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rafesangelita · 9 hours ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ RAFE + THE !READER’S AND THEIR KINKS

warnings: dark content ahead! please do not read if you don’t feel comfortable with any of the kinks listed!

a/n: some of these might not be considered ‘kinks’ but instead things that both rafe and !reader may particularly enjoy. special thank you to @nemesyaaa for giving me this idea and always listening to my rambles <3333 consider this my christmas gift to you ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

wc: 5.0k

⭑.ᐟ bambi!reader

cnc: these two have a meeting and go over all of their fantasies. while bambi’s suggestions are more tame, rafe is going all out, suggesting that he kidnaps her, holds her at gun/knife point, along with making another safe word just for the sole purpose of dismissing it. he’s covering bambi’s mouth while she’s screaming for him to get off of her, fucking her with so much force that her body scoots up on whatever surface rafe has her on. she’s pushing away, or trying to at least, and rafe is just so much stronger than her that he doesn’t budge. “look at you, so pathetic and weak..” rafe would laugh at her, making her cry as she helplessly took his cock.

rope play: no one can convince me that rafe wasn’t a boy scout when he was little. he’s very knowledgeable of different knots and ties and made it a point to start experimenting with you, tying you up in grotesque positions purely for his enjoyment. even tying your arms behind your back in intricate weaves was enough to get him going. he’d take full advantage of you in your restraints, fucking you past overstimulation, the mixture of pleasure and pain making you cry out in both agony and bliss. your fingers would gradually grow numb, along with the rest of your body until rafe untied you, indents from the rope adorning your flesh.

outdoor sex: an innocent little picnic can quickly turn into rafe pushing your head into the grass while he fists your panties, dragging them down your thighs before bunching your dress up and slamming into you without warning. he can’t quite pin point when this became a ‘thing’ between you two, but fuck he knew you loved it. maybe it was because of the scenery or being far away from anyone being able to see or hear you two, but sex out in the middle of nowhere was thrilling for you both. bambi already spent a lot of her time outside, so whenever rafe would join her and do what he does best; making her cum around his cock, it was like her two favorite worlds collided.

asphyxiation: this was first done on accident when rafe was fucking your throat and smothering your face at the same time. seeing the way you gasped for air after he pulled you off of his cock was nothing short of gratifying. but seeing the way you were eager to do it again was even better. from that point forward he would do anything and everything to cut off your intake of air. covering your nose when you sucked him off, choking you during sex until you were on the verge of blacking out, pinning you down by your neck so your windpipe was being crushed. of course he educated both you and himself, and took your little taps of surrender very seriously.

predator/prey: the thrill of the hunt and the chase was like no other. whether rafe was chasing bambi in tanneyhill or outside at night time, the promise of getting to do whatever he wanted to her if he captured her was all the encouragement he needed. she’d be hiding, goosebumps spreading across her skin once she couldn’t see rafe anymore. little did she know, he was already creeping up from behind her, a rough hand clamping over her mouth before she could scream. rafe is grunting threats in her ear while she thrashes against him, telling her that she’s powerless and fighting against him is useless. of course, once he has her held down, she’s completely at his mercy.

⭑.ᐟ sheep!reader

slapping: whether rafe is slapping the swells of your tits, the fleshy globes of your ass, or your poor overstimulated clit, he loves seeing your body jolt at his touch. he especially likes slapping you in the face when he’s pounding into you, the small flash of hurt passing over your features shooting straight to his cock. he’s smiling while you’re flinching every time he picks his hand up, his large palm meeting your soft skin with a harsh smack! he knows you’re far too timid and shy to tell him to stop, small whimpers leaving your lips at the stinging sensation. once he’s done with you, your skin is raw and sensitive to the touch, rafe always making sure to soothe you and comfort you afterwards.

corruption: you were just a pretty, clueless virgin when he met you, and still pretty and clueless after he broke you in. rafe still see’s you as a saint even when he’s fingering you to tears, your tight walls spasming around his digits. he treats every time like it’s your first time all overs again, the idea of getting you addicted to his cock was enough to make him cum. he loved to see the confused, yet desperate plea in your eyes for him to turn you inside out. the fact that he’s the only one who has ever seen you unravel makes his chest fill with pride. to know that he’s the one who turned you into a cock-hungry slut to begin with does wonders for his ego.

dacryphilia: rafe does things to purposely make sheep cry. pinching her clit, fucking her so hard that his tip is nudging her cervix with every thrust, grabbing her cheeks and squeezing them together with a bruising grip, he loves seeing those sparkly eyes watering with tears. if he has you on your knees, he won’t stop fucking your throat until you have tears running down your neck and chest. rafe thinks sheep looks prettiest when she’s an utter mess, tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips are his favorite look on her. even when she’s crying and upset about something, he can’t help but guide her hand to his aching length, promising her that she’ll feel better once she makes him cum.

orgasm denial: the way that rafe keeps sheep needy and ready to fuck whenever he wants is by denying her orgasms. waiting until her eyes are rolling to the back of her head before pulling away and making her clench around nothing. “nononono, please, rafe! i need it!” she’s clinging onto him, trying to keep him near as much as she could before he’s swatting her hands away. “gotta keep you on your toes, ‘doll.” he’s rough when he holds her down, stroking himself until he’s painting her tummy with his seed. sexually frustrated and sad that he didn’t fill her up instead, she’s bending to his every will later on when he wants to go for round two.

overstimulation: if sheep isn’t getting denied an orgasm, she’s getting a load of them until she’s physically trying to run away from rafe. while he’s doing everything he can to keep her cumming, she’s convulsing, shaking and trembling, writhing in pain as rafe works her poor, sensitive bud. using his fingers, tongue and cock, he tells sheep to keep count and if she messes up then he has to start from zero again. sheep is brainless after the first three, her train of thought being completely gone as rafe fights with her to keep her thighs open. “no more, no more, no more..” she’s repeating it like a mantra, rafe ignoring her pleas for him to stop.

⭑.ᐟ latina!kook!reader

praise: rafe is having a hard time believing that his favorite latina is even letting him touch her, so he’s doing everything he can to remember this moment. he’s telling you how good your perfume smells, marveling at how soft your skin feels under his touch, admiring and staring at your body in awe as if to remember every curve and detail. you’re looking in his eyes while he raves about never seeing someone as beautiful as you. “you’re so fucking gorgeous, holy shit.” rafe is in disbelief when he finally gets you out of your clothes, his eyes instinctively blinking as he didn’t know what to take in first.. your angelic face, show-stopping tits, or glistening pussy.

language: hearing you speak in your mother tongue is going to do it for rafe every single time. whether you’re cursing at him or grabbing him through his pants, whispering; “lo quiero, papi— i want it, daddy..” his cock springs up at the sound of your voice. you’ve taught him enough spanish for him to reply to certain things, your favorite phrase of his being, “mírame, muñeca— look at me, doll.” when you’re shying away from the intensity of his gaze. rafe loved hearing all the words falling from your lips, especially when a particular thrust of his hips made your voice crack at the end of your sentences. “keep talking to me, hermosa— beautiful, i need to hear you.”

mirror sex: you didn’t have not one bad side. in rafe’s eyes you were absolutely flawless. after the first time you two had sex, he knew immediately that he needed to see you at every angle. getting a mirror installed on the ceiling right above his bed was the first step, then it was a mirrored headboard.. and then two full length mirrors that sat in the opposite corners of his room. the man was obsessed with watching you. if he had you in doggy, he could still get a full view of your face twisting in pleasure along with the bounce of your tits. on days where you wanted to ride him, he’d watch in awe as the globes of your ass met his thighs with a ripple effect adorning the fleshy skin.

body worship: similar to praise, rafe is whispering sweet nothings against your skin, his hands working to massage your calves as he presses kisses to your thighs. he’s holding onto you, eyes closed as he takes in your scent. “you’re so perfect.” rafe sounds like a broken record as he kisses your knuckles, and up your arm to the curve of your shoulder until he finally gets to your lips. his hands are roaming your body even as he’s inside of you, his soft touch a stark contrast to his hard thrusts. not a single inch of your body goes untouched by this man. he pays attention to every single thing, from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes, he makes sure you feel like a goddess at all times.

tit fucking: having both your tits and your face in his line of vision is a surely a sight to behold. he’s delirious as you gaze up at him, the tip of his cock emerging from between your tits before meeting your tongue. despite you moving yourself up and down, rafe is thrusting from beneath you, the slick sound of his precum making both of you moan. “ah, fuck!” his hips are stuttering everytime you manage to wrap your lips around the tip, his cock twitching with need as you stroke him with ease. he loves seeing the way your lashes flutter up at him when he finishes across your chest, watching with lust-filled eyes as you swipe some of his seed with a manicured finger before popping the digit into your mouth with a smile.

⭑.ᐟ bitchy!kook!reader

choking: while rafe loves to choke you in order for you to keep your sassy remarks to yourself, he nearly loses it when you take charge and wrap your hand around the column of his throat instead. he loves the push and pull of your shared dynamic. when he has you pinned down by your neck, it’s useless to deem it a punishment since you always end up liking the pain more than the pleasure. rafe can’t help but curse to himself at the sight of the smirk adorning your lips when he’s cutting off your airway. “no way you’re loving this shit right now..” both of your voices are hoarse once you’re done with each other, the sound making you two look at each other smugly.

hate sex: you two mastered this before everything else. fucking when you were enemies and nothing more was like a fever dream, both of you fighting to use each other for no other reason besides getting off. you’d push rafe down, bouncing on his cock to keep him from having his way with you, only for him to have your face pressed into the pillows moments later. you two didn’t care if the other felt good or not, it was purely just your way of taking out all of the pent up anger and frustration you two had for eachother. you’d curse at him before he crashed his lips into yours, telling you to ‘shut the fuck up for once and just use your mouth for what it’s supposed to be.’ as he forced you down onto your knees.

impact play: if you and rafe weren’t hitting and shoving each other into his room when you wanted to jump each other’s bones then you weren’t doing it right. slamming you against the wall while he was inside of you, slapping him across the face when he did something a little too hard, it was all apart of your little dance together and you two fucking lived for it. rafe loved that he didn’t have to be so soft and gentle with you, and even more so when he found someone who finally didn’t treat him like he was made of glass and used the same force against him. the roughness and complete disregard for one another’s feelings in those very moments was addicting to say the least.

degradation: this was bitchy!kook!reader’s specialty. telling rafe how stupid and pathetic he is for spamming her phone with desperate texts, telling him he’s worthless and that the only thing he’s good for is being her boy toy. she’s bringing up the times when rafe was begging her to let him eat her out, calling him names and laughing in his face when he looks the slightest bit embarrassed. rafe isn’t letting up on you either, he’s cussing in your ear, calling you a bitch and a ‘spoiled fuckin’ brat’ as he folds you in half. both of you revel in the weight of your insults, the words only making both of you needy to prove the other wrong. ‘just shut your fucking mouth already..’

possessiveness: despite ‘hating’ each other, there’s nothing neither of you hated more than seeing each other in close proximity with someone else. rafe hated your friends, all of them always trying to introduce someone to you in hopes that they could get you to leave rafe alone once and for all. of course, later on that night when the party is over and the place is cleared, he’s pounding into you like he has something to prove. “you’re fuckin’ stupid if you thought i was gonna let you leave with that asshole.” he has you in a head lock, his toned stomach smacking the back of your ass as he choked you out with his bicep. “no one else could ever make you feel like this.”

⭑.ᐟ bitchy!pogue!reader

recording: she’s rafe’s personal pornstar without a doubt. bitchy!pogue!reader knows she looks amazing every second of the day, even when her mouth is full of cock, so when she see’s rafe pull out his camera, she’s really giving him a show. “you fuckin’ slut, i could make millions off of you..” rafe would say after she made him cum on her face and tits. rafe loved to keep documentation of bitchy!pogue!reader almost begging to tears for rafe to fuck her already, the footage coming in handy when she decides to wake up with an attitude and tells him that he’s lucky that you even let him fuck, let alone talk to you. he has the camera in your face the same night, grunting out “aww what’s wrong? ‘still think you’re too good for this cock now?”

rough sex: these two turn ‘rough sex’ into an umbrella term with all of the depraved shit that they do. smacking your skin until you’re bruised, scratching rafe until you draw blood, thrusting into you so hard that you let out a shriek with every stroke of his hips, and this isn’t including all of the choking, biting, and hair pulling that both of you do while you’re at it. rafe is ruthless in the bedroom, often leaving you bedridden by the time he’s done plowing into your poor, sensitive cunt. this was what regular sex was like between you two, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. it drove rafe crazy to know that you were so willing and just as sick and twisted as him to take his shit.

humiliation: this was a two way street for both you and rafe. he would say that he could never be seen with a stripper on his arm since he was sure the entire island had already been with you before, and you would say that you wouldn’t want to be seen with a pathetic loser with daddy issues and a drug problem to cope, anyways. both of you knew that the shit talking that you were doing was only foreplay for the activities you were going to do later. sure enough, he’s taking you in the country club bathroom, all of the grand parents there staring at your provocative outfit in disbelief. “please don’t make me moan loud..” you’d whimper, rafe wrapping a fist in your hair. “nah, you’re gonna let this whole club know that you’re nothing but an easy hooker.”

face fucking: once rafe got started on this, it was never-ending. he’d have you on your knees wherever you two were at, forcing you to keep your hands behind your back as he used your throat like a cock sleeve. he’s pulling at the roots of your hair with a strangled groan, the sound of his length sliding in and out from between your lips making his eyes roll to the back of his head. it’s messy and sticky, your cheeks full of tears as spit and precum dribble down your chin, your jaw aching for a break. “fuck, just look at you.. ‘bet you don’t have shit to bitch about now, do you?” still managing to roll your eyes at him, rafe chuckles to himself before picking up his pace.

dumbification: your walls are fluttering around rafe’s cock when he tells you things like; “you’re a dumb, stupid, slut who doesn’t know how to do anything except take dick.” and calling you a brainless bimbo with nothing but tits for brains. you’re nodding along to his words, not caring about how much he’s dumbing you down. in this very moment, with his hips slamming into yours, you were brainless.. not a single thought behind your fucked out gaze. “just prancing around in your heels like a clueless fuckin’ bunny, not knowing shit..” he’s delivering each word with a punctuated thrust, your back arching into his chest when you feel the rough pads of his fingers on your sensitive clit.

⭑.ᐟ kook!sweetheart!reader

sexting: boyyyy you two can sext for hours at a time. once the clock hits ten and your phone dings with a ‘you up, beautiful?’ from none other than rafe himself, you’re faking a yawn and telling your parents you’re gonna cut the movie short tonight because you’re so sleepy. as soon as you’re laid in your bed, your room door locked until further notice, you’re sending rafe all the pretty nudes you took for him since the last time you two sexted. rafe is fisting his cock as your pictures come in one by one, his bottom lip pulled haphazardly between his teeth to keep himself from moaning out loud. in return, rafe is also sending you pictures of himself. shirtless gym pics, his bulges when he wakes up thinking about you, and your personal favorite; his bare cock and the aftermath of stroking himself to your sexy photos.

lingerie: this was only fitting considering you were a whole designer with your own lingerie brand. rafe hadn’t really developed his kink for fucking you in your lingerie until you started surprising him, the lace and sometimes satin material looking just gorgeous against your skin. besides the obvious fact that you looked stunning in your sets, he thinks the reason why he appreciated it a lot more is because he knows you thought about him when choosing which one to wear. “do you like it?” was possibly the most dumbest question you could’ve ever asked him. of course, you got your answer when he pulled you on top of him, moving your panties over to the side before slamming you down onto his length.

cum play: rafe died and came back to life when he watched you smear his cum over your lips the first time you took his length into your mouth. and then he died again on a separate occasion when he came on your tits, your pretty manicured fingers swirling his seed over your sensitive buds. now every time he finished, if it wasn’t inside of you, he watched with a bated breath as you tasted him before pulling him down into a kiss. your tongues clashed, both of you moaning as you made out with his cum in your mouths. you shared spit, making a mess out of each other until you were begging him to cum again. “please, i want more, rafe..”

pussy eating: he needs it. he needs to have kook!sweetheart!reader’s thighs locked down to his shoulders while he works his skillful tongue on her pussy. she’s whimpering above him, wrapping her hands around his large fingers as he gently circles her clit. rafe is easily eating her out for an hour before another hour passes and she’s a mess. having orgasmed at least ten times, rafe is very controlled and knows how to bring her up before pushing her over the edge and letting her fall ever so graciously into another orgasm one after the other. the lower half of his face is soaked, and when he looks up at you from between your thighs, the sight of him is burned into your mind forever.

cockwarming: one of rafe’s favorites. whenever you and rafe are in the bliss of aftercare, he stays nestled inside of you, both of you kissing each other lazily while he rubbed soothing circles into your skin. “think you could keep still?” you teased, rafe laughing softly as you clenched around him, almost as if to provoke him to move. not even ten minutes later, you’re slowly circling your hips, desperate for any kind of friction while rafe holds you in place. “i knew you were gonna put out.” rafe groaned, moving gently as he rolled over on top of you. ignoring him, you dug your heels into his lower back, prompting him to keep going. “yeah, yeah, just fuck me— oh!”

⭑.ᐟ farmer’s!daughter!reader

size kink: cowboy!rafe is hugeee, and (un)fortunately for you, also hung like a fucking horse. his entire body envelopes yours when he’s on top of you, only half of his cock fitting inside of you before he’s forcing you to take the whole thing. feeling like his length and the sheer girth of him is splitting you open, you’re looking down at where you two are connected, your eyes wide as you see what looks like a belly bulge coming up from under your flesh. “ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” you’re delirious as the big, strong man above you drills into you at an unforgiving speed. his hand is large enough to wrap around the entirety of your neck, your chest caving in once you felt the band in your tummy snap.

dirty talk: rafe knew exactly what to say in order to get your cheeks heating. “you don’t think i know wet you are right now? i bet i could slip right in ya’..” you’re gasping at the lewdness of his words, hiding your face from his view as he stroked the exposed flesh of your waist. “ray!” you laughed nervously, both of you hiding in his little house that was in the back of your own. “you know i’m right.. that’s why you’re getting all shy on me right now.” he scoots closer, his lips trailing along your collarbone. “let me take this shirt off, ‘get these tits in my mouth.” being around a horny cowboy wasn’t good for your heart. “oh, my word! your mouth is filthy!”

daddy kink: the basis of you and rafe’s relationship was that you were together secretly, your father forbidding rafe from dating you, let alone looking in your direction. he wasn’t fond of your dad for that very reason. every time he’s asking you who your pussy belongs to, he’s forcing you to refer to him as a different name other than his own. “you, daddy! oh, fuck, i belong to you!” you’re crying out, the name falling from your lips before you could stop it. the fact that he had you, the farmer’s daughter, in his bed, calling him daddy when he knew your actual father hated him, stroked his ego more than your cunt did. “yeah, i’m your daddy? say it again.” you oblige, your eyes screwing shut as the plap of your ass against his thighs echoed in your ears.

mating press: seeing your glossy eyes gaze up at him while he had your knees pressed to your chest was hands down one of his favorite sights. with the back of his hands sitting underneath your hips, your lower half was slightly elevated, your needy cunt guaranteed to take all of his cum. in this position, you swore it felt like he was in your tummy. “nghhh— can’t, rafe!” you shook your head, your eyes brimming with tears as he leaned down, taking your lips in a bruising kiss. “shhh, of course you can, sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me right now.” the wet squelch of your cunt made rafe keen, his lips wet with your spit. “gonna fill you up to the fuckin’ brim..”

breeding kink: you dreamed about having cowboy!rafe’s babies, both of you always talking about having little ones running around the farm. rafe saw it vividly— your pretty round belly, swollen with his seed, a baby on your hip while you greeted him after a full day of work. it’s all he could envision while he’s pumping in and out of you, your sweet moans sounding against his skin. “i’m gonna make you such a pretty mom, baby, you just fuckin’ wait.” he grunted, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he went even deeper inside your cunt. biting back tears, you let out a half-sob as he continuously hit that sensitive spot along your velvety walls. “you’d want that, right?” rafe still asks even though his mind is already made up. “duh!”

⭑.ᐟ pogue!sweetheart!reader

spanking: rafe blamed your mini skirts for his hyper fixation with your ass. he’d be groping you every chance he could get, the spanking factor coming in when you pretended to drop something one day, your boyfriend wasting no time in draping you over his lap and giving you the attention you were so clearly asking for. he spanked you so hard, you couldn’t help but cry out every time his hot palm met your flesh. “you asked me for this, don’t forget that..” he said through gritted teeth, smirking to himself as you continued to let him spank you with an unforgiving force. rafe was always so gentle with you, you loved when he switched things up and disregarded your pain sometimes..

food play: pogue!sweetheart!reader is basically our little strawberry shortcake. always whipping things up in the kitchen with rafe pressed against her ass was bound to lead to some interesting experiments. first it was strawberries, you and rafe sharing one before he dragged the fruit up the curve of your neck, licking the sweet, succulent juice that had dripped down to you chest. the second time around, before you two decided to incorporate it more regularly, you two were having a lazy day, both of you sharing some whipped cream you had made. you had playfully licked some off of rafe’s finger before he got the crazy idea to lick it from other places, too..

cream pie: rafe was obsessed with watching his cum drip out of you. he’d pull out halfway while you were still clenching around him, forcing you to look down so you could see the glorious sight of his twitching cock filling you up before pulling out altogether. you two would wait with bated breath’s, a moan leaving your lips as you felt the warm ropes of cum slowly drip out of your entrance. rafe’s chest would be rising and falling as he used the tip of his cock to smear his seed up and down your folds, even taking the time to circle your sensitive clit. “oh, fuck, this is amazing..” he’d marvel, gathering the sticky succulence before pushing it back into you.

marathon sex: with pogue!sweetheart!reader’s camper being far away from everyone on the island, it was like you and rafe were dead to the world as you moaned and screamed as loud as you wanted. completely losing the concept of time, you and rafe went at it until someone tapped out, neither of you tiring easily when you were too busy getting thrown over the edge time and time again. one night in particular, you and rafe were doing what you usually did before bed, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you and you just couldn’t get enough. both of you kept going without any intentions of stopping. it wasn’t until rafe finally called it that you two noticed the blue morning sky peeking through your curtains that you realized you had just fucked for hourssss

soft/vanilla sex: rafe loved taking his time with you, especially because he knew you were sentimental about everything. holding your hands while his head was working between your thighs, looking into your eyes the whole time he was pounding into you, the gentle touches against your skin as he hoisted you up further onto your bed, it was all his way of handling you with care. he’d peck the tip of your nose when you were cumming, his fingers bringing you down from your high as he held you against his chest. whispering praises in your ear, rafe wouldn’t start aftercare until you were gazing up at him lovingly, and that was even sweeter.

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moonlightwritingf1 · 2 days ago

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The Secret Santa Gift | LN4

𐙚༘⋆˖°🎄๋࣭ ⭑₊ ⊹ summary ━━━━━━━ At a Christmas party, Y/N receives a gift from Lando, her Secret Santa. After realizing his feelings, she meets him in Hyde Park, where Lando confesses his love.

𐙚༘⋆˖°🎄๋࣭ ⭑₊ ⊹ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚༘⋆˖°🎄๋࣭ ⭑₊ ⊹ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.8k

Inside Pietra and Max’s flat, the warm glow of fairy lights cast a festive ambiance. The group had gathered around, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Among the group was Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, whose infectious energy was as much a highlight of the evening as the spiced mulled wine.

Y/N had met Lando through Pietra. He was charming, funny, and always had a way of making her laugh, but she’d never considered that he might see her as more than just a friend. Why would someone like him—a world-famous driver with fans across the globe—be interested in someone like her?

What Y/N didn’t know was that from the moment Lando had met her, he was hooked. Her shy smiles, fierce wit, and the way she carried herself had captivated him. He had tried to drop hints—playful teasing, lingering stares, and always managing to be by her side whenever they were in the same room. But so far, his feelings had gone unnoticed, much to the amusement of their mutual friends.

Tonight, Lando’s heart raced with anticipation. He had drawn Y/N’s name for Secret Santa, and he’d spent days planning her gift. If he couldn’t tell her how he felt outright, he’d let his actions do the talking.

As everyone settled in a circle around the tree, Pietra handed out the gifts.

“Alright, everyone, one at a time. Let’s see what Santa’s brought us,” Pietra announced with a grin.

Y/N’s turn came quickly. She picked up a neatly wrapped box with her name on it and smiled. “Ooh, this one looks fancy.”

She carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal a beautifully designed gift box. Inside were items that immediately caught her attention: a novel by her favorite author, a selection of her go-to snacks, and a handwritten note tucked neatly between them.

She picked up the note and read it aloud, her cheeks turning pink as she spoke:

"To Y/N,

I hope these little things bring a smile to your face. You deserve all the happiness in the world. Happy Christmas!

—Your Secret Santa."

The room was quiet for a moment before the group erupted into knowing smiles and exchanged glances.

“This is perfect,” Y/N said, beaming. “Whoever my Secret Santa is, thank you!”

Across the room, Lando leaned back against the couch, his soft smile betraying his delight. “Glad you like it,” he said casually.

Y/N gave him a warm smile before turning her attention back to the gift box, completely unaware of the depth behind his words.

Later in the evening, when the group had dispersed into smaller conversations, Pietra sidled up to Lando. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not subtle at all, you know,” she said, her tone teasing.

Lando shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t need to be. She’s worth it.”

Pietra shook her head with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, Norris. When are you going to tell her?”

Lando glanced over at Y/N, who was laughing at something one of the others had said. Her smile lit up the room, and for a moment, it was just her in his world.

“Soon,” he said softly.

As the evening wound down and guests began to leave, Lando lingered behind, offering to help Pietra and Max clean up. Y/N stayed too, not wanting the night to end just yet.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Lando asked as he carried a stack of plates to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, leaning against the counter. “It’s always nice to get together like this. And that gift… It was really thoughtful.”

Lando met her gaze, his lips quirking into a smile. “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

There was something in his tone—something warm and genuine—that made her stomach flutter. She quickly looked away, brushing it off as friendly banter.

As the clock struck midnight, Lando walked Y/N to the door. The cold air outside was a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Lando,” she replied, her cheeks tinged pink from more than just the cold.

As she walked away, Lando stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the night. He knew he couldn’t keep his feelings a secret much longer.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/N was beginning to notice too.

The days following the Secret Santa evening were uneventful for Y/N—or so she told herself. Her mind, however, kept drifting back to the gift. There was something about it, something so specific and thoughtful, that made her heart skip a beat. Whoever her Secret Santa was had paid attention to the little details about her life. But who could it have been?

“It’s probably just Pietra,” she muttered to herself one morning as she walked to the café near her office for her usual coffee fix. “She knows I love that author.”

Still, the way Lando had smiled at her that night lingered in her thoughts. It wasn’t the playful grin she was used to seeing. It was softer, almost tender, and it made her cheeks heat every time she replayed it in her head.

Shaking off the memory, she stepped into the café, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and the low hum of conversation.

Lando, on the other hand, wasn’t shaking off anything. The memory of Y/N’s smile when she opened his gift was etched in his mind. He’d been tempted to tell her the truth that night but had held back, not wanting to overwhelm her. But he couldn’t wait much longer.

“Mate, just tell her,” his friend Max had said during a call the day after the party. “She’s not as oblivious as you think.”

Lando wasn’t convinced. Y/N had a way of brushing off his flirtations as jokes, as though the idea of him liking her was absurd. But he was determined to change that.

A few days later, Y/N found herself at the same café again, waiting for her latte. It was one of those rare slow mornings, and she decided to sit by the window to watch the city bustle by. As she sipped her coffee, an older woman sitting at the next table leaned over with a warm smile.

“Excuse me, dear,” the woman said. “I couldn’t help but notice—are you seeing that young man who was sitting here a few minutes ago?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Um, no. I don’t think I know who you mean.”

The woman chuckled softly. “He was sitting here earlier, fiddling with his phone and glancing at the door every few seconds. When you walked in, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He left not long after but looked quite pleased with himself.”

Y/N frowned, confused. “Are you sure it was me he was looking at?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the woman said, her eyes twinkling. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat. “What did he look like?” she asked, though she already had a sinking suspicion.

“Dark brown hair, striking greenish-blue eyes, and a sharp jawline. He looked like someone who belonged on the cover of a high-end sports magazine—tall and had an athletic build.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped. It couldn’t be… could it?

That evening, as she walked home, her mind raced. The description fit Lando perfectly, and the woman’s words were hard to ignore. Was it possible that he’d been there, watching her? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

By the time she reached her flat, she was too restless to sit still. She grabbed her phone and opened a message thread with Pietra.

Y/N: Can I ask you something? Was Lando my Secret Santa?

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed.

Pietra: Took you long enough to figure it out. Yes, it was him. And yes, he’s head over heels for you.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart pounding. Pietra’s words confirmed what the woman in the café had hinted at.

The next day, Lando texted her out of the blue.

Lando: Fancy a walk in Hyde Park? I’m in London for a couple of days.

Y/N hesitated but replied.

Y/N: Sure. When?

That afternoon, they met by the park entrance. Lando greeted her with his usual playful smile, though his eyes held a certain softness that made her heart flutter.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as they started walking.

“It’s nice to get some fresh air,” Y/N replied, trying to sound casual.

For a while, they strolled in comfortable silence, the crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant sound of children playing filling the gaps.

“Can I ask you something?” she said suddenly, stopping near a bench.

Lando turned to her, his hands in his coat pockets. “Anything.”

She took a deep breath. “Were you my Secret Santa?”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “What gave it away?”

“Pietra,” she admitted, folding her arms. “And maybe an old woman in a café who said you were staring at me like a lovesick puppy.”

Lando’s eyes widened, then he laughed—a warm, genuine sound. “Lovesick puppy, huh? That’s new.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat. “So… it’s true?”

Lando stepped closer, his teasing tone softening. “Yeah, it’s true. I was your Secret Santa. And I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months.”

Her breath hitched. “Lando…”

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re everything, Y/N. You’re funny, smart, kind, and you have no idea how much you light up a room just by being in it. I’ve been crazy about you since the day we met.”

She stared at him, her mind racing. All the little moments—the lingering looks, the teasing, the way he always seemed to be near her—suddenly made sense.

“I… I thought you were just being nice,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando chuckled softly. “I don’t flirt with just anyone, you know.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart pounding. “I didn’t think someone like you would look at someone like me.”

His expression turned serious. “Y/N, you’re everything I’ve been looking for. And I don’t care about what I do or where I live. All I care about is you.”

Her eyes filled with tears as his words sank in. “You really mean that?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I’d do anything for you. You mean that much to me.”

Y/N smiled through her tears. “I think I’ve been falling for you too. I just didn’t realize it.”

Lando’s grin returned, playful yet full of warmth. “Took you long enough.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a gentle, heartfelt kiss. The world around them faded, leaving only the two of them in that perfect moment.

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alllgator-blood · 10 hours ago

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'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

#cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #shamura #heket #kallamar #leshy #angst #comic

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pastanest · 2 days ago

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Spencer Reid - Recommendations

figured it was about time I started one of these after reading Spencer content for…God knows how many years?? will update this as and when I find new fics that ruin me!

(I made this in November 2023 and forgot to post it so apologies if some fics are gone x)

> fluff (f) angst (a) suggestive/smut (s)

Imagines:

(f) Babied by @reiderwriter - in this house we love a wholesome age gap fic

(f/s) do you believe me now? by @nereidprinc3ss - we just know he talks you through it like we KNOW this but this is ??? pure poetry. it is written so well I cannot believe

(s) Fixated by @reiderwriter - Spencer Reid is a munch confirmed

(f) Date? Date! by @foxy-eva - as far as I’m concerned this literally happened like are you joe king this is so CATEGORICALLY him being ????????!!!!!!!!!!!????????

(s) Need by @thankyouivy - Spencer Reid is a munch and it’s cannon

(s) Slick Tongue by @thankyouivy - Spencer Reid is a munch carnally

(s) Serene Queen by @de4dlyniightshade - Spencer Reid is a munch, biblically accurate

(s) Let Me Love You by @strawbeerossi - Spencer is a munch and beloved I cannot look you in the eyes after this one it is so…

(f) GirlDad!Reid gets out of prison by @inkdrinkerworld - before you ask no it isn’t my daddy issues talking (yes it is) but this made me cry

(s) Not So Innocent by @golden1u5t - this feels so canon to me I cannot express it enough this should be a gospel passage

(s) Relief by @strawbeerossi - bro. this one. WHEW.

(s) Dark Desires by @incognit0slut - listennnnnn. if anyone’s gonna be on this list it’s GONNA be the queen herself. this awakened things in me I’m not comfortable admitting online thank you

(f/s) Begging by @crypticreid - every time I think abt this one my reaction is the same as it was in my initial reblog

(s) Pent Up by @reiderwriter - I’ll be so real with you I don’t even have the words for this one

(s) Boots by @violentdelightsandviolentends - save a horse ride a cowboy’s boots

(s) Angry Frat-Boy-Hair Reid by @reiderwriter - it does what it says on the tin and I’m the tin

(s) relax by @nereidprinc3ss - omg, the soft!dom nature of it all is just…the dialogue in this is so…

(f/s) seeing stars by @reiderwriter - me personally I love a cheeky bit of non!virgin shrimp reid being all sweet n just WHEW LORD

(s) Whiny And Spoiled by @nereidprinc3ss - munch reid is so canon it’s not funny anymore ENUFF

(f/s) angel by @rreids - this is the most canon soft-intimate thing I’be read of Spencer imo like when that man gains confidence THIS IS WHAT HE IS LIKE it is written in the bible

Blurbs:

(s) Practising Munch by @phefics - Spencer being a DEDICATED munch from the get go 🫡

(f) Gently by @lovers-rck - this is so cute gtfo

(s) Mommy by @tenpintsof-sundrop - usually I’d die on the hill of Spencer being a top but this changed my brain chemistry actually

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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almondmilkcleanser · 1 day ago

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when I made a little mess, he told me to clean my act up....

└ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 `

synopsis - your friends are seeing less and less of you and all you can give them as an excuse is that between school and Sukuna your schedule is filled to the brim. Is tonight going to be any different? pairing - ryomen Sukuna x reader

content -Daddy dom sUkuna listening to - positions x ariana grande minors do not interact a/n - happy holidays everyone <3

Ping!

Come out with us for drinks! Its been so long since weve seen you since you started dating this guy. Whats his name again?

Ping!

Oh come onnnn! This is like the third weekend in a row that youve bailed on us. Sewriously, who is this guy anyway?

Ping!

Y/nnnnn! We miss you! Why dont you tell your little boy toy that you cant sit on his lap this weekend and actually come out with us~~~ love you talk to you later!

Ping!

Are you okay? We’re worried. Whats really going on? Everytime we try to invite you out you say youre with this Sukuna guy. Seriously who is he? Ugh! Call me later. Love you bye!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

“Tsk. you dont need those kinds of friends anyway. Nothin’ but a bunch of jealous girls. Isn't that right, beautiful?” You wish you could reply, but you were stuffed - practically down to your rib cage - full of Sukuna. He crossed his flexed biceps behind his head, a smug expression slowly creeping across his face.

Aggressively pressing the lock button on your phone, he tossed it clear across the room. He read the plethora of messages between your friends, how they complained about their boyfriends/dates - both seemingly interchanged between each other in some, very odd, sort of fashion - and how they were going to form a man hating group. Just for you to turn around and meet Sukuna. Mean old Sukuna. Curse destroying Sukuna.

Sukuna, your Dom. Sukuna, your boyfriend.

Sukuna, the one training you to take his entire dick down your throat as your first lesson.

He chose your hairstyle, two low ponytails that hung daintily down your back. He didn’t give a shit if you just got your hair done. He’ll pay to get it fixed once he’s done with you. He kept you pampered; your hair was done, nails were done, fresh pedicures, the works. So to hell with messing up a hairstyle, daddy Sukuna took care of it all.

The new choker he bought you complimented your skin tone perfectly. You always voiced your concerns on how the BDSM community never catered to darker skinned women as far as color selection, but he pulled the appropriate strings, so nothing on your beautiful brown skin looked washed out or ashy. The metal heart brightly polished - almost spit shined - and neatly rested on your throat. That pretty fucking throat that he had grown so acquainted it.

He hmm’d to himself as he reminisced, his eyes never leaving your innocent face as you stared back at him. Your plush, glossed lips, encircled around his dick. As you swallowed him whole, he thought back to the first time you rode him.

Your hips bouncing up and down at a hungered pace, his large hand wrapped around your neck, and his engorged dick french kissing your gripping walls, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper into the depths of your love nest to welcome his seed home.

Thank fuck for birth control. A mutual agreement between you two - but it was, in all honesty, the best thing you could have done.

His dark eyes flashed something so lustful, so salacious, that he almost sounded giddy upon sharing it with you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, Mmh, I have an idea.” your soft tongue flicked the pre-cum clean off the tip of his head, your eyes innocent and wanting. With your hands still wrapped around his dick, you continued to lick the head, your ears perked at his idea.

“Yes, daddy. What’s your idea.” Sukuna loved your obedience. If half of the idiots surrounding him on a day-to-day basis had half the brains and even a fraction of your pussy, then his days would go a lot smoother. But until then-

With an ever growing smile, he jerked his head to the side of him, making your eyes wander over his direction. In the corner was the suspension rig that he put together for play time.

The metallic poles glinted brightly under your living room lights - they almost mocked you, ready to hoist you in the air for all of Sukuna to see and galore in his own self of triumph - its black lapels sturdy, strong, shining. For you.

Sukuna read your eyes with triumph. Partial sadism and partial perversion intertwined themselves into one, forming at the root a creation that would sit-pretty in the back of his mind. Of course, you would look up at him, mouth stuffed with his girth, with such an harmless stare. You blinked - pleading almost - that his mind wasn’t affixed to the sight of you dangling there, helpless and pleading, pussy pretty, raspberry pink, and wanting to be split down the middle.

“Remember what daddy talked about last weekend? How if you didn’t get that A in your organic chemistry class that we’d be setting up our next little toy?” In what world was that fucking contraption little?!

“Y-yes, Daddy.” you stopped giving him head to look deeper into his eyes. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his upper thighs. He traced your bottom lip and smirked. His sadistic eyes shimmering brightly.

“I saw how you tried to turn that ‘C’ into an A. So I logged into your school account.” his voice simmered a mixture of amber and sweet tobacco. But you and your pussy knew that he wasn't anywhere near pleased. He fed you his thumb, and like an obedient plaything you opened your mouth, letting him rest on your tongue.

You suckled down, lapping your tongue around it, taking in the hints of your own juices from this morning’s requested “stuffing session”. You were a greedy little thing. Begging him for one finger, then two, all four, and finally his thumb. Your mind was still recalibrating from that orgasm even to this second.

“Baby, tsss, why did you lie to me?” he used his other hand to tiptop to one ponytail, then the other. Holding both in his hand, he tugged gently. You had no reason outside of being a brat. You hated organic chemistry. The teacher didn’t offer extra credit. And Sukuna, as hungrily devilish he was, he didn’t fuck around when it came to your education. You still remember how many times he edged you because you forgot to turn in a huge presentation for your English class. You already had an A in the class! But Daddy didn’t care.

You held his wrist with both of your hands, putting extra care into teasing his thumb. Taking it a step further, you nudged his hand to welcome two more of his fingers. You could taste yourself. A specially formulated nectar that practically oozed from your pussy, all dried up on his fingers. He knew what you were trying to do. But by fucking God did he enjoy falling for it.

He pulled on your ponytails, popping his mouth off of his hands and upwards at him.

“Sweetie, I asked a question. Why did you lie about your grades?” He took those same two fingers in his mouth and purposely slobbered on them. He scooted off the chair, his torso still towering over yours, and repositioned himself on his knees in front of you. He snaked his hand behind you and popped those same two fingers in your slicked opening. You welcomed him cheerfully, making him tsss at the sudden wave of wet warmth sucking him in.

He had to keep his composure. He had to keep his vices in tack. Otherwise he would turn you around and fucking throttle you for hours.

“Speak, Y/N.” he growled.

“B-because I didn’t want you to be mad, Suna~” you clenched your teeth, swallowing down a moan. “I fell asleep studying and didn’t remember half of what was on the test. But I won’t do it again- ah- I p-p-promise.” Sukuna stuffed you with a third finger but refused to move. He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Tsk tsk tsk. All you had to do was tell me the truth. But now-” the pressure of his thumb as it pressed against your asshole sent shivers across your body.

“We’re going to have some fun.”

✥✥✥

“Mmmm… look at that pussy.” Sukuna took a few steps to admire his work. You were dangling in midair, your ankles held up by two suspension straps and your arms held behind your back by another set of suspension straps. Your body lazily rocked back and forth in midair, everything exposed to Sukuna.

“And you were protesting this idea so much, Y/N.” Sukuna snorted, bunching all the straps in his hand to rock you back to him. “Look how wet she is,” with one finger, he scooped the inside of your pussy, whistling in wondrous regard at how sticky you were. “She’s fucking ready, princess. Are you?”

Your body was hot. You’ve never been this exposed by anyone in your life! If your friends were to get a glimpse of you - Ms. high-strung, always punctual, studious and practically perfect - strung up like a holiday ham about to get the shit fucked out of you, what would they say?

Sukuna pulled the holsters back, guiding his thick dick into your slicked entrance with precision. He growled aloud, seeing you so helpless as he stretched you open sparked something carnal inside of him. His pretty pillow princess, hanging in the air, submissive and so fucking sexy. All for him.

All for me

Slap! He moved his hips back and forth. Palming your beautiful ass, slapping each cheek as you rocked back and forth. Swallowing him whole.

All for fucking me.

Your pussy gripped around him, making him moan aloud. “F-fuck, baby. Your pussy isn’t letting up today. She’s a g-good girl~ she’s a good fucking girl~” he slapped your ass again, upping the pace. He gripped the holsters so you’d stay in place as he slammed into you. He made your pussy his home, claiming each available space as his. Your sloshed insides coated his dick with an opaque film that glistened every inch of him from tip to base, even dripping down his balls.

“S-s-suna-a-a-a~” Your pitched whines fed him. He fucked you harder, and harder, and harder. Your slutty pussy let him in each and every time. Its warmth enveloping his massive girth and nestling him home. With a grit of his teeth, he tried his damnedest not to cum, but you were just-

“Dammit, she’s so fucking good baby. Your pussy l-loves this”

“‘Ts so fucking tight.” He spit on his thumb, guiding it in your forbidden hole. “Sucha nasty fucking girl.” He pulled himself out of you to admire you. Your open pussy, slicked, wanting, welcoming. “Does daddy’s girl want to come?” He licked two fingers and pressed them on your clit. The electric shocks sending your back into an arch and your moans into a frenzy.

“Hm? I don’t think i hear you, doll~” he slapped your clit with those same two fingers, chuckling under his breath. Your eyes caught a flashing light in the corner of the room. It was your phone. Your friends were calling you again.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” his hand wrapped around your neck. He smiled into your neck, biting playfully on your shoulder. “Looks like others want your attention as much as I do.” He guided himself back into you. Your quivering pussy clenching down, refusing to let him go.

“How’s about this-” he kissed your cheek. “You give me a good orgasm and I’ll let you go. And you can go make up lost time with your friends. Sounds good?” he didn’t really wait for an answer. Instead, he stood back up, grabbed your hips, and proceeded to pound into you.

“F-fuck! You like this, huh, sweetheart?” You did. You fucking did. Being so vulnerable and open to him from all angles drove you fucking insane. Your body rocked back and forth as his hips met your ass. The ripples of your ass sending Sukuna in a daze. He loved watching your almond-coated body glazed with sweat. You needed this fucking more than you admitted. And he was more than happy to give it to you.

His thrusts increased in force. So much that he had to cinch onto your hips so you wouldn’t fly forward. But Daddy Sukuna knew you. He knew you would take it. With a fucking smile. Your moans escalated to a near animalistic pitch. He loved seeing you let loose. To hear you curse, whine, and groan your frustrations made him proud to be yours. To be your release. To be-

“My pretty fucking girl. Taking all of this dick for daddy, huh? Fucking come on me, princess.”

“That’s-” stroke “An-” stroke “Order.”

Your hips buckled as he pushed forward, kissing the end of your cervix. You felt his fluid coating your walls, glistening each surface area of you with his cream. Even when you were stuffed, droplets of his cum littered the floor, streaked down your thighs, and pooled underneath you.

“Suna~” you whined, “These are going to stain my stockings, again.” he responded by kissing your shoulder again.

“I’ll just buy you another pair, doll. ‘Ts nothin’ when I get to see your pretty face like this.” and then, another devilish idea sparked in his head. He held the holsters again, turning you around to face his pelvis.

“How’s about one more round. And then you can tell your friends to meet you wherever you decide. My treat~”

As you looked up at him, his dick jumped to life again. Both sides equally veiny, moistened, and waiting for your plush lips to wrap around them.

You didn’t say anything, all you did was smirk and latch your soft tongue around the base.

“Nnh-” Sukuna squeezed the holsters. “Good girl.’

“Good fucking girl.”

END.

Please leave a reply, like and reblog it really helps

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sinofwriting · 3 days ago

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Karma - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,396 Summary: Charles and her had plans. 2025 would start with her fully moving in with him and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d become public. A certain rapper ruins that in Vegas. Note(s): Lamar!Reader, Reader has the nickname ‘Butterfly’, slight smau, changed results of Abu Dhabi, also yes the title is referring to the Taylor Swift song, lol. Thank you @burningcupcakefire for encouraging me to write this when I mentioned the idea!!!

Masterlist | Support Me!

Charles could privately admit that when all the diss tracks started to come out, he more than paid attention to them. He had always appreciated Kendrick’s music but in the past year had gained a new perspective of him as both an artist and a person. All because he had started seeing the artist’s younger sister.

They hadn’t gone public yet, were still unsure of when they wanted to. He had reservations about putting more eyes on her and considering how his fans, how motorsport fans were, he could only imagine the baseless claims they’d made, the attacks they’d lay at her feet and Y/N, or Butterfly as she had been nicknamed by her brother’s fans, a nickname that had quickly caught to everyone in her life, had her own reasons.

She didn’t care about what fans would say, they were behind a keyboard, she could be perfect, and to Charles she was, and they would still find something to pick at, there was no winning. It was the attention he brought. She was already sometimes followed around by paparazzi just because of her brother, she knew that as soon as the news broke, she really would never be able to get her groceries in peace without some divorced thirty-year-old shouting questions as he took photos of her.

So they both had agreed that after the new year, when she was finally fully living with him in Monaco, and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they would reveal their relationship, that of course didn’t go to plan because of one Instagram story.

—

Butterfly is fuming when he gets back to his hotel room, the curtains drawn back and letting the lights of Vegas spill into it, onto her. She’s nearly as stunning here as she is on his balcony in Monaco that faces the coast. A gorgeous backdrop that can’t even come close to her beauty no matter how much it tries.

Her fury makes arousal simmer in the pit of his stomach and his lips twitch upwards when she leans into the kiss he presses to the corner of her lips.

“You're nearly as mad as when he mentioned Whitney.”

She scowls at the verbal reminder of that shit. “He’s lucky I’m a civil adult.”

“Very civil.” Charles agrees.

“I mean, honestly what the fuck does he think he’s doing. Acting like he got an interest in F1.”

Charles listens as she starts to rant, having clearly waited for him, and he listens as undresses. Gathering his clothes up as her voice increases in volume and he gently tugs her with him into the bathroom, turning on the shower before easily lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her hands pausing their gesturing to run over his arms in thanks before she continues.

She rants through his brief shower, nearly slipping when she begins to read out texts between her and her brother.

“He is pissed?” His voice is nearly high, head poking out of the shower to look at her with wide eyes.

Butterfly looks at him in confusion, head cocked to the side. “Baby, of course. Your family. We don’t stand for shit like this against family.”

Charles can’t even point out that said shit is just an insta story of Drake saying he’s betting on him to win the grand prix, because he knows it feels deeper than that, especially with Drake’s history of betting. His mind is far too focused on the word family.

“I’m family?”

She lets out a laugh, tongue running over her teeth. “Baby, you got with me right before one of the worst times for our family and stuck through it. You never had to prove yourself, but that did it. You're stuck with all of us now.”

He feels warm all over at the words and he ducks his back into the shower, quickly rinsing off before climbing out, barely remembering to put a towel around his waist before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her hands eagerly run over his back, legs opening to pull him closer and he tries to keep his upper body away from her, not wanting to get her shirt wet, but she pulls him closer and he can’t resist her, has never been able to.

“You’ve made me all wet.” She teases when they break apart.

He tries to apologize, but then she’s taking his hand and pressing it between them, against her leggings, and the feeling of wetness pulls a moan from the back of his throat.

“You are very lucky that I don’t listen to Andrea.”

“Very lucky.” She agrees.

—

“K said you had an idea.”

Charles lets out a hum, fingers trailing over her ribs.

“He wouldn’t tell me what.”

His fingers pause. “I was thinking instead of staying in Vegas tomorrow we go and see him.”

“We leave for Qatar on Monday.”

“We can make it back to Vegas in time for our flight. It’s barely a two-hour flight from there to here.”

This time she hums.

“Can we go public?”

He nearly chokes. “What?”

“Public, I want to go public. We had kind of talked about doing it before Monaco next season, but things have changed a bit.”

“Because I’m family.”

She laughs, “Yeah, baby, because your family.”

“What if we do a uh soft launch?”

“A soft launch?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a picture with your brother for my insta stories, start following you, you follow me back.” Excitement starts to build as he speaks.

“I post a little something about being in Qatar.”

“We do a little date night in Abu Dhabi.”

She hums, “You kiss me after you win Abu Dhabi.”

“You think I’m going to win?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. First Ferrari driver to win there and you’ll overtake Norris in the standings and maybe Ferrari will finish P2 in the constructors.”

“I like this plan.”

She smiles. “I like it too.”

—

“Yes Charles!”

“Yes!” He screams over the radio. “Where did Carlos finish? Where did Norris, Oscar?” He wants to celebrate the win, but the constructors and drivers are far more important.

“Carlos P6, Norris P3, Oscar P10. You are second in the drivers. And we are second in constructors, 2 points between you and Norris, four points between us and McLaren.”

“Fuck.” The excitement in him is simmered with resentment. Four points was all it came down to and of course it wasn’t in their favor.

“Charles, Charles,” Fred’s voice is thick over the radio. “You did fantastic, another win for you and an amazing drive!”

He smiles, taking his hands off to wave at fans as he slowly moves around the track. Italian easily spilling from his lips as he thanks Fred, Bryan, the mechanics, engineers and the whole team.

It’s satisfying to pull his car to the number one spot as Lando takes off his helmet, jaw twitching. Charles wants to shake him because how can he be this focused on second in the drivers when him and his team won the constructors. He stares at him for a second before getting out of the car and throwing himself into his teams arms.

They easily catch him, hands patting all over, his name spilling off lips over and over again. They grip him tighter before letting him go to take off his helmet and balaclava.

The air is refreshing against his face and normally he's taking a drink of water, starting to put back on jewelry, but today he’s searching through the crowd of red, heart thumping when he finally notices her.

She’s to the side, beaming at him as Bryan stands on her left while his mom and brothers stand to her right. And he goes to her.

His hands easily going to her face, holding it gently before kissing her.

She’s mumbling something against his lips and he wants to know what, but he can’t stop kissing her. Not when she’s clutching at his arms, pressing closer to him. But a nudge to the ribs makes him pull away, breathless, and his tongue runs over his swollen lips.

“So proud of you, baby! So fucking proud!” She yells at him as he’s pulled away for a post race interview and he can’t help but blow her a kiss, happy to have won in front of her for the first time and in front of his family again.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sins fics

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bucketbueckers · 17 hours ago

Text

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER SIX

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur thelightknight21 wc: 18.3k notes: masterlist (sorry, nothing funny today, this chapter and last nights game actually destroyed me) but holy word count who cooked here 😹 i fear the last half of this chap is kinda rushed but writer's block was going crazy and i truthfully only had plans for like THREE (3) specific scenes...if you can't tell, planning, pacing, and the timeline are my biggest opps 😾 but i'm grown so i do what i want!! also, smut warning! if it's not your thing, it's at the very end and you can skip over it without missing anything super important. i'm not a smut writer, i just work here, but i put pen to paper and it just came out (no pun intended) 🤷‍♀️ sorry for making this as long as the chapter itself, but as always, lmk what you think and i hope you enjoy 🫶

‘The Hard Launch Heard Around the World’

For college basketball fans, Christmas has come early this year. On June 21st, Paige Bueckers and Tess Kennedy’s long-awaited hard launch was finally shared to Instagram after a month and a half of speculation, fan theories, and less than subtle interactions online. Kennedy shared a collection of pictures with the caption “here’s to tess kennedy’s worst kept secret. thank you for coming into my life when you did.” Many of the comments consisted of undecipherable keyboard smashes, such as one commenter’s “TESS AND PAIGE? AJSFKFJKDSJK”, but overall, Kennedy’s comment section was full of congratulations, support, and praise.

Bueckers, similarly, shared a collection of photos, although her caption was a lyric from Frank Ocean’s “Sierra Leone.” If you have been following Kennedy’s journey thus far, you may remember that the first ever soft-launch photo she posted to her story included another lyric from this song. Bueckers’s caption, reading “And her pink skies will keep me warm,” is seen as a call-back to that moment, with many fans accepting this as the confirmation that Bueckers and Kennedy have been seeing each other all along.

Their hard-launch precedes their Bose endorsement. The two of them starred in a commercial showcasing Bose’s newest product, where they became known as Mrs. and Mrs. Bose. Some critics noted how specific the timing was, arguing that their hard-launch was just a stunt to further promotion for Bose’s product, although supporters rallied in defense. Commenters noted that Bueckers and Kennedy spent most of their time this offseason in different states – this Bose ad was the first time they were able to be in person together, so they surmised that it was just the optimal time to announce it. Another fan also pointed out that their history speaks for itself.

Regardless of the timing, one thing is for certain – Bueckers and Kennedy are the next “it” couple. Their influence is beginning to spread outside of the sports world, and many people believe that their openness is going to be pivotal in breaking barriers and promoting acceptance for queer athletes.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

JULY 2023

The months after their hard-launch go about as well as anyone could have expected. Once Tess and Paige made it back to Brooklyn and Minnesota respectively, things were…nice. They finished June out strong, in near constant contact and on FaceTime. Tess kept her feelings close to her chest. She knew there was no way Paige was into her in that way. She wasn’t the type to be tied down, and Tess had to respect that – even if she was one for commitment, Tess doesn’t think that she’d be her first choice.

All she can think about is their agreement. Paige had so confidently said that she could do casual. She wasn’t the one who caught feelings. And as far as Tess is concerned, she isn’t sure if her reputation is worth how complicated her life has become. She’s not the one to pretend to be someone she’s not; not the one to pretend to feel a way (or not feel a way about something). Her relationship with Paige used to be something that brought her great comfort, but now she can’t help but feel like she’s ruined something perfectly fine by allowing her feelings to get the best of her. Now, she’s not telling a story to the public or selling a ruse. Bree was right – she is lying to Paige, and that’s the worst part of it all. Paige doesn’t deserve her dishonesty, nor her inability to keep things strictly business as she’d once promised.

So, June was okay. They talked, Tess spiraled, but this is her life now. Tess would eventually have to learn to keep her feelings at bay.

Then July hit.

July was like a blessing in disguise, the perfect opportunity for Tess to work on herself and hopefully get rid of her lingering feelings for Paige. She could get over her. It’s not a big deal. So what if Paige was the first person she’d ever felt romantically for? Tess is new to all of this – she can’t honestly know perfectly what liking someone felt like. The denial wasn’t particularly effective, but if Tess keeps speaking it into existence, then it has to come true, right?

July was when summer practices started back up. Paige flew back to Storrs the first week. Tess was supposed to fly back to Columbia, but given her injury and the fact she wouldn’t be able to contribute much to practices, Coach Staley gave her the all-clear to stay in Brooklyn and soak up as much PT with Terri as she could. Craig was qualified, although the both of them knew Terri had a different approach to rehab than Craig did.

Paige gets busy almost immediately. She’s fresh off an injury and her role on the team has shifted due to other’s injuries, so she’s swept up into an incredible amount of extra practice, film watching, and learning a different part of the game. Tess gets…the complete opposite of busy. She still does PT three times a week, meets with Yvette, but with Paige gone, all of her free time becomes free again, and she doesn't even know what to do with herself. Fortnite, as stupid as it sounds, makes her think of Paige. Her feelings are still too fresh and the mere thought of the game reminds her of the countless hours she and Paige wasted away on it, laughing, flirting, and celebrating their wins. It’s not a break-up, but it feels oddly like one. Tess used to be stronger than this. That was the worst part.

With Paige’s time being occupied by things out of her control, Tess uses it to her advantage. She tries to get over her, spaces out her responses when Paige does get the time to speak. With her knee in better shape, she tries out yoga. Tess can’t quite master the idea of clearing her mind. Paige’s name echoes like a mantra in her brain, the image of her blue eyes blinding. No matter how hard she tries, all Tess can think about is the pressure of Paige’s lips on hers, the way she’d guided her jaw just how she liked, the weight of her hand on her and the way she was able to feel exactly how she made Tess’s heart race.

She’s so fucked.

It hurts, Tess has to admit. Covering up lies with even more lies. She’s not completely sure what happened to turn her into someone who couldn’t tell the truth. It hurts even more to know that she’s not just hurting herself, but she’s hurting Paige, too, who’s not even at fault for any of this.

Hey I got a couple hours free tonight Facetime? I miss you

[Delivered: 4:32pm]

Are you okay?

[Read: 7:53pm]

sorry, busy tn idk if i can

It’s cool Do you know when you’ll be free?

idk got a lot going on

Okay Call me when you can

[Delivered: 7:54pm]

Tess feels like she’s going to throw up.

AUGUST 2023

Paige doesn’t give up, but Tess can tell she’s losing patience and hope.

She gets a two week break after the end of summer practices, then she and her teammates are heading overseas for their Europe tour. They’re playing a couple of exhibition games. Back in June, Paige had been so excited to send her pictures and tell her all about it, but they’re a day into their trip and she hasn’t heard a word from Paige. It’s for the best. Paige needs to lock in for her games. She can’t get caught up in Tess again.

Tess ends up tuning in for one game. She can’t help herself, even though she ends up turning it off after halftime. There’s a noticeable difference in the way Paige is playing. Tess knows it’s because of her. She’s a little more sluggish, sloppy in her passes, missing a lot more than she usually did. Bueckers, first exhibition game since her ACL injury, the commentator noted. She’s not quite warm yet, but we all know she’ll be on fire once the season starts. Tess knows better than that. It’s her fault.

Still, Paige tries.

You busy?

[Delivered, 5:43pm]

Zagreb is beautiful [3 Attachments] Text me when you can

[Delivered: 6:38pm]

[Read: 9:01pm]

sorry. just got free

It’s okay FT? Can’t sleep

i can’t, have to be up early tomorrow you should get some rest. it’s late

I don’t care I miss you I feel like we never talk anymore Did I do something? Whatever it is I’ll fix it I promise

you didn’t do anything just got a lot going on

Me too

[Read: 9:03pm]

Okay cool 😂 Let me know when you’re not too busy for me Goodnight Tess

[Read: 9:04pm]

SEPTEMBER 2023

July and August were busts – no matter what she did, she wasn’t able to keep her mind off of Paige. Distancing herself wasn’t very effective, but she shouldn’t expect results after two months, right? Maybe she just needed a little more time.

Paige texts her once in September.

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for whatever I did. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or if there was something I said that hurt you. I meant it when I said you didn’t have to be scared with me. I still mean it. If there’s anything at all I can do or say to make you believe that, please let me know. I don’t like arguing or how we left things and I hate feeling like I’m not fighting hard enough for you. I shouldn’t expect you to drop everything to talk to me. You’re busy and you have a lot going on. Saying what I said was unfair. I’m sorry. But I miss you. Please let me know how I can fix us. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll fly out if I have to, just please don’t shut me out

[Delivered: 2:48am]

OCTOBER 2023

Paige gives up in October. It brings Tess more anguish than she was accounting for.

On the 20th, Tess texts her happy birthday. Paige doesn’t bother reading it. Paige doesn’t post anything for her birthday, either.

Tess wonders if she fucked them up for good.

Maybe it’s better this way.

NOVEMBER 2023

Ghosting Paige wasn’t the right decision at all.

A little obvious in hindsight, but at least Tess can say she tried. Five months apart didn’t magically fix Tess’s problem. It made it worse. She still feels the same for Paige, if not stronger, but affection becomes a difficult pill to swallow when it’s poisoned with guilt and shame. After her injury, she should have learned that pushing people away does more harm than good. Paige didn’t deserve that, but maybe this is who Tess Kennedy is – someone who’s blind to what’s in front of her, someone who leaves when it gets hard, someone who avoids her problems entirely, someone who treats the people she loves like disposable objects. Maybe it was better for Paige to find that out early on before their contract expired and Paige wanted to continue being her friend.

On the 17th, Tess’s birthday, she gets a lifeline.

Happy birthday

Paige’s text is like a knife to the gut. Tess twists the blade herself when she notes the lack of excitement, the lack of emojis. Her message is bland, more like an afterthought, and Tess can’t even be mad – she deserves it. She debates leaving it on delivered, much like Paige had left her message on delivered, if only to spare her from this constant back and forth cycle of will-they won’t-they. But her fingers move faster than her brain does.

thank you

[Delivered: 11:11am]

[Read: 11:11am]

And much to her surprise, Paige responds.

My mom wants to know if you’re still coming for Thanksgiving She bought you an ugly sweater to wear for family photos

There’s a lot of things Tess can say to that. Family photos is enough to make her chest tighten, her stomach roil with anxiety, her throat constrict. It takes everything in her to not break out into sobs, but she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood as she types out her message.

you want me there after these last five months?

Tess doesn’t think that was the right thing to say. Paige types for a long while.

I want what’s best for the story My parents think we’re together We need to keep up appearances

Tess would have preferred it if Paige just left her on read. Delivered. She would have understood if Paige just blocked her all together. She would have preferred if Paige had texted her at any other day, because it’s her birthday, damn it; she’s turning 22 and she’s sitting in her bed crying because this is all she and Paige are, anymore – a story, an appearance to keep up for the sake of their images. But it’s her fault, isn’t it?

i’ll be there

Okay 👍

Tess thinks that’s the end of their conversation until she gets an email. It’s an airline ticket, a roundtrip – she’d be flying out the 22nd and leaving Minnesota early on the 25th. They’re first class. Tess feels like she could throw up again.

you didn’t have to buy my tickets

I promised I would I don’t like breaking my promises

Tess has no retort for that. She sends Paige a half-hearted thank you, not expecting a response, and powers off her phone.

NOVEMBER 22, 2023

Tess spends the entire plane ride nauseous as hell. She dreads her reunion with Paige, knowing that seeing each other will only hurt them more. She’s not even sure if fixing them is possible, but she knows she’ll have to give it a shot. She gets four days with Paige. That should be enough to smooth things over. A part of her knows Paige won’t bend as easily as Kamilla, Bree, and her parents did. Paige was so understanding, but she didn’t take any of Tess’s bullshit. Tess might be making amends until Christmas, if they last that long.

She finishes off the rest of the ginger ale she’d asked the flight attendant for. It does little to soothe the nausea. Guilt usually isn’t something that can be cured with a drink, alcoholic or otherwise. Guilt is one of the things you can’t run away from, even for someone as good at running away as Tess is.

The seatbelt light flicks on as the plane begins its descent onto the Minnesotan soil. Tess’s anxiety returns tenfold. It feels as though time is moving slowly. The plane lands. It idles for a moment, then everyone is standing and reaching for their carry-on. Tess has hers in hand and is walking down the aisle as soon as they click open. It doesn’t take her long to locate her suitcase at baggage claim. Then, she’s back in the crowd, eyes scanning the airport for any sign of Paige. There wasn’t a message on her phone, but she was holding out a little bit of hope.

Instead of Paige, she spots a tall man holding a sign with her name written on it. Tess’s heart all but falls out of her ass as she walks towards him. The realization that Paige didn’t come to pick her up shouldn’t hurt her as much as it does. She should have expected as much. But seeing it brings on a fresh wave of pain that she just wasn’t ready for. The man recognizes her, lowering the sign with a beaming smile, and he reaches out for a hearty handshake. “Hey Tess! I’m Bob, Paige’s dad. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Tess shakes his hand, smiling at him, and hoping that it’s convincing enough. “Likewise, Mr. Bueckers,” she says. Her voice doesn’t falter, but she can tell she’s about to crash out. She takes a deep breath as Paige’s dad waves his hand.

“Bob is fine,” he corrects her. “C’mon – my truck’s this way. Paige went out to pick up some last minute things for you. She should be back at the house by the time we get there.”

Tess hides her grimace. She’s not fully confident that Paige actually did that, but she’s not going to voice that thought to her dad. The simplest truth of the matter is that Paige just didn’t want to pick her up. Tess can’t blame her.

Once they’re loaded up, Bob makes small talk that Tess tries her best to contribute to. He doesn’t seem to think anything’s wrong, so Tess surmises she must be doing a pretty good job. As he speaks, her mind keeps drifting back to Paige, feeling a guilt and shame so strong that she’s unsure if she’ll be able to feel anything remotely positive ever again. How do you hurt Paige Bueckers? Her heart is made of solid gold, but perhaps the issue is her heart is a few sizes too big for her body. Her heart is bigger than Tess herself; Paige gave her everything, no strings attached, and Tess crushed it into small pieces and stomped it out.

That thought alone makes her nauseous all over again. She was so worried that Paige would hurt her, not the other way around. Life has a funny way of biting you in the ass. Tess wonders how socially acceptable it would be to jump out of your fake girlfriend’s dad’s moving vehicle and leave yourself for roadkill. She determines that it’s probably not very acceptable, so she tries her best to get her shit together while she still can.

The Bueckers’ live in a quaint little townhouse, two-storied and a light beige in color. Bob pulls into the driveway next to two SUV Jeeps – one black and one red. He grins at her, nudging her shoulder. “Paige’s home. You excited?”

Tess almost laughs in disbelief. “Yeah,” she lies. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Well, let’s not keep her waiting.”

Tess will admit she sounds like a broken record, but she genuinely thinks she’s about to throw up all over the Bueckers’ driveway. She adjusts her backpack over her shoulder and pulls her suitcase out of Bob’s truck bed, glances at the door, and takes a deep breath as she follows the older man inside.

Inside, it’s warm and cozy. Tess can distinctly make out the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Bob calls out for his wife, who calls back with a cheerful, “In the kitchen!” Paige’s step mom is a tall woman, wearing a festive pair of leggings and an apron over her shirt. She slides off her oven mitts, having just pulled out a pie.

“This is Tess,” Bob states. “Tess, this is my wife, Moe.”

In lieu of a handshake, Moe pulls her in for a gentle hug. “So nice to finally meet you,” she says genuinely. “Paige talks about you all the time.”

Tess’s heart falls out of her ass and she chuckles worriedly, giving the older woman a squeeze. “Good things, I hope.”

“Nothing but,” Moe confirms. “It’s like y’all been together forever. Tess this, Tess that. It’s kind of sickening.”

At Moe’s brutal honesty, Tess laughs, the first genuine one in almost five months. It wasn’t even that funny, but Tess is so far off the deep end that anything helps. “My mom would say the same about me,” she says.

Moe lights up with laughter of her own, grinning widely at Tess. “Alright, I’m sure you’re tired from your trip here. Paige is upstairs. She can help you get settled in. We don’t have a guest room, so you’ll have to bunk with her. No funny business, okay?”

Tess smiles to hide the way her heart stops. She’s shared a room with Paige before. Granted, they had two separate beds, but the room sharing is not an issue. The issue is in how Paige will probably suffocate her with a pillow once night falls. “No funny business,” she agrees, and with one last smile, Moe directs her to the stairs and informs her that Paige’s room is the first on the left.

Tess takes a deep breath before she heads upstairs. She’s been through worse. She tore her ACL, underwent surgery, and crashed out so bad she almost killed herself. She doesn’t bother reminding herself she’s been crashing out for the past five months and she’s in no better shape, but that’s not the point. She can handle Paige. She can say she’s sorry. She knocks on Paige’s door and she hears some shuffling inside before the door opens, and after five months, she comes face to face with Paige once more.

The shift in Paige’s demeanor is noticeably different. Her jaw is tight, her blue eyes unusually dull. Even her body language is far more reserved. She leans against the doorframe, one hand on the doorknob, and her mouth pulls into a natural frown. “Hey,” she says, surprising Tess. Her words lack any bite, but it hurts because her words lack much of anything. If the both of them were five months younger, Tess is sure that Paige would have pulled her into a hug by now, probably whispered an excited, “Hey, ma,” or pressed an affectionate, “Missed you,” into her shoulder.

But they’re five months too late, and all Tess can do is wince as she responds with a quiet, “Hi.”

Paige glances at her, her eyes dismissive and disappointed. She sighs, taking a step back and allowing Tess inside. “You can just leave your stuff over there,” she says, pointing next to her desk where a space has been cleared. Tess does as she instructs, depositing her suitcase and throwing her backpack haphazardly on top. Wordlessly, Paige crawls back into bed, sitting so close to the edge that there’s more bed than girl, which is usually a difficult task for a six foot athlete.

“Is this what we’re doing?” Tess asks softly, her fingers shaking, and she knows she has no business asking Paige that when she was the one who fucked them up.

Paige scoffs, looking up at her again. Her gaze hardens, her lip curling into an unfamiliar scowl. “You had five months to figure that out,” she says harshly. “Don’t ask me shit now.”

Tess laughs weakly, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Okay,” she concedes.

“Something funny?” Paige asks.

Tess averts her eyes. “...No,” she says after a beat. Paige hums, an annoyed noise deep in the back of her throat.

Tess isn’t sure what to do. She’s standing in the middle of Paige’s childhood bedroom, feeling like every bit the fool she undoubtedly looks like. She can’t sit next to Paige, not when she can feel the anger radiating off her in quiet waves. She can’t go back downstairs with Drew and Paige’s parents. They’d ask why they weren’t together, and Tess isn’t sure how much more lying she can take. Paige glances back up from her phone, scanning Tess’s features, and she stands with a huff. “You take the bed,” she says. “I’m gonna get stuff to sleep on the floor.”

“You don’t–”

“Stop,” Paige says instantly, her voice breaking. Tess shuts her mouth, staring at Paige, and she looks agonized. Her eyes are glassy, face pinched, and Tess feels like a jackass all over again. “Just…stop, okay? Stop arguing. I’m gonna get a blanket and the air mattress and I’m gonna sleep on the fuckin’ floor ‘cause I can’t share a bed with you tonight and pretend like everything’s okay. It’ll probably be another five months before I get an apology from you, but that’s okay, right?” She laughs humorlessly, turning on her heel, walking backwards to the door. “S’okay. I guess I was stupid to think anything else. I was right. Tess Kennedy’s too fuckin’ afraid to get close, and when she’s scared, she goes back to what she’s used to. And apparently that’s bein’ an asshole to everyone around her. You don’t get to do that shit with me. Not today.”

Paige slams the door behind her, and all Tess can do is stare at where she stood in disbelief.

Dinner that night is a torrid affair.

Bob and Moe seem to sense that something’s off with Tess and Paige. Out of politeness, they don’t mention anything, but Drew seems none the wiser to the tension at the table. He rambles excitedly about Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and how excited he is for Christmas. Tess tries to listen to him, she truly does, but she can’t focus on anything but the argument that she and Paige had. Honestly, a better descriptor is just Paige yelling at her and Tess taking it, but that’s neither here nor there.

Tess barely has an appetite, but she shovels her food in her mouth anyways, not wanting to be rude. Paige hasn’t said a single word to her since Moe came upstairs to fetch them for dinner. Even then, Paige hadn’t so much as looked at her. The worst part about it is that Tess understands why. Paige is genuinely a better person than she is. If someone treated her like Tess treated her, Tess would have made it everyone else’s problem immediately. If they thought her post-injury crash out was bad, then they’d be unprepared for the post-ghost crash out.

Bob distracts her from her racing thoughts as he clears her throat. “So, Tess…” She looks up, resembling a deer caught in headlights. “How’s physical therapy going? I saw you rehabbed with a WNBA team. That’s really exciting!”

“Oh,” she says, pushing around a piece of chicken on her plate. “Um, it was really good. Felt like I progressed a lot with Terri. I work with the team trainer now since I’m back in Columbia. He gets the job done, but I do miss the Liberty, you know?” She chuckles softy, willing her nerves to dissipate.

“I bet,” Bob agrees. “When do you get to play again?”

“I should be cleared by March,” she says hopefully. “Just in time for the last March Madness games. Provided we get invited or win the SEC championship. LSU is really strong, so…gotta take it game by game.”

“Smart,” Moe states. “Never count your eggs before they hatch, right?”

Tess nods. The table falls into a tense silence, only the sound of forks scraping against plates filling the room. Paige suddenly huffs. She stands up with her plate, her chair making an awful noise against the floor as she pushes it back under the table. “I needa take a shower,” she says, not waiting for a response. She walks into the kitchen to clear off her plate, walking back through the dining room with a frustrated expression on her face as she rushes upstairs.

Bob and Moe share a concerned glance. It’s Drew who breaks the silence when he asks, “What crawled up her butt and died?” Moe is quick to reprimand him, although it seems like her heart’s not really in it.

Tess clears her throat and stands, too. “Um, dinner was delicious, Moe, thank you. I should uh…probably go check on her.” Moe thanks her quietly. Tess washes her plate quickly, placing it in the strainer to dry off, and she heads upstairs after Paige.

Paige’s door is wide open and Tess walks in cautiously. The blonde rifles through her drawers, pulling a pair of shorts and a tank top out. She’s still pissed. Never in the seven months that Tess has known her has she ever seen Paige be this angry. When Paige turns, seeing Tess behind her, she clenches her jaw and walks out wordlessly. Tess feels her heart drop as she listens to the bathroom door close.

Her chest tightens. She feels like she could cry even though it would do nothing for her. Paige is the only one with the right to be upset. Instead, Tess takes a deep breath, burying her face in her hands for a few, calming moments before she moves to her suitcase and pulls out sleepwear. She scrolls on her phone while she waits for Paige to get out of the shower, and when she finally does, Tess averts her eyes as she stands. Paige doesn’t say anything to her as Tess makes her way into the bathroom.

The water is scalding hot. It makes Tess feel a little more centered, but it does little to wash away the grief and the shame. She tries not to think about it as she cleans herself quickly. She dries off, redresses herself, and when she walks back into Paige’s room, she’s already curled up on the air mattress and is scrolling through her phone. Tess glances at her, frowning, and shoves her dirty laundry into a separate compartment in her suitcase before sliding into Paige’s bed.

Her pillow smells like her. Tess wouldn’t expect anything else, but it makes her feel closer to Paige despite the literal and metaphorical distance between them. Her purple comforter is soft. When Tess looks around, she notes the various posters of NBA greats – Kyrie, Lebron. Diana Taurasi and Sue Bird are also there. Basketball is Paige’s life, her entire reason for breathing. When they lost to South Carolina in the NCAA tournament, Paige was distraught, obviously. But that anger and sadness only pales to what Tess observes in her now as she tries to pretend she can’t hear the way Tess breathes next to her.

Tess takes a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling. “Paige,” she says into the darkness of the room.

Paige doesn’t respond. For a brief moment, Tess wonders if she fell asleep, but she knows better. Paige is breathing too fast to be asleep, coming in uneven bursts. Then, Tess thinks she’s just ignoring her. Then, Paige surprises her. “What do you want, Tess?” she asks, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Tess says without hesitation.

She hears Paige laugh, but there’s no enjoyment in it. “Are you?”

“I am,” she says. They’re both quiet for a moment. She hears Paige sniffle and her heart breaks all over again. “I mean it. I’m sorry, Paige, I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I shouldn’t have pushed you away when all you’ve done was care for me. I’m sorry for making you apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong. This is all on me and I could sit here and apologize for the rest of my life and it would never be enough.”

Paige shifts on the air mattress. Tess cocks her head, glancing down, and Paige is already staring at her. The moonlight streaming through her windows reflects off of her. Tess could paint her face by memory. She knows exactly what she looks like, where every single freckle or blemish or crease exists. She knows the exact shade of her eyes, the degree at which her nose upturns slightly, the way her nostrils flare when she’s annoyed. Tess could describe Paige Bueckers in such great detail that a blind person could recreate her visage. Until now, Tess has never seen Paige this way. Her lips are pulled in a constant frown, her jaw tight, her eyes a few shades grayer. Tess never wants to see Paige look this desolate, let alone because of her.

“Sorry doesn’t fix anything,” Paige says after a few agonizing moments. Tess deflates. “Sorry doesn’t fix the five months I spent losin’ my mind, wondering what I did wrong.” She studies Tess’s face once more, her lips pursing and her gaze hardening. Paige pulls her blanket up to her chin, flipping on her opposite side, putting her back to Tess.

“How do I fix us?” Tess asks, her voice nearly a broken whisper.

Paige lies unmoving on the air mattress. Tess should know better than to expect a response. But when Paige admits, “I don’t know,” Tess thinks she would have preferred the silence.

NOVEMBER 23, 2023

Thanksgiving is a terrible holiday.

Conceptually and historically, it leaves a lot to be desired, though she can understand how many American families would enjoy getting together in one place, eating a huge dinner, and watching sports. It’s supposed to be a day where everyone can come together and rejoice, tell each other what they’re thankful for and all that sappy shit, but Tess never bought into it. Many of her teammates would complain about going home for Thanksgiving and having to listen to an uncle or two rant about women or politics or whatever the fuck – it always ruined the mood. Tess never thought that those uncomfortable Thanksgivings would be something she had to be subjected to.

When she wakes up in the morning, Paige isn’t in her room. When she goes to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and do her morning routine, Paige isn’t there, either. And when Tess walks downstairs into a flurry of early morning chaos – Moe and Bob rushing around the kitchen and preparing dinner, Drew tidying up the living room – Paige isn’t there either.

“Morning, Tess!” Bob greets happily, grinning at her from where he’s cheffing up the turkey. She returns his greeting, though it’s a little half-hearted. “Paige went for a run. She should be back soon.”

“You guys need a hand?” she asks instead, wanting to be useful. Moe and Bob have welcomed her into their home. The last thing she wants to do is be an ungrateful guest, especially when their daughter hates her guts. Tess is going to make an honest effort to get back into Paige’s good graces. Even if she never forgives her, she’s going to make it up to her. That much she could promise.

“If you could help Drew clean the living room, that’d be great,” Moe says. “There’s too many people in the kitchen right now.” She shoots Bob a knowing glance and he laughs, raising his hands defensively.

Tess smirks wryly and makes her way into the living room where Drew is dutifully dusting off the coffee table. He wastes no time before he puts her to work, directing her to the vacuum cleaner (Tess just gets the impression he didn’t want to vacuum), and together, they get the living room all cleaned up for the guests. They tackle the dining room next. Drew and Tess return to the living room once they finish, sitting on the count and awaiting Moe’s next instructions. Soon, Paige returns from her run – Tess knows she no longer has the right, but she can’t help but look at Paige as she walks in. She’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. It’s unfair how pretty she is, shiny with sweat and flushed. Tess has to avert her eyes. Paige only greets her parents before rushing upstairs. Tess hears the shower click on.

“What’s wrong with you and Paigey?” Drew whispers to her.

Tess glances at him, a somber smile on her face. “I messed up and hurt her feelings,” she tells him honestly. “She’s pretty upset with me.”

Drew looks at her curiously. “Why’d you do that?”

His blunt question makes Tess chuckle. That’s a question she’s been asking herself, too. “I like her a lot,” she admits, the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. It feels like a weight is lifted off her shoulders, though she’s still crushed under everything else. “I like her a lot and it makes me do stupid stuff.”

“Mom says you should never hurt the people you love,” Drew says smartly.

“She’s right.”

“Did you say sorry? And did you bring her a cookie? Cookies always help.”

“Do they?”

Drew nods, humming as he turns on the TV. He scrolls through the channels until he settles on some cartoon Tess has never heard of. “Paigey likes cookies,” he states. “Chocolate chip ones. They’re her favorites. She always says you can’t be sad when you’re eating a cookie.”

At that, Tess can’t help but laugh. “That does sound like something she’d say,” she concedes. The taps on the armrest of the couch mindlessly, thinking. She turns to Drew. “Do you think your mom would let us bake her some? Right now?”

Drew turns off the TV without another word, standing as he calls, “Mom!” Tess stands to follow him, sighing. She did not expect him to move so fast. The kitchen is much cleaner than it was earlier – Bob went outside to put the turkey on the smoker and Moe remained, preparing the roux for the mac and cheese. Moe hums as Drew walks in. “Can me and Tess bake some cookies right now?” Moe looks as though she’s about to protest, but Drew beats her to the chase. “For Paigey. She’s sad.”

Moe softens, looking over at Tess, who flushes under her stare. She hopes her face looks as apologetic as she feels. Moe sighs. “Yes, make it quick. I’ll need the oven soon.”

Drew pumps his fist in the air as he rifles through the cabinets, looking for the ingredients. Tess lets him take the lead on most of that as she leans against the counter. She feels Moe’s eyes on her again, and she turns her head, meeting her gaze. “Everything okay?” Moe asks knowingly, her voice quiet.

Tess smiles sadly. “I hope they will be,” she says. Moe raises a brow, clearly expecting more, and Tess swallows. “She’s not happy with me. I hurt her, and honestly, I’d be pissed at me, too.” She picks a loose thread on her shirt. “I’m gonna make it up to her. I just…” Tess sighs. “She’s my first…girlfriend. My first anything, really – I don’t know what I’m doing. But she makes me want to try and that’s scary. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.”

Moe is silent for a moment, thinking about her next words. “You’re beating yourself up pretty bad,” she notes. Tess almost laughs because she truly has no idea. “I’m not gonna lecture you. But, you know, Paige is my kid. No matter how old she is. She has so much love to give. Don’t take advantage of that. One day, she’s not going to wait around.”

Tess nods. “I know,” she says. She opens her mouth, trying to find more to say, but her words fail her. Moe gives her another knowing look, her lips curling into a smile. Drew returns with flour, sugar, and all of the other supplies and he and Tess immediately get to work. He’s a little messy with the flour and definitely steals most of the chocolate chips, but he’s a joy to spend time with. Drew reminds Tess so much of Paige – that thought alone makes her queasy again. She has to tell herself that they’ll be okay. Delusion and manifestation are a thin line, right? Paige isn’t the kind of girl to hold onto grudges, even if she should.

Once the cookies are out of the oven, Drew helps her select the best looking ones to take to Paige. He salutes her like she’s going off to war and Tess can’t help but laugh at him, feeling strangely like she is about to walk across a field of landmines. She takes a deep, stabilizing breath before she walks up the stairs, plate of cookies in hand. She knocks on Paige’s door and opens it as soon as she hears Paige call out, “Come in!”

Paige is reclining on her bed, phone in hand and freshly showered. She looks up as Tess walks in with a meek smile, holding out the plate. “Are those…?”

Tess exhales deeply, taking Paige’s curiosity as a sign to move closer. “Yeah. Me and Drew made them. He said you can’t be sad when you’re eating a cookie.” That’s enough to make Paige crack the slightest of smiles. Tess gives her the plate, explaining, “They’re fresh out, so–” but Paige is already reaching for the one on top, dropping it with a yelp of pain. They stare at each other as Paige sucks on her finger before they break out into laughter. It’s slightly awkward, but it’s relieving, and the situation isn’t funny at all but everything has sucked for five months so it’s all just stupid. “Sorry. I promise I’m not trying to kill you.”

Paige chuckles again, resting the plate on her lap and letting the cookies cool off. She shuts off her phone, glancing back up at Tess. Her expression is guarded, like she still doesn’t fully trust Tess, but there’s a new openness to her.

“Can we–”

“Do you–”

They both speak at the same time and Tess laughs as Paige scratches the back of her neck. “Come sit?” Paige requests softly. Tess studies her features, the earnestness in her eyes, and she nods shyly as she rounds the bed to sit on Paige’s left side. She makes sure to leave a bit of space in between them, unsure of where their boundaries lay after all this time. “You first?”

Tess nods again, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. “I know you said sorry doesn’t fix anything, but I want to try, if you’ll hear me out?” Paige stares at her for a long while before tilting her head, giving her the all-clear. Paige reaches for a cookie again, checking the heat, before lifting it to her mouth and humming at the flavor. “I was spiraling again,” Tess says slowly, once she’s found the words. “Overthinking every single thing. I was confused. There was so much going on in my head and it was awful because there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I know the solution to it – it’s too risky, and I can’t lose everything I have. Not again. I shouldn’t have shut you out, but isolating myself is the only way I know how to deal with my shit. I thought I was protecting myself, protecting you, but I only made it worse.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, still chewing, and Tess keeps rambling. “I’m so sorry. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. I hurt you and I keep hurting you and I don’t – I don’t know why or how but I just do and you don’t deserve that, Paige. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for this, but if you never forgive me, I wouldn’t even be able to be mad about it.” Tess laughs humorlessly. “Whatever it takes, I’ll make it up to you, that much I can promise. Just…please, give me another chance?”

Paige gazes at her, her eyes wide and seeking. Tess has to fight every instinct to turn away, to break eye contact, but she needs Paige to know that she’s serious. Finally, Paige relents, a sort of somber half-smile quirking on her lips. “I’on like being mad at you,” she admits. “Arguing. Ignoring you. But…I just – we agreed to communicate. You promised me that you wouldn’t do this by yourself. I’m upset you broke that promise and our agreement, but I understand why you did it. Just wish you hadn’t ‘cause we coulda fixed whatever it was. Easily. I woulda made time for you; shit, I did make time for you, and you threw it back in my face. That shit hurt.”

“I know,” Tess whispers. “I would feel the same way, too. You have every right to be upset with me. I’d be mad if you weren’t mad at me.”

That makes Paige laugh. It’s full, from the belly, and all of the tension in the room disappears. Paige is quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’on know about forgiveness right now,” she says honestly. “We gotta work towards that. But I don’t wanna be mad anymore.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Tess says softly. Paige smiles at her, her knuckles brushing her hand, the touch electrifying. The relief is nearly overwhelming. Things aren’t back to normal, but they’re as close to normal as they’ve been in five months, and that’s all Tess can really ask for. She then remembers where they are and exhales deeply. “I, uh, I think Moe might need a hand in the kitchen.”

Paige refocuses. She clears her throat. “Yeah. Okay.” They both stand, Paige holding onto the plate of cookies, but before they can leave the room, Tess stops her with a hand to her wrist.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, her throat bobbing. “For hearing me out.”

Paige’s smile grows, turning into something tender despite the reservation in her eyes. “Of course.” Then, Tess can almost feel the shift in the air as Paige’s eyes flash with mischievousness. “Just don’t do that shit again or you can go spend Thanksgiving with the Ionescus.”

“Paige Madison!”

After their much needed conversation, the energy in the house almost immediately changes. Tess feels like her breathing comes a little easier since she doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around Paige. When they made it back downstairs, Moe instantly put them to work in the kitchen. Both Moe and Paige pretended to not see Drew and Tess’s excited handshake to celebrate the fact that the cookies worked. Tess and Paige sat side by side as they peeled the potatoes for the mashed potatoes, quietly catching up on all of the things they’d missed over the last five months. Tess thought that revisiting those memories would hurt a little more, but being honest with Paige helped a lot. They’re working on moving past this, and while Tess does have much to atone for, she fully intends to put in the work to earn back Paige’s trust.

As soon as the potatoes are peeled and ready, there’s a knock at the front door. Moe leaves to get it and returns with a family of four in tow. Tess doesn’t recognize them, but when Paige goes in to hug each of them, she assumes it must be her mom’s side.

“Tess, this is my mom, Amy, and my step-dad Brian,” Paige states, some lingering fondness in her tone. Tess grins as she shakes their hands, greeting them. “And these idiots are Lauren and Ryan.” Immediately, Lauren and Ryan start talking over each other as they drag Paige, but the taller blonde struggles to hide her amusement as they squabble. “Guys, this is Tess.”

“Your girlfriend,” Ryan drawls, cooing dramatically. Lauren snickers.

Paige, to her credit, doesn’t react much, but a light flush settles on her cheeks as she smiles at them. “Yes, my girlfriend,” she says. “Where’s yours?”

Lauren hisses, murmuring ouch under her breath, while Ryan rolls his eyes and Tess giggles. “Not fair. You guys U-Hauled.”

“I actually specifically told her I’d do anything but U-Haul,” Tess cuts in. Paige scoffs, but grins. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Moe then kicks the four of them out of her kitchen and Paige drags them into the living room where Drew is watching TV. Everyone disperses, settling in on the couch or the futon. Tess hardly has the time to make a decision before Paige takes a seat in an armchair, pulling Tess haphazardly into her lap. Her siblings don’t pay any attention to them as they argue over the remote, trying to set up the Playstation. Tess glances at Paige with an amused look, though also slightly confused. She’d thought she would have needed to grovel a little more before Paige would want to be close to her, but she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Problem?” Paige asks nonchalantly, adjusting Tess so she sits a little more comfortably.

“Nope,” she says. She ignores the slight crack in her voice, but Paige doesn’t have the same plan to. Paige grins smugly and Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable.” Paige merely pinches her hip in response. Once Paige’s siblings have the Playstation set up, the five of them take turns split-screening Fortnite, integrating Tess almost seamlessly into their dynamic. While two play, the other three chat and play cards. Paige declared early on that Monopoly was firmly off the table, not wanting to sit through Lauren and Ryan’s inevitable argument when one or the other went bankrupt.

Tess settles in easily with Paige and her siblings. She finds herself smiling more than she thought she would, pressed against Paige’s body, and maybe she’ll admit that Thanksgiving isn’t so bad when you have good company. She feels lighter than she has in five months and she couldn’t think of any way today could get any better.

Paige’s hand rests low on Tess’s waist, splaying across her stomach as she pulls her in closer, chin hooked over her shoulder and grinning at the sight of all of her siblings together. Tentatively, Tess rests her hand over Paige’s, relaxing when Paige gives her a gentle squeeze. “You happy?” Tess asks softly, tilting her head so Paige can hear her. She can feel the smile that Paige presses into her neck.

Paige’s voice is muffled against her skin, but she shivers at the way it reverberates through her entire body. “Yeah. I am,” she admits, her tone full of affection. Her grip tightens on Tess ever so slightly. “I missed you.”

Tess’s throat bobs with emotion, feeling her chest tighten. “I missed you, too,” she says honestly. And when Paige’s lips brush against her skin, almost imperceptibly, Tess gets the feeling that they’re a lot closer to being okay than she’d thought.

Thanksgiving dinner that night goes a lot better than the night before. The chatter is lively, food is passed around, and they all link hands in prayer before digging in. Everything is delicious. Tess would have gone for seconds if she wasn’t trying to save space for pie. Even after their plates are cleared and Tess has to unbutton her jeans just so she can sit comfortably, the nine of them remain at the table, sharing stories and jokes. Paige’s hand finds her knee under the table, almost unconsciously, and Tess’s subsequent smile is real. She should be alarmed by how well she assimilates into Paige’s family, by how well she plays the part of girlfriend. She should be alarmed by the fact she’s not pretending at all, that this is just the soft, simpering idiot that Paige turns her into with the simplest of smiles.

When everything is said and done that night, Tess is crawling back into Paige’s bed, the smell of her shampoo and perfume still fresh on the sheets. The air mattress has been lying untouched since the night before. Tess is struck with the realization that she doesn't want Paige sleeping on the floor tonight, but she can’t think too much about that because Paige is walking back into her room, her hair damp over her shoulder as she squeezes the excess water out with a towel. They share a soft smile. Tess still thinks that Paige is the prettiest woman she’s ever laid eyes on.

“So,” Tess begins hesitantly, folding her hands over her stomach as she reclines back on the bed. Paige hums, urging her to continue, running her brush through her hair. “I heard through the grapevine that there’s a Thanksgiving tradition where you tell your friends and family what you’re thankful for.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, an inquisitive noise building in the back of her throat.

“Mhm,” Tess responds, glancing at Paige, who meets her eyes through the mirror on the wall. Her lips quirk up into a smile. “Am I allowed to say I’m thankful for you?”

“Depends,” Paige teases. She leaves her hairbrush on her dresser and takes a seat at the foot of her bed, pulling on a pair of socks to ward off the late-November Minnesotan chill. “Do you mean it?”

“I do,” Tess says, completely honest. Paige’s eyes scan her features for any hint of a falsehood. Finding nothing but earnestness, her smile grows, an almost bashful flush settling on her cheeks. “I’m serious. I know I’ve been a jerk–”

“Not the word I’d use–”

“Shh,” Tess laughs. Paige raises her hands in defense. “But I’m glad you’re here, that you’re in my life. You didn’t save me, but you made it easier to want to save myself. I don’t make it easy for you, but… I don’t know – you take care of me. I just hope I can repay the favor one day.”

“S’not transactional,” Paige states. “Don’t need you to ‘repay’ me. Just want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

Paige smiles at her, a lone dimple popping out, and Tess truly can’t help the way her heart beats a little faster. “Good.”

There’s something about the way Paige lingers, her gaze expressive. “Paige,” Tess says, almost nervously. She hums, leaning back slightly, awaiting her question. Tess clears her throat. “Don’t sleep on that fucking air mattress.”

Paige’s eyes are bright, alert, searching Tess’s expression for any sign of a sike! moment. “Are you sure?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t wanna–”

“Paige,” Tess says again. “Please?”

And then Paige is nodding, a smile overtaking her features again. She crawls gingerly over Tess’s legs, slipping under the purple comforter next to her. They’re both on their backs, nearly elbow to elbow, and the space between them feels electric. Sure, they shared a room on their Bose trip, but they remained in their separate beds. This is the closest they’ve been in five months, and Tess is certain that every cell in her body is simultaneously combusting.

“Tess,” Paige says.

“Yes, Paige?”

“Am I allowed to say I’m thankful for you too?” she murmurs.

Tess’s chest loosens. “Depends.” She cranes her neck to glance at Paige, but the blonde is already staring at her, her gaze dark and beseeching. “Do you mean it?”

Instead of a verbal response, Paige moves, one hand holding herself up and the other cupping Tess’s jaw, kissing her with a soft intensity that pulls the breath directly from her lungs. Tess sighs, tangling her fingers in Paige’s hair, letting Paige guide her as she liked for better access. Paige pulls back, her nose brushing against Tess’s cheek as she presses her lips to the slope of her jaw, the spot under her ear that makes her shiver, the base of her throat, her pulse point. Tess can feel Paige’s smirk as she lingers, her lips sweeping across her skin. “Your heart’s beating really fast,” she murmurs.

Tess scoffs, blushing fiercely. “I wonder why,” she retorts.

“I think I got a few ideas,” Paige says smugly.

“Think less,” Tess says breathlessly, pulling Paige back to her lips, halting whatever stupid comment she was about to make. Paige grins insufferably, her kiss long and slow. Tess feels herself sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, consumed by all things Paige Bueckers; the scent of her perfume, the silk of her pillowcase, the warmth of her hand on her skin, the push and pull of her lips.

When they finally pull apart, Paige’s lips ghost across her temple as she murmurs, “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

The nickname does little to slow the beating of her heart. Tess doesn’t care. “Happy Thanksgiving, Paige.”

DECEMBER 2023

are you still interested in christmas-ing with the kennedys?

Wouldn’t miss it for the world

okay let me email you the tickets

[Paige loved “let me email you the tickets”] You gonna pick me up from the airport?

i could be persuaded

Say less [1 Attachment]

that’s a picture of dunkin donuts

It is Which is what I will buy for you if you pick me up from the airport

you drive a hard bargain 🤔 can you upsell?

I mean Coffee, a bacon egg & cheese, and Paige Bueckers in your passenger seat Are you not convinced?

not really

Bruh Tess PLEASE do not make me take an Uber

you are such a baby 😭 don’t worry i’ll be there with a sign that says “welcome back from jail”

As long as you’re there I don’t care what’s on the sign

ok smooth oh also so what are your thoughts on spending like a day with my family then we go into the city for like the new year’s eve stuff in times square

Alone? 🫦

oh my god ok so you can actually walk from the airport

I’m kidding I’d be down for that Whatever you want

[Tess loved “Whatever you want”] sounds good see you soon

Can’t wait 🫶

DECEMBER 29, 2023

Tess is nervous.

She isn’t exactly sure why. She’s been in this situation time and time again, waiting at the airport for someone to pick her up or waiting to pick someone else up. It’s extremely busy, an unfortunate repercussion of the fact that it was that limitless space between Christmas and New Year’s where time didn’t exactly exist and people were flying in and out of New York constantly. Perhaps the difference is just because it’s her picking up Paige when it’s usually the other way around. One of the themes she’s begun to notice is that simply doing things with Paige just makes them feel different. She can’t exactly explain it, but Paige has this way of helping her see and experience things through a new lens.

The bustle of the airport makes her stand on edge. She’s never been a huge fan of the crowds, the constant noise, which is probably a strange thing to say as an athlete. She’s usually able to lock in and drown it out, but she’s anxious for other reasons. Paige will be walking through those gates in a few short minutes. Tess is excited to see her – that’s not the issue. She’s dreading the fact that as soon as she and Paige reunite, half of the airport will want to shove their phones in their faces. Again, the lack of fan privacy is probably something she should be used to, although she’d spend her life arguing that the lack of autonomy and respect isn’t something that should be normalized.

But that’s neither here nor there. The PA overhead clicks on. Tess can barely hear the robotic voice over the noise of the crowd as it announces the landing of Paige’s flight. Just a little longer, Tess reminds herself, then we can go home. The time seems to pass slowly, but soon enough, Tess can see a new crowd forming, emerging from the gate, and she feels her heart beat just a little faster at the implication.

Paige stands tall in the crowd, her blonde hair sticking out like a beacon. She’s dressed in an all black Nike tracksuit with the Husky logo emblazoned on the chest, although she holds a hoodie close to her chest as if she’d gotten hot on the plane but prepared well for the New York chill. Tess makes her way through the crowd in Paige’s direction. It doesn’t take long for Paige to find her, a beaming smile growing on her face, and Paige falls into her with evident relief.

Tess will never get tired of the way Paige hugs her. She melts completely, her body enveloping hers, her head always falling close to her neck. Paige’s body is firm, tangible, and Tess sighs at the weight and pressure of their embrace. “Merry Christmas, ma,” Paige murmurs in her ear, squeezing her tight.

“Merry Christmas, Paige,” Tess responds. “And Happy New Year’s, I guess.”

Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter as she pulls back, dropping an affectionate kiss to Tess’s forehead before intertwining their fingers. “It ain’t New Year’s yet,” she says.

“Close enough?”

“Nah.” Paige shakes her head, looking all too mischievous. “S’not New Year’s until I get my kiss at midnight.”

Tess rolls her eyes, but a flush settles over her cheeks. “You’re incorrigible.”

“C’mon – look at you!” Paige gestures with her free hand as she leads the two of them over to baggage claim. “I’m not a monster, I’m just a man with needs,” she sings, terribly off-key, which amuses Tess.

“Alright, Daniel Caesar,” she goads, smirking. “Let’s get you out of here before people charge you with aural assault.”

Paige suddenly looks affronted, blue eyes wide and indignant. “Oral?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

Tess sighs, shaking her head. “No, baby, aural. A-U-R-A-L. As in hearing.”

Paige scoffs. “Jus’ say that, then.” Then, her head snaps back quickly, glancing at Tess with mock-offense. “Wait, that wasn’t nice!” Finally, her suitcase rolls around and she hauls it off the conveyor with ease.

Tess snickers, patting Paige on the shoulder. “Remember what I told you? I gotta keep your ego at a reasonable level.” With their hands still linked, Tess leads them through the crowded airport quickly, eager to get home and away from all of these people.

“My girl so mean,” Paige huffs dramatically. “Nothin’ wrong with my ego. You’re just a D1 hater.”

Tess smiles. “Are you finished?”

“No!”

Paige rambles the entire drive back to Tess’s house, but she at least stays true to her promise and buys Tess brunch at Dunkin – not that Tess expected anything less from her. In the short eight months they’ve been friends, Paige has proven herself to be very intentional in her words and actions. She doesn’t make a habit of saying things she doesn’t mean. Excluding their banter or when they’re teasing one another, Paige is unfathomably genuine. Promises and intent are incredibly important to her; Tess found that out the hard way back in November, but she’s keen on keeping that an isolated incident.

When Tess parks on the curb behind her parents’ car, she cuts the engine, but makes no effort to get out. Paige glances at her with a concerned expression, her thumb brushing against her knuckles gently. “So, my parents might be…a lot,” she says hurriedly, meeting Paige’s eyes. “Just let me know if it gets overwhelming or something, okay?”

Paige smiles reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry, ma. We got this in the bag.”

Tess returns the smile, though it’s a little weaker. “I’m serious. My dad likes you but you might get the shovel talk.”

“I’m serious, too.” Paige lifts their hands, pressing her lips to Tess’s palm. There’s no use hiding the infectious blush, so she just tries to not look as down bad as she feels. “I can handle it.”

Tess sighs, conceding, and she collects her belongings and leads Paige into her house. Her parents are sitting in the living room watching a movie when they walk in. Almost instantly, they turn to stare down Paige, who, to her credit, doesn’t falter, instead offering a polite smile.

“Hey, guys,” Tess says awkwardly. “This is Paige. Paige, these are my parents, Alessandra and Mateo.”

Her parents stand to shake her hand. “Great to finally meet you both,” Paige says charismatically, not wincing under her father’s handshake, which earns her a gleam of silent approval. Point, Paige. Her parents echo the sentiment, flashing relaxed smiles, and Tess finally chills out.

“Are you both staying for dinner? I know you have other plans this weekend,” her mom asks.

“Yes, mamma,” Tess replies with a smile. “We’re heading into the city tomorrow afternoon and I’ll be back on Monday after I drop her off at the airport.”

Her parents share a glance, as if silently communicating with one another. Their apparent telepathic capabilities always terrified Tess growing up. That fear comes back tenfold when the both of them glance at Paige, curiosity in their gaze as they soak her in. Paige, admirably, stands strong, a calm seriousness in her expression. She doesn’t even react when Tess subconsciously tightens her grip on her hand. While it feels like they stand there for hours, the staredown only lasts a few seconds before her parents relent. “I’m making bolognese tonight,” her mom states, the tension in the room dissolving.

At that, Tess relaxes again, and flashes a quiet smile at her parents. “We’ll be in my room,” she says. “Paige is jet-lagged after her flight.” None of them comment on the fact that Paige only travelled across one time zone, but her parents smile kindly and return to their movie as Tess drags Paige down the hallway, flushing. “Oh my God. That was the most nerve wracking thing ever.”

“I’ve never dissociated so hard in my life,” Paige confesses. “Did I do okay? Can they smell fear?”

Tess laughs, pulling Paige inside her room and shutting the door. “Christ, Paige – they’re Italians, not fucking sharks.” Paige rolls her eyes, depositing her bags close to the door and kicking off her shoes. She wraps her arms around Tess from behind, rocking them side-to-side, and Tess can’t help her smile as Paige sighs with relief. “Good job, though. She asked if you were staying for dinner.” Tess spins in Paige’s embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck and kissing her in celebration.

“Is that good?” Paige asks, her cheeks turning red.

“Very,” Tess confirms. “Just don’t wear jeans. She cooks enough for a small army and she’ll make you eat dessert, too.”

Paige nods seriously, like impressing her parents is an important task to her. “I’ll lock in,” she vows, her lips brushing against Tess’s jaw. “They’re gonna like me more than they like you.”

And at that, Tess shoves Paige away from her, scoffing indignantly while the blonde dissolves into laughter. “Jerk,” Tess grumbles. She makes her way to her bed, climbing in and turning the TV on. “Grey’s?” she asks Paige hopefully, as if the blonde would ever say no to Grey’s Anatomy, and Paige nods as she crawls in next to Tess, slinging an arm over her waist and resting her head on her chest.

They make it through an episode and a half before Paige falls asleep, lulled into slumber by the drag of Tess’s fingertips against her scalp. Tess knows she’s been working hard this season, spending extra time in the gym and training because she’s shouldering so much more for her team. She’s on court for nearly 40 minutes a game and although she’d never admit it, Tess knows that it’s taxing.

Tess wouldn’t admit it, either; she knows this arrangement is temporary, but she could get used to this – laying in bed with Paige while the blonde naps, comfortable in the knowledge that out of all of the people in her life, Tess is the one person she knows she can go to and not be expected to be Paige Bueckers all the time. She’s not expected to shoulder all of the responsibility, not expected to be the tough one – she can just be. The fact that Tess can provide that kind of comfort and security for her means more to her than she’d ever expected.

Paige shifts in her sleep, her arm tightening around Tess’s waist subconsciously, and Tess allows herself a gentle smile. It’s temporary, but she’s going to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Dinner was surprisingly nice that night. True to Tess’s word, her mom did make a shit ton of food, but Paige was a willing victim as she went back for seconds and had room for a slice of tiramisu. The chatter was lively and Paige integrated so well with her family. They asked about her childhood, her dreams, and her dad even dragged her into a lengthy conversation about football and the Superbowl. For an Italian raised man, her father was far too interested in American football, but Tess can’t find it in herself to mind too much when Paige’s hand finds her knee under the table as she listens intently. The smile on her face is bright, endeared. When Tess catches her mother’s gaze from across the table, noting the silent approval and her own fondness, she realizes that there’s just something so right about her and Paige.

They gather around the Christmas tree after dinner. Tess and her parents had already opened most of their gifts when Tess’s cousins came around on Christmas day, but her parents had surprised them both with gifts for Paige. Paige wasn’t expecting it, but the childlike wonder on her face was priceless, and Tess really couldn’t have been all too shocked by the fact that she fell just a little harder for Paige as she opened her presents. It was nothing major; a few pieces of workout apparel, a sneaky South Carolina hoodie that they all laughed at as Paige stared at it in mock-disgust (Tess knew she’d wear it), and a gift card for an upscale restaurant in the city that she and Paige planned to take full advantage of.

And then Paige surprised her parents with gifts of their own, which was incredibly fucked up, because how was Tess supposed to go back to normal when Paige is buying her parents Christmas presents and they’re not even dating for real? Paige gives her father a beautiful watch and her mother a gorgeous necklace. Judging by the way they sparkle, they must both cost a fortune, and Paige tells them she already tore up the receipts so there’s absolutely no take-backsies.

Tess hugs her parents goodnight, although they also pull Paige in for one when she tries to shake their hands again. Her parents both whisper their firm approval and Tess can’t help the way her chest tightens. They tell her that they really like Paige – that makes Tess laugh weakly because they aren’t the only ones. She really likes Paige, too, and that’s slowly becoming her biggest problem right now.

After they both shower, Paige rifles through her bag, searching for something, and when she turns around, she presents Tess with a small, gift-wrapped box. “Paige,” Tess grumbles, not expecting a gift from her, but the Cheshire grin on her face makes her resolve weaken.

“C’mon,” Paige goads. “D’you really think I wouldn’t get you sum’?” Tess rolls her eyes, but she opens the drawer on her nightstand and pulls out a gift wrapped box, too. Paige’s smile grows. They exchange their gifts, and after much argument, Paige convinces Tess to open hers first. She takes the wrapping apart gingerly, her eyes widening at the Tiffany & Co logo. “Don’t freak,” Paige says gently, which does little to hide the fact that Tess is freaking.

“Paige–”

“Open it, ma.”

Swallowing thickly, Tess does, and tucked into the cushion of the box is a small, yet glimmering, bracelet charm. She picks it up gingerly, her breath catching. “I struggled for a really long time to find the perfect one,” Paige admits in a whisper. Tess glances up at her, watching a slow smile spread across her face. “Had to get it custom made. It’s the Gampel court. I know – why would you wanna walk around with the enemy court on your wrist, whatever, but flip it over.” Tess flips it, and on the back, February 8, 2021, is engraved. “This was the first game we’d played against each other. The first time I met you in person, the first time I shook your hand. And honestly, I didn’t think we could beat you. I didn’t think I could beat you. You made it really fucking hard.” That draws a teary laugh from Tess, but Paige keeps going, a smile on her face. “As we played, it became less about, I’on know, beating you and more about impressing you. Win or lose, I was just really fucking grateful I got to share the court with you. I learned so much from your game and you made me a better player, whether you realized it or not. I was scared to reach out to you – you’d always been sort of untouchable, I didn’t think you’d wanna be my friend, especially since we’re on different teams. But here we are now.”

“Here we are,” Tess agrees, her lip quivering. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to out-do that,” she jokes.

Paige rolls her eyes, dimples popping out. “Lemme put it on you?” she requests. Tess nods, handing over the charm, and with overwhelming gentleness, Paige clasps the charm to her bracelet, giving her hand a squeeze once it’s safely secured.

“Thank you,” Tess says, her voice barely a whisper. She meets Paige’s eyes. Her expression shines with adoration, fondness, the blue of her gaze disarming. “It’s beautiful.”

Paige smiles at her, vulnerable and tender. “Of course,” she says.

Tess gestures to the wrapped box in Paige’s hand and she opens it gingerly. Inside the box is a thumb ring. The band is extremely thin, gold in color, and isn’t perfectly straight. It resembles the stem of a rose which leads into the petals with two miniscule leaves jutting out on either side. Paige stares at the ring in a reverent sort of awe. “So, we have this Italian saying: se son rose, fioriranno. ‘If they are roses, they will bloom.’ It essentially means that things take time to develop. You have to have faith that the roses will bloom – that you will bloom. It reminded me of both of us – our ACLs, that in time, they won’t weigh us down.” Paige glances back up, meeting Tess’s eyes. “It reminded me of you. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you so far, for your team, but in time, you’ll find that success you’ve been working your entire career for.”

Paige smiles even though her eyes water and her bottom lip quivers. “Tess… I’on know what to say.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Tess jokes, and the both of them dissolve into laughter. At Paige’s insistence, Tess slides the ring onto her thumb. Paige stares at it for a while, a dopey expression on her face, but Tess can tell she loves it. “Merry Christmas, P.”

Paige’s smile grows. She leans in, softly pressing her lips to Tess’s, her arm curling around her waist and dragging her closer until she’s nearly in her lap. Tess places her hands over Paige’s shoulders for stabilization, content to let Paige take the lead, but it’s not long before Paige is withdrawing to ghost her lips across Tess’s cheek, murmuring into her ear, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

DECEMBER 30, 2023

The first few hours of the morning are spent watching cheesy Hallmark movies, much to Paige’s chagrin. She thinks they’re too corny, but Tess argues they’re a holiday staple. Paige eventually gives in after Tess makes her a mug of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, although that doesn’t save her from Paige’s endless commentary.

“The acting is so bad,” Paige says, her tone disgusted. She stretches out a little more on the couch, her leg brushing against Tess’s. “Why does she move her head so much? Why does she keep blinking?”

“Paige,” Tess says, fond exasperation clear in her tone. “It’s not supposed to be good.”

“Well, it’s bothering me,” she whines. “Moving your eyebrows so much doesn’t make you look cool. It makes you look ridiculous.”

“You are such a baby,” Tess gripes. She lifts Paige’s left arm, tucking herself flush against her side. Paige gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she pulls her in a little tighter. “If you think about it, they’re just like us.”

At that, Paige raises her brows, huffing out something akin to unconvinced laughter. “Yeah? How so?”

Tess smiles at her coyly. “They got paired up together for the mural contest. Now they have to work together if they want to win.” She presses her fingertips together, separating them as she makes an explosion noise. Paige snorts. “I don’t think we’d be on Hallmark, though. Not PG enough. You curse like a sailor.”

“Me?” Paige asks. “Have you heard yourself?”

“You’re really gonna sit here and blame me for sh – stuff?” Paige gives her a knowing look, a smirk growing on her face. Tess juts her lip out in a pout that’s clearly not working on Paige. “It’s Christmas and you’re being mean to me?”

“It is not Christmas –”

Tess sighs dramatically, cutting her off. “Christmas,” she whines.

Paige rolls her eyes good naturedly, brushing her lips across Tess’s temple and shutting her up. They finish the movie, along with two others before it’s time for them to make the arduous, thirty minute journey into the city (traffic was a bitch). Paige called dibs on driving, which Tess wasn’t happy about considering that it was her car, but as soon as she thought about driving through the city traffic, she changed her mind.

Tess booked them a suite in a hotel called Tempo by Hilton, mostly due to its proximity to the New Year’s Eve ball drop location. After they checked in, they planned on heading out to dinner and then lounging around for the rest of the evening. They weren’t doing much on the 31st either, their only real plan being the ball drop. They agreed they weren’t going to fill up an entire itinerary. New Year’s in New York was just supposed to be a weekend vacation away from their families and the city would be crowded enough that they’d be away from the media, too. It was difficult to find much to do since Tess was not a fan of the New York nightlife. December marked eight months of sobriety – it wasn’t a lot, but it was a source of pride for her. She had no interest in going back on that even if the urges were long gone by now.

They got ready for dinner together, although Paige was absolutely no help at all. She was dressed in a multicolored striped sweater, baggy white jeans and a pair of matching shoes; her hair was styled down in loose waves. Tess jokingly told her that she looked like an art teacher and Paige rolled her eyes so hard that she had to lay down because it made her head hurt.

“Paige, I don’t know what to wear,” Tess complains.

“Sum’ warm,” she says unhelpfully, not looking up.

“I want to wear a dress.”

“Then wear one?”

“It’ll be cold!”

“Bring a sweater.”

“And ruin the fit?” Tess grumbles.

Paige laughs, much to Tess’s chagrin. “You can pull anything off,” she says.

“It’s probably not even that cold,” Tess muses, glancing down at the dress she packed. It’s a simple black one that cuts off just below her thighs with thin straps at the top. “We’ll be inside for the most part, right?”

Paige shifts, holding her head up with her hand as she stares at Tess with amusement. “Wear the dress. Bring a sweater. Or don’t. I can give you mine and we can be all cute and shit.”

“You just want me wearing your clothes,” Tess says under her breath, but Paige hears it.

“Damn,” she deadpans. “Caught me.”

Tess wears the dress. She doesn’t bring a sweater. The restaurant was warm enough that she didn’t need one, although she’s certain that Paige deliberately took them the long way back to their hotel so she’d cave and ask Paige for her sweater. Her suspicions are proved true when Paige forces them to take what feels like a million photos, but Tess just feels endlessly endeared by her, so she entertains it.

“I like you in this,” Paige comments nonchalantly once they make it back to the hotel room. She toys with the frayed edges of the multicolored sweater mindlessly, glancing up to smile at Tess coyly.

“I know,” she says, taking her jewelry out and unpinning her hair. Paige lingers behind her, watching as she works. “You’re so down bad. It’s sickening.”

“Sorry,” Paige lies. Tess shakes her head with an amused smile. “Look in the mirror and get back to me. Who wouldn’t be?”

They watch an episode or two of Grey’s before bed that night, although Tess falls asleep after the first thirty minutes. The weight of Paige’s body against hers was too calming, the scent of her perfume in the air, the drag of her fingertips across her back. Despite doing nothing but lounging around, traveling, and going to dinner, Tess was exhausted. Paige could be partially to blame for that – she makes Tess feel safe, like she doesn’t have to worry about keeping all of her walls up. She has a comforting energy that could make anyone relax and lose all of their worries.

But maybe she’s a little too effective at that. If Tess had managed to stay awake longer, then maybe she would have heard the dial tone, the sound of another person picking up, and Paige’s whispered confession of, “Aubrey, I might be in love.”

But she didn’t hear it – and Paige may never say it again.

Things are fine the morning after, although Tess would have no reason to expect them to not be. She wakes up before Paige does (not a surprise), although they shifted at some point during the night. While Tess fell asleep with her head on Paige’s chest, she woke up on her side with Paige’s right arm slung protectively over her waist and the blonde’s face pressed into the back of her neck. Her breathing was gentle, fanning against her skin, sending shivers down Tess’s spine when she was coherent enough to realize just how close they were.

She slides out of Paige’s arms, careful to not wake her, and stretches as she walks into the bathroom to begin her morning routine. She’s in the middle of brushing her teeth when Paige finally wakes up, padding into the bathroom and wiping the exhaustion out of her eyes. “Mornin’,” she says, voice thick with sleep. She presses a quick, chaste kiss to Tess’s cheek before she reaches for her own toothbrush and gets to work.

“Morning, Paigey,” Tess says, though her words are muffled around the toothbrush in her mouth. Paige shoots her an amused glance while Tess tries not to stare at her too obviously. She’s dressed in a pair of black basketball shorts and a matching Nike sports bra, although her shorts hang low on her waist, revealing the waistband of her boxers. There’s not even a safe region for Tess to look at. The muscles in her shoulders are freakishly defined, the veins in her hands protrude slightly, her expression is soft and mellowed out, and her hair is down in bedridden waves. Tess needs to be taken out back and shot between the eyes. This is getting out of hand.

“Sum’ you wanna say?” Paige asks around the foam in her mouth. Tess flushes immediately, much to Paige’s endless enjoyment.

“Nope!” she says as she spits out her toothpaste. “Nothing at all.”

Paige catches her around the waist when she tries to leave, attempting to put space between them. Tess’s breath hitches as Paige pulls her flush against her, her hands resting on her bare stomach. Wordlessly, Paige bites down on her toothbrush, using her free hand to wipe away a smudge of toothpaste off Tess’s bottom lip. Paige’s subsequent smile is all too smug and she has to shove her away before she says something pathetic like naming the 2023 WNBA draft class by pick order.

She can hear Paige’s light laughter from the bathroom as she returns to the main room. When Paige finishes up in the bathroom, she doesn’t mention how she flustered Tess, although she does put a shirt on (much to Tess’s simultaneous relief and disappointment) and picks up the phone to order room service for them. The food arrives quickly, an assortment of meats, pastries, and other delicacies. Paige insists on making Tess’s plate for her – the princess treatment getting is ridiculous, but who is she to complain? – and the photo of Paige that she captures, messy bun and oversized t-shirt on, is good enough that Tess considers gatekeeping it, but she ultimately posts it anyway because the people deserve to know that UConn’s basketball star is doing this for her and not for them.

Paige reposts it with the eye rolling emoji and the princess emoji, which makes Tess laugh.

They talk all throughout breakfast, easy conversations and jokes, and they lounge around in the hotel room until it’s time to get ready for the ball drop. Tess, once again, struggles with what to wear, but when Paige comes out of the bathroom wearing a hot pink, long-sleeved Nike sweater with black baggy cargos and rummages through Tess’s suitcase, Tess really can’t be all too surprised when the outfit Paige selected matches her’s.

“You could be a little less obvious,” Tess suggests as she does her hair in the mirror.

Paige only smiles, taking in Tess’s outfit. Paige has dressed her in a pink tube top and black high-waisted pants with a matching coat. “Nah,” she says after a minute of shameless ogling. “I did my big one.”

Tess rolls her eyes. She would never admit it to the blonde, but she and Paige look good.

The walk to Times Square flies passes quickly. They spend it hand-in-hand with Paige expertly navigating them through the busy New York foot traffic as Tess takes countless pictures of the city decorated for New Year’s. She gets plenty of photos of Paige, too, the easy smile on her face, her side profile illuminated by the city lights. Tess knows very well by now that Paige is extremely attractive – that wasn’t a secret to anyone. She was magnetic and Tess has been stuck in her orbit from the first time they met, not in the conference room, but when they played each other in 2021. It takes her a long time to realize her feelings. She keeps them under tight lock and key, knowing that her goal and purpose is to play basketball. She never had the time for anything else, but when Paige finds her gaze, squeezing their intertwined hands, Tess thinks that maybe she could make time if Paige decided to stay in her life permanently.

Paige isn’t magnetic because of her looks. It definitely helps, and while that physical attraction will never leave, Tess has come to find she’s attracted to Paige for other reasons. She likes Paige’s kindness, her candor, her irresistible charm. She likes that Paige keeps her accountable, that she stands ten toes down on her beliefs. Tess is drawn to the way Paige cares for those around her, the way she gives everything her all. She likes her humor, her faith, her compassion. There isn’t a single thing Tess hates about her, but there’s an infinite amount of things that Tess loves about Paige Bueckers.

Love.

Tess loves Paige Bueckers.

That realization, while incredibly sudden, doesn’t surprise Tess as much as it probably should. If anything, it’s freeing – there’s a reason, an explanation to the way she’s been feeling for so long. It should scare her, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because it hasn’t set in yet, the panic. Tess panicked when she realized she had feelings for Paige in the first place. But maybe it’s because she’s older now, arguably wiser. She’s learned that she can’t run from her feelings. She has to embrace them for what they are. She’s in love with Paige. It should scare her because Paige was her first “relationship,” first kiss, and now, first love. It should scare her but it doesn’t and that’s just what it is.

It should scare her because now, rule four is officially broken. There’s no arguing against it or calling it by any other name. She dapped Paige up in a campus coffee shop and promised her that she wouldn’t fall in love with her. In fairness, a Notes app contract and a handshake isn’t really legally binding. But at the end of the day, Tess doesn’t care and that’s probably the scary part. She’s in love. It’s unsurprising, undaunting, and looking back, inevitable.

“You good?” Paige asks, drawing Tess from her thoughts. “You got really quiet.”

Tess thinks about her answer. Is she okay? She’s here, in New York City with Paige Bueckers, the woman she’s in love with, and they’re about to watch the New Year’s Eve ball drop. She’s three months away from being able to play basketball again, a year away from declaring for the WNBA draft. She is literally on the cusp of achieving all of her dreams, of having everything she’s ever wanted. So, she smiles at Paige, shifting closer into her personal space as they walk, and she’s honest when she responds, “Yeah. I’m good.” The smile that Paige gives her is bright, full of fondness, and so disarming that Tess truly wonders how she went so long trying to convince herself that she couldn’t fall in love with her. Paige just makes it so easy. And when she pulls Tess tighter into her side, whispering a joke into her ear, part of Tess hopes that Paige could find it within her to love her back. Another part of her notices the clear adoration in Paige’s eyes, the way she tightens her grip on her hand, and she thinks that maybe Paige Bueckers being in love with Tess Kennedy isn’t such a long shot.

Paige finds them a secluded spot in Times Square, decently far away from the larger portion of the inebriated crowd. The wind is frosty, nipping at her nose and fingers, but Pagie’s body is so warm. She wraps both arms around Paige’s waist, laying her head on her chest, and the blonde runs her fingers up and down her back in a soothing motion. She’s not scared to be in love, but it’s overwhelming in the best way possible. Her heart feels like it’s about to burst at the seams, that the only way she could get this energy out is if she cried from the rooftops.

Right now, there’s literally nowhere else she’d rather be. She has room in her heart for both basketball and Paige – her two first loves. For her, that’s enough.

“D’you have any New Year’s resolutions?” Paige asks once the clock hits 11:50.

Tess hums, pausing to truly give it some thought. “I think I’m going to try to do more next year,” she admits in a soft whisper. “Do more things, meet new people, take more risks. This year really taught me I can’t just rely on the same thing. Take more drives into to paint, you know?”

Paige smiles at her, immediately catching onto her reference. “No more three-point shooting for you,” she teases. “I wanna see you out-hustle Kamilla for some rebounds.”

Tess laughs. “I don’t know about that,” she says wryly. “What about you? Any resolutions?”

Paige’s hand is warm on her back, still brushing her fingers against her spine. She’s quiet as she thinks. She stares directly into Tess’s eyes when she responds, her eyes blue and beseeching. “I wanna try to build something permanent,” she confesses, her throat bobbing with nerves. “Legacies. My future.” Paige hesitates before her next words. “...Relationships.”

“Yeah?” Tess asks. Paige nods, a flush on her cheeks, though Tess can’t tell if it’s from the December chill or embarrassment. “Sounds admirable. But if anyone can do it, you can.”

Paige’s smile is solemn, although Tess doesn’t pick up on it, shifting her attention to the clock. 11:53. The two of them sit in silence for the next few minutes, swaying side to side to the beat of far-away music, the murmur of the distant crowd. Tess allows herself to get lost in the fantasy of a new year, one where she and Paige aren’t just pretending. Tess stopped pretending a long time ago. Part of her wonders if Paige did, too. She finds it hard to believe that Paige would be so committed to keeping up appearances in private. You could excuse the amount of time they spent together. Friends do that. But friends don’t kiss. They don’t fall asleep with each other, or cuddle, or call each other “baby” like Paige does with an enamored drawl. The signs are all there, but what if they were all lies? She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, even if part of her feels like there’s something more.

Tess has never been one for resolutions. They’re tacky and no one ever upholds them, but she thinks she’s going to uphold hers this year. She’s going to confess to Paige – eventually. Definitely not during the tournament season, not when Paige has so much on her shoulders already. But one day she will. That’s a promise she’s going to uphold.

She checks the clock again. 11:59. When she glances up, Paige is already staring at her. Coyly, she asks, “Ready to ring in the New Year’s?”

Tess chuckles, tightening her arms around Paige’s waist. “Are you?”

“Been ready ever since you picked me up at the airport,” she retorts, a grin growing on her face. “D’you remember what I said? S’not New Year’s until I get my midnight kiss?”

Tess hums as if contemplating something. “I don’t recall that,” she murmurs, her gaze locking onto Paige’s.

“No?” She shakes her head as Paige draws her in closer. Their noses brush. Paige’s eyes are soft, but there’s an emotion swirling in them that Tess just can’t place no matter how long she searches for the answer. “Is there anything I can do to jog your memory?”

The crowd roars, although Tess doesn’t pay them any attention.

10…

9…

8…

“I’m sure there’s something,” Tess concedes.

7…

6…

Paige smiles at her, her hands firm on her back. “Something?” she drawls.

5…

4…

“Paige.”

“Yeah?”

3…

2…

“Please stop talking.”

And she does, pulling Tess even closer and capturing her lips with a gentle urgency. Tess grins against her, reaching up to tangle her fingers in Paige’s loose hair, though Paige grows annoyed at Tess’s inability to be serious. One of her hands finds Tess’s jaw, taking control and guiding their kiss. Her hands are freezing but they feel like a soothing balm against the heat building in Tess’s cheeks.

Paige pulls away for air, her breath coming out in shallow bursts that forms clouds of steam in the air, but she doesn't stay away for too long. She’s swooping back in and kissing Tess with a renewed vigor, like there’s something she’s trying to communicate. Her lips are greedy, insistent, drawing out every single noise building in the back of Tess’s throat. She’s never kissed like this before – technically, Paige is the only person that Tess has kissed, but there’s something that’s earth-shatteringly new about this interaction. Paige kisses her with want, with desire, like she couldn’t bear it if she didn’t have Tess in her arms at all times. And honestly, given how Tess eagerly responds, trying her best to put as little space between her and Paige as possible, Tess isn’t sure if she herself could bear it if she and Paige weren’t near each other.

Her entire nervous system is alight with activity, neurons firing on all cylinders. Call her delusional, or stupid, or whatever, but Paige has awoken a part of her that has laid dormant for 22 years. It’s like part of Tess was waiting for Paige to come into her life, that she wasn’t fully living until she felt what it was like to love Paige Bueckers. Now that she knows, Tess can’t imagine living a life where she doesn’t love Paige Bueckers, where she doesn’t get to look at Paige like she’s hung the very stars in the sky, where she doesn’t get to wake up everyday and wonder how Paige will piss her off this time. It’s just them, it’s how they work, it’s how Tess wants them to work forever and ever and ever.

“Paige,” Tess gasps, almost breathlessly, pushing the blonde away from her with a hand to her chest. Paige looks almost annoyed at the interruption until she takes in the hazy look in Tess’s eyes. “Hotel?” Tess asks, and Paige nods her head so vigorously, coming back to her senses. She reaches for Tess’s hand and shoves their way through the crowd back towards their hotel.

The walk back feels like it takes ages. The elevator ride isn’t any better. Tess is nearly shaking with anticipation and Paige fumbles with the keycard, cursing under her breath. Finally, she opens it, ushering Tess inside with unseen urgency and shuts the door quickly behind them, locking it.

Tess hardly has the time to react before Paige is on her again, one hand at the base of her throat and the other around her waist. Despite her haste, she carefully walks the two of them backwards until the back of Tess’s knees hit the bed and Paige lowers her down gently, cognizant of her leg. Paige pulls back, her eyes clouded with want but she finds some clarity when she looks at Tess again. “Off?” she requests, her voice hoarse, tugging lightly at Tess’s coat. Tess nods, but Paige is shaking her head. “Words, Tess. None of that shit.”

“Off, Paige, please,” she says hastily, leaving her pride at the door. Paige rewards her with a deep kiss to her lips as she reaches for Tess’s coat, pulling it off her shoulders and throwing it somewhere behind her. She stands to kick off her shoes and Tess almost misses the contact until Paige sinks to her knees, reaching to undo her heels. The sight of Paige on her knees, staring up at her in near reverence sends a shockwave of desire straight to Tess’s core. Once her heels are off, she reaches for Paige, pulling her up and on top of her, connecting their lips once more.

“Fuck,” Paige murmurs, dipping down to press her lips to Tess’s jaw. Tess tangles her fingers in Paige’s hair, pulling the hair tie out, allowing the blonde waves to spill over her shoulders as Paige drags wet kisses across the slope of Tess’s collarbones. She nips at her skin, soothing the bite with a pass of her tongue, and Tess can’t help the moan that rips from her throat when Paige’s hands press against her ribs. “So pretty, baby, you have no idea.”

“Says you,” Tess says breathlessly, which draws a laugh from Paige. She pulls back far enough, hooking her fingers under the hem of Tess’s top. Paige meets her eyes, the question evident in her blown-out eyes, and Tess nods rapidly as she says, “Take it off, please.”

Her top comes off quickly and Paige groans, her eyes zoning in on her bare breasts. “So polite,” she murmurs, sliding her hands to her chest. She glances back up for consent, and once she has it, she brushes her thumbs across her nipples, drawing a whimper from Tess. “This what I needa do to get you to be nice?” Her tone is warm despite the insinuation in her tone.

“Stop teasing,” Tess grumbles, and who is Paige to deny her? She leans down, littering wet kisses across her chest, encircling her mouth around a nipple as her hand gives equal attention to the other one. Tess slides her fingers through Paige’s hair for leverage, pulling slightly, and moaning when Paige’s subsequent groan reverberates throughout her body. Her back arches off of the bed, trying to lessen the space between them. Paige pulls back, staring at Tess with a reverent smile like she’s the eighth wonder of the world. Then she’s dipping back down, lavishing her other breast with attention, and Tess feels so high-strung that she could float away from the slightest touch.

When Paige moves down her body, sucking hickeys near her ribs, Tess reaches for Paige’s sweater. Wordlessly, Paige raises her arms, allowing Tess to pull her it off. Her mouth goes dry at the sight of Paige’s abs, firm and rigid and inviting.

“All quiet now, huh?” Paige goads.

“Paige–”

Paige shushes her, pressing their lips together again, swallowing the needy sounds ripping from Tess’s throat as her hands explore. They’re warm, leaving blazing paths of desire across her body, dipping down to grip her thighs. “Gonna get you right,” she promises, leaving Tess’s lips, traveling down to her neck where she sucks a mark into her skin. “Jus’ need you to be patient.”

“Don’t want patient,” Tess says, gasping when Paige bites her shoulder. “Want you.”

“You got me,” Paige reassures. “Always, baby, you got me.” Her fingers hook into the waistband of her pants, looking back up to Tess for approval.

“Please,” she begs. “Fuck, Paige, please.”

With almost agonizing slowness, Paige pulls her pants down her legs, still cognizant of her knee. Her eyes widen at the sight of Tess splayed out under her, her breath catching. “Fuck, Tess,” she murmurs in disbelief. Tess finds it hard to be insecure when Paige is looking at her like this. “All for me?”

“For you,” Tess says, her chest heaving.

Paige smiles smugly, whispering, “Yeah, it is,” before she leans down, pressing her lips to Tess’s full thighs, gripping her hips. She spreads her legs, fitting her body in the space she’s created, trailing kisses towards her knee, where the surgery scar remains. Tess’s breath catches in her throat when Paige kisses her knee, her fingers brushing gently over her skin. “Every inch of you is so fuckin’ beautiful,” she whispers in awe. “God, Tess. How are you real?”

For that, Tess has no answer. She reaches for Paige’s hand, intertwining their fingers as she pulls the blonde back to her lips. They’re locked together for a few moments before Tess feels the brush of Paige’s pant leg against her skin. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whines.

“Sorry, baby,” Paige whispers against her lips. She kisses her once more, a lingering press before pulling away, pulling her pants off with a quickness. She’s left in a black sports bra and a pair of boxers.

She settles in again, her lips finding Tess’s navel, pressing wet kisses to her skin. “Paige,” Tess begs again. “Please touch me.”

“Where d’you need me?” she asks, glancing back up to meet Tess’s eyes. She wonders if she looks as destroyed as she feels. Paige hasn’t even done anything, but all of her senses are on overdrive. She reaches for Paige’s hand, guiding it to the apex of her thighs, resting it over her underwear. If she were wearing a lighter color, she’d be concerned about her arousal seeping through the material.

“Off, Paige, please,” Tess requests.

Paige obliges, stripping her fully. Her eyes soak her in, a groan building at the back of her throat at the sight of Tess spread open and exposed for her. Her hands linger on her thighs as Paige returns to Tess’s lips, kissing her deeply once more. “You want me?” she asks, their noses brushing. “We can stop if you want, don’t gotta do nothin’ you’ont want, Tess, I swear it.”

Tess shakes her head, pulling Paige back in. She’s never been more sure of anything else in her life. “Want you,” she affirms, her voice breathless. Paige pulls back again; her pupils are blown out and the desire is evident, but she searches Tess’s eyes for any hint of a falsehood. When she finds none, she presses one last kiss to her lips, trailing down her body again until she reaches her cunt. Her breath is warm against her and Tess shivers.

Paige reaches for one of her hands, intertwining their fingers. With the other, she spreads her legs once more, getting comfortable and finally, she dips down fully to drag her tongue slowly along the length of her slit. She groans, the vibrations making Tess crazy, and it takes everything in her to not lose her mind as her back arches. Paige uses her free arm to press down on her hips, keeping her rooted as she licks and sucks, her tongue all over her. And when Paige finds her clit, wrapping her lips around it and sending waves of white-hot pleasure throughout her body, Tess whines so loudly that she can feel the noise in her throat. “Paige, fuck,” she gasps, one of her hands twining in Paige’s hair, tugging her closer and closer to her.

Paige is vocal in general, but the noises she makes against Tess’s cunt are intoxicating in the best way. Her head spins as Paige laps her up, gathering her slick on her tongue and drinking her up like a woman starved. She travels lower, her nose brushing against Tess’s clit as her tongue circles her entrance, and Tess feels like some part of her has died and gone to heaven. The pleasure is immeasurable, white spots blotting at the edges of her vision.

Then Paige’s arm is leaving her hips, her fingers trailing down, brushing across her folds. She presses her lips to Tess’s thigh, smearing the wetness as her thumb rubs slow, intentional circles on her clit. “So pretty like this,” Paige murmurs, her voice thick, sounding like she’s drunk off of her taste. Her fingers dip down and she slowly pushes one inside of her, letting Tess get used to the stretch as she tips her head back in wordless euphoria. “That’s it, baby, you got it.” Her finger starts moving, curling upwards, dragging across a spot that makes Tess writhe.

Tess releases Paige’s hair, one arm slinging over her face, unable to fully process the pleasure. Paige stops suddenly, making a disapproving noise against the inside of her thigh as she nips at her skin. “Eyes on me,” she says firmly, “or I’ll stop.”

Tess whimpers, but does as Paige says. She’s rewarded with a blinding smile, the shine of her slick on Paige’s cheeks evident with the way the moonlight streams through the room. Paige prods at her entrance with a second finger. It’s a tighter squeeze, but Tess just sucks her in. “There we go,” Paige whines, breathless with want. “Jus’ like that, fuck.” Both of her fingers are working her in tandem, curling upwards, and Tess feels boneless.

With every push and pull of her fingers, every time her fingertips brush against the spongy part inside of her, Tess feels the pleasure mounting and she starts babbling, begging for Paige to give her what she needs, to finally give her some relief after being so high-strung for what feels like ages. Paige is all too content to give it to her, her head dipping down once more to wrap her lips around her clit. Paige is vocal against her cunt, moans of her own high-pitched and whiny, talking her through it with incoherent rambles. Her mouth and her fingers work her in tandem. Paige leads her higher and higher to her peak, and after one final well-timed brush, the pleasure crests and Tess’s orgasm washes through her.

Paige hums against her, pleased, working her through it until the aftershock tremors subside. Only when Tess gasps, far too overstimulated, does Paige slowly drag her fingers out, pressing one last kiss to her thighs. Tess sighs, sagging into the bed. Paige glances at her, her expression hazy and filled with undeniable smugness, fondness, and a lingering concern. “You good?” she asks, her voice rough.

At that, Tess can’t help but laugh, gazing up at Paige through hooded lids. “You just gave me the best head of my life and that’s what you have to say?” she asks weakly.

Paige rolls her eyes, rubbing her thigh gently with her clean hand. “I’on know what you want from me. You wanna high-five or sum’? Buy a cake to celebrate?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tess says, amused and somehow endeared. “I can’t believe this is who I just had sex with.”

Paige snorts. “I don’t remember you doin’ much of anything.”

Tess flushes. “First of all,” she begins, still a little breathless, “rude. Second of all… should I?”

“Nah,” Paige says, her entire demeanor shifting. “Uh, you don’t gotta worry about that.”

Tess stares at her long and hard, not quite understanding. It’s not until she notes the flush on Paige’s chest, the sweat beading at her temples, the way her boxers stick to her body that she finally understands. “Oh my God,” she says, much to Paige’s chagrin. “You–”

“Chill!” Paige exclaims, embarrassed. “You were makin’ all these noises. I couldn’t help it.”

They stare at each other for a few beats before they both dissolve into exhausted giggles. Tess feels slightly delirious, although part of her can’t believe she just did this with Paige. She doesn’t regret it. She doesn’t think she ever could.

“We should probably clean up,” Paige suggests.

Tess hums, stretching. “Give me like ten minutes,” she says. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Paige laughs smugly. “Yeah?”

Tess shakes her head, amused. “Shut up.”

“Alright,” she concedes, hooking one arm around Tess’s back and the other under her knees. Tess yelps in surprise as Paige lifts her easily, walking them both to the bathroom. “I’m tired. And your ass is not makin’ it ten more minutes.”

“You’re an asshole!” Tess exclaims as Paige turns on the shower, adjusting the heat. “But true.” With one last smile, Paige helps her into the shower and they wash up together. It feels so incredibly domestic, but Tess isn’t complaining. She’s not going to allow her brain to ruin this night for them, not when everything leading up to it has been nothing short of perfect.

They’re well past sleepy when they finally make it out of the shower, redressing in sleep attire. Paige checks out the blankets, getting rid of the soiled ones and grabbing fresh ones from the closet. Soon, she and Tess are collapsing into bed, seconds away from passing out entirely, but Paige reaches for her instantly. She curls into her body, her arm wrapping around Tess’s middle. She brushes her lips against her temple. “Happy New Year’s, Tess,” she whispers, her tone fond.

Tess can only muster an exhausted smile, squeezing her hand as she whispers back, “Happy New Year’s, Paige.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #uconn #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb #paige bueckers smut

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

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@zepskies

I'm still a little bit scared of a/b/o (LOL 🤣), but I am really excited to read this fic, because I LOVE fated mates/soulmates, and I'm also getting a little bit of forced proximity and grumpy/sunshine and I LIVE AND BREATHE GRUMPY/SUNSHINE 😂😊

Alpha. Your body instinctively recognizes his presence, as he’s suddenly there, hovering close above you with a divot between his brows and a frown marring his face, where thick stubble threatens to become a beard. Stern, dark brows are furrowed over his concerned eyes. His plush frown is framed by a stubborn-looking chin. Your gaze wearily travels over his handsome features, his short brown hair, the flickers of firelight that splash across the side of his face.

The physical description of Dean is SO good. The use of "stern" and "stubborn" as descriptors fits well for Dean.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

Oh suuuurrrreeee keep telling yourself that Dean.

“Which means no one can come up here and get you,” he continues, “and even when this storm breaks, I can’t carry you all the way down the mountain back to civilization. Not with the snow as deep as it’s gonna get. Now…maybe I can go down by myself and bring help back with me.”

So what you're saying is... she's trapped in a cabin, she's got a broken ankle, in the middle of a snowstorm with no way out and no communications, with a ruggedly hot mountain man with gorgeous green eyes, a gruff exterior, and a mysterious past... Sign👏🏻 Me👏🏻 Up

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy.

So ready for Dean to just obliterate all her other experiences with total jerks.

You were having a nightmare, reliving your fall, if he had to guess. You came out of it pretty quick when he carefully grabbed your shoulder. Every instinct in his body told him to gather you into his arms and cover you with his own scent and protective embrace to calm you down.

I live for the after a nightmare comfort trope (if it is a trope? 🧐) and I am SO happy you put this in. Oh my goodness it was so sweet of him to come check on her, and for you to give us a little bit of insight inside of Dean's POV during those moments where she was terrified. This part stuck out to me, because the man is already hook, line, and sinker. He literally tried to go to a cabin in the middle of the woods to get away from it all, but fate really has an odd way of catching up to you. Can't exactly run from it Dean.

“Oh really?” You brighten with that scrap of information. “My older sister lives in Topeka. She moved there for a job, initially, but then she met her guy. He’s some kind of day trader. Which is just code for sits on his ass playing Call of Duty while she busts hers.”

OOooooooOOOooooo shots fired. SHOTS FIRED... But did she stutter??

“They’re mated. Just haven’t gotten around to the whole getting hitched thing,” he explains. “But they’re happy. Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

I'm losing it over the fact that Sam named his son DEAN Jr. 😂🥰 And also the bit about "running full speed into glass doors" is making me cackle lol.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

This line is so Dean, it's PERFECT, and I really love that it was what made the reader try to snort her diet Pepsi.

And I just want to say thank you for giving Dean the kinda "homemaker" role in this fic. The fact that he's making food for the reader (I'm obsessed with men who can cook) and taking care of her is just:

There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes. Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself. If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

Oh no Dean, you're not like the Cabin in that way. The cabin is made of strong aged wood that keeps out the chill and is full of warmth! The cabin withstands the elements and doesn't fall no matter how hard the howling wind blows! Dang it, I have way too many emotions over that line. Alex, why did you have to do this to me 😭 It's SO GOOD!!

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him. He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate. Which means he’s already screwed.

I also really like that he doesn't want to admit it and that he didn't believe anyone was out there for him. It seems very Dean for him to be in his head A LOT and being a little self-deprecating. And I'm not sure if you were trying to say that the reader was also a little skeptical about the true mates and if it is a real thing that happens, but I can't wait for part 2 to see if they actually admit it to each other or if they try to keep it a secret as long as they can! Also the song choice perfectly fits the vibes in this fic 👌🏻

My lovely friend, this was so good and I can't wait for part 2!!!

Against the Wind - Part 1

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

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

AN: This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon world. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, hints of angst, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: In His Hands

Your body is mostly numb when he pulls you out of the snow.

You utter a sharp cry when something in your side twinges, waking up your entire body like a white-hot shiv. Your ankle begins to throb as well.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

You only half hear the voice, a deep, coarse rumble. His form is broad and dark and blurry, but his male scent is the only thing you register with perfect clarity.

Alpha.

A small treble of alarm runs through you. It’s an instinct you’ve had to learn, as an omega traveling alone in rural Montana. However, something else disrupts that anxiety.

It’s his scent. His scent is like the crackle and smoke of a warm hearth.

Safe. Your body is heavy and stiff and doesn’t respond to your commands, and yet, you feel a measure of calm when he maneuvers you into his arms. It’s a baser instinct, rooted deep in your chest. He begins to carry you down the slope of the mountain, and your vision blurs white…

Like the flurry of snow falling heavy on his jacket.

You wake up freezing and shivering in pain. A sensation of small sharp needles begins to travel all across your skin. Slowly, as you're able to blink, your view of the dark wood cabin clears and focuses. You realize that you’re bundled in blankets, and laying on a chaise in front of a large fireplace. Still, you’re too cold. A keening whimper escapes you as you try to burrow in.

He places a warm, calloused hand on your forehead, and he mutters a curse. Your body trembles further with cold. You part your lips, but you can't yet force your voice to escape them.

Again, he quite literally takes the problem into his own hands. He peels away the thick blankets just to slide himself in behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel their tempered strength when they cage you in against him. You manage to turn your head and rest your cheek against his chest, covered by red plaid. Thank you...

Almost on reflex, you breathe in his scent deeply. The earthiness of it calms you, warms you from the inside. Your shivering eventually calms and turns to purring in your chest.

“What’s your name, Omega?” he asks. His voice is deep and gruff, and it threatens to make you shiver for a different reason as the timbre of it washes over you.

It’s difficult, but you manage to speak, clearing past your parched throat to give him your name. He nods, as if rolling the sound of it back and forth across his mind.

“Was somebody out there with you?” he asks.

You shake your head, even though the thought elicits a painful twinge in your heart.

“Who…” you try to speak again, even though it hurts a little. “Who are you?”

You feel him take a deep breath. He hesitates, like he’s reluctant to give it to you.

“Dean,” he says.

You roll the name around in your head, over and over. Dean, Dean, Dean…

You smile slightly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“What?” he says. You hear the raised brow in his tone.

“You sound like a Dean,” you say, perhaps a little delirious.

Anyway, that’s when your eyes close on you again. You fall back into the warm lull of sleep, to the sound of a crackling fire, and a feeling that permeates throughout your body.

Safe.

Can’t fucking believe this, Dean thinks, as he holds you. Just when he thought his life was done throwing him curveballs.

He tips his head back against the sofa cushion with a tired exhale. It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter, but for the past couple of years, Dean has learned to survive here in this rental cabin for a couple of months at a time, when wandering an empty bunker gets to be too much. At least here the quiet’s peaceful, if still a little unnerving sometimes.

He glances down at you. Now that you’re warm and sleeping again, he should find something to wrap your ankle and ice it down. It’s swollen, and he wants to take an inventory of your other injuries, so he can determine how to get you back down the mountain and through the woods, back to civilization.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

And that last part unnerves him, makes him anxious. He begins to untangle himself from you, but his movements falter when your sweet scent filters through his nose again. Cinnamon apples, with a hint of something floral.

Fuck me.

It’s almost too sweet to be true, but Dean does his best to ignore it…and what that alluring sweetness probably means.

Dean leaves you in the morning to revisit the site where you fell. He digs through the snow and manages to find your backpack, filled with your clothes, supplies, and your phone and wallet. He returns just in time.

The falling snow becomes even more intense, until it becomes a quiet roar outside. You watch the snowstorm through the impact windows in the kitchen, and you know what this means. You’re snowed in with a stranger—an alpha, no less.

You also have a bum ankle, which he wrapped for you. Doesn’t feel broken, he’d said, but it could be fractured, or at the very least sprained. You also likely have a couple of cracked ribs.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” he asks, while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “This ain’t exactly hiking season.”

While you drink some hot chocolate he made you with a bit of whiskey splashed in (for extra warmth), you explain.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t my best idea in hindsight,” you say with a weak chuckle. “I was trying to find my way back, and I…well, I was a bit lost.”

He raises his brows wryly, still sipping.

“And to make a great situation even better, I thought I heard a wolf howl nearby,” you say. “I know most of them would rather run from us than attack us, but you can’t be sure, you know? I had my rifle on me, so I was turning around, trying to pinpoint what direction it was in…and of course, my foot slipped on something.”

You fell down that hill. You think you even hit a tree on the way down, which would explain your ribs. Everything gets a bit swirly, cold, and dark in your memory after that.

Dean shakes his head. “Gotta say, going out there alone wasn’t a great idea either, especially now. This time of year, there’s no telling when a blizzard like this is going to come through.”

He waves haphazardly toward the storm raging outside. Your gaze falls to the mug in your hands. You don’t really want to talk about your reasons for taking that risk, but maybe giving him a little honesty will get him off your back.

“My dad and I used to hike up here every year,” you confess. “A few months ago…I lost him. So I guess this was just something I needed to do.”

You blow on your hot chocolate before you take another sip. This time when you glance up, Dean’s judgy expression has evened out into something more sympathetic. He lowers his glass.

“Well, hate to break it to you, but there’s no cell service up here,” he says.

You give a humorless huff. “Believe me, I know.”

“But another storm could snow me in,” you realize, with growing apprehension at the thought.

Dean nods. “It’s either I take that chance, leave you by yourself. Or we wait for you to heal up.”

He leaves the choice up to you with a gesture of his hand, the one still wrapped around his glass. You weigh those options with a tilt of your head. On one hand, you don't want to impose on him longer than you had to, but on the other, you really don't want to be left alone in this cabin for God knows how long while he scales the mountain by himself, for your sake.

“I think it would be better if we go down together, right? It can be dangerous, even when the storm breaks,” you reply.

Dean nods slowly, like that was what he was going to suggest too. “All right. Well, until you’ve got two working legs, you’re stuck here with me.”

“I figured as much,” you say. Your head tilts as you consider him. He has a gruff exterior, but all his actions so far have been kind, and far more than you’d expect from a stranger. And an alpha at that.

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, meeting his gaze, “and for…well, being a decent guy.”

Dean’s lips twitch. He nearly chuckles. Instead, he sits back on his side of the couch.

“Yeah, well, there’s a spare room in this place for you, one bathroom. The kitchen is stocked. I’m a half-decent cook, if I say so myself, but help yourself.”

He gets up from the couch without preamble, to go to his room, you assume. It leaves you feeling at a loss, like he’s trying to get away from you. You know you’re a guest in his space, so you try to respect the way he wants to be alone for a while. He definitely gives off loner vibes.

You look around and find a collection of vinyl records, and smaller collection of books on a shelf next to the fireplace. You find Gulliver’s Travels, Dune, The Odyssey, The Wizard of Oz—books you didn’t think a guy like Dean would be into.

You take up The Wizard of Oz, reclaim your spot on the chaise, and start reading.

That night, your dreams are plagued by the crunch of dead leaves, your father shouting at you to run, and to keep running.

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.

You wake with a start, your body both cold and flush at the same time.

Dean is there once again. It confuses you at first, but then it all returns to you in a rush—the where and the why you’re here, once again with the alpha standing over you in concern. He grasps your shoulder and asks if you’re all right. Your breathing is too erratic for you to answer him, your eyes too wide, your body trembling.

Had you been making noise in your sleep? You blush in embarrassment at the thought. You also feel bad for waking him, and all those things get trapped in your throat.

Seeing that you’re most definitely not fine, he sits on the edge of the bed, squeezes your arm, and reminds you.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he tells you. His tone is deep and even, reassuring.

You meet his steady gaze and manage to nod, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m okay,” you say, with a shaky nod. He gives you a measuring look, both a question and a confirmation. You give it to him with a firmer nod. “Thanks, I…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He exhales through his nose, accepting. “‘S all right. Don’t worry about it.”

You feel the loss of his touch when his hand eventually slip away from your shoulder. As soon as he came into your room, he’s gone.

Dean leaves swiftly, trying to brush off how the scent of your fear had tugged sharply at his gut even in his sleep. It not only woke him up, but compelled him to kick his blankets off and get out of bed to go to you.

Through sheer willpower, he managed to ignore every single one of those instincts.

Two days pass, in which you and Dean say very little to one another, besides when he asks you what you want to eat, and how you’re feeling. The alpha seems genuine, but guarded any time you ask him about him; anything that’ll give you a clue into who this guy is, and why he’s here.

You try again to strike up some kind of conversation over dinner one night.

“Do you live here year-round?” you ask, around a mouthful of burger that’s absolutely delicious. He wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a good cook. He even made the fries himself.

“No,” he replies. “No Netflix, no internet? Think I’d die of boredom. I just come up here to uh…take a beat, I guess.”

You smile. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes you just need a break,” you say, even though your tone is heavier than you meant it to be. Your gaze, a bit distant in that moment, sharpens and focuses back on Dean. “Where are you from, then?”

“Kansas,” he offers.

Dean huffs, then crams more burger into his mouth. He hasn’t been giving you a lot to go on while you two have been talking. Unfortunately, you have the tendency to ramble and fill the silence before it becomes even more stifled.

“She works at a bank. Smart, driven, always knows what she wants. Meanwhile, I’ve had about seven jobs in the last three years, none of which were even remotely related to my almost useless degree in Communications.”

“Yeah, doubt you need a degree in communicating,” Dean remarks, popping another fry into his mouth.

You purse your lips at him, but the glint of teasing in his eyes makes you fight not to smile.

“All right, smart guy. So, what about you?” you ask.

Predictably, the man’s walls firm back up. “What about me?”

“Well…why’re you up here alone? Do you have family?” you ask.

Dean quirks a half smile. “I’ve got a brother.”

“Okay. Younger, I’m guessing?”

He tilts his head at you, a bit amused at your guess. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can’t imagine you with a brother who’s older than you.”

His lips twitch. “You callin’ me old, sweetheart?”

You begin to blush with embarrassment. But also, sweetheart?

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean like…”

Dean saves you with the return of his smile.

“Yeah, he’s younger,” he says. “But he’s the one with the quasi-wife and the apple pie life.”

“Quasi-wife?”

His smile is genuine when he talks about his brother, just tinged with a bit of melancholy, you think.

“Dean Jr.?” you ask in amusement. Dean Sr. laughs a little, and you enjoy the sound, the way it lightens up his face and pulls at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, can’t say I wasn’t surprised myself to get that honor, but…hey, it works for the kid. He’s got my chin,” he remarks.

He digs into his pocket to show you a picture from his cell phone. Even though it doesn’t have service, you can still view the many pictures of the adorable infant in his camera roll, courtesy of Sam and his mate, Eileen. You coo at the chubby cheeks, the bright little eyes, and the swirled tuft of dark hair on his head.

“Where do they live?” you ask.

“Out west, a stone’s throw from the City of Angels.” Dean’s smile dims. “He just had to go back to California.”

“What’s wrong with California?” you ask.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

You splutter laughing so bad that your diet coke escapes you in a spit take. It partially goes up into your nose, burning, stinging your eyes, but it’s made worse by the way Dean waves a hand up incredulously. You’ve just gotten half his sleeve wet.

He meets your gaze, and you can’t help but laugh even harder.

“Wow,” he says.

“God, I’m sorry,” you say, still giggling. You get up, hobble over to the kitchen counter, and rip off a paper towel to try and pat his arm dry. He takes it from you and helps you back into your seat.

“I got it, Spit Take. Just finish your food,” he says, if with a dancing gleam in his eyes.

From then on, it becomes easier for you to pull the alpha into conversation. Besides reading, napping, and staring out the window while it snows, you don’t have much by way of entertainment. Not to mention the pain of trying to get around without crutches, as it also jostles your ribs. Dean often has to help you from one room to another, which of course, you get embarrassed by.

“I’m sorry!” you yelp, when he saves you from another crash landing in the hallway. You’re fresh out of a shower, and it had taken you twenty minutes just to figure out how to wash your hair on one leg, let alone dry yourself off and get your shirt and borrowed sweatpants on. The main problem in getting back to your room happened to be the pants themselves. Their length and bagginess made you slip.

At least Dean’s learned to ignore your apologies. He now holds you by the waist, having pulled you against his chest on reflex. With furrowed brows, he notices your pained hiss when you grab onto his arms for balance.

“You okay?” he asks with a note of alarm.

“Ribs,” you gasp. They’re throbbing sharply with his hold, especially after being rattled by the near fall.

He immediately adjusts his hold lower, holding your arm and hip to support you. His hands are strong, but gentle. The warmth and pressure of his touch rattles you more than almost falling into a heap. Cliché as it might be, your heart is beating faster, what seems like in and out of rhythm. A feeling you can’t name stirs and tugs at your lower belly when you hazard looking up into his eyes. They’re a nice shade of green, like a forest floor in the spring.

“You just go ass over tea kettle at any moment, huh?” he quips, his lips tugging upward. “Come on. Where were you headed?”

“To my room, wise guy,” you say wryly, even as your blush heats your face and neck. “But this is a great taxi service.”

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

“Winchester. That your last name? Like the rifle?” you ask, while he helps you carefully down the hall. He nods in confirmation.

“That’s interesting. You don’t meet many Winchesters,” you remark.

“Yeah, well, ain’t that many left,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, easing you down onto the edge of the bed. His hands go to his hips as he scrutinizes your form for further injury. “You good? I was about to get cracking on some lunch.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing fancy. I’m thinking grilled cheese. Maybe some tomato soup, assuming I can find a can in the pantry,” he says.

“Honestly, that sounds awesome,” you say. “Haven’t had a grilled since…God, probably since I was a kid.”

At that, Dean smiles. “Well, I happen to make an awesome one. No less than three kinds of cheese.”

“If they’re as good as your burgers, then I don’t doubt it,” you reply. He seems pleased at that, and maybe a little bashful as his gaze falls away.

Cute, you think. Your smile grows.

“All right, well, stay tuned,” he says. He winks, tossing you a “gun for hand” gesture that makes you laugh. Dean wears a rugged exterior as easily as his winter jacket, but he’s also kind of a dork.

After lunch (delicious, as you predicted), you take the afternoon just to sort through Dean’s records and alphabetize them for him. You hunker down on the floor in front of the shelf, close to the record player.

“I don’t need all that. I know where all my stuff is…more or less,” he says, with a lazy wave of the beer he has in hand.

“Oh really?” you raise a brow. “Okay, let’s test that theory. Where’s Boston.”

“Right next to the White Album, there on the left.”

Sure enough, you find Boston, as well as the White Album by the Beatles.

“Oh my God, you actually have the White Album?” You open up the double-sided case in excitement to read the list of songs printed on the inside. “This thing is so expensive.”

“Beatles fan, huh?” Dean says as he takes a seat on the couch. You turn your smile on him, and he stills in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t?” you say.

Dean shrugs with a smile of his own. “Put it on if you want.”

You bounce a little with excitement before you figure out how to turn on his record player. You put the vinyl album on Side B, moving the needle until you find “Blackbird.”

“Of course,” Dean says, slightly teasing. You turn to him with crunched brows.

“What? ‘Blackbird’s’ a classic.”

“Eh. Everyone likes ‘Blackbird.’”

“That’s what a classic means,” you argue.

“More like a mainstream copout,” he says. You think it’s just to needle you, but you still purse your lips.

“Fine, Mr. Music Snob. Then what’s your favorite?”

“On the White Album?”

“Any Beatles song.”

“‘Hey, Jude,’” he says, after a moment. There’s some kind of weight in his eyes, a note of melancholy. You don’t miss it, even though you don’t know why it’s there.

“Everyone likes ‘Hey, Jude,’” you quip, trying to lighten him.

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

Finally, the snowstorm breaks. Dean ventures outside and brings you back a long, sturdy stick to lean your weight on when you want to move around, though he claims he’s working on a better solution. Now that the snow has let up, he’ll be able to go out to the shed and do some work.

Whatever that means, you think.

You watch him from the living room when he goes outside to chop some more firewood.

He should really wear a hat. His brown hair is getting dusted white with snow flurries as he continues to swing down the ax. You notice the power in his tall frame, even covered by layers of his jacket, pants, and boots. You almost feel each chop of the wood resonate in your chest.

Heat rises in your cheeks when he looks up, as if he senses he’s being watched. You bow your head and pretend to read your book.

His boots continue to crunch in the snow as he makes trips back and forth from the surrounding forest. Aside from the firewood, he brings back a few long, thinner logs that he takes to the shed. Soon you begin to hear the steady back-and-forth cutting of a saw. You wish you could go out there and take a look, but you can’t even get around the house that easily, let alone venture outside.

Your curiosity about this man knows no bounds, and you decide to use the walking stick he found for you in the meantime to get around without putting pressure on your injured ankle. You know it’s wrong, but you end up traversing the long, dark hallway, pushing open the door to the right, and venturing into Dean’s room.

It smells like him, earthy and tinged with smoke. His scent is seeped into every part of it—the bed, the dresser and nightstands, the dark blue bedsheets, the desk and chair, and even the drapes. It makes you almost lightheaded at the pleasurable feeling of it washing over you.

A shudder suddenly runs down your spine and tugs at your core in arousal. With a sharp intake of breath, you have to shift on your feet, pressing your legs together against the slick already forming down below.

You’re shocked and embarrassed at first. You aim to bolt out of his room, but you stop short in the doorway as it dawns on you.

Your sister is a beta, and so is her husband. She’s never completely understood you as an omega. She never understood your parents either, or the bond they had. She always scoffed at the idea of “true mates.”

Soulmates. It was fantasy and myth, the stuff of cheesy Harlequin novels.

Growing up, you’d agreed with her, even though a part of you deep down always protested. It wanted to tell her not to open her mouth about something she knew nothing about, and would never know.

The day you met Dean, you knew she was wrong.

Your more logical mind tries again to reassert itself though. You remind yourself that you barely know anything about this man, no matter how attractive, kind, funny, enigmatic…

And yet, you can’t shake that part of you that doesn’t rest until you see his face in the morning; until you make him coffee and eat breakfast together, and take any opportunity to pull more threads from him. It’s more than passing attraction. It’s more than just being stuck together in this cabin, unable to escape each other. You know, because the feeling scares you, and it electrifies your blood at the same time.

All these thoughts go through your mind when you turn back around. Slowly, you continue to look around his room, your whole body tingling. The room is neat, more or less, with everything in its proper place. It’s pretty bare though, décor wise. There’s a desk with a few scattered books and a journal sandwiched in between. A smile of surprise forms across your face.

No. Don’t tell me this guy is Mr. Dear Diary? you think in amusement. Though you wonder if it’s another way he passes his time here, especially when he’s holed up in his room.

You know you shouldn’t be snooping, let alone contemplating what you’re about to do…but you can’t help yourself. Biting your lip, you slide out the journal and begin to flip through it.

You frown at the strange drawings and odd entries—dates, narratives, scraps of information on different types of mythological creatures, and even more strange, on how to kill them.

What the hell is this?

That’s when you hear the front door swing open. You bolt from his room as quick as you can, not realizing you took the journal with you in your haste. You stuff it up your sweater and pretend like you’ve just come out of the bathroom on the way back to your room. There you slide the journal under your pillow. You jump when Dean knocks on your door.

“Hey,” he greets.

The jolting pains your ribs, and your hand goes to your left side in a hiss.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. He takes a step into your room, but you turn to him with a nod and a placating hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just scared me,” you say, with a bit of nervous laughter.

He gives a half smile. “Sorry. Just come ‘ere a sec. I wanna show you something.”

He reaches out a hand to help guide you to the living room.

There he presents you with two rudimentary crutches. Your eyes widen as your free hand passes over the smooth chestnut color of the wood. Dean keeps a light hold on your elbow, just in case.

“You made these?” you ask.

“Yeah, just a bit of woodworking. Picked it up over the last couple of years,” he says.

He’s downplaying it, but you’re nothing short of marveling. You set aside the walking stick in favor of picking up the crutches, and they’re even the right size to position them under your arms.

“Now you don’t have to hobble around like Long John Silver,” Dean quips. You meet the sight of his grin with a raised brow, but you soon begin to smile. When you get close enough to him, you lean the crutches against the couch and give him a warm hug, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s something he was wholly unprepared for, but he hugs you back with a chuckle.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Just then, he tries not to inhale your scent. He tries not to focus on the feeling of your body pressed soft and warm against his. You fit just right.

After a beat, you have mercy on him and pull away. You take your crutches back up and continue to walk around the living room experimentally.

“You think I’d be okay trying to go outside?” you ask on your way to the door. Dean tenses.

“Uh, I don’t think—”

But you’re already halfway out the door. He shakes his head and follows you with swift strides. He watches you step out carefully onto the porch like a baby deer. He cleared the snow this morning from the deck and the steps, but he’s more concerned when he sees you considering how you might step out onto the snow.

“Stay on the porch, all right, Bambi,” he warns. “You’re not wearing snow boots and it’s still pretty deep. Not to mention, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a bear that wandered through here last week—”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder in amusement.

“Okay, Alpha. Calm down,” you say playfully. “I’m not gonna go ass over tea kettle.”

His brow twitches as he frowns. Alpha. He fights not to show his reaction to the way you said it; it calls to his baser instincts, almost stirring a rumble in his chest.

Cheeky little omega.

You keep to the porch, but regardless, you’re happy. You don’t even mind the cold. You see your breath on the air, and you tip your head back, closing your eyes with a smile as the sunshine warms your face. You inhale through your nose and let it out slowly in contentment.

“It’s a good day, Dean,” you say quietly.

You don’t realize that he’s watching you with a more reserved smile on his face. When he realizes it, he shakes his head at himself. He’s only been here a week with you, and it’ll probably take a couple more for your ankle to heal up well enough for you to walk again, let alone get down the mountain.

He doesn’t want to leave you alone up here, so he’ll have to somehow keep fending off your probing questions into his past and personal life. There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes.

Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself.

If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

But he’ll have to keep taking in your brightness and warmth, continue arguing with you about music and other inane shit, and pretend that every small touch of yours doesn’t ignite his skin. That it doesn’t make him have to beat down every instinct he has to pull you into his body and blanket you with his scent, ravage you, claim you, and make you his.

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him.

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Which means he’s already screwed.

AN: And we're off! Special thanks again to Michelle (@luci-in-trenchcoats) for being my sounding board when I was first writing this series. Let me know what you think of Part 1! 💜

Next Time:

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed…

When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

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

Dean’s mom…

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cliosunshine · 15 hours ago

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐯𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 🐾

or how the first time your boyfriend meets your cat doesn't go as planned (he survives don't worry)

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Warnings: none, reader is a doctor and Norbert is a chunky boi

After successfully taking down another trafficking ring, Jason was ready to head back home.

As he helped the last person out of their restraints, shots got fired from behind him, causing him to promptly duck by the nearest car. He went to take his guns into his hands, but quickly realized he must've threw them earlier when approaching the little girls kept in the warehouse, trying to appear as little intimitanding as possible.

"Shit," he muttered, searching for a way out. Without thinking, he grabbed the body of one of the men he had shot and used it as his shield until he got to the other side of the street, where he could see one of the men's rifles.

Quickly discarding of the corpse, he took the weapon into his hands, muscle memory kicking in as he fired at the sniper perched by the window of an abandoned building.

Retrieving his guns, he managed to run a few blocks towards his bike before more shots were being fired at him, certainly from Black Mask's goons.

As he fired back, one of the bullets from the aggressors pierced throught his left thigh, making him grunt in pain.

The adrenaline in his body was too high for him to fully comprehend the situation. Ultimately he managed to kill some of the goons before storming off on his bike.

While skimming trought the desolated streets of Gotham, Jason knew he needed medical attention asap, but his apartment was too far away and in no way in hell was he going to the manor, so he opted for the only other option he had.

Your place.

Now, you and him had been dating for quite some time, but he had never been to your apartment before. It was mainly to keep you out of harm's way, were someone to see a vigilante coming every night to your window and associating you with him.

The other reason was your cat, Norbert.

He had seen pictures and videos of him, but had been warned by every single one of your friends and apparently Dick as well, that he despised men.

Dick had learned it the hard way when he was passing throught your neighbourhood and saw you desperately trying to coax Norbert back into you apartment, since he somehow got himself on the fire escape and had no intention of budging.

Imagine your horror upon seeing Nighwing picking up your cat and trying to pet him and coo at him.

"Aw, what a cutie, what's his name-"

"Nighwing, no!-"

But it was too late: your cat had already scratched the man's cheek. Dick screamed as he let the cat go and almost tumbled over the fire escape. Now everytime somebody brought Norbert up in conversation, you could alway hear him cussing out your cat under his breath.

But Jason's mind was too far gone to fully underatnd what was happening, all he was thinking of was to get to shelter, to find a way not to bleed to death in the middle of the road, so up your building's fire escape he went.

He had made it to your window and knocked on it lighlty, knowing you'd be up reading a book before going to bed.

As if on cue, you arrived jogging with a toothbrush in your mouth, hastily sliding up your window upon seeing your boyfriend's doubled over figure.

"Oh my God, love, are you okay?" You hadn't spotted the gunshot yet, too preoccupied to bring his massive frame into your home.

"Hey, sweetheart," He said, taking his helmet off. Sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, a groan leaving his lips as he tried his best not to put his weight on the injured leg, "Sorry if this is the way I visit your place for the first time."

You gave him a worried look as you assessed the wound before running to the bathroom, getting rid of your toothbrush and pulling out the first aid kit. You thanked every entity in this universe for making you choose to go to medical school as you quickly returned to the living room, where you found Jason slumped against your coffee table.

You quickly began working on his leg, giving him a gauze to bite into.

"Tahnh yuh babh"

You tried to suppress a chuckle as you finished wrapping up his leg and gave him a glass of water and osme painkillers. You kissed his cheek, "No problem, love, I'm literally doing my job"

Jason gave you a lopsided grin both from pure exhaustion and sleepiness, and he felt his eyes begin to droop.

You shook him lightly, afraid to injure him further but definitely not wanting him to worsen his conditions.

"Hey, baby, you need to stay awake for me for a bit, yeah?"

"Mh-I knoww...I just-"

"Meow."

You stared at your boyfriedn with an horrified expression, eyes wide as your fingers grazed his bandages.

Jason seemed to have lost every single ounce of sleep in his body, matching your expression.

"Meow."

Uh oh.

"Don't move," you pleaded with him, taking his hands in yours, "I'll bring him here, just- holy cow!"

Just as you begun to turn, you spotted Norbert, your cat, in all his chunky orange glory, staring the two of you down - or better, zeroing in his amber eye on Jason, who for the first time that night, felt true fear.

"What do I do?" he whispered to you as he held eye contact with your cat, both of his hands tensing up under your grip.

You sighed, standing up, "Just stay there," then you went over Norbert and picked him up.

The feline instantly melted in your hold, purring slightly and nuzzling into you, but you could tell he wasn't fully calming down. He was still looking at Jason and his tail was swaying from side to side.

You just hoped you wouldn't have to stich Jason up again tonight.

You made your way over, taking small steps towards your boyfriend, who was still laying on the ground with a cautious look on his face.

"I made him smell some of your clothes the last few months," you started to explain, "and he even cuddled up to me in bed while i was wearing your hoodie, you know, the black Metallica one..." you took a few more steps, now directly in front of him.

You kneeled down, your arms tightening slightly around Norbert, "I really hope that did the trick,"

The cat sensed your nervousness and thinking it was due to Jason presence, hissed at him, swatting a clawed paw in his direction.

You closed your eyes, taking a big breath and trying to calm your nerves. This was a big deal for you and you cared bout both of them just as deeply, so you really hoped Norbert learned to accept Jason.

"Outstretch one of you hands towards him," you instructed Jason, "let him sniff you."

You loosened your grip on your cat and he jumped out of your arms, cautiosly making his way to Jason's hand. He let a low grumble as a warning, but upon sniffing his hand, he took a few momwnts to assess the situation. Nornert looked at you and you muttered a good boy to him, stroking his back in praise. He meowed and turned back to Jason, looking at him and then, and only then, he softly bumped his head on his hand, his fluffy tail up as Jason run his hand over his back. You both let out a relieved breath in unison, your shoulders visibly relaxing.

You watched the scene in awe, you eyes starting to well up with tears.

Jason sensed the mood switch and turned his head towards you. He was still smiling for not being smacked or bitten by your cat yet, so he scooted over, daring to do the impossible: hugging you in front of Norbert.

He had heard the stories: your guy friends and most importantly your ex boyfriend had tried to do so and had eneded up being chased around the house by a raging murderous orange ball of fur. They lived to tell the tale, but had since refused to step foot into your home ever again.

He hoped it would go differently for him.

Taking a leap of faith, he swung his arm around your shoulders, you thighs barely touching as his other hand cradled your chin.

"Hey," he looked into your eyes with worry, "you okay?"

You nodded with wide eyes, your left hand cupping his cheek with a relieved smile.

"Yeah, I'm happy he didn't attack you, it's all," you said but then your expression faltered as you heard another meow and saw Norbert staring menacingly at Jason's hand on your chin, then at Jason and then at the hand again.

He quickly dropped his hand and chuckled in apology, but you decided to see just how far you could push your luck and decided to pick Norbert up and place him onto your lap so he'd be between you two.

He unsurprisingly loafed up on you immediately and rested his chin on your right knree, staring up at the two of you.

"Try again, love," you said to Jason, who didn't need to be told twice as he eagerly tilted you chin up and leaned down for a searing kiss, his lips moulding against your own. You melted at the way his slightly chapped lips seemed to slot perfectly against yours, sighing in contemptment as your fingers twiddled witht the damp strands of hair that were stuck to his nape. You slightly tugged them and that earned you a mewl from Jason, the sound vibrating in your own mouth and making you smile in satisfaction.

Eventually pulling away to catch your breath, Jason chased your lips again but you playfully swatted his chest chuckling, "Don't push your luck, Jay. Norbert's patience runs out very quickly," you whispered as you looked down, petting the cat on your lap, "Aren't you a good boy, uh? Letting me kiss my boyfriend without drawing blood,"

Jason let out a whine, glaring at the cat and then making puppy eyes at you, "Wasn't I your good boy?"

"Jason, oh my god-"

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #dc x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x gn!reader

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black-occamy-arts-and-crafts · 18 hours ago

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I have recently received another ask about my canvas pulling and since I've been thinking about making a serious tutorial for a while now, I took the opportunity to take some pics and vids while finishing the tree. Do please enjoy :3

1. Why pulling out canvas at all?

Primarily, this is a fantastic technique to apply cross stitch patterns directly to the item you want OR to make patches from old jeans, like this one:

With small patterns I usually don't bother to sew the canvas prior to embroidering, like with the pupper above. In case of the bigger patterns, I usually sew it lightly on the edges just to keep the canvas in one place. The more stretchy the material type is, the more important it's going to be to keep it in place.

2. Why not use a soluble canvas?

I'm sure you can and that they'll be as successful as the regular one 😁 However, as I mentioned in my previous posts here and here, I prefer to err on the side of cheaper, hence the tutorial.

3. Okay. I'm convinced - I even have a pattern embroidered on! What's next?

With small patterns (like the doggo earlier) it's going to be pretty easy. You just pull the threads one by one - preferably starting on the thinnest part of the pattern - and you may not even need the pliers. The fun (?) is with the large pieces, because the canvas has on average quite fragile threads and they like to break. Note - the canvas I'm using and I suppose most of the existing canvas types, will have four threads per one embroidery row. It's usually easier to pull one first and then the other three, bit that may vary when, for example, you managed to pierce the thread during stitching phase earlier 😉

If you were already careful during the stitching, you paid extra attention to embroider EXACTLY between the canvas threads and avoid piercing them at all. There are two benefits to that being extra careful: one, it's easier to pull it out later; two, the stitching gains an extra precision to it (and it looks great!). I recently discover that the round tip needle is making it much easier and if you're interested, there's a separate post about it as well!

On to the process! You can see from the pictures how I started with cutting out a piece of canvas that I can later reuse for something small (recycling is my hobby 🤷🏻‍♀️). I also pulled loose threads from around the tree:

Next part was to clean up the trunk and the grass on the right:

I then cut off the excess to avoid the threads tangling and slowly moved to the sides of the leaves on right and left:

You'll notice that the last photo has the thread pulled halfway through the pattern. That's because on this stage it's usually impossible to simply pull the thread out - even with the pliers it is just going to break off. I use a needle to pluck it from between the embroidery like this:

If you're more of the visual learner, I made this vid that I hope explains the process in more detail. You'll notice that I'm using my fingers and not the pliers here, because it's faster than to switch between tools.

And finally, when you're left with single direction threads like these, it's just a matter of pulling them out one by one.

And that's it! The final product looks clean and neat, AND you will notice that without the canvas beneath it's also getting a bit of volume that looks cool (and helps even out small mistakes you may have made along the way).

Thanks for reading this far! Let me know if there's something else I forgot to explain 😊

#handmade #embroidery #cross stitch #occamy answers #embroidery tutorial

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ode-to-fury · 1 day ago

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A Moment's Peace

Just a very very short Rookanis drabble

He watched her, sometimes, when he knew she wouldn't notice.

It was stupid, useless. He did it anyway.

He watched as her eyes lit up with mirth at a joke Davrin made as they walked. Watched as a soft smile appeared on her face when she saw two children playing in the street, the dimple deeper in one cheek than the other, because her smile always pulled to the left. He watched as she frowned, two delicate lines appearing between her brows, and wished he could take away whatever was causing it. Watched as the Rivaini sun glinted off her golden hair, made her skin glow and her eyes shine.

Just then, he turned from the stove where he had been preparing their dinner, and saw her asleep on the couch across the room.

She'd been reading, keeping him company in one of the rare moments they had time to themselves, but it seemed she'd given up, and put the book on the floor, and curled up on her side, facing toward him.

He tried not to think about what that meant. The fact that she felt safe enough to sleep with him in the room. Failed, to keep that warmth from blooming in his chest at the thought.

Failed, to keep from watching her. For once, he didn't have to worry about her seeing his gaze linger, and it was with the hunger of a starving man that his eyes devoured her, roving over her face, trying to memorise the lines of it. The slant of her cheekbones, the arches of her brows, the exact slope of her nose, the shape of her lips. The way she seemed so much younger in sleep, at peace.

When the door opened, he didn't know how long he'd been standing there, simply looking.

"Evening, Lucanis," Emmrich greeted him cheerfully, then winced when Lucanis put a finger to his lips and drew Emmrich's attention to the couch.

"Ah," the older man said, smiling sheepishly, "Forgive me, I thought it was just you."

"The food is almost ready," Lucanis said, aware that Emmrich probably knew that. He was always the first to drift toward the dining room in the evenings.

"Should we wake her?" Emmrich asked him, stopping by the couch. Lucanis noticed the softening of his face as he looked down at her sleeping form. Had to bite down on Spite's exclamation of MINE, lest he startle everyone and wake her up.

My thought... OUR thought. MINE. OURS.

"Up to you," he said instead, keeping his voice carefully calm. "Perhaps, before the others come."

He didn't want anyone else to see her like this. Selfishly, he wanted to keep this to himself, the way her bottom lip pouted out slightly as she slept.

"Rook?" Emmrich said gently, bending down. He reached out to touch her shoulder. "Dinner is almost ready."

Her eyes shot open, and she sat up immediately, her hand reaching for a blade that was, thankfully, still in her room. Lucanis felt a wave of heat wash through the room as her magic gathered.

A moment later she relaxed, her grey eyes focusing on Emmrich's face, realising she was in the Lighthouse, not in danger.

He wondered what she'd been dreaming about.

"Emmrich?" She asked, her voice groggy in a way that settled somewhere low in Lucanis's gut. Even Spite shivered in satisfaction at the sound.

She reached up to rub her eyes, swinging her legs off the couch so she could sit.

"Dinner is almost ready," Emmrich said, smiling at her. "We thought it best to wake you before the others came in."

Her eyes flicked up to his own, and they softened around the edges. She knew it had been him that suggested it. Knew, and thanked him for it.

"Probably for the best," she said, stretched her arms up above her head. He could hear her spine pop even from across the room.

Emmrich held out a hand to help her up, and she took it, going so far as to curtsy in thanks. Lucanis felt his mouth twitch despite himself. Ridiculous.

Smells like... wanting and lying. Desire like a knife, like metal.

He frowned at the demon, then shook his head, taking the dish he was making off the fire.

"It's done," he declared, "Let it cool a little bit before you eat."

Rook pulled a face at him, and he grinned back. He couldn't help it.

When he knew she wasn't looking, he snuck another glance at her, trying to memorize the way her eyes twinkled with mischief.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rookanis #rook dragon age #dragon age #my writing #dragon age the veilguard #datv

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meirimerens · 2 days ago

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addition with parts of his soon-to-be-ex wife's recent (december 20th 2024) testimony wrt his domestic + familial abuse [her story here] (content warnings for domestic and familial abuse as well as child kidnapping) :

she mentions in the text Dybowksi has (date unmentioned) sold IPL (or what i, from seeing multiple others assume to be IPL from her mention of "his company") :

Я не знаю подробностей продажи его компании, но активные действия начались уже после нашего расставания "I don't know the details of the sale of his company, but the active steps began after we parted ways."

if it is IPL, this sale likely has an incidence on his position as executive and/or creative lead: you can sell a company and still have parts in it (and as such benefit), or completely leave it in the new director's care, in which case ties can be severed between him and the current team as well as ongoing projects.

ERRATUM/CORRECTION PLEASE READ THAT'S PURELY ON MY ASS TO HAVE ASSUMED FROM RENATA'S ONE SENTENCE + GONE WITH WHAT I'VE BEEN TOLD INSTEAD OF DIGGING thank you for pointing that out to me:

Dybowksi was still discussing P3 as early as one month ago still, and appears to be still on the team either creatively or executively, and likely has been for the time of it. He might indeed have sold the company as per Renata's testimony but be still fully involved, just not The Boss as a legal entity anymore. [video link]

He has not been part of HSE for a few years after the team's anti-war stance and relocation.

and tldr of renata's testimony, on top of everything describe in the OP, she alleges he physically and psychologically abused her as well as beat her father, purposefully made himself more financially unstable to force her to let him see their son, used financial coercion (child support payment) in order to keep her where he wanted her to live, and attempted to kidnap their son with his mistress when he realized he likely would not be able to see that kid legally after the tribunal's decision.

EDITED tldr dybowski apparently sold IPL some time ago and might or might not still have any creative or executive leadership. He is still on the team as far as a month ago. on top of his long and documented abuse of students, he's a wife-beater, a psychological and financial abuser, and an attempted child kidnapper, as well as a cheater. allegedly.

There have been many new Pathologic fans recently who might not be aware of the serious allegations against Nikolay Dybowski, creator and chief writer of the Pathologic game series and founder and CEO of Ice Pick Lodge so it’s crucial to recap all information that’s already been made public about this case:

Dybowski is an alleged child groomer and sexual predator who has abused girls between the ages of 15 and 18 and inclusively used his position as a teacher at HSE University in Moscow, where he’s been employed since 2017, to do so. He has allegedly been targeting teens since 2012. There are also circulating rumors that Dybowski was married to one of his game design students. For the sake of anonymity and safety I will not be posting screenshots of posts made by victims that might be easily tracked down. I will only show screenshots from Dybowski’s responses and will only be recounting what I’ve gathered from personal research and that of other people. All known information on this subject is already widely available on the internet and his victims do not need their identities to be circulated even more than they already have been. I recommend starting with Turaform's YouTube video on the subject since it’s a very comprehensive recap.

These allegations are made by multiple unrelated sources including several alleged victims through tweets, social media posts and chat conversations since at least 2017. They all add up and are only reinforced by Dybowski’s own comments on the situation.

Various sources both for and against Dybowski seem to agree that the HSE Ethics Committee was called to investigate Dybowski in 2019 and has either not found or ignored evidence of his abuse. HSE University has shown on many occasions to accept unethical conduct on the part of professors and directors.

By 2021, these allegations were made more widely known in fan circles outside of Russia and this backlash prompted his fans in Russian forums to double down in defending him, harassing victims and posting accusatory and allegedly racially motivated claims. Eventually, Dybowski himself voiced his own thoughts on Russian social media platform DTF:

His response to the allegations is, I think, incriminating evidence on its own since it shows he’s acquainted with his accuser and has a strong emotional interest in silencing them and painting them as a vengeful scorned woman archetype. He also does not mention the existing accusations that have been made by many other unrelated people.

At this point Russian student newspaper DOXA contacted one of the victims and posted an article about Dybowski’s case. Shortly after, their office was raided by police. They have been considered an undesirable organization by the Russian government since 2023.

Presumably around this time, Dybowski sent an email to one of his victims claiming that HSE University would be filing a libel suit against her, with him as a witness. Former HSE professor Kirill Martynov commented on the screenshot of this email on Twitter claiming that HSE University is legally unable to file libel suits. From then on, no more details, discussions or updates on these allegations have surfaced.

I want to emphasize that all this time Dybowski’s enjoyed full impunity for all of this. There is no reason to believe he has stopped his abuse of girls and young women since he got out of the situation concluding he will not be punished and will only be socially rewarded for his predatory behavior.

Before we go on to discuss what to do about this, I want to clarify and debunk a common counterpoint that someone could bring up in defense of Dybowski: “The legal age of consent in Russia is 16”

I want to remind you that Dybowski has allegedly groomed girls since they were 15. More importantly, teenagers from the ages of 15 to 18 years old are not fully developed mentally, physically or emotionally to have a healthy, equal relationship with an adult in his 40s and have a very stark difference in both life experience and emotional maturity, as well as having much less legal protection, social standing and financial means to sustain, protect and defend themselves. That is a fact, regardless of any status of legality that has always been ever-changing depending on the country and time period. Dybowski is an alleged ephebophile regardless of the legality status of such abusive dynamics. There is a reason why grooming (the manipulation of an individual to subconsciously dissensitize and prepare them for later sexual violence) is present in his alleged abuse.

That said:

After Pathologic 3’s announcement something has to be done about this and that’s why I and other fans are strongly appealing to a financial boycott of all Ice Pick Lodge games.

The biggest counterpoint I’ve seen to this course of action is: “The IPL employees have nothing to do with this, this would have consequences for them too”

First, one of the victims has explicitly stated that the high ranking members of IPL might know of Dybowski’s conduct, and that they know he often attends work while drunk. There is no way of knowing what employees at IPL do or don’t know and it’s irresponsible to definitively assume they’re fully unaware of Dybowski’s actions.

Secondly, all boycotts have consequences for the companies targeted, as that is the intent of a boycott. Boycotts are often called to put a tangible stop to some form of injustice happening within the targeted company, especially from its leaders, whether they’re in creative or executive positions. Dybowski happens to be in both and his case shouldn’t be an exception. If in the face of diminished income Dybowski decides to fire his employees, that will be his choice. His employees will then go on to find another job and hopefully work for a fair, responsible employer that doesn’t attend work drunk and doesn’t molest people, including children. Simply put, we are not responsible for the IPL employees' well-being and payment. Dybowski is. Ask yourself if your primary concern isn’t just getting more Pathologic games while dismissing what the real human cost of that is.

More importantly, Dybowski is known to target children under 17, which means if we were to only focus action on HSE University, that wouldn’t stop him from preying on girls. He’s been employed at HSE since 2017, but his abuse allegedly dates back to at least 2012. The HSE Ethics Committee has proven to be willfully dismissive of its students’ complaints. The writers for DOXA have been censored and their office raided, with a few members writing in exile as of now. Currently, a financial boycott of the studio that’s Dybowski’s main job and source of income is the only tangible way to have justice and diminish his social and financial power.

By supporting Pathologic monetarily as well as all other games from Ice Pick Lodge you are providing Dybowski with more social capital to abuse girls without retribution as well as actual capital that he might use to purchase CSEM and defend himself against legal action.

When is it the time to start taking action to support and protect victims, or at the very least to stop actively enabling abusers? If you truly want a piece of fiction to mean something to you personally away from the grasp of an abusive creator, if you're committed to that, then you need to hold the creator accountable. This can’t be allowed to continue. You can’t be complicit in abuse.

I don’t want to be the only one posting about this, so please if you decide to join the boycott, spread the word to other fans, both in posts, tweets and conversation. If we do this as a collective effort and follow the rules below we can be more efficient, keep things in relative anonymity and guarantee everyone’s safety, especially that of the victims.

Rules for the Boycott:

- DO NOT share any information about Dybowski’s victims with anyone. They do not need their identities to be circulated even more than they already have been. Focus on the boycott

- Don’t create a hashtag for this. This should be done through word of mouth and a unique hashtag will just be a way for us to be easily targeted. Use the common tags like #pathologic, #ice pick lodge, etc and especially #pathologic 3. This will more easily take the boycott effort to the fandom mainstream

- DO NOT post links to piracy websites. Give them away through DMs instead. Posting links will only have piracy websites taken down.

- DO NOT DELETE any Pathologic or IPL related posts, fan videos or fan art you've posted. This would only incite backlash from Dybowski's fans and lead to mass harassment and an effort to buy more IPL material to counteract the boycott.

- KEEP MAKING Pathologic posts and use them to share the voices of SA victims. I encourage you to spread awareness about Dybowski’s allegations with every Pathologic post you make. Populating the fandom with people who are educated about sexual violence and are friendly and supportive towards victims is the most important step.

- DO NOT ENGAGE with internet trolls. The more attention you give the more harassment you'll get. If a rape apologist comments on your posts BLOCK THEM and tell other people who to block. This is also part of the process of making the fandom a kind place for SA victims.

- DON’T CONTACT OR HARASS IPL employees or any acquaintances of Dybowski’s. That’s fruitless, creates dangerous precedents and only risks harming victims and innocent people who weren’t aware of the allegations in the process.

#renata's post in russian of course but like. man get the simple translate firefox addon #haven't been able to translate the messages though #also reading the comments on renata's posts Will make you physically ill btw. pigs oink in the same language regardless of borders #his irl woman- and girl-hating has long bled into his depictions of women and to this day i'm baffled that people didn't see the connection #that's Nothing absolute Nothing it's frankly trivial compared to his real-life actions but that is the reason i have never and will never #give him any benefit of the doubt wrt to his portrayals of women. transparent as glass he is.#lord take him he's ready.

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kingofthering-two · 3 days ago

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Hi guys, Maïna / kingofthering here. You might have heard or noticed that I got my account terminated yesterday (and had the joy to discover you don’t just lose your sideblog but all the blogs associated with your account).

What happened? As I mentioned last week, I received my 2nd strike for copyright infringement on the 11th of December and I protested it (sent a DMCA counter notice) on the 12th. Tumblr forwarded the counter notice to the claimant on the 16th, leaving them 10 business days to answer before I could get the strike taken away and the content restored. Unfortunately, yesterday, on the 19th, I received my third strike and it came with the termination of my account.

How is it fair that tumblr lets you receive a new strike so soon after the precedent one, when you couldn’t even have the time to finish fighting the first one? I legitimately don’t know. I’ve tried to contact them about this but they don’t treat the messages since it’s coming from a terminated account. I think I need to send the message with another email address, which I might do later.

Could my account come back? In theory, from what I’ve read online, yes, but that remains to be seen from my end for me to be completely sure of that. My only current hope is for the blog to reappear when I get my first and second strikes removed (the first is from January but I never thought of fighting it before because it was videos so I thought they didn’t stand a chance but now I genuinely believe the type of content doesn’t matter).

In September, there were 14 days between the counter notice being sent and me getting my content back (10 business days + weekends) and I suppose we might have to take into account Christmas here. I think that in the best case scenario, I might hear from tumblr on the 30th of December, maybe the 31st.

What now? I briefly considered using this as a (forced) break from tumblr. I tried to have one earlier this year and failed miserably. I think that the older I get, the less patience and tolerance I have for things that annoy me (and get past the filtering system) (but also things outside of tumblr, seeing my gifs get reposted to twitter, something that happened again recently, really annoys the fuck out of me). But, at the end of the day, the good outweighs the bad (annoying) far much, when it comes to this website and this community. If I check my tumblr app screentime on my phone, I might cry at how bad it is. I do want to finish the projects I have ongoing (the RPF survey answers will be studied and treated and shared) and keep in touch with everything happening on here.

I’m going to use this current account to browse tumblr at least until the end of the year. I’ve already seen glimpses of stories that I need to catch up on and I’ve seen you guys being very supportive already (thank you) so I felt like making myself reachable here was better. Posting wise, I’ll probably post about things that I know are safe i.e. things of my own (stats, my progress on the 2025 journals) and gifs of things not coming from Dorna (e.g. reels/tiktoks, podcast videos).

What then? The only thing I can tell you for sure is that no matter what happens next, I’m going to create an archive blog on a separate account (with a dedicated email address). This blog will not have posts of its own but only reblogs of content I originally posted on kingofthering. If I can have my old account back, the job will be made much easier (and will obviously be more complete). If not, I’ll have to rely on a lot of research to get things back as best as I can. Don’t worry about this for now, I’m going to wait until I know for sure about my old account to start the process (since the method will be very different depending on the answer on that).

For 2025, we will see. The thing is, even if I get my account back, I know that I will keep getting strikes (even if I’m not posting anything because old posts of mine have been targeted as well) and honestly, even if fighting them works, it’s both stressful and exhausting. Also, people have been winning the battles against the strikes for now but who knows how long that will last.

And like I mentioned, it’s a sideblog connected to all my other blogs which also depend on kingofthering’s faith. That includes my main blog that I’ve had since 2011 (I don’t use it much but I use it to keep all the useful stuff like the photoshop tutorials, writing prompts, etc), my hockey sideblog (not been using it much either lately but it does have some history I’d like to keep) and a bunch of others.

A solution to keep those other accounts safe would probably be to move everything motorsports related to a new account (maybe this one if I can get my main back) and delete the original kingofthering. It would pain me because of the history of this blog and what I would lose in the process (mostly the asks I haven’t gotten to answer and obviously the following that I had grown but I suppose that I can grow back little by little). It would also mean I couldn’t see anymore the posts in my notes and the tags people add to their reblogs (which is like half the purpose of posting in the first place) and that’s annoying as well but I suppose I could grieve that too, in theory.

If I don’t even get the account back, well. I talk about creating a new dedicated account but if it also gets striked (which I suppose will happen), it will be equally exhausting to fight fo it so, I don’t even know if I want to do that.

At this point, I know which content is safe for sure (or what has been safe so far for me) and there are still a lot of stuff that I enjoy sharing with you and getting your opinion on but giffing race weekends was the major part of my blog and I don’t know how I feel about giving that up. Anyway, much thoughts to have still.

Can you do something to help? I don’t think so. Or, well, not with recuperating my account. In regards with the copyright issue as a whole, though? I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what’s the best course of action there. I’ve seen some discussions around about emails and a petition and involving other social media and bigger people but I genuinely don’t know what’s the best thing to do. I’ve personally always considered tumblr as this little (safe for everything) bubble and I don’t exactly feel comfortable “exposing” some of my content here to the rest of the world (some people on tumblr are already mean enough about RPF, I don’t need to see what people not on here have to say about it). That’s obviously just me and I’m not going to keep anyone from doing what they think is right. Part of me wants to believe that things will fix themselves once Liberty Media take over but that’s not a sure thing and the frequency of strikes lately has been quite worrying so I understand the need to do something. Some thinking over to do there too.

Where can you find me? For tumblr, on here for now. I’m going to post this on the motogp tag and I’ll try to follow my mutuals (from memory so, going to miss a lot of people for sure, sorry in advance). I might appreciate a reblog of this post to spread the word. I still have my twitter (mostly talking stats), the blog and my tiktok (barely being used but still in existence).

If I do the set ups correctly I’ll have my DMs open here and askbox open to anons. I am still bad at answering those, though, so apologies in advance there as well.

(Also, I just got home for the holidays and literally learned about the news when I was in the train yesterday afternoon, so, worst timing ever.)

#motogp #tried to not be dramatic about this and wrote 1.4k words about the situation #anyway

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whitegownsandflowercrowns · 1 day ago

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I’m reading the lawsuit now. I’m not sure. How can I tell if it’s legit vs lies?

Genuine thanks for this question and not just immediately assuming that she's lying.

Look, at the end of the day, none of us were there. The only people that know what truly went down are the people that were on that set (which is true of any lawsuit), but here's what's really convincing me.

First things first, Baldoni hired Melissa Nathan back in August to run his public relations (and this article even mentions the allegations that he made Lively uncomfortable). Nathan worked for Johnny Depp during his defamation trial against Amber Heard, and it has been found that a technique called "astroturfing" was used against Heard on social media during this trial. Astroturfing is defined as "the deceptive practice of presenting an orchestrated marketing or public relations campaign in the guise of unsolicited comments from members of the public." Basically, artificially creating hate or hype for a public figure but making it seem organic. If you remember the Depp/Heard trial, you remember how much social media seemed to turn against her. If you remember this summer, you remember how much social media seemed to turn against Blake Lively. The fact that the same public relations team was on the other side of both alleged smear campaigns is a red flag.

Second, the text messages that have been released between Baldoni and the PR team are, in my opinion, incredibly damning. One member of the team, Jennifer Abel, texted Nathan "I think you guys need to be tough and show the strength of what you guys can do in these scenarios. He wants to feel like she can be buried." Nathan responded "Of course - but you know when we send over documents we can't send over the work we will or could do because that could get us in a lot of trouble. We can't write we will destroy her. Imagine if a document saying all the things that he wants ends up in the wrong hands. You know we can bury anyone." Right below are some screenshots from the New York Times article:

Later texts also involve praise for this article

Now, is it possible that all of these texts have been faked? Of course. But they are also lengthy (I did not include all of them here) and considering what I mentioned above, unlikely.

Thirdly, I'm just considering who has more to gain from this. I will admit my own bias here - I've never bought the idea that women by and large make allegations to become rich or famous or to gain sympathy. Amber Heard is probably still one of the most hated women on the planet. Name five of Bill Cosby's accusers off of the top of your head.

But what does each party have to gain? If Baldoni loses this case and is found in the public eye to have sexually harassed the women on the set of It Ends With Us, that's probably the end of his career. As far as I know, he doesn't have the industry goodwill that Roman Polanski or Woody Allen or even Johnny Depp do, and he will most likely start losing acting and directing roles. If he wins, and the public decides that Lively is lying, his career won't be destroyed. It will almost certainly have been set back, and there will always be people who'll look at him differently, but overall he should be fine. He may even gain a new fanbase.

If Lively loses this case and is found to have been lying, her career is tarnished forever. She will undoubtedly be known as the "next Amber Heard," and she will lose out on acting roles. The taint may even carry over to her husband. If she wins, and the public decides that Baldoni did in fact sexually harass women on set, she will probably be fine. Like Baldoni, there will always be people who'll believe that she was lying, but she'll be overall fine. However, it's important to note that she had a third option: to not pursue this at all. If she chooses not to pursue legal action against Baldoni, both of their careers remain unimpacted. While there would still have been a negative public perception of her, it probably would have blown over eventually. A lawsuit and possible trial is much more permanent in people's memories. So to me, the fact that she's choosing to pursue this knowing what the outcome of her losing would be speaks volumes.

Finally, the fact that her lawsuit states that other women on set were harassed and felt uncomfortable. Again, could be a lie, but that is a lie that is very easy to disprove. And if the women who worked on this set testify that they never felt uncomfortable, that will permanently damage her case. It just feels like too much of a risk to play with if you're lying.

Of course, don't just take my word for it - do your own research, seek out differing opinions, etc. but those are my views. I hope they helped in some way!

#blake lively #justin baldoni

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wisecura · 21 hours ago

Text

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.8 ⁭ ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.11

p.10

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

AN: can I make it up to you with a slightly longer chapter? please? sorry if this is a bit wordy, but enjoy. the next few chapters will have more momentum and movement. I'm still debating how messed up I want this story to be-- i tend to lean into the dark fic lines. i have a rough outline but....

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), hints at inappropriate thoughts, toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

thoughts and time changes

Lately, you’ve found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Toji.

There’s a subtle… warmth in him now that wasn’t there before, though he still remains quiet, never prying—and it all started after you returned from your clan house battered and bruised. When he was surprisingly gentle as he wordlessly patched you up. Yet, despite this newfound…what? fondness?—his frequent absences still plagued the house, never lingering longer than necessary, and more often than not, It was still just you and Megumi.

Megumi returned home for the summers—with that first one standing out as particularly difficult to navigate.

The two of you fell back into that familiar closeness, as if the strained conversation from before had never happened. As if he hadn't ever avoided you in the first place. He never spoke about it, opting to steer clear from any conversation that seemed too personal. Yet, this left you with a lingering uncertainty that seemed to hang over every interaction—never knowing if he might suddenly pull away or how his mood might change—keeping you constantly on edge around him.

And how could you bring it up? No, you’d much rather keep things peaceful—safe, between the two of you.

Despite all of your “concerns”, he slipped back into his touchy, almost affectionate habits—perhaps even more so than before, seemingly fine for the most part. The anger and blatant irritation that once defined him, present in his every interaction with Toji, had given way to a stoic calmness—a neutrality that left you feeling a bit happier. He changed so much, yet felt so familiar in so many ways.

And it was that same composure that made him so hard to read, leaving you endlessly guessing at what he didn't say. You definitely can't say you knew him as well as you did before.

Megumi’s thoughts drifted back to his first year at Jujutsu High.

A plethora of new faces and challenges—meeting his classmates had been, to put it mildly, eventful. There was Gojo Satoru, for one. His arrogant and self-absorbed teacher, who seemed far too amused by his own power and status as the strongest sorcerer. Easily the most skilled, he pushed Megumi all year to become a better version of himself, taking an interest in his background with the Zenin Clan. Annoying as it was, Megumi had to admit—thanks to the blue eyed freak, he understood his potential far better than he ever had before.

Then there was Yuji Itadori. The reckless idiot who, in a moment of pure desperation and absolute insanity, swallowed one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. Even now, Megumi couldn’t shake the guilt. If only he’d been faster, stronger—he might’ve stopped it. Might’ve saved Yuji from a path that tore his life apart.

Yet, despite it all, he became what Megumi would consider a friend. Easily the biggest doof he'd ever met—somehow managing to be both absurdly reckless and irritatingly good-hearted, resembling you in a weird way. Despite knowing him for such a short time, they’d already faced more together than most do in a lifetime.

And meeting Nobara Kugasaki. A girl he initially thought of as only loud and annoying, proved to be more than capable in more ways than one. Somehow, she managed to grow on him, though not without constantly provoking his every last nerve. Even worse than Toji did—a feat he hadn't thought possible.

He’d been careful not to tell you too much, as hard as it was when he saw your face waiting for him the moment he walked through that front door—a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. His first year had been chaotic, after all, but he hadn’t lied to you… just carefully sidestepped the truths. You poked and prodded for answers, but he remained evasive, selectively sharing only what he thought was safe for someone as precious as you.

Those text messages you sent? He couldn’t bring himself to respond much—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of making you worry. Your messages were always so short, almost hesitant—yet somehow, impossibly cute. Strangely endearing in a way that made him smile without meaning to. And they had him staring at his phone far longer than he’d ever admit. Long enough for Yuji to notice, of course, grinning as he tried to snatch the phone from Megumi’s hands, teasing him mercilessly about some "mysterious girlfriend."

There was no way in hell he’d let Sukuna’s vessel or his creepy teacher know about you—let alone meet you. Gojo probably had some inkling about your presence in his life—after all, who in Jujutsu society wasn’t at least vaguely aware of an arranged marriage? Especially one involving someone he had only recently discovered was as much of a social pariah as his father. But even if Gojo knew, Megumi was certain it was only through word of mouth alone, and he intended to keep it that way. You were a part of his life that he refused to let this chaos touch.

But they were good people—people who made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. What kind of person did he want to become? What kind of lives did he want to protect? The answer always circled back to you. You were his constant, the standard by which he measured everything. Someone who deserved better, someone who had endured far more than anyone should, and someone he would never stop trying to be worthy of.

He hated the unfairness of it all. Despised it—the sheer injustice of everything you had endured. The crushing expectations your clan had forced upon you, the suffocating marriage to his father, the unrelenting sense of entrapment that shadowed your every step. None of it was right. And the more he learned from Gojo, the angrier he became. A power system designed to crush those deemed weak or inferior, wielded to maintain a twisted hierarchy.

The true difference between you and Megumi was your golden heart—your unwavering care and strength, even in the face of how he knew you were likely treated within your clan. And yet, it was him who was being praised, lauded for qualities he wasn’t sure he deserved credit for.

That first year had taught him plenty. He’d solidified his choices, made his intentions clear, fully understanding what he was stepping into. And Megumi wasn’t just reflecting on these wrongs—he was determined to set them right, no matter the cost.

To him, you didn’t belong to anyone else—least of all his father. You were his. The very thought of you leaving, of slipping beyond his reach, sent a sharp, desperate ache through his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He’d free you—not just from the chains of your family or his father, but so you could truly be free. Free to choose him. To stay by his side. Always. Forever. Exactly where you belonged.

All he needed was for you to wait for him. Just a little longer.

After that long, grueling first year at school, Megumi finally got to see your beautiful face again. The way your smile lit up the room, the teasing lilt in your voice as you poked fun at him—it was enough to completely unravel him inside. It quietly reassured him that you still cared, easing the self-consciousness that had lingered since the day he left. Somehow, despite everything, it still felt the same. Like nothing had changed. Like home.

He had to restrain himself when he came back—the overwhelming urge to pull you close, to kiss you like he’d always dreamt of, nearly getting the better of him. But no—he wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t scare you away, not when having you near again felt like the only thing keeping him steady.

And he didn’t want you worrying about him, either. The probing questions you had? He’d place those on the backburner for now. Maybe even forever. That wasn’t what he needed from you. The thought of seeing your broken expression, your worry etched into every line of your face, was enough to haunt him. You were his light, his solace—and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Since coming back, Megumi had been careful—deliberate—in carving out his place in your life. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was measured and planned, more so than ever before. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, he had begun reshaping the way you saw him. He dropped small, seemingly innocent comments here and there, gently steering your attention toward him and away from anyone else—especially his father. Subtlety was key, he figured.

Every look, every gesture, was a calculated effort to blur the boundaries between you, to shift the nature of your relationship without you even realizing it. He wasn’t content with simply being part of your life—he was determined to make himself the center of it.

He worked tirelessly.

He regretted pulling away before, but if school had taught him anything, it was to cherish these fleeting moments with you. And each day, it seemed his efforts were paying off. You turned to him more often now, seeking his presence, his reassurance. Every question you asked, every flash of that radiant smile, felt like a step closer to what he wanted—to what he needed.

But it still wasn’t enough. He could tell you didn’t see him the way he saw you, didn’t feel the same pull that consumed him. The way he craved you. It ate away at him, the frustration building with every stolen glance, every moment he found himself aching for more. More than your smile, more than your laughter—he wanted all of you, and the thought of waiting drove him mad. He wanted your everything.

At least your eyes were still on him. At least you still cared. For now, that would have to be enough.

But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. You’d realize it eventually—you had to. And when you did, he’d be there, ready to claim the place in your heart that was always meant for him.

Before you knew it, Megumi was heading back to school, leaving the house quieter than usual. You’d been bracing yourself for another inevitable summons from your clan, surprised by their unusual silence. It was an uncharacteristic delay, one that left you both relieved and unsettled.

When the message finally arrived, it was as if the air grew heavier around you. Steeling yourself, you went, prepared for the worst, knowing all too well the weight that came with their demands. The possibility for retaliation. No. the absolute for retaliation.

As expected, you were met with the same barrage of insults, the words slicing through you with their usual sharpness. But this time, there were no lashings, no physical punishment to endure. The absence of that particular cruelty felt like a small, bittersweet victory. You carried the weight of their scorn on your way home but couldn’t help feeling a tinge of relief that it hadn’t been worse.

Toji was home that day—a surprise that caught you off guard, especially since you’d texted him earlier about your meeting with the clan. He’d mentioned being tied up on another one of his long-winded trips, at least for the next few days. Yet here he was.

He greeted you with his usual detached demeanor, but his eyes betrayed him, scanning you with unnerving precision—a deliberate, assessing once-over that made your stomach twist. Before you could fully process it, he stepped closer, his presence effortlessly commanding the space between you. Instinctively, you recoiled in surprise, but it didn’t deter him.

Without a word, his hand moved with an almost lazy confidence, slipping under the back of your shirt. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you, heat rushing to your cheeks as the intimacy of the gesture froze you in place. You couldn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his boldness, the casual intensity of his touch leaving you breathless and unsure of what to say.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt coloring his voice. His fingers trailed lightly across your skin, as though searching for something. It didn’t take long for him to pause, clearly not finding what he was looking for. With a quiet chuckle, he pulled his hand back, a smirk curving his lips as his eyes locked onto yours.

“Clean this time, huh? Guess they decided to play nice.”

You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to mock or comfort, but the way his eyes lingered on you left your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat. He stepped back, the teasing edge in his demeanor—his gaze, softening ever so slightly before he turned away, leaving you rooted to the spot.

The warmth of his palm still clung to your skin, your mind spinning, cheeks burning a vivid red. He’d never been this handsy before, but you knew exactly what he was searching for. What you couldn’t quite grasp was why it seemed to matter to him. Then again, when had Toji ever made sense to you?

You and Megumi had been exchanging texts more frequently than ever. It wasn’t something you had expected, but it started after he seemed to notice how upset his silence left you. The habit picked up when he returned to school for his second year. Whether it was guilt or something else driving his newfound consistency, you couldn’t deny the quiet relief that warmed your chest each time your phone pinged with his name.

Megumi’s birthday came and went, and for the first time, you felt comfortable enough to text him without hesitation, inviting him home for a small celebration. "Bring your new friends!" you added hopefully, sprinkling in an emoji or two to lighten the tone.

His reply came swiftly, cutting through your excitement—though, deep down, you should’ve expected it.

"I can’t. I have a mission coming up. I won’t be able to make it."

The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, but you tried not to push. The memory of his last birthday lingered in your mind, making you wonder if he avoided these moments on purpose. Megumi was never the social type, but you couldn’t help wanting to meet his friends, to see the people he spent so much of his time with. And, if you were honest, you missed him. The house always felt quieter, emptier, without him around.

Later that evening, however, your phone buzzed with an unexpected surprise. A picture.

It was Megumi, his expression as stoic and neutral as ever. Standing beside him was a pink-haired boy who couldn’t have been more of a contrast—wide-eyed, grinning ear to ear, brimming with an energy that practically leapt off the screen. The backdrop was lively, vibrant, a fleeting glimpse into the life Megumi was living far away from you.

You lingered on the photo, your fingers brushing lightly over the screen. For all your probing and insistence on wanting to meet his friends, wanting to see him again, you were surprised he’d sent anything at all. Megumi had always been evasive, but this felt like a compromise—his way of meeting you halfway.

He looked… different. He had been looking different for a while now—since arriving at that school. Once again, as always when you saw him, you couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown. He wasn’t just older; he was changing. Growing up. Making friends. Breaking free from his shell. Enjoying his life in a way you hadn’t seen before.

For a fleeting moment, pride swelled in your chest—warm and undeniable—only to be chased by a bittersweet ache. He was different, and though you were happy for him, the realization of how little he shared with you felt suffocatingly lonely.

And you couldn't help but feel a little…jealous.

The next summer passes much the same, uneventful but filled with moments of quiet reflection. Your clan has kept their distance physically, but their questions have grown intense, more persistent. They never hit you again, though the threat was always there. Prodding for details you refuse to give, their subtle questions suggesting they have something more planned—something you can’t quite decipher yet.

When Megumi returns, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed toward you. At seventeen now, he towers over you—maybe even reaching Toji’s height. His lean frame is noticeably stronger, and his presence feels heavier, more grounded. He still leans on you in his quiet, familiar way—that same energy that had always lingered between you stubbornly remained. But now, it felt… different. A little harder to ignore. A little harder to navigate.

It catches you off guard sometimes, especially when his eyes seem to linger on you just a bit too long. You’d always shrugged it off—those previous years, Toji’s words, even Megumi’s actions. A crush. That’s all it was. A fleeting, innocent crush. One you never addressed, one you assumed he’d outgrow. He’d figure out soon enough where you stood in his life.

But there was something unspoken in his gaze now, something that left your heart uneasy and your thoughts spiraling. You couldn’t help but think back to his bedroom, the night before he first left for school—the way the air had felt heavy, the unspoken tension hanging there ever since. His promise to protect you. That anger of you dismissing him.

That third summer at home felt different—unsettlingly so. The reminder of how much he’d grown. The uncomfortable realization of how much you’d come to lean on him in return. But most of all, the subtle shift in how he acted around you, how he spoke to you, how his presence seemed to take up more space.

Your relationship with him had already felt off before. What could you even do about it now? Especially when he wasn't going to talk about it first?

Yes, that summer was a strange one.

Megumi was determined to win you over.

He was close—so close. With just one more year left until graduation, his plans were nearly complete. All that remained was you.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

So he made sure you noticed. Made sure you saw just how much he’d grown.

He began wearing less clothing around the house, casually shirtless as he passed you in the hall, his lean, sculpted frame brushing just close enough for you to feel him. Bare skin ghosting against yours in fleeting touches that lingered in your mind. His voice dipped lower in the mornings, rich and deep as he greeted you, leaning in just a little too close as he reached for one thing or another. The subtle pink that crept into your cheeks didn’t escape him—and he enjoyed every second of it.

His touches grew more deliberate, yet always subtle enough to avoid suspicion. Fingers grazing your waist as he passed, lingering just a beat too long on your arm, or a hand ghosting over the nape of your neck in what seemed like an accident. But none of it was accidental.

It was all calculated—every movement, every look, designed to pull your attention, to fluster you, to shift how you saw him. Like a predator circling its prey, he was patient, methodical, and utterly focused.

And you… you were quite the prize. Every day, he admired you, every glance fueling the fire that burned inside him. The more he pushed, the more flustered you seemed to get, each reaction feeding his obsession. But no matter how carefully he set his traps, how hard he tried to shift the dynamic, you remained painfully oblivious.

If you noticed the changes in him, you didn’t let on—offering only the small, well-meaning comments of someone watching a child grow. But Megumi couldn’t ignore the cracks in your composure, the way your voice faltered or how your cheeks burned when he walked around shirtless. Because really—what mother blushes that much when her stepkid walks by?

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But Megumi wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As the summer wore on, his patience began to wane. Subtlety had carried him far, but now it felt too slow, too restrained. His tactics shifted, his determination sharpening. He wanted something more, something that would bring him closer to you—something impossible to ignore.

p.9

p.11

come home

#yandere #dead dove do not eat #male yandere #manipulative #yandere smut #jjk #obsessive yandere #jjk smut #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x yn #yandere megumi #wisecura

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