#i thought of that the moment this scene happened lmao

[fxirybun]

🥂 PAC: what is your FS currently doing at the moment ?

FS stands for "future spouse" , the person you're going to marry and create a life together. let's see as to what they're up to at this time !

this is a collective reading ! take what resonates and leave what doesn't. i cannot guarantee 100% accuracy. take the pac reading lightly ჱ̒ ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )

ෆ⸒⸒ pile one

your future spouse is either physically or metaphorically on a journey at the moment. they may be traveling , relocating , or experiencing a transition in their life. i feel that they're currently desiring some kind of movement and how they don't want to be stuck or stay in just one place. they may also want to explore different places that they have never visited before. i'm sensing that your future spouse received some kind of letter ? perhaps a news that allows them to pursue their dreams or to leave this stagnant situation that they're facing.

this opportunity could make a significant impact on their current path. "finally" is what i'm hearing from them. i can see that your future spouse would grab this opportunity and act upon it swiftly. it's like they've been waiting for this moment to happen. there's something about an event that can give this person a sudden boost of energy within them.

i'm getting that this message came from a faraway distance ? an example would be living in a province and you receive an invitation from a city. there may be a person who lives on a different side of a country who's also close to your future spouse who decided to message them. i'm getting multiple messages. "wanna grab something for a drink ?" "there's a party over here" "you should come over".

i sensed that at first , your future spouse seemed to be thrilled to hear this exciting message yet, i'm feeling some kind of confusion coming from them. "this is new to me , i do not know this place". there's something about the location that makes them feel uncertain whether they would want to join or not. i'm also getting as to how they're wary about the people and the surrounding environment.

perhaps the kind of people who are in this place are all so "new" to them , similar to a culture shock moment. i'm receiving a scene from my head wherein the people wear very revealing clothes and how your future spouse feels a bit out of place. "blind date" it's possible that their friend is secretly setting your future spouse up with someone , not letting your future spouse know about their hidden motives.

this person could be a female or someone who has feminine qualities within them. though the "female" is more prominent in this reading. their energy leans more on the sensual side , very passionate and alluring. this person may have soft and delicate features. even so , your future spouse feels skeptical about this female figure once they meet them in person. they feel that this woman is hiding something from them or that they do not know this person at all.

after a while , your future spouse may want to know the truth from their friend as to why they're being set up with someone. they just want to have some fun and peace in their lives and not get caught up or involved with someone in a romantic setting lmao. “i thought this was supposed to be a party ? not a blind date" is what i'm getting from their energy. eventually , your future spouse would brush it off and enjoy the event throughout the night.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile two

your future spouse is currently dealing with heavy burdens in their life at the moment. there seems to be a challenging situation in their partake and how they have the urge to weigh down their responsibilities. i sensed that they were worrying about what the others may say about them ? 'cause i'm getting the word "discussion" + the show "gossip girl" and how prominent it was in this reading. perhaps your future spouse is in a stressful conversation and how it makes them feel anxious.

oohh i'm getting something about "leaked information" ? this is some high school-level drama 😭 it's like someone found out some info about your future spouse and they decided to spread it publicly , possibly being blackmailed or some sort. because of it everyone who is in the same environment as your future spouse is chattering about the so-called rumor.

gurl wait a min-- it's definitely a false rumor because whatever this information was is so far-fetched as to what that leaker may thought of. surprisingly enough it seems that your future spouse was waiting for their medical / lab results ? something that's related to health and how they've been focusing on their well-being these days yet it was misinterpreted as something else to which i cannot seem to point it out.

"one night stand". it's like they thought that your future spouse got into contact with some kind of transmittable disease that is related to sexual acts but it's not 💀 either way , i can see how they're trying their best to ignore those rumors and decided to focus on dealing with their confidential paperwork matters. i'm getting heavy themes of long-term stability , spiritual , emotional , and physical healing.

i feel that they're also grounding themselves amidst the chaos that they're currently facing. "let me do my own thing" , yeah they don't really give a damn about what others may think about your future spouse because they know themselves better than anyone else. i sensed that they're seeking balance in their life at the moment. i remembered earlier how your future spouse is dealing with too much work which lead them to feel fatigued or tired.

they may want to resolve their burdens quitely and in a rational way, a lot of reflecting for this one. all they could ever wish for at the moment is to have me-time and be in tune with themselves , being in a state of tranquility. hoping that the rumor dies down soon and everything went back to normal.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile three

i feel that there's a new female presence in your future spouse's life and how she's planning to take a visit. i'm also seeing them exchanging messages , emails , or texts with one another , discussing their plans for the future. it's similar to how someone is asking you as to what you're going to do after graduation. whoever this woman is , she seems to have something in her mind that she wants to talk about to your future spouse.

there's a swift movement of news that's coming on their way. it's possible that your future spouse may receive important information or messages from this female and how it is something to look forward to. perhaps there's a given opportunity or a project that was being offered to your future spouse that they may want to pursue.

i'm also sensing how this woman is trying to comfort your future spouse and how there's no romantic connection going on between the two of them. whatever this news may be it seems to be a negative one because i feel that your future spouse is experiencing some kind of worriness upon hearing it. they seem to be also stress , it's like they have lost something dear or important to them.

i'm leaning more so on their career side , it's possible that they may have been declined or rejected by a company or job that they wished to work with. for some of you , your future spouse could also be rejected by a university they hoped to attend yet their college application didn't meet what the university is looking for in a student.

"what am i supposed to do ?" there are a lot of what-ifs that are stirring your future spouse's mind at the moment. it was a once in a lifetime moment for them and when they heard about this saddened news they felt disheartened. thinking about it is gradually eroding their peace of mind and how it causes them to feel unease. they seem to want a change in their dynamic in life.

nevertheless , despite these worries that are consuming them , there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. for as long as they remain an optimistic outlook , your future spouse will experience positive moments that are entering their life that may bring them short-term relief or satisfaction. it's possible that in the near-yet-distant future , they'll encounter an unexpected luck that aligns with their plans.

[liameowlia]

i just watched kuro neko and now i can say, from the bottom of my heart, that this episode, just like season 4 in general, is a complete and utter hate letter directed to chat noir.

first off, i hate how the word “perfect” is always used to describe adrien’s masked personality, and this happens awfully often. in my opnion, adrien’s public personality is a polished version of himself, resulted from trauma, being emotionally abused by his shit of a father and being extremely sheltered his whole life. he doesn’t feel like he can express himself and his thoughts most of the time, and when he does (i.e. in mega leech, ep10 se04, or in lies, ep02se04, but honestly there are lots of moments like this) he is reprehended by his father, by others or something bad happens in somehow result to that.

i hate how plagg was like “so, you know how you act anxiously and courtious around your abusive father and the press? yeah, i want you to act like that around your crush, she will love that trauma-induced part of you for certain”, specially because i don’t think plagg would actually say something like that to adrien (but feel free to disagree with me on that /gen). i hate it even more given that, at the end of the episode, plagg says something beautiful that i 100% agree with (and that goes pretty much against everything he said or did through the whole episode): “you’re not chat noir, but you’re not adrien either. you’re both.”

and i feel like a lot of people don’t understand that, somehow. actually, i feel like the writers/producers of the show itself don’t understand that. i could go on and on about my critiques towards this episode, about the terrible writing choices and production issues miraculous has, about how horribly they handle chat noir and adrien as a character and my thoughts on season 4, but i’ll stop here and just resume it into a single phrase: chat noir deserves better.

thank you for coming to my poorly written, barely cohesive, tedtalk. here’s a shitty little trans!adrien meme to congratulate you on reading it all:

[primus-why]

This gave me similar vibes to:

Bonus: glowy "cracks" forming on someone's face.... hmmmmmmmmm

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

rwby volume 5 is so fucking good EXCEPT for the entire final battle and that i think sucks so much ass

[deus-ex-mona]

“a sicks’ dream come true; coming soon to fanfic channels near you”

[tellmegoodbye]

I've had some time to collect my thoughts after a couple of days so here they are even though nobody asked.

I really loved the finale. It was devestating, no doubt, but I think this is their best one yet and I absolutely loved how they handled it. There was so much grieving in this episode, not just from Carlos, but from Owen and Judd as well. But despite everything they chose happiness and the wedding ending up being beautiful and bittersweet and joyful all at once.

There has been the question of deleted scenes but there's really only one we've seen so far that I would have loved to see in the episode. Other than that, I'm just glad we get to have them all as extras. I don't think the wedding needed them though.

Another thing I'd like to add is that yes, sometimes storylines can feel rushed in shows where you have a lot of characters and especially if there are clear favorites within a fandom. There was a lot going on, but that doesn't necessarily mean any one character's storyline is less valuable than another's. I guess I'm speaking as less of a fandom member and just more as an enjoyer of the show if that makes any sense. I love all of the characters in this show, and while I would be lying if I said I liked every single storyline, that doesn't mean I wish they didn't happen. In this case, however, I loved all of the storylines and I think they all made sense together given the theme of this episode. I personally don't think any of them shouldn't have been there in favor of getting more wedding content.

Honestly, my only regret is not getting off of tumblr as soon as the final bts stuff started coming out. I'm pretty bad when it comes to guessing things so if I hadn't been aware of the theories I literally would have had no idea and it would have hit me so much harder. It still got me pretty good though.

Again these are just my opinions so feel free to ignore everything I say if you didn't feel the same. I'm happy though, and I'm going to continue being incredibly annoying about this show. ♡

[sundrop-writes]

Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work. 

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life. 

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation. 

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you. 

But you weren’t needed on that front today. 

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated. 

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer. 

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks. 

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next. 

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving. 

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target. 

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.) 

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it. 

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information. 

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap. 

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else. 

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position. 

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.) 

Speaking of which: 

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation. 

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.” 

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously. 

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.” 

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way. 

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics. 

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console. 

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation. 

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply. 

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback. 

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off. 

… 

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes. 

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves). 

He was being far too quiet for your liking. 

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was. 

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all. 

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. 

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said. 

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him. 

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself. 

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his. 

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you. 

Again, you found it so utterly adorable. 

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road. 

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off. 

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid. 

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.) 

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.” 

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this. 

You continued. 

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. 

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got. 

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance. 

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore. 

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!” 

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment. 

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting. 

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you. 

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him. 

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear. 

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview. 

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car. 

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off. 

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out. 

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault. 

… 

The ex-wife didn’t know much. 

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years. 

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back. 

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused. 

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood. 

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one. 

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.) 

… 

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help. 

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do. 

… 

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car. 

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car. 

“Your room key?” 

You suppressed another grin. 

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?” 

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle. 

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves. 

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you. 

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed. 

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together. 

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin. 

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it. 

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head. 

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes. 

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words. 

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-” 

“I don’t think it was stupid.” 

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking. 

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.” 

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain. 

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric. 

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore. 

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second. 

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve. 

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?” 

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited. 

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was). 

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound. 

“Nngh.” 

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy. 

You giggled quietly. 

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.” 

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain. 

His mind was racing, chanting out: 

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’ 

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was: 

“Please.” 

“Good boy.” You sighed. 

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second. 

It was cute, to say the least. 

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed. 

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.” 

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins. 

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him. 

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now. 

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples. 

“Here, come on, baby.” 

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it. 

Truthfully, he did get something out of this. 

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet. 

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling. 

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears. 

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.” 

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits. 

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence. 

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more. 

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.) 

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh. 

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest. 

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically. 

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.” 

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too. 

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint. 

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.” 

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up. 

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.” 

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him. 

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load. 

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath. 

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest. 

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.) 

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that. 

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly. 

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants. 

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked. 

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum. 

“So pretty baby.” 

He only whined in response. 

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him. 

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him. 

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked. 

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again. 

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’ 

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop. 

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.” 

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.” 

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” 

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.” 

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock. 

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears. 

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again. 

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?” 

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy. 

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop. 

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix. 

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth. 

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover. 

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team. 

You came back with a small grin on your face. 

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.” 

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.” 

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him. 

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again. 

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

[onlygarden]

[are you even listening?] - park sunghoon

genre: fluff, suggestive, tiniest bit of angst (most of the 'tense' moments are just meant to be taken lightheartedly)

description: while arguing with your boyfriend, you begin to notice his focus drifting elsewhere...

a/n: this fic came to me in a frenzy and i absolutely needed to bring it to life. i should be sleeping right now, but that wasn't gonna happen until i finally finished this lmao (rescue me). also the thought of sunghoon saying ‘princess’ is driving me fucking wild so i included that heavily in this heheh

the sound of your exasperated and saddened sigh floats to sunghoon’s ears, and the sound of your troubled figure traveling up the stairs follows soon after. without a shred of reluctance, he follows you into the bedroom of your home with hurried footsteps. 

“princess, wait. just listen to me, okay?” 

‘just listen to me,’ he says. spoken as though you hadn’t just discovered him effortlessly complaining about you while on the phone with heeseung, rattling on about the fact that he finds you to be a ‘real pain in the ass sometimes.’ serving only to make matters worse, sunghoon reinforced his statement, and even accused you of overreacting.

“i’ve already listened, sunghoon. i know just what you think of me,’ you utter flatly, beginning to slip out of your casual sundress. your eyes remained adamant in their desire to avoid his pleading gaze. 

the frustration begins to drain steadily out of sunghoon’s body as he watches your dress fall to the floor. as much as he wished to remain focused on the argument at hand, he just couldn’t help but admire your figure as you stood before him in your undergarments — every course of your body, the memories of your velvety skin under his hands, the way your thong hugged the flesh of your hips — it was all too much.

 

he quickly shakes these seemingly inescapable thoughts, wishing to maintain focus on the argument at hand (and most importantly, to avoid upsetting you further). 

sunghoon swallows heavily before responding, due to a sudden dryness arising in his mouth. “no, princess. i swear that’s not what i think of you at all, it was just–” he hesitates a moment before completing his thought—  “it was just a stupid joke.” 

your eyes meet his, an air of disbelief flowing within them. “a joke? no sunghoon, you meant what you said,” you respond. as the words tumble from your distressed lips, you pull your pajamas out of your dresser, beginning to slip into them. 

sunghoon’s gaze follows your shorts as they glide along your legs, settling deliciously around the plush swell of your ass. by now, he’s entranced by your form in front of him, desperately attempting to grasp onto your concerns and the issue at hand. god, he’s trying so hard to shift his attention elsewhere, but it’s nearing the realm of impossibility. sunghoon’s eyes travel to your waist, the curves of it displayed proudly as your camisole clings to your figure. 

his breathing begins to deepen, the labored efforts clear in his voice. “(y/n), i promise you i didn’t mean a word i said, okay? stop being so—” 

sunghoon’s voice withers away, and a surge of arousal passes through his body at the scene before him; you bend down to arrange a few clothes in the bottom drawer of the dresser, and your shorts deviously disclose more of your ass — as if their fabric was very generous to begin with. now, only a fragment of his conviction remains, and the desire to make you writhe underneath him ruthlessly outshines his slight irritation. 

you straighten up and meet his eyes with a twinge of doubt in your expression, hoping your intuition is wrong.

“stop being so what, sunghoon? were you going to call me sensitive?”

sunghoon sighs. he’s drowning helplessly in his aching desire for you, shamelessly distracted by the beautiful shape of your body before him, wishing to see the end of this argument so he can finally throw you onto the bed and pound you into delirium. however, he only seems to be making matters worse by the second. 

“princess, i- i’m sorry… please just believe me when i say that i didn’t mean a single word i said,” he pleads, sincerity entangled in his words. sunghoon is beginning to grow frustrated with himself for even making you upset in the first place.

you head into the bathroom, telling him how much you ‘can’t believe’ he thinks you’re being sensitive about this, your mind and body still brawling with reluctance to forgive him. when you grab your toothbrush and begin to brush your teeth, sunghoon’s eyes can’t help but latch onto the way your ass and thighs jiggle delicately with each movement of your arm. it was as though your body was magnetized; he felt as if his eyes were struggling against some sort of compelling force as they attempted to ignore the hypnotic spell that your body cast on him.

goddamn, you’ve got to know what you’re doing to him, right?

a strained breath escapes sunghoon’s throat, and his eyes flutter shut as a powerful gush of arousal burns through his body. beyond his own control, sunghoon’s cock begins to press against the suddenly suffocating confines of his pants. 

you belatedly gain awareness of sunghoon’s raging desire as you notice his gaze in the mirror. “are you fucking serious, sunghoon? are you even paying any attention?” you ask, referring to the way his eyes ogled your backside in such a pervy and wicked manner.

sunghoon’s expression morphs into one of guilt and slight impatience; he knows that your discovery will only serve to prolong this argument, which will further prevent him from divulging in the pleasure of watching the flesh of your ass and thighs swell lusciously around his fingers as he squeezes them.

“i- yes, i’m paying attention. it’s just… it’s really hard to focus when you’re standing there looking so damn good.”

you sigh and quickly rinse your mouth, the exasperation inside of you only blossoming further upon his blatant admission. however, despite the harm his earlier words caused you, a slight, undeniable warmth visits your face at his bold compliment, too.

you crawl into bed, slipping under the blanket. “i’m not going to talk to you if you’re not even taking me seriously,” you say, your displeasure with his behavior evident in your colorless voice. 

sunghoon battles no hesitation to accompany you in bed — he sits beside you, grabs your hand, and meets your eyes with a gentle expression. 

“princess, don’t do this. i’m taking you seriously, i swear. what were you trying to tell me, hm? why were you so upset?”

his tone effortlessly melts your irritation, and you begin confiding in him about the manner in which he hurt you, albeit reluctantly. you tell him that his ‘joke’ didn’t tickle your humor at all, you tell him how much worse it was that he was speaking poorly about you to someone else, you tell him that you didn’t appreciate being called sensitive — blah, blah, blah.

the words coming from your mouth begin to jumble together in sunghoon’s crude, desire-ridden mind. although sunghoon knew just how wrong he was, that simple fact didn’t serve to deter him from continuing to do it. his eyes fall to your lips, then inevitably flicker down to the bit of your neck and collarbone exposed from beneath the blanket. his connection to the conversation grows unstable as he revisits the erotic images of you changing into your pajama set, and his hands twitch with the insistent impulse to yank it off of you. at this point, sunghoon isn’t even making an attempt to listen. 

as you begin to notice his distant expression, a sigh drifts from your lips. 

“really, sunghoon?” you interject. you turn over in bed, relinquishing any further determination to continue this futile argument.

sunghoon is violently snatched away from his thoughts, and guilt begins to burn the edges of his skin.

