw, he let his tongue roll out and run along the length of it until he came to your ear, sharp teeth nibbling at the sensitive lobe.

"Une si bonne fille pour moi."

Alastor stood up straight once again and moved his hand between your bodies, opting to push three of his long digits into your waiting heat this time. He relished in the surprised gasp that escaped you followed by a prolonged moan, curling his fingers slightly as he started to build a pace. "A-Alasss- ...!" you tried to say his name, but the angle that his fingers were pushing in and out of you had you seeing stars even though he had just barely started, his knuckles rubbing against that one spot you always had trouble reaching with your own hand. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your walls clenching around his fingers when you felt his thumb press against your puckered hole. Letting go of your wrists, Alastor brought his now free hand down to grab at your ass and spread your cheeks apart to get a better look; he prodded gently but never pushed past the first ring of muscle. He wanted to but felt it could wait for another time - IF there was another time after this. He didn't want to push your boundaries too far for the first time around.

"Oh, fuuucckk!" you drawled out, eyes fluttering closed as that oh-so-familiar coil began to tighten in your lower abdomen. "That's it, good girl," you heard him praise you, his words causing your muscles to tense further as he pushed you closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Your hips began to roll involuntarily against his hand after a few minutes, your body automatically seeking that sweet, sweet release even faster. "Just like that, ride my fingers just like that," he whispered, the praises he was singing to you making your walls clamp down on his digits even tighter. "O-oh fuck! Ala- ... Alastor! Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum, oh my god!" you cried, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, hands holding a death grip on the edge of his desk.

When you felt Alastor shifting behind you, you opened your eyes and lifted your head slightly to see what he was doing - quickly finding him on his knees and moving in until his mouth replaced his fingers. Alastor let out a loud groan once he finally had a taste of you, tongue rolling out and through your slick folds, drinking in your essence like you were an oasis in the middle of the Sahara Desert. His left hand held your cheeks apart as Alastor licked and slurped and sucked, shaking his head back and forth against your core every few seconds. The tip of his nose tickled your other hole while he used his right hand to rub circles on your clit, his long tongue rolling over your g-spot whenver he would dip it inside you. You could feel your release coming at you like a freight train now, one of your hands shooting back to grab hold of something - his hair, his antlers, anything in an attempt to ground yourself. "Good girl!" his words were muffled as he kept his face pressed against your core, lifting your leg to rest on the desk before returning it to your clit, pressing down harshly on the bundle of nerves.

A loud groan rumbled through his chest as you squeezed the base of his antler, the action causing his cock to twitch and throb, begging to be released from its confines and satiated. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" you begged, your jaw falling open into a silent cry as your release began to crash over you like a tsunami. Alastor drank you in, slurping loudly at the fluids that dripped from your tight cunt, savoring your taste while he struggled to not blow his load before he even had a chance to get inside you. He pressed his face even further against your core, mouth open wide as he swallowed everything your body had to give him. How long had it been since he felt this thirsty - this starved for someone else's touch? Alastor couldn't remember the last time he was this aroused, this fucking hard. What the fuck did the Vees put in that troublesome potion?

As the pleasure coursing through your veins began to subside, your muscles relaxed and your grip on his antler loosened, occasionally tensing once more whenever you felt the tip of his tongue on your throbbing clit or the sharp edge of his teeth glide against your puffy lips. You lowered your head to rest on the polished surface, trying to catch your breath as Alastor pulled back from your heat - enjoying the way your pussy would clench around nothing when he lightly raked his claws over your reddened ass cheek. Picking up his forgotten shirt from before, Alastor used the fabric to wipe what was left of your release from his chin, discarding it after as he rose to his feet. "You did so well for me," he praised you, reaching to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Leaning over your slumped form he let his lips brush against your jaw, then your cheek and then your temple. "Hmm..." you hummed in response, trying not to let the fatigue take over before you could get to the main course. "Do you need a moment? Would you like to stop?" Alastor asked you, taking notice of your display of exhaustion.

Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. "No! No, I can-" you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident in the foyer that led to all of this occurred near the end of your workday, so you were fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more is what kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here, especially since you had already agreed to help relieve him. "... I can keep going. I wanna keep going," you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. "For you," you added, staring up at him with a look so amorous it made his breath hitch in his throat, catching him off guard. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tiptoes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Bringing yourself back down to stand proper, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomed your touch rather than shy away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time, outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for your thoughtfulness later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips to his knees, eventually falling to his ankles, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person.

Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. "Hey," you called. "You can trust me, Alastor," you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you sank down to your knees before him. "I promise," you spoke, voice gentle, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand up to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. "I just want to make you feel good," you continued to assure him, catching the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses.

You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes - he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. "Is that okay?" you asked after a couple more licks to his slit, savoring the salty taste of his pre dribbling out. "Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?" you asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off that devilish tongue of yours. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest and static crackling through the air, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular,

"Yes!"

Immediately, you had to fight back the urge to gag and pull away when he pushed your head down. Had it not been for his fingers laced through your hair holding you in place, you would have. You whined at the sudden intrusion, not expecting him to push so much of himself inside your mouth so quickly; his tip nearly hitting the back of your throat. Alastor tried, he truly did, to keep control and allow you some time to adjust, but the explicit desire for release was beginning to cloud his senses now that he had your lips wrapped around his dick. He gave a few shallow thrusts, trying not to go too far before you adjusted to his wide girth. After a few seconds to do just that had passed, you hummed softly as a signal that you were okay to go further now, to pick up the pace - the vibrations sending a couple unexpected shockwaves up his spine. You stared up at him, admiring the way his Adam's apple bobbed slightly when he swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Curling your tongue around his length, you pressed upward as you started to bob your head, sucking lightly and moaning every few seconds to send vibrations through his whole being. "Fuck..." you heard him whisper with each drag of your muscle on the underside of his shaft, keeping one hand wrapped around his base and squeezing lightly the part you were unable to swallow. On occasion, whenever you would pull back far enough, you would angle your head slightly so that his tip would rub against the ridges of your palate upon re-entry, causing him to inhale sharply and clench his hand, tugging on your hair each time.

You could feel his thighs tremble every time you moaned around him, sucking harshly and hollowing your cheeks, pressing your tongue up even harder to create more friction and bring him closer to his orgasm. You slurped and sucked; some drool mixed with precum beginning to froth at the corners of your mouth with each drag. "That's it, that's it," Alastor murmured as he lowered his gaze down onto you. Struggling to keep his release at bay for just a few more minutes, he nearly lost it when he saw that you were still looking up at him with those beautiful wide eyes, tears pricking at the edges and threatening to fall at any moment. "Oh, yes- ... That's my good girl, fuuuccckkk!" he breathed, relishing in the way you tried to breathe through your nose while choking on his cock.

Hearing his moans and praises were such a huge ego boost, so you decided to take it a step further by removing your hand from the base and letting it settle on the side of his thigh. Alastor let out a small grunt of disapproval at the loss of your tight grip and reached to guide your hand back, but he stopped and let his jaw fall open when you pushed yourself further down on his cock, his tip now bullying the back of your throat with each bob of your head, every thrust of his hips. He was so close after only a couple minutes of you sucking him off; he couldn't tell if it was a result of the Love Potion or not being intimate with anyone for a significant amount of time, but he didn't really care. He just knew that his head was going to explode (among other things) if he didn't paint your mouth white and shoot his cum down your throat right fucking now.

You brought your left hand down to cradle his balls and roll them between your fingers, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to create some much needed friction. Alastor's breathing was becoming heavier and faster with every second that passed, your tongue now moving back and forth in time with each drag; your messy slurping and moans increasing in volume causing him to see stars. "Goddamn... It feels so good!" he whispered, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as he brought his other hand to nestle in your messy hair along with the other. Alastor was beginning to lose what little control he had left as his thrusts became more frantic, more wild and frenzied. "F-fff... uuuhh-!" he whined loudly, guiding your head down as he pushed up, your nose lightly slamming against his groin as he began to full on face fuck you.

"Fffu- ...! Oh, fuck yes! Fucking- keep going, just like that! Haahhh- ...!"

You were able to breathe through your nose, but not well enough as the edges of your vision began to go dark; your ears being filled with the sloppy 'glug, glug, glug' sound of Alastor ramming his cock in and out of your mouth at a speed you didn't think possible. Clenching your eyes shut as you let him use you to chase after his high, you tried to focus more on staying conscious only to have Alastor roughly tug on your hair, then lightly slap your cheek until you opened them again. You stared up at him with a dazed expression, your eyes teary and brows furrowed as he let one hand travel down to grip your chin. "Don't you dare look away from me!" he demanded, static rippling through the air and lights flickering, his eyes shifting to radio dials and his red sclera turning black, his grip bruising as his pace quickened. "Mm- ... mmpph!" you tried to hum in response, but the sound was swallowed by the other noises he was dragging out of you.

"Is this what you wanted?" Alastor asked as you tried to keep up with his brutal pace, fat tears now rolling down your cheeks as he began to lose himself in the pleasure you offered him. If you could, you would have nodded, but his tight grip on your hair and chin was making it difficult to do anything else except take it. "Is this what you wanted, darling- mmmpph! ... Wanted me to fuck your face like this? Hm? Is this what you fucking wanted?" he groaned loudly as his climax grew closer and closer, his antlers growing longer and his girth increasing in size with each thrust. His brows were knitted together as his nose scrunched slightly, the coil in his lower abdomen tightening to an almost excruciating degree and ready to snap any second, eyes narrowed and pointed teeth grinding together as he sucked in air quickly with each movement. "Do you want it? Take it like a good girl? Hohhh- shit!" You tried to nod once more, but again his bruising digits held your head in place, so you blinked rapidly at him, hoping that he would understand what you were trying to convey.

"That's it, that's it, take it all- Oh, fuck you're so good for me-! F-fuck, I'm cu-!"

A couple more seconds went by and you were barely holding on when you felt his hips stutter and his grip tighten further on your hair. With one final thrust, Alastor was thrown over the edge as the first ropes of his warm seed shot out and down your throat, holding your face flush against his pelvis. He let out a strangled cry of gratification as he held your head in place, your nose buried in the neatly groomed crimson bush at the base of his shaft. He used the hand that had been holding your chin to catch himself on the edge of his desk, his upper body having lurched forward when his orgasm hit, arched over your kneeling form. His abs flexed with every spurt of his cum, every blissful wave that came crashing down on him, his thighs quivering as he tried to remain upright and catch his breath. He was quite vexed, unsure if it was a lack of intimacy or the results of that drug that caused him to experience such an intense release, but he didn't really care to know right now.

"Mmph! Nngghh!" Alastor heard you humming, his entire body twitching from the overstimulating vibrations as you began to frantically tap at his thighs, trying to get him to let go so you could get some much-needed oxygen into your lungs. He pulled your head back by your hair gently and you started to cough and sputter, chest heaving and drool coating your chin. He took several seconds to catch his breath, as did you, before clicking his tongue in mock disapproval at your messy state (as if he wasn't the reason behind it) - his subtle disposition to passive-aggressively disparage all those around him momentarily breaking through this rarely seen state of vulnerability.

You brought your hands to your face, swiping at the tears that spilled from your eyes with one hand while covering your mouth with the other - a sad attempt at stifling your coughing fit. Alastor untangled his fingers from your messy strands and, in an uncharacteristic display of what most would assume is affection, smoothed them out delicately as he reached to take the hand that was wiping away your tears. He pulled you to your feet before waving his hand through the air, a glass of water manifesting a moment later with a puff of green and black smoke. He offered it to you as your coughing subsided, which you gladly accepted.

"Forgive me, darling. It seems I lost myself in the heat of the moment," Alastor apologized, having regained full control of himself now - the only signs of his uncontrolled frenzy being his shirt and coat lying in a heap nearby and his pants and briefs bunched at his ankles. You took a much-needed swig of the water he had given you, only giving him a small smile in response as you reached to rub your sinuses to ease the pain he unintentionally caused. You wondered if it would cause any petechiae bruising later (it would); what with how rough he had been with you. If it did, you assumed Angel would have SOME type of numbing agent for your throat - or, at the very least a concealer if the bruising formed on your face too.

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ]