#one of these days i should try scotch

[savageboar]

I only recently tried whiskey and i think its good (usually i only like sweet drinks but whiskey is yum) do u have a favorite brand u cld recommend? :3

ohh if you like sweet drinks there's plenty of sweet whiskey too, those are really good for mixing. you can't go wrong with southern comfort and evan williams, and if you feel fancy, irish whiskeys are SUPER smooth. and if you like whiskey and sweet drinks, brandy is pretty good too. e&j makes good brandy.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Teacher's Pet (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Professor Harkness takes on so few students. You're determined to become on. A non-magic AU with professor!Agatha.

Words: 7.4k

Warnings: Praise kink, possessiveness, obsessiveness, drinking, teacher/student relationship, age gap (but all over 18+), smut, fingering (R receiving), oral sex (R receiving), biting, Dom!Agatha, sub!R, power imbalance, unhealthy dynamics

You’d heard the whispers around campus about Professor Harkness’s class. The rumours were passed around like a ghost story told under the cover of night at camp. You stored them, collected each one like a gem, richer for every word you were gifted by the rumour mill. Drunk students would try one up one another at house parties, wanting to share the worst of her and win the competition.

You were fascinated with the legend of her before you ever laid eyes on her.

It was at a faculty party, your history professor extending an invitation to all of his most promising students. You’d shown up, expecting nothing but other old men, ruing the day the students grew so rowdy, passing around stories about their own college days when they showed far more respect to their professors than your lot ever did.

Instead, you’d found her, nursing a glass of red wine in the library, a heavy book open in her palm. She glanced up, piercing blue eyes settling on you with disinterest, and yet you felt like you’d been struck by lightning. You took a deep breath as her eyes left you, going back to the book in her hand, and made your way further into the room.

Your finger trailed over the spines of the book, most leather bound and weighty, older than the mess of paperbacks in your dorm room. Scanning the titles, you realised each one was on World War I. You wrinkled your nose, continuing on.

You knew you should have been trying to network with some of the most eminent professors in the history department, but now you were finding it hard to break free from the woman’s gravity. So you stayed, looking over the books, trying to find something that would suggest your professor wasn’t as boring as you suspected he was. And if you kept sneaking glances at the other woman, then it was an added bonus to your evening. Dark hair and pale skin, red lips curling up at the corner, dressed in clothes that must have cost more than your entire wardrobe combined, she was the most wonderful thing to look at in that room.

She did not pay you any attention.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced up, your professor swaggering through the door, a glass of scotch dangling from his fingertips. In the corner of your eye, you saw the woman tilt her head in his direction.

“Oh good. I’m so glad the two of you found each other,” he said.

You looked over at the woman, finding her staring down your professor with a look of absolute disdain. Clasping your hands in front of oyur body, you waited for some kind of explanation. Your professor drew closer, the bounce in his step seemingly suggesting he hadn’t noticed the way the woman was looking at him.

“Agatha, let me introduce you to my best student.”

He scooped you up on his way, the hand on the small of your back directing you towards her. You’d done your best to keep your distance from her, not sure she’d appreciate you interrupting her. Now, propelled towards her, a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety curdled in your stomach into something you didn’t like.

When he said your name, those blue eyes focused on you. You wouldn’t say there was interest there, but it certainly was something more than the disdain she’d shown him.

“Agatha’s interests lie more in historical folklore surrounding witchcraft,” he told you.

“Oh,” you said, “I was hoping to look at that for my senior thesis.”

“Agatha Harkness,” she said, eyebrow raising, holding a hand out to you.

You grasped it in yours, her warm skin soft where it met your palm. It was like an electric shock went through you from her touch while you tried to fit this view of a woman with the figure of legend you’d been collecting stories on for the last few years at college.

“Don’t you go trying to poach my best student, Agatha,” you professor tutted, “I’m still trying to convince her to instead look at something more modern and practical.”

“You believe another World War I scholar is practical?” she asked, the drawl of her voice letting you know exactly what she thought of that opinion.

“I would say there’s more need for them in the workforce than witches,” he replied, still good-naturedly, but his gaze had hardened.

“We should talk,” she said to you, turning her head back to you, blocking your professor out of the conversation.

“I’d like that,” you said, knowing you sounded breathless and probably too eager, but you weren’t about to miss this opportunity.

She finally let your hand go, fingers stroking softly along the length of your palm. Your lips parted and for just a moment her gaze lingered there before looking back to your professor.

“You may go now,” she told him, not bothering to keep it behind the cover of polite respectability.

He sputtered out some argument. She rolled her eye, placing a hand on the small of your back, so different from when his hand had been there, and led you out of the door. Eyes followed the two of you, most focused on her, a ripple of something going through the rest of the party. She pushed the front door open, leading you into the cool air of the night.

“So,” she said, leaning back against the railing of the porch, “you’re interested in witchcraft, are you?”

“Yes,” you replied, softly, almost embarrassed, and yet certain in your conviction.

“You should know that oaf is taking such an interest in you because you’re such a pretty young thing,” she said, “his last favourite is now positioned somewhere nice like Yale or Cambridge and he keeps taking the credit for putting her there.”

“I have no interest in World War I,” you said, hoping that was answer enough.

“Clever girl.”

The thrill of her praise would sustain you long after the party was over.

“If you’re serious about pursuing witchcraft for your senior thesis, come by my office tomorrow morning with a proposal,” she said.

She maintained eye contact as she took a long sip from her wine, her lipstick leaving a mark on the glass. You couldn’t stop yourself watching her, already under her spell. She passed the glass to you, half drunk, and turned to walked down the steps.

“Don’t disappoint me,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing in the night.

You drained the last of the wine from her glass and left it there on the wooden floor of the porch. You returned home without bothering to take your leave of your professor, knowing he wouldn’t matter by that time tomorrow. You were going to give her the best proposal she’d ever seen, of that you were determined.

She agreed to oversee your senior thesis on historical folklore of witchcraft.

You learnt very quickly that Professor Harness’s demanding nature wasn’t an overblown rumour. She expected excellence from you. Late nights and early mornings, you spent so much time with you nose in your books the outside world stopped feeling real. Your fingers had grown ink stained and your eyes ached from the strain of reading such small type.

Every meeting, she sent you home with a new stack of books, expecting you to be there again in a few days having read them all, ready to discuss every little detail in her office for hours on end. She took up most of your waking hours, and when you did manage to snatch some sleep, she haunted your dreams.

You hadn’t gotten over the way lightning had struck at your first meeting.

Her office had turned into a sanctuary for you. You’d rush in, an armful of books almost tumbling to the floor before you threw them down into one of her chairs and curling up on the sofa she kept flush to the wall under the window. Some days you were there from the moment she arrived until long after the sun set, just reading and taking notes.

The office itself was warm, sometimes overly so, the sun coming through the window at just the right angle to heat the air. Her desk was large, imposing, the perfect symbol for the woman who had become legend around campus. Bookshelves were overflowing with all kinds of books. Cheap paperbacks, hardcovers, leather-bound, in pristine condition and falling apart. Some she’d let you pour over but leave behind at the end of the night, others she sent you off with. All you knew was you wanted the chance to read every single one.

Sharing the space with her was just as nerve inducing as it was the first time. You became so aware of yourself, wanting to impress her. When she’d sit beside you, the sofa cushions dipping until you felt yourself slip towards her, you’d grow so still, trying to not touch her, scared of what that would do to you. Sometimes, she lent forward to look at the page you were reading and her dark hair would brush your skin.

There were times when you thought she might know what you were thinking. The way you felt out of control around her. Your need to impress her. Her gaze would linger just a fraction of a moment longer than was appropriate, assessing every inch of you. Sometimes her fingertips would graze over the skin of your cheek, or she’d grasp your chin, or she’d gently move your hair out of your face. Hours spent together, and you could never tell how she felt about you or your work.

It only made you try harder.

It wasn’t until two months in that your friends decided to take matters into their own hands. You’d just returned from a full day studying in her office when a knock sounded on your door. Stifling a yawn, you pulled the door open.

“Oh, so you are still alive,” you friend said, shoving past you into your tiny dorm room.

“Hello to you too,” you said.

“There’s a party tonight. You’re coming. Don’t even bother arguing. No one has seen you since you started studying with the witch,” she said, picking up a banana on your desk that had begun to turn brown, “seriously, does she keep you chained up or something?”

You weren’t about to dignify that with an answer. Not that the thought of being bound by Professor Harkness was one that you hated. It just wasn’t worth the time explaining that.

“I have so much work I still need to do,” you said.

“You’ve been working too hard. Come on, it’ll be fun. You still remember what fun is like, right?”

In the end, you let her drag you to the party after raiding your wardrobe for something more party appropriate. Standing, clutching the red solo cup full of something that burnt as it went down, you watched the game of ping pong going on.

“I’d be terrified if I had to spend all that time with her,” some guy was saying to you.

“She’s not that scary,” you said, already regretting your decision to come.

“Nah. I heard she made some guy piss himself with just a look,” he said, swaying closer to you.

“She’s not like that,” you said, shaking your head, “sounds like that guy just has poor bladder control.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he said, leaning closer until his sour breath washed over your face, “wanna come upstairs so you can tell me what she’s really like?”

“No thank you,” you said, shoving him away form you.

“Whatever,” he spat, “frigid bitch.”

“So what’s she actually like?” your friend said, taking the drunk guy’s place when he swung away from you.

“Quiet, exacting, demanding,” you replied, “she expects excellence.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said.

“No, no, it’s great. I love it. She’s… great,” you said, looking down into your cup, swirling the liquid in it, “she’s kind of brilliant.”

“Careful. You sound like you’re in love with her,” your friend laughed.

“Don’t be stupid,” you snapped.

“Maybe she’s done a spell on you. You know everyone says she’s an actual witch? She’s certainly mean enough,” she said.

“She’s not,” you snapped, “seriously, all those rumours are made up by sad little people who feel inferior whenever they see a smart woman because they know they can’t ever live up to her.”

“She growled like a dog at some guy who cut her off as she was walking,” she said.

“People make up such stupid lies,” you said.

“Someone has video of her insulting some students. It went viral on TikTok,” she said.

“They probably deserved it. She has standards,” you said.

“I’m just saying, be careful with her. Maybe she’s trying to recruit you to her coven, or maybe she’s hoping to sacrifice you in some ritual to get more power,” she said.

“Shut up,” you snapped.

Downing the last of your drink, you crumpled the cup and flung it aside.

“I’m going home. I have too much work to be getting on with for this,” you said.

“Hey, no, come on. I’ll stop talking about her,” she said.

You shook her hand off you.

“I’ll see you around.”

You ignored her as she shouted after you, letting yourself out through the back gate. Curling your arms around your body, you strode off down the sidewalk. The night air held a chill to it, the slow drip of autumn beginning to give way to winter. You tipped your head back to look at the night sky, so dark, the moon just beginning to wax.

You let your feet lead you back towards your dorm building, wandering through the night and the shadows. The air was crisp in your lungs and you let yourself breath in deeply. You should have been home, reading up on the intersect of witch trails with gynophobia in the Renaissance, but instead you had wasted time on a bunch of drunk idiots for nothing.

“You’re out late.”

You startled, whirling around, heart thumping in your chest. Stepping out of the shadows, hands in her pockets, Professor Harkness looked like the devil come to collect your soul. You’d give it willingly if only she asked for it.

“I was at a party,” you said.

“You should be careful,” she said, taking slow steps towards you, “pretty young thing like you all alone at night. Anything could happen.”

The way she smiled made you feel as if she was the wolf and you the sheep, the prey to her predator. You were desperate to let her sink her teeth deeply into you.

“Nothing that interesting happens to me,” you said, voice quiet.

“Come, pet,” she said, hand landing on the small of your back, “I’ll walk you home. Can’t have something happen to you. I’ll feel so much guilt.”

You let her lead you back towards campus, the bright lights beckoning you home. You didn’t ask how she knew where to take you, so focused on the feeling of her hand splayed over your back, the warmth of her skin seeping through your thin shirt and into your skin.

“I suppose I’ve forgotten what it is to be young. I assumed you’d be curled up in bed, reading the texts I gave you,” she said, “of course you’d be out on a Friday night at a party.”

“My friend dragged me with her. Apparently I’ve been missing in action since I started working with you. She said I needed to have fun,” you said.

“I thought we were having fun,” she said, voice a low rumbled against your ear.

“We are. I am,” you said, so quick it brought a smirk to her lips when you turned your face towards her, “I shouldn’t have gone tonight. It was a waste of time.”

“Have you been drinking?” she asked. When you didn’t answer, she lent closer, “I won’t tell anyone if you have.”

“I’m over 21,” you whispered.

“Such a grown up girl,” she said, “I can smell the cheap vodka on you.”

She paused in front of your dorm building, warm light spilling out the entrance. Both hands came up to cup your cheeks, calloused skin scraping against yours, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. She lent forward again, right into your personal space. Her fingertips stroked over your soft skin as she pulled them away before her index finger gently tugged on your lower lip.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” she whispered before disappearing back into the shadows of the night. If not for your racing heart you might have thought you’d hallucinated the entire thing.

She didn’t mention it when you slunk into her office on Monday, passing you a cup of coffee without a single word, but a raised eyebrow. You took it with grace, curling up on her sofa, opening the book in your lap. When she settled beside you, feet kicked up on her coffee table, you didn’t even look at her out of the corner of your eyes.

Her fingers were soft as they brushed your hair over your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. Lingering on the curve of your jaw, you shivered, dragging your gaze over to her. The corner of her lips pulled up for a fleeting moment.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You did, the words spilling over your words like secrets, softly spoken in the confessional of her office. You lent back, watching you, legs spread, interest in her blue eyes. Her finger ran along the length of her lip, intent as she watched you talk yourself out. Once you were done, her hand came to cradle the back of your head, nails scraping over your scalp.

“It appears as if your weekend wasn’t totally wasted,” she said.

“No,” you said.

“Good.” Her lips pressed together to repress her smile, “keep reading.”

Her long fingers tapped the book in your lap and she left you alone to your reading. You snuck a glance at her before bowing your head and trying not to think about what this meant.

Nor the way you yearned for more.

From that day, you noticed a change. Her hands would linger on you, her touch growing familiar and yet no less exciting. You stayed later and later, curling up on her sofa, growing comfortable as you waded through history with her. She guided you, shaping your research into something you could be proud of as you poured over books and wrote long paragraphs for her to read. Shared meals and shared drinks, you’d sit on the floor of her office, take out containers scattered over the coffee table. You shrunk further away from your friends, finding their conversations inane and childish, drunken antics no longer fun but puerile as you worked on something far more important. You lost yourself in that room, an addict who needed their fix every day or else you were given over to malaise.

She indulged your need for her attention, her open door policy lasting 24 hours a day. She seemed to enjoy how much you wanted to share the same air as her. Every time you said something, your eyes would turn to her, desperate for her approval which she freely gave. You spent time watching the way her fingers traced over words on the page in front of you, trying not to think about how much you wanted her to do the same thing across your bare skin. Her praise became greater, more frequent, each one hard won for, and each one treasured like the most precious of gifts, hoarding them to revisit every night before you fell asleep.

You hadn’t realised how comfortable you’d grown in her presence until the afternoon you realised you’d fallen asleep on the sofa as you tried to craft the perfect sentence. Your eyelashes fluttered and you were slow to blink your eyes open. Draped in a soft blanket, the warm air heated from the small space heater Professor Harkness had dragged into the office, you glanced around the room. It was darker than you’d remembered, the window showing a night sky while the lamps offered a soft refuge against the dark.

Something tightened around your ankle. You turned your attention towards it. Professor Harkness was sitting on the other end of the sofa, your bare feet resting in her lap. The book in her hand was left unattended as she stared down at you, a confusing expression on her face. Her grip on your ankle tightened again and you offered a lazy smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop off,” you said, voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve been wearing you out,” she said.

With the softness of sleep making it difficult to school your features, your cheeks heated at the implication. Not that you would have minded. In fact, you wished that was the reason you were so tired.

Her finger trailed along the arch of your foot. You shifted, the touch a tickle. She did it again, smiling down at you before she let you go.

“Sleep, if you have to. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to function,” she said.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling around you.

The thought that she’d placed it over you for your comfort made your head spin. To then sit by you, to welcome any part of you into her personal space as you slept was even worse. Your chest ached and your heart clenched and you wanted to crawl into her lap.

“Perhaps you’re right. We should take a break. I’ve been working you too hard,” she said.

You would let her work you harder if it meant more moments like this.

“Come, pet. I’m taking you to dinner.”

You were helpless as you followed her. She drove, the car feeling so close with the dark night pressing in against the windows. You tried not to watch her, the hands you’d been fantasising about controlling the machine with such power.

The restaurant was nice. Intimate. Small tables and soft lamps offering pools of light, plenty of shadows to hide in. The maître d' seemed to recognise her, leading her to a table at the back. You lowered into your seat, taking note of the candle on the table between the two of you. The entire thing felt like a dream.

“Um, I’m not sure I can afford this place,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving off your worry, “I’m paying.”

“Oh.” You clasped your hands in your lap, “thank you, Professor.”

“Why do you always call me that?” she asked.

“Call you what?” you asked.

“Professor,” she replied, “I have a name.”

“Sorry. Do you not like it? I was trying to be respectful,” you said, anxiety taking hold of you.

“Agatha is fine,” she said.

“Okay,” you replied, “Agatha.”

Her smile was self satisfied and she lent back in her chair, eyes sweeping over you. You let her drink her fill of you, not sure what she was looking for, but wanting to give it to her. You’d give her anything she asked for.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure about taking on a student. I usually don’t. But I’m glad I did. You’ve been quite the diligent student,” she said.

“I’m glad you did too,” you said.

“Of course you are, pet,” she said.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter paused by the side of the table. She ordered for you, glancing over as she did so as if ensure you didn’t argue. You weren’t about to. You’d do whatever she wanted as long as it pleased her.

The wine was expensive, full bodied, better than any other you’d had. It stained her lips and you wanted to lick it free from where it clung to her skin. The discussion over dinner was about the things you’d read that day, listening to the way she so easily connected one story to another. Her mastery was awe inspiring. It was easy to ignore the romantic setting and the wine that kept being poured for you as she spoke, her husky voice doing something delicious to you.

It wasn’t until dessert that it all came crashing back into you. The creme brûlée in front of her was beautiful. The spoon cracked the top and she took a bite, slowly pulling the spoon from between her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a low moan reverberated through her chest. Your cheeks heated, thighs pressing together, turning breathless. A slow smile spread over her face and when her eyes opened again they were smouldering.

“You must try this. No other place does one as good,” she said.

“Oh, uh…” You looked down at the tiramisu in front of you.

“Come here, pet.”

She held out a spoon of the creme brûlée towards you. You lent forward, not quite able to believe what was happening. She placed it in your mouth, blue eyes holding yours over the top of the candle’s flame. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion as she drew the spoon back.

The small noise of pleasure that came from you had her gaze lowering to your lips. Your tongue darted out, chasing the sugar on your lips. Her eyes darkened and she lent closer over the table.

“How’s that, pet?” she asked, husky, a rasp of a voice.

“It’s delicious,” you said, breathless and high pitched, a perfect opposite to her.

“It is, isn’t it?”

You watched in fascination as she scooped up some more, her tongue licking the spoon clean. Your breath hitched. Under the table, her foot gently brushed against your shin. Her blue eyes twinkled with something you wanted to drown in.

“Eat your dessert, kitten,” she said, “then I’ll take you home.”

You did as you were told, not even tasting coffee and cream of your own dessert. You were so focused on watching her devour her’s, indecent in how much pleasure she took from it. You were squirming in your seat as she finished, feeling on fire.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. You wanted her so much and she was just… making it worse.

She seemed not to realise the exact effect she was having on you as she led you out of the restaurant and back into her car. You stared out the window, not needing to be caught staring any more than you already had. It wasn’t until the rumble of the engine cut off that you realised something.

“This isn’t my home,” you said, staring up at the large two story house in front of you.

“No, it’s mine,” she said.

“What?”

You whipped around to stare at her. She wasn’t even looking back, the door open as she stepped out of the car.

“Are you coming or what?” she asked.

You scrambled to follow her, almost tripping over yourself in your haste. You weren’t sure what you expected, reproach for following her into her house or to be welcomed in with warmth. What you weren’t expecting was to follow her into the back where the kitchen was.

“Do you want tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” you replied, “what am I doing here?”

“Having tea,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“And then?” you asked.

“Going to sleep. I can’t trust you to do that on your own,” she replied, “clearly.”

“I really am sorry about that,” you said.

“Stop apologising,” she snapped.

Your lips formed the word sorry again before you stopped yourself. Instead, you watched her boil the water for the tea. Your confusion was mixing with your yearning, leaving you unable to do anything but wait for her to tell you what was going on. Pouring the water into two mugs, the strings from the teabags resting against the sides, she looked over her shoulder at you again.

“Come on then.”

You followed her with the two mugs of tea into her living room. It was comfortable, almost like a more lived in version of her office. Sitting beside her on the couch, comfortable and well loved, you watched her lean forward and place one mug on the coffee table. She passed the other to you, fingers brushing together, looking at you from under her eyelashes.

“There you go, kitten,” she murmured.

“Thanks.”

You looked down into the cup, steam rising from the surface of the steeping tea. Your fingers fiddled with the string of the teabag. Her hand landed on your thigh, startling you.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m going here,” you said, dragging your eyes up to her.

“Do you not want to be here?” she asked.

“No, no I do,” you said, rushing through the words, “it’s just…”

Her hands were gentle as they took the cup from your hands, placing it down beside hers. You could only watch as she swung her leg over yours, settling herself in your lap. Both hands cupped your cheeks, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“Agatha,” you whispered.

“Yes, pet?” she asked.

“I want you,” you confessed.

“I know.”

Her lips pressed against yours, scorching as she consumed your very soul. Your hands hovered above her waist, scared that to touch her was to break the moment, that it would make her come to her senses. She kissed you deeper, nails digging into the skin of your cheeks as she tipped your head back. Her tongue swept into your mouth. She was so warm when your hands made contact with her body.

She moaned into your mouth, filthy and hot, making you claw at her. She tasted of the burnt sugar of the creme brûlée and the wine you’d split with her. She kissed deeper still, stealing your breath. You tugged at her shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of her pants. Shoving your hands up, you felt the soft skin of her bare back against your palms, your fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of her.

Her hands slipped into your hair, shoving it out of the way, tugging on it in a way that had you mewling into her mouth. You felt her grin against your lips before she lent back, staring down at you. Her eyes had darkened, her lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

You shook your head before surging up to capture her lips in another kiss. Her fingers tightened in your hair and she made a small noise as your nails ran down her spine. You felt out of control, wanting more from her, the way you always did. There was something about her that drove you crazy, that had always driven you crazy. Even before you’d met her she’d consumed you.

She sat back again, hands slipping from your hair. You watched as her hands crossed over her body, slowly peeling her shirt off her body. You were dumbstruck, watching her with wide eyes and heaving breath. She flung the shirt aside, shaking her hair back from her face.

“Are you going to touch me, pet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

Your hands slid around her ribcage, feeling the way her skin moved as she inhaled. She was so warm against your palms, real and there with you. You were slow as you trailed your fingers up, brushing the underside of one cloth covered breast. Your eyes darted up to her face, finding her watching you instead of your hands.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

You cupped them, feeling the weight of them in your hands. Leaning forward, your lips brushed over the curve of one then the other, vulnerable skin soft. Your tongue dragged over it, tasting her. She made a small noise, a rumbling in her chest, hands coming up to curl around the back your neck. She pressed you closer.

Reaching around, you released her from her bra, tugging the straps down her arm. Your mouth was on her again, exploring, until your lips wrapped around a nipple. The noise she made was one of approval, back arching towards your mouth. When you sucked, gentle at first, testing the waters, she pressed you closer again. You wanted to please her so badly.

With your hand, you rolled the other nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your name sounded so sweet on her lips, urging you to continue. Her soft sighs and the way her hips rolled against you only made you want more. You wanted to worship at the alter of her body, to take communion from between her legs, to whisper your confessions into her skin. You wanted to drown in her.

Fingers tilted your chin up, your mouth popping free with an indecent noise. She chuckled, pressing her lips to yours again, teeth sinking in to your lower lip until you tasted the coppery tang of blood. You whined, surprised at how much you enjoyed the sensation of the pain mixed with the pleasure.

You made a pained noise as she climbed off your lap, standing half naked in front of you. Your fingertips skated over her skin. Without a word, she pulled you up off the couch and tugged you towards the stairs. You followed, willing to go wherever she wanted, as long as you could keep touching her.

She paused halfway up, turning to grasp your face in her hands, kissing you again like she couldn’t stop herself. You whimpered into her mouth, hands on her bare waist. She dragged you the rest of the way up, pinning you to the wall at the top of the stairs. You groaned, pressing her closer, wanting her everywhere. One leg slotted between yours and the noise you made would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so lost in her. Her thigh pressed against you, just enough pressure to have you grinding down, seeking out more.

“So needy, pet,” she murmured against your lips.

“Want you,” you managed to choke out before her tongue was in your mouth again and you were rolling your hips against her thigh.

“When I fuck you, it won’t be against the wall,” she said.

She tugged you further down the hall, slamming open a door to what you hoped would be your final destination. Her lips were on yours again, possessing you, guiding you where she wanted you. She paused, just long enough to tear your t-shirt from your body, flinging it aside.

Her lips trailed down your neck, latching on at your pulse point. You whined, tipping your head back to give her more access. You felt on fire. Her hands were skating over your bare skin, nails dragging in a delicious way, making you gasp out her name in a plea for more.

Rather than give in and give you instant gratification, she took her time with you. Her hands were slow but sure as she peeled your clothes from your body. It was the same level of precision she used in her work, getting exactly what she wanted. Only this time, you were the thing she wanted.

When she lowered you onto the bed, you were bare before her. Your usual self consciousness was washed away in the tide of your longing for her. Her eyes swept over you, lingering, taking their time to drink you in in your entirety. Her fingers played with your nipples, watching with an academic interest as you arched up, your small whines doing nothing to spur her on.

Holding your eyes, she pressed kisses to your skin, soft and slow, making her way down your body, lingering the closer she got to the apex of your thighs. You trembled, fingers clenching in the comforter.

“You keep your hands right there, pet,” she said, staring up your body.

You nodded, willing to agree to anything she asked of you in that moment.

“Good girl,” she said before her lips pressed to the crease where your hip met your thigh. You inhaled sharply and she grinned. Her teeth sunk in, leaving a dark bruise on your skin as she sucked on it.

She hovered for a moment, her breath ghosting over where you wanted her the most. You pulsed, suspended in the moment before her mouth made contact with you. Her hands curled around your thighs, holding you open for her as her tongue ran through your folds. You cried out, hips bucking up into her mouth.

She chuckled, the vibrations going through you in a way that made you feel like you were being undone. Her tongue teased you again before pressing against your bundle of nerves. You whined, fingers clenching, her name a prayer on your lips. She pinned your hips to the bed, giving your clit a harsh suck. The feeling ricocheted through you, fire curling in your veins, your muscles tightening.

She feasted on you. Relentless, unforgiving, refusing to give you a chance to breathe. She was like a woman possessed, singular in her intent, putting everything into her goal. She was taking you apart, slowly and surely, and all you could hope was that she’d put you back together again when she was done.

Her fingers slid inside of you, so easily it would be embarrassing under other circumstances. They were slow at first, teasing and never giving you quite enough. But then she curled them, pressing into the special place no one but you had managed to find. Your legs trembled.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“No you don’t, pet,” she said, “you don’t come until I say so.”

“But-“ you tried to argue.

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?” she asked, cutting you off, thumb running in slow circles over your clit.

“Yes,” you replied, whiney and desperate.

“Then don’t you dare come without my permission,” she said, face lowering back to your throbbing core.

Her tongue was back on your clit as her fingers continued to stroke inside of you. You trembled, shaking, trying so hard to stave off your oncoming orgasm. Tears pricked in your eyes, fingers clenching tightly on the hold you had on the sheets until it hurt. She kept going, ruthless in what she wanted. She had complete control over you.

It was so close, you could practically taste it. You were straining, doing everything you could not to tip over the edge. She was a master of your body, able to play it to perfection. Her tongue kept dragging over your clit, sucking on it, fingers twisting and curling, dragging out every iota of pleasure your body held.

“Agatha,” you sobbed, “please.”

Blue eyes stared up at you, dark and dangerous.

“Please,” you begged.

Her fingers gave another slow stroke. You whimpered, your entire body on fire, wound tight as you did what you were told. You always did what she told you to do.

“Go on, pet,” she said, “keep your eyes on me and you can come.”

You let out a relieved breath. When you let yourself go, the wave of pleasure crashed into you, wave after wave. She held your gaze the entire time, drinking in the way pleasure contorted your body. The way you cried out her name felt holy, a cry of worship as you stared into her eyes.

When she drew back, she held her hand up, tongue running up her fingers. You reached out, grasping her wrist. She let you pull her hand towards you, your lips sliding down her fingers, lapping your arousal from her skin. Her eyes smouldered as she watched you, a pleased smirk on her lips.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you pet,” she murmured, gently stroking you hair with her other hand. The pulse of pleasure that went through you was bright and intense. You liked being her good girl.

Your tongue swirled over each digit, cleaning her up as best you could. A flicker of fondness passed over her face before she pulled it away from you. Leaning forward, her lips pressed against yours, rough and intense, passionate in ways you hadn’t experienced with anyone else. It made you feel wanted, desired, the way you always felt wanted with her. After all, she’d agreed to take you on for your senior thesis when she so rarely took people on.

“Alright, kitten,” she whispered against your lips, “let’s see how many times I can make you come tonight before you beg me to stop.”

When you awoke in the morning, deliciously sore and definitely sated, you rolled over in the large bed, hands reaching for the warm body you were expecting to find beside you. All you found was cool sheets. Squinting your eyes open, the light was still kept at bay from the drawn curtains, but the room was empty of another person. You sat up, rumpled and unsure.

You slipped out of the bed, tugging your clothes back on but your feet bare. You were slow as you eased the door open, padding out onto the landing you’d paid no attention to the night before. On silent feet, you descended to the lower level of the house, following the sound you could just hear.

Agatha was in the kitchen, her back to you, encased in a flowing silk robe. You blinked, pausing as you drank her in. Her hair, wild and out of control, long fingers tapping on the counter, legs bare where they peeked out the bottom of the robe. She was breathtaking in the morning light.

“You’re staring, kitten,” she said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Sorry,” you said, slipping into the kitchen proper.

She turned her head, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyebrows drew together and the corner of her lips turned down.

“Why are you dressed?” she asked, stepping away from the counter, “were you planning on sneaking out in the morning?”

“No, I… I wasn’t sure what was appropriate,” you said.

“Please tell me this wasn’t your first time,” she said.

“Of course not,” you said, “although I suppose it is my first time with my professor,”

She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Anxiety was seeping into your body now.

“I thought you might want me to leave.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, displeasure painting her features.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not going to ask again, pet,” she said, voice hardened, “come. Here.”

On soft feet you approached her. With sure hands she caught you, fingers pressing into your hips as she held you tightly. Your eyes darted around her face before dragging down. Bare skin met your eyes until the shadow of the robe obscured her from your vision. She was naked under the robe and there was still a part of you that wanted to unwrap her like a present.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked, gaining your attention again.

Your eyes snapped up to hers and you shook your head.

“I thought I’d made it obvious that the only place I want you is with me,” she said, “the only person I want you thinking about is me. The only person I want touching you is me.”

You trembled.

“Do you want that too, kitten?” she asked, drawing closer.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Then you’re mine, pet,” she said, her nose skimming along the curve of your jaw.

Her hand squeezed your hips and her lips pressed to the vulnerable skin behind your jaw before she pulled away. Your breath caught and you felt lightheaded. You ached to pull her back to you, to lose yourself in the feeling of her body and her skin and her mouth. Would you ever stop feeling this way with her? You didn’t think so.

“Now, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been pushing you too hard lately. You can have the weekend off,” she said.

“Oh.” You were still trembling from the brush of her lips and her words, “thanks.”

“So you won’t be needing those clothes,” she said, flippant and dismissive, “you certainly won’t be in them long.”

You flushed, cheeks heating. There was a twist to her lips, amusement twinkling in her eyes. You slipped closer to her again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Whatever you want, Agatha,” you whispered.

“All I want is you, pet,” she replied.

Turns out, all you wanted was her too.

[multifandom-exe]

Oblivious - A. Hotchner x Reader

Request: Hotch x bau reader where hotch has feelings but reader is completely oblivious? 

Word count: 2k 

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic from like 5 years ago, if you want to check out the original here to see how much has changed. Feel free to leave requests! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS OR ASKS PLS i need to know if I'm still writing like I'm 14 😭.

The line. There was always a line. A line between good and evil. A line between love and hate. A line between professional and personal. That was a line you loved to flirt with, to teeter on, to play with like it was your favorite toy. Of course, you shouldn't be flirting with your boss, but when he was stood there, in that suit that highlights his shoulders and his wrists and his thighs and oh god... 

“(Y/N)?” And the way your name came from his lips was like heaven on earth right there. “(Y/N)?” What? A hand lightly brushed against your shoulder as he moved his head to be in eyeline with you. Slight concern in them as he gave you a small smile, sending electric through your body and thoroughly grounding you to earth. 

“Yes, I'm sorry, I'm just... tired.” You tried to look anywhere but his eyes as you so desperately tried to cover the train of thought that had your skin buzzing and your heart racing. You glanced at his hand on your shoulder as he took it away, wanting to whine at the loss of contact.  

Flirting with your boss was your own self sabotage. But you relished it every time. Every touch he missed. Every glance he didn't see. Every time your heart rate sped up as you saw him leave his office. He didn't notice any of it. And it made you want him all that much more. You should've been glad. Ecstatic even. Because once he realized you liked him, in a way he didn't like you, in a way no subordinate should ever like their boss. That line would be crossed. And no amount of ‘I'm sorry’ or ‘let's forget about it’ could undo it. 

Morgan and JJ stood a length away, taking in the scene in front of them. You, absentmindedly playing with your hair, a sign of flirting. And him, fiddling with his hands as he looked into your eyes whilst you spoke. 

- 

“Do you think they’ll ever notice the other is so head over heels for them?” JJ stated, watching you two with a look that's usually only reserved for Henry when he doesn't understand what he did wrong, or when Emily is openly talking about someone right behind her. A grimace more like. 

“Nope.” He started, popping the ‘p’. “They've been doing this dance for too long; I'm starting to think it's never gonna happen.” He tutted and tried to take his eyes off... whatever was happening over there. 

- 

“You look nice today, by the way. You do every day, but you know.” His attempt at flattery didn't go amiss as you smiled bashfully. 

“Thank you, so do you. I enjoy this side of you much more, the happier side. Is this some new technique to raise team morale?” You quirked an eyebrow as you smiled at him, desperately trying to quell the faint blush on your cheeks. 

His smile faltered slightly. Right. The team. It's been years since he flirted with anyone and clearly, he must be doing something wrong if you're thinking of him and the team. Every day he saw you. And every day he just wanted to throw caution to the wind and hold your hand, touch your face, stroke your hair. Feel you. Gently. Fully. Months. Months of slight flirts and fleeting touches and he feels no closer to being with you now than when you first joined the team. How one of his best profilers could miss something that was right there, he would never know. He was sure he was getting to the point where he looked pathetic. Rossi had even mentioned it to him, a late night in his office over a bottle of scotch. ‘I'm starting to question your profiling skills Aaron, if you two could see what everyone else sees, you'd know there's no question about what happens next with you two’. But here he was, trying his best to put his heart on his sleeve, and even that wasn't working. Or maybe it was, and you knew, and you were simply saving him the embarrassment of rejection. 

A cough broke him away from his thoughts. He looked at you as you nodded your head towards your nosy team members, who stood absentmindedly watching the two of you. He copied your cough and looked pointedly at his team. 

“Back to work.” He said firmly, turning to touch your arm and give you a small smile before returning to his office. Your cheeks heated as you stared at the spot on your arm, slowly walking back to your desk. You sat in your chair, thoughts going a mile a minute and you sighed, pulling your files closer. 

“Oh, Hotch your just so dreamy!” Morgan lays his hand dramatically on his forehead, attempting to mock you. 

“Oh (Y/N), you look absolutely ravishing today.” Emily came over to join in the teasing, doing her best Hotch impression. 

“What are you two idiots yapping about?” You looked up at the scene, laughing inwardly at their antics. 

“Cmon, Hotch is so into you!” Came from JJ as she giggled softly. “And I'm willing to bet the feeling is reciprocated.” She tugged at your cheek, pointing out the obvious blush dusting them. 

“Okay, we’re all bullying me, stay mad.” You tried to joke but they all gave you pointed glares like you were the stupidest person in the world. “He is not into me! He just wants someone in this office to actually do their work.” You giggled before pulling all your files together. You pushed your chair back and stood up to deliver your files for the day. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Sugar!” Derek shouted as you walked away, receiving an unceremonious middle finger in response. 

You jogged up the stairs to Hotch's office, raising your hand to knock on the door, finding it already open. Your heart hummed against your chest at the thought of him hearing the ‘workplace gossip’. Well, can it really be gossip if it's true? 

“I have the files you wanted.” You held them close to your chest as you absentmindedly played with the small pieces of paper sticking out. The tension in the office was palpable. The same tension that hung over you when you looked a little too long, or smiled a little too brightly.  

His head snapped up at your voice and he broke out into one of those very rare Aaron Hotchner smiles TM. “You can just put them there.” He pointed to his desk, trying to shield his face that sported the same bright pink as you. As you approached, he begged to every god on earth you couldn't hear his heartbeat threatening to break out of his ribs. There was a beat of silence as you put the files down. You knew you shouldn't linger, but you couldn't help it. Youd do everything in your power to look at him a second longer each time he leaves. He looks up at you. He really looks at you. Eyes so bright whilst still working a job like this. Plump lips being gently bitten between your teeth. That conversation, outside. A conversation he never should've heard. This was his in. 

“They are right you know.” Your head lifted gently, taking you away from whatever thoughts lingered. Your eyebrows knitted together as a nervous smile and quizzical look painted your face. He stood and moved around his desk toward you. “i am ‘so into you’.” He tried his best to keep his earth shattering confession as light hearted as he could, rolling his eyes a little at the end of his sentence. He sucked in a breath as your face didnt move an inch from the shocked look plastered on it. God. This was the worst idea ever. He could already feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the everything, trying to claw its way out of his throat. His usual stoic look must have faltered, as he felt you lay your hand on his arm, breaking through his layer of despair. 

“Hotch.” Your eyes softened as you looked at him, and your eyes closed lightly, a blush spreading on your cheeks. It felt like this wave of emotion had hit you and you just wanted to cry. The line. It had been crossed, and it was so utterly terrifying, and felt so fucking amazing. 

He had obviously mistaken your soft tone as one of pity, of rejection. He stuttered slightly and turned his back to you, flushing deeply. He babbled, about how ‘sorry’ he was, and how we should ‘just forget he said anything’. God, he had taken risks in his life, but this was possibly the most, stupid, miscalculated, inconcieve- 

“Hotch!” Your raised voice broke him out of his spiral as he turned to face you once more. You moved toward him and lightly pushed a stray hair from his forehead. He so desperately wanted to lean into your touch. “Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours, at least let me finish what i was saying.” He shook his head lightly, like he was trying to shake his thoughts away, as he gazed into your eyes for the first time since his confession. “I'm totally into you too.” You mirrored his earlier words with a slight giggle. And just like that, a wave of emotion erupted in him. He breathed deeply, not realizing he was depriving himself of air waiting for your answer.  

He moved to softly run his thumb over your cheek as he gazed at you lovingly. “I've been wanting to tell you for so long. I tried flirting but I figured I just wasn't very good because you hadn't realized.” 

“Stop. I've been doing the same thing!” You gently dropped your head to his chest, laughing incredulously at the stupidity, that two very intelligent profilers had missed all of this. So oblivious. Both wrapped in their own little world of desperate pining.  

“How about i take you on a date? I could definitely use some time away from this office.” He lifted your chin gently, so you were looking into his eyes. 

“I couldnt think of anything better” You gazed at him, happiness threatening to burst your heart into two. 

Bonus 

Through the large office window, the 5 profilers stood, huddled around your desk, staring intently, like it was the finale of their favorite rom-com. They all sighed a huge breath as they saw you lay your head on Aaron's chest, all turning to eachother with the most shit-eating-grins. 

“I think, Reid and Morgan owe me 20 bucks.” Rossi smirked as JJ and Emily burst into laughter. Morgan hit himself on the cheek playfully with a little ‘ouch’ before rooting through his pocket for a 20. Reid had tried to argue ‘as Hotch's best friend, of course you'd understand him the best’ But it was to no avail, as Rossi just stuck his hand out and gave him an unconvinced look. He sighed and rooted through his pockets.  

After much laughter and gossip, they all turned back to see you placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and hurrying out of his office. They caught him lifting a hand to where you had kissed. Upon realizing his blinds were open, he promptly shut them, trying his best to plaster his intimidating look back on his face. You stopped at the top of the stairs as you realized all eyes were on you. You coughed and tried to indignantly hide the blush that coated your cheeks.  

“Back to work.” 

-

let me know what you think! and pls request this was so cute.

Taglist

@back-totheoldhouse

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[willowsnook]

hi! could i get a scotch with lime in a copper mug? 💞✨

lando norris x mclarenrookie!reader

just shut up and come here

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

With Max’s car starting to falter, Lando knew he had a real shot at competing for the WDC. As the season progressed, he’d become the favorite, and it finally felt like his time. There was just one problem: you.

In your rookie year in F1, you were holding third place, just 40 points behind Lando. Exceeding all the team's expectations, you’d proven to be a real competitor — and Lando wasn’t pleased. To him, the strategy should have been obvious: you were supposed to help him beat Max. But you saw it differently. After all, you were only 80 points behind the leader, and Zak and Andrea had decided to let things play out between the two of you, which only heightened the tension.

What started as a friendship had quickly soured after you overtook Lando to win in Hungary. Furious, he stormed into your driver’s room after the podium celebration, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, voice sharp.

You didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze. “A clean overtake,” you replied coolly.

“You’re screwing up my chances at the championship!” he seethed, his tone bitter.

"You do realize that I also have a shot at it?" You questioned. "Not my fault that I'm faster than you either."

At that, he got in your face, practically radiating anger. “Just stay out of my way,” he bit out before stalking out of the room.

It was the first of many heated clashes, and even Zak was starting to worry about the tension between his drivers. Things only escalated after your win in Baku, when Lando stood stony-faced on the podium, arms crossed, barely acknowledging the celebration. The media had a field day, and McLaren’s PR department wasn’t happy.

Seeing his growing frustration, your initial resentment slowly turned to concern. His behavior was spiraling, and it seemed no one was willing to address it — except you.

“What’s going on with you?” you demanded one day after a rough qualifying session, pushing open his door to find him pacing.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, but you didn’t back down.

“You’re being a brat to everyone! It was fine when you were just an asshole to me, but this is getting out of hand.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied venomously.

“If you need someone to talk to, you know McLaren has plenty of resources,” you said softly, trying a different approach.

“I don’t need your help so just fuck off,” he said and you backed off.

That didn’t stop you from giving your own therapist his email, instructing her to email him nonstop until he set up a session. Something must have worked because in the break before Austin, Lando did some press about his struggles with mental health and you heard that he’d bought gifts for the whole garage team as an apology for his behavior.

You two still didn’t really talk but he gave you a head nod now as a hello and there wasn’t much tension between you in front of the media anymore.

Then, on the Thursday before the Austin GP, during your post-free-practice interviews, a reporter brought up Lando.

“Y/N, any thoughts on Helmut’s recent comments?” they asked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t keep track of what everyone’s saying.”

“He claimed that Lando has ‘mental weaknesses’ preventing him from being a real championship contender.”

You stiffened, feeling anger bubble up. “Yeah, interesting,” you started, your PR manager nodding, likely expecting you to stay professional. Too bad for them. “Honestly, he can go fuck off.”

The press buzzed with shock, and your PR manager hurried over, but you went on.

“Red Bull’s looking for anything to distract from their own mess. It’s 2024, and criticizing a driver for being open about mental health is pathetic. We’d all be a little better off if they put him in a nursing home Lando’s one of the most talented drivers out there, so Helmut can shove it. Thanks.”

You walked off, ignoring your PR manager’s frantic scolding.

Later, after the team debrief, you headed to your room, ready to call it a day. But outside your door, you saw Lando waiting, his expression softer than usual.

“Are you okay—?” you began, but he cut you off, stepping forward.

“Just shut up and come here,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. You rubbed his back as he buried his head against your shoulder, his voice muffled. “I owe you so much. And after what you said today… even more.”

“This stuff is hard, Lando. Sometimes it feels like the whole world’s on our shoulders.” You pulled back to meet his gaze. “I like it better when you’ve got the energy to actually fight me.”

He laughed softly, then hugged you tighter. “Can we… start over? As friends?” he asked, his voice tentative.

You smiled. “Of course — but only after I win the championship.”

He groaned, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “In your dreams, rookie.”

[papergirllife]

Lee Taeyong (M)

‘I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker.’ But there's always exceptions when it comes to love right?

Taeyong x Bartender! Reader

Wordcount: 6.7k

Warnings: in this fic Taeyong has impulsive tendencies and physical aggression (not towards reader), light b*ndage, or*l play, slight or*l fixation, grinding, penetrati*on, Taeyong is very much down bad in this fic so lots of fluff.

The party is so boring, no one’s dancing even though they’re dressed to the nines in this extravagant hotel ballroom that could rival any celebrity’s expensive wedding, but instead all they’re doing is talking business, but the worst of them, are gossiping, and of course, to your downtrodden luck, you’re the gossip of the night.

“He’s going to be bored of her soon, I just know it, just look at her, so different from his ex and usual type.”

You’re not the type to be affected by being shit talked, however, you do have your worries, and frankly, heartbreak is one thing, but your ego? That’s another, you think to yourself as you sip on your glass of scotch. You sigh as you recall how you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve thought through this more thoroughly, you think to yourself after seeing people go in and out of the supply closet, which is obviously a disguise for the illegal casino beneath the pub you’re working at, though, some people do really come for just drinks, but most of them are customers of both businesses under this roof and since you’ve been here for a week plus now, you recognise some of the regulars by now, but a man you don’t recognise is suddenly taking a seat right in front of you, usually customers prefer to go to your colleagues who have been here far longer and know what customers want, only helping out more on weekends where more people come in for a drink.

You rise from your stool, yes, one great thing about working here means workers don’t have to meaninglessly stand the whole night.

“You’re new here?” the man asks, and if you were being honest, he’s probably the prettiest man you’ve seen, but you screw a neutral expression on your face, one should never let their guard down around a man of all things.

“Yup, what can I get you to drink?” you ask as you take in his appearance, dripping in designer, a pretty loose blouse that accentuates his sharp facial features, earrings hanging off his earlobes, the designs feminine compared to what most men wear.

“Scotch on the rocks, please,” he says while he leans back to make himself comfortable, his arms crossed, usually clients would be looking around for someone to take home by now, the usual ‘pub guard’ scanning, you like to call it, but for the ones that want a drink before going down to gamble, they usually have this impatient look in their eyes, not that it affects you, your skin is as thick as a cheese wheel.

However, this man just sits and observes you. Is he part of the mafia and is scared that someone’s going to poison him at any moment? Or is he a cop and is trying to make you cave to tell him about the illegal casino downstairs? You’re just going to act like you had no idea, you’re not working in the casino itself, they can’t charge you on any terms as long as your boss has an alcohol licence, which is what they promised you when you interviewed, if they’re lying you’re gonna have to kick someone’s ass.

When you pass him his drink, he just sits back and takes a sip, his obnoxiously large eyes still looking at you, they’re pretty eyes, but you’ve never kept someone’s attention for this long, though, in most cases, you could walk away, like those creepy men on the subway, you’re not sure if this guy’s a creepy guy, he hasn’t tried grabbing your hand yet, if he did then you’re viable to call security, but he’s just watching you.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks, a hand mindlessly swirling the glass in his hand.

“Needed money, Seoul isn’t getting cheaper by the day,” you say, a general answer.

“How old are you?” he asks, prodding, why is he still prodding?

“In my early twenties, above the legal age to serve you drinks, what about you?” it’s time for you to prod, engage with customers a bit, your manager always tells you, be a little friendlier.

“28. You look older than early twenties, not that it’s a bad thing, of course,” he says, and with the way he says it, you know he doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, not that you mind, you swore off men long ago, people always tell you there’s better fish in the sea, but all you manage to fish are trash.

“Thanks, I did my makeup to look older,” you reply as out of the corner of your eye you catch a group of men walking in the pub.

“Why?” he asks, oh men, they’re so innocent to the things women go through everyday.

“So people would take me seriously,” you answer honestly before you excuse yourself to make drinks for the customers, you don’t want your manager to think you’re slacking off within a month.

However, after only finishing their second order, your colleague says she’d take over from you, thinking the customers are her regulars, you move away without questioning.

So you go back to talking to the man, this time round, he finally reveals his name to be Taeyong, he even orders a second drink of your choice.

“A negroni?” he asks with the expression of a kicked puppy, smacking his lips distastefully before he requests for a glass of water.

“Wanted to try it out myself one of these days, but I was unsure, guess I’m quite certain I won’t ever try it now I guess,” you say with a shrug and a chuckle at how comical his expressions are, a little bit of betrayal and a tinge of shock, which makes him look more human in your eyes.

A new customer makes his way to the bar in the meantime, but Taeyong’s brows scrunch up when he sees you’re about to step away to serve the customer.

“Let other people handle him, you just stay here with me,” he suggests.

“Taeyong, as nice it is talking to you, I’d like to remind you that this is a strictly professional relationship, please respect the boundaries between a bartender and a customer-

“Missy, who do you think you are talking to him like that, do you know who he is-

“It’s fine Ms Choi, she’s right, I’m merely a regular, I need to respect her boundaries,” Taeyong says, cutting off your manager.

Your manager looks flabbergasted before she composes herself, bowing to Taeyong before she drags you away from the bar to the small staff area on the side.

“I'm warning you since you're new here, Mr Lee is a VIP, don't do anything stupid, he's not the type to pull dumb shit, so you have nothing to worry about. Alright, that's all, get back to work,” she says before dismissing you.

“If you're worried about getting less tips then you don't have to worry, I'll tip you accordingly for the time spent talking to me,” Taeyong says when you get back to your spot.

“It's not that, I’m getting paid anyways, tips are just an extra, I'm still getting paid a base salary talking to you and not doing anything, so a win is a win, I guess,” you brush off, it's not that busy today anyways.

“No, I'm a responsible customer, how about you make me another drink? One that you fancy?” Taeyong suggests.

Hence for the whole night, you indulge in the lengthy conversation the two of you share, and with every night he comes in, you find comfort in this growing friendship, the only hiccup being that he tips you too much money and he won't take no for an answer.

Months go by and the lines between you and Taeyong start to blur, but you're still quite hesitant, you haven't committed in a relationship since a long time ago and if you're honest, you don't know much about Taeyong other than the fact that he's a businessman, but of what sort of business? You don't have the foggiest idea.

Tonight is a Friday night, which means the bar is busier than usual. Surprisingly enough, Taeyong hasn't dropped in tonight, he doesn't come in every night, but he'd never miss Friday nights.

“Hey, can we get two martinis,” a customer asks, distracting you from your wandering thoughts, and you quickly get to work, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar silhouette heading towards the direction of the fake storage room where the underground casino entrance is located, but the customers asked for something on top of their drinks and you were distracted once again.

After a few more customers, Jiun, a bottle girl and your fellow colleague, rushes to your area of the counter in distress.

“Table 5 wants 6 Coronas in a bucket but I think I just got my period, is it okay if you bring it to them?” she asks, and how can you say no to a woman who's in need of help?

“Sure thing, do you need a pad?” you ask, just in case, you're sure you have some in your locker if she doesn't.

“No, I have one on me, but thank you so much,” she says before scurrying off to the direction of the bathroom.

After putting together the order, you quickly make your way to the table with the customers’ drinks, placing down the bucket on the table.

“You new here, pretty girl? Never seen you around before?” one of the men at the table asks.

“Nope, just helping out my coworker,” you replied as you began to make your way back to the counter.

“What a shame, a pretty face like yours should be admired more, why grind behind a boring counter?” another asks, this one's nearer to you, standing up from his seat to get closer to you.

“Sorry, I have to get back to my job now,” you say, trying to excuse yourself, but the man grabs your arm, telling you to not rush and sit down and have a bottle.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you and then you feel someone pulling you by the strap of your money pouch.

“She said no, unhand her,” you'd recognise that voice anywhere, and looking to your side, you see Taeyong next to you, his usually round boba eyes now appearing in a sharp warning stare.

“Fuck off, dude, we were here first, shouldn't we have first dibs on her-

Before you could react to being demeaned in such a way, Taeyong's fist connects with his ugly face, and to your horror, both of them start fighting.

You quickly try pulling them apart but Taeyong pushes himself and the man out of your way, telling you to get security, you didn't want to leave his side, but thankfully, security were already making their way to your direction, blocked by a few drunken customers, his friend, takes the chance to jump in on the fight, and who are you to stand there and do nothing? Taeyong might be handling one guy on his own just fine, but you can't watch him get beaten to a pulp in your name, and you did the most logical thing you could think of by kicking the guy's head with your thick heeled boots and to your astonishment, he seems a bit disorientated by the ordeal, security finally made their way to Taeyong to pull the guy off him and escort him out the pub.

“Are you okay?” you ask Taeyong, but when you inspect his condition a bit closer, you cringe at his busted lip and bruised cheek.

However, before you could suggest accompanying him to the hospital, police arrive at the scene and next thing you know, you’re being escorted to the police station for questioning along with the asshole and Taeyong.

They finished up with you quick, they were a bit sceptical about Taeyong merely defending you, but you played it up a little by lying about how scared you were and maybe you chalked up a little bit on how his hands felt like they were everywhere on you, but it's the least you can do for Taeyong, and it's not like there were cameras anywhere.

“How long is he going to be questioned, officer?” you ask the policeman who had questioned you.

“Probably not long, seeing that his lawyer is here,” he points to the entrance, where a tall man in a suit walks in and follows the lead of an officer into the room Taeyong is being questioned in.

Knowing that he has a lawyer with him, you sigh a breath of relief and sit down on a nearby bench, the coolness of the plastic material digging into your skin, you regret wearing your beloved black velvet shorts now.

Fortunately, true to his words, Taeyong came out soon after, heading to a nearby desk to finish up some paperwork with his lawyer, so you get to your feet and head over to him.

“Brawling in your own pub is a new low, Lee, just let your boys handle shit like this next time,” the officer says.

“Wait, what do you mean your own pub?” the question flies out of your lips and Taeyong looks up, stunned, not knowing that you were still here.

“Leave the questions for later, just finish signing the papers and head out,” the officer orders, with a roll of your eyes, you stand right there, waiting for Taeyong to explain himself, his lawyer trying his best not to laugh.

“So? Care to explain yourself why you've been lying to me this whole time? Regular my ass,” you mutter the last part to yourself as you walk out the police station, cursing when you realise you don't have your coat with you, it's bearable now that it's creeping into June, but you've always preferred being warm.

“I'm going to get going, my cab's here,” his lawyer says, grasping this small window to leave before he gets caught up in a lover's quarrel, passing Taeyong something, to which you identify as car keys.

“Thank you, Johnny,” he says before turning to you with a sigh, his lips sit in a thin line, looking a bit lost at the sight of you, your usual smile wiped from your face as your pretty eyes stare daggers into his face, arms folded, and that's when he notices the goosebumps littering your arm.

“I didn't tell you that I was the boss because I wanted to get to know you without the label and pressure of me being your boss,” Taeyong explains as he shrugs off his coat to hang it on your shoulders before he directs you to a luxury SUV parked nearby.

“You could've told me sooner, asshole. And, why did you pull that shit tonight? You could've gotten yourself beaten to a pulp if I didn't literally step in and step on his head,” you lament, expressing your dissatisfaction with your entire body to the point of swinging your beloved Coach bag that you told Taeyong you were saving up weeks for, and Taeyong thinks you're so cute when you're angry, but he does have to make an effort to dodge the angry swing of your bag as he helps you climb up the passenger seat of his car.

“I know, and thank you for saving my ass but I need to shut the door and get going now, princess,” Taeyong says and does so before you could protest his usage of endearments when you're mad at him.

“How about we get some food before I drive you back to your place?” he suggest when he starts the car, seeing that you're now giving him the silent treatment, face turned to the side to look out to not see him, but the word ‘fine’ uttered from your lips has Taeyong breathing a sigh of relief as he confidently drives into a familiar street where he knows a convenience store is located.

After getting and heating up noodles and onigiris to share, the two of you take a seat in the empty store.

“Don't do embarrassing shit like this on my behalf ever again,” you warn before digging into your cup noodles, the spicy warm soup bringing instant comfort and familiarity after such a hectic night.

“It doesn't matter if it's on your behalf, that fucker deserved it,” Taeyong reasoned as he peels off the plastic wrapping of his onigiri, taking a huge bite of the delicious rice ball he was craving.

“Just don't do anything stupid anymore, if I couldn't handle myself I could've called security, you doing something stupid embarrasses me too, you know, I don't want to end up in the police station with you ever again, my friends are going to think I'm dating a crook,” you say offhandedly, but Taeyong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in your words.

“Wait, what do you mean dating?” he asks with the biggest smile on his face, onigiri placed on the side, suddenly he's not hungry anymore.

“Don't tell me you're not taking responsibility, I'm literally wearing your jacket and risked jail time for your ass,” you say so casually that Taeyong feels like he's having a fever dream, not even his best fantasies would he ever depict himself being labelled as your significant other.

“No, never, I'm definitely taking full responsibility, and I promise, no more doing stupid shit to embarrass you, I swear,” Taeyong pledges, his hand coming up to salute you, the goofy gesture finally getting the first laugh out of you for the night.

“Though, to prevent me from doing stupid shit, I have a proposition, you have a marketing degree right? I know you said you're against working for big corps cause you hate how they practically steal money off of people's needs, but I do have a few establishments, restaurants of a few cuisines, that need a proper marketer to oversee and promote, so if you're not opposed to letting go your bartending job…” and before Taeyong could finish, you were quick to say yes.

Boy, do the days go by so fast after that, your new job is mostly online, you have two coworkers, a graphic designer –Mark Lee and a social media manager, or better known as the restaurants’ staffs’ biggest fear, Lee Haechan. A small department compared to the two finance departments, one for clean money and one for dirty money, but if anyone asks, you'd say you didn’t have a clue.

Starting out a new job wasn't easy, nor was it too difficult, being a ‘quite fresh’ graduate meant you still recall plenty of the knowledge you've studied in college, but the huge funds you had was of great assistance, which brings you to this party hosted by his friend.

Taeyong said he wanted to bring Yuta, his omakase chef who had just earned his first three Michelin stars under his new restaurant, thanks to your hard work in marketing to attract new rich customers and food critics.

However, people on the top of the food chain always had a reputation of being absolute dickheads.

“She’s literally younger than him, his ex was older by five years at least, and she was one of us, I did some digging, this girl isn’t even from one of the SKY universities,” one of them comments, and it’s true, you’re not that smart and you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but what has you freezing in your spot is what comes out of their mouths next.

“I heard he got into a fight at his own bar for her and ended up getting detained for a bit, she’s just going to have him end up locked up if he stays with her, people like her bring nothing but bad omens.”

“Don’t tell me you’re letting their words get to you,” Yuta says, popping out of nowhere beside you.

“Even the strongest trees waver under the pressure of the winds, Yuta,” you say before finishing your glass.

Yuta and you have grown close after you had worked closely to promote the restaurant, and he values your opinion of which presentation you prefer, which is rare for chefs, especially the ones you've worked with with many years of experience and a reputation.

“Yeah, but who gives a fuck about some shitty pretentious university, that shit don’t matter as long as you land a job, plus, their faces are so botched, you look way better, Taeyong would never pick these shitty pick mes over you,” Yuta comments way too loudly for your comfort, but thankfully the girls were loudly squealing at the fact that their friend is finally here, welcoming her, unbeknownst of Yuta’s lethal words.

“Pick who over my sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, a hand coming to rest around your waist.

“I said you wouldn't, but someone’s doubting after hearing a few snarky remarks,” Yuta says, which has you freezing in your spot, Taeyong’s always been very protective and defensive about you, you don’t want to witness him fucking someone up tonight at such a prestigious party.

“Yeah, trust me, man to man, he’s definitely just fucking her on the down low, he’d never go for someone lower class, she’s most probably just a cheap fuck,” you look over Yuta’s shoulder to see a man standing next to one of the girls who were talking shit about you, two people were blocking their sight of your little group, so they hadn’t seen Taeyong coming back.

And to your horror, Taeyong leaves your side, walking up to the little clique.

“Oh god, he’s going to embarrass me,” you say with a groan before you quickly follow Taeyong as fast as you can in your Louboutins.

With a swing and the cracking of bones, you see the guy hunched over immediately, cursing as he holds his bloodied nose in his hand, when you finally got to the scene, the music had been cut, the place drowning in shocked silence no thanks to your heels, sue you, but you didn’t expect to need to run tonight, it was just two feet but these heels are so unwalkable.

“Don’t let me catch you assholes talking about my girlfriend ever again, you don’t want to know what I can do beyond breaking your nose,” Taeyong threatens as the guy quickly cowers on his spot on the floor.

“I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you,” someone says as they walk towards the scene, his name is Woozi, Taeyong had told you about the host of this party being a close friend of his who he had helped out when he had just taken over his father’s empire, you had no idea how much that meant to Woozi, but seeing them interacting now, you understand that if you mess with one of them, the other one immediately retaliates, “you wouldn’t want to go against him or me,” he says, elaborating no further, you hadn’t ask Taeyong what Woozi’s empire entails, but you think the less you know, the better.

“No, no, please, I was stupid, I’m sorry, miss,” he apologises to you before quickly escaping the scene, the girls leaving as well, tails tucked between their legs as they scramble, it’s quite an amusing scene.

“Thank you for standing up for me, Woozi, it’s nice to finally meet the host of this amazing party,” you say before sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“The honour’s all mine,” Woozi says as he takes your hand, “and nice to finally meet you, it’s nice to finally put a face to the person hyung’s been gushing about nonstop,” Woozi teases, which then earns him a light playful slap from Taeyong.

“Gushing is perfectly fine, I just wish he’d stop embarrassing himself and me on my behalf,” you say with an annoyed sigh as you turn to stare daggers into your boyfriend.

“Oh come on, I couldn’t just stand them and let them belittle you, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t do anything?” Taeyong retorts with a sheepish expression, he knows you don’t like it when he goes out of his way for you to this point, but he couldn’t help it, he loves you so dearly.

“You’re just proving them right by reacting, Yong, we talked about this,” you say, exasperated as you toss your arms up in defeat, you don’t know how to get this through his head at all.

“Proving what? Baby,” Taeyong calls out as you take off to the exit too, you have decided that tonight has been too much for you, you're tired of all this glitz and glamour with this thick layer of utter bullshit with their grade school playground gimmicks.

“Help me keep an eye on Yuta, I need to talk to her,” Taeyong quickly says to Woozi before he picks up the pace to follow you, ending up out at the lobby of the hotel, you were talking to the valet, and he distantly hears you asking for the keys.

“Baby, come on, don’t be mad, I’m sorry, I was stupidly acting on impulse, you know how defensive I get when it comes to you,” Taeyong reasons, but you keep quiet, trying to compose your thoughts, your car that you share with Taeyong pulls up, and immediately Taeyong tries taking the keys from the valet.

“You drank,” you say before pushing his hand away to retrieve your key, you did too, but Taeyong’s alcohol tolerance is much lower than yours, god knows he shouldn’t be driving.

Taeyong’s heart warms when he registers the chastise from you, you still care about him, you still love him, and so with a love stricken smile on his face and a slight bounce in his step, he's a giggly drunk so this happens all the time, though when he gets in the car, he worries once more when he sees how you chose to not play any music nor talk whilst driving.

When the two of you finally reached home, you immediately retreated into your shared bedroom, not sparing Taeyong a glance, not even when he offered to remove your heels for you.

Taeyong sighs to himself as he follows you upstairs, you had locked yourself in the bathroom as of now, probably cleaning your face free off makeup, he knows how you much you hate the texture of it on your skin despite loving to doll up, and he can’t blame you, even bb cream feels a tad bit too thick for Taeyong when you had applied it on him for fun.

Taeyong quickly changes into his house clothes and leaves the bedroom, just in case you need more space, he never wants to intrude when you want some alone time, even if he craves your affection, you’ll come around soon, you always do, Taeyong reassures himself.

When Taeyong was about to turn on the telly to kill some time, he hears you walking down the stairs, turning back to look over the sofa, Taeyong’s jaw drops at the sight of you.

Adorned in a beautiful lingerie set with a delicate crystal chain hanging around your upper left thigh, your face without a smidge of product, but he thinks you look best like this, but what finally has his cock twitching was what you had in your hold, a familiar pair of handcuffs.

“Sweetheart…” Taeyong mutters as thoughts of endless possibilities of how the night would play out runs through his head, but you silence him with the tip of your finger placed on his lips.

“Just let me do my thing, sit back and enjoy,” you say before you drop to your knees, your sultry eyes watching Taeyong’s every expression, and the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing has you cracking a smile as you lock his hand into the handcuffs.

Taeyong feels like he’s being hypnotised when your eyes stay on his whilst sliding his pants and boxers down, he almost didn’t feel his cock twitching from the cold air, but before he could even register the cold in its entirety, you take him into your mouth, the sudden action has Taeyong cursing, he would’ve bucked into your mouth if it wasn’t for your hands holding his hips down, he breathes a slightly frustrated sigh from the restriction, but like the little minx you are, you quickly hollow your cheeks after sinking in deeper, the tip of his length hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Taeyong curses as he grows tense at your ministrations, he swears he almost came right then and there when he felt the constriction of your throat, his fingers turn white from grasping against the cuffs to anchor himself.

You take in the sight of him struggling to not cum and take pity on him, your mouth leaving his cock with a pop with a sly smile on your lips before your hands grasp him tightly, making sure he doesn’t cum too soon, the pressure sending a jolt down Taeyong’s spine, his usual round boba eyes now hooded but he scrunches them shut on impulse when you push back the foreskin, exposing the sensitive tip, giving it quick kitten licks before you suck on it like a lollipop, your tongue placed underneath his tip and you suck hard, and that’s when Taeyong goes over the edge, his body seizing up, you quickly take him down your throat, smiling around the edges of his cock when you feel the familiar warmth running down your throat, you keep him in your mouth until he stops, pulling off of him with a slight giggle when you see his chest heaving, limp against the couch, all from your undoing, and what a power trip that gives you, a rich and powerful man succumbing to your actions.

“How are you holding up, baby? Need a break?” you ask as you straddle him, tossing over your leg to situate yourself perfectly between his thighs, the lace material coming into contact with his cock, twitching back to life when it feels the slight warmth and moisture of your heat.

“More, please,” Taeyong utters as he tries his best to move his hips, and so you indulge him, rotating your hips until he hardens underneath you again.

You hear the clinks of his cuffs when you stand up, ceasing all physical contact, giggling when you hear him beg for you to come back, but he goes mute when he sees you shift the crotch of your lingerie to the side, climbing back into his embrace.

“You’re gonna ride me all dressed up prettily, sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, head tilted to the side as he takes in the sight of you, eyes locked onto his as you stare down at him, and he can’t help himself, lowering his head to litter kisses on your arm as he inhales your scent, call him a madman, but your scent might as well be as addictive as nicotine itself, the way he can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taeyong then shifts his head to the valley of your breasts, mouthing at your cleavage, pulling down the flimsy coverage by its thin straps to gain access to your bare chest, goosebumps rise on your skin when he finally takes a nipple into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on it like his life depends on it, like he really wants to eat you up, the action has you chasing for more pleasure, grinding your clit on the tip of his length before you can't take it anymore, reaching down with shaking hands to position him to your core, moaning his name as you finally slide down, slowly taking him inside you inch by inch, Taeyong's succumbed to the sweet feeling of your warm walls, giving up on worshipping your boobs, instead he's gripping onto your hips hard as he focuses on being engulfed in your heat, he's kind of slobbering on your right boob, but you find it arousing, the way he's so lost in pleasure, his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he mutters a string of sweet nothings as you make your way down to the hilt.

An almost delirious smile makes its way onto Taeyong’s face when you squeeze around him, head dipped low as he curses from your actions, you tilt his chin up with your fingertips, ego inflating at the sight of how wrecked he is and you barely even started.

“It’s been so long and you’re still reacting this way,” you noted as you caressed the side of his face.

“For you? Forever,” Taeyong says with full honesty, eyes overflowing with lust as he confesses, looking so vulnerable, underneath you like you’re his god, and in a way, you might just be, if Taeyong had it his way, he’d build a palace just for you and dedicate his life to you.

“I know,” you say with a row of your hips, cursing in unison with your lover when you feel him penetrate the deepest parts of your heat, that sensitive spot that has your toes curling.

Spurred on by Taeyong’s ever vocal devotion towards you, you raise your hips before slamming down once again, and the moan of your name escaping his lips has you doing it again and again, the quick drag of his length against your flesh has the whole house filled with the sound of sex resonating within its walls, you’re grateful Taeyong’s unit is the penthouse, because Taeyong’s always been so vocal in bed, his voice pitched much higher than it usually is, and as much as you revel in the feeling of people admiring your man, you don’t want anyone else hearing how beautiful he sounds when he’s laid bare underneath you.

With how fast you’re going, you’re sure there’s indentations of the sofa’s legs on the expensive wooden flooring, but fuck it, you’re so close, but you’re to blame for that, clenching on him every time you sink down, just so you could see the way he tries the very hardest not to cum way too early, not that you’d mind, it happened many times before, and you still find it so hot.

Deciding to not prolong the torture any longer, you reach down to rub quick circles on your clit as you grind the tip of his cock to that one spot deep inside, that perfect 12 o'clock angle that has your legs turning jelly, with a hiss of Taeyong’s name and a spasm of your walls from the shocks of pleasure coursing through your entire body, you finally reach your peak, your body sagging in sweet relief, your sensitive nipples feel so good against his skin, but after having a quick moment to yourself, you quickly slide off of him with a loud squelch that got a giggle out of you even in this heated state, getting down on your knees and take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and suck, lips stretched, with his dick lodge at the back of your throat when you see his legs buckle and soon after, splashes of his warm release drip down your throat once again, when the flow ceases, you pull off of him with a deafening pop.

“Good boy,” you say after getting up brushing his cheek softly with those tender eyes that make Taeyong weak in the knees, only he gets to see this tender side of you, and it drives him mad sometimes, that it’s only reserve for him, of everyone you could choose to dote on, you chose him, and he hopes you’ll keep choosing him till the end of time.

With a quick click, he feels the cuffs being loosened and tossed away, instantly his arms are around your figure, pulling you into a deep kiss, the taste of himself on your lips spurs him on, but he wills himself to get his shit together, he knows you must be tired from doing all the work tonight, and there’s something that needs to be addressed soon, and so he pulls away from your lips, his hand placed on your right cheek, thumb brushing against the curvature of your cheek bone.

“Do you feel better now? Are you still angry at me or do I need to do more than letting you ravage my body like that?” Taeyong jokes with a laugh, but he immediately sobers up when he sees you sigh and climb off his sturdy legs.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that,” you say as you cringe as you recall how you acted out earlier today, you know no one’s perfect, but when you slip up, it reminds you too much of your own mother, throwing a tantrum and running away, and you swear you’d never be like her, but at the end of the day, you’re a work of progress, and fortunately, Taeyong understands.

“Do you want to tell me what triggered you?” Taeyong asks, his tone gentle, he never directs his aggression at you, no matter the situation, he loves you too much to ever even think of doing that.

“They said some things, and they’re not entirely wrong-” but you’re being cut off by an irritated sigh, Taeyong hates it when you demean yourself this way. “Before you get mad, hear me out, they said how I’d always get you in trouble, and when you think about it, they’re not wrong, I literally landed you in jail the first night we got together, Yong, and the shit they said about me not being from one of the prestigious universities, they’re not wrong about that, it’s just facts, I’m just not part of this elite social ladder, that isn’t the point. The point is that I feel like I’m tarnishing your reputation and in relation, your businesses,” you finish off with another sigh, you haven’t been sighing this much these days, so this feels oddly familiar in the worst ways possible, Taeyong’s been making your life more comfortable every single day, but you on the other hand, are contributing to his troubles.

“Don’t let them get to your head, you’re literally bringing in so much profit for me, sweetheart, next time I’ll throw a party just to show everyone how our numbers are doing, it’ll blow them away, also, you’re doing all that without a goddamn degree from those snobbish colleges. Lastly, you don’t get me in trouble, it’s just part and parcel of protecting the person I love, something they’d never understand with how shallow they are, don’t let people with an EQ of 0 determine how you live, and I know what you want to say,” Taeyong says when he sees you open your mouth to protest, “I’ll try my best to not get in trouble and keep my temper in check, but I do hope you understand that if it isn’t me, I’m just gonna have someone else do the dirty job of beating them up,” Taeyong says, compromising, that’s how his father and mother did it, he always believes that’s the key to a long lasting marriage, which is something he’d want with you in the near future.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, but he sees the ghost of a smile on your face as you lean down to rest your head on his broad shoulder, littering kisses from his neck to the end of his shoulder, Taeyong lets himself bask in your affection for a bit, knowing that you thrive off giving physical affection, but he's a clean freak at the end of the day, getting the both of you clean is still a priority.

“Come, let’s have a bath, my love,” Taeyong suggests as he carries you the direction of your bedroom, and you let him, soaking up the feeling of being loved, maybe Taeyong’s right, nothing matters when you have a love as cosmic as the one you share with Taeyong.

[fazedlight]

Limbo (Lena & Alex, when Kara is in the Phantom Zone)

She thought she had been alone in the Tower.

She knew she had had too much to drink. But it hadn’t mattered - she’d be sober by the time the team returned to the Tower tomorrow afternoon, to try yet again to devise a way to find Kara and bring her home. A mission that seemed increasingly hopeless…

All she wanted to do was drown and numb her fears for a night, but she didn’t anticipate Alex coming back. “Brought you Belly Burger,” the former agent said.

Lena tried to keep the exasperation and drunkenness out of her voice. But, frankly, Alex’s actions didn’t make a lot of sense. “You should hate me,” Lena muttered.

Alex shrugged. “I kind of do.”

“Then why are you bringing me food?”

“Because we’re going to get Kara back,” Alex said matter-of-factly, “And she’d kick my ass if I didn’t look after you in the meantime.”

Lena let her eyes raise up to Alex’s face - noting the stress in every line, the grim determination staring back at her. Somewhere in Lena’s grief and anger, she felt a flare of jealousy. You have someone to go home to, she thought.

Slowly, she reached for the bag of food.

---

Their attempt the next day failed. Lena thought she was safe getting drunk at home.

But Alex, annoyingly, showed up at her door, carrying containers of Chinese food. This is embarrassing, Lena thought, letting her in, watching as she unpacked the food in the kitchen. “Why are you really here?”

Alex grinned to herself, pausing to pull another takeout box before she answered. “Kelly is making me.”

It drew a laugh from Lena. As much as Alex might be noble about what Kara would’ve wanted, her second answer made far more sense.

Lena took out her scotch, pouring the two a drink. She wondered for a moment if Alex might push back - Lena was drunk enough as it was - but it seemed Alex was smart enough to let it go. So they ate their food and sipped their alcohol in relative silence. 

Neither could touch the potstickers.

Her mind flit between mental images of the blonde - smiling, or weeping, or with her arm thrown comfortably around Lena’s shoulder. It brought back the twisting pain, aching for Kara to really be there, for this to be a game night or a movie night rather than a solemn mourning between her and Kara’s sister.

Lena glanced up, taking Alex in again. Her mind wandered to the incident in the Fortress - words that made her realize that she didn’t understand everything when it came to Kara’s identity.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alex asked.

“You didn’t tell Kelly,” Lena said, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t know.”

Alex frowned, leaning forward to grab another box. “Turns out Kelly had figured it out before I told her. I don’t know which of you knew first.”

Lena felt her jaw tense, though she tried to relax it again, taking a centering breath. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Alex shrugged. “The fewer people that knew, the better.”

---

This time, it was on purpose. Lena invited both Kelly and Alex over, and remained decidedly undrunk for the evening.

Kelly arrived first, after work, noting that Alex would be there soon with the Indian takeout that they had ordered. “Sorry I keep stealing your wife in the evenings,” Lena said.

“I think she needs this as much as you do,” Kelly replied honestly, “It’s hard, not having Kara here.”

Lena laughed sardonically, feeling the craving of the liquor in her cabinet. Kara would be here if I weren’t.

“Lena?” Kelly nudged.

It was in Lena’s nature to bury things seven layers deep. It was in her nature to hide, and lick her wounds, and keep her thoughts to herself until they were needed.

But something about Kelly’s gentleness - and knowing that Kelly hadn’t been invited to the party either, so to speak - was somehow disarming. “If Alex had killed me at Mount Norquay,” Lena said, struggling to hide her overwhelming guilt, “We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Kelly shook her head. “She didn’t want to kill you.”

“She should’ve,” Lena scoffed, feeling the self-hatred bubble within her. For all that she blamed the superfriends for so much, she could only feel guilt for this. “I was trying to brainwash the world. It was the greater good.” I wasn’t worth saving.

Kelly reached over, giving Lena’s hand a tight squeeze. “It would have killed you. It would’ve destroyed her. It would’ve destroyed Kara, too.”

Lena bit at her lip, fighting the tears that were starting to threaten her vision. I don’t want to feel this, she thought, thinking again to the liquor in her cabinet.

But she remained seated, breathing in slow breaths as she regained her composure, Kelly sitting patiently next to her. Kelly’s warm hand was still on her own. Somewhere, the thought bubbled up: While she didn’t have Kara back… she was starting to realize she wasn’t alone.

A knock came at the door, and Kelly gave Lena’s hand one last squeeze, before rising up to let Alex in.

---

Alex came alone the next night. Lena only poured them each one drink.

Truth be told, she thought she’d need more liquor to ask the question that had been itching at her mind for months. But it was surprisingly easy that night - in a time when she could no longer summon the biting betrayal that had once consumed her. “When we were working on the harun-el together,” Lena asked quietly, not sure if she actually cared about the answer, “Why did you act so suspicious of Supergirl? Was it just to gain my trust?”

Alex turned to her with wide eyes, before leaning back into the seat. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I never thought- I didn’t think-” Alex turned again to Lena, her eyes darting around Lena’s face with a twisted sadness. “Colonel Haley was trying to find out who Kara was,” Alex said, “So I had J’onn erase my memory, to keep her out of danger.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know.”

---

Sometimes, there was laughter - sometimes, there were the lopsided grins and the aggravating disbelief of how the blonde held the secret all these years.

“I miss this,” Alex said, “I miss her. Without the superhero stuff.”

“Without the superhero stuff?” Lena asked.

“Just her,” Alex said, “So few people know her as just her.”

Alex’s words tugged at Lena’s heart. Just her, Lena mulled. What had the kryptonian said on Pulitzer night? “But you still loved Kara. I just kept thinking, if I could be Kara, just Kara…”

Where once she had assumed she knew only the mask, she was slowly realizing that perhaps it was the other way around. “I tried so hard to stay away from her,” Lena murmured.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“Supergirl,” Lena explained, “I didn’t want to be my brother. I wanted to show her that we could work together without me trying to find out anything about her. That I knew her identity wasn’t my business…”

Alex sighed. “You didn’t know you were getting close to her anyway.”

“I was trying to do everything right,” Lena said quietly, “And then…”

“And then?” Alex asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

“And then I fell in love with her,” Lena confessed.

---

The Tower was abuzz that morning as everyone made their final preparations. Gone were the thoughts of the simple mission to transport Kara back in moments. This would be a voyage - into the phantom zone, facing nightmares unknown, hours in a fight to get Kara back.

Hope bloomed in Lena’s chest, watching as the team ran through checklists, making final preparations. This is really happening, Lena thought, this is our chance.

She wasn’t alone. “We’re going to see her today,” Alex affirmed, “I can feel it.”

Lena swallowed, feeling the tinge of nerves in her excitement - both for what lay ahead, and for what Alex knew. “Are you going to tell her?” Lena asked quietly, “What I said?”

Alex shook her head. “That’s your secret. When you’re ready.”

Lena smiled softly. “You think I should tell her.”

“Yup,” Alex agreed, “But I know you guys have a lot of other shit to work out first.”

Lena let out a small breath, glancing over to the station that she would take for the flight, turning back to Alex. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “C’mon,” Alex said, stepping towards the mainroom, “Let’s get my sister back.”

Lena smiled. “Right behind you.”

[ginnsbaker]

prophylaxis

Summary: The most powerful Avenger is afraid of one thing: dental appointments, or the one where you're a dentist and Wanda is a baby about seeing one

Word count: 2.6k | Warnings: None. This is just good ol' fluff

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This has been sitting in my drafts for some time, and while this is a one shot, I might follow up with more :)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Next part: the follow up

--

Steve and Natasha are barely done with their own routine dental check-ups when the notification of an emergency mission comes through. The Avengers' annual dental visit is typically swift and uncomplicated, but the arrival of their urgent mission turns the day into something far more chaotic.

“Where is Wanda?” Steve asks, scrolling through the mission details on his phone.

Natasha shrugs, sipping on her post-check-up glass of scotch. “I haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Vision appears in the room at that moment, his face expressing the closest thing to exasperation an android can manage. “She’s only now on the chair,” he says, glancing at Steve, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Now? But everyone else is done!”

“I had to convince her to come,” Vision sighs. “I found her hiding in the back library. It took me the better part of an hour to persuade her to face the dentist.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the revelation, trying to suppress her chuckle. The most powerful Avenger, avoiding a simple dental prophylaxis. “We don't have all day, Steve. The mission is critical.”

Steve nods, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We'll leave a note for her. She should meet us ASAP once she's done.”

Natasha gets up from her chair, glancing one last time at Vision, as she quips, “Good luck to whoever is the dentist working on her this year.”

As you approach the dental chair, you take note of the apprehensive figure occupying it. You've already seen a dozen Avengers today, each with their unique quirks and idiosyncrasies. 

But Wanda Maximoff, her gaze filled with clear distaste for the situation, seems to take the cake. She's curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than she actually is. The sight of her alone would have been enough to unnerve you, but the intermittent quivers of your dental tools due to an unseen force send a cold shiver down your spine. You can't help but wonder if you've drawn the short straw when they assigned you the patients for today.

You try your best to project an air of calm. Inside, though, your nerves are jangling like alarm bells.

“Wanda, right?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady.

She nods, her eyes wide as saucers.

“I promise this won't hurt,” you reassure her, even as your tools continue to rattle on the tray. “It's just a routine check-up.”

A skeptical glance is thrown your way but it's at least some reaction. Her gaze is piercing, and it takes every bit of your collected facade to keep from faltering. An absurd thought flashes across your mind: if you were to meet an untimely demise in your line of duty today, who on earth would inherit the numerous houseplants that have taken over your apartment over the years?

With a nervous smile that Wanda can barely make out behind the surgical mask you wear, you gently ask, "Shall we begin?" Your tone is soothing, carefully modulated to put her at ease.

The poor Avenger takes a deep, long breath before giving you the go-ahead to proceed with the checkup. 

For her part, Wanda begins to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of your gloved fingers in her mouth. Her gaze settles on your oversized prescription glasses that lend an air of professional yet friendly vibe. And there’s something about the clean, familiar scent wafting off your white coat that comforts her more than she's willing to admit.

She can’t help it when her mind starts drawing comparisons with last year's dentist—a gruff, no-nonsense man whose hands always seemed cold and who lacked any bedside manner whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are like a breath of fresh air with your calming demeanor and reassuring approach. Wanda blushes at the thought that, admittedly, you’re kind of a nice upgrade.

You begin the examination with meticulous care, your movements deliberately gentle to assure Wanda of your sensitivity to her obvious anxiety. As you carefully check her teeth and gums, you're acutely aware of how much trust she's placing in you, despite her apparent discomfort.

Glancing into her eyes as you angle your dental mirror to inspect her molars, you're suddenly struck by the piercing green of her irises. Even under the harsh clinic lights, they appear incredibly vibrant. Framed by the dark eyeliner she wears, her eyes are sharp and arresting. They follow your every move, staring up at you with an intensity that causes your skin to perspire under your uniform.

You've dealt with many patients over the years, some with eyes equally as fascinating, but something about Wanda's gaze is different. It's as if she's not just watching you but reading you, understanding you in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Your focus starts to waver under her scrutiny, and that's when you notice something strange. The dental tools on the tray beside you begin to quiver more violently, vibrating with an unseen force. Your heart skips a beat, realization dawning on you that Wanda's powers are reacting to her nervousness.

But it's not just her nervousness; Wanda's face takes on a look of surprise, her eyes widening momentarily. You can almost feel her presence in your mind, a subtle brushing against your consciousness. 

She's read your thoughts, albeit accidentally. 

She knows how captivated you are by her eyes. 

Catching yourself, you quickly shift your thoughts to a safer topic–your plants. The vibrant green of Wanda's eyes morphs into the various shades of green gracing the leaves of your beloved indoor jungle. Your Monstera, your string of pearls, your peace lily–

And yet, none of them are a match for the pair of green orbs that your mind keeps going back to. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you meet her gaze, the unspoken understanding between you making the air in the room feel charged. Wanda's cheeks take on a hint of color, and her control over her powers seems to falter, your tools–and a chair behind Wanda–now levitating a couple of inches from where they originally sat.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, wide-eyed and apologetic. You barely make out what she’s saying with her mouth still wide open. “I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay,” you reply in a comforting murmur, pausing your examination. The room fills with the soft humming of the overhead light and the subtle scent of sterilized equipment. “I'm here with you. We'll go at your pace. Just breathe.”

Giving Wanda a few moments to calm herself, you pull back, placing the dental tools on the tray beside you. You keep your eyes on Wanda, a soothing smile hidden behind your mask. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she follows your instructions, taking deep, calming breaths.

However, you can't help but glance at the floating items around you, fearing that one of them might go straight for your heart that’s thudding loudly in your ears now. They seem to be suspended in mid-air, almost like a magic trick. Wanda catches your gaze, following it to the levitating objects. The already present color on her cheeks darken, and with a flicker of her gaze, your tools reintroduce themselves to gravity once again.

You don't comment on it. Instead, you simply offer another encouraging smile, masked by your surgical mask, but visible in your eyes. You extend your gloved hand towards the once again earthbound dental tools, feeling the cool metal against your palm. 

“Are we good to proceed?” you ask in a soft voice, patiently waiting for her agreement before picking up where you left off. 

Wanda doesn’t move, seemingly hesitant to say yes or no.

“Will it help if I talk to you?” 

She gives you a small nod in response this time.

“Alright,” you say with a hint of a chuckle. “Don't judge me if I start to sound silly, okay?”

And so you start to speak as you get back to work, recounting random memories and thoughts as you continue with the examination. You talk about funny incidents at work, share stories about your beloved plants, and even admit to that time you almost killed your favorite fern with coffee instead of water. At first, you feel slightly ridiculous, babbling about the care of succulents to an Avenger, one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But as the minutes tick by, you see a change in her. The initial terror in her eyes fades into curiosity, her body relaxes, and she even smiles at some of your sillier anecdotes.

You get lost in talking to Wanda, feeling both delighted and somewhat ridiculous that you're enjoying this one-sided conversation. You're fully aware that she can't respond with an excavator in her mouth, but it doesn't feel like she's just tolerating your chatter. Her eyes are attentive, following your movements, reacting every now and then. Her body language is open, receptive, almost as if she's hanging onto every word.

As for Wanda, something unexpected is happening. She finds herself liking your voice more and more, feeling an unfamiliar pull towards it. It's warm, comforting, and filled with a sincerity that she didn't expect. She even finds herself slightly attracted to it. But it's a foreign feeling, one she doesn't quite understand, especially in this setting.

As you conclude your examination, you realize that one of Wanda's molars needs a filling. It isn't urgent, a situation that could be deferred to another appointment if she wishes.

“Looks like you have a small cavity,” you inform her, meeting her eyes. “It's not of immediate concern, but we should schedule another appointment if you'd like to have it filled.”

To your surprise, Wanda agrees, not just with a polite nod, but with a subtle hint of anticipation lighting up her eyes. She agrees to another date, another round of you poking around her mouth with your scary dental tools. And yet, there's a hint of eagerness that surprises even her.

As you finish your work, you lean back, pulling off your surgical mask and gloves. For the first time, Wanda gets a full view of your face. It's like a silent reveal, one she hadn't been expecting, and it takes her aback.

She finds herself caught in a subtle admiration, a feeling that quickly intensifies as she takes in your features. There's something about your face that she finds herself drawn to, the warmth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft contours of your cheekbones.

And when you smile, her breath hitches slightly. It's a simple gesture, but one that lights up your face, reaching your eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners. It's genuine, open, and a little bit contagious.

“Thanks for your patience, Doctor...?” Wanda voices, feeling a tad awkward. It occurs to her belatedly that she didn't have the foresight to ask for your name before you started the check-up. 

“Just call me Y/N. It's my pleasure,” you reply, your smile deepening, unaware of the effect it's having on the Avenger before you. “I'll see you for that follow-up appointment, then?”

As soon as Wanda is escorted outside by Vision, you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding. Leaning against the counter, you try to calm the racing of your heart, which beats as if you've just run a marathon.

Wanda Maximoff is... quite a surprise. Her beauty, her vulnerability, the way she seemed to really listen to your inane chatter–it's all unexpected, disarming even. You find your mind drifting back to the way her eyes softened, the almost shy smile that graced her lips.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. This is unprofessional, you think. She's your patient. A patient who just happens to be one of the world's most powerful individuals. It's nothing more than that.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you've spent more time with Wanda than any other patient today. You should be moving on to your paperwork, getting ready to call it a day.

But as you sit down at your desk, the fluttering feeling in your stomach doesn't subside, and Wanda Maximoff's haunting green eyes remain etched in your mind.

Walking down the corridors of the Avengers compound, Wanda finds herself in step with Vision. As they pass various agents and fellow Avengers, Vision turns to look at her.

“Wanda,” he starts, his voice taking on that concerned lilt that she's grown accustomed to. “I'm detecting unusual signs in your vitals. Your heart rate is elevated, your body temperature has slightly increased, and your pupils are dilated.”

Wanda blinks, feeling an unexpected heat crawl up her neck. Her palms are also feeling slightly clammy, and she has this weird fluttering sensation in her stomach. She tries to brush it off. It must have been the anxiety, right?

“Are you not feeling well?” Vision probes further, halting in his tracks to face her. His eyes scan her face, looking for any visible signs of discomfort. Wanda's mind races, trying to figure out how to downplay her seemingly irrational reaction to a denti–a dental appointment.

“No, Vision. I'm... I'm just fine.” Her voice sounds surprisingly steady to her own ears. She forces a smile onto her face, aiming to reassure her friend.

Vision doesn't seem fully convinced but doesn't push further. They resume their walk, but Wanda can't shake off the feeling that something has changed, something she doesn't quite understand yet. And for some reason, her thoughts keep drifting back to a certain dentist with a soothing voice, warm eyes, and a love for plants.

How did it happen that a dental appointment, of all things, has turned into the highlight of her day?

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vision enters, the only illumination coming from the withdrawn overhead lights. Natasha is there, assembling her favorite late-night snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks up as Vision approaches, her eyes curious.

“I trust the mission went well?” Vision inquires, noting the subtle signs of fatigue in Natasha's posture.

She offers a half-smile, nodding. “It did. It's all sorted now. How's Wanda after the check-up?”

Vision's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before responding, “She is... well. The new dentist was quite effective in putting her at ease.”

Natasha smirks, spreading the jelly onto the bread with precision. “Told you a change would do the trick. I still can't believe you managed to convince Tony to switch dentists.”

“And find the perfect replacement,” Natasha adds after some thought, licking the jelly from the knife.

“It was a logical choice. The previous dentist was less than satisfactory, particularly with Wanda.” He pauses, considering something. “But this one... she seemed to have a rather profound effect on her.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking up from her sandwich. “Profound effect?”

“Yes,” Vision says thoughtfully. “I detected unusual signs in her vitals afterward. Increased heart rate, heightened body temperature, a certain... excitement in her demeanor. It was quite unexpected.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly, and a mischievous smile begins to form on her lips. “You don't say?”

Vision gazes at the digital interface on his palm, a soft hum of approval in his voice. “Indeed, she has also filed for a leave of absence a week from now. She has another dental appointment, but this time at the doctor’s private clinic.”

Natasha pauses, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. 

Vision meets her gaze, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Do you think it could mean something?"

Natasha shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who knows, Vis?” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it's just a good dentist.” And then with a wink and a knowing smile, she adds, “Or maybe…”

She leaves the thought hanging, deliberately ambiguous, and exits the room, her satisfied crunching echoing down the hallway.

Vision is left standing in the kitchen, confusion etched across his synthetic features. He considers the day's events, attempting to analyze how Wanda suddenly managed to conquer her most irrational fear.

Humans really are something.

[ash5monster01]

Learning to Love

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: 18+, langauge, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, fake relationship, eventual smut, minor enemies to lovers trope.

Summary: It's not uncommon for you to be shamed for your size, it is however uncommon to be told that no one would ever date you because of it. Rafe on the other hand is used to being called a jerk, that is until he is accused of seeing people for only what's on the surface. It's purely coicidental you two meet right after these accusations are thrown your way. So even though you two don't know each other, and probably never would've looked the others way before this, now you're both going to prove a point. It's simple really, prove others wrong and don't fall in love. Easier said than done.

word count: 3k

→ Part 1

Masterlist

You're used to crude comments, truly. Living in the Outer Banks has proven nothing other than the fact that kooks will always be cruel, even if it's towards other kooks. As long as you're in a bathing suit, something is going to be said. Which is proven true as you lie on the beach, book in hand, and sunglasses hung low on your nose. It's your only day off and you were going to enjoy it. Soak up the sun as much as you can because summer would fade away before you knew it. You had only chosen the two piece bathing suit to get more of a tan, maybe a little extra sun. It's only twenty pages into your book you hear two boys snickering not far from your own set up.

"Look a beached whale, should we call the authorities?" your ears burn red only slightly, after all you were used to it. Honestly you could care less anymore.

"God, she has to know that's gross" the other responds after his bellowing laughs have calmed down. They truly can't be that stupid they don't realize how loud they're talking right?

"No decent looking, hell self respecting man would ever date a girl like that" this punches the air out of your lungs. You knew your body type wasn’t considered attractive. This was common knowledge, but to hear someone say you couldn’t possibly ever date an attractive man is something else entirely.

“I know I wouldn’t” the boys laugh again, hands clapping together as they stare you down like you were the most disgusting thing on this beach.

You’re not upset about what they were saying. You survived highschool after all. Your school had already been divided by kooks and pogues, add in the big girl and that’s a recipe for disaster. You’ve heard the most vile and mean things a person could say. Somehow you came out of it with still a little self respect, hell even some confidence, because if you were anything at all it was strong. You had dated here and there, never had anything stick though. Maybe that’s why this comment resonated so hard with you. No matter how decent a person you meet maybe you’re bound to end up ugly and alone because an attractive man belongs with an attractive girl.

Rafe has had to attend hundreds of useless business meetings since his Dad died. He had wanted this. When he was nineteen and trying to prove to his Dad that he was worth it, but now he was gone. He had no one to impress anymore and at twenty three he carried the burden of being the CEO of an entire company with his last name on it. So that’s how he finds himself inside of dark clubs at noon, sharing a scotch with guys willing to play dirty to get what they want. He often wonders why he had wanted this life so badly. Everything he had believed in for so long was now gone. His Dad, the treasure, and now even kooks and pogues. Ever since his sister had found that treasue social classes had been practically eliminated or at least weren't acknowledged like they were before. All of this had now left Rafe without a sense of self and he desperatley needed something to change.

"Man, why can't they hire pretty waitresses to look at anymore?" Levi, a coworker slurred as he watched their waitress walk away. Rafe noticed her shoulders stiffen because she had heard what he had said. He hated he felt guilty over it.

"It's a bar, not a strip club" Matt, another coworker teased and Rafe rolled his eyes. Four years ago these guys could've been his best friends, and he would've teased the waitress right along with them. Now things were different, he was different.

"I happen to think she's cute" Rafe told them before finishing the last sip of his scotch. He knew when he got back to the office people would give disapproving looks but he didn't know what to do with himself anymore. It was like he was just floating and letting the tide drag him along wherever it wanted to.

"Yeah right" Matt snorted out a laugh and Rafe gave him a confused look as Levi started to laugh along with him.

"Seriously Rafe, you’re way out of her league" Levi told him, his shoulder bumping with his own.

"No I'm not and there is no such thing as leagues" Rafe told them with a pointed look but the boys just continued to laugh anyway.

"Yes there is and the only one's in Rafe Cameron's league are tall hot blondes with legs for miles and tan skin smooth enough slide on" Matt said and Rafe felt his stomach clench as they spoke. Had he unintentionaly maintained a type, only taken someone for their looks? Flashes of ex girlfriends went through his mind and he had realized after all this time he had only taken women for surface things.

“That can’t be true” Rafe shook his head and the boys just chuckled.

“Admit dude, you’re an asshole and you like pretty little things. Nothing wrong with that” Levi said as he slapped his back, taking another sip of his own scotch. Rafe however realized there was everything wrong with that. Yeah he’s been a jerk his whole life but had he ever actually dated a girl he liked? Someone with substance?

“Hell would freeze over the day Rafe Cameron dated someone other than a supermodel” Matt pointed with the scotch in his hand and Rafe just shook his head, eyes scanning over the small crowd that littered the bar. For the first time he was seeing people he never would’ve noticed before.

He wondered if this was a side effect of his life before. Privileged kook, popularity, a need to impress everyone around him. Had women become a part of all of that too? A side effect of a need to please, to be the best. Had he been wasting years of actually meeting someone with a personality due to his natural self destructive ways? God he hoped not. Then again he couldn’t recall ever really liking the girls he dated, he usually just tuned them out and used them when he needed to make an appearance with a date. He had never actually dated someone for fun. Worst of all he hated that everyone knew this of him. That he dated for appearance instead of happiness. He wanted to change that.

You could only take so much of the harassment coming from the two boys on the beach, so after three hours you declared you’d had enough sun and started to pack your things. When the cover up slipped over your head you didn’t miss the applause coming from them. Rolling your eyes you grabbed your bag and started the hike up the beach. You needed a drink.

Rafe hadn’t been able to shake the thoughts over the girls he dated. After a very long recollection of every girl he had ever brought around he couldn’t think of one he actually enjoyed spending time with. With this in mind he dismissed Matt and Levi back to the office, claiming he’d find a way back on his own. He needed more time to think about this, and a stiff drink to go along with it. So that’s how he found himself now sitting directly at the bar and not inside the dark booth. The whiskey in his hand suggested he wasn’t making it back to the office anytime soon.

Normally he wouldn’t remove his focus from the drink in his hands but when a bag is slapped on the counter top beside him he finds himself lifting his head. The girl claiming the seat beside him is dressed in stark contrast to his own attire. He’s still in his work suit, tie loosened around his neck, but the girl beside him has clearly just come from the beach. Her hair is wild and wrapped in a bun a top her head. A red bikini strap peaks out the collar of the white coverup. Her breasts had left wet spots slightly see through to the red fabric of her top, like she had left the beach in a rush.

“Hit me with the usual Randy” she calls to the bar keep and Rafe can’t tear his eyes away from her. She’s bigger, sure, but the dip of her hips and small pouted lips have Rafe every bit of intrigued. He can’t help the thought of her being a girl he might’ve never noticed before escape him. He wanted to notice her now.

“Rough day?” Randy smirks at her when he’s back, a tall glass with a dark liquid set in front of her. She takes a sip before responding.

“Every day is a rough day” she mutters and Randy just chuckles before walking off to serve other customers. It’s only when your eyes lock with his own Rafe realizes he has been staring this entire time. “Let me guess, you got something to say just like everyone else today”

“I, what?” Rafe doesn’t expect the coldness from you and how strong willed you are with it too. You aren’t scared of him, he isn’t used to that.

“Listen I’ve had my fill of assholes today so if you don’t have anything nice to say, keep it to yourself” you told him before turning back forward and taking a large gulp from the drink in your hand.

“Got someone bothering you?” Rafe asked finding his cool. He finally got himself to tear his eyes away from you, eyes scanning over the liquor bottles behind the bar. You turn to look at him, eyes drawn together in confusion.

“Not one specific person, everyone for some reason thinks they have the right to comment on my appearance” your words get him to turn back at you. Normally men don’t make you nervous but when you watch him eye you up and down you can’t help the way your heart accelerates.

“I happen to think you look just fine” the scoff that falls from your lips shocks him.

“I’m not looking for your pity, I happened to over hear today that no decent self respecting man would date me so let’s not lie to each other” you tell him and Rafe now feels the air knocked from his lungs. He can’t believe anyone would say that to you. Let alone to your face.

“If it makes you feel better I was told today that I only date woman for surface things” now you were the one drawing your eyebrows together in confusion, looking to the mystery of a man beside you.

“Surface things?” you question the stranger and he chuckles, his rings clinking on his whiskey glass.

“Appearances, apparently I’ve never looked deeper” this has you chuckling right along with him, lifting your own drink to your lips.

“Look at us then, two sides of the same coin. Makes you wonder if there really is anyone out there actually happy with who they ended up with” you say mostly to yourself, knowing this perfect stranger on a normal day would never look your way but you also would never find yourself thinking you had a chance with him.

“I think there is, at least the people who weren’t chewed up and spit out by the world” the optimism is what shocks you the most when he speaks. A hope for something better down in there.

“I wish I was one of those people” you find yourself saying and the boy turns to look at you again, eyes scanning over each of your features.

“Maybe we should prove them wrong” now you’re laughing, looking bewildered towards the boy beside you.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” you ask and he smirks, clearly having some sort of plan.

“We date. I prove to my coworkers that I date someone for more than just their looks and you prove to all those assholes that you can date a guy as good looking as me” he gestures to himself, as if his body is some of God’s best work. You scoff at his clear cheekiness but actually find yourself considering.

“I don’t even know your name” you laugh, trying to remind yourself that this ideal is completely absurd.

“Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you” his hand reaches across the bar, you take notice of how long his fingers are. With the shake of your head you find yourself putting your hand in his own.

“It’s not that simple” you tell him and he just smiles, dimples forming around his pressed together lips.

“Isn’t it though?” he says, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes and you sigh, finally removing your hand from his own.

“Date? As in fake date?” you ask and he nods, his head tipping to the side.

“Exactly, an agreement of sorts. We both benefit from each other, everything to gain and nothing to lose” he tells you like he’s already worked out every way this could end.

“We just met” you inform him and he shrugs, implying this wasn’t an issue.

“I’ve seen people date over less” he tells you and you sigh, holding your hand out to him. He looks are your empty palm confused and you quickly roll your eyes.

“You can’t take me out ion a date without my number dream boy” you tell him and he smirks while grabbing his phone out of his pocket and placing it in your hand. He watched as you meticulously open his contacts and punch in your number. You’ve named your contact ‘baby ❤️’ but he doesn’t get your real name until you type it into other names.

“Y/N? I like that” he smiles at you and you chuckle, clicking on the profile photo to take a selfie.

“We’re already off to a bad start if you want to stop liking people for just their surface things” he likes how quick witted you are and you don’t allow him a response as you lean into his personal space. “Can’t be a real girlfriend if I don’t have a profile picture in your phone”

You smile so easily and he instantly notices how beautiful it is. He’s not looking at the camera anymore but leaning in and taking in the sweet scent of your perfume mixed with the sunscreen and salty skin. You were like a walking beach and he loved that more than anything. That is how he finds his lips pressing softly against your cheek as the camera shutter clicks on his phone. Your body has chills that you have to brush off quickly as you look at the entirely real looking photo on his screen.

“If I didn’t like what was on the surface you would never be my fake girlfriend” he finally says as he takes his phone back before you could text yourself his number.

“I don’t like how easy this is for you. Are you sure I’m your first fake girlfriend?” you ask and he laughs, eyes falling on your face again.

“The first and the only” and you decide that coming into an agreement like this with a stranger shouldn’t be this simple.

“Then we need to lay some ground rules” this has him raising his eyebrows as you grab a napkin from the bar. He watches as you leaned over, searching for a pen behind the bar. Unashamedly he took the opportunity to inspect your ass, admiring the curve and thanking the see through fabric for revealing the cheeky bikini bottoms that laid over your large curves. He had never openly allowed himself to be attracted to a bigger girl. but now he was briefly wondering what it would be like to be suffocated by one.

“So, what’s these rules?” he smirked at you once you were sat back upright in your seat. He watched as you popped the cap off the pen with your teeth and leaving it in your mouth.

“Don’t worry pretty boy, I’ll keep them simple” you tell him, dropping the cap from you lips into the bar. He felt himself flush slightly at the nickname, watching as your neat and loopy handwriting moved across the napkin.

1. Must actively text/call/interact for a week before first “official” date.

2. PDA must be limited

3. Don’t catch feelings, no matter what

4. Attend whatever event your fake significant other asks of you

5. Most of all, don’t tell anyone, ever, that this is fake

“PDA must be limited?” you roll your eyes at the fact this was the only rule he questioned but you sign at the bottom of the napkin anyway.

“I don’t want to waste all of romantic gestures on something that isn’t real” you explain to him and he nods, sliding the napkin in front of him.

“I have a lot of work dinners I would like you to attend” he says as he signs the napkin.

“I’ll try my best” you tell him and now he’s furrowing his eyebrows at you.

“It’s your rule” he points at the napkin, more confused with you than when you first walked in here. “What could you possibly be busy with?”

“Work” you tell him and he still looks confused which you find adorable. Now rule number three only applies to you.

“Every night?” he questions and you chuckle as you return the pen to the other side of the bar.

“Usually, comes with the territory” and you laugh as he continues to try and process what you’re saying.

“What territory?” he asks and you smile, finishing the drink in front of you.

“My bar” and you gesture to the building around you. Rafe suddenly realizes why you know the names of the workers and why they know your usual drink order.

“You own this place?” and you nod, sliding off your seat and grabbing your bag. You also grab the napkin, now signed by you both.

“Don’t forget rule number one handsome” you tell him before heading towards the exit, determined to have a good rest of your day off. Rafe can only watch as you walk away, baffled any of what just happened actually occurred.

“Randy, I’m gonna need a refill”

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

Comment if you want to be added to the tag list :))

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 4

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

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

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

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The flight makes you restless. It’s more than just the confinement but the company. Each time your hand wanders up to fix your shirt, it’s swatted away by another. You wince as you look at your boss, his eyes glued to his phone screen. 

You fidget and cross one leg over the other, then switch. You crane to see the baggage crate and push yourself to your feet. Before you can stand straight, you’re wrenched back down. 

“Where’re you going?” Stark challenges. 

You wince and shake your head, “just... to get my laptop. I was going to do some work.” 

“Did I tell you to do that?” 

“Well, no, sir, but--” 

“I’m your boss so you work for me. You do what I say.” He puts his phone down on the table and shifts to look you up and down. “If you’re getting up, why don’t you get your bikini and show off for me?” 

“Huh.... what? Er, sir?” Your lashes flutter and your eyes skitter back and forth. 

“Yeah, sure. Gotta make sure it’s hot tub appropriate.” He winks and nudges you. 

“Oh, uh, but...” 

“But?” He sucks his teeth and the humour drains from his face. “Do I need to report you for employee insubordination? Ha. But who exactly do I report you to? I mean, the CEO doesn’t really have anyone above him so...” 

Guilt tugs in your cheeks. You can’t admit your mistake aloud, yet you can’t defy him either. You just nod and stand. You walk slowly across the cabin. You’re not used to the floating sensation that makes you feel heavy at the same time. 

You grab your bag and unzip it. You sift around for the black one-piece.  

“Gotta try it on to get the full effect, sweetheart,” Stark snickers. 

You do up the bag and put it back. You cringe and sidle toward the bathroom. The attendant emerges from behind the curtain and you quickly hide inside the tiny compartment. You roll the door shut and look at yourself in the mirror. You look just as terrified as you feel. 

It’s just the way Stark is. He doesn’t like being refused or any glint of defiance. It all stems back to that day when you got in the way of his fun. Really, it’s your own fault. You should have been patient. You should have waited before you just ran right in. 

You turn away from your reflection and ice flows through your veins. Once he’s thoroughly humiliated you, this will be done. Or you could quit. In mid-air. Without a way home. 

Shoot. 

You switch out your business attire for the swimsuit. It’s been so long since you put it on. It’s tighter than you remember. It pulls high along your pelvis and your bottom threatens to fall out completely. You feel little better than naked. 

You face the door and gulp. You amp yourself up to emerge and when you do, you nearly collide with the attendant. Oh god! As much as you want to retreat and hide behind the door, you can’t. You’re locked in place until she disappears behind the curtain. 

Mr. Stark whistles in his seat. You approach, hands hovered over your ass, and stop just beside the leather armrest. You do your best to conceal yourself behind the empty seat. He reaches for his drink and swigs. 

“Can’t see you like that,” he chirps as he considers the dark scotch. 

“Sir... I...” 

You choke down your protest and step up. You turn to face the table and shiver as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes. He frowns at you and his cheek dimples. 

“What the fuck is that, George?” 

“Um, my swimsuit--” 

“That isn’t a bikini.” 

“I know, sir. I don’t have--” 

“I pay you enough to afford one. Don’t act all innocent with me. Turn around.” He spins his finger and you blink. You shake your head and pout. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

He snaps his fingers. You look at the window and the clouds outside. Even if you had the strength to run, you can’t. So, you do what he says. 

“Move your hands,” he demands. You pull your hands to your side and bounce on your heels. He hisses through his teeth, “whoowie, Georgie cakes, that’s a hell of a keester.” 

You quickly twirl around and clap your hands to your bottom. You sputter, “Mr--” 

He snickers and bites his lip, “come on. Put it on me, George.” 

“Hm?” Your brow furrows. 

“Don’t give me that dumb look. It makes me horny so get over here.” 

He squares his shoulders as he leans back into the leather cushion. He drags his hands up and down his pants and wiggles his hips. He purrs as he looks down at the twitch in the fabric. You inhale and hold it in until it aches. 

“Sir?” 

“Sit.” 

You turn and shift between the seat and the table. You reach back to touch the armrests to lower yourself but nearly tumble. Stark yanks your wrist and forces you in front of him. Before you can get your balance, he has you by the hips. He pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms around you. 

You wriggle and push on the armrests. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t... appropriate. This... you said... a work trip?” 

“I’m working,” he tilts beneath you. The blunt prod makes you squirm. “Hard. Lot of work to keep from blowing right now.” 

“Huh?” You try to stand but he has you trapped in his arms. 

“Keep rubbing your ass on me like that and I won’t be able to. Relax and... enjoy the flight.” He keeps an arm hooked around you and eases back. You tense as his hand spreads across your stomach, fingers petting just above your pelvis. He pulls you back and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Grab my phone for me, will ya?” 

[urfavoritedcwhore]

dinner at the lake house//henry winter x !fem!reader

smut, minors DNI!!!

warnings: swearing, over stimulation, unprotected sex, degradation, “rope” play, mention of safe word (it’s not used), let me know if i left anything out please

not proof read

lowercase intended

henry and i have had a secret romance for about five months now. it started when i stayed by his side for two straight nights, trying my best to nurse him out of one of his migraines. i had gone to the pharmacy for him, picked up his medication, hung blackout curtains on his windows, and brought him scotch and soup in efforts to get him to eat something. of course, we didn’t talk much those two days. however, in a strange way we became closer after. henry who had once been so stoned faced and reserved, invited me over for dinners three nights a week after those two rough days. over a course of a couple weeks i began to see a softer side of henry. a side that would remember my favorite tea, and be sure to pick it up for me when he was at the market. a side that patiently helped me with my greek assignments, occasionally even laughing with me when i would drink too much at dinner and switch between speaking french and english without noticing. he had pursued me. however, that’s not to say that we didn’t love eachother the same amount. it was a deep love. a love we had both had in our hearts from the moment we saw each other in greek class. a love that had finally been spoken of aloud after those few weeks of diners at his house. however, the past few days have been difficult due to minor agruments between henry and i. nothing big really. he tends to get snappy with me if i bother him while he works, which causes me to get snappy with him. this morning, francis had rang henry and told him we all were going down to the lake house at four pm, after our classes. when i awoke, henry told me the plan. i agreed, and went back to my dormitory so it wouldn’t seem as if we were walking to class together. i’m sure everyone has they’re suspicions about us, but neither of us really want to come right out and admit our relationship. due to the constant ridicule im sure bunny would put us under for no reason, we both have decided it’s just better to keep our private life private. after greek class i go back to henry’s apartment to pack a small bag to take with me to the lake house. most of my clothes live there now, after he insisted it would be easier to bring them over instead of running back and forth from his house to my dormitory. when i arrive i find him studying his books at the kitchen table, his trousers lose with no belt, his button up halfway undone, and the jacket of his suit draped along the back of the chair. i quietly walk to his room and pack my bag, along with a small one for him. i hear the telephone ring and quickly run to the living room to answer it before it could disturb henry. i want today to be a good day for us, a day where no one’s in a bad mood. i pick up the phone, “hello?”, i say softly into the receiver. “y/n? i thought i rang henry.”, i hear charles’ voice say confused. i quickly make something up, “no no, you did. i’m over at henry’s. he’s helping me with the greek assignment julian gave us today. he’s just in the washroom. what would you like me to tell him when he gets out?”, i ask kindly. “well actually i was going to ring you after i spoke to henry and tell you that francis, camila, and i are about to leave to go to pick up henry, then come to campus to collect you, bunny, and richard. i suppose we can just collect you at henry’s though? do you have your bag with you?”, he spoke with a soft friendly voice, i’ve aways loved that about charles. “actually, yes i do. i figured that you may come for henry while i was over here and brought it with me.”, i tell him. “perfect. we should be there in about fifteen minutes.”, he says. “alright, thank you charles. i’ll let henry know when he comes out.”, i tell him glancing over at henry, who’s still engulfed in his book.

charles and i say our goodbyes and i hang up the phone. i turn to henry and walk over behind the chair he’s sitting in, lightly placing my hands on his shoulder. “the twins and francis are coming to collect us.”, i say softly as i gently rub my hands up and down his shoulders. “hm? oh, one moment darling, i must finish this translation.”, he says back to me in a low, mumbling voice. i wonder if i should leave him be, but i know that most likely none of the words i’ve said to him have actually been heard by him. when he’s in his studying mode, he rarely hears anything anyone is saying to him. “love, they’ll be here soon.”, i say trying to get my point across to him. “i heard you the first time, i wish you wouldn’t bother my whilst i work. i’ve told you this many times.”, he says in a agitated voice. “fine. don’t be upset with me when they show up and you’re not dressed. i’m just trying to help.”, i say annoyed at his tone, releasing my hands from his shoulders. i walk over the couch, grabbing my book and begin to read. “you can be irritated with me, i’m only telling you what i’ve told you a million times.”, i hear henry get up from his chair and the slight ruffle of fabric, which i assume is him buttoning up his shirt. i don’t turn around to look at him, “i was simply trying to help.”, i say annoyed, my eyes not leaving my book. i hear him chuckle quietly, “you get incredibly frustrated over these things for no good reason dear.”, he says in a cocky tone. i decide that if i respond it will only escalate the situation. i silently continue reading my book. after about five more minutes of reading, there’s a knock on henry’s door. “coming!”, i say as i go into henry’s room to get my bag. i see henry in his room putting on a belt, and walk right past him. i pick up my bag, “give me a kiss darling. i know you’re frustrated with me, but i won’t be able to kiss you again until i come to your room late tonight.”, henry says catching my arm when i begin to walk out of the bedroom. even though i in fact am still frustrated, i look up at him and stand on the tips of my toes, placing a small kiss on his lips. he smiles as i drop down to the flats of my feet. “let’s go.”, i tell him walking out of the room. i answer the door and follow francis to his car, henry trailing behind us. we get in the car and say hello to our friends before driving to campus to retrieve edmund and richard. the drive is long and particularly difficult due to the fact that bunny is constantly talking about random subjects to which he knows nothing about. we arrive at the lake house at 7:15pm. the weekends are almost always spent at the lake house. richard on the boat with francis, the twins playing croquet with bunny, henry drinking a glass of scotch while studying on the porch, and me reading my book in the small hammock that hang between two trees in the front yard. since we arrive at dinner time i decide to go into the kitchen and make us all dinner. henry follows, sitting at the dining table, opening his book back up and reading. the twins, along with bunny and richard, go into the library. this leaves francis in the kitchen with me, helping me prepare dinner. we make a roast and vegetables from the supplies the housekeepers stocked the fridge for us with. dinner take about two hours, which is no problem since we all are accustomed to eating late. when francis and i finish making dinner, he leaves the kitchen to get the others. still slightly annoyed at our small argument from early, i look over to henry at the table. “dinner is ready…or should i not disturb you with that information.” , i say over the counter to him nonchalantly. he looks up from his book. as he opens his mouth to say something, everyone piles into the kitchen. he gives me an agitated glance and closes his book as i bring the food to the table. everyone takes their seats and begins to put food on their plates as i i sit in the seat across from henry.

“pourquoi continuez-vous à vous comporter comme un enfant.”, henry asks me, knowing no one will understand what he’s saying since we’re the only ones who speak fluent French. “je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles.”, i say back to him, not looking up from the peice of roast on my plate i’m cutting. “as-tu besoin d'être baisé ou quelque chose comme ça”, he asks me with shaking his head with a low cocky chuckle. i look up, shocked at his words, and realize everyone is looking at us confused. “henry’s helping me with my french. he says it will help to speak it randomly.”, i lie to them. “ohhh okay.”, camila says with a smile, and continues her conversation with richard, as everyone else resumes their own conversations. “je ne sais pas, est-ce que je”, i shoot back to him in a calm voice, to not draw attention from the others. “je pense que tu en as besoin”, he says raising his eyebrows at me. camila nearly chokes on her water, henry and i turn to her simultaneously. “Camila tu parles français ?”, i say to her suspiciously. she laughs softly, “je parle assez pour savoir ce que vous dites”, she says shifting her eyes between us with a grin. henry and i look at each other shocked. “ne t'inquiète pas, je ne le dirai pas aux autres”, she says in a genuine tone. bunny chimes in, “what are you three weirdos talking about?”, he asks with a mouthful of food. camila and i let out a small laugh. “we’re just talking about our days bun, i promise your not missing anything interesting.”, camila says to him with a sweet smile. i look back at henry, “nous pourrons en parler après le dîner”, i say with a cocky smile. camila giggled, “non, s'il te plaît, parle-en maintenant, je suis intrigué”, she says looking at me with big smirk. henry turns towards me, “nous pouvons en discuter dans votre chambre ce soir.”, he says before looking back down at his plate with a red face. “es-tu gêné ?”, i ask him with a laugh. “non, mais si je continue à parler, tu pourrais l'être”, he warns me looking up and lifting his eyebrows at me. “try me.”, i say in English to him, smiling and rolling my eyes. “continue d'agir de cette façon et je te baiserai si fort que toute la maison t'entendra pleurer mon nom.”, he says with a slight irritated smile while shaking his head. camila looks at me with wide eyes, “i think im going to get a bottle of scotch, you two continue the conversation without me.”, she tells us leaving the table and walking into the kitchen. i look back at henry, taunting him, “chérie, je ne crois pas que tu le feras vraiment, je pense que tu seras simplement le gentleman que tu es toujours. trop peur de me baiser comme un vrai homme.”, i say to him with a disbelieving laugh. he looked at me almost offended by my words before he leans back in his chair, “i suppose we’ll see won’t we.”, he returns with a shrug. he pulls out a cigarette from the pack he kept in his jacket pocket and sticks one in his mouth, lighting it as he did so. camila walks back to the table holding a bottle of scotch, “i suggest we all have a drink and go off to bed.”, she says to everyone, giving me a small wink. “i suppose i am quite exhausted.”, richard says as he lets camila fill up his glass. everyone fills up their glasses, drinks their scotch, and departs the table one by one. camila, henry, and i are left by ourselves at the table. camila looked around to make sure no one was lurking behind us before she spoke, “everyone assumes you two are together, but i always figured it was just gossip. how long have you two been seeing eachother?”, she asks curiously. henry speaks up before i can, “about five months.”, he says sipping his scotch. i pour another glass for myself as camila begins to speak, “you hide it quite well. i think the others are only a bit suspicious because of the looks you give to each other in julian’s class. although, francis swears up and down he came to your apartment one day to grab a book, and saw a brassiere.”, she says looking at henry.

i look up at henry and laugh, “i told you giving him a key was a mistake.”, i say shaking my head before taking a long sip of my drink. “ we’re luckily it was him and not bunny, i suppose. he would’ve told the whole school.”, henry says shaking his head. “don’t worry, francis didn’t tell anyone but me. even if he did i highly doubt they would believe him.”, camila says to me with a small giggle. she yawns and glances at her watch, “i should get to bed. i told francis i would share a room with him tonight. he gets quite frightened sleeping alone in this house. he swears that he’ll breathe in too much dust and choke while he’s sleeping. a bit ridiculous but well, you know how he is.”, she says standing up. “goodnight camila.”, henry and i tell her as she walks away up the stairs. “goodnight!”, she calls back as she continues to walk. henry looks at me, “go to your room, strip to your undergarments, and wait for me while i finish my scotch.”, he says in a quiet voice. “if you insist.”, i say downing the rest of my my drink, swallowing it with a gulp. “i do.”, he tells me tracing his finger around the edge of his glass while he stares into my eyes. i get up and walk to my room, glancing behind me to see henry watching me as he sips his scotch.

i arrive to my room, closing my door behind me and stripping to my undergarments as he told me to do. i wait for five minutes before deciding to grab my book and read while i wait for him. i’m finishing the chapter of the book i’m reading when i hear my door open with a quiet click. i look up and see henry smoking a cigarette and standing in front of my door. he takes a long drag and exhales the smoke before speaking. “did you enjoy acting like a brat today y/n?”, he asks as he slowly takes off his the jacket of his suit and putting the cigarette out on the ashtray that sits atop my dresser. “did you enjoy acting like a dick today henry?”, i ask with a small annoyed laugh. he walks over to my bed, pushing my hair behind my ears and holding my face. he brings his face close to mine, smiling, as if he’s going to kiss me, but passes my lips at the last moment to whisper in my ear. “don’t swear darling, it’s not attractive.”, he says before moving his head down to my neck, planting small kisses on it. normally i would shoot back a remark about how his arrogance isn’t attractive, but his lips on my neck melt me into a state of bliss. i hum softly as he disconnects from my neck and stands up straight, to look at me from above. “now what am i to do about that nasty attitude of yours?”, he asks smirking at me almost evilly. i open my mouth to respond but before i can he speaks again, “that was a rhetorical question dear, i know exactly how i’m going to handle it.”, he says bringing cupping my face in his hand and rubbing my check with his thumb. “take off my belt.”, henry says to me in a commanding voice. i decide to do what im told and remove his belt. as soon as its free from the last loop of his trousers he snatches it from my hands. “now place your wrists together.”, he tells me as he continues to look down on me. “why?”, i ask innocently, although i know exactly why he wants me to do this. he looks at me and chuckles to himself before grabbing both my wrists in one hand and pressing them together. he quickly loops the belt around my wrists, pulling it tight with his free hand. i look up at him half amused and half startled, “that’s awfully tight, i can’t imagine why you choose to tie my hands together.”, i say teasing him. he doesn’t respond, he simply pushes me flat against the bed, walks to the end of the mattress, and places himself on it crawling towards me slowly. once he reaches my legs he grabs them forcefully, spreading the open. i let out a soft gasp from how tight his grip on my thighs are. he trails his left hand up and down my inner thigh, keeping his right hand firmly gripping my other thigh. he stops right before reaching my underwear, trailing his fingers back down my thigh. “i’m trying to decide if i want to not let you cum at all, or make you cum multiple times.”, he says staring at my clothed pussy. “do you deserve to cum tonight?”, he says shifting his eyes to me. my core is so neglected from his teasing that i drop any ounce of brattiness left in my body, and begin to nod my head frantically as i prop myself up on my elbows to look down at him. he laughs, “you were so full of words at dinner tonight, can you not speak anymore darling?”, he says before straightening his face and using a more serious deep tone, “lay back down.”. i release myself from my elbows and fall back against the mattress. “now answer me with words, do you deserve to cum?”,. he repeats before pressing soft kisses up and down my thighs. “yes”, i say practically moaning. “are we going to continue to be bratty?”, he asks disconnecting his lips from my thighs, and stroking his index finger up and down my clothed slit. my thoughts jumble as i try to answer. henry has never acted this way before, he usually is such a gentleman when you two sleep together. “no”, i say as my breath hitches. “good answer darling, now, je veux que tu me surveilles.”, he says standing up from the bed and removing his trousers along with his button up . i do what im told and prop myself up against the head board, using my elbows to wiggle my way up.

henry laughs at my struggle as he climbs back on the the bed, reaching over and unclipping my bra, throwing it to the ground. “lift your hips.”, he says as he hovers above me, his knees on either side of mine. i lift my hips and he pulls down my underwear in one swift motion, “open.”, he says nodding to my mouth. confused, i open my mouth suspiciously. before i can even realize what’s going on, my balled up underwear are in my mouth as a gag. he smiles looking down at me, still straddling me without our body’s touching. my exposed pussy lays on the bed begging for touch. i watch him as he slowly begins to pull his hardened cock out of the slit of his boxers. i grow excited waiting for him to penetrate me, but instead he quickly swipes one hand up my slit, collecting my wetness. his hand moves so fast i wouldn’t have even known he touched me if i wasn’t looking so intensely at him. he takes the hand he used to collect my slick with, and begins rubbing himself up and down with it. i moan into my underwear at the sight of this glorious man. he looks as if he is a stone cut out of a greek god. his muscles prominent, he’s forehead glowing with sweat, and his eyes hungry with desire. i struggle trying to buck my hips up to catch friction with him. “oh no baby, not yet, your gonna have to wait like a good girl.”, he says raising himself up higher and leaving my hips only connected with the air. he laughs when he sees the pained look on my face, “are you mad your getting consequences to your actions darling? would you rather me fuck you like a gentleman?”, he asks still stroking himself as he looks down at me. i desperately reach down to my core to touch myself but he grabs my arms restraining them back against my chest, “you do that again duchess, and you’ll sleep with those fucking restraints on.”, he spits at me his teeth clenched. my face turns a bright red, i feel as if im a student being scolded at school. i think this might be the only time i’ve ever heard henry swear in English. i leave my hands against my chest as i continue to moan into my underwear while he strokes himself. the aching in my untouched core is so strong i feel as if i might cry. “if i take these out of your mouth,”, he motions to the underwear, “i don’t want to hear whining. all i want to hear are begs for me, understand?”, he says with a raised eyebrow. i nod frantically as he reaches and pulls the bundle up panties from my mouth. i look at him with awe for a moment as he parts his lips to let out a groan from the feeling of his hand rubbing his dick. “are you going to start begging or should i put these back in your mouth?”, he says holding up the underwear when he notices my silence. my mouth moves faster than my brain and my words form into one gigantic word, “please henry i’m so sorry for being bratty today, please let me feel you, please touch me, please let me touch you, please give me anything.”, i beg as his face glimmer with a cocky smile. “if you say so.”, he shrugs his shoulders and pushes his entire length into me without warning. my face contorts as i moan in all but a scream. he leaves himself buried inside of me as he pulls my legs down, making my body drop flat to the mattress, his following mine down. “fuck!”, i moan as i feel his length stretching me. he stays unmoving inside of me, “no no, i only want to hear pretty words come out of that pretty mouth, okay?”, he says looking into my eyes. “henry please move, please move.”, i beg as my body craves the motion he’s restricting me from. “i want you to say, ‘yes sir henry, only pretty words will come out of my pretty slutty mouth.’ first.”, he tells me turning his head sideways and smirking at my pain. “yes sir henry, only pretty words will come out of my pretty slutty mouth.”, i whimper before connecting my lips with his neck ,frantically trying to make him move. “ok darling, i hear you.”, he says before pounding in and out of me as fast as humanly possible.

i moan as i feel his dick hitting the sweet spot inside of me, “it’s so good henry”, i say as he groans. he brings his hand up to my clit, rubbing small circles around it.“i want you to count out loud how many times you cum.”, he says as he continues pounding into me. the looks of his beautiful face, along with his words and the pleasure he’s making me feel, bring me to the edge. he sees my face start to contort as he continues rubbing me and hitting my g-spot. “count it.”, he tells me. the bottom of my stomach releases its knot and i feel a wave of pleasure run over my body. “one”, i moan, dragging out the word as i ride out my high. henry doesn’t even slow down. he continues ramming inside of me, the slaps of our skin echoing in my room. i feel slight pain mixed with my pleasure as my pussy throbs with sensitivity. “henry i-”, he cuts me off, “no. if you really need me to stop say red. i’m not stopping until i hear that word or until i cum.”, he spits at me fiercely. through these words and the pleasure of my last high still wearing down, i feel the knot in my stomach tightening again. “your so pretty when your getting the brattiness fucked out of you y/n.”, he says as he grips my left breast, lightly pinching my nipple. the knot in my stomach releases again and my back arches as i feel the second wave of pleasure roll over my body. “two!”, i practically scream in pleasure. i feel henry’s thrusts getting sloppy and ignore the over stimulation in my pussy as i clench around him. “Putain!”, he moans in french before grabbing my face with his hand. “i want you to look at me while i cum. better yet, i want you to cum with me one last time.”, he says smirking at me as groans. i concentrate on his face and the thoughts of all the things he’s said to me tonight. and before i can even tell that i’m about to cum, he says sharply, “now.”, i feel him spill into me as my body contorts with pleasure, my legs shaking and my fists clenching. we both moan loudly as he rides out his high inside of me. after a few more seconds inside of me, he pulls out and collapses beside me. “is your attitude gone?”, he asks sitting up and grabbing my pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. i nod in a loss of words for what i just experienced. he chuckles at my response, “good darling. now come here.”, he says holding his arms open, a cigarette hanging between his teeth. i sit up and immediately collapse back down into his arms and onto his chest. “remember that next time you want to act like a brat, i’m not gonna allow you to cum at all. tonight was your one free pass”, he whispers as he lights the cigarette.

A/N: WOOO SHES DONEEE. ok so if yall fw this i will certainly do more henry winter smuts

[holylulusworld]

Let's hunt Nessie

Summary: You came for bones. Dean wants to go on a special hunt.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x GN!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: fun, crack!fic

“Now that we have the dusty bones of good old Crowley, can we go sightseeing? I’ve never been to Scotland before.” You excitedly clap your hands, giddy to play tourist for one day. “Right, Sammy. You want to explore Scotland and its mysteries too.”

Sam nods. He found this old library, and he’d love to explore it some more. Dean insisted on getting Crowley’s bones as fast as possible and Sam didn't have much time to look at the books.

“We are going back to Lebanon. No detours.” Dean shakes his head. He’s done with Scotland, the left-hand traffic, and the piss (his words) they call beer. “I want beer, my baby, and to sleep for a fucking week after getting in an airplane twice!”

“But—” You pout and fake a sob. “I want to go and explore Scotland! Let’s visit Stonehenge, the National Museum of Scotland, and Loch Ness!” You count all the places you always want to visit in Scotland. “Maybe we'll see Nessie too!”

“Nessie?” Dean cocks a brow. He had heard that name before but forgot its origin. “What’s a Nessie?” The hunter puts Crowley’s bones in a pillowcase and huffs. “We don’t have time to try out a fancy ice cream or another cake monstrosity.”

“Dude,” you snort at Dean’s comment. “Did you never hear of the monster of Loch Ness before? It’s famous, Dean.”

Dean slowly turns his head to look at his brother. He furrows his brows, his mouth falling open.

“Sammy, why didn’t you tell me there’s a monster nearby? We are not on a vacation!” Dean walks toward the rented car, stopping in his tracks to curse. “Crap, we don’t have guns!”

“Dean!” You laugh when the hunter starts pacing back and forth. “DEAN!”

“Just a minute,” he says and raises his hand. “I have to find a weapon.” He turns back around and looks at Sam. “Wait! Sammy! Scotland has lots of castles, right?”

“Uh—sure.” Sam nods, unsure what his brother is up to. “Why are you asking?”

“Castles were protected by knights,” Dean hums to himself. “Knights had swords and battle axes.” His eyes grow wide, and he grins. “Oh! OH! Sonofabitch! They had ball and chain flails and morning stars too!”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Dean.” Sam rubs his tired eyes. “We should head out. I don’t want to get caught with Crowley’s bones in our hands.”

“No, no, Sammy! We have to find a castle first and get all the weapons,” Dean stops his brother from turning his back on the battle Dean wants to fight. “After we got the weapons, we are ready to fight that monster.”

You gape at Dean. So far, you believed he tried to make fun of you or crack a joke. But he seems to be adamant about hunting Nessie down. “Dean, you can’t hunt Nessie!”

“Why not?” He cocks his head. “It’s a monster. We hunt monsters. Do not try to stop me only because we are not residents of Scotland.”

You snort. Sam chuckles.

“What’s so funny, Sammy? Did you lose your mojo on the flight? Don’t you want to hunt a monster? I could use a good fight.” Dean cracks his knuckles and looks your way. “What about you, Y/N?”

“Dean, I never say no to a hunt, but,” you snicker and hold your stomach. “No one knows for sure if Nessie exists. It’s a mythos, a legend. Nothing else. You can’t hunt an enemy that doesn’t exist for real.”

“And we won’t break into a castle to steal antique weapons,” Sam sternly says. He points his index finger at Dean to stop him from arguing. “Let’s leave Nessie and its legend alone. If it’s going to cause trouble, we can always come back.”

Dean sighs and pouts. All he wanted was to hunt a monster down.

“Well, if you’re up to it,” you say, “we can visit the Scotch Whiskey Experience in Edinburgh.”

Dean’s eyes light up. He licks his lips and slowly nods. “You’re going to buy me the most expensive whiskey if you forbid me to hunt Nessie.”

Tags in reblog.

[augustvandyne]

An Addie ask for you!

Addie sees y/n getting hit on at a bar, which y/n he clearly uncomfortable with. Addison swoops in and saves the day

this just drew my attention immediately and i actually need this to happen to me. friend addie who swoops in to save reader, but reader has a fat crush on addie?????

also a tiny bit of angst

saving grace

You grimace as a big whiff of scotch reaches your nose. This man has been talking for at least twenty minutes about something you didn’t care about, and he wouldn’t go away.

He also kept inching closer to you, and you sat up straighter by the minute, ready at any time to reach for your pepper spray.

You look around the bar once again, looking for someone - anyone from the hospital. But there’s no one here.

You’ve stopped turning your head when someone comes in the door, because you’ve honestly lost all hope for a saving grace.

You huff out a sigh as he changes the topic to his job for the twelfth time. You were tired of hearing about how his work crush turned him down and that he needs someone to fulfill his needs.

You tense when you feel a hand grab your hip, but relax a bit when the familiar smell of Addison���s perfume reaches your nose.

“Hey,” Addison smiles, leaning down to leave a kiss on your cheek. “Go along with it.”

“Hi love,” You smile up, leaning up to place a small kiss on her lips.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be with Addison, because you already wish you were. And you’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized about it before.

“How was your day?” Addison takes a seat on your side, moving to push the man out of her way.

Your cheeks heat slightly, “Fine.”

“Derek wasn’t treating you bad again, was he?” Addison frowns.

This was all normal conversation to you, but it held more intimacy than normal. Probably because you just had your first kiss. You loved it.

“Hey, lady!” The guy slurs.

Addison holds up her pointer finger to silence him, “Because I’ll talk to him for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” You shrugged and look down at the counter. “It’s my fault for messing up.”

“Hey,” Addison shakes her head, tilting your head towards her again. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I mean..” You sigh. “He’s not lying.”

“Y/n,” Addison frowns. “You’re extraordinary. If Derek can’t see that, then maybe you should study under another neurosurgeon. Or even switch specialties all together. Come work with me.”

You shake your head, letting out a small but breathy chuckle, “Maybe.”

“I’ll request you for next week,” Addison gives you a look, and you’re lost in her eyes for a minute.

“Hold on,” She tells you, turning in her seat. “If you don’t stop breathing in my ear, I will kick you in a place you don’t want to be kicked.”

“Sorry lady,” He put his hands up. “But that’s my date. We were here first.”

“That’s my girlfriend,” Addison turns her body, her hand on her hip, and her head tilted. You imagine her eyebrows are raised, because the man backs off, going to bother someone else.

You let out a sigh, “Thank you, Addie.”

“Of course sweetheart,” Addison shrugs it off.

“No, really,” You smile gratefully. “I almost maced him. If you had been a few minutes later.. I might have been facing charges.”

Addison laughs at that, “I don’t doubt it. I see you gripping your spray.”

She grabs your hand and removes it from your pocket.

A tingling sensation is left on your skin after she lets go, and you look away, embarrassed, because you know none of this would ever be real.

“Thanks for the help,” You put some money on the bar table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Why?” Addison stands. “I just got here.”

“I’m tired,” You try to shrug it off, but she isn’t having it.

“Did he actually do something to you?” You see fury growing in her eyes. “Or was it Derek? I’ll talk to him tomorrow, just stay here.”

You shake your head, “No.. it’s not that it’s..”

She looks at you like she’ll listen to whatever you have to say, but you know it’s not real.

“You know what? It’s nothing,” You laugh at yourself bitterly, pushing the door to the bar open, and breathing in the fresh air.

“Talk to me,” Addison grabs your wrist, pulling you back into her.

You spin into her arms, your hands landing on her shoulders while her hands are on your back. Your breath is caught in your throat at how close your faces are.

“Addison..” You bite the inside of your cheek. “You don’t feel it, do you?”

“Yes, Y/n. I have for a while now,” Addison admits softly.

“Me too..” You smile. “Since you started here and gave me my first cup of coffee from you.”

Addison smiles at the thought.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, lifting a hand to your cheek.

“Please do,” You nod vigorously as her lips meet yours.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Now Presenting...

Starring: A Love-Sick Nanami Kento

Synopsis:You and Nanami have been friends for benefits for quite a while now, with no issue! At least, no issue as far as you knew. Kento's caught feelings for you though, and even though he knows he should stay away and get over this crush, he simply can't ignore your 1:45 am "You Up?" text.

Warning: This fic is a drabble containing angst (if ya squint), fluff, and is really just smut with some plot thrown in. Rating NC17, Reader Discretion is advised ;)

Oh, and if you'd like, why not check out my Masterlist?

Nanami was awake again. It was 1:45 in the morning, and he was awake. Fuck. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He wondered if he should just give up the fight; accept that he was just going to be tired in the morning and indulge his Netflix binging demons. He sighed in defeat, grabbing the remote. Before he could turn anything on though, his phone vibrated next to him. He grabbed it before his brain could fully register what he was doing.

It was 1:45 in the morning. Only one person in the world was going to text him at 1:45 in the morning. He checked his messages and yep. Just as he was expecting. 

One New Message from Darling: hey, you awake?

Nanami was pretty sure he was worth more than a generic “You Up” text. In fact, He knew he was. And he knew that responding to that text was the worst possible thing he could do at that moment. He wanted far more out of this than she ever would. Catching feelings was probably the second stupidest thing a person could do, preceded only by continuing to sleep with the person you have one sided feelings for. He wouldn’t do that to himself.

Yeah, I’m up. Why are you awake?

God damn it Kento. He cursed himself silently for doing this to himself again. One day one day he would grow a spine strong enough to put his phone down when she messaged, or at least put it on silent. But apparently that day was clearly not today. He groaned softly as he propelled himself out of bed, grabbing a shirt to throw on. The first top he touched was an ancient Tool shirt from when he was still in college. He thought about grabbing something nicer, but ultimately threw it on. Not like he’d be wearing it for long anyway. He did manage to put on jeans to look at least a little more put together.

Darling: I’m thinking about you ;) I got a bottle of Blue Label that’s been begging me to open it. Wanna come help me drink it?

Not really. Nanami wasn’t a huge fan of blended scotch. He knew this, he knew you knew this. But, it wasn’t about the scotch, was it?

Johnnie Walker? I’m already on my way.

He hoped the sarcasm read through the text. He hoped the sarcasm didn’t read through the text. He didn’t really know what he hoped for honestly. What he did know was that he wanted to be with you. He was also pretty sure you didn’t want to be with him in the same way, and that he should at least try to get some distance. He wanted to get over this crush. He didn’t want to get over this crush. He grabbed his keys, deciding he’d sort out his tangled emotions some other time. 

🥀🥀🥀

He always felt silly trying to get his nerves together long enough to knock on your door. He was a fully grown man getting butterflies at the thought of being with a girl, it was silly! But, at the same time, it wasn’t just a girl. It was Y/n. It was a girl who had always been there with him, and supported him though some of the darker times in his life. The girl he thought he was going to marry back when he was in highschool. The girl he wouldn’t mind wifing up now if she gave him the chance. But, why would she? He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

You were all smiles when you opened the door, wearing a sleep set Nanami knew you didn’t actually sleep in. It was small, and clung to you perfectly, only a few steps away from being basically lingerie. It made him proud to know you wore it for him. 

“Well hello Gorgeous,” He smiled, placing a hand on your hip and leaning in to kiss your cheek, “Do you always get dressed up so pretty to go to sleep?” He teased.

“Nope, only when I’m expecting company.” You giggled, moving out of the door to let him in. 

“You get company in the middle of the night often?” He asked as he sat on your couch, trying to hide his absolutely unfounded jealousy. 

“Check your phone if you really want the answer.” you said as you closed the door and joined him on the sofa. He chuckled softly, happy to know he was your only late night visitor. You smiled as you curled into his side, taking in his familiar warmth. He wrapped his arm around you to pull you closer. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked.

“No, not at all,” He assured you, “You know I don’t sleep anyway.” He joked. He’d struggled with insomnia and night terrors for years. If anything, the distraction alone was welcome.

“You really should work on that,” you joked, “Sleep is important you know.”

“You're one to talk,” he laughed, “You’re up too you know.”

“Hey, I tried to go to sleep!” You protested with a giggle, “It’s not my fault I woke up. I had a dream.”

“Is that so?” Nanami asked, tilting his head at you in amusement. “And what were you dreaming about, Beautiful?” you grinned and bit your lip, deciding to use this opportunity to take some initiative. You moved to placed yourself on top of

him, putting one of your legs on either side of his hips and placing your hands on his shoulders for balance.

“I was dreaming about you Kento,” You purred softly to him. He smiled, placing his hands firmly on your hips to keep you stable. God, you always looked gorgeous from this view. It was his favorite way to have you.

“Were you now Princess?” He muttered, “What were we doing in your dream?” 

“This.” You said, leaning down to kiss him. Smooth. He chuckled softly before pulling you in closer, pulling your bottom lip into his teeth. You gasped softly at the gentle pain, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

There was something undeniably right about kissing Nanami. The way his mouth fit perfectly against yours, the way his soft lips moved, how he always tasted like strong tea and mint. You would kiss Nanami for an eternity if the world would have let you. And he would have happily obliged. 

His left hand glided up from your hip to tangle in your hair. He gave it a quick, sharp tug, lighting a fire in your core and pulling a soft moan from your throat. Nanami chuckled softly.

“You sound so pretty when you do that.” He said, his right hand moving in between your legs, leaving you clinging to his shoulders for balance. “I want to hear more.” Your shorts were small enough you might as well have not bothered with them. It was only when he moved the crotch aside that he realized why you had.

“Commando huh?” He teased, “It’s almost like you were expecting this.”

“Oh shut up-!” You tried to laugh, but Nanami’s thick fingers running up your slit cut your words off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Princess, were you saying something? I didn’t quite catch that.” He smirked, swirling tight circles into your puffy clit. You could feel the slick gather between your legs, killing any retort you had before it escaped your lips. Nanami knew your body better than anyone else you’d ever been with, and took every opportunity he could to remind you of that fact when the two of you were together. 

Every movement of his digits sent another wave of illicit electricity through you and to your core. Wave after wave, building up into a riptide pleasure threatening to take you underneath it. You moaned out shakily, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gripped him tighter, getting lost in ecstasy.

And Nanami couldn’t get enough of the sight. You always looked breathtaking, but something about watching you come undone on top of him always set his heart into overdrive. “Fuck, you look so pretty.” He muttered to you, “Feel good?” He asked. You nodded to him. You had about one good sentence left in you, and you wanted to use it for this.

“P-please Sir…wanna cum on your cock..” You whimpered to him, looking up at him from under long lashes. Fuck. Kento was honestly lucky he didn’t cum right then and there in his jeans. You always knew exactly what to say to leave him even further wrapped around your finger, a slave to your every beck and call. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” He grinned. He took the opportunity to rip the crotch of your shorts in two, giving him much easier access. You didn’t really care about losing the cheap set, much more interested in unbuttoning Kentos jeans and getting his cock into you. You bit your lip as you got him out. You wouldn’t say this about many guys, but Kento genuinely had a pretty dick.

His hands found your hips, and despite his better judgment his eyes met yours as he guided you down onto his length. This was always his favorite part, the part that played on repeat in his head on nights when you didn’t text him. Watching the way your eyes screwed shut, how you bit your lip, the sharp breath you pulled in as you braced for impact. Fuck. He let out a shaky moan as he finally pushed into you, your velvety walls pulling him even further in.

“Kento, fuck” You moaned out, sharp spikes of pleasure rippled out from your core as he graced your g-spot. You could feel yourself quiver around him. You were so close earlier, you knew you weren’t going to last long now. 

“Jesus christ, you belong in a museum.” Kento mumbled as he took in your features. You were a piece of art to be praised and prized, and he fully intended to make you believe that you were. He bucked his hips up, and you saw stars. 

“You feel so good Sir,” You muttered, tangling your fingers into Nanami’s hair and pressing your forehead to his. Every movement of his hips sent another wave of euphoria through you, only intensifying the tsunami building up inside of you and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami was lost. He could feel his heart rate picking up, and it wasn’t from the physical activity he was performing. You were so close, too close. Your soft breathy moans filled his ears, your scent filled his lungs. You felt so, so perfect in his arms. He was convinced only you could make such a sinful act look so divine. Against his will, thoughts of your laugh and your smile entered his mind. 

Memories of the two of you working perfectly together, celebrating all the events in your life together, big and small. You may have seen a friend when you looked at him, or worse, a late night hook up. But when he looked at you, he saw the woman he wanted to build a life with.

 “God, you're perfect Y/n,” He whispered to you, “You’re so fucking good for me, so pretty. So fucking sweet and kind, and fuck. I love you Y/n.”

FUCK.

“Wai, wha?” You slurred, trying to look at him. Nanami was quick though, flipping you off of him and onto your hands and knees before you could see his panicked eyes. He did not just fucking say that, motherfucker Kento! What were you thinking?!

“I said, I fucking love your cunt,” He rasped out, ramming into you with enough force to hopefully knock the memory out of your mind. You found your face shoved into one of your decorative pillows while he rammed into you from behind. The new angle left you screaming profanities into the pillow. Every push of his hips set your blood on fire, creating an inferno inside your core that threatened to burn you alive.

“Kento!” You yelled out.

“Yea, that’s right Princess, say it again.” Nanami said, trying to distract himself from his colossal mistake. It wasn’t hard to do when your pussy was gripping him like a vice, pulling him right back in every time he pulled out. He held your hips tight enough to leave bruises you could take fingerprints off of. He wanted you to remember he was there when he was gone. 

“Kento, please, I-I’m close..” You stuttered out, feeling the knot in your stomach get tighter and tighter.

“Is that right pretty girl?” He asked, pushing into you with a vengeance. This was probably going to be the last time you called him over, he was going to make the most of it. His right hand slipped down your body, and two of his fingers found your clit. He massaged expert circles into it, pulling a truly embarrassing moan from you. His every move sent your nervous system into overdrive. Your head was filling with fluff and your blood felt explosive.

“Then come on. Cum all over my cock like the dirty girl you are.” Something in his words and everything in his movements sang to your pleasure receptors. A few more swirls from his fingers and a few more thrusts of his hips and you were coming undone. The knot inside your stomach exploded into a thousand waves of pleasure and oxytocin. You swear you saw white as the tsunami overtook you. 

And Nanami wasn’t that far behind. The way you seized around him, your warm walls enveloping him and trying to pull him impossibly further in undid him. He barely managed to pull out, cumming all over your back and ass as he did. It was a pretty fucking sight. He would have taken a picture if he was about 40% more coherent. 

You collapsed face first onto the couch, and Nanami braced himself on the back, still breathing hard. His confession was still ringing in his head. Did you buy his lie? Probably not. You were smarter than that. 

Fuck.

Once his breathing started to regulate, he finally stood up, fixing his pants and going to your bathroom. He returned not long later with a warm, damp washcloth, cleaning up the mess he made on your back. You groaned out softly.

“Sorry about the mess.” He muttered once you were cleaned up. His fingers gently traced the outline of your spine before he patted you gently. “Come on, let's get you to bed.” He muttered. 

He threw the rag in your hamper as he got you into your bed. “Stay with me?” You muttered softly. Oh, good. That probably meant you didn’t hear his confession. Or you did and were completely okay with leading him on forever. But, that wasn’t like you. He nodded and laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was only going to make things worse for him in the end. But he couldn't help it. All he ever wanted was to be close to you.

“Hey Kento?” You muttered softly.

“Yea Y/n?” He asked softly.

“I love you too.”

[nectardaddy]

B.I.L.L.S , t. hanamaki

american hero. . . b.i.l.l.s. by towa bird

If I had a dollar then I wouldn't have to bother 'bout the bills. I'm so tired of paying rent.

pairing : hanamaki takahiro x f!reader

cw/notes : poverty/financial insecurity, conversation about/wishing for "what could be" (and a deep dive into the feeling of wanting), use of the pet name "sweetheart," humor as a coping mechanism, language, eating used as a metaphor, lots of metaphors in general, established long-term relationship, I am genuinely very proud of this fic so if you got tagged out of the blue that's why <3

word count : 2.6k

The apartment was dingy and run down, a muted tone of gray that submerged the entire cramped space into desolace. A desolace that bled into the other rooms, through the floorboards, through every nook and cranny of the compact unit - through the bones of the pair that inhabited it. Pictures and posters littered the drab walls. Old developed pictures and various music flyers stuck to drywall with bits and pieces of scotch tape - real frames were far too expensive - as they tried desperately to combat the dreary aura of the space. 

But it was difficult to fight against such longing; around every corner being yet another issue that would only ever be resolved with the one thing the pair didn’t have: funds. Air conditioning that went out every other month, as the landlord was too stingy to really fix it and complained with every call and maintenance request about the issue. Mold in the air vents, water pressure that was just short of a small stream, a lock on the door that barely bolted with a small chain lock that was used as a "replacement" that didn't really do anything. It reeked of dust and mildew, a musty smell that lingered no matter how many candles were lit and blown out. And trial and error to shut the, horribly painted, bedroom room; over the months they learned to turn the knob and slam rather than just slam. 

It was a constricted, at times uncomfortable; limited space meaning old cardboard boxes stayed within the living area or bedroom - mementos gathered dust that all but covered the unit entirely. Memories shoved in a box that would barely ever see the light of day, or simply, didn’t want to. Such a place didn’t deserve such warmth. A god forsaken space didn’t deserve the radiant coziness that came with trinkets and baubles, didn’t deserve the framed pictures - that would crash to the ground anyway, as the drywall often crumbled and fragmented - and surely didn’t deserve the mellow residents who resided in it. 

Both home from work, and both exhausted beyond belief, they sat together on an old, thrifted loveseat. A gaudy flower pattern that was stained and smelled of cigarettes from the latter owners, but a place to sit nonetheless. The man shuffled through a slew of mail, the woman, with her eyes closed and trying not to fall asleep right then and there, sat next to him. 

“I’m so fucking tired of paying this shit,” he grumbled before throwing the envelopes onto the rickety coffee table. A table that was discounted, dirt cheap, as one leg was cracked and wobbly. Oftentimes, it broke when too much weight was put on it, duct tape lined the connection between the leg and table itself. All it held was other envelopes - bills, an array of clipped coupons, and a long forgotten coffee cup, that’s rim was chipped and the handle cracked. 

“Then don’t,” the woman hummed in response, a cheeky reply to a serious notion. An exhaustion riddled in her voice that made him look over and sigh, heart strings pulled taut at seeing her weary form. “We can run away together and never have to see this shit hole again.” 

He stayed quiet for a moment, letting a pause settle between them. Allowed the sound of the fan in the far corner of the room to take over the silence he offered, the hum of it engulfed the room as it rotated to cool the entire apartment. “Maybe we should,” he sighed before a small smile pulled at his lips. “We can go off grid and everything, y’know they make shows about people that live like that, right? We could be famous.”

A breath of air passed through the woman’s nose as she chuckled, and she opened her eyes to look over at him. “You’re an idiot.” Even as she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but notice just how tired she looked. Her eyes were dark and hazy, unfocused even, as it seemed like all she wanted to do was close them again - to sleep. Her work uniform crumbled and wrinkled as she sat with her legs up on the small couch, too worn out to change upon coming, to what they reluctantly called, home. 

Home, to them, was coming back at odd hours. Never fully holding each other as the other had to whisk themselves away - to provide, to work. Times were fleeting, just as much as the money that came in. Gone within a second and drained from responsibilities. Every second together was taken with an ironclad grip, and sewn together with cups upon cups of coffee just to try and enjoy it all.

“Where would you want to go if we had the money to leave?” The off kilter question left his lips easily, without much thought put behind it. Because to him, that's all he ever thought about - leaving. He hoped one day he was able to scrape up enough funds, pack everything up, and leave the cramped unit all together with her by his side.

“Anywhere, honestly, this place sucks ass.” She groaned as she stretched her legs off the loveseat. A series of pops from overworked limbs hit his ears and made him frown - she didn't deserve to be this tired, not for this piece of shit apartment. Not for anything.

“I’m serious.” His normal, almost whimsical, tone went with the wind as he sat up a little straighter. He looked over to her with red tinged eyes, fatigued and strained, that swirled with an unforeseen worry.

“So am I.” A curt reply as she locked eyes with him. A realist, maybe a bit pessimistic to some, but the woman grounded herself in reality more than he. Didn't want to waste herself away with thoughts of what could be than what is. What could be was a sham, a figment of imagination she couldn't bear herself to think about often; as the thought of what is yanked her to the very pits of longing that she would later have to tear herself out of. 

“I know where I’d want to go.” A dream he hadn’t told her before, he wished he had the money to surprise her with it. But that day was far off in the distance, a mere glimmer of a memory, and he cracked under the pressure of wanting to share. At least this way, they could experience the dream together.

“Yeah? Where?” She closed her eyes again and let her head fall to his shoulder. 

“I’d want to go to Tokyo.”

She snorted at the thought, “spare me, Hiro, not this shit again.” A half hearted joke that landed a bit on edge, toed the line of snappy through drowsy laced words. A former wish she had heard before from him, a joke to only go to Tokyo to get piss drunk with friends. 

“No, not the bar hopping thing.” He assured and waved off the remark with a small chuckle. 

“Good, because you do that shit with Mattsun here anyway. You don’t need to drag me to Tokyo just for me to babysit you two idiots there.” Babysitting, truly, was an understatement to the woman. The thought made her cringe as she recalled past memories of his dear friend passed out in their bathroom, head in the toilet and completely out cold. 

“I want to take you to Ueno Park to see the cherry blossoms one day.” His voice was a twinge quieter than before, a bit breathless as he couldn’t believe himself for finally saying the dream aloud. Deep brown eyes shifted over to look at the woman, whose head still rested on his shoulder - completely silent.

The comment had her at a lack of words, letting another silence pass by them once more; but it lingered far too long. A silence that, as moments passed, began to have a weight to it and started to suffocate her. Every inhale became shallower than the last, and she couldn’t find it within herself to take a single breath more of the humid, musky air the apartment provided. She felt herself tumble into the gaping hole of wanting, needing, craving - pure, unbridled hunger for more than what is. A ravishing feeling that took her by the shoulders and shoved, falling head first into the empty, hollow feeling of what could be.

What could be was far from reality, what could be couldn’t happen.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked over at him, eyes a bit wider than before and lips parted through means to say something - nothing ever came. “You told me three years ago you wanted to do that.” Quiet words answered her unspoken question and she sucked in a breath. She remembered telling him that vividly, could recall the day to a tee as it held importance to her.

It rained that day, poured down onto the street as they ran back to their shared apartment - a better one than what they had now. Steps taken hastily, hand in hand, as he practically dragged her through the downpour with a laugh. Both forgot an umbrella, so they ran through the rain getting more and more soaked with every step. It wasn’t far from their unit, the pair only went down the street to a convenience store. But the storm they tried to outrun inevitability caught up with them, so the leisurely walk back home turned to a sprint.

Upon their return, they found themselves sprawled out on their bedroom floor. Their clothes drenched from rain and water puddled onto the hardwood underneath them. A silly action, to lay on the floor wet. But neither minded as they giggled and laughed with one another, enjoying the other’s company. 

Strawberry blonde hair stuck to his forehead and he raked a hand through it. A chuckle left his lips from an earlier conversation before he looked over at her once more, “if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?”

“What kind of question is that, Hiro?” A teasing tone laced within her cadence as she locked eyes with him. Bright and hopeful, full of love, and not an ounce of exhaustion swirling within them.

“One that I’m curious about, obviously, so indulge me.” The whimsy in his words was easily apparent, one of which she got used to quickly. And there was a sass in the timbre of his voice that muddled with care, a juxtaposition to his usual standalone brassiness. 

“What’s yours?”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

He watched the woman smile before she averted her eyes to the ceiling, scrunched her brows in thought a moment before she looked at him once more. “Probably Ueno Park, in April, to see the cherry blossoms.”

“Are you serious? Anywhere in the world, and you want Tokyo?” He never looked away from the woman throughout the conversation, and when she met his gaze once more he smiled. 

“Did you ask just to make fun of me, asshole?”

“No, god no.” He laughed, lips pulling into a silly smile before he took her hand in his own. “I’m just trying to figure out where I should ask you to marry me one day.”

The inescapable feeling of want consumed her, leaving nothing left behind as she was swallowed whole. A swirling sensation in her stomach that sickened her, made her ill to think about too long as all she could do was stare at him. “Takahiro.” Her words fell to a whisper as eyes flickered between his own, desperately trying to gauge the situation but to no avail. “You can’t be serious?”

“As a heart attack, sweetheart.” The smile he had started to falter, and the concern that saturated her eyes made his heart sink. But through that concern, the smallest, most miniscule, glimmer of need shone through. Even through tired, bloodshot eyes and a tinge of cynicism, she wanted the dream just as much as he, if not more.

“Hanamaki,” she breathed. “Be real for a second-” But she was cut off as he turned to face her, the old loveseat squeaking under the shift of weight, and he took her hands in his own

“I am being real, so put that name away.” Erring on defensive, put a care behind it that she couldn't ignore. A rare seriousness in his voice that made her swallow hard. “I’m taking you to see those damn cherry blossoms at some point, and when I do I'm asking you to marry me.” 

She opened her mouth to say something but promptly shut it, not knowing what to say to the man. But she felt as the ravenous feeling turned to a starved, almost primal, one. Felt her stomach twist into knots at the thought - she wanted to swallow the notion completely. Needed to feel the crunch and snap of it in her mouth, wanted her teeth caught in it, needed it to be consumed until nothing was left. She abstained from could be for too long and needed to devour the concept entirely. 

But could be wasn’t what is. What is left a bruise, tender and raw, that left a rotten taste in her mouth. She felt the urge to spit out the thought as it circled within her mind like a vulture, ready to dive within a split second. “But-”

“We will, I swear.” He cut off her protest and squeezed her hand. But to no avail, as she only looked at him with a sense of apprehension.

“But we're-” 

“I know, I know,” he sighed. Brown eyes slid over to the envelopes on the coffee table, bold red letters catching his attention that made him close his eyes. “Believe me, I know.” A disheartening belief that caused him to take a deep breath before opening his eyes again to look at her. He brought a hand to her cheek, pale fingers gently brushed over her skin with a warmth that was inviting, loving, and selfless. He gave her a small, out of sorts, smile, “but I want to do this. For you. For us. Hell, because we deserve to do something nice. I want us to have something to look forward to other than the same, shit ass, walls everyday.” 

She paused a moment, let his words sink in, before she bit down hard on the concept and refused to let go. “Ok,” she nodded carefully. “Alright, we’ll go to Ueno Park one day.” Could be tasted sweet and savory, mouth watering to think about. It eased a craving that deflected from what is - so just this once, she let herself free fall into it. “Do you even have a ring to ask me with?” 

His smile pulled into a grin at her question, and he chuckled. “Would you say yes to a ring pop?”

With a paltry laugh, she leaned into his hand that was still on his cheek. “As long as it's strawberry, then absolutely, you dumbass.”

“Strawberry it is, sweetheart.” 

However, he didn’t really need the sweet, confectionary ring. In one of the many old cardboard boxes within the living area and bedroom that collected dust - a particularly well kept, small box hidden in the back of their tiny, shared closet - was a ring he bought three years ago. Bought shortly after the conversation was had, when he still had the money to stretch. Stuffed between memories that would barely ever see the light of day, because a place like this didn't deserve such warmth.

But the warmth was willingly given anyway, whether the pair knew it or not.

series taglist (open, send an ASK) + a few moots bc I am genuinely very very very proud of this

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

@wyrcan @honeekyuu @wakashudou @wolffmaiden @eggyrocks

@dailyakira @cupidsblonde @mollyrolls @wolffmaiden @zumicho

@jadeoru @sandwhitches

[konigbabe-interact]

drinking game gone wrong

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Word count: 3.6k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; oral sex; fingering; top!dean; MOC dean; p-in-v sex; drunk sex; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy

Summary: You and Dean give into each other after months of mutual pining with the help of the Mark.

Currently only active as @konigbabe.

The heat radiating between you was undeniable, and you felt yourself getting lost in the moment as you tangled your hands in his hair. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, the taste of your desire still lingering on his tongue as it explored your mouth. His hands moved to your waist, caressing your curves and igniting a fire that seemed to consume you both.

“No,” Dean bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls. The room seemed to heat up from the intensity of his anger as he threw a book at the wall, the hard edges creating a sizable dent. "There has to be a way, Cas," he added, the desperation in his tone palpable.

Sam and you exchanged a tired look; this was one of the numerous times Dean erupted in anger within a day. The Mark of Cain was taking its toll on him; it was becoming more challenging to keep his temper in check. You all knew that you had to find a cur. Soon. Before Dean's condition deteriorated even further.

“I am sorry, Dean. I understand how frustrating this must be for you. I know about a grimoire that could possibly contain a spell that could help. I'll do my best to look for it and try to find it as soon as possible, “ with that, Cas disappeared; leaving Dean completely frustrated, Sam and you both at a loss for what the next step should be.

In the end, Sam suggested they call it a night, but the look on Dean's face could have killed him if looks could kill. After a few minutes of tense and uncomfortable silence, it was blatantly apparent that the brothers were in need of some breathing room and a little bit of space between them; especially on Dean’s side.

Sam gazed at you with a hopeful expression, as if hoping for some sort of agreement, yet you offered no response. He nodded solemnly, rose with a heavy breath, and bade his farewell, vanishing from the room. You were left alone with Dean, whose head was already buried in a magical tome, oblivious to the stifling quiet that had descended between you.

Rising from your seat, you ventured to the kitchen, grasping two glasses and a bottle of aged scotch. Returning to Dean, who sat across the table, you placed a full glass before him, filling it with the amber-colored liquor.

Dean looked up from the book, his gaze on the liquor before he shoot you a look of disinterest; then he continued reading it without giving it a second thought.

“M’not interested, we have more important things to do,” he dismissed your offering, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Come on, Dean," you implored, your voice gentle with understanding.

"Just this one night and I promise we'll get back to the research tomorrow. But can't you, just for one night, take a break and enjoy yourself? I'm asking you as a friend, please," you pleaded, your gaze sincere. You could tell he was struggling with his decision, and you gave him the chance to think it through.

Finally, he sighed and took the glass in his hand.

“Just one night," he replied, his voice heavy and weary. He downed the liquor inside and you knew, despite the somberness of the situation, that you had won the battle.

"Just one night. Nothing more," he said and took the glass in his hand, ready to swallow the liquor inside. You stopped him from drinking, looking him in the eye with a knowing smirk, "Just drinking is mundane. What about a game? Spice up the night?"

He paused, considering the suggestion, then set the glass back on the table.

“All right. I'm game. What did you have in mind?” his voice had a slight edge of amusement, a sign of his willingness to go along with the suggestion and make the most of the night.

"Two truths and a lie," you suggested, Dean's eyes crinkling with mirthful delight. He smiled knowingly, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness. "This should be interesting," he said, his baritone voice taking on a more serious tone.

You watched as his expression turned thoughtful, his brow furrowing with concentration as he gathered his thoughts. He leaned forward, the light of the crackling fire reflecting in his eyes as he began to speak.

You could almost feel the anticipation radiating from him as he waited for you to start. He seemed to be studying you as if he could see into your soul. Taking a deep breath, you started, your words filling the space between you with a sense of mystery. Dean remained silent, his face betraying no hints of what he was thinking. As you made your way through the game, the atmosphere in the room slowly shifted, becoming more inviting and intimate.

It was now Dean’s turn, and the expectation weighed heavily in the air. Dean cleared his throat, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“My first truth is that I’m allergic to cats,” he said, “my second is that I have a fear of heights,” the sparkle that shimmered in his gaze was echoed by the bright blue of the ocean. He looked deep into your eyes, the sparkle in his own intensifying, and a feeling of anticipation in the air. Leaning forward, he rested on his elbows as he whispered softly,

“But the third truth I’m not so sure I’m ready to tell you,” he said, his voice soft and inviting.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling the warmth of his presence.

“The third truth is that I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the day we met,” his voice inviting, gaze never leaving yours, “I think it’s time I finally do.”

Your heart raced as Dean's piercing gaze met yours, and his voice, so seductive, only made the tightness in your chest grow.

“Dean, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” you breathed, but the atmosphere around you was charged with electricity. He was devouring you with his eyes and you felt the heat of his breath caress your skin; he inched closer to the table between you, his face dangerously close to yours.

You could feel the anticipation of his lips on yours. Finding yourself leaning in, longing for the kiss you both knew was coming; your brain turning into a cloud of haze. Knowing well enough once you overstep this line, there was no coming back. The liquor heating your chest; warming your heart, you felt the invisible threat pulling you towards the man opposite you.

And at that moment, all that was left was the possibility of what could be, of what you wanted more than anything.

“Dean,” you swallowed. His eyes met yours, dark and piercing, lips curving into a knowing smirk. You wanted him. You wanted to feel his body against yours, his lips on your skin, exploring every inch of you. You wanted to be taken away by his touch, lost in a world of pleasure and desire. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you, too.

The air around you seemed to hum with electricity, and neither of you moved. The tension was palpable, and you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Your heart raced and you felt dizzy with anticipation.

Finally, he stepped closer to you, a hand reaching out to brush your cheek. You shivered at the contact, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low and commanding.

You nodded, unable to form the words in your mouth.

“Say it,” Dean repeated himself.

All you could manage was a breathless, "Yes; yes, I want this."

He smiled, and you felt his lips press against yours. The kiss was electric, filled with raw desire.

Desire; spreading through your body like a raging storm. It consumed you; the intensity of it leaving you breathless. You felt it in your core, radiating outward to your fingertips. Every inch of you was alive, awash in passion and yearning. You wanted to be touched, to be loved, to be taken. You wanted to let go and give in to the sweet, sweet bliss of pleasure Dean was offering.

You felt yourself melting into him, lost in the moment. You knew you wouldn't be the same after this.

His hands trailed across your curves, a spark of heat igniting your soul. Your thoughts were a blur, nothing but him consuming your mind as seconds felt like an eternity. The hard, cold material of Dean's mattress pressed against your back, and you felt a primal connection, one that shook you to your core. His hands moved with purpose as they explored your body, the heat of his touch sending waves of pleasure through your veins. The moment felt like a dream, a dream that you never wanted to wake up from. His hands were like a whisper, a silent command to surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. You felt yourself yearning for more, the intensity of the moment making you desperate for his touch. You felt yourself becoming lost in the sensations, a blissful surrender that left you trembling and wanting more.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured against your skin before kissing your neck again. The sensation sent shivers through your body and you couldn't help but moan in delight. He slowly unclipped your bra, revealing your bare breasts to him. Dean wasted no time in taking one of your nipples in his mouth, igniting a flame within your core. Heat radiated from him as he pleasured you in the way he had always wanted to.

You grabbed a hold of his hair, pushing his face further into your body as you gasped for breath. His hands glided down your body, teasing and exploring until he finally found your sweet spot. You moaned louder, your body trembling in pleasure as his fingers worked their magic. You wanted him more than anything, and he wanted you too.

Dean’s touch was electric, sending sparks of desire through your veins as he ran his hands over your curves. Moans filled the room; he moved lower and lower, each touch more heated than the last, tongue dipping in your belly button before his lips met the lines of your pants. His breath was warm on your skin as he unhooked the button of your jeans; hands tugging at the fabric, pulling them off in one swift motion.

You gasped as he kissed your thighs, feeling the warmth of his lips move on your heated flesh. Dean’s fingers moved expertly, exploring every inch of your body with passionate purpose.

His name left your lips in a quiet but desperate whimper, feeling his fingers trace the middle of your soaked underwear, fingers circling your caching nub through your underwear.

“What do you me to do?” Dean's eyes smoldered as he looked up at you from between your quivering thighs, his arms securely tucked beneath you as your heels dug into his back; his words hang in the air, heavy with desire.

“I-, want your tongue,” you exhaled; your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt his hot breath on your wet core.

“To do what?” he pushed, voice deep and husky, eyes laced with mischief.

A shiver ran down your spine, goosebumps rising on your skin as your hands gripped the fumbled sheets.

“Taste me,” you whispered, a hand coming up to tangle in his hair as you drew his head closer to you.

“With passion,” he murmured against your center, tongue flicking out to tease you. The material of your underwear was dripping with your juices by the time Dean finally took it off. He moved with confidence, and you were lost in it, in him.

A cold breeze hit your soaked pussy before Dean’s tongue laid flat against the whole center, nose brushing against your clit as he devoured you like a man starved. Gasping for air like there was never enough oxygen, he licked and kissed you in slow, gentle circles, his tongue exploring your edges; curiosity taking over him.

Moaning softly into the room with your hand groping his hair for dear life, Dean sucked at your sensitive bud, the scrape of his finger on your inner walls sending a heatwave through you.

He kept up this slow, gentle rhythm for some time, making sure to pay attention to every single reaction of yours; adjusting his technique according to your reactions.

The room was filled with the smell of your arousal as he slipped a finger inside, gently caressing your velvet walls. His breath quickened as he felt your tightness around his finger, his cock pulsing in anticipation of what was to come. He teased and tantalized you, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy; each stroke sending you higher until you were begging for more. Dean obliged, surging inside of you in a powerful wave of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby,” his words demanded, sending you over the edge.

When you finally peaked, he didn't stop; Dean kept working you through your orgasm, lapping at your juices as you laid in blissful exhaustion.

Dean's lips moved hungrily along your body, sending waves of pleasure through you. His tongue flicked and teased your sensitive flesh, lingering in the areas that made you moan with delight. The heat radiating between you was undeniable, and you felt yourself getting lost in the moment as you tangled your hands in his hair. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, the taste of your desire still lingering on his tongue as it explored your mouth. His hands moved to your waist, caressing your curves and igniting a fire that seemed to consume you both. You felt his arousal pushing against you as you surrendered to the pleasure of his touch.

You pushed him onto his back, straddling his lap as you pounced on him. He moaned as you pressed your lips to his, tasting the sweet mixture of your desire again. His hands moved up and down your back, sending sparks of heat through you as he deepened the kiss; his hard arousal pressed against you. You finally pulled away, smiling as you looked into his eyes, both of you lost in the moment.

Dean’s hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly as he moved you against him, the sensations of pleasure overwhelming you. He leaned in again, his lips trailing a path of fire down your neck as he whispered in your ear, “ride me.”

You shivered in response, knowing that this night was going to be filled with pleasure that you’d never felt before; you knew that no matter what happened tonight, it was going to be something you would never forget.

“Want to taste you too,” you murmured as his lips found yours again; you melted into his kiss as he explored your mouth with his tongue.

“Another time,” he said as his lips left yours, “but not tonight.”

Dean looked into your eyes, his gaze penetrating and intense; a rush of desire coursing through your veins. His hands gripping yours, he pulled them up to the neck of his shirt, inviting you to take it off and reveal the sculpted flesh of his torso, the anti-possession tattoo decorating his chest. As the fabric pooled onto the floor, you ran your hands along the contours of his body, eagerly seeking the skin to skin contact. His lips locked with yours, the urgency of his kiss sending heat through your body.

He pulled you aside, eagerly discarding the remaining items of clothing left on his body; his gaze searing into yours as his cock sprang free from its restraints, the head looking achingly engorged as the light reflected off the drop of precum. You could feel your desire for him growing with every passing moment; craving to feel him inside of you.

Something feral, almost instinctive, took over you; carnal impulses compelling you to take a seat atop him, locking his cock between your bodies; your fingers dancing over his length, savoring the slickness of his precum as his lips left a trail of hungry kisses down your neck; it felt animalistic, the two of you, consumed by each other's lust.

His fingers left a scorching, passionate imprint on your skin, like a brand that would never fade away. He made you feel alive and wanted, claiming your body and soul with his passionate touch. You could feel yourself melting under his gaze as he claimed every last inch of you, leaving you longing for more.

“Condom?” he asked, voice thick with desire. You shook your head, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks.

“Pill,” you whispered.

Dean chuckled, his eyes smoldering with desire as he let his fingers trace the curves of your hips.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

Bracing your thighs on each side of his hips, you lifted yourself up, hand aligning his cock with your entrance. Your skin prickled with anticipation as you straddled him, the heat between your legs electrifying.

The spongy head of him opening your entrance, welcoming him in as a grunt left his kiss-bruised lips, pressed against your throat. Pausing; savoring the sensation of him for a moment, you stilled before lowering down onto him, feeling every inch of his thickness fill you up.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “your pussy was made for me.”

With your hand on his chest, you could feel Dean's heart pounding against your palm as you stayed seated on his cock, the thick length of him pressing against your womb; and he could feel it too, your heat sucking him in.

Another curse left his lips, “you need to start moving, baby.”

Your body was completely under his demand; moving in a steady rhythm, hips swaying in time with his. You could feel the heat radiating between your bodies, a crescendo of pleasure building as your movements increased in intensity.

Your hips moved in slow circles. Dean’s hands moved from your hips to your lower back, pulling you closer to him. Moans and grunts mixed together, the room’s temperature rising, the explicit sounds of your wetness shamelessly filling the quiet night.

Hands on his thighs, leaning back, Dean’s gaze shifted to the place you were connected; he watched you take him in, your slick walls spread wide to accommodate his size, his cock completely soaked by your wetness as the mix of your arousal dripped on his lap.

Leaning down, you kissed the man deeply, tongues entwining in a passionate embrace as his hands gripped your breasts, fondling and playing with the soft flesh. Arching your back, you pushed to create more friction between your bodies before Dean’s hand moved to your achingly longing nub of nerves, spreading your juices over it while he toyed with it.

His breaths grew heavier, your moans louder as you both moved together in an unstoppable, passionate dance. Your body rocked and writhed as he drove you to the brink of ecstasy, and when he finally let you reach the peak of pleasure, you opened your mouth in a silent scream of pure delight. Dean's touch had been like a drug, and now you were completely addicted.

His hips continued to thrust upwards, riding you through your high as his stare stayed locked on your body; he admired you, devouring every detail of your body with his eyes. The stretch marks on your thighs, the noticeable stab wound on your stomach from the witch hunt you went on a few months ago that he wanted to kiss away, or the small bird tattoo under your right breast that made him want to trace with his tongue. He wanted to remember every part of you, to be able to recall each detail and feel the same desire he did now, if not more.

Dean slowly raised himself up and pulled you into his arms, his lips on yours before you could even take a breath. His tongue caressed your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you eagerly obliged, granting him access to explore your mouth to its fullest. His fingers sought out the curves of your body, exploring and inviting a passionate response from you.

You felt Dean's cock swell inside you as his breath became ragged; knowing he was near, you ground your hips into him, keeping him deep within your walls, reveling in the feeling of his head kissing your insides. The intensity of the sensations was almost too much to bear, but you welcomed it, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The feel of his hot, pulsing cock inside of you made your inner walls quiver with pleasure, a low moan of delight escaping your lips as Dean's thrusts became more erratic and urgent. His head burrowed into your chest, warm breath fanning between your breasts as his hands clutched your hips, pushing himself even deeper into you. His body trembled as his climax neared, his moans intensifying as the waves of pleasure took over. Finally, with a loud grunt, Dean released his hot seed deep inside of you, his trembling body almost collapsing into yours.

Both of you stayed still for a moment as you could feel the cum slowly dripping out, staining Dean’s thighs. Your breathing filled the silence, and then Dean reached out and ran his fingers along the length of your arm, sending shivers of pleasure through your body; his touch gentle.

He pulled you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body as his lips brushed yours softly; it was like a silent understanding - you both knew that everything changed at this moment.