“wait, (y/n)! i was listening, i swear–” 

you turn your head to face him for a moment, indulging his obvious lie. “yea? then what did i say?” 

sunghoon’s mind kicks into overdrive, working relentlessly to recall even a fragment of your words. “uh… you said something about… being sensitive,” he feebly recalls.

“yeah, i’m going to sleep,” you huff, turning back around. 

“princess, wait!” sunghoon’s voice raises slightly in desperation. “don’t be mad, okay? i can’t stand it when you’re mad at me like this,” he soothes, and he begins to rub your shoulder, hoping to unwind the tension that his actions stirred within you. 

“look at me,” he says, his voice tender enough to soften all traces of lingering irritation.

you turn to face him, absorbing his melodic expression; his eyes implored you to forgive him, staring directly into yours as if he was trying to learn them all over again. a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips as his eyes swim graciously in yours.

“i’m sorry... i really am. i don’t want to fight with you. i didn’t mean what i said before, and i didn’t mean to get so distracted, okay? i was being an idiot.” 

his thumb glides over your face, floating subtly over the skin of your cheek, urging a smile from the bounds of your pouty expression.

his voice is equally as wispy as his touch, extinguishing the minor fury within you. “i love you, you know? please say you forgive me.” 

your smile blooms in full, and you sit up alongside him in bed. “i love you too, baby. i’m not mad about it anymore, i promise.”

sunghoon settles a hand upon your thigh, allowing it to coast upwards, his still aching desire now struggling desperately against the reins. 

both of his hands take hold of your hips, and he drags your body closer to his, the sound of his voice descending to a low, filthy whisper. “let me make it up to you, yea?”

[sceletaflores]

Advantage, Duncan.

pairing: stanford!tashi duncan x fem!reader

summary: tashi duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. after that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

—or: tashi needs you to understand that she doesn't give a fuck about patrick.

word count: 2.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, girl kissing, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (only barely but fem!receiving), somewhat public sex (in a locker room lmao), cheating but not really, love confessions kind of, lowkey manipulative!tashi but barely, patrick getting shit on like always, porn with a dash of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: back on my wlw cheater bullshit! so glad to be here! i centered this whole fic around a locker room sex scene. it just sort of spiraled into this cause you know i love being messy. once again no one requested this i'm being selfish lmao but i need more tashi fics on my masterlist! hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Tashi’s sneakers squeak quietly as she makes her way back to the locker room. Sweat drying on her brow and adrenaline still buzzing in her veins despite the match being over. It was an easy win, Northridge had been slipping down the ranks the longer the season went on and the girl had a shit backhand.

The first thing Tashi did after shaking hands and posing for pictures was text you. She left the locker room door cracked open for you. The thought of you sitting there alone waiting patiently for her behind that door made her almost giddy enough to skip the rest of the way down the hall.

This was something like a tradition for you guys now, meeting in the locker room after her matches. Something that started a little after the two of you met a couple months ago. It was the last tournament she had before the fall semester started. The court was owned by some snobby Northern California country club that your dad happened to be president of. He stuck you in the ball crew for the summer so he could watch you keep you busy and make sure you stayed out of trouble, joke's on him. 

You were the first thing she noticed the second she stepped on the court, but how could she not? You in your cute flowy linen shorts and matching white top. A light blue visor strapped to your head. Tashi immediately got why guys have that primal, desperate urge to impress pretty girls they just met. She showed off more in that match than she had in a long time, running the girl on the other end of the court ragged.

Tashi wanted you to notice her, to see how dominating she was, to be impressed by her. Every time she hit a perfect shot, her eyes would dart to you, checking if you were watching, and you were. 

You were practically gawking at her, eyes all wide and admiring as your head snapped back and forth with every smack of the ball. 

It was perfect, you were gravitating towards her more with every new set exactly like she wanted you to. By the time she won you were watching her with stars in your eyes, gaze trailing after her every move like you were a sunflower and she was the sun. And even though lots of people have looked at her that way, you were the only one she looked back at. It made Tashi’s skin buzz with something she’d never felt outside of tennis. 

She was swept away for pictures and press before she could talk to you, but there was a party later that night thrown in honor of the players at the club's banquet hall. Tashi was standing at the bar when you slid up next to her, introducing yourself with adoration swirling in your eyes and a shy smile on your glossy lips. Tashi let herself smile right back as she shook your hand for a little longer than normal.

Two hours later and she had you in one of the hall’s many bathrooms with your Dior dress hiked up around your hips and her tongue on your pussy. She can still remember every detail of that moment. The fruity notes of your perfume, the way you tasted, how sweetly you moaned her name with your voice so breathy and desperate.

Tashi Duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. After that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

Now, as she pushed open the locker room door and saw you sitting on the long bench in the center of the room, just like always, she felt a surge of possessiveness and longing. The sight of you waiting for her, so patient and devoted, made something dangerously close to love burn hot in her chest.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, standing up to greet her. You’re wearing one of her shirts, DUNCANATOR stretched across your chest in blocky red letters.

She dropped her bag at her feet, quickly crossing the room until she was close enough to pull you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. She was still sweaty but you didn’t care, arms coming up to wrap around her shoulders.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her voice a little too intense, her grip a little too tight. 

You laugh, your hands giving her shoulders a tiny squeeze. “It’s only been like an hour, Tash.” 

An hour felt like a whole year to her at this point. Tashi hated being away from you, hated not knowing what you were doing, who you were with, what you were thinking. She wanted to be the center of your world, just like you were so quickly becoming the center of hers. Steadily elbowing tennis inch by inch just to try and make enough room in her heart for something else. 

Tashi pulled away from you, taking a second to scan her eyes over your face. You were so beautiful, so perfect and sweet for her. She raised her hand to cup the side of your face, thumb swiping across the skin of your cheekbone a few times. You were flushed from sitting out in the sun, skin warm and soft to the touch.

She leans in without thinking, pressing her lips against yours. You taste like coconut lip balm and Pepsi. Tashi’s hand tightens its hold on your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer. She felt you sigh contently against her lips, lazily kissing back as easy as anything. Tashi felt like if she focused hard enough, that she could feel your heartbeat pounding where your chest met hers.

She swipes her tongue across your bottom lip, her hands making their way down to the small of your back to slip her fingertips under the waistband of your shorts. Your lips parted the slightest bit before you were pulling away with a small whine, pushing off her shoulders to create distance between the two of you. Tashi let her hands fall from your body as you take a small step backwards, immediately missing the warmth you took with you.

She was confused by the sudden shift in your mood until she saw the look on your face. The absolute picture of guilt, your brows furrowed enough to make a tiny crease in the middle of your forehead with your lip drawn between your teeth. Your eyes are droopy and sad as you wearily gaze at her from a few feet away. Tashi suppresses the overwhelming urge to sigh, brow raised as she stares back at you, waiting.

“I…” you trail off, wrapping your arms around yourself slowly. “I actually needed to talk to you, Tashi.”

‘Here we go.’ She thinks dryly, internally rolling her eyes. She can already tell she’s going to have to talk you down, again. She really should have expected this, you bringing up Patrick, you’ve done it enough times to be a trend. It’s been so long since the last time you said anything she was hoping you finally dropped it, apparently not.

Tashi doesn’t respond right away, just tilting her head slightly as she watches you. You shuffle uncomfortably in place, your eyes looking anywhere but her. She can see you take a steadying breath, trying to hype yourself up before you speak again.

“This is wrong,” Your voice is unconvincing, meek and soft. Tashi would laugh if she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. “What we’re doing, it’s wrong. It’s not fair to poor Patrick.”

It’s almost funny, how genuine you're being, how bad you truly feel for Patrick.

Poor, poor Patrick. Yeah fucking right. 

‘Poor Patrick’ is on tour right now probably sticking his dick in anyone that’ll let him. He’s nothing. A momentary lapse in judgment when you and Tashi went a few weeks without talking. She was hurt and vulnerable, two things she’s not used to feeling. She needed to feel in control of something again to stop her from going crazy, Patrick was easy enough.

When the two of you started talking again, she shut that shit down immediately. She was reminded of what a monumental waste of time Patrick is and pushed him to the furthest, most unimportant corner of her brain. She didn’t need him anymore, not when she had you again.

Tashi finally lets out a small sigh, more out of impatience than exasperation. She steps closer, her gaze hardening. "You really think he cares?" Her voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it. "Patrick doesn't need your pity. He's fine. He always is."

Your eyes widen at her words, the guilt on your face deepening. "But—"

“No.” Tashi cuts you off sharply, jaw set stubbornly. “Listen to me, Patrick is nothing. He’s just dick. He’ll never be more than just dick.” She takes another step towards you, closing the gap you made. “He doesn’t care about us, about this.” She motions between the two of you, her voice raising slightly as she speaks.

You swallow hard, arms tightening around yourself defensively as you stare at her with watery eyes. 

Tashi's whole demeanor softens, the anger draining from her body at the hurt look on your face. She would never speak to you like that, it’s just Patrick that really pisses her off. He’s not even here and he’s still managing to fuck with her. She steps even closer, her hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to look at her. 

Your name falls from her lips, warm and wrapped in velvet, her thumb traces along your bottom lip slowly. "We have something real," she whispers fiercely, grip tightening on your chin just a fraction. "Something he could never understand. Don't let him ruin that. Don't let him ruin us."

You nod slowly, eyes big and shiny with unshed tears. It’s not good enough, Tashi can tell that you’re still apprehensive. You’re still worried, still guilty even with her reassurance. She can’t have that. If she doesn’t get you to drop this, you’ll let it consume you enough to try something stupid, like leaving her. Tashi refuses to let that even be an option.

If she can’t convince you with words, she can convince you through her actions. 

Tashi needs to drive home the point that sparing Patrick’s feelings isn’t something you need to be worried about, clearly tough love isn’t going to work on you. If she has to get on her knees to help make you understand, then she will.

She leans in slowly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your breath catches slightly, held for only a second before you finally relax. Not completely, just enough for her to feel it. She keeps going, dragging kisses from your cheek up to your ear.

“Patrick is nothing compared to you.” she whispers directly into your ear, dropping your chin to start sliding her hand slowly down your front. “You’re so much better than him,” her hand stops at the hem of your shorts, tugging the button open with one sharp yank. You gasp sharply, hand flying up to grip her bicep tightly. Your eyes flick to the door, open and unlocked, but you’re not pushing her away, not trying to stop her. 

Tashi leans down, trailing kissing across the soft skin of your throat. “You’re everything.” She slips her hand into your shorts and down the front of your soft panties, her fingertips barely graze the slick skin of your pussy before you’re moaning.

“Fuck.” your hand squeezes her arm tighter, nails digging little crescent moons into her skin as she slides her index finger through the wetness gathering at your entrance. 

You’re so wet, completely drenching her hand in seconds. She teases you, barely pushing her finger past your tight hole as she licks a dirty stripe up the center of your throat. You whine, a desperate, too loud noise that bounces off the walls. Slowly, she breaches your entrance, sinking her finger up to the knuckle in the tight warmth of your pussy.

She watches you, takes in the needy look on your pretty face. So worked up for a single finger, so desperate for it that your hips cant down to get her deeper inside you. The wet squelch of her finger thrusting in and out of you sounds even dirtier, amplified by the room's echo. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Her tone is soft but final, like she’s stating a fact. She stares at you as she fucks her finger faster in and out of your fluttering pussy, gaze intense and unwavering. You stare back like a deer in headlights, silent except for the sharp pants falling from your slick, parted lips. That’s okay, you don’t need to do any of the talking anyway.

Tashi nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone once before she’s dropping to her knees on the cold concrete. Her greedy hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down your legs roughly, your lilac panties quickly follow. You gasp sharply, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy. “Tash-” 

Tashi cuts you off, leaning forward to slip your clit between her lips. You throw your head back, your loud moan echoing through the room. She swirls her tongue over the sensitive skin of your clit, exactly how you like it. You’re already so worked up, she knows this won’t take long.

Her mouth works you over expertly, licking and sucking and mouthing hungrily at your dripping pussy. She teases the tip of her tongue along your clenching hole, so desperate to be filled by the strap sitting in a old box on the highest shelf of her closet. Her thighs clench at the thought, you bouncing on her dick, wrecked and spent on the sheets of her bed. She pushes the idea to the back of her mind, you always have later for that. Right now, she’s focused on making you come on her tongue. 

Tashi can tell you’re getting close. Your breathing changes, gets heavier, even more little moans and whines falling from your lips each time her nose presses against your clit just right. Your fingers slide into her hair as you start to roll your hips, chasing her mouth. 

“God, Tashi–!” Your thighs shake on either side of her head, hands twisting her hair in your grip roughly. “Shit, yes–fuck! I’m gonna come–” Your hips start to grind against her tongue even faster as you got closer to the edge.

Tashi lets you use her face to get off, her hands sliding up and down the side of your thighs soothingly as you come. She works you through your orgasm, her tongue sliding along your sensitive skin until you’re physically pulling her away.

Tashi presses one last kiss to your hip before she stands, pulling your shorts and panties back up your legs as she does. You’re still trying to catch your breath, leaning up against the lockers as she buttons your zipper for you. Your face is flushed and sweaty, your eyes are glossed over and hazy. She smiles, giving you a soft kiss with your release still coating her lips and tongue. You kiss back regardless, slow and sweet like molasses. 

Tashi pulls away first, giving your cheek a quick tap before stepping away to pick up her bag up off the floor. “Come on,” she offers you her hand, nodding her head towards the door. “Let’s go get frozen yogurt.” 

You smile, making your way across the room to slide your hand into hers. Tashi goes to push the door open, but you stay in place, tugging her hand back. When she turns to face you, there’s a look on your face she hasn’t seen before. “You’re everything too.” 

Your tone is so sincere, so genuine that she feels her heart grow three sizes. Your eyes sparkle as you stare at her like she’s a God. It’s exactly what she wanted. She smiles, giving your hand a hard squeeze and finally dragging you out of the locker room.

Duncan: Game, Set, Match.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: mafia! Seongjoong x f! yn

Word Count: 3517

Warnings: cursing, mentions of violence, minor injuries, slight possessive/yandere joong (not super noticeable), smut warnings under cut

Genre: Fluff, smut, mafia au, exes to lovers, M for mature audiences

Summary: After leaving the mafia scene for five years, you've had to go back and beg for help from the boss of your former family...and your ex.

Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS unless you discuss safely outside of sex!), some praise, degredation, spitroasting, oral (m & f receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, creampie, fingering, felching (again), squirting, one spank, dom/sub (seongjoong dom, yn sub), undernegotiated kinks (its been a while since they fucked so things may have changed but they don't discuss. don't do this)

Written for tipsy drabbles! took me like 3 days to write the smut itself lmao

-

“So. You’ve found your way back to me, begging for me.” You keep your eyes lowered, not afraid but too ashamed to look Hongjoong in the eyes. You haven’t seen the head of the MATZ gang in a long time. Not since the last boss was alive and he was just a capo in his own right. Not since you had left him standing in the hall of his mansion, citing immaturity when it was just your fears of commitment to a mafia member. You know you broke his heart, but he stitched it back up quickly, yelling after you that if you ever came back he wouldn’t help you.

And yet, how the tables have turned.

“I had…I had nowhere else to go. Turn me away if you wish, but hear me out first. Please, Hongjoong.” You keep your gaze focused on your ratty sneakers, a far cry from the Louboutins you used to wear.

“Look at me first.” You freeze. From his tone of voice, you know he knows why you’re here. “I won’t repeat myself, YN.”

Slowly, you bring your head up, wincing at the sharp pain in your throbbing head from the sudden movement. You’re sure you look a mess, with the black eye and split lip. You keep your line of sight trained on the window next to Hongjoong instead of his face, but you can’t miss the way his eyes darken at the sight of you broken in front of him.

“What. Happened.”

His voice is cold and you flinch, hands wringing behind your back as you refuse to break down in front of your first lover (and if you stop lying to yourself, he still is in your heart). “...It was Yang Beomhun. I left you but he tracked me down and thought he could use me as leverage against you. It didn’t work, but at that point, he decided he might as well keep me around for himself and the pretence he had put up dropped. I…don’t know what else to do.”

It was a miracle you were even let back into his mansion. You thought you would have to live a life of suffering with Beomhun as your tormentor, but one of the family had somehow recognised you and let you in, citing it to be some sick joke.

And maybe it was. Who leaves the mafia out of fear for their future, only to end up being run ragged by the justice system? It’s ironic, ending right back up where you left, but once again, you have nothing left to lose.

“Why don’t you just leave him? You clearly are able to.”

You choose to ignore the jibe. “I couldn't. I’ve tried. It was a miracle I made it here, and that was with the help of someone who likely has gotten into deeper trouble.” You can feel your body shaking with the effort to keep your cool. “I don’t know what to tell you. Give me a new life, or just fucking kill me, Hongjoong. I don’t want to be caught in the middle again. I left to avoid the danger but no matter what I do, all I get is the same thing.”

Silence settles over the both of you. It’s only a moment later you realise you finally admitted the real reason you left. Your head shifts lower and you squeeze your eyes shut, both from embarrassment and trying to keep yourself on your feet.

After a long breath, you feel slender fingers on your chin that tip your face up. Blearily, you blink your eyes open to see Hongjoong staring down at you, eyes hiding any emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is soft, softer than you’ve heard in a long time. “I would’ve protected you, given you the safest life I could.”

“I…back then I didn’t want that, Joong. I just wanted a normal life. Not a safe one.” Your eyes are fighting to stay open.

“And now? What do you want?” You open your mouth to speak, but instead, your legs give out and Hongjoong drops to keep you from cracking your head on the wooden floor. “YN, wait–”

-

When you reawaken, you’re in an intricate bedroom you remember as the one you stayed in when you and Hongjoong were still dating. It’s changed quite a bit, his bookshelves cleared and the desk is gone, but otherwise, the drapes remain the same, and the carpet and plants as well. Your body aches but your mind is refreshed, the exhaustion from yesterday gone.

You can feel a heavy weight on the left side of the bed and your heart softens at the sight of Hongjoong sitting beside you, head in his arms as he rests his torso on the bed. As much as you hate to admit it, you missed him every moment you were gone. But you hurt him irrevocably and you know there’s not much you can do to win him back.

Your hand reaches up involuntarily, just about to brush through his platinum blond locks when his head snaps up. Your hand jerks back although his eyes are still closed. “You’re up,” he hums, eyes slowly blinking open. “The medic said you were just exhausted, but I’m glad to see you’re up.”

You stare at him, brows furrowed. “Why are you glad? I hurt you. I don’t deserve your worry.”

Hongjoong’s brow raises. “I don’t think you get to decide who I get to worry about. Yes, you hurt me. But we were young and dumb. We were hardly adults, thrust into a dangerous situation. And I would be lying to say I didn’t miss you, rosebud.”

Your face flushes at the nickname you hadn’t heard in years and Hongjoong smiles at the sight of it. He shifts over, leaning in to brush his nose against yours when the door slams open. “Boss, Seonghwa’s back.”

Your brows furrow. “Seonghwa?” The name escapes your lips before you can catch it and Hongjoong’s eyes narrow to level a sharp gaze at you.

“You met him?” His question is light but there’s danger behind it.

“Yes—He’s the one that helped me escape Beomhun. He was new on the task force, but he saw how Beomhun treated me and was the only one who cared to help me.” You speak quickly, trying to ease the tension lurking in Hongjoong’s eyes. “I swear on my life, Joong. He’s done nothing wrong except help me.”

Hongjoong stares at you for a long moment before he stands quickly, smoothing down his suit. “YN, come. Let’s see this Seonghwa for ourselves.”

Before you can even say anything, he grabs your wrist, pulling you along. You don’t know how to react, much less if you should react, and the entire way down to the basement is silent. You come to a stop behind a glass window, two-way if you remember correctly, and you stare at the slender figure sitting at the table, with sharp eyes and a split lip. “That’s him,” you breathe out.

Hongjoong hums. “Aww, he came all this way to see if you were alive? How sweet. Why don’t you go and show him how much you appreciate him? After all the work I put him to to keep you safe?” His hand pushes at your side a little and you snap your head towards him.

“Joong–” you gasp in shock and confusion.

Hongjoong turned to stare you down. “What? You think I would actually just let you go like that, five years ago? You’re mine, and you’d do well to remember that.” He chuckles low in his throat, his lips pulling into a shark’s smile. “Seonghwa here is my underboss. I trust him the most when it comes to my personal affairs, and I think he deserves a reward for the work he’s done. Come on, baby, why don’t you show him how good you can be?”

Before you can say anything else, he swings the door open and pulls you through. “Hwa, say ‘hi’ to my little rosebud. She’s here to give you a little treat for protecting her.”

He pushes you forward again and you stumble on your feet until large, warm hands land on your waist as you stop between Seonghwa’s open thighs. “Aren’t you just precious, huh,” he groans, pressing his thumbs into your hip bones. “Little missy is just too worried about me, is that right, baby?”

You cast a glance back at Hongjoong, where he’s taken a seat from across the room and is palming at the growing bulge in his pants. Without even thinking about it, your thighs squeeze together and you flush. “Joong–” Back when you were still with him, the two of you would find newcomers to fuck, some kind of sick power play Joong got off on. It’s somewhat comforting to see not much has changed in that regard…and it makes heat bloom in your core.

Seonghwa’s hand gripping your chin directs your gaze to his dark eyes. “Come on, miss, I went to all that work keeping you safe, don’t you want to show your appreciation?” He arches a perfect brow and you swear the expression on his face only serves to make your face even hotter.

“Show him how good you can be, YN,” Hongjoong commands from behind you, his voice heavy. And, well, who are you to disobey him? Immediately, you drop to your knees, your habits from years back still ingrained into your brain.

Seonghwa chuckles, his fingers combing through your hair slowly as he palms his cock straining against his leather pants. “Come on, princess. Show me how good those pretty lips are.”

You don’t need much more prompting than that, quickly reaching forward to undo his belt and slide his zipper down. With a groan, Seonghwa lifts his hips enough for you to shove his boxers down, revealing his hard cock. The tip of it is an angry red, dripping pre-come and your eyes zero in on it.

Seonghwa places his hand on the top of your head, and you don’t need much more prompting before dipping down and pressing a kiss to the tip. You can hear him sigh and it's enough to make you sink down to envelop the head of it in your mouth, letting spit pool around it. Any other day you’d be in the mood to tease, but with Hongjoong watching all you want is to be good.

“Shit, her mouth is so good,” Seonghwa groans, his thighs straining as his hands tighten in your hair. “So perfectly willing to be used.”

You feel another spike of heat in your core as you clench around nothing at his words. The way he doesn’t even direct it at you, only at Hongjoong turns you on more than you’d like to admit it would. “You can be rougher with her, she likes it,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the fog slowly encapsulating your mind.

Without hesitation, Seonghwa pushes your head down even further and you gag, eyes rolling back at the rough treatment. “Holy shit, she’s into it.” There’s absolute glee in Seonghwa’s voice, and his hips give an experimental thrust. You moan around his thick length, eyes squeezing shut as your spit dribbles down his length. Any shame you feel dissolves into arousal and you can’t help but wriggle your hips, trying to get any sort of friction.

“Look at you, so needy for anything.” Hongjoong’s voice is closer than you remember, and you flinch when you feel his cool hands on your shoulders. They trail down, patting your ass before reaching to cup you through your pants. “Come on, hands and knees for me, okay?”

It takes you a moment to respond, but when Hongjoong paps you on your cunt again, you scramble to present your ass to him while still keeping Seonghwa in your mouth. You can hear both of them chuckle at your eagerness. “She’s such a perfect slut, Joong,” the bite in Seonghwa’s voice makes you whine low in your throat. “So happy to just take cock and sit still, all pretty for us.”

Hongjoong hums as he pulls down your pants and underwear in one swift moment, pressing his fingers against your sopping pussy. “She’s so wet, truly the perfect whore for us,” he sighs, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. His movements are fast, precise, and more slick gushes out of you as you keep moaning around Seonghwa’s cock.

Before you can grind against his hand, his fingers disappear just as fast as they entered you and you whine, feeling much too empty. “Eager or not, bitches should learn patience,” Hongjoong sneers and a smack resounds in the room. You register the stinging pain on your ass a second later and you moan, the sound of it muffled.

Your eyes tear up from the pain and Seonghwa coos, his long fingers brushing away the tears. You lean into the comfort subconsciously but as you do so, you can feel the blunt head of Hongjoong’s cock rubbing against your folds and the slick sounds make your brain fuzzy. The tip of it repeatedly catches on your clit and each time it sends a shock to your core.

Before you can whine any more, Hongjoong lines his cock up to your cole and pushes in without any warning. Your eyes snap open as your body is pushed forward and Seonghwa’s cock is driven deeper into your mouth. “Shit–” Seonghwa groans, his other hand coming down to grip your hair and keep your head in place.

Hongjoong giggles from behind you before drawing back and slamming back in again. The force of his thrust spears him so perfectly inside you, the girth of his cock stretching you open so well. He didn’t prep you well enough, but the sting makes you even wetter. It’s been years, and he still knows exactly what you like and it makes both your heart and your cunt throb. Seonghwa’s cock is longer, but the stretch of Hongjoong is just what you like and you clench around him.

“God, after all this time, you still are so fucking tight. Maybe I didn’t fuck you well enough before,” Hongjoong leans down to whisper in your ear, his weight pushing you impossibly further onto Seonghwa’s dick. “Maybe I’ll let Seonghwa fuck you too until your pussy is nice and sloppy for me to take any time I want. You may be mine, but Seonghwa is too and it would be cruel of me to not let my two playthings have their own fun.”

You’re a little ashamed to admit the idea of that makes you moan, and Hongjoong presses a kiss to your shoulder before biting the flesh, his hips starting to jackhammer into you, setting an unforgiving pace.

Your body goes lip, Hongjoong’s arms around your waist and Seonghwa’s hands in your hair the only thing keeping you up. You really do feel like a doll used only for their enjoyment but something about it is perfect and you keep your mouth slack as your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt is throbbing, pulsing around Hongjoong as he hits the spongy spot inside of you with surprising accuracy. Seonghwa’s started thrusting into your mouth as well, your jaw aching but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You can hear them speaking to each other above you but you’re too far gone to make sense of anything they’re saying, letting your eyes flutter shut as the two men on either side pound into you. But before you can say or do anything, Seonghwa comes, ropes of his come shooting down your throat without you needing to swallow. As his orgasm washes over him, he pulls his cock out, moving one of his hands to your jaw and squeezing, keeping your mouth open and pliant. The tip of his dick rests against your lower lip as drops of come land in your mouth and dribble down your lips. When his cock softens, he tucks himself back in and leans down to spit in your mouth.

“Swallow.” His voice is rough and heavy, and you follow his command immediately. You don’t even notice Hongjoong stilled his hips until a moment later and you whine.

“So greedy,” Hongjoong scoffs, his hands gripping your waist and his nails digging into the skin. Without warning, he pulls you back down on his cock and you moan so loudly it’s bordering on a scream. “Your cunt is swallowing me so well, baby. I could do this for hours and I bet you’d just let it happen. God, I can’t believe I let you go last time, no one else could be such a perfect little cumdump for me.”

He punctuates each other with another thrust until he’s groaning as he reaches the edge of his pleasure, his come shooting deep into you and coating your walls. “God, she’s taking you so well,” Seonghwa hums, brushing your hair out of your eyes, the gentleness of his actions the complete opposite of how he was treating your mouth not a minute earlier.

Hongjoong laughs, pulling out his cock to see his come dripping out of you and making a little pool on the floor. His arms release you and you collapse onto the cool tile, your body shuddering. “She’s good, isn’t she,” he says fondly, his hands coming to pull apart your cheeks, admiring the sight of your hole fluttering around nothing. “She hadn’t even come after that. Would you like to reward this good behaviour, Hwa?” 

A chuckle leaves Seonghwa as he moves around to settle in between your legs. You’re too tired to shift to see what they’re doing and you gasp as a flat tongue presses against your dripping hole. Your back arches and Hongjoong chuckles, pressing down on your shoulders to shove you further onto the tile.

Your thighs are shaking from the effort of keeping your hips up, but Seonghwa’s grip doesn’t relent as he licks into you like a starved man, tasting both your slick and Hongjoong’s come. The way it flicks your clit and it doesn’t take long for you to come apart on the title, moans spilling out of your mouth easily as you feel a great pressure on your core and your body shakes from the effort of it. You can hear the sloppy, wet sounds of Seonghwa licking up your release and even when you try to clench around his tongue you just know with how loose you are it doesn’t change much.

“Fuck, I didn’t know she squirts,” you hear the awe in Seonghwa’s voice and Hongjoong hums, please.

“Like I said, she’s really the perfect slut.” Hongjoong pats your head, but the praise doesn’t really register, your mind is all fuzzy from the fucking you just received, and all you do is yawn. You hear soft laughter from the two of them and Hongjoong pulls you into his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “All right, I get it. You can sleep, baby. We’ll clean you up. Just relax.”

At his sweet words, you let your head drop to his shoulder as you let him manoeuvre you so he can pick you up to bring you to a bath. You’re happy to be back.

-

As Hongjoong tucks you into bed, Seonghwa leans against the doorframe, waiting for you to finally drift off. As soon as your breathing levels, Seonghwa moves to stand by Hongjoong sitting on the bed, and he speaks up. “Beomhun asked for his money.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t get it. He broke the rules of the deal and laid his hands on my girl. The agreement was for him to scare her, not fucking hurt her.”

Seonghwa nods. “I know. He has been taken care of. Jongho and Yunho are happy to have been promoted, and I’m sure they’ll bring flowers to the funeral.”

Hongjoong chuckles, low in his throat to keep you from waking. “Good, good. It’ll be good to have some of our men higher in the police force too. Beomhun’s death was needed. But make sure she never finds out.” Seonghwa nods. “Can you go get a report from Yunho?”

Another nod. “I’ll see you later,” Seonghwa says, patting Hongjoong on the shoulder. “We’re still on for dinner, right?”

Hongjoong smiles. “Of course. Come here.” Seonghwa moves to stand between Hongjoong’s legs, much like how you did with him down in the basement. Without another word, Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I’m happy to have both of you back. I’ll see you later tonight. Maybe YN will be awake for dinner as well.”

Seonghwa flushes red before kissing Hongjoong once more before slipping out the door. Hongjoong turns his attention back to you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You’re back now, and I intend to keep it this way. No running away from me anymore,” he whispers, his fingers trailing down your face to ghost over your lips. “You’re mine, rosebud.”

[miwiheroes]

Season 1 Mike Wheeler Queer-coding

Just some of my favourite pieces of queer-coded Mike evidence that I have found from season 1. Let me know if you have never seen these before because I'd love to add to the conversation <33

My overall conclusion from season 1 is: Mike gets taught that being queer/ not liking girls is dangerous. It means you die/ disappear. Being 'normal' or straight is therefore easier. Take this conclusion in mind as you read this.

Disclaimer: This is just my opinion. If you want to interact with this post because you disagree with me, please be respectful.

(Yes I will be doing all the other seasons at some point but it will take a while because this one took me a WEEK)

1. Ted's Comments

Take these with a grain of salt, because when I watched the show again I was a little unsure of whether these are actually implicitly homophobic or due to other things.

So here Ted says 'see Michael, you see what happens?' after Nancy storms off and goes to her room. This could be in relation to Mike shouting at Nancy earlier and that's why he's scolding him a little, but also Mike was talking about how it isn't Will's fault that he's gone missing. It's also kind of established that adults in the town think that Will is gay (more on that later) and was hatecrimed, so Ted could be referencing that.

It's also notable that Mike thinks his dad is talking about Will's disappearance because he then says 'what happens when what? i'm the only one acting normal here. i'm the only one who cares about will.'

So I think it's pretty clear what he's insinuating here. He didn't want to explicitly say 'see what happens when you're not like everyone else' but you can tell. And why would this be said to Mike in relation to Will's disappearance if not for queer-coding? Even early on in the show, Mike could associate being queer with going missing.

Ted, later on in the season, says 'our son? with a girl?' which tbh i thought could be because he's a nerd and only likes hanging out with his friends.

But now that I'm thinking about it, they also say that kind of stuff about Will in season 3. And people on twitter who were against Will's queer-coding before season 4 figured that a lot of the reason people called him slurs was because of him being shy/ stereotyped/ a nerd/ sensitive. But it was confirmed after season 4 that the slurs were queer-coding aka we were right. So the same could easily be said for Mike in this situation.

2. The 'Talk' tm

We've all seen a lot of people talk about this, but I have a teensy bit more to add onto what others have said already because it's sort of funny.

This scene is different to both Karen and the audience. To Karen, she's basically asking Mike if he's feeling particularly sad about Will being missing because of reasons. But to the audience, and Mike, this is a moment for him to be worried about the fact he's hiding El in his closet.

Karen says: 'with all this that's been going on, with Will, i can't imagine what it's been like for you. i just-- want you to feel like you can talk to me. i never want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. i'm here for you. okay?'

This feels like something Joyce will say to Will in season 5 LMAO like-

If you aren't queer, you will never understand how obvious this is that it's a gay talk. The word 'hide' is so often used in these situations. What is she insinuating? I understand that the 'i want you to feel like you can talk to me' might just be about Mike's sadness, but the emphasis on 'hide anything' is crazy. Also this is about Will and nothing else because at the beginning she pointedly says, 'with Will'. She's basically insinuating there's something different about Mike's relationship/friendship with Will.

What she could also be insinuating is that she thinks that Will's disappearance had something to do with him being queer, (which is rumoured about). She then applies this same logic to Mike. She may be thinking 'oh if Will didn't feel safe about being queer, I'd better let Mike know he is safe.' -- This could be far-fetched though.

Okay so what is very interesting is that El's in Mike's closet at this time. There are multiple reasons for the directors to put her in there: One, to show a flashback from when she's in the lab, and Two, for her to be in the closet during the queer-coded conversation.

Here's why: RIGHT AFTER KAREN SAYS ALL THE HIDING STUFF, THERE'S A SOUND FROM MIKE'S CLOSET......

Walk with me here folks... To the audience, this is funny because Mike is hiding something. He's hiding El. But. Also the sound came from his closet. He's hiding the fact he's in the closet-- *gunshots*. Double meanings exist i swearr

3. Lucas's Teasing

This whole scene is so interesting to me. I used to ignore it because it's possible Mike and El proof but...

It reinforces the heteronormativity of Mike and could even feed into how he acts in his relationship with her. First of all, Lucas tells Mike that just because he is being nice to a girl he must want to marry her and love her right?

This could be a 'Mike could like El' scene, but no. Mike is literally like, 'Lucas what are you talking about?' HE IS CONFUSED. He's also fed-up, he's not embarrassed. He's not flustered. He's not like 'omg shut up hahaha' he literally bluntly says 'shut up Lucas' in this voice that sounds kind of tired.

What Mike learns here is that being with a girl is kind of expected. He's not allowed to be friends with a girl or care for a girl without people assuming they're a thing.

This leads perfectly onto the next point.....

4. Bullies' Homophobic Comments Exhibit A

Straight after learning that Lucas assumed he had heterosexual feelings for El, Mike learns that being gay is a 'bad thing'.

These comments could just be coding for Will, sure, but there are indications that it could be Mike queer-coding as well.

First of all, 'He's dead, that's what my dad says. Probably killed by some other queer', is a very weighted comment. The fact that Troy's dad said this to him implies that Will's sexuality is like a rumour amongst adults in the town. It's also the show portraying how hate like homophobia can be taught from parents.

Mike's then the one to be like 'just ignore them' and goes to walk away. SPECIFICALLY IT IS HIM THAT IS TRIPPED. I REPEAT!!! HE IS TRIPPED NO ONE ELSE.

This could imply that the bullies were targeting him as well as Will for homophobic bullying, maybe in the past as well, and the 'killed by some other queer' comment could be directed at him. I guess you could say that he was tripped because he was the nearest person, or that he was the one speaking, but the directors chose him to be the one walking there. And SPEAKING. Why??

So: Mike has just learnt from Lucas that being nice to a girl can be seen as attraction and means he has to love her. THEN Mike has just learnt from the bullies that maybe Will died because he was gay, and that being gay gets you hurt (tripped over).

Mike is given a choice between the lesser of two evils: choose to fit into a heteronormative society but get made fun of Lucas, or embrace being gay and get killed/ bullied like Will.

Later on in the season, he finds out Will has died. Let me repeat that. He. Believes. Will. Has. Died. Would this maybe reinforce what the bullies said? That being gay = disappearance. Oh poor MIKE OMGGG

Queer coding all up in this scene lads. (+ a reason for internalised homophobia uwu)

5. Bullies' Homophobic Comments Exhibit B

This scene and the previous scene are inherently linked.

Mike is the one to confront the bullies about Will, defending him, so the bullies instantly resort to homophobia. This means that they may be implying that Mike trying to defend someone who they view as gay is also gay.

In the last scene, I guess you could say that the comments weren't particularly targeted at Mike as well as Will because he wasn't at the forefront of the group (even though he was tripped over). But in this scene he definitely is. They chose to utilise homophobic language about Will because they know it touches a nerve with Mike: This homophobic language doesn't just affect the person they are talking about but also the person they are saying it to.

So here's what they say: 'Besides, what's there to be sad about anyway? Will's in fairyland now, right? Flying around with all the other little fairies, all happy and gay.'

The words that Troy is saying here are obviously more linked to how Will is queer-coded throughout season 1, but the way that the scene is shot, the music, the implications, they're all coding for Mike.

'Will's in fairyland now, right?' is posed as a question. They didn't have to make it a question, but they did. This is basically them saying 'oh we've told you this before, shouldn't you know?'/ implying that Mike would know because he's also gay.

Another line they didn't have to include unless it was queer-coding for Mike is: 'Flying around with all the other little fairies.' They could have just written Troy to say 'Will's in fairyland now. All happy and gay,' or something along those lines etc. The jab at Mike is that other gay people exist, and that Will is being gay 'with them'. The words 'all happy and gay' here doesn't actually imply Will's sexuality by itself, but the act of 'being gay together' or in a gay relationship so to speak.

So if you put the pieces together, they're making a point about Mike and Will's friendship in a sense. Also the fact that Troy at the beginning of this insult says 'What's there to be sad about anyway?', basically means that he's trying to get under Mike's skin by saying 'Why are you sad that Will's happy and being gay with other boys? Are you sad he's not with you?' I know that's like, on the nose, but whatever.

(Also Mike has tears in his eyes during this part showing how the words are also affecting him and not just Will)

Another thing I want to talk about is the music. Obviously this music is foreboding and is trying very hard to make the audience uncomfortable, trying to let you know that something bad is going to happen. When Troy walks away, the music swells and the camera zooms in on Mike's angry expression.

Then, Mike pushes troy over for the homophobic comment. This is interesting why? Because Troy tripped Mike over in the previous scene I talked about. Meaning: the scenes are linked. Troy was being homophobic to both Mike and Will. Mike's had enough, so he retaliates in the same way that Troy had treated him earlier.

I'd also like to add that before El saves Mike, he just stands there as Troy stands up and says 'You're dead Wheeler, you're dead.' He was ready to take whatever Troy was going to throw at him. Which is interesting because in the previous scene I talked about, Troy spoke about how being 'queer' means you'll get killed. ('He's dead. That's what my dad thinks, probably killed by some other queer.') So Troy is going to kill Mike, just like how Will is dead too.

A lot has happened between the previous scene and this one. Mike thought Will had died. Yes, during the assembly scene, he doesn't believe it anymore, but he watched Will's body being dragged out the water just recently. Just like in the scene where he jumps into the quarry, this is yet another instance of Mike not caring if he gets hurt in regards to bullying/ Will.

6. More Lucas Comments

"Screw you Mike! You're blind, blind because you like that a girl's not grossed out by you! But wake up, man. Wake the hell up!" (btw I'm not saying that Lucas is being homophobic here, they're little kids and they've been through a lot)

I mean, come on. This basically implies the classic compulsive heterosexuality concept of Mike choosing which girl to have a crush on because she's the easiest option, since she didn't know him growing up or didn't go to the same school together. Even if this isn't accurate, it is still coding because they wrote Lucas to say that jab at him, it hurts Mike inside, because he knows deep down it's at least a little true.

He looks saddened by this, not angry. Mike usually gets annoyed much quicker than this and whenever he's insulted he looks shocked or has a scowl on his face, but here he just looks... sad. Because he knows that Lucas is touching a nerve. (The top pic btw)

He's completely silent. Until, of course, Lucas starts talking about Will:

'She knows where Will is. And now, she's just letting him die in the Upside Down.'

'Shut up!' -- Mike suddenly shouts either because a) he doesn't like that Lucas is insulting El or something OR b) he hates that Lucas is implying that it is his fault that Will is dying in the upside down because he's being blinded by the fact El isn't grossed out by him.

I think it's B tbh <3 (this scene isn't toooo important for my overall conclusion but it's a little nugget of info i guess)

7. Mike Jumps Into the Quarry

Let's be honest here, before this scene, almost everything seems hopeless for Mike finding Will. Firstly, he physically saw Will's 'body' being dragged out of the same water that he's about to jump into. Then he found out he was still alive but somewhere extremely dangerous and he could be dying there for all he knew. Then his one hope at finding Will (Eleven) is gone and he can't find her ("She's a weapon!... We're no use to Will if we're dead!") and Lucas won't agree to help him find her.

This scene was foreshadowed earlier on, making it a very important scene anyways -- Hopper said that no one would survive the jump and the water 'turns into cement, hits you like a tonne of bricks'. Mike would have died if El didn't save him. And he seemed okay with it.

The camera focuses in on him, and if you listen closely, you can hear his heartbeat. You could say that he's only really doing this to save his friend, but like, why is he so willing and why did they so pointedly zoom in on him?

Here's where we get a little serious: Mike would have committed suicide if El wasn't there at the last second. He would have died in the same place where Will's body was discovered.

Quotes about how being gay gets you killed:

'See Michael? You see what happens?' --Meaning: What happens when you're gay? You disappear.

'He's dead, that's what my dad says. Probably killed by some other queer' -- Meaning: Being gay gets you killed/ means you should die.

'Besides, what's there to be sad about anyway? Will's in fairyland now, right? Flying around with all the other little fairies, all happy and gay.' -- Meaning: Will's dead along with all the other gay people, that's where they should be etc.

'You're dead Wheeler, you're dead.' -- Meaning: Mike you should die too, because you're just like Will, and you should join him in 'fairyland'.

(from this scene) 'Jump [into the Quarry].' -- Meaning: Mike you should die just like I told you earlier and in the same place that Will died. (Honestly I believe the whole town now think that Will is dead and his body was found in the quarry, so Troy would know too and use it against Mike.)

Then, after Mike survives this queer-coded death (which can be paralleled to Will's hypothetical death because it's in the same place), he says to the girl that he cares about and has been presumed to 'like' by his friends: 'You saved me. You saved me.'

(just wanna note that i think that is a very sweet scene and doesn't just have to be all about Mike's queer-coding. it's a bond between the party as friends because Dustin also hugs El. But still.)

You tell me what this scene means then.

8. Mike wasn't Lying (Theory)

Okay so this is more of just a theory than queer-coding, because there is something about this scene that I just find... weird.

I personally think that this scene with both Nancy and Mike talking about their so-called 'crushes' is meant to be so you can see the difference between someone who is lying and someone who is telling the truth. Their reactions to the questions are very different to each other (although it could just be a difference in their characters).

Mike: 'Do you like Jonathan now?'

Nancy: 'What?' *looks to the side, fighting a smile* 'No... no, it's not- It's not like that.' -- She's clearly lying because she's being vague, looking to the side, stuttering over her words etc. However, Mike nods like he believes her. This is key for later.

Nancy: 'Do you like Eleven?'

Mike: 'What? No. Ew. Gross.' *looks her up and down in disgust* -- Telling the truth because he stares at Nancy, doesn't stutter over his words and is very direct.

The fact that these reactions are so different (and we know that Nancy likes Jonathan lets be real) is purposeful in my opinion. It shows that at this point, Mike doesn't like insinuation that he likes her in that way.

Something else that happens later in the episode is also quite interesting to me, which further points to Mike 'telling the truth', which is that Mike thought his and Nancy's conversation was mutually truthful.

Why? Because he was completely confused when Lucas says that her and Jonathan are romantically involved later:

Mike: 'They're gone. Nancy and Jonathan. His car's gone.'

Lucas: 'They're probably just sucking face somewhere.'

Mike: 'What? No. No way.' -- Clearly showing that maybe he thought that Nancy was being truthful, meaning he thought their exchange was mutually truthful.

This seems a bit far-fetched but... something to think about.

Btw, I was going to talk about how the First Kiss between Mike and El is queer-coded, but tbh, it's more like... weird. Because they're 12/11 years old and El literally has no idea what a kiss is and they have this exchange about being brother and sister (ew). Then Mike kind of says 'oh i want to go to the snow ball with you, but not if you're my sister', just gives me vibe that he's just doing what he thinks is normal as a result of what others say. But that's it, not much else to say abt it really (also im tired of writing this post ive been doing it for so long <3)

In conclusion: Mike gets taught that being queer/ not liking girls is dangerous. It means you die/ disappear. Being 'normal' or straight is therefore easier. He internalises this for a while poor child <3

Thanks for reading!!! I love you <33 Let me know if you have anything you want to add or if you have contradictions idk byeeee

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Geto Suguru NSFW Alphabet

Edit: if you enjoy, please let me know! I love little comments and messages left in the tags ^_^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When it comes to Aftercare Suguru is very reverent and routine in his practice. If the two of you are doing a particularly rough or draining scene he prefers to have aftercare items laid out in advance. The basics like water,snacks,wipes,etc but also more sensory based things to bring you back like a candle to smell or something to squish, something to bring you back from subspace. If the sex you’re having is more vanilla he will still water you,feed you,then cuddle you to sleep. He always makes sure that you’re asleep first before he does 🥺

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I’m not sure if this counts as a body part but I'm a big believer that Suguru takes a lot of pride in his hair and how healthy he keeps it. Homie is all about those hair masks,regular trims and maybe just MAYBE you got him sleeping with a silk bonnet. His favorite part of you has to be between your tummy,ass and thighs. What can I say? Suguru likes them well fed, thickums. He wants to see the shape of your ass in the matching Kimonos he got you two 💀. He’s also just a little freak and it makes him feral when you squeeze your thighs around his head 😭

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he cums a moderate amount? Lmao I don’t know if that’s the correct way to say it but it’s just like an average amount. I think the consistency is on the thinner side and it’s got that translucent milky color. He prefers to cum inside but it also gets him going to spill over your mound and like in between your lips. He also likes when he fucks you so hard you cream around the base because it always looks the prettiest in pictures.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This little freak. This absolute little freak. Amongst all of his little fantasies, the one that has him groaning and spilling over his fist the fastest is domming both you and Satoru. The thought of having his little lover and the strongest on their knees for him gives him such a headrush that he has to lay down after he cums or he’ll pass out. He would never let this fantasy see the light of day

Unless you bring it up 👀

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s experienced in the way of lots of sex with a few partners rather than multiple partners so he hasn’t tried EVERYTHING but he’s honed the skill set he has.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Face down ass up arch PRECISE!!! He wants your face smushed into a pillow and if he’s feeling generous he’ll let you keep your hands free. He can be merciful sometimes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I wouldn’t say he’s completely serious all the time during sex, if something humorous happens he’ll laugh but he’s not going out of his way to be funny or anything. He wants you to be comfortable so he has a calming silence to him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps things neat. A nice close trim for his own preferences but even when it grows out the hairs are fine and rather soft so it’s not really a bother anyways.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a romantic at heart but he’s a pretty quiet lover. He’s the type to be thrusting into you in missionary,brushing your hair out of your face and littering kisses over your cheeks and neck. If he’s particularly overwhelmed by pleasure or he’s having a bad day, he’ll bury his face in your neck and let out the cutest little pants while his hands are bruising your hips, mumbling incoherently about how much he loves you. If you can hear him over your own moans, he whimpers occasionally.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His sex drive is pretty middleground so if you’re around he doesn’t really feel the need to jerk off. When he does, it's much more utilitarian so he’s trying to get off as quickly as possible. He’s not a fan of porn, not when he’s got so many photos of you saved to get off too. If he’s feeling more self indulgent he’ll sit and set the scene for one of his fantasies.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s a kinky boy. BDSM is very high on his list in every aspect. He’s dominant. He enjoys being dominant and he’s always preferred submissive partners--Suguru loves a crybaby--because he loves feeling needed and nothing makes his dick harder than a whining sub clinging onto him and begging to cum.

Dacryphilia is another one, he used to be slightly ashamed of this one but he can’t help but feel his stomach tighten and his breath hitch when your whines turn into broken sobs. If he’s got you on your back and you’re looking at him with tear filled eyes, he’s going to put a baby in you. Periodt point blank, that’s a threat and a promise.

Suguru is also into primal prey. I’ve already mentioned that he tends to get power highs when domming, but the thought of hunting you down and fucking you actually makes his heart stutter. The pride in catching you, the complete domination, it gives him the sense of satisfaction that almost nothing else can. The fear on your face, the flicker in your cursed energy that you’re not even aware of. You’ve got a blinking target on your back and you don’t even know it. And he likes to mess with you, he likes to make you think you’re winning. He’s got such quiet feet and he moves so fast from years of training that one minute he’s there,the next he’s gone and soon you’re pinned on your front in the dirt with your panties ripped and being drilled into.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a simple man and honestly just wants to fuck in the comfort of his home. Now inside the house, nowhere is off limits. He’s fucked you on the table,on the couch,bent over the dryer,in the middle of the hallway 😭

He doesn’t care bro

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I mentioned this a bit earlier but he really likes when you’re needy for him. Like Suguru loves a needy,clingy,crybaby sub who’s gonna act like his shadow. He also really loves when you take what you want from him. He gets off on seeing you so flustered on his lap, grinding in little circles and whining for him to just flip you over and fuck you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like bodily fluids besides cum and in the right circumstances blood.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is a MUNCH!!! Suguru is a munch and he is proud of it. He’s eating pussy AND ass and he’s very much so giving aht aht aht move your hand. He will have you in that bed for hours on end eating you out for his own pleasure. You are not leaving unless you safeword or he’s done. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Suguru is a complete wild card but usually since he has so much patience, he fucks hard and slow. Really deep thrusts that jostle your entire body and have you gripping the sheets. If you want him to go faster you have to beg for it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is not a fan of quickies because he likes to take his time and really take you apart. But he’s a little whipped so if you beg for it you’re getting fucked alright 🙂

You won’t be walking afterwards but you’re gonna get fucked

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He takes risks within both of your boundaries, but nothing too crazy. If anything has the possibility to cause either of y’all physical harm it’s an immediate veto because you’re his number one priority.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh Suguru? Mister first grade sorcerer? He can go as many rounds as you can take. His self control is pretty good so he tries his best to make you cum before he does. If he does somehow cum before you do, he’s immediately pulling out and finishing you off anyway you want.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You two have a plethora of different sex toys. He had a humble collection before he met you but now there is definitely chest kept in the bedroom with a padlock because SOME guests(Satoru) are too nosy for their own good 🙄

“Suguru, what does this do?” “You don’t want to know”

He has some of the basics like vibes,ropes,and paddles. But he also has nipple clamps,chastity belts and whips.

He likes to keep an array of things on deck.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he’s absolutely the worst. He loves to tease you because he just thinks you’re so fucking cute when you’re whining and begging.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

It depends but he tends to be on the softer side of sounds. He has a naturally soft voice so his moans are breathy and he lets out little sighs and whimpers. When he’s close he tends to bite his lip and let out noises that couldn’t pay him to admit to. He definitely groans when he’s getting head and purrs low in his throat. Different types of stimulation make different sounds.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This is my bisexual king and he’s a power bottom. He’s not letting you top, but in the past he’s definitely taken both dicks and straps. He’s secure in himself and prostate orgasms are nice 🤷🏽‍♀️

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’m feeling like he’s a good 7-8in in length? Like that’s just the vibe he gives. He definitely doesn’t have the biggest dick in the JJK verse but he’s definitely up there in the top 5. Tan shaft and a tip that flushes red when he’s hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I mentioned earlier but his sex drive is very in the middle. He gets the horny zoomies sometimes where he’ll jump you in the hallway and take you like a cheap whore. But he usually likes to plan and have structured scenes thought out.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He needs you to be asleep before him. It’s his own thing, but once you’re safely tucked into bed, bathed,fed,watered and asleep he can finally feel like his job as a dom and boyfriend is complete. He will quite literally not be capable of rest until you’re snoring.

[trippinsorrows]

give me a reason + two

authors note: wow! so humbled by people's interest in this one! forgot to mention that i'll be playing around with joe's career, in terms of the timeline and whatnot.

also, if ya'll ever watched the bernie mac show, i was very much inspired in one section by that scene where vanessa and them was doing that car wash at bernie's house lmaooo

in addition (last point, i swear lmao), i can do faceclaims for the character, mainly mariella's family. if ya'll want. i know some people prefer to visualize for themselves. just lmk.

i don't own any lyrics used.

previous chapter

words: 7k

song inspo: just give me a reason by p!nk and nate ruess

warnings: language, fluff, some angst, blink and you'll miss it sexy time.

Spring, 2005

Spring break.

The time looked forward to by most students, especially college students, who are granted a free week to get into all kinds of trouble, mischief and then return to campus like nothing ever happened. 

Joe and Byron can’t deny that they’ve definitely had their fair share of that the first part of college, but now with two years under their belts and only two years left to go, they’re focused on having killer seasons and landing their dreams of going into the NFL.

It’s why when coach decides to give the players a break, canceling all practices during said break, there’s not even an initial question about what they should do with their time.

Home.

They’re going home.

Because while being away is nice at times, there’s absolutely no place like home and being surrounded by the people you love the most.

Byron glances at Joe who’s looking down at his phone. “You gonna see Brianna while we in town?”

Joe looks up. He can’t say he hasn’t thought about it. Brianna, Joe’s last high school girlfriend, was inarguably the easiest of all the girls he’s ever dated. And if not for him not wanting to be tied down while away at college, he would have tried to make it work. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, truthfully. “We’ll see.”

“Well, I’m definitely hitting up Tamia. Heard she and ole’ dude broke up.”

Joe shakes his head. Tamia has been Byron’s on and off girlfriend since freaking middle school. They date, break up, date other people, break up with said other people and start right back over. Truthfully, Joe can see Tamia being the one for Byron considering how long they’ve been in this little cycle. 

“Just make sure you’re safe, man.”

Byron looks like he’s just been told to make sure he wears a seatbelt. “Always, bro. You know me.”

Joe knows him alright. Knows he can be reckless at times. And with so much at stake in the next upcoming two years, they can’t afford to be reckless. 

“I do. That’s why I’m saying it.”

“Man….” Joe laughs at Byron’s dismissal. “What do we have here?” Joe turns his attention to where Byron has set his gaze only to quickly scowl with disgust. “Ugh, they in high school.”

Joe is also instantly repulsed. “That’s fucking gross.” 

Byron shakes in his seat, as if trying to shake the disgust off himself when he sees something. “Wait a minute…” Joe again tries to see what’s triggered the exclamation of irritation. “Oh hell no.”

“What are you—what the hell!” Joe shouts out as Byron suddenly swerves into the next turn lane, barely missing hitting a car. “The fuck are you doing, man!”

“That’s Ella out there!” He answers, speeding near the station where a bunch of high school girls are operating a car wash, trying to raise money for who knows what. 

At the mention of Ri, Joe’s attention is snatched. “What?” He’s looking around as Byron looks to quickly park the truck, clearly eager to get out. Joe doesn’t see her just yet. It’s not until they’re parked and out of the car that his eyes land on her.

Her smile is the first thing he notices. She’s laughing. Not surprising. For as long as he’s known her, which has been his whole life essentially, she’s always the one in the group to make everyone laugh.

Usually from her klutziness. 

It’s never a dull moment with Mariella Holmes. 

Moving closer, he can see that it’s definitely Ri, and she’s giggling along with the other girls, dancing to what he recognizes is Black Eyed Peas latest song, “My Humps.”

It’s that realization that helps Joe understand why Byron is so annoyed.

The dancing could be seen as a bit provocative.

“Ella!”

Her head snaps up at Byron’s voice, easily landing on him. Joe watches her mouth drop open in shock before she shouts, “BJ!”

Dropping the soapy rag in the bucket, she’s nearly sprinting over to the two of them, tackling Byron with a hug first. “What are you doing here?”

It’s when she steps back that she moves over to him. She smirks, crossing her arms. “Should have known you wouldn’t turn down a chance to come see me.”

Joe laughs, pulling her in for a hug. “Never.”

“What am I doing here?” Byron cuts in, angrily gesturing to her. “What are you doing out here dressed like this?”

She looks down at her outfit, frowning. Joe does the same. It’s a bathing suit top with jean shorts and flip flops. What’s so bad about that?

And she expresses as such.

“Ummm, the dance team is having a car wash. We’re trying to raise money for travel costs this season.”

This doesn’t seem acceptable to Byron as he asks, “well, you ain’t having nothing else to wear? All exposed and everything.”

That’s when she rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so annoying.” 

He starts to pull his shirt off when even Joe chimes in, “dude, come on.”

“She’s half naked!”

“I’m wearing a bathing suit, BJ.” Mariella says it like he’s slow. Like he was on the short bus. “I know you’ve been away at school, so you haven’t been around as much, but I have boobs now—”

At that, both Joe and Byron turn up their nose. The last thing they need is that type of visual.

She continues, gesturing to her body. “I hit puberty, and allll the areas started filling out. It happens!”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Byron covers his mouth. “I don’t give a damn. You’re sixteen, not twenty-one.”

She gives a sly smile. “That’s not what my fake ID says.”

Joe catches her gaze, seeing that she’s just messing with him. It makes him laugh. 

“Your what? Girl, you done lost your damn mind.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Relax, BJ. You know I can’t get a fake ID. My dumbass would feel too bad and turn myself in.”

“That’s true,” Joe chimes, and she glares, reaching over to hit him. She starts to say something, only for her eyes to go wide. “What’s wrong?”

She says nothing, just awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to another. He starts to ask again when a new voice joins the conversation. 

“Hey, babe.”

Byron jumps to a new level of annoyance. “Babe?” He and Joe watch as some scrawny looking little boy, who’s really not that scrawny in actuality but looks it compared to Byron and Joe, walks up to Mariella, kissing her. 

Byron looks like he’s about to have a stroke. He asks with all the smoke. “Who the hell are you?” 

Scrawny scoffs and has the audacity to throw the question back at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh my god.” Mariella murmurs, slapping her hand against her forehead. “BJ, this is my boyfriend, Derrick—”

Mariella having a boyfriend makes sense to Joe. She’s 16 now. Why wouldn’t she be dating? It’s normal and expected. 

If only Byron saw it that way. “Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boy—”

“Derrick, this is my brother, BJ or Byron, and basically like my non-blood brother, Joe.”

Scrawny AKA Derrick looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Oh shit, my bad—”

If only he knew that Byron doesn’t forgive nor does he forget when it comes to his little sisters, especially Mariella. 

He steps toward the shorter young man. “Naw. You bad. You wanted to know who the hell I was, so let me tell you, I’m the nigga that’s gon fuck you up if you ever—”

“Byron!” Mariella is now fuming, grabbing him by his arm as she tugs him in a different direction. “Give us a couple minutes.” She flashes a sweet smile at Derrick and a pleading expression to Joe for him to also be nice.

Joe waits until they’re out of hearing distance. He then slaps Derrick on the arm. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just Byron. He’s always been a hothead.”

Derrick gives a nervous laugh, showing off braces that Joe didn’t notice before. He refrains from frowning. Ri could definitely do better than this dweeb. “You like Ri?”

Derrick shrugs, offering an unimpressive. “She’s alright.”

And that’s all Joe needs to hear to know what this kid is really about. Stepping toward him, he keeps his voice leveled and expression ice cold. “Do anything to hurt her, and you won’t have to worry about Byron.” He gives a steel smile. “I’m the one you’ll never see coming.”

———-

Present 

Post-traumatic amnesia (PTA) 

Or some milder form of it. 

Amnesia, at the very least.

That’s what Dr. Reynolds says is the cause of Mari’s complete loss of memory. A result of the head trauma she received from the accident. A prognosis that somehow feels almost worse than the coma, at least to Joe.

Because for the life of him, he doesn’t know how to look at the woman he’s known his entire life, and have her look back at him like he’s a stranger, like she has no idea who he is. 

Because she doesn’t have any idea who he is.

As devastating as that blow is, he knows it hits harder for her parents. April nearly collapsed in Byron Sr’s arms as Dr. Reynolds informed them of Mari’s memory loss.

She was in tears, desperately asking, “but—but she’ll get them back, right, doctor?”

And Joe only has to glance at the doctor, the way his lips press together before he informs sympathetically, “we don’t know. Some patients do eventually retrieve their memories. Others….others never do.”

Joe can’t even allow himself to think of the latter option. 

A couple days post coma, he knocks on her door, seeing she’s alone, her parents most likely grabbing food or something.

She glances at the door offering a small smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. It’s insincere, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that either, because one of the things he’s always loved about her has always been her smile. So big and infectious. Just like her personality. 

“Hey.” There’s nothing big and infectious about her almost unsure tone. 

“Hey.” He doesn’t wait for her to welcome him in, just walks in, taking the seat on the side of her bed. “How you feeling?”

She gives a one sided shrug. He notices the cuts and bruising on her face have gone down tremendously. That's a plus in a situation full of minuses. “Don’t know.” After obviously thinking about the question more, she offers a more descriptive answer. “Very...confused.”

“About?” He then adds. “Maybe I can clear it up for you.”

“I don’t know. It’s….it’s mostly about who I am.” He could definitely answer that one for her. She shakes her head, providing an example. “Like, I’m apparently this big singer, but I can’t even think about singing right now. It doesn’t—it doesn’t even feel like me.” She chuckles bitterly. “Not that I know who me is.”

“You love music. Always have. And you’re good at it. Singing. Writing. Producing. Dancing. All of it.” She looks over at him as he says with all the honesty and sincerity, “there’s nothing, creatively, you can’t do.”

Mariella nods, as if taking in the information to analyze later on. “What about you?” She asks. “What do you do?”

A lot of things. A lot of things he now regrets deeply. But, that’s not her question. “Professional wrestler.” He starts to say WWE to see if she knows what that is, but that isn’t important. Shit about him isn’t the priority. 

Mariella looks him over, nodding. “It fits.”

He smiles a bit. The first he’s done in weeks. “What else do you want to know?”

She’s quiet for a few moments before asking the question he didn’t know he was dreading until now. “How did I end up here?”

What a loaded question he was absolutely not prepared for.

There’s a lot of things that led them to where they are right now. A lot of which he blames himself for, and her as well, but not nearly as much as he blames himself. They both played a role in how badly their relationship deteriorated, but Joe puts the bulk of it on himself. 

He’s older and should know better.

But, the specific incident that resulted in her accident, the blowout that ended with her requesting the one thing she always swore she never wanted to have happened when they got married…that’s it.

That is the truth she is probably looking for. It’s a truth, however, he can’t find it in him to tell her.

Because selfishly, he doesn’t want that to be the thing to trigger her memories, or any memories of all the things that have gone so terribly wrong the past two years. He doesn’t want that for her.

Doesn’t want it for them.

It’s why he settles on an answer that’s neither a lie but also not the full truth.

“You had a lot on your mind and went for a drive.” His voice shifts into something quiet. He’s still trying to process his feelings about that part of this whole thing. “You were hit head on by a drunk driver.”

Silence.

For a brief second, he’s unsure if he should have just told the truth. Been honest with her and let the cards fall as they may.

And then she speaks.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” He looks up. Joe sees it. That sense of humor that some could only take in doses, but for him, it’s always been a highlight. She’s always been able to put a smile on his face even in the darkest of his days. “How long have we been married?”

Another unexpected question, but he answers truthfully. “This March makes 11 years.”

“Wow.” This seems to take her by surprise. “And how long have we been together?”

“That….that’s a bit of a long story.”

She lifts her brow, gesturing to her hospital bed. “Not like I have anywhere to be.”

He chuckles. She has a point, but the story of them…that seems too complicated or detailed to share in a freaking hospital. Because in his mind, he’s started to sort the different ways and things he can do to help remind her of who she is. 

Of who they were. 

Finally, he answers, “I just—I think you should—” 

There’s a knock on the door, Joe turning to see April and Byron Sr.

April is the first to speak, walking over to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She’s almost hesitant to move too close. Joe can see she wants nothing more to engulf her youngest in a hug but recognizes the same almost uncomfortable expression Mariella wore the minute he walked in.

“It’s okay.” He assures, going to stand up. “I’ll leave you guys—”

“Actually,” Byron Sr. interjects, shooting Joe a sympathetic expression. “We were hoping to speak with you.” He looks toward Mariella, and Joe hates it. Hates the almost discomfort that exists between them. She’s always been super close with her parents. Especially her dad. “If that’s alright, sweetheart?”

Mariella shrugs, clearly unbothered. “Sure.” She starts to lay back in her bed a little. “I’m kinda tired anyway.”

Joe wonders how much of that is truth, and how much of it is her just wanting to be alone from people who are virtual strangers.

Strangers…

That’s definitely a word he never thought could be used in any context regarding Mariella.

Once outside the room and in the private waiting area, her parents wait until a set of nurses pass before April is the first to speak. She reaches over and places a comforting hand. “How are you doing, Joe? Really?”

A mess. He’s a fucking mess. Joe has seen much, much better days than the past few weeks. But, he also doesn’t want to make this about him, about his mental state, so he provides a half truth.

“Been better.” His response is gruff as he quickly moves to change topics. “What about you guys?”

Having his wife have no idea who he is is brutal, but he can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like for two parents to not have their youngest child recognize them, to have no idea who they are.

Byron Sr. is the first to answer, mirroring his son-in-law’s words. “Been better.” 

April shifts in her seat, bringing her hand back to her lap. “We umm—we spoke to Dr. Reynolds earlier today.”

Joe looks up, partially wondering why he wasn’t present for that meeting. “Okay.”

“She doesn’t remember anything, Joe. Not her childhood. Not her family. Not…not even us.” April voice breaks at the end of her statement as Joe looks away. Hearing this again isn’t exactly helpful, though he would never disrespect her parents by asking them to shut up. Even if it’s what he wants. “And we—well, we just think—”

Byron Sr. cuts in, hand on his wife’s knee. “We want to take her back home with us, Joe.” Joe’s stomach drops. “We want to take her back to Florida.”

———-

Spring, 2022

Cameras.

That’s the one thing Mariella, Mari, still struggles to get used to. The bright lights flashing in her face as her photo is taken, whether on the red carpet, on the stage, or even when she’s just making a run to the grocery store. The latter one hasn’t happened as much as it used to, for which she’s grateful, but still.

So there’s a bit of an adjustment as she looks around the room, the hair and makeup team touching up her face once more before they kick off the segment.

She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret it at all. It’s a good look for him. For her too. And beyond any type of benefit for their careers, she’s just happy she gets to see him.

Because that’s the part she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly get over or be okay with.

The distance.

As directed, she walks down the hall, making sure not to look directly into the camera. This is made infinitely easier by pretending she’s shooting a music video. Which, truth be told, it isn’t very different. 

Mari wears the confused expression perfectly, looking down at her phone as if it has information that could help her when she ‘accidentally’ walks into him.

Head up, she gasps and immediately gets to apologizing, just as was in the script. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I wasn’t even looking where I was going.”

His eyes widen as he ‘realizes’ who she is. “Wow. No, you are absolutely fine. Wow. You’re Mari!”

Smiling, she points at him, “and you are…..”

He seems a bit taken back at first, like he’s waiting for her to also recognize him. When that doesn’t happen, he offers his hand. “Sami Zayn. Master strategist and locker room leader.”

She nods, perfectly conveying another confused look at just what that means. “Does—does that mean you’re good with directions? Cause I suck at them.”

“It absolutely does, and you are in luck, because I just so happen to be free right now and would love to give you a tour.”

She opens her mouth to protest, “oh, that’s so sweet, but I really should—” she looks down at her phone. “You know what, I’m a little early, so why not?”

“Awesome.” He claps his hands together and offers his arm. Mari smiles and links hers in his as he starts leading them down the hall, pointing out the most obvious of things. 

The camera cuts, and she engages in conversation with Sami, who’s actually a lot like the ‘character’ he plays. Super charismatic and engaging. Kinda reminds her of herself. So much so that before she realizes, they’re back to recording after having moved across the arena. 

“And lastly we have—” His eyes suddenly widen as he realizes where they are, Sami moving his hand to her back as he directs them in the opposite direction. “Wait, we do not want to go—”

“There it is!” Mari, however, is smiling brightly as she walks toward the door.

Sami looks like he’s about to have a panic attack, frantically warning, “Mari, I know you’re like an international mega star, but trust me, you do not want to bother that man—” He’s silenced by her knocking on the door. 

His face is turning red as he urgently whispers to her, “we should really get out of here. Like right now!.”

She turns to him, confused. “Why?”

And before Sami can respond, the door is ripped open, the scowling faces of the Usos the first thing Sami lands on. He’s preparing to get chewed out only for them to look at Mari and instantly start smiling.

“Whassup, Mari!” Jimmy is the first to greet her, pulling her in for a hug. Followed by Jey, the two of them engaging in some secret handshake that ends with a ‘Yeet’.

Sami, however, laughs nervously, gesturing between the three. “Wait, you—you guys know Mari?”

Jimmy answers, slinging his arm around her. “Man, of course. This family!”

“You’re related to them?” Sami asks, eyes wide. 

Mari opens her mouth to answer when another person emerges from the private locker room, taking up almost the entire door frame, face stoic and eyes cold. 

Sami looks like he’s about to piss himself. He swallows. “My Tribal Chief, I’m so sorry—”

He’s interrupted by Mari who smiles and pulls away from Jimmy to walk up to Roman.“Hi, baby.” Sami looks on stunned as she leans up and kisses his cheek, pressing her body into his, hand on his abs. “Sorry, I’m a bit late.” She grins over at Sami. “Sami was giving me a tour of the place.”

The reddening of his cheeks is about what and what with the red of his hair. “I don’t—I’m not—”

Playfully rolling her eyes as Roman continues to look like he’s contemplating murder, she lifts her left hand, showing off a beautiful diamond ring. “Roman’s my husband.”

Mouth open like a child who just found out Santa isn’t real, Sami does his best to reel in his surprise. “Of course, you’re married. I totally knew that!” He laughs nervously, hands on his hips. “That’s why I gladly brought you to the Tribal Chief myself. Wanted to ensure nothing but the best for the Bloodline’s first lady.”

“That was really sweet of you. Thank you.” She continues to smile, and Roman continues to send daggers with just one, stolid expression. Mari peers up, kissing him again as she reaches for his hand. “Come on.” She tugs him toward the inside of the locker room, Roman finally budging as he gives Sami one last look that has the redhead contemplating requesting a switch to Raw. 

However, as Jimmy and Jey go to follow along with their cousin, Roman is quick to slam the door in their faces. 

“Hey, Uce, uhhh,—” Jimmy tries to jangle the knob only to realize it’s locked. He starts knocking. “Roman! Hey, you gon let us in?”

A couple seconds later the door does open, but it’s Solo, followed by Paul Heyman. Wise Man closes the door behind him. He looks around, briefly bewildered and clears his throat, announcing, “The Tribal Chief has requested to be left alone this evening.” 

Sami is the only one to laugh, playfully shoving Solo and pointing to the locker room. “I bet he has.” Solo, however, also looks like he’s also contemplating murder. Sami coughs awkwardly and turns to walk away, just as the camera crew announces ‘cut’.

The remaining men share laughs about the promo, meanwhile inside the locker room Mariella relishes in the feel of being reunited with her husband in real life, and now in the WWE kayfabe verse.

She’s pressed against his body, arms around his neck with his locked around her waist, holding her to him. “Hey, Big Daddy.”

Roman, Joe, rolls his eyes. Mariella giggles. She knows he has such a love/hate relationship with the term of endearment, one of many she has for the massive man before her. “You miss me?”

He makes a sound, leaning down to connect their lips. “Always, baby.” 

She smiles into their kiss, “good answer.” His big hands venture down to squeeze her ass, Mariella moaning into his mouth which triggers something for him. He lifts her up, her legs locking around his waist as he goes to sit back down in the big leather chair. Joe’s tongue entering her mouth is enough to elicit another moan but also alert her to the fact of where he wants to take this.

“Baby, we cannot do the nasty at your job.”

“I don’t know why you still call it that.” His fake irritation makes her giggle. It’s an inside joke between them that she’ll never let die so long as she lives. “And who says we can’t?”

“I don’t know. The FCC?” He rolls his eyes as she grasps at his beard that she can tell he dyed recently. Most likely because of his job. She wishes he could leave it be. She likes the gray. It does….things to her. “Besides, you know the deal. If we do it right now, we can’t do it tonight.” He continues to move his hands across her ass. “Mama’s got a show this Sunday, and I’d rather not be rendered immobile because my husband impaled me on his big ole’ dick.”

Again, Joe rolls his eyes, even though there’s more truth to her statement than the typical playful jokes she cracks at any given time. Joe has a high sex drive. She’s known this for some years. Mariella, however, does not. And it’s not even that she doesn’t enjoy sex with her husband. It’s that her husband doesn’t know how to stop, doesn’t know how to come, make her come one time for the one time, and just be done with it.

No. This man wants rounds. And truthfully, she just doesn’t have the stamina to keep up with him. Outside of porn stars, she doesn’t know who would.

Man is an absolute beast.

“So damn dramatic,” he chuckles against her neck. “You know I be doing most of the work anyway.”

She opens her mouth to protest. “Okay, that may or may not be true.” She can feel him smiling against her. It’s not like he minds. Joe is dominant in the sheets, wanting to be in control at all times. Her preference given he’s much more well versed in the sexual arts than she is. “But, in my defense, you’re built like a Greek god.” A Samoan god. “I get winded walking up the staircase in our house.”

“Bullshit.” He pulls back, pointing out. “You be on that stage dancing your ass off for damn near three hours.” 

She rolls her eyes, murmuring, “okay, that also may or may not be true.” Mari’s eyes flutter as he moves his hand under her dress. Long, thick fingers easily pushing aside her underwear, feeling the pool of her arousal. She squeezes his shoulders. “Joe….”

He grunts almost, gliding his fingers across her wet folds. She exhales sharply. “You this wet already and really want me to think you don’t want Big Daddy to fuck this tight lil’ pussy?”

Whining against him, Mariella unconsciously tries to move around on his lap to get his fingers back on her. In her, preferably. And it’s when he enters one of those deliciously talented fingers inside of her gushy opening, she caves. “Fine.” He smirks as she warns, “but you’re pushing me around in the wheelchair after!”

———-

Between a rock and a hard place.

That’s how Joe has felt the past few weeks, maybe even longer. But especially now.

He knows Ri’s parents are right. That they have every right to want her to spend time at home with them, in the place where she grew up, where most of her formative years and subsequent formative memories lie. Logically, it makes sense.

But, he can’t seem to get past his discomfort at the fact that Ri won’t be getting discharged and coming home with him. No, she’ll be discharged and hop on a plane with them back to Florida. Selfishly, he was hoping the doctor wouldn’t clear her to fly, but that plan went out the window. Dr. Reynolds is clearly on the same page with her parents about the potential benefit of being around constant triggers. Triggers that could help generate memories.

And Joe isn’t against that. At all. 

It’s just the fact that he won’t be there that rubs him the right way. 

“Joe.”

His eyes shut, an instant headache coming on. This is the last thing he needs. 

Turning around, he’s met with Olivia “Liv” Holmes default stare of icy indifference. Out of all of Mariella’s siblings, her family in general, Liv has always been his least favorite.

For a lot of different reasons. The main one being how she always treated Mariella when they were younger. Not mean, per se. But not kindly either. She always acted like Mariella was annoying, and she definitely could be at times, but not to the extent that Liv made it seem.

Like Mariella was just this big nuisance. It’s part of the reason she always wanted to hang out with him and Byron when they were growing up, because Liv spent most of her time with her twin sister, Everly, and her own friend group.

“Liv.” He really doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, let alone her. Their interactions have always been brief and limited to what is essential. For good reason too.

“I take it my parents told you we’re taking Ella back home to Florida with us.”

Joe has to bite back a smartass comment. Liv’s smirk and the almost smug tone of her voice isn’t what he needs right now.

“Yes.” He matches her energy a bit, reminding. “For the first couple weeks, at least. Then I’m going to bring her back home with me.” 

Where she belongs.

Liv smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “We’ll see.”

Joe gives her a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know she called me.” He freezes. “The night of the accident.” Joe manages to keep a calm face despite his surprise at her words. Mariella has never been close with Liv, most of their communication occurring via texts and family group chats. 

There’s only one reason she would call her sister who happens to be a divorce attorney.

“I want a divorce.”

Liv continuing to speak is ironically appreciated, as it pulls him from the memories of what is now an infamous argument. “I was sleeping and missed her call, but she didn’t leave a message. Kinda wishing she did, because I’m still trying to figure out just what the hell she was doing out on the road that late at night.” 

He keeps his cool. Somehow. “I already told you—”

“I know what you said, Joe.” Her interruption is sharp. “I also don’t believe you, because what the hell could she have so heavy on her mind after winning 5 Grammys?” She crosses her arms. “It doesn’t make sense.”

When he doesn’t say anything, she continues her accusatory assault. “You seem to forget that we were in high school together, Joe. I know how you were.” At this, he can’t say anything, can’t necessarily defend himself against truth. “You and Byron fucked damn near half the girls in our school, probably at college too, and then all of a sudden you turn in your hoe card to be with my baby sister? Because you love her? I never bought that shit for a minute.”

While he can’t deny his promiscuous past, Joe isn’t about to stand here and let this woman act like he’s this horrible person who took advantage of Mariella. “What’s your point, Liv? Huh? I’m not fucking stupid. I know you never approved of me being with Ri, but just like I didn’t give a fuck then, I still don’t give a fuck now.”

Liv does relatively well hiding her disapproval among her family, to some extent. But Joe has always been hip to her truth. She thinks Mariella should have gotten with someone else, anyone else probably. Anyone who wasn’t him.

Liv, who has never done well with being challenged, steps forward, glare intense and purposeful. “I’m gonna find out what happened that night, Joe. Because I know there’s something you’re not telling us.” He keeps up his unreadable expression, though there’s a small chunk of guilt swimming around the back of his head. Not even about not being completely honest with Mariella’s family.

More about not being honest with her.

She lowers her voice. “And when I do find out—”

“Liv.”

Joe and Liv turn to see Byron Jr. standing before them with a disappointed expression.

Arms crossed, he steps toward them, focused more on Liv than Joe. “Don’t be starting no shit today, alright? This the last thing we need.”

In recent years, especially since becoming a father, BJ has matured from his hotheaded days, often even a voice of reason. One of the reasons he’s been voted Locker Room captain for his team, the 49ers, 3 years in a row.

Liv rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been blinded by your friendship with him—”

“Hey.” Byron raises his voice a bit. “I mean it. You blaming people doesn’t change what happened, and you know damn well Ella would have a fit at you coming at Joe like this.”

Not really. Maybe before. Before everything collapsed so tragically between the two of them.

“Whatever.” She gives a final almost warning glare to the two of them before stalking off, probably to go see Mariella.

BJ places a comforting hand on Joe’s shoulder once she’s gone. “You good, man?” 

Not at all. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. 

BJ gives a sad smile. “Don’t let Olevil get to you.” Her nickname from back when they were in high school makes Joe chuckle. “You going back to work next week?”

Joe blows out a breath. That hasn’t even crossed his mind the past couple weeks. He doesn’t even really know what storyline they came up with to cover his absence. Nor does he care really. “I haven’t even thought about that, man.”

“I think you should.” And before Joe can protest, Byron lifts his hand. “Hear me out. She’s gonna be with our parents for a few weeks, so you know she’ll be in good hands. What you gon’ do while she’s gone? Sit around the house sad and moping and shit? You know she would be chewing you out for that, telling you that you gotta get back in the game.”

Joe gives a bit of a smile. Byron is right. Knowing Mariella, she’d have a whole theatrical ass presentation as to why he should return to work, song and dance included. 

“Yeah…”

Byron slaps him on his shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?” 

Joe nods, because he will. And not for himself, not even for his job, because he doesn’t give a fuck about that right now.

But for Mariella.

His Ri. 

Because she’ll always be his Ri.

And he’s determined to make sure she doesn’t forget it this time.

———-

Spring, 2022 [cont.]

“Baby!” It’s a distant voice that becomes closer as it's repeatedly conjoined with a small hand shaking at his shoulder. “Baby, wake up.”

And he does. Eyes fluttering open, his vision is blurred initially, gradually clearing up to reveal the face of his beautiful wife. Cognizant of his surroundings, Joe realizes she’s sitting on top of him, notebook and pen in hand.

He smiles. It’s been a while since she’s woken him up for this. And while he’ll regret it in the morning, he’s grateful for it now. Grateful for these little callbacks to when they were broke, living in a crappy apartment, trying to chase the dream as inspiration struck her at all hours of the night. And she would wake him up, wanting his feedback. 

He didn’t really mind then. 

And he doesn’t really mind now.

That’s just his Ri.

Eyes squinting, she asks, “you up?”

He chuckles, also enjoying the sight of her straddling him wearing only his shirt. “Yes, baby. I’m up.”

“About time,” she complains, and he rolls his eyes. So damn dramatic. “I’m feeling inspired.” She says it while giving almost jazz hands, pretty brown eyes landing back on him. “Wanna hear the lyrics?”

He yawns, glancing at the digital clock that reads 2:37AM. “What else would I be doing at this time?”

She glares. “Is that sarcasm I detect, mister? Is it my fault my musical muse comes alive at night? That she flourishes when most—”

“Ri.”

“Huh?”

He closes his eyes. Joe loves Mariella with everything in him, but he’s not in the mood for one of her theatrical tangents at damn near 3 o’clock in the morning. “Lyrics.”

“Oh! Right!” Chuckling, he watches as she reads over whatever she’s written to herself at first. A bit of a habit. She’s always initially self-conscious about her lyrics. “Now, it’s just off the top of my head, so be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice to you, Ri.” It’s the truth. As annoyed as he can get sometimes, she’s never been on that list. “And I’m sure it’s fine.” 

She smiles appreciatively, slightly taking him by surprise as she quietly sings the lyrics versus just reading them to him.

Yellow diamonds in the light

Now we're standing side by side

As your shadow crosses mine

What it takes to come alive

It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny

But I've gotta let it go

We found love in a hopeless place

Finished, she looks down at him, expectantly, “well?”

“I love it.” He loves most of what she writes though. He especially loves to hear her sing. “What inspired it?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about us. About how far we come.” She shrugs, his hands rubbing circles on her hips. “Your show was sold out tonight, Joe. Mine is sold out too. Like, we both sold out Madison Square Garden. That feels almost too perfect to be true.”

He makes a sound. “But, it is, baby.”

“I know.” She sighs heavily and asks in a partial hypothetical tone. “We’re like really hot shit, huh?” Joe chuckles as she gasps and places her tablet down on his chest, quickly writing something down. He says nothing, having been with her for so long that none of her quirky ways really surprise him anymore.

“Also.”

“Also?”

She glares but moves to place the notebook and pen on the nightstand, resting her hands on his chest. “I was thinking about our conversation earlier…” He’s quiet, waiting patiently for her to finish her sentence even if it does have him a bit on edge. He’s never been good with waiting. “Let’s do it.”

Her answer takes him by surprise. “You sure?”

She nods, tugging at his beard. “We’re not getting any younger.” She giggles, eyes playfully narrowing. “Especially you, old man.” 

At that, he sucks his teeth. “Who you calling old?” He squeezes her side, and she squeals. He knows that’s where she’s ticklish. She falls out, laughing, and he takes the advantage of her being distracted to flip them so she’s flat on her back. “Naw, say it again. I ain’t hear you.”

“Joe, stop,” she giggles as he hovers over her, tickling her until she pushes back against his shoulder. He grabs her hand, restricting her when she opens her eyes. Her laughter quietly dies down when their eyes lock. 

Love. 

So much love.

Joe leans down and connects their lips, softly, slowly, just as meaningful as any other kiss they’ve shared. She moans into his mouth, feeling his hardened length graze against her opening, her essence already making its way down her inner thighs.

He feels this too, groaning and lifting her thigh to widen her as he carefully enters her, watching her arch her back at the entrance. She whimpers, hands moving around his shoulders.

He kisses her wrist, watching the pleasure on her face as he gives her deep strokes, slow and plunging, just how he knows she likes it. “Shhhh….let me take care of you, baby.”

And he does.

He always has.

He always will.

[moonselune]

Okkayy I was wondering if I could rq dark au? Like. A genuine moment between the lot. Or maybe something like a Stockholm thing going on for them? I think that'd be interesting.

Also a question abt it! If there were Wyll one (not saying for you to add any ofc) what would you think it would be? Since he doesn't have a bad ending and everything.

i love love love this, so interesting to think what the reader would fall for, how they would let that guard down and I'll post a little explanation of where I was coming from for each character.

And I have had a lot of asks about Wyll, and I find it really difficult to picture it because he doesn't have a bad ending and despite all that he has been through he always strives to be good. I have tried to think of an evil Wyll and I have not had nor come across an idea that I can get behind - that being said if people want to pitch it to me, have at it x

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | With Sincerity

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, they are still bad people lmao

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Uh oh! They are breaking down your walls and a part of you is vulnerable

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The courtyard was alive with the sound of clashing weapons and sharp commands. Minthara's nieces moved with an impressive precision under her watchful eye, their small frames mirroring the grace and ruthlessness of their aunt. You stood in the shadow of an archway, unable to tear your gaze away from the scene before you.

Minthara was a vision of deadly elegance, her every movement purposeful and fluid as she demonstrated techniques to her eager students. Her hair, as white as fresh snow, caught the sunlight, and her eyes—so piercing and determined—flashed with an intensity that had once captivated you. You watched as she corrected their stances, her voice firm but not unkind. There was a harshness in her training, but beneath it lay a deep fondness, a protective instinct that she couldn't quite hide.

A pang of nostalgia hit you. You remembered the early days of your love, how you had fallen for her strength, her unyielding resolve. Minthara had always been a formidable warrior, but it was her rare moments of tenderness, the way she cared for her family, that had truly won your heart. You had married her not just for who she was, but for who she became when she was with you.

Lost in your reverie, you didn't notice Minthara approaching until she was right in front of you, her presence commanding your attention. She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked, her tone teasing but not unkind.

Without thinking, you found yourself leaning in, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt both natural and inevitable. For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just the two of you, connected in a way that transcended time and distance. Her lips were soft yet insistent, and the familiarity of her touch stirred something deep within you.

Reality crashed back in, and you pulled away abruptly, your heart pounding.

"I-I’m I-" you stammered, stepping back, your face flushing with embarrassment. "That was… I didn't mean to…"

Minthara's smirk was confident, almost smug. "It's alright," she said, her voice low and knowing. "I knew you would come back around to me eventually."

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure. "It was just a momentary lapse of sanity," you muttered, trying to brush off the intensity of what had just happened. "Don't read too much into it."

Turning on your heel, you walked away, your thoughts a chaotic mess. You were supposed to hate her, to resent what she had become. Yet, the kiss had felt like coming home, a reminder of the love that had once defined your life.

As you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw Minthara still standing there, a satisfied smile on her lips. She had always been confident, always sure of her place in your heart. And despite your best efforts to deny it, a part of you wondered if she was right.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. You lay in the lavish bed, the silk sheets cool against your skin. Shadowheart was next to you, her presence a mixture of comfort and control. For so long, your moments of lucidity had been frantic and panicked, each one a desperate attempt to cling to the truth before she stole it away again.

But tonight felt different. The usual haze in your mind was less oppressive, the usual fog that clouded your thoughts seemed to lift slightly. You felt a rare clarity, a sense of calm that you hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. You looked at Shadowheart, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes closed in peaceful repose.

Without the usual panic, you found yourself studying her features—the soft curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked serene, almost vulnerable in sleep. You realized how deeply you had once loved her, how she had been your world before the darkness had consumed her.

You felt an overwhelming urge to be close to her, not out of fear or desperation, but out of a genuine desire for connection. You shifted slightly, curling into her, and she stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

"You're awake," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Yes," you replied softly, your voice steady. "I… I feel different tonight. Not scared. Just… here."

She studied you, a flicker of surprise crossing her features, she could always tell when you were lucid and was always to prepared to seize that moment and crush it in her hands. "You don't feel panicked?"

You shook your head. "No. I feel… content. More at ease than I have in a long time."

A hint of a smile touched her lips, but it was cautious, as if she were afraid to believe it. "That's good," she said slowly. "Maybe it's the calm before the storm."

"No," you said, more firmly this time. "It's not. It's real. I want you to stay. Please."

Shadowheart's eyes widened slightly, genuine shock evident in her expression. For a moment, she didn't move, as if unsure how to respond. Then, she nodded, her movements careful, almost hesitant. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll stay."

She settled back into the bed, wrapping her arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart, it all felt so grounding, so real. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, a mixture of herbs and something uniquely her.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Shadowheart tightened her hold on you, her fingers gently stroking your hair. "For what?" she asked, her voice a mere breath in the quiet room.

"For staying," you replied. "For this moment."

She sighed, a soft, contented sound. "I never wanted to hurt you," she said quietly. "I only wanted to protect you."

"I know," you said, and for the first time, you truly meant it. "I know."

The two of you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. The clarity you felt wasn't fleeting or frantic. It was peaceful, a rare gift in the chaos that had become your life. And as you drifted off to sleep, Shadowheart's presence beside you, you held onto that feeling, hoping it would last, knowing that for tonight, at least, it was enough.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

The ethereal glow of Gale's realm was a constant reminder of the divine power he now wielded, a stark contrast to the mortal world you had once known. You and Gale had been watching over a young mortal named Elara, a gifted artist who had been struggling under the oppressive control of her art master. For months, you had observed her from afar, offering subtle guidance and protection as she navigated her difficult path.

Tonight, the culmination of your efforts bore fruit. Elara had finally broken free from her master's tyranny, gathering the courage to leave and start her own journey as an independent artist. You had seen the light of hope and determination in her eyes, and it had filled you with a profound sense of joy and accomplishment.

You and Gale stood together on a celestial balcony, overlooking the shimmering expanse of his realm. The stars above twinkled in celebration, mirroring the elation in your heart. Gale's arm was wrapped around your shoulders, a comforting presence that had grown familiar over time.

"She did it," you whispered, the words filled with awe and happiness. "Elara is finally free."

Gale smiled, his gaze soft as he looked down at you. "She found her strength, thanks to you. Your guidance gave her the courage she needed."

You turned to face him, the weight of the moment sinking in. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt genuinely happy. Tears of joy welled up in your eyes, and you wrapped your arms around Gale, holding him tightly. He returned the embrace, his arms enveloping you in a warm, secure hold.

"It's not just me," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "You were there too, every step of the way."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "We make a good team, don't we?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of your feelings. Instead, you just held him closer, savoring the rare moment of pure happiness. The tension and doubts that had lingered in your heart seemed to melt away in his embrace.

Gale gently pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes. "What is on your mind?" he asked, his voice tender and filled with curiosity.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Nothing," you replied softly. "Just… this moment. I want to hold onto it, to remember this feeling forever."

He gazed at you with a mix of understanding and affection, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "We will have many more moments like this," he promised. "This is just the beginning."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you savored the warmth and comfort of his presence. "I hope so," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

For a while, you simply stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the celestial realm around you a silent witness to your shared joy. The stars continued to shine brightly, casting a gentle glow over the two of you. In that moment, everything felt perfect, and you prayed with all your heart that this bliss would last forever.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Acended Astarion:

The palace corridors echoed with your footsteps as you wandered aimlessly, a sense of ennui settling over you. The grand halls, adorned with opulent decorations and luxurious tapestries, had lost their allure after countless days of aimless exploration. The life of grandeur and power, alongside Astarion, had its moments of excitement, but today, the boredom felt particularly oppressive.

You sighed, turning a corner and heading towards your quarters. As you pushed open the heavy doors, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. The room was filled with fresh flowers, their vibrant colors and fragrant scents instantly lifting your spirits. They were your favorites—roses, lilies, and peonies, arranged in an exquisite display that seemed almost magical. Amidst the floral splendor, a delicate note caught your eye.

With a sense of curiosity, you picked up the note and unfolded it. The elegant handwriting was unmistakably Astarion's.

"Come to the throne room, my love."

A smile crept onto your lips as you tucked the note into your pocket. You made your way through the palace with a renewed sense of excitement, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As you approached the grand doors of the throne room, you could hear the soft strains of music floating through the air.

Pushing open the doors, you were met with a breathtaking sight. The throne room was transformed into a paradise of flowers and enchanted candles. The candles floated gently in the air, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated the room in a soft, romantic light. The flowers, arranged in intricate patterns, filled the air with their sweet fragrance. In the center of it all stood a small quartet, playing a melodious tune that added to the enchanting atmosphere.

And there, amidst the beauty and magic, stood Astarion. He was dressed in his finest attire, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and affection. As you stepped into the room, he approached you with a graceful elegance that made your heart skip a beat.

"Happy anniversary, my darling," he said, his voice a smooth blend of warmth and seduction.

You felt a rush of emotions—joy, love, and a touch of amazement at the effort he had put into this surprise. Astarion extended his hand to you, a charming smile playing on his lips.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel as though you were the only two people in the world.

Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, feeling the cool, firm grip of his fingers. He led you to the center of the room, the quartet's music swelling as you began to move in perfect harmony. Astarion's movements were fluid and graceful, guiding you effortlessly across the floor.

The two of you danced, lost in each other's eyes, the world around you fading into a blur of colors and music. As you swayed together, Astarion's gaze softened, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Do you remember our first dance?" he whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded, your thoughts drifting back to that magical night when you had first fallen for his charm.

"How could I forget?" you replied softly. "It was the night I knew I would be yours forever."

Astarion's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and affection. "And I knew that I would do anything to make you happy," he murmured. "Even if it means filling a throne room with flowers and enchanting candles."

You laughed, the sound light and carefree, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "You've outdone yourself," you said, gazing around the room. "It's perfect."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as the music slowed. "Only the best for you, my love," he said, his voice a tender caress. "You deserve nothing less."

As the final notes of the music faded away, you found yourself clinging to Astarion, not wanting the moment to end. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in a long while, you felt a deep sense of contentment and happiness.

Astarion tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. "What's on your mind?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Nothing," you replied, smiling softly, and it was true you were in that moment completelyy thoughtless, and you relished in it.

Astarion chuckled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the touch sending a thrill through you. You closed your eyes, savoring the kiss, the feel of his arms around you, and the love that surrounded you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The foal had been a source of constant worry for you. Rejected by its mother and frail from the start, you had spent countless nights by its side in the stables, nursing it with every ounce of your care and knowledge. The little creature's wide eyes and weak whinnies tugged at your heartstrings, making you more determined to save it.

Despite your best efforts, the foal's condition didn't improve. Its labored breathing and listlessness were heart-wrenching to witness. You fed it warm milk from a bottle, kept it warm with blankets, and whispered soothing words, but nothing seemed to help. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and desperation began to creep in.

Finally, with a heavy heart and reluctance, you decided to seek help from Halsin. You knew he had a deep connection with nature and animals, but the thought of turning to him—your captor, the one you were supposed to hate—filled you with conflicting emotions. Yet, the foal's life was more important than your pride.

Finding Halsin in his quarters, you hesitated at the door before knocking softly. He opened it, surprise flickering in his eyes as he saw you standing there, tired and disheveled.

"I need your help," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "The foal… it's not getting better."

Halsin's expression softened, and without a word, he followed you to the stables. Together, you tended to the foal, his hands gentle and confident as he examined the tiny creature. He murmured incantations and applied poultices made from herbs you couldn't identify, his connection to the natural world evident in every movement.

Hours turned into days, and you and Halsin worked side by side, taking turns to watch over the foal, feeding it, and keeping it warm. The nights were long and filled with anxious moments, but slowly, the foal began to show signs of improvement. Its breathing became steadier, and it started to gain strength.

One evening, as the foal nuzzled against your hand with newfound vigor, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Exhausted and sleep-deprived, you turned to Halsin, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

"Thank you, Halsin," you said, your voice filled with gratitude. Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, the gesture spontaneous and sincere.

Halsin's eyes widened in surprise, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. You quickly pulled back, realizing what you had done. The weight of your situation came crashing down, reminding you that you were still technically a prisoner.

"I'm sorry," you stammered, feeling embarrassed. "I didn't mean to…"

But Halsin shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's alright," he said softly. "You've been through a lot. We both have."

The exhaustion was finally catching up with you, and you swayed on your feet. Halsin reached out to steady you, his touch firm and reassuring. "You need to rest," he said gently.

You pouted, a playful glint in your eyes. "Carry me to bed?" you asked, half-jokingly.

Halsin chuckled, shaking his head. "You're perfectly capable of walking," he teased, but there was warmth in his eyes.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and pouted even more. "Please? I'm too tired to walk."

With a fond smile, Halsin finally relented. He scooped you up in his strong arms, carrying you with ease. You nestled against his chest, feeling safe and cared for in a way you hadn't expected. As he carried you to your quarters, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of contentment, despite the complexities of your relationship.

He laid you gently on the bed, tucking the blankets around you. "Rest now," he said softly.

You smiled up at him, your eyes heavy with sleep. "Thank you, Halsin," you whispered, before drifting off into a peaceful slumber, knowing that for now, everything was alright.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Okay okay so here is my viewpoint for each reader opinion of course please project your own on why they had this moment and I would love to hear your thoughts as well down below !

Minthara - I imagine reader fell for Minthara because of her determination her drive, and Minthara training her nieces shows that but also the softer side that only reader would have seen. So everyone would be seeing Minthara as just being cutthroat and ruthless with her nieces but reader sees it as Minthara training them so that they survive because she cares for them, dearly. That's what causes reader's heart to open and get that impulse to kiss her.

Shadowheart - So I imagined reader having these frantic episodes, lashing out at shadowheart having a meltdown till shadowheart removes her memories again and you calm down and the cycle continues. So eventually, you get a lucid moment and instead of being panicked, you are just exhausted and tired and as you watch her you are just seeking comfort, need comfort. Hence her asking shadowheart to stay.

Gale - Gale's reasoning is pretty short, because reader is immortal and just needs a win at that point and gets caught up in it when she finally gets that W.

Astarion - I see reader as being so bored snd helpless and when Astarion woos her in this way that seems so genuine, has so much emotion attached to it, you have to let your heart fall for it. You just have to.

Halsin - So with this reader I see them throwing themselves into caring for animals to distract themselves from their situation and they pour so much love and attachment into this foal because really they see themselves in it. The foal has been rejected from it's family, reader has been ejected from theirs. The foal is ill and struggling, confined to the stables, reader is mentally unwell and confined to Halsin's grove. When reader sees the foal has no way out apart from death they cannot handle that so they turn to Halsin who they know will be able to help the foal. Much like how reader cannot handle that their only way out is death, so subconciousluy they lean on Halsin. Survival instincts babyyyyyyyy

Anyway hope you guys enjoyed it and the little breakdown of it, and I would love to hear your thoughts below - Seluney xox

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter seven

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: This has been such a long time coming, and I want to thank you for being so patient and still loving this story despite the time since its last update. Your frequent comments, asks & dm's regarding RTY have honestly pushed me and motivated me to sit in front of my laptop and get this out. So thank you endlessly. I hope you enjoy angels!

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 6k-ish (I honestly didn't bother checking after a while lmao)

Warnings: angst, coz naturally. Mentions of the past case and being arrested, Marcus being undercover and tastes of what he was dealing with work-wise. Jane being Jane (aka a fuckhead). The slightest shine of something resembling friendliness between the two idiots before I smash it with a sledgehammer in a true ‘one step forward, two steps back’ fashion. Drama, swearing, it's honestly been so long I don't even know - tell me if I've missed anything!

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

You can tell by the knock that it’s not Jacob. His knocks were playful, drumming out a tune against your door that sometimes you had to finish from the other side, but this knock was tentative, simple—professional.

Can knocks be professional? Can you know someone just by their knock? Regardless, you seem to know who it is immediately, and for the first time in a while you find yourself not having to brace for his company.

There’s no shake in your hand when you reach for the door; there’s no nausea building in the pit of your stomach, swirling with the uncomfortable tightening of anxiety. There’s nothing, and it takes you slightly by surprise. When did that stop? 

Marcus is standing just shy of your welcome mat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he shifts in his simple dark suit, but still gives you a small smile in greeting when you open the door. You manage to return it without a hint of a grimace.

That surprises you, too.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” you murmur quietly.

“Can we talk?”

He must see the slight edge of defensiveness creeping into your features, because he hurries to spit out that it’s about the case. The case? Is it over?

A frown starts to pull at your brows, and you give a simple nod before stepping aside and allowing him entry. You don’t miss the way he takes it slow, stepping over the threshold to your apartment carefully, as if giving you the chance to change your mind and revoke his invitation.

It’s... awkward.

For a moment, he hovers only a few steps away, unsure of where to go next without your direction. You watch the internal struggle, and clear your throat quietly before waving a hand to your couch as a gesture for him to take a seat. He does so without a word.

You falter, fingers brushing against your suddenly hot palms as you fidget, “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Uh, yeah—yes. Water, please.”

Silence crawls along the edges of the room as you fuss in the kitchen, filling a glass full of chilled water from the fridge. It’s only slightly uncomfortable, neither of you necessarily feeling the need to fill the quiet with small talk, or maybe you both just don’t know what to say.

He takes the glass with a smile when you eventually patter over to him, thanking you quietly and taking a small sip while you seat yourself on the armchair to the left of him.

“So…” you murmur, “what’s going on? Has something happened?”

He suddenly can’t speak, his thoughts too much in a whirl. He doesn’t want to entertain Jane’s idea, he doesn’t want to offer you anything about getting more involved in the case. You already do enough, you’re fine with doing what you’re doing, he can’t risk it.  

You’re out of it all. You got out. Not many people get back onto their feet after something like that—the arrest and the rough fallout, the emotional spiral, the time spent behind bars… but you did. You did. And yet, a very small part of him worries that you’ll go back, that you’ll fall back into old habits for the promise of your old cosy lush life, without a worry for money. Would you?

No. No, he knows you wouldn’t. Somewhere deep inside his heart, he knows you wouldn’t turn back to it all. He saw firsthand how it all crashed down around you—he was the reason it did. He saw you through it all, and yet he still can’t help but ask—

“Do you miss it?”

A frown starts to pull at your features, “Miss what?”

“Your life,” he mutters, almost painfully too quiet.

He doesn’t want to upset you by reopening old wounds, by unintentionally rubbing your face in everything you’ve lost and mourned, but he’s too curious, too scared—he can’t do it all again. He doesn’t have the strength. He’d let you walk. He’d let you get away. He’d lose everything, and he wouldn’t care.

“Before… before this,” he gestures between you silently, watching your eyes flicker down to follow the movement before they roll back up to meet his, irises swirling with confusion, suspicion, a slight shine of pain— “before everything… when it was just you, and what you did—do you miss it?”

There’s a vague feeling of something close to panic building in your chest, but it doesn’t seem to spread out further than the iron cage of your ribs. You feel it sitting there, churning around your heart as its pace starts to quicken.

Is he asking this for a reason? Are you suspected of something? Is whatever answer you give going to be recorded and stored somewhere for future use against you? 

“A little,” you breathe before you can help it, and suddenly your throat feels too thick.

The honesty came out of nowhere. You’re left wondering why the hell you admitted it, especially to him of all people. He's used it all against you before. He’s the reason it all fell apart. And yet, here you are, admitting to a federal agent that you miss a time of your life that ultimately resulted in you left behind bars. What would he think of that?

The worry of what he would think startles you. You don’t care, you haven’t cared, and yet you hurry to explain before he could get the wrong idea. It’s only because he has the power to throw you back into prison. You worry about the fallout, that’s all.

“Make no mistake, I don’t miss the whole crime thing. I just—I miss the peace. I can’t explain it, but I was just content, and I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was just… nice, that’s all. It wasn’t worth it.”

He nods, exhaling quietly before taking a sip of his water.

“Why do you ask?”

You’d been honest, and now it’s his turn.

“Some of the team believe putting you out there, back into your old circles, would result in getting us some further suspects for the investigation, or even limiting our suspect pool,” he explains stiffly, gaze remaining on where his fingers brush against the glass in his hands.

“As you’ve worked with some of these people before, they believe you’ll have no problem fitting back in and getting any information on their jobs or who’s leading this.”

Well that’s not at all what you’d been expecting.

You didn’t think that was even an option, given how they’d firmly kept any and all details of this investigation far away from you. Whether it’s because of your past, or simply because you’re not an agent, you don’t know, but this new direction has you wondering how involved you’d actually be. Is that something you even want?

You’ve reached a point where you’re somewhat comfortable with where you are in life, having dealt with mostly everything that had happened and taken steps to move on both mentally and emotionally.

Accepting the offer from the FBI hadn’t been on the top of your priority list, and this new opportunity didn’t sound any more appealing, but maybe it would give you a chance to do a little more. Maybe if they had you on the inside, this investigation would be wrapped up quicker and you’d be able to leave everything, and everyone, in the past for good.

All of this would be over. 

��So, I’d be undercover or something?”

“Not undercover, obviously there’ll be people who know who you are and what you used to do. You’ll just have to act the part you used to play.” 

There’s a hesitancy hanging in his features, you notice. It’s clear by the tone of his voice and the slight frown working its way along his brows that he’s not the one behind this idea, but he wouldn’t be suggesting it if it wasn’t a good idea, right?

“Do you not want me to do this?”

Finally, he looks at you.

You watch his eyes flitter across your face as you await his answer, wondering what he could possibly be searching for in your expression. Would he even tell you the truth? A part of you is beginning to think so, but you can’t imagine why. He’s been anything but truthful the entire time of knowing him, what would make this time any different?

“I don’t want you to do anything that would jeopardise the life you have, the life that you’ve made.”

Ah. He must think you’ll throw all of your progress away. Because of course he does. Is that why he asked you that question before? Do you miss it? Was he gauging the possibility of you turning your back on him should he let you further into the investigation? He’d probably get into trouble, maybe even lose his comfy little job chasing criminals down.

How comforting to know that he still thinks so damn little of you. 

“Don’t worry, Agent Pike,” you murmur icily, letting your arms cross defensively over your chest. “I’ll be sure to stay out of handcuffs this time. Do you honestly think I’d go back to it all, after everything?”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he sighs deeply, already expecting and braced for your anger. “And no—I don’t think you would go back.”

You believe him. You don’t know why, because God knows everything in your body repeatedly tells you to never believe another word that comes out of his mouth, but you simply just do with this. You don’t dwell on the why, with your mind now preoccupied with what he’s asking from you exactly.

Are you just finding some old acquaintances and asking some questions? Are you getting involved with jobs? Are you no longer painting for the FBI, if you’re to be involved? How deep would you have to go to give him and his team what they need? And with all the talk of murder, knowing there’s already been quite a few victims, what the hell would happen to you should the potential killer, or killers, find out you’re working with the FBI?

Would you become the next victim?

“Will I be in danger?”

Marcus meets your eyes immediately, answering firmly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That’s not a no.

You fall quiet, teeth nipping and picking at the soft skin of your inner bottom lip in thought. Okay, so you’d probably be safe with Marcus—the FBI—on your side, but is this something you could even do? Physically and mentally yes, you’d already done it all before, but emotionally?

Essentially, you’d be playing the same part Marcus played all that time ago. You’d be the one sneaking around and lying to people, tricking them into a false sense of comfort until they feel safe enough around you to talk. You’d be everything you dislike Marcus for. 

It’s hypocritical.

How could you dwell on and hold anger over your own experiences, when you’d be out there doing the same thing to others? Of course not to the stupidly ridiculous extent Marcus had gone to, but you’d still be lying, you’d still be using them—

“You have the choice here,” he assures you quietly, after watching you work through your thoughts. “I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I want you to feel like you can say no—this is your choice, no one else’s. If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Maybe it’s selfish on some sort of level, but the possibility of getting this whole thing over and done and left behind you ultimately wins over any reservations you have, and you exhale quietly. 

“I’ll do it.”

—

The wire, though so thin it would be barely noticeable wherever you decided to hide it, feels particularly weighty between your fingertips. You study the simple black cord, turning it this way and that under the glare of the office lights, wondering how many cases it had been used for, how much it had heard and how many lives it had potentially ruined.

“Nobody will notice it.”

Marcus is half hunched over the table, scribbling away on various bits of paper laid out in front of him, but he briefly stops to give you a small reassuring smile. You simply nod in response, a trickling of anxiety starting to bite away at your mind.

What if nobody approaches you? What if this goes wrong? What if somebody finds out? What if you get hurt? What if you get somebody else hurt? The constant what ifs roll around your head on an endless loop, seemingly getting worse and more horrific with every minute you squirm in the chair.

“Do you know where you’d like to start?”

Your attention falls back on Marcus, and you gently place the wire back onto the surface of the table in fear of breaking it should you fiddle for too long.

He was giving you the freedom of working this next part out yourself. He wanted it to be as natural as possible, letting them come to you instead of having you actively searching them out. It would minimise any suspicion, he had said. 

“Uh, I was thinking of visiting some of the local spots you said they’re targeting. If they’re still scouting pieces and working out security like you say, they're bound to see me eventually... hopefully by people I know?”

It wasn’t meant to, but it comes across like a question, like you’re seeking his approval. Not because you desire it, but because this isn’t what you’re trained in by any means and you feel a little lost being able to make this call on your own. You have no idea how to position yourself, or how to work strategically like they do. The last thing you want to do is mess this whole thing up for anyone.

He nods, seemingly pleased with your choice.

“That’s good, you’ll also be out in the open and that makes it easy for another agent to keep an eye on you from a distance.”

“I know that’s meant to be reassuring, but the mere thought that I need to be watched makes me a little nervous. How dangerous is this?”

“It’s not, it’s all just precautionary,” he soothes, tone calm but undeniably firm. “If anything, I’m probably going overboard, but I’d rather not take any risks.”

It makes sense that he wouldn’t. His job or position would most likely be on the line if someone he’s responsible for gets hurt. His agents, probably not so much—they know what they’re doing and what they’re in for, but you? You’re just an average person, with no knowledge or skills to aid you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… do any of them know? About… well, everything.”

It hit you as you arrived at the building earlier. You’re walking into your old life, a life that he was once a part of as a completely different person. They—the FBI—didn’t just come for you, they came for everyone, and Marcus was a big part of that. Did he reveal himself to them, as he did you? How much did they know about your situation? What did they think of you and the part you played? 

Marcus stops fussing with the papers, his eyes soon meeting yours from across the table. They flicker over your face, taking in the concern building in your features.

“I was there during most of their arrests so the majority know who, and what, I am.”

He was? He wasn’t there for yours.

Would it have been better, you wonder, if he had been there when they unexpectedly swarmed you that day? No doubt it still would’ve been one hell of a brutal knock to the system, but at least there would’ve been a familiar face in the intimidating crowd of badge carrying strangers.

At least you wouldn’t have felt so alone.

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Well, I—I’m part of the reason you got the information you did. Throughout our… relationship, I talked about everything. I told you everything, and during the interrogation… surely they’d know—”

“They know I was undercover, and they know you weren’t aware of that fact. Look, I can’t go into detail, but just know you weren’t the only one to talk. It’s not all on you, alright?"

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that the others had cracked at some point, it was almost to be expected with the amount of evidence the FBI had against everyone, but at least you don’t feel so guilty for divulging as much as you did back then. 

He waits for you to acknowledge his words with a wordless nod before moving onto business and switching into FBI Agent mode. He stands taller, obviously more confident and comfortable in his element as he begins to rattle off instructions and how to behave. It’s hard to feel unsteady or unsafe when he seems so damn self assured. That’s why he is where he is, you suppose.

“Now it's important that if you’re approached, you refrain from asking any questions about jobs or pry into anything they’re doing. You need to let them bring the subject up—if they don’t, it’s okay.”

“Noted.”

“If at any point you want to stop doing this—tell me, and that’ll be it. If you don’t feel comfortable coming to me, tell Agent Wilson and we’ll go from there. After your visits, you’re to return to your apartment and either Agent Wilson or I will come to collect anything you have.”

“Okay, and where exactly is this meant to go?” You ask, prying the cord from the table.

“Somewhere discreet. Obviously we don’t want it to be hanging out or somewhere someone will notice. Under your jacket will suffice with what you’re wearing. Just always ensure it’s covered completely.”

“How do I…”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Do you… do you mind if I…?”

“Not much of a choice,” you murmur, glancing around at the empty meeting room. 

“I can get another agent—”

You hear the bustle of the office outside the door, the constant ringing of phones and the hum of constant conversation. There’s plenty of other people to help you work this wire thing out, other than the man you’d rather be miles away from, but the uncertainty of what they know about you, think about you, keeps you from accepting his offer.

The only agent you feel semi-comfortable with is Jacob, and he’s currently out of the office with some other agents doing his job. You could ask for him. You’re fairly certain Marcus would comply if you asked, but that means taking Jacob away from whatever things he needed to do, and you don’t want to cause any issues for him or the other agents working.

Marcus will do. At least you know him. Somewhat.

“No. No, it’s… it’s fine. Just do what you need to.”

You stand and move away from your seat as he steps closer, hands falling awkwardly to your sides after he gently pries the wire away from your hold. He keeps a considerable distance away, the absolute most he could without being unable to reach you, and you appreciate the thought, but the space begins to hinder him as he tries to work.

After a few moments of feeling him fumble beneath your jacket and watching the growing twitches of annoyance briefly break his calm expression with a surprising slight bit of amusement, you relent. 

“You can come closer if you need to.”

His eyes flash up to meet yours, brown irises studying your features before a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He moves, still keeping a careful amount of distance between your bodies but close enough to feel the weight of his presence. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

“The big bad FBI agent has butter fingers,” you retort quietly, lips twitching. “They let you hold a gun with those?”

He blinks in surprise at your teasing jab, the curve of his light smile quickly deepening until it causes the dimples in his cheeks to show. You used to love his dimples, often finding yourself compelled to trace them with your fingertips whenever he was close enough to. He’d always welcome it, tilting his face further into your touch or kissing your palm.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Now that’s not fair,” he argues playfully, “I’ve only dropped it a couple of times.”

The smile that spreads across your lips is automatic, and you don’t quite feel like fighting it. At least, not right now. Whether that’s because you don’t have the energy needed to keep up with your recurrent ice saved only for him, or simply because you don’t feel like it, you don’t know.

“Have you really?”

He makes a low noise at the back of his throat, a shine of impish embarrassment spreading throughout his features. “I’m afraid that information is need to know only, ma’am.”

“Of course it is,” you mutter lowly in amusement, his grin briefly stretching into something wider before it fades as he focuses on the task at hand. “Back when you were undercover, did you have to wear one of these?”

There’s no anger in your voice, no betrayal or tone of accusation, just simple curiosity. You just want to know, and not to dwell on the past or overwhelm your mind with what his agents may have potentially heard, because god knows that’s a can of worms you don’t want to open. You feel genuine interest, because surely there would’ve been rules and safety precautions for undercover agents. What were his?

“I did,” he answers, guarded brown eyes briefly meeting yours before falling back to where his fingers pin the wire discreetly to your t-shirt, “but I only wore it for the first few meetings. I stopped when we—when we got closer.”

That was unexpected.

Thinking back on it, you didn’t start to give him any real information to work with until you’d gone on quite a few dates and became more comfortable with him. How did he keep a record of everything you said? You never saw him writing anything down, never had his phone out while you talked, and he never just upped and left once you’d spilled all of your secrets once you became intimate. 

Why wouldn’t the FBI want all of that recorded and documented? Surely that would’ve helped build evidence against you in the grand scheme of things? 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to know.”

“Know what?”

How deep he was in over his head.

He wets his lips, finishing his work with a quiet sigh before fixing your jacket and stepping away from you. You watch him take a moment to find his words, wondering what could possibly be so bad he’d want to hide it from his team.

“Some things,” he answers vaguely. “Are you ready?”

—

“You’re off the case.”

He hears the words, feels how they settle in the pit of his stomach, but his mind struggles to comprehend the meaning behind them. He’s one of the god damn leads of this case, how can he be off it? His expression pinches into confusion before he can get a hold of it, the question forming in his features before it even makes it to his lips.

“What?”

He feels the gaze of Jenner beside him, wonders if there’s any judgement lingering alongside the concern. His coworker, his friend, stays quiet, and he’s left to be dragged through the mud alone.

“You’re too close.”

Too close? When has being close to finishing a case ever been an issue? But he knows that’s not what they mean. That’s not what they’re concerned about. It’s you. He’s suspected it for a while, what with the growing questions and raised brows of yet another admittedly unnecessary meeting with one of the major suspects—without a wire or trace. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Marcus argues firmly, the frown deepening between his brows.

Doubt.

It’s not evident in his words, but he feels the stirrings of it somewhere in his body. He doesn’t know anymore, and it’s starting to scare him. He’s always known this job. He knows the rules, likes the rules even, likes playing by a book and not stepping a toe out of line. It’s comfortable, secure. 

This isn’t.

This is dangerous—that’s what it is. The feelings that follow him home after a day of playing another man are anything but a cover. They’re real. The unsteady beat of his heart whenever you cross his mind, the sweat that builds on his palms when he knows he gets to see you, the tingle left across his lips after spending moments pressed against yours—it’s all fucking real.

And it’s terrifying.

“Look, Pike… we see this with undercover work often. It’s not just you, and it’s not a reflection of you, or your work. We know you’re a damn good agent, but relationships can grow, feelings can come into play and lines can become blurred—”

Panic overtakes him, and it takes every bit of control to not let it show on his face. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t lose you. Not yet, not when things feel so… so right. It is selfish. You help him forget, you remind him that romance... that love is—God, it’s real.

It’s real, and he has it, or is starting to at least, and he can’t lose it. Just the thought of knowing he’ll lose it all in the end is enough to make bile sit in the back of his throat and a sickly cold tether wind around his heart…

So he scrambles. He fights to keep his cool, to play the good little agent and hide everything away. It goes against everything he’s been taught, everything that he and his coworkers stand for… and he doesn’t care.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve put too much time and effort into this case to not see it through to the end. There is no relationship, there are no feelings. I know my job, I know my position in this case, I know where my loyalty lies, and I know what I’m doing.”

He really doesn’t anymore, but in the end they believe the lies forcing their way through his teeth.

—

You used to sit for hours, studying every little detail of the chosen piece until your eyes started to strain. The corridors of art galleries and museums used to be home—it felt like you spent more time there than your actual apartment, but it doesn’t feel as it used to. Not in a bad way, no… it felt nice. Peaceful, even. You can just enjoy the art now. There’s no anxiety, no pressure to ensure every bit of your work is perfect—it’s just you, and the art.

Like how it was before everything. Before Marcus, before the jobs, before art school—when you were just a little thing, staring up at those frames with nothing but wonder, hope, with dreams of her own styles and gallery. What would she think of what she became?

“You like this one.”

The voice alone sets a roll of irritation over your shoulders. You don’t bother looking at him when you feel him step up beside you, instead wondering if Marcus knew he was here, or if the consultant had come of his own accord. Most likely the latter, if he and Marcus weren’t on the best of terms. 

“What are you doing?” You question quietly, glancing briefly away from the painting and over your shoulder to see if anyone had taken notice of you. This damn wire makes you feel like eyes are everywhere. “Does Marcus know you’re here?”

Jane makes a noncommittal noise, “I was bored.”

He makes no effort to answer your other question, and that tells you what you need to know—Marcus has no idea. Is this something he should know? He’s leading the case, and despite your aversion to it, he’s made it clear he’s responsible for you during your time working for the FBI as well as overseeing who you speak to. He made it extra clear he didn’t like the idea of Patrick talking to you, after what happened at the office. What would he want you to do in this situation?

Get rid of him.

You don’t have time to waste playing some kind of twisted back and forth with the consultant. You came here with a simple task, and you couldn’t have him tagging along behind you and potentially ruining your opportunity to get your foot back into the door of your old life, let alone finding anything out about it. Maybe he already knows, either way you’d rather not have him shadowing and questioning you at every turn.

“I’m not your babysitter, Jane. Go and play your games somewhere else.”

“What games?”

You scoff harshly, unable to stop the scowl you shoot him, “Don’t play dumb. You know what you do, and I don’t care for it. Just leave me alone so I can do what I need to and go home.”

He hums, unbothered by your quip. 

“Is this one of yours?” He asks shamelessly, nodding to the painting hung in its ornate frame.

You startle, blinking in surprise and casting another glance around your surroundings in an utter panic. No one had taken any notice of him thankfully, with the art admirers still milling about at their leisure and passing by without any acknowledgement of either of you, yet your heart can’t seem to calm down from its heavy drum. 

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips when your eyes quickly land back on him, seemingly pleased with or expecting your reaction, and your jaw tightens in response.

The irritation turns to anger. Anger at him, anger at yourself for letting him work his stupid little mind games and getting to you. This is what he does, Marcus had said. You can’t let him get to you like he did before. You won’t. 

“Keep your voice down,” you grind out, rolling your attention back to the painting and ignoring the way he purposefully looks around in vague interest. 

“Why? No one’s here. At least not for you.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Chasing my own leads,” he hums thoughtfully, “I haven’t crossed out all of my suspects yet.”

“And your supposed ‘leads’ have bought you here?”

He openly eyes you, gaze critical and borderline taunting. It’s almost enough to make you feel like a complete fucking idiot for not knowing what he’s talking about, or what thoughts are rolling through his head. His 'lead'... he's referring to you.

You sigh impatiently, already sick of him. “What are you saying exactly, Jane?”

He shrugs loosely. “Just that it wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover created some elaborate scheme to g—”

“I’m sorry—what?” You cut in before you can help it, a frown of confusion pinching your brows as your mind rushes to catch up with his meaning. “‘Scorned lover’? What the hell makes you think I’m some kind of—”

“With everything that happened between you and Agent Pike, you must’ve been angry when you found out he was an undercover agent. How many years did you get in the end? Two? Three? Whatever the time frame, I would imagine it was enough to warrant some kind of revenge scheme.”

A chill creeps along your shoulders at having it thrown at you so blatantly. He knows everything, and is definitely not shy or careful when it comes to addressing it with you. You want to shrink in on yourself, hide away from his obvious scrutinisation of every emotion crossing your face, but you can’t seem to move. Something about fight or flight rings through your mind, and that often forgotten third word—

Freeze.

A man steps up beside him to admire the art. Tall, broad, dressed in jeans and a casual tee, but obviously not a stranger to the consultant when he cuts in with a low, “Jane, that’s enough.”

You don’t recognise him from Marcus’s team, so he must be one of Teresa’s. Was he the agent meant to shadow you? Nothing in your body responds to the internal alarms practically screaming leave.  No, you’re simply frozen where you stand on that glossy hardwood flooring, heart beating in your throat and skin prickling with the overwhelming wash of anxiety.

“I don’t—”

“It’s alright, we already know everything about you,” Jane continues nonchalantly, “don’t we Rigsby?”

The man beside him practically squirms. 

“I don’t know what you think I’m doing, but I have nothing to do with this, other than what Marcus has asked me to do. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it if you just ask, instead of following me around and accusing me of whatever evil mastermind ploy you think I’m up to.”

Jane openly grins, turning his gaze back to the painting. “No, he won’t.”

“No actually, he probably wouldn’t. Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, and maybe if you just left me alone like he asked, he’d be a little more open with you and his plans.”

“That explains it,” he hums lightly, seemingly to himself but loud enough for you to hear.

The constant verbal and mental back and forth, as well as trying to keep up with whatever crap spills from his mouth next, is enough to give you whiplash and birth an uncomfortable ache along your temples. It’s no wonder Marcus can’t stand him. The urge to guard your expression, and hide any potential clues to your thoughts was beginning to feel exhausting. 

“Explains what?”

“His feelings for you.”

A distinct, uncomfortable silence follows his words. They hit somewhere in your chest. You don’t know where, but you certainly feel the force of it push some air from your lungs.

Feelings? There were no feelings. The man who seemingly had feelings for you didn’t exist, and so those apparent feelings didn’t exist right alongside. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Marcus merely had a job, and that’s all you had been to him—work.

Your stunned gaze meets Rigsby’s, and there’s a slight shine of apology in them, though you’re unsure if it’s because of Jane’s words or simply just for Jane in general.

A lump builds in your throat, even after all this time, and you try to swallow it down, try to dislodge it from where it sits at the back of your tongue threatening to choke you fully.

How? How can it still hurt? 

You’d come so far forward, only to have the consultant knock you right back. Confusion overwhelms you—dread, denial. An ache builds around your heart, agonising and familiar and you loathe it. His words… it’s all bullshit, obviously. It must be some sort of sick test or twisted mind game to push you into confessing for something you’re not doing.

Rigsby shuffles, eyes falling away from yours and towards the floor as he shifts in obvious unease. You shake your head, forcing to keep your expression close to something unbothered as you face Jane again.

It’s hard.

You feel it crack—a twitch of a frown, the firm press of your lips to hide their tremble… you hate that he sees it all so clearly. 

“Marcus doesn’t feel anything towards me, except for maybe guilt. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, Jane. Wrong. It wasn’t real. None of it was real, especially any feelings he had for me.”

He studies you quietly, no doubt taking note of how you draw away and struggle to compose yourself. He eventually nods, saying nothing more, even when you turn away with watery eyes. You’re vaguely aware of Rigsby speaking lowly to the side, but you don’t bother to pay him any mind. 

“And yes, Jane. This is one of mine, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

It falls from your lips sharply, mockingly. You turn and leave them both standing in front of the replica you’d completed for the FBI, their eyes on your back as you attempt to stride out of the spacious room with your last shred of dignity.

-

[miumura]

( 🧸 ) YOU MiSSED — JAKE DRABBLE

( 🧸 ) watching movies with your sleepy boyfriend

genre fluff pairing bf!jake x gn!reader warnings none really besides a few kisses word count 0.3K+ ( 337 )

( 🧸 ) HAPPY JAKE DAY!! happy birthday to my ult bias jakeyyy 🫶 !! yk i had to write a little something for my bae <3 ! i could have released something way longer but i was SLACKING! so next time ill try to release a oneshot .. i mean i got a year so 😊🤍 LMAO anyways enjoy <3 !

"What do you think about the movie so far?" you asked, glancing at your boyfriend, who had his head nestled on your shoulder. Drawing you closer, he wrapped his arms around yours.

"To be honest, I'm on the verge of dozing off," he admitted with a yawn, sensing the weight on his eyelids. "What's the plot at this point? All I caught was the boyfriend cheating... so, what's next?" His drowsy tone never ceased to bring a smile to your face; there was an undeniable charm in his sleepiness that enhanced his already adorable nature.

"Well, after the cheating part, the girlfriend discovers the truth and I think she’s about to confront him," you explained, also trying to also figure out what was happening in the certain scene playing on the TV.

Instead of using words, you could hear quiet hums from him, and he just nodded when you both knew he hadn’t heard a single thing you said. He was just that tired.

"You're so cute," you remarked, looking at his ruffled hair that covered his eyes and his slight pouty lips. Giving him a quick peck on his forehead, you added, "Go to sleep then; we can watch this later together."

"You missed," Jake said in a low tone, leaving you a bit confused. You thought he was so sleepy that he was rambling nonsense in this state.

"What do you mean?" You peered at Jake, who raised his head from your shoulder, holding eye contact with you, attempting to widen his eyes. Swiftly, his lips met yours, and he pulled away after a small peck. “There.”

Returning to his original position, resting on your head, you blushed slightly from that spontaneous moment.

"You really are something else when you're sleepy, Jake."

"Can we just sleep?"

You chuckled softly, "Sure, let's finish this movie tomorrow or whenever you're more awake. Goodnight, Jake."

"Goodnight," he mumbled, already drifting off, leaving you with a warm feeling despite the incomplete movie.

Maybe you two should watch movies more often.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz