#t: small deceptions

[mercvry-glow]

break in the system

paring. jack abbot x wife/doctor!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader early 30s), hospital setting, descriptive child injury and recovery, no death, jack and reader are parents of a 6yo boy, no physical descriptors used for reader, reader has a sister, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. always in my dad!jack era, please feel free to send me idea like this I serious love them so much. please enjoy, this one is a nice hurt/comfort fic. as always please enjoy and any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 2400+

It was a rare, golden kind of morning. The kind you almost didn’t trust, because it was too smooth.

Jack had brewed coffee before either of you had to ask. You’d packed Mason’s favorite snacks while he sat sleepily at the kitchen island, rubbing his eyes and swinging his little feet under the stool. He was wearing his Spider-Man shirt today, matched with a pair of black shorts. His soft curls sticking up in every direction.

Your sister arrived just after sunrise, toting a canvas bag filled with activities and snacks and promising him a park trip and a stop for ice cream if he was good.

“You ready for a super fun day with Aunty?” she asked, ruffling Mason’s hair.

“Super tired is more like it,” Jack muttered around his coffee, but he kissed your cheek and then bent to kiss the top of Mason’s head too. “You be good, buddy.”

“I am good,” Mason answered, matter-of-fact.

You all laughed. It was one of those small, perfect family moments you didn’t think to savor until later.

At the hospital, the day passed in that rare, deceptively smooth rhythm. You took vitals, gave meds, reassessed post-op pain levels. Jack floated between trauma calls and consults, his voice calm and clinical when needed, still managing a wink when your paths crossed in the hallway. The familiarity of working alongside him was strangely comforting—a rhythm you’d both mastered through the years of shared chaos.

It was nearing noon when you finally took a breath. You leaned back in the break room, sipping lukewarm coffee, your phone resting silent on the table. You stared at the lock screen—Mason’s smiling face, missing front tooth, sunshine and freckles—without even realizing you were smiling at it.

Jack walked in and flopped down across from you, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Quiet today. I don’t trust it.”

“You never trust a quiet shift,” you replied with a soft laugh.

“Because quiet means it’s coming,” he said, tapping his temple like he could feel the shift in energy.

You shook your head, teasing, “Your trauma-sense tingling again?”

He was about to quip back when the trauma pager went off.

You both jumped—not dramatically, but instinctively, the way people do when muscle memory kicks in before thought.

Jack unclipped his pager and read aloud: "Level 1 peds trauma, ETA 2 minutes. Six-year-old male. Head trauma with LOC. Fall at park."

Your stomach dropped a full three inches. Jack went still beside you.

It wasn’t unusual. Kids came in hurt all the time.

But your brain was already moving ahead, shuffling information like puzzle pieces, trying to ignore how familiar it sounded.

Six-year-old. Male. Fall at the park. Level 1 trauma. Loss of consciousness.

It was just a coincidence.

Jack stood, voice a little tighter now. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You moved in practiced sync, already heading toward Trauma Bay 2, the air feeling a little thicker than it had ten minutes ago. You didn’t say it—not yet. Not even to each other.

You didn’t say anything.

Because you couldn’t. Not until you knew, and gut feelings didn’t count for the truth. 

And the moment the trauma doors slammed open and you saw the flash of a small Spider-Mant t-shirt beneath bloodied gauze and an oxygen mask—and suddenly your world tilted.

It was him.

The trauma bay erupted into controlled chaos the moment the gurney rolled through the doors.

You were at the foot of the bed, frozen for half a second before instinct kicked in. Jack was already moving forward, eyes locked on the little boy lying so still under the oxygen mask.

You didn’t even have to say his name.

The Spider-Man shirt. The Freckles. The curls matted with dried blood. It was Mason.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely audible, before your training took over like a switch flipping. But that voice—the parent voice—it never shut off. Not this time.

“Six-year-old male,” the medic rattled off, breathless but focused. “Fall from monkey bars, about six feet. Witnessed loss of consciousness, about two minutes. Regained briefly, then vomited twice. Unresponsive en route. GCS was 8, now trending to 6. Possible seizure activity reported by caregiver. No obvious long bone fractures. He was wearing a helmet for his bike earlier—removed at the park.”

You didn’t realize your hands were trembling until Jack grabbed your wrist gently. His voice was firm, steady—the voice of a trauma attending—but his eyes were glassy with panic barely held back.

“You can’t be in here,” he said lowly, eyes flicking toward the doors.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. I can help.”

“No—you’re his mom right now. Go.” His jaw tightened. “Please.”

The please hit you harder than anything else. You backed away, your legs feeling like they weren’t fully connected to your body anymore, your heart hammering as the rest of the team swarmed your baby.

Jack turned to the team. “Let’s move. What’s his pressure?”

“Ninety over fifty-six. Pulse 142.”

“Get a stat head CT. I want neuro and peds trauma paged now. Two large-bore IVs, hang NS bolus. Let’s get a collar on until we clear his c-spine.”

You backed into the wall of the trauma bay, peering through what felt like glass separating you from your husband and son. Your hands pressed flat against the cold surface as you watched your husband slip into a version of himself that didn’t exist at home. Dr. Abbot. Commanding. Composed. Making rapid decisions while your son—your Mason—lay still under fluorescent lights.

Your sister appeared moments later through the open door, eyes red, cheeks tear-streaked.

“I’m so sorry—he was fine, he was running—he always runs ahead—he just slipped—he hit the back of his head—he was okay for a minute but then—”

You pulled her into a tight hug, holding on for dear life. “It’s okay. You did the right thing. You got him here.”

Inside the bay, Jack’s voice cut through the buzz: “GCS is still six. Pupils reactive but sluggish. No external bleeding beyond scalp laceration. Let’s move now—CT and labs.”

As they wheeled Mason away, Jack followed, casting one last look back toward you through the window. His jaw was tight, but his eyes broke in that second.

You nodded once, already following down the hall toward radiology.

The hardest thing you’d ever done was not run in there and scoop your son into your arms.

But right now, Mason didn’t need his mom, he needed doctors. 

The CT suite was silent except for the rhythmic click and hum of the scanner. You stood just outside the control room glass, arms wrapped tight around yourself, watching Jack through the sterile glow.

He hadn’t left Mason’s side. Not for a second.

The techs were gentle, fast, and professional. Jack kept one hand near Mason’s foot the whole time, the other tucked against the side rail, whispering barely audible reassurances—things like, “You’re okay, buddy. Almost done. I’m right here.”

Even though Mason couldn’t hear him.

Even though your baby hadn’t opened his eyes once.

The scan ended. The attending radiologist had already been called down—an older, calm-voiced man you trusted completely. He pulled up the images, and when Jack joined him at the monitors, you followed, swallowing hard.

“There,” the radiologist pointed. “Linear parietal skull fracture, left side. No depression. He’s lucky.”

You exhaled shakily, but it wasn’t over.

“Contusion here,” he continued, circling the left temporal lobe. “Localized cerebral edema. No midline shift, no herniation. Small subgaleal hematoma along the occiput—probably from the initial impact. No signs of active intracranial bleeding.”

Jack nodded, arms crossed tightly over his sturdy chest, voice strained. “What about seizure risk?”

“Moderate. The contusion is sitting near cortical tissue. If he did seize en route, it’s not unexpected. You’ll want continuous EEG. We’ll monitor ICP closely for the next 48 hours. Neurosurgery should take a look, but this is non-operative for now.”

Your breath caught. Non-operative. You clung to the word like a rope in the dark.

“He’s stable enough to go up?” Jack asked.

“PICU? Absolutely. Intubate if his GCS drops again. Start seizure prophylaxis—Keppra, likely.” and with that it ended, short and sweet and not enough all at the same time. 

The elevator ride up to the PICU felt like moving through water. You were allowed to ride alongside the bed this time, one hand brushing Mason’s tiny fingers. 

They felt too cold. Too still.

His face looked smaller without his usual noise, his bursts of energy, the chatter. They’d cleaned most of the blood from his hair, but you could still see dried streaks clinging to his ear. His lips were parted slightly beneath the oxygen mask, his lashes damp against his cheeks.

In the PICU room, monitors beeped quietly, soft and steady. A nurse worked quickly and calmly—hooking up IV lines, starting the EEG leads, dimming the lights. Another brought in the seizure meds. Jack stood in the corner, arms limp at his sides now, adrenaline draining from his face.

The door closed.

And finally, the room went quiet.

You sat beside the bed and took Mason’s hand fully in yours. It was so small inside your palm. Always had been. But now it felt weightless, like something you couldn’t quite hold onto.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Jack didn’t respond at first. Then he moved behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. His voice broke when he spoke.

“Yes, you can. Because he needs us to. He’s going to wake up. He is.”

You leaned into him, tears slipping silently down your face as you looked at your son—your entire world—wrapped in wires and machines, and not moving.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did Jack.

Still you took turns sitting by the bed, staring at the monitors, willing the numbers to stay steady. Hoping for a flicker of movement. A twitch of fingers. A shift in those long eyelashes. And in the quiet, with Jack’s hand around yours and Mason’s resting between you both, you whispered promises neither of you had made out loud before:

We’re never working the same shift again. Not if it means risking this.

The room truly felt like a time capsule. Hours passed in a haze of fluorescent lights, rhythmic monitor beeps, the gentle hiss of oxygen.

It was day two.

Mason hadn’t opened his eyes.

His vitals were holding steady. The cerebral edema hadn’t worsened. The neurosurgeons were cautiously optimistic, calling his fracture “clean,” and the contusion “contained.” The EEG hadn’t shown any additional seizure activity overnight, and the Keppra seemed to be doing its job. His pupils were still sluggish, but reactive. He was breathing on his own. Everything was textbook.

But textbooks didn’t prepare you for how still a six-year-old could look when the light left his eyes.

You were in the chair again, your fingers curled gently around his. You’d barely moved all day, afraid that if you stepped away, you’d miss something. Jack was sitting on the couch now, head leaned back against the wall, one foot bouncing anxiously. He hadn’t left the both of you beyond grabbing the spare sets of clothes out of his truck. 

The lights were dimmed, the machines soft and steady. You rubbed slow, soothing circles across the back of Mason’s hand, whispering to him like he was just dozing after a long day.

“Hey, lovebug,” you said quietly. “It’s okay to wake up now. Daddy’s here. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips against his knuckles, careful of any swelling.

“I know your head hurts. I know you’re tired. But you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jack stirred at the sound of your voice, rubbing a hand down his face. He moved beside you, placing a palm lightly on Mason’s ankle.

As if he heard you both.

Mason’s fingers twitched.

It was so small you almost thought you imagined it.

You straightened slowly, eyes locked on his face.

Then his eyelids fluttered.

“Mason?” you whispered.

Jack stood up so fast the chair he had moved too scraped against the floor.

Mason’s eyes opened—barely. Just enough to see the soft hazel underneath. He blinked slowly, unfocused, then squeezed them shut against the light.

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, leaning close again. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He let out a faint, croaky sound—half breath, half mumble.

Jack stepped forward, his voice catching. “Hey, bud. It’s Daddy. Can you squeeze Mommy’s hand for me?”

Another pause.

Then—your fingers were squeezed, weak but there. Real.

Tears slid down your cheeks as you pressed his hand to your face. “There you are,” you whispered.

Mason blinked again, this time managing to squint up at the two blurry figures hovering over him. His lips parted. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“My head hurts.”

You choked on a sob, letting out a shaky laugh. “I bet it does, sweetheart. But you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jack cleared his throat, crouching beside the bed now, brushing hair gently away from Mason’s forehead. “We’re gonna take really good care of you, buddy. You scared us.”

Mason looked at you, then at Jack, and then murmured, “Did I miss the ice cream?”

You both laughed—quiet, breathless, full of relief.

“No,” you said. “Aunty owes you extra scoops now.”

He gave a tiny smile, then drifted again, eyelids heavy, but this time… it was just sleep.

Not unconsciousness. Not seizure. Not silence.

Just rest.

The next day brought sunlight through the tall PICU windows, soft and golden, catching in the folds of Mason’s blanket. He was propped up slightly now, still sleepy and sore, but undeniably there. Awake. Talking a little more. Asking small, simple things like “What day is it?” and “Can I have ice cream now?”

You and Jack stayed close, moving slower now, the urgency replaced by the kind of stillness that only comes after a storm.

There were still scans ahead. Neuro checks. Days of rest already planned in advance. But for now, Mason’s vitals were steady. His headache was easing. The swelling in his brain was beginning to go down. And his eyes—when they looked at you—were full of that quiet spark again.

That afternoon, you sat beside him in the recliner, Mason tucked against your chest in hospital-issue pajamas, his IV carefully taped and his fingers curled around your shirt. Jack was across the room, dozing lightly on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Mason’s voice came soft against your collarbone.

“Mommy?”

You tilted your head down. “Yeah, baby?”

“Will you stay here when I sleep?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“Of course, baby. Daddy and I both will.”

And with his breathing deepening, his small body warm against yours, and Jack snoring softly in the corner, you finally let yourself close your eyes.

Not out of fear.

Because—for the first time in days—you knew everything was going to be okay.

mercvry-glow 2025

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can you please write something where readers boyfriend breaks up with her and she comes home crying and sad and max comforts her ??

Titanic, Tissues and Tears

The house was unusually quiet. Max leaned back against the plush cushions of the couch, cradling a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. With Kelly and their little daughter, P, out for the afternoon—spending time with some of P’s friends and their mothers—he was left to enjoy a rare moment of solitude.

The quiet hum of the espresso machine had faded, leaving only the distant chirping of birds outside. For once, there was no chaos, no blaring television, no toys scattered across the floor. Just peace.

Max sighed, stretching his legs out. It was nice, this silence. He could sit, drink his coffee, maybe even take a nap—

BANG.

The front door flew open.

Max’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest as his eldest daughter, Yn, stormed inside.

"Dad?" Her voice was frantic, high-pitched, on the verge of breaking.

Max barely had time to react before she ran straight into his arms.

His coffee cup clattered onto the table as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her. She was shaking, her whole body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He could feel her tears soaking into his t-shirt, her hands clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

"Yn, sweetheart, what’s wrong?" he asked, worry gripping him like a vice.

She didn’t answer at first, just sobbed harder into his chest.

Max exhaled sharply, holding her even tighter. He hated seeing his daughter cry. Yn had always been his strong, independent girl. She was stubborn—just like him—and she rarely showed this much emotion. For her to be like this… it had to be something serious.

"Hey, hey, talk to me, schatje," Max murmured, gently rubbing her back. "What happened?"

She sniffled, trying to catch her breath, but her words came out broken and raw.

"Ian broke up with me."

Silence.

Max stiffened. His grip on her shoulders tightened for a second before he forced himself to stay calm. His first instinct was pure, unfiltered rage.

That little—

Ian had been her first serious boyfriend. The kid had always seemed nice enough, polite, respectful—he even shook Max’s hand the first time they met. But none of that mattered now. Because the boy had dared to break his daughter’s heart.

Max took a deep breath, reigning in his anger. This wasn’t about Ian. Not now. This was about Yn.

"Oh, lieverd…" he sighed, guiding her toward the couch. "Come here, sit down."

He knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her knees, his eyes scanning her tear-streaked face.

"He… he said he needed space," Yn continued, wiping at her face with her sleeves. "That we’re too young to be in something serious. But—but it wasn’t too serious, we were just happy! I thought we were happy…"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Max felt his heart physically ache.

"Did he say anything else?"

Yn shook her head, more tears slipping down her cheeks.

Max clenched his jaw. Coward. The boy had no idea what he had just done.

"You want me to talk to him?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.

Yn let out a broken laugh. "Dad, no."

"Just a talk," Max promised. "A short one. Maybe in a dark room. Maybe after I remind him that I used to drive at 300 kilometers per hour for a living."

That got a tiny smile out of her, but it was gone as quickly as it came. She sniffled again, curling into herself.

Max sighed and grabbed the softest blanket from the couch, wrapping it around her shoulders. Then, without hesitation, he pulled her against him.

She didn’t resist. Yn buried herself into his side, tucking her face into his chest like she had when she was a little girl.

For a long moment, they just sat there. Max holding his daughter, letting her cry it out.

Finally, after a while, her voice came out small and muffled.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we… can we watch Titanic?"

Max froze.

"Titanic?"

She nodded against him.

Max pulled back slightly to look at her face. Her big, teary eyes were staring up at him, pleading.

And just like that—he lost.

Because he would never say no to that face.

He groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face. "Do we have to?"

Yn pouted. "Please? It’s my comfort movie…"

Max grumbled something under his breath but reached for the remote. "Fine. But only because you’re sad."

A small, victorious hum came from Yn as she curled up under the blanket, resting her head on his shoulder.

The movie started.

Fifteen minutes in, she was already crying again.

Max sighed, accepting his fate.

For the next three hours, he did what any good father would do—he suffered in silence.

Yn sobbed openly at every emotional moment. Max, being the responsible dad that he was, handed her tissues whenever she needed them. And when she was crying too hard to wipe her own tears, he gently did it for her.

Halfway through, when Jack and Rose were floating in the freezing water, Yn hiccuped through her tears.

"This… is so unfair," she sniffled.

Max sighed, rubbing her arm. "Yeah, I know, schatje."

"He should’ve fit on the door!"

"I know."

"Ian’s a coward just like Cal!"

Max had no idea who Cal was, but he agreed anyway. "Yeah. Definitely."

Yn buried herself deeper into his side. "I’m never dating again."

Max paused.

Would it be wrong to support that statement?

Instead, he kissed the top of her head. "You’ll find someone who deserves you," he murmured.

She sniffled, wiping at her nose. "I just want someone who’ll love me like Jack loved Rose."

Max hesitated. "Someone who dies for you?"

"No!" Yn groaned. "Someone who loves me unconditionally!"

Max pulled her closer. "Then that person is me, sweetheart. Because I will always love you unconditionally."

Yn let out a tiny, broken laugh, looking up at him. Her eyes were still watery, but there was warmth in them now.

"You’re the best, Dad."

Max smiled softly. "I know."

As Titanic played on, Max accepted that this was his reality now—comforting his heartbroken daughter, drowning in tissues, and watching a movie he absolutely hated.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[just-aake]

Detecting Love Part 3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 3 to Detecting Love. Sometimes being able to see lies isn't the only way to know the truth.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: fluff, light angst, slight violence

Words: 6011

Everybody lies.

It’s a skill everyone picks up from the moment they understand the world around them—instinctive, reflexive, necessary. 

Some might even say it’s the glue that holds society together, smoothing out interactions, saving feelings, keeping secrets.

Because lying is one of the surest ways to get what they want.

And when you’re the one person who can see every lie, it means you’re also the one possible thing standing in the way of what they want. 

Your power has been with you for as long as you can remember, an ever-present weight you’ve learned to carry. You’ve adjusted, adapted, built your life around it. Every conversation, every interaction—filtered through the crimson glow of deception that only you can see.

But “seeing” is the crucial part of your ability.

Which is why, at this moment, stripped of your sight, you find yourself completely at Natasha’s mercy.

The soft cloth tied around your eyes steals your vision, replacing the world with darkness. You lean back against the armrest of the sofa, letting yourself sink into the plush cushions, the absence of sight sharpening your other senses.

A soft rustling sound. The clink of items being placed on the coffee table. Then, the telltale shift of weight as Natasha settles onto the sofa beside you.

You reach out blindly, fingers stretching toward where you think she is. There’s a shift—so subtle, so deliberate—and instead of warm skin, your fingertips grasp at nothing but air.

Your hand drops onto the cushion with a quiet huff.

“You know,” you mutter, tilting your head in her direction, “this isn’t exactly what I imagined when you asked if you could blindfold me.”

A melodic chuckle answers you, warm and teasing. 

And then, a gentle touch—her hand finding yours, fingers sliding between yours in a slow, deliberate motion. The heat of her palm against your own sends a small thrill up your spine.

And then she tugs.

You’re pulled forward, your balance shifting unexpectedly. Your free hand instinctively reaches out, fingers splaying against the back of the sofa just in time to steady yourself.

The sudden proximity makes your breath hitch. 

Even without sight, you can feel her—warmth radiating from her body, the faint scent of something so distinctly her lingering in the air between you. 

The soft exhale of breath ghosts over your lips.

And finally, the press of her mouth against yours.

It’s slow at first, a testing, teasing thing. A mere brush of lips, then another. 

You hum in approval, leaning in to deepen the kiss, but just as you begin to chase the sensation, she pulls away—just enough to be out of reach.

You frown, lips still parted. 

A quiet chuckle rumbles from just beside you, her presence shifting slightly as she dodges out of the way.

“Was that what you were thinking about?” Natasha’s voice is playful, laced with amusement.

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. 

“More or less,” you admit, voice low. You tilt forward again, intent on finding her.

Only to be met with empty space. 

You sigh in exasperation, lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout. 

Natasha’s quiet laughter follows, rich and teasing, a warm contrast to your supposed frustration.

Then, she shifts, as smooth and quiet as the expert spy she is. 

A presence—suddenly close, just beside your ear, and a breath of warmth that sends a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Unfortunately,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with amusement, “I did have something else planned first.”

Before you can react, a gentle but firm nudge pushes you back into your original position. You huff in mock protest, but there’s no real resistance. 

Instead, you settle back against the sofa, patience threading through your posture as you listen to the subtle sounds of movement—the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of utensils, the faint scrape of ceramic against wood.

Then, Natasha speaks again.

“Open up.”

A brow arches instinctively, curiosity flickering in the absence of sight, but you obey nonetheless. Lips parting slightly, you wait. 

The moment the food touches your tongue, you process the flavors—unexpected, slightly off balance, but not bad exactly. 

You chew thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, as you now realize why Natasha had spent the last few hours in your kitchen while also forbidding you from entering the area.

“Mmm, oh, that’s…that was, uh…that tasted pretty good.” 

A beat of silence. Then, a soft exhale, barely containing amusement.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Natasha states flatly.

You grin, tilting your head in her direction, unbothered at being caught.

“Hey, between the two of us, who’s the one who can actually prove whether I’m lying?”

A featherlight touch brushes against your cheek—at the edge of the blindfold, her fingers tracing along the fabric. Then, a low chuckle, close and intimate.

“Right now,” she murmurs, “I’d say my odds are better than yours.”

You roll your eyes behind the blindfold, a grin still tugging at your lips. 

“Alright, Romanoff, what’s next?”

There’s a slight pause before you hear her retrieve another bite-sized offering from the table. Then, once again—

“Open up.”

You oblige, and the moment the different food hits your tongue, a genuine hum of appreciation escapes you.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really tasty.” 

You don’t need your sight to know she’s suspicious. It’s in the split second of silence, the charged pause that follows your reaction. 

Then—an offended scoff and a shove against your shoulder. It’s light and playful but enough to push you back slightly. 

You react on instinct. Before she can retreat, your hand darts out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. 

A surprised inhale escapes her as you tug—not forceful, just enough to unbalance her.

The next thing you know, she’s half on your lap, her weight settling against you as she catches herself with her hands on your shoulders.

For a moment, there’s only stillness. Warmth pressing against warmth, shared breaths mingling in the space between.

“I’m not lying,” you say softly, your voice steady with sincerity.

You tilt your head slightly, aligning with where you think her face is, wishing—just for a second—that you could see her.

But then, she moves.

Her hands rise, cupping your face gently, her palms warm against your skin. A second later, her forehead presses against yours, grounding you in the closeness of the moment.

“I know,” Natasha whispers.

And you believe her.

A part of you aches to look into her eyes, to see the truth in them. To witness firsthand the way her gaze would soften, the way the world itself would fade in the presence of her unwavering adoration. 

But the blindfold remains—a barrier, yet somehow making every other sensation sharper, more visceral.

You exhale, a slow, teasing smile forming. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” you murmur, “but was the blindfold really necessary for this?”

There’s a slight shift with Natasha turning her head from you as if debating whether to admit something.

“Trust me,” Natasha mutters, her voice lower, more conspiratorial. “My cooking has gotten to the point where it may be somewhat edible, but the presentation definitely needs some work.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles in your throat.

She shifts again, her nose grazing against yours now, a barely-there touch that sends a flutter through your chest. 

And then, in the smallest of murmurs, as her lips brush yours.

“Plus,” she whispers, the words melting into your skin, “I could do this.”

Just as you anticipate the full press of her lips, the warmth vanishes.

You lean forward instinctively, chasing after the kiss that never lands. Your breath stirs the space between you, lips parting slightly in expectation, but Natasha has already moved away.

A quiet chuckle—low and knowing—echoes from a different angle now, just slightly off from where she had been before.

Your brow furrows. 

“You’re playing dirty,” you mutter, tilting your head as if that might help you locate her.

Another soft laugh. Then—

A featherlight kiss at the corner of your jaw.

Your breath catches, but before you can react, she’s gone again, retreating before you can pinpoint her exact position.

You turn slightly in the direction of the touch, but then—

A kiss, just beneath your ear.

It’s brief, teasing, her lips barely making contact before they disappear again. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to catch her, to pull her back where you want her.

Then—

A press of warmth at the hollow of your throat.

Your exhale stutters, heat curling low in your stomach. You tilt your chin up, attempting to track her movements, but Natasha is already gone, shifting to another spot before you can react.

Then, a whisper, her breath fanning over your collarbone—so close but maddeningly out of reach.

“Having trouble, detka?”

You let out a quiet growl of frustration, reaching blindly in her direction, but she slips past your grasp once again. Your pulse pounds beneath your skin, every teasing press of her lips winding you tighter, pushing you further into a mix of heat and exasperation.

“I swear to God, Romanoff—”

Her laugh is like silk and fire, smooth but entirely too pleased with itself.

Another kiss, this time against the side of your throat. A sharp inhale escapes you, but before you can turn toward her, she’s gone again.

Your hands finally shoot up, reaching out in the dark, determined to catch her this time. 

But Natasha is faster. 

A whisper of movement, the ghost of her presence shifting away just before your fingers can close around her.

Your head falls back against the sofa, a frustrated groan escaping your lips. 

“I really hate you right now.”

She hums in amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin as she hovers close, just beyond reach.

“No, you don’t,” she counters easily, seeing through your lie.

You exhale sharply, trying to school your breathing. 

“Debatable,” you grumble, though you know a red aura is probably around you at the moment.

Warm hands suddenly cradle your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin with deliberate tenderness. 

You barely have time to process the shift before she finally, finally presses her lips fully against yours, capturing you in a slow, intoxicating kiss.

The tension in your body melts instantly, frustration replaced by the relief of having her exactly where you want her. Your hands find her waist this time, pulling her in with no intention of letting her slip away again.

When she eventually pulls back, just enough to break the kiss but still close enough that your breaths mingle, she smirks against your lips.

“See?” she murmurs. “The blindfold was necessary.”

You shake your head with a breathless laugh, fingers tightening at her sides.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still hopelessly in love with me.”

You sigh dramatically at the truth of her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Now kiss me properly already.”

This time, when she does, she doesn’t pull away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The steady hum of the AC sends another chill through the room, making you shiver involuntarily. Rubbing your hands together for warmth, you glance down at the document in front of you before shifting your gaze to the woman sitting across your desk. 

“You want to transfer to another department?” you ask, scanning the request form. “Are you sure?”

The woman nods without hesitation—at least, on the surface.

“It’s been weeks since our break-up, but he’s still trying to get me to take him back,” she explains, frustration laced in her tone. “It’s getting to the point where I can’t get anything done without him hovering over my shoulder.”

Your frown deepens, arms crossing as you lean forward slightly.

“Do you actually want to leave your department?”

For a split second, there’s a flicker of hesitation, a moment where her expression wavers. Then, in a much quieter voice, she mumbles, “Yes.”

And there it is.

The red glow appears instantly, surrounding her like a warning flare only you can see. A lie—one spoken more to convince herself than anyone else.

You sigh, setting the paper down.

“Look,” you say gently, “if he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t be the one who has to uproot your life to avoid him.” You meet her gaze firmly, making sure she understands. “Let me talk to him. If he still won’t leave you alone, I’ll transfer him to a different facility. Does that sound okay?”

She hesitates. Then, a slight nod.

No red glow this time.

Instead, relief crosses her face, and you nod in confirmation. 

“Alright. That’s what we’ll do.” 

She thanks you quickly, standing and heading toward the door. As you turn in your chair to discard the request form, you hear a sudden, surprised gasp.

Then, almost shyly, a mumbled greeting before hurried footsteps scurry away.

Without looking, you already know why.

“Everything okay?”

Natasha’s voice fills the room, smooth and unmistakable.

You glance back to see her stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind her as she gestures over her shoulder.

“That’s the third time I’ve seen her in your office this week.”

A teasing smirk tugs at your lips when you realize she’s been taking note of such things. You lean forward, elbows resting on your desk.

“Are you jealous?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Without hesitation, she tosses the hoodie in her hands straight at your face, hitting you squarely.

You let out a muffled laugh, peeling the fabric away.

“Don’t tease me,” she warns playfully, settling against the edge of your desk. “Especially after I took the time to bring this to you.”

You hum in amusement, slipping on the hoodie. Immediately, warmth envelops you, and with it, her familiar, comforting scent. 

Natasha watches as you sink into the hoodie’s embrace, snuggling into the fabric like it’s second nature. There’s a pause before she quirks a brow.

“How come you keep forgetting to bring your own?” 

You glance up, smirk never faltering.

“Because I love yours so much.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but the slight smile curling at the corner of her lips betrays any real irritation. Her gaze flickers downward as she plucks the paper smoothly from your hand. 

“A transfer?” she muses, raising a brow.

You exhale, leaning back into your chair. 

“Just some workplace romance drama.”

Your fingers find their way to her thigh, tracing slow, idle circles against the fabric of her pants. 

“You know how relationships between coworkers always get complicated.”

Natasha smirks, tilting her head slightly. 

“Is there something you’re trying to say here?”

You grin, about to tease her further, but a sharp beep interrupts the moment.

Natasha pulls out her comm device, checking it briefly before shutting it off with a sigh.

“I have to go,” she murmurs. “The team’s probably already at the hangar by now.”

“A new mission?”

She nods. 

“Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll probably be back for dinner.”

A playful look of apprehension crosses your face.

“Oh, uh…did you want to try cooking again tonight, or—?”

She shoves your shoulder lightly, making you laugh as she huffs in faux irritation, crossing her arms.

Still grinning, you scoot closer, uncrossing her arms just so you can hold her hands instead.

“I’m kidding,” you assure her. “I’ll wait for you to come back, and we can make something together. Sound good?”

Natasha exhales, her faux annoyance melting away into something softer. She nods, giving you a brief eye-roll before letting you hold onto her hands.

“Alright.”

You squeeze her fingers gently, tugging them slightly so she focuses on you again. Your thumb glides over the back of her hand in slow, soothing strokes. Then, the words leave your lips, unfiltered and true.

“I love you.”

It’s soft—barely more than a whisper—but woven with every ounce of affection you feel for her.

Her eyes search yours, something flickering behind her gaze. Then, she lifts a hand to your cheek, her thumb brushing along your skin as she leans in. 

The kiss is slow, lingering, and warm. Careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

When she pulls back, she hovers close enough that you can still feel her breath against your lips.

Her mouth parts slightly as if she wants to say something—as if she wants to say it back.

Your heart hammers at the thought, and for the first time, instead of fear, a surge of anticipation appears within you—to hear those words fall from her lips.

But she doesn’t say them.

The moment stretches, charged with something unspoken. And then, you exhale softly, filling the silence with your own quiet plea.

“Stay safe, okay?”

Natasha’s expression softens. A small, knowing smile lifts the corner of her lips as she whispers back, “You too.”

She squeezes your hand again before pulling away, slipping effortlessly back into her composed exterior. As she heads for the door, you watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering in your hands.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I swear I didn’t go near her this whole week.”

You barely suppress the sigh threatening to escape as you lean back in your chair, watching the man across from you. He sits rigidly, hands clasped together on the desk, his face carefully composed. But it doesn’t matter how well he masks his emotions.

Because the truth is written all over him. Or rather, it glows.

A constant red aura surrounds him, pulsing faintly as he continues to defend himself. His voice is smooth, and his delivery is nearly flawless—he might have been able to convince someone else if he had to. Maybe even turn the situation in his favor.

Too bad he has to face you instead.

You drum your fingers lightly against the desk, exhaling quietly. You’ve heard enough.

Rubbing your temple in exasperation, you make your decision.

“Alright,” you say, keeping your tone measured but firm. “I think the best option right now is to create some distance between you two. Why don’t you take some time off for yourself? And in the meantime, I’ll arrange for your transfer to another department.”

His expression tightens. “But—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Your voice cuts through his protest, cool and unwavering. You straighten in your chair, leveling him with a stare.

“Either you take the transfer,” you continue, “or you can gather your things and leave the Compound entirely. Your choice.”

For the first time in the conversation, his composure cracks. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly as if he’s struggling to process that you aren’t buying a single word of his defense. He looks at you as if searching for an opening, a way to manipulate the situation in his favor.

But you aren’t giving him one.

After a long moment, his jaw clenches. Then, reluctantly, he nods.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You nod once in return, already mentally filing the necessary paperwork to have him reassigned.

“Good. I’ll have the details sent to you by the end of the day.”

The meeting ends, and he leaves, his steps heavy with frustration. You watch him go, feeling a faint sense of relief that, at the very least, the situation will be handled.

It’s late by the time you make your way toward one of the labs. Most of the Compound has quieted down, the usual hum of activity reduced to only a few lingering agents and late-night researchers. 

You had planned to leave for the night since it’ll still be a few hours before Natasha returns, but something nagged at you—an instinct, maybe. 

A feeling that you should check in before heading out.

As you approach the lab, muffled voices filter through the partially open door. One is quiet and tense. The other is lower, insistent.

You frown.

Pushing the door open, your eyes narrow at the sight before you.

The woman who had come to you earlier stands backed into a corner, shoulders hunched as she clutches a tablet to her chest. 

The man—the same man you had just ordered to take some time away—looms over her, his stance rigid with barely restrained frustration.

“I just want to talk,” he presses, voice strained with forced patience. “You don’t have to act like I’m some kind of monster—”

“That’s far enough.” Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.

Both of them turn. 

The woman’s eyes widen slightly in relief while the man’s expression darkens. He straightens, schooling his features into something less aggressive, something more controlled.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he exhales, clearly displeased to see you again. “She agreed to meet up with me.”

The red glow appears around him once again, and you internally groan at his constant attempts at lying to you.

You step forward between them, pushing the woman back behind you as you face the man with your arms crossed. 

“I gave you two options. This wasn’t one of them.”

His jaw tenses as his eyes flicker in suspicion between the two of you. A subtle anger forms in his expression. Then, in a flash of movement, he lunges with a punch.

You react quickly, your hand shooting out and grabbing his arm in a vice grip. With a sharp pivot of your body, you use his own momentum against him—slamming him onto a nearby table with a heavy thud.

He groans, winded but still struggling.

“Stay down,” you growl.

But he doesn’t listen.

His other hand scrambles blindly, knocking over a tray of glass vials before grabbing something solid. Before you can react, he slams the tray into the side of your head.

The impact sends a wave of pain through your skull, sharp and searing. Shards of broken glass cut into your skin, and something cold, almost slick, drips down your face.

You stagger back slightly but force yourself to recover and move.

With a burst of strength, you throw a roundhouse kick, your boot connecting solidly with his chest.

The impact sends him sprawling to the floor, where he stays motionless, unconscious.

For a moment, all you can hear is the ragged sound of your own breathing.

Then, the burning starts.

A sharp, stinging sensation spreads from where the liquid seeps into your skin, trailing down into your eyes. It burns, an unfamiliar heat that makes your vision swim.

You press a hand to your forehead, blinking rapidly to try and clear your sight, but the pain doesn’t subside, and your vision becomes even more distorted.

The woman rushes over, worry painted all over her face. “Are you—oh my God, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine. Just call the medic team,” you grit out, even as your head pounds with each pulse of your heartbeat.

Despite the pain, one thought drifts sluggishly through your mind.

Natasha is not going to like this when she gets back.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Is this going to take much longer?”

You sit perched on the edge of one of the medical bay beds, an ice pack pressed gingerly against the side of your head. The cool sensation numbs the dull throb beneath your fingertips, but the sting in your eyes remains persistent.

Dr. Cho, standing, you assume, at the other end of the room, hums in thought.

“Depends,” she responds. “Can you open your eyes fully without struggling?”

Your eyelids flutter slightly as you make an attempt, but the moment they part, an intense burning sensation forces them shut again. You exhale through your nose, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“It’s just that I have dinner plans tonight,” you explain, shifting slightly in your seat. “So I really need to be home sooner rather than later.”

Dr. Cho pauses briefly before revealing, “I’ve already informed Agent Romanoff. She’ll be here shortly to assist you home.”

Your mouth parts in betrayal. 

“What happened to patient-doctor confidentiality?” you ask, turning toward where you think she is.

Before she can answer, another voice emerges from the doorway—low, edged with quiet challenge.

“Were you going to try and hide what happened to you from me?”

Your back straightens instinctively at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

Your mind scrambles for a defense, but all that escapes is an unconvincing response.

“Wha–I uh…of course not.” 

Footsteps approach—calculated, steady. Then, before you can react, a warm hand cups your cheek, fingers tracing gently over your skin. Another hand, softer but firm, wraps around your own, carefully prying the ice pack away from your head. The loss of the cool compress makes you wince slightly, but the warmth of her touch quickly replaces the sensation.

Under her breath, Natasha mutters, “Terrible liar.”

You huff a small laugh. 

“Hey, you can’t be mean to me. I’m injured here.”

An amused exhale leaves her lips, and though you can’t see it, you can feel the way her expression softens. Then, a slight shift as Natasha turns away from you.

“Why can’t she open her eyes?” she asks, her tone dipping into something firmer, more concerned.

There’s a shuffling of papers before Dr. Cho answers.

“Her optic nerves were affected by exposure to a trial serum during the fight. The blunt trauma to the head certainly isn’t helping, either.”

Natasha sighs, irritation laced in the sound. Her fingers find the ice pack again, pressing it gently back to the side of your head. You flinch slightly at the contact before your hands instinctively reach for her waist, tugging her closer as you rest your head lightly against her shoulder.

“You should train more on not leaving an easy opening for them to hit you like this,” she mutters, the words tinged with quiet frustration. 

You chuckle, tilting your head slightly.

“Let’s not forget that I still took him down while blinded.”

Natasha huffs, exasperated, but she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she shifts her focus back to Dr. Cho.

“So what can we do to help her?”

There’s a sound of rustling before footsteps approach.

“These eyedrops should help alleviate the pain and speed up the recovery process of the serum’s effects,” Dr. Cho explains.

“What effects?” Natasha asks in concern.

You can practically feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles tighten subtly beneath your touch. 

Dr. Cho hesitates momentarily before answering, “We’re not exactly sure yet. The serum is still in its trial phase. But based on what we know, whatever effects there are should be temporary.”

Before Natasha can question the doctor further, you sigh dramatically. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you say, making a grabbing motion in the air, hoping someone will hand you the drops.

A hand—undoubtedly Natasha’s—swats yours down before setting the ice pack aside next to you.

“Hold still,” she murmurs.

You feel her fingers cup your cheek again, tilting your face up slightly. Then, with gentle precision, she coaxes your eyelids apart.

Cool liquid drops into your eyes, and immediately, a wave of relief washes over the burning sensation. A slow exhale leaves your lips as she repeats the process for the other eye.

It takes a few moments before the sting fully subsides. Your eyes remain shut as you wait for the discomfort to fade entirely. Then, cautiously, you let your eyelids flutter open.

The blurriness makes you blink rapidly, adjusting to the light of the room. The familiar shapes of the medical bay start to take form, Natasha’s figure sharpening before you.

But something isn’t right.

Your breath stutters slightly, eyes darting around as an unsettling sensation creeps into your chest. 

Natasha notices your hesitation immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice steady but edged with concern. 

You hesitate, your pulse picking up as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing. Your brows furrow as you rub at your eyes, but when you look again, it’s still the same.

Her hands come up again, cupping your face, grounding you. Her warmth steadies your frantically beating heart. 

“Talk to me,” she murmurs, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale deeply, your gaze locking onto hers.

Then, quietly, you whisper,

“Everything’s gray.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You stare at the food on your plate, moving it around aimlessly with your fork. The once-vibrant colors that usually make a meal feel inviting are gone, leaving behind a dull-tinted palette.

Dr. Cho explained that the serum must have affected the nerves responsible for transmitting color signals to your brain. Thankfully, she assured you that the condition would be temporary. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say how long it would take for your eyes to fully recover.

Days? Weeks? Longer?

The uncertainty gnaws at you, making you lose even more of your appetite.

“You know,” Natasha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, calm and casual, “we could still order some takeout.”

You blink, looking up to see her sitting across from you, elbow propped on the table as she watches you.

“You don’t have to force yourself to eat that,” she adds, already reaching for your plate.

Your instincts kick in. Quickly, you maneuver your plate out of her reach, eyes narrowing in challenge.

“I like eating the meals you make me,” you say firmly. Then, to drive your point home, you take a large bite.

The moment the food hits your tongue, warmth spreads across your taste buds. Then, heat. A slow, creeping burn.

Your eyes widen slightly as the realization sinks in—it’s spicy. Uncomfortably spicy.

You cough lightly, reaching hastily for your water. Natasha watches calmly as you take a few gulps before finally catching your breath.

Swallowing hard, you manage to look back at her with as much composure as you can muster.

“See?” you rasp. “It’s not bad.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Then, slowly, a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she rests her chin against her hand, a look of undeniable fondness in her eyes.

“Liar,” she mutters, amused.

The teasing tone makes you want to smile—until your gaze drops to your hands.

Your colorless hands. You turn them slowly, searching. Looking for the familiar glow—the telltale red aura that has always been there whenever someone lies. 

But there’s nothing. An unease tightens in your chest.

“How can you tell?” you whisper before you even realize you’ve spoken the thought aloud.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks.

You lift your head, meeting her eyes.

“How can you tell that someone is lying?”

For a moment, she simply looks at you, expression unreadable. Then, something shifts in her gaze—understanding.

“Years of training and spy work help in that field,” she says, her tone light as she gives you a small smile.

You exhale slowly, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders.

“I’ve had my powers my entire life,” you murmur. “Now that I can’t use them…it feels terrifying.”

Natasha listens quietly and attentively. 

“How does someone live like this?” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “Not knowing whether someone is telling the truth or not?”

Silence fills the room. The weight of the question lingers between you, and for a second, you regret bringing it up.

But before you can brush it off, Natasha speaks.

“Sometimes,” she says gently, “we just have to trust our instincts.”

You glance up, skeptical, but she isn’t finished. 

“Other times,” she continues, gesturing toward you, “there are things we just know are true.”

Your brows furrow slightly, but she holds your gaze with quiet certainty.

“It’s how I know you’re telling the truth every time you say you love me,” she murmurs.

She pauses for a brief second before offering you a soft smile.

“I can feel how true it is in my heart.”

Something inside you tightens at her words. 

To feel the truth of something rather than see it—it’s a concept that should scare you. But as you sit there, watching her, listening to the quiet conviction in her voice, you can’t help but want that.

To believe without hesitation. To know something so deeply that no confirmation is ever needed.

You swallow, steadying yourself before you ask the question that you’ve wanted to hear the answer from her for a while now but have been too hesitant to ask.

“Do you love me?”

The words leave your lips softly, but they carry a weight that settles in the space between you.

Natasha tilts her head slightly as if searching your expression for the reason behind your sudden question.

And then, after a beat, she stands from her seat.

You watch as she makes her way around the table, stopping when she’s close enough to lean against the edge beside you.

Her hand lifts, fingers brushing gently against your cheek before her palm cups the side of your face. Her thumb strokes your skin—slow, deliberate.

And then, finally—

“I love you,” she says.

It’s firm, unshaken. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Just truth.

A breath of relief escapes her lips as the words settle into the air between you, as if she had been waiting—aching—to say them.

Your heart swells, warmth blooming in your chest.

And in that moment, you understand what she meant.

You don’t need your power to know she isn’t lying. You feel the truth in every word.

Without hesitation, your hand reaches up to the back of her neck, pulling her down into a deep, lingering kiss.

She doesn’t hesitate either. She returns it instantly, sinking into the moment as if she had been waiting for this, needing this as much as you have.

When you finally pull back, lips still brushing against hers, you murmur against her mouth, “I love you too, Natasha.”

A grin spreads across her lips, her breath warm against yours as she presses a featherlight kiss to your lips—soft, lingering, a quiet savoring of the moment.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice filled with warmth.

You barely have a second to bask in the glow of her confession before you catch the subtle scrape of ceramic against the wooden table.

Your instincts kick in immediately.

Without breaking eye contact, your hands find hers just as she tries to slide your plate away. With a firm grip, you press her hands down against the table, standing as you give her a knowing, pointed look.

“That doesn’t mean you get to take away my food, Romanoff,” you say, playful yet unwavering.

Natasha raises a brow at your challenge. She doesn’t pull away from your grip—at least, not yet.

Her expression shifts, mischief flickering behind her green eyes as she tilts her head slightly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’m trying to prevent the person I love from getting further injuries from my cooking,” she counters smoothly.

Then, without warning, she leans in, her lips grazing against yours—so soft, so fleeting that it barely qualifies as a kiss.

It’s a tease, deliberate, and infuriatingly effective.

You instinctively chase after the sensation, leaning forward, but she stays just out of reach, hovering close enough that you can feel the smirk curling against her lips.

Her breath fans across your skin as she murmurs, voice a hushed, teasing challenge.

“Do you really think you can stop me from doing that?”

The words send a slow shiver down your spine, and in an instant, the playful tension between you crackles like a live wire. Your fingers tighten around hers slightly, your grip firm yet unyielding. A silent declaration.

Your body presses closer, the air between you thickening as you arch a brow.

“I think I have a shot,” you counter, voice low, measured, daring.

Natasha hums, the sound laced with knowing amusement. Her eyes flick down to your lips, lingering for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours, her own shimmering with something equal parts affection and mischief.

She tilts her head slightly, and the corner of her lips quirks up.

“You really are bad at lying,” she murmurs. 

And then, before you can respond, she closes the distance.

Her lips press against yours—not teasing this time, not fleeting. The kiss is slow but firm, filled with an unmistakable sense of certainty.

You lean into it without hesitation, swallowing any words she might have added, neither confirming nor denying her remark.

Not that it matters. 

You already know the truth without needing to see the red glow around yourself.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! I know a lot of you were looking forward to this, so I hope you all were able to enjoy this part also.

[notsodelirious]

OKAY hi!! a request that's been hanging in the back of my mind about that jayroy/reader one, is basically just wanting to know what their routine becomes as a slowly establishing poly relationship (i just love their dynamics so far, it's super sweet!) and how will the reader eventually interact with Lian? i feel like reader could be more nervous before meeting her and then become an absolute natural when interacting with kids maybe, but that's just me, i think HAHAH

Hi! really glad you requested this <3 I hope you enjoy this small conclusion to the trilogy

synopsis: Roy wants you to meet Lian

notes: SFW, and explicitly fem!reader with the use of she/her pronouns

tags: established relationship, fluff, minor angst, m x m x f, wc: 2.7k words

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (current)

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

The oven fan whirled softly as the savoury aroma of your cooking wafted in the air. The lights were dim and buzzed softly, syrupy rays of honey catching the swirling smoke of baked empanadas. A radio played softly from the kitchen island—outside, the city began to wind down, as streetlamps flickered on and people went home for the evening.

Jason nudged your hip with his lightly before pointing to the filling bowl by your arm with the spoon he had in hand—you slid it over before returning to your folding, swiftly closing the edges with a deft hand and slipping it onto the baking tray. It was your third one so far—a lot, yes, but you’d initially made too much filling, so the rest was going to Roy’s neighbours.

The man in question sat behind you, doing nothing but watching two of the most important people in his life happily cook dinner together—he’d been banned from touching the food after he’d tried making an empanada; which burst and spilled all over the tray. So he was relegated to the sidelines, overseeing the oven timer instead.

“How many more do you reckon?” you said as you hooked a finger past the rim of the bowl, dragging the fillings a little closer to you, “Like, half a tray?”

Jason leaned over to look, before nodding, “Yeah, probably.”

“And that’ll cover most of the pastry anyway.”

Jason just hummed, before kissing your forehead and going back to stuffing and folding the empanadas.

You shivered slightly when a hand rested on your lower back—Roy leaned over to peer at your work over your shoulder. Jason was always deceptively quiet despite his size but Roy could be too when he wanted to.

“What are you doing so close to the food?” you said teasingly, slipping one more turnover onto the baking tray.

“Need to pull out that batch in a minute,” he said as he gestured towards the oven but didn’t look away from your hands, “Why? Miss me?”

Jason snorted beside you and Roy’s head turned as he smirked.

“Aww, babe, don’t be jealous,” Roy cooed mockingly, “I love you too.”

“Your hand in her back pocket is the only reason you came over.”

Roy side-stepped to your other side. The smack then clatter of Jason’s spoon made you giggle softly. Jason covered his ass where Roy had slapped him, fixing him with a glare.

“Keep your hands-“

The timer went off, “Oh look at that, gotta go!”

Jason scowled but let him go, especially as he opened the oven; a wave of heat brushed over you as Roy used a tea towel to pull the tray out and set it on the stove grates.

“Want me to take that one?” he said as he pointed to the tray you had been filling up—you nodded as you passed it to him, watching him slip it in and put a timer on.

Roy slipped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched you both finish the last of the empanadas and brushing them with egg yolks; he never got away with hugging Jason from behind, because he preferred to have full range of motion when cooking and didn’t like anybody stood behind him, but they had both quickly found out that you didn’t mind and Roy took full advantage of that.

You began stacking dishes, wiping down the worktop—Jason took the bowls and cutlery from your hands and you moved to go put the first serving on the table.

Roy’s arms tightened around you.

“Hold on, baby” he said, tugging you back against him.

“Roy, love, let me-“

“I want you to meet Lian.”

The bowl nearly slipped from your hands.

Roy caught it as you scrambled to regain your hold on it, and set it aside for you.

“Are you… sure?” you asked, nervously chewing at your lip as you looked up at Roy, whose grip on you finally loosened.

“We’ve been dating for several months now,” Jason said from where he was scrubbing dishes in the sink. Which was true—even if a little messily: all three of you having a night off at the same time made it hard to properly date sometimes.

Between school, work, Lian, and a secret fourth thing that definitely had nothing to do with their scars and bruises, your schedules didn’t always line up; the best you could do sometimes was going on a date with one while the other took care of Lian.

There were plenty of nights like this one, when the little one was with a friend or family, but they only happened a couple of times a month.

All this to say you weren’t ready to meet Roy’s daughter.

“She’s heard us talk about you,” Roy continued softly, his hands running along your sides, fingers teasing along the skin of your hip, just under the hem of your shirt. “And at this rate, I don’t think you’re going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“What if she hates me?”

Jason snorted, “She won’t hate you—she’s a lovely kid.”

It wasn’t her you were worried about, it was you. Sure you’d had kids in your life but none that you needed to actually get to like you. Your nieces and nephews, related and otherwise, had met you way before they could form words, let alone be cognisant.

“We’re going to the park tomorrow,” Roy said, “Join us.”

You swallowed, before nodding, “Yeah, okay.”

Roy tilted his head, smiling as he caught your gaze, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you returned the smile shyly. He kissed your cheek before finally releasing you and reaching to hand you back the bowl of empanadas.

“You’re the best; I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Tomorrow came very fast to you. Maybe a little too fast.

You were definitely freaking out.

“Nervous?”

“Jason, don’t.”

He raised his hands in surrender before lounging more comfortably on the park bench.

While Roy left to go pick up his daughter, you and Jason had decided to head to the park earlier than planned when he noticed you were getting a little restless staying cooped up in Roy’s apartment.

So now you paced around the bench, messing with your belt loop as you went.

“You can’t be this freaked out over a kid.”

“It’s not Lian I’m worried about,” you said, fixing him with a soft glare. Jason leaned forward to pin you with a searching look, resting his elbows on his knees like he always did when he tried to crack a hard case.

“Then what is the problem?”

“You are.”

He blinked at you, genuinely taken aback. Which… was fair; you knew what you’d said, “I just mean,” you sighed as you rubbed your face, “You love the kid—both of you. And she obviously loves you both too. I don’t want to mess this up because she’s important to you. What if I’m not good with kids?”

You risked looking up at Jason; he simply beckoned you closer. You collapsed next to him, defeated before you’d even begun.

“You’ll do fine-“

“You don’t know-“

“No, hey, look at me.”

You complied, more than reluctantly but you looked up at him. You wondered if he saw the mild, spiralling panic in your eyes.

“You’ll do fine,” he repeated, so softly like he was trying to soothe a spooked critter, “You really think Roy would let you around his only daughter if he didn’t trust you?”

You bit your lip and shrugged—you knew the answer was no, Roy had, and would, always be fiercely protective of his daughter. It was endearing.

But maybe somewhere it just made the impostor syndrome worse.

What if Roy trusted you and you managed to mess it up anyway? Because he was wrong about you? Because he’d misjudged you?

“The kid’s going to love you,” Jason said softly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “And if anything goes wrong Roy and I can step in, you’ll never be alone.”

You slumped but nodded, leaning into Jason’s side.

“Come on,” he laughed softly as he rubbed your arm, “Look alive. Look who just got here.”

“Jayjay!”

You both stood, just before a small blur of black and red slammed into Jason’s legs. He laughed as he reached down to pick Lian up, with the grace and effort one would a bag of groceries.

“Hey there, stinker.”

“I’m not stinky,” Lian said, trying to sound mad but she giggled the entire sentence.

“I don’t know,” Roy piped up as he walked up, just as Jason put her down, “Uncle Dickie said somebody was being trouble during bath time.”

“I’m not stinky!”

“Okay, bug,” Jason laughed as he ruffled her hair, “You aren’t stinky.”

It was only when Lian seemed satisfied with that conclusion did she seem to take notice of you.

She tucked herself behind Jason’s legs almost immediately. You smiled at her softly—kids’ sense of shyness and perception was so weird, but very sweet.

Roy knelt down beside her and nudged her softly.

“Don’t you wanna say hi? You were so excited in the car.”

Your heart warmed at that little tidbit and you kneeled to be eye-level with them.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said kindly, or at least the softest voice you could muster to not frighten the girl further, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Lian mumbled something as she played with Jason’s jeans in her grasp and Roy chuckled softly.

“Didn’t you have something to give her?” he prompted gently to which she nodded and glanced up at you.

She dug her hands in her pockets before slinking out from behind Jason.

She held out a bright red and yellow bracelet to you, dotted with cute flower beads and smiley faces, “Thank you for making my Daddy and Jayjay happy.”

“Oh sweetheart,” your heart melted as you took the bracelet, easily slipping it over your wrist, silently vowing to never take it off. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Lian kicked her feet as she looked down, mumbling what must have been a small “You’re welcome.”

She looked up at Roy, a little less nervous now that you’re out of her direct field of vision.

“Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, kiddo, go for it,” he smiled—as you stood she dashed away towards the playground fixtures, and the three of you were left to linger.

You kept your eyes on your pretty, new bracelet.

“She made that a while ago when she was with Kory,” Roy explained, making you look up from your wrist, “She was really excited to give it to you.”

“She looked like you were blackmailing her,” Jason snorted softly.

You smacked his arm, “She was just nervous—she was adorable.”

“And I don’t blackmail my kid!”

“Wonder why she chose these colours though,” you mused, loudly. The boys glanced at each other.

“I think we’re really bad at keeping secrets,” Roy said to which Jason just smacked him upside the head.

“No, you are.”

“Oi-“

Your laughter interrupted them as their attention snapped towards you instead.

“We’ll talk about it another time.”

Jason nodded while Roy grinned, “Yes, ma’am.”

Sitting around watching kids playing on a wooden ship wasn’t the most interesting thing you’d ever done with your day—but every time Lian popped up, waving and grinning widely, you couldn’t help how your heart warmed.

The three of you chatted throughout the afternoon—one of you always had an eye on the playground but nobody was too worried, or hovering over the little one’s movements like a hawk.

Jason was describing how Bruce taught him to bind a book in vivid detail when Lian ran up to you, nearly slamming into Roy’s knees.

“Daddy!”

“Yes, kiddo.”

“That girl has a really cool flower crown,” Lian declared, pointing towards a girl a little older than her, with a crown of daisies sat on her blond curls.

“She does, doesn’t she?”

“Can we make one?”

“Ah,” Roy glanced up at you and Jason then back down at his daughter, “I don’t actually know how to make one.”

“But I thought you knew everything!”

“But I don’t know everything, sprout.”

“I know how to make one,” you piped up and you could see the moment Lian’s wide brown eyes lit up.

“Really?”

“Do you actually?” Jason asked to which you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” you stood, dusting paint chips off your jeans, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go find the prettiest flowers.”

Lian eagerly grabbed your hand, wrapping her fingers around a couple of your own to drag you away with a surprising amount of force.

You glanced back to see your boyfriends snickering at you before eventually standing to follow you both.

You sat when Lian plopped down on a green patch of grass.

“You wanna find the really long ones,” you explained as you plucked an example and handed it to her so she could see the length you were talking about. “That way it’s easier to tie it together, yeah?”

She nodded and you both set to work, picking a handful of the prettiest flowers each.

You were vaguely aware of the boys behind you, but you paid them little mind as you started to explain to Lian how to weave the daisy stems together, letting her start her own as you made one yourself.

It took a couple of tries, and soft words of encouragement but she quickly got the hang of it, with surprising dexterity for a five-year-old.

“So, are you my Daddy’s girlfriend?” Lian asked as she briefly abandoned her daisy crown to look up at you.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I am. Is that okay?”

“But you’re also Jayjay’s girlfriend?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

You handed her a couple more flowers, the pretty ones that bled from pink to white from their centres.

“Well, you know how you can have more than one friend? And your friends aren’t just your friends, are they? They’re friends with each other too,” you explained, vaguely gesturing with one of the flowers—it was a sad-looking thing, with only a couple of petals left, but it slotted in nicely within the weave of your flower crown. “Well, it’s like that—but your dad and Jay mean more to me than friends. We all love each other very much.”

“Can I have two boyfriends when I grow up?”

You laughed softly, reaching over to help her loop one of the stems around the other, her small fingers struggling with the finer movement needed for the fragile plant.

“Well, if both your boyfriends are okay with it.”

Lian nodded, empty palms held up as she patiently waited for you to put her work back in her hands.

“Does this mean you’re going to take care of me like Jayjay takes care of me?”

“Well, do you want me to?” You gave the crown back

“I don’t know you.” You laughed softly—she stuck her tongue out as she tied more flowers together and you returned to your own. “But Jayjay likes you and Jayjay doesn’t like anybody.”

You snorted, covering it with a cough as soon as Jason looked up.

“Is that enough to put me in your good books?”

“But you’re not in a book.” You handed her more flowers as you smiled softly.

“You’re right, sorry,” you said as you looked at her and stretched your legs to put your finished flower crown in your lap, “Does it make you feel better that Jay likes me?”

“I think so,” Lian said, “Daddy and Jayjay really like you. And I think you’re really pretty and nice.”

“Well thank you, sweet pea,” you carefully placed your flower crown on her head before pointing down at hers, “Do you want me to show you how to make it a circle?”

She nodded but quickly thought better of it as her crown began to slip.

With careful hands, you showed her how to weave in the final stem.

“Tada!” she declared happily, showing off her finished crown.

“Tada,” you echoed, “Do you wanna go show your dad?”

“Yeah!”

She took off towards Roy and Jason with her wreath in hand, gentle with her grasp despite her skedaddling speeds.

“Daddy, daddy, look!”

“Wow! Did you make that? That looks amazing!”

Jason stood to meet you, all eyes still on the adorable Daddy-Daughter duo.

“No good with kids huh?”

“Shut up, Todd.”

(“Daddy? Can we get ice cream?”

“I dunno, sprout, it’s dinner time soon-“

“Roy, love? Can we go get ice cream, please?”

“…Fine.”)

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

She’s done folks <3 I really enjoyed writing the throuple dynamic, it was fun and honestly let me work on my characterisation a lot—on the other hand, I never want to write another 5 year old ever again, I love Lian but she was something to figure out

Anyway, my requests are currently closed while I work through my current ones but you can find my list of current projects and masterlist here

[ghostgirl-22]

p link

https://x.com/gaysexgang/status/1910790340375650451?s=46&t=oY926O_azsr0obp_vsHH7w

this with artrick <3

Hmm not sure if you’re the same anon… or just on the same wavelength but yes… Patrick’s absolutely gonna risk his professional license to fuck Art lol <3

CW: MDNI, NSFW, so… heed the warnings!! theres a little hint of dub con/cnc that’s resolved in the end, Patrick’s a licensed professional behaving unprofessionally, if behavior like this triggers you please dont read.

——

Patrick loves his job really. And he’s good at it. He’s never ever done anything like this. He’s a professional. Really. He honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. 

It’s just he’s actually the prettiest thing Patricks ever seen in his five years training and working as a masseuse (probably the prettiest thing he’s seen ever). Goldilocks curls, haunted blue eyes, tall but in an awkward gangly way… like he grew too quickly between 12 and 13 and never quite figured it out. Standing in front of Patrick, looking down at the ties on his robe, shy. 

Patrick didn’t mean it. But he did get hard just at the sight of him. Thankful that their uniforms come with an apron that is so long and loose. Honestly he took one class in college… freshman psych before he dropped out and from what little he remembers, this should be in the DSM. Trying to think when you’re horny. It’s a condition really. He can’t believe no one’s ever thought of this before. His psych professor would be so proud if he won the noble prize for being the first person to discover thinking with your dickitis… or whatever… a real and true condition. 

Patrick’s so hard and the client hasn’t even gotten naked yet. 

The client being Art Donaldson. What a fucking name. Patrick almost laughs when he spots it on the chart in front of him. 

“Okay um…Art…. first time?” 

“Mmhm… my fiancé got it for me, birthday gift,” Art says, soft little smile. Beautiful smile. If Patrick was a better person he’d go back in the lobby and get Sammie to ask another masseuse to take over. Especially now that there’s a fiancé. A beautiful boy with a fiancé. So very much off limits. But Patrick’s not a better person. He’s got this condition…

”So I’m Patrick…and it’s easy… just um… you can take off the robe and get on the table.” 

Art is compliant, shrugging the robe off and dropping it on the empty chair near the door of the suite. He’s deceptively solid for appearing so skinny. Bare chest chiseled, body stretched with lean corded muscle, pink nipples erect, his skin looks so soft over firm biceps. The small little towel is the only thing keeping his modesty and he’s blushing. God he’s turning fucking pink. Patrick almost unzips and starts jerking it right there. Strangled moan caught in his throat that he quickly swallows down as Art crawls onto the table, resting on his back. 

“Uh I usually start with you… with you on the… face down.” Words aren’t working for him anymore but only cause this is the prettiest boy Patrick’s ever seen. It’s like he was constructed in a lab based on all of Patrick’s masturbation fantasies. The only thing he could be doing to enhance the fantasy is be in some sort of uniform. 

“Oh god, sorry of course,” Art says, moving quickly to roll over. Fuck. Okay he hasn’t neglected his back muscles either. He’s Patrick’s walking wet dream and Patrick’s forced to behave himself because he’s a client. It’s kind of like a punishment.

He picks up the company's overpriced massage oil. Thirty two dollars for 8 ounces and a brand name. Patrick’s sure he’s found the knock off at Bath and Bodywork’s for six bucks. But it goes on warm and smells so sweet that the often snooty clients will pay for it like it’s gonna work miracles. He squirts it liberally on Art’s bare back and shoulders. His fingers itching to touch and not just Arts body. Art’s skin is warm, his body so tense. Patrick almost feels like a creep. This poor innocent client, he’s got no idea what’s going on in Patrick’s perverted mind. He starts chastising himself.  Trying his best to calm down. To be appropriate. To treat him like any other client. 

And then he moans. 

This soft little exhale as Patrick’s working along his shoulders and the broad expanse of his upper back that slowly turns into a very satisfied full bodied moan. Patrick bites his tongue and moves along that same stretch of skin and muscle again. Another satisfied sigh. It’s okay. It’s fine. Some clients are vocal. It’s part of the job. He wishes though that he wasn’t going insane.

”Lotta tension huh?” It’s a safe comment. It’s what he’d say to any other client. 

“Yeah and your hands are… I mean… this actually feels really… nice.” 

Patrick chuckles. He’s gonna behave. He’s gonna keep his job. The room is dim, soft instrumental music coming from a portable speaker, steam from scented diffusers. All of it meant to make the client relax but now Patrick feels crazy that this is actually his place of business. 

He works his way through a kink of knotted muscle nearing Arts lower back and earns another soft moan. “That’s right,” Patrick blurts it before he can bite his tongue. He expects Art to tense up… to say something but he doesn’t. He’s still on the table, unaffected. Patrick lets out a breath and continues, working his obliques. He’s breathy here. “You have amazing hands,” Art says, softly. 

Patrick has to swallow before he opens his mouth. “Mm I’ve heard that before.” 

Art’s shoulders move, a little laugh escaping him.  

“What do you do?” Patrick doesn’t usually like to talk but he’s in desperate need of distraction. 

“‘m a tennis player.”

“Well that explains the shoulder tension,” Patrick says.

”Yeah… my fiancé says… says i’m really tight.” 

“Yeah… I bet…” Patrick says quietly. 

“You feel it huh?” Art replies, aloof to the way Patrick meant it. 

“Yeah…I feel it.” Patrick’s working his way down towards the swell of his ass and another soft sigh escapes his lips into the forced serenity of the room. Patrick works just down to where the towel is sitting before he stops… just like he’s supposed to. The whole time Art is breathing, little gasps and delicious moans.  

Patrick’s hands are shaking as he moves away from the ass…to the legs. His calves are tight, the hair so fine he might as well be hairless. Legs so long and pretty like a girl. Patrick massages deep into the muscle and Art begins shifting on the table. “Mm feels really good.” He sighs. 

“Yeah?” Patrick coaxes. Then he remembers this isn’t his bedroom on pride weekend. This is his job. Where he works. 

“Mmhm, really. You’re so good at that.” 

God.

He’s working his way up Art’s thighs, when he fully crosses the line.  

”I actually…I think you carry a lot of tension right along here,” he rubs Art’s bottom over the towel. “I could get in there for you if you want?” 

“Yeah please, if you think it’ll help,” Art says eagerly. Too easy.

Patrick slips his hand just under the towel. Arts body is so heated there, Patrick gently massages along his ass cheeks. One side, then the other. He can hear Art breathing. Can hear himself breathing too. His dick is straining painfully along his pant leg. He almost slips a finger inside but stops himself. 

“Uh… okay how’s that?” His voice pitched so different than normal.

“Better,” Art says tightly. 

“Good, you can turn over.” Patrick lets out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’s almost done but he knows it’ll be so much harder to keep his expression professional when Art is looking at him.

“Well uh… can I have a minute?” 

Patrick pauses, heart rate picking up. “Uh sure… is everything okay?” 

“Mm I think I might have enjoyed it too much.” He laughs a little. “I’m sorry.” 

“Are you straight?” Patrick blurts. 

“Yeah,” Art says. “Yeah I’m sorry i swear this has never… this doesn’t…” 

“Me too, I’m straight too.” Patrick interrupts. “I promise it doesn’t even matter,” he says quickly. “It happens all the time. Gay, straight, doesn’t matter,” He lies. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. You can roll over I assure you it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

Art laughs a little awkwardly. “Uh okay…I keep forgetting you guys are like doctors. You’ve probably seen it all.” 

“Oh yeah,” Patrick says. Just hungry to get his eyes on it. Art settles on his back trying to cup his hand over it, trying to keep it pressed down to his pelvis but it bobs up tenting the towel. 

The blush goes all the way down. Pretty and ashamed and oh so hard.

”Fuck,” Patrick mutters. He’s gonna fuck him. He reaches for it, runs his palm over it over the towel. Forgetting himself. 

Art juts his hips upwards against his palm. “Is this… is this part of it?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, breathlessly. “Have you heard of a happy ending?” 

“Mmhm,” Art breathes. 

“This is a happy ending… everyone does it. It’s just… not talked about.” 

“Oh,” Art says. 

“Yeah… so just between us okay?” Patrick says, honestly not caring if he loses his job at this point. 

“Oh…okay…oh god,” Art closes his eyes as Patrick slips his hand underneath the towel and takes hold of him properly. A very healthy sized solid cock. Patrick slides the towel down so he can see it properly.

Pretty pink and perfect like he knew it would be. One night with a gorgeous straight boy like this could probably ruin him for a fucking decade.  

He covers his hand in more of the warm tingly massage oil and slides it over Art’s cock. He whines, thrusting up into Patrick’s fist. Patrick uses his free hand to tease at his nipple. Watches them go erect as he pinches them. Soft and pointed. Art gasps, arching up off the massage table. “Oh fuck,” he whines. 

“God its so fucking pretty,” Patrick hums. “Ever been blown by a guy before?” 

“No this is my… this is my first time.” 

“Yeah?” Patrick smirks, cause he hasn’t even offered to do it yet.  

Patrick leans over and feeds most of Art’s length into his mouth. Fingers playing with his balls. He tastes so good, salty with the sweet minty taste of the oil. “Oh my fucking god,” Art groans as Patrick licks up and down. Sucking hard. He starts fucking into Patrick’s mouth right away. A fucking dream. 

Patrick slides his free hand into his scrubs and starts jerking himself as Art thrusts into his mouth over and over and over. Art’s just moaning, needy and lost and Patrick’s drooling, slobbering all over him. It doesn’t take long before Art’s movements get erratic. “Fuck I’m gonna—“ he gasps through the end of the sentence and Patrick’s mouth starts to fill with the sticky wet heat of his cum. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Art moans as Patrick pulls off, some of it still leaking from Arts tip, dripping from Patrick’s lips. Patrick pulls the aapron off and yanks his dick out properly. jerks himself to completion while Art watches. Spills all over Art’s bare abdomen. Rubbing it in with his fingers when he’s done like it’s massage lotion.

“Mm,” Art hums sitting up as Patrick finishes, gazing at him wide eyed. “Was that um… is that extra?” 

Patrick laughs. “Fuck, if you come back I’ll give you that and more any day of the fucking week for free.” 

Art collapses back on the table, covering his face. “I really shouldn’t.” He draws one of his knees up. “But um… she really thinks… my fiancé thinks i need to loosen up and you… you have a really good… hands.”  

Patrick grins and wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Okay then um… I’ll have Sammie mark you down for the same time next week?” 

“Yeah and next week we can start on the uh… the front?” Art suggests, gesturing to his now spent cock.  

“Sure,” Patrick smirks. 

Thankful for the apron Patrick leaves the room to let Art clean up and get dressed while he straightens up in the employee bathroom. He returns to the front desk just in time to see a gorgeous fucking woman in a tennis skirt is in the lobby walking out behind Art. His breath catches in his throat as she catches his eye, her fierce brown eyes lingering on him like she can see what he did to her fiance. He smirks and offers a sheepish wave. She shrugs a little smile in response and walks out. Sammie looks up from the computer. 

“You and your magic fingers dude. He just booked you every Tuesday and Thursday for the next 3 months.” 

[gdinthehouseee]

Look At Me: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: you decide to visit your boyfriend while he's shooting a music video, and you notice the actresses getting a little too bold.

word count: 2326

tags: SMUT; jealousy, possessiveness, dom!reader and sub!daesung, oral (m receiving), cock worship, praise, p in v sex, fluff at the end

ao3 link special thanks to @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren and @berfgrimm for providing me with the inspo i needed to get through this <33

You had planned to surprise Daesung today, wanting to watch him film his latest music video. You had imagined yourself sitting back, enjoying the sight of your man working hard, maybe even sneaking a few playful winks at you between takes.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, you sat stiffly in the background, watching as the actresses on set got way too comfortable with him. It started with small touches—subtle, but intentional. A brush of fingers over his arm. A playful nudge that lingered too long. Giggling at things that weren’t remotely funny. Then, it escalated. One of them ran her manicured fingers over his chest under the pretense of adjusting his jacket. Another playfully smacked his shoulder but let her palm linger.

The worst part? Daesung barely noticed. He just smiled, nodding along, laughing in that warm, infectious way of his. He was being his usual friendly, kind-hearted self, and they knew it. They knew he wasn’t the type to pull away rudely. They knew exactly what they were doing—pushing boundaries, waiting to see if they could get a reaction. And oh, they were getting one.

Just not from him.

You stayed quiet, your lips curving into a deceptively neutral smile. But inside? You were fuming. The only thing stopping you from marching over and putting an end to their shameless flirting was the knowledge that Daesung was genuinely clueless about the attention he was receiving. That didn’t mean you weren’t going to do something about it. No, you would.

Just not here.

It wasn’t until you had stepped into the bedroom, later that night, when everything cracked. He was sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his t-shirt off and throwing it across the room. Tomorrow’s problem, no doubt. You crossed the room in easy, confident strides and he looked up, his usual soft smile adorning his lips as he went to speak. He didn’t get a word out before you rested your hands on his face and captured said lips in a greedy kiss.

He kissed back enthusiastically, like he always did, before you broke it to drop your forehead against his.

“Those actresses got a little bold today, don’t you think?” 

His heart stuttered in his chest, finally getting the answer to your oddly distant demeanour from the shoot and your sudden affection. He knew exactly what this was, and he felt himself getting harder by the second.

“I barely even noticed,” he whispered, staring up at you while your hands lazily dragged down to his bare chest.

“They thought they could test the limits,” you continued. “But they forgot something.”

“What’s that?” 

“That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Stood between his legs, you pushed him just firm enough that he fell back against the bed, and you took this opportunity to unfasten his belt, slide his jeans down his legs, and palm him through his boxers. You felt his cock twitch before his hips bucked, wanting—needing—more friction. Heat pooled between your legs at the sight. 

“Jagi…” he mumbled, unable to hide his panting. 

“Hm? What's wrong, love?” You tilted your head innocently, as if you weren't just about to press down a little more while your other hand rubbed the inside of his thigh. 

He instinctively opened his legs a little wider, squirming under your touch. “Need more—” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah—” 

“Ask nicely.” You demanded, slightly speeding your hand up on his dick while his hips bucked up once more. 

“Ah, please,” he said. “I need more, jagi.”

Before you could say anything else, he reached down in hopes of moving your hands—but you were quicker. You kept your hand on his dick while your other hand moved from his thigh to catch his wrist; you barely caught the little whimper that escaped his lips. 

“I didn’t tell you to touch, did I?”

“N-no…”

“Keep your hands to yourself, sweetheart.” You began, as you finally pulled down his boxers, his erection painfully springing free. “If you can be good for me… I’ll reward you.” 

Daesung didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to when he started to kick his legs a little to shove the rest of his clothes off, and you couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his desperation. Then, he moved back so he could prop himself up against the headboard while you climbed onto the bed and straddled his thigh. His hands dug into the sheets as your hand finally wrapped around his cock.

You started pumping it at an agonisingly slow pace. His dick throbbed under your delicate touch, and he wanted to be good for you—he really did—but he couldn’t stop himself from jerking up a little, still so desperate for more. You leaned forward to trail kisses down his neck, nipping at his burning skin, and sucking so hard to ensure there would be marks. 

“Jagi—” he gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

“Patience, sweetheart.” You whispered, taking in the way it sent a shiver down his spine. 

Enjoying the teasing a little too much, you trailed kisses and bites further down his body until you had to sit up again so you could reposition. You shifted so that you laid in between his thighs. Enjoying the sight of him practically squirming under your touch, you continued to scatter more kisses and bites on the inside of his thighs before licking a stripe from the base all the way to the tip. 

Immediately, his eyes shot open to get a good look of you savouring the way his sweet pre-cum tasted. He opened his mouth to speak, cutting himself off with a groan as his half-lidded eyes stared into your own as you took his length in your mouth. 

You bobbed your head on it, going as far as you could on his cock and ignoring the tears pricking at your eyes as he hit the back of your throat with another buck of his hips. His shy whimpers quickly became stuttered moans. Music to your ears. You teased him with a muffled moan that practically vibrated around his length, which sent another shiver down his back.

“Fuck, o-oh jagi…” he whined. 

Your hand momentarily returned to pumping him as you let yourself breathe for a moment. “I love this cock so much, always making me feel so good.” You whisper, before quickly licking the underside of it. 

He threw his head back at the sensation, unable—or, unwanting—to stop his breathy moans. 

“Isn't that right, baby?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“And this…” you squeezed it a little for emphasis. “This is all mine, isn't it?” 

“M-mhmm.” He mumbled again. 

You moved to continue sucking Daesung off, your own arousal soaking your panties when he let out another whine and snapping his hips up yet again. Desperate. So desperate for something; anything. So desperate for more. Such a needy little thing. 

“Sweetheart.” You sat back up again. His eyes shot open and he looked down to meet your seductive gaze. “What did I say? Be good and I'll reward you.”

“I— fuck.” He stuttered out as you stood to discard of your bra and panties. Then, you slowly crawled over to straddle him with ease. His dick strained painfully against your entrance. You didn't miss the way how his fingers curled further into the sheets, holding on for dear life. 

“Use your words.” You ordered, one hand landing on his neck as a warning, while the other trailed down his toned chest.

He nearly came from your possessiveness alone. “Please,” he whimpered. “I need more. Please, jagi.”

“What do you need?” 

“Please—”

Your hand tightened around his throat, just enough for him to let out another stuttered breath. Another warning. “Be a good boy and tell me.”

“I-I need to fuck you,” he began. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“You wanna be my good boy?” You whispered. 

He let out another whine, so you leaned forward to press a hungry kiss to his lips—he eagerly kissed back—and to line your entrance up with his strained cock. Your nails dug into his chest and neck.

“Be still for me, baby. No cumming until I say so.” 

With him melting under your touch, and using the previous mix of slick and spit as lube, you finally sunk down onto his length. Both of you let out a moan at the feeling. This wasn't the first time, and certainly not the last, but you couldn't help the way your walls clenched around him. You could practically taste the dominance slipping away as he took the opportunity to buck his hips and fuck you from underneath. His now sweaty hands gripped your plush thighs like his only lifeline. 

“Just like that, baby.” Your breathy praise only egged him on further, his thrusts growing sloppier; desperate. 

“Does this feel good, jagi?” Daesung tried to at least pretend to have some sort of authority. His whines said otherwise. 

Instead of answering, you moved your hands to cup his face and capture his swollen lips in yet another desperate kiss. Your tongue swiped out at his bottom lip, using his sudden gasp as a way into his mouth, and the two of you continued to ‘silently’ argue over who really had the power here. It definitely wasn’t him. Not with the way he shivered under your wandering hands, not with the way he whimpered every time he buried his dick deep inside you, and especially not with the way he melts under you. Both during sex and during any sort of affection. 

“Fuck, o-oh jagiya.” He whined again. He was fully squirming under you now, slamming into you with frantic thrusts. Telltale signs he was close. Not that you were in a better state, but you couldn’t not finish what you started. 

“You’re all mine, hmm?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Isn’t that right, Daesung baby?” 

“Ah, mhmm.” He mumbled, barely keeping his eyes open. 

“Use your words. Let me hear you say it.” You dug your nails into his shoulders. 

“I’m all yours—oh, f-fuck…” 

“That’s it, sweetheart. All mine.” 

You grinded your hips against Daesung’s, his hands moving from your thighs to your waist as he leaves a trail of hot kisses down your neck before he sighs again.

“Please,” he says before hiding his face against your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your even warmer skin. “Please, jagi, I’m so close.” 

“Then come for me. Be a good boy.”

With that, he fucked you with a few more desperate thrusts. Tears of pleasure formed in your eyes as he hit your sweet spot, your moans only encouraged him further. He loved being the only man who could make you like this. Your walls clenched around him one last time before you finally felt him release inside you with a final strained groan, your own juices leaking out around his dick; your own whimper escaping your lips.

Coming down from the euphoria, the two of you stayed there for a moment, the only movement were your chests heaving as you both tried to catch your breath and steady your heartbeats. You had to tear your eyes away from his parted, kiss-swollen lips before you got any more ideas. Instead, you smooth his hair back from his forehead, smiling down at him with that confident glint he knows too well.

“Damn,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You really didn’t like the way they were looking at me, huh?”

You raise a brow, brushing your fingers down his chest with a slow, teasing drag.

“I didn’t mind the looking,” you say smoothly. “They can look all they want. I just wanted to remind you whose hands you come home to.”

You pause for a moment before climbing off him, his cock slipping out of you, earning a sharp exhale from him. It wasn’t like the state you were in was any better. With your shaky legs, you stood up and momentarily retreated into the bathroom for a washcloth and towel so you could at least have some wholesome affection tonight.

As you clean him up—almost like an apology for your possessiveness—with a softer expression now, you tried not to think about how he hadn’t taken his eyes off you once. He decided to take your free hand and press a kiss to each of your knuckles. 

“You didn’t have to remind me,” he says, eyes locked with yours. “But... I’m not gonna lie. I loved that you did.”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss the edge of his jaw. “What’d you expect me to do? Sit still and look pretty?”

He groans and throws an arm over his eyes, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “You are pretty. But damn—I didn’t stand a chance.”

You kiss your way down his throat, then pull back just enough to wipe the sweat from his body with the towel beside the bed. He shivers at your touch, the afterglow still clinging to him like a second skin.

“I like seeing them watch you,” you admit. “Because they don’t know what happens when we’re alone.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “What happens when we’re alone?”

You grin slowly, settling beside him and pulling the blanket over both your bodies.

“I take you home, ruin you a little, then hold you until you forget anyone else even looked your way.”

He lets out a low, wrecked laugh, turning to bury his face into your neck once more. “You’re so cocky when I’m like this,” he mumbles against your skin. “I love it.”

You hum, fingers sliding through his messy hair as you kiss the crown of his head. You can feel his content smile against your bare skin. He sighs, arms curling tighter around your waist.

“Let them have their fantasies, Daesung, you’re mine.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

taglist: @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 

so uh... first smut fic how we feeling?? xd

[whytheylosttheirminds]

snooze - r.c.

note: originally posted on my old blog a few months ago, this is a repost!

summary: your man works hard, and you love him for it, but some mornings you just wish he'd stay in bed a little longer...

cw: smut, fluff, pinv, dirty talk, 18+ minors do not interact

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Rafe’s alarm rings through the large bedroom like a blaring siren, jerking you violently from the sweet sleep you were just wrapped in. He doesn’t hear it at first, still sound asleep next to you, snores rumbling through his bare chest.

You blink your eyes open, the room is still dark, though the first golden rays of the sunrise creep in through the small crack in the curtains. You twist your body towards Rafe, snuggling your head into his neck, an attempt to both shield your eyes from the sunlight and get his attention, desperate for him to silence the loud alarm.

After a few seconds, he still hasn’t heard it, so you reach up and gently tap his cheek.

“Baby,” you groan, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Too loud.” 

Rafe takes a deep breath in, eyes still closed as he reaches his bedside table, tapping his phone screen clumsily until the sound subsides.

He settles back in, placing a quick kiss onto the top of your head as he pulls you into his side. You sigh happily, running your nails softly up and down his chest and stomach, drawing little hearts and stars on his skin. He shivers when you graze over the soft skin of his lower stomach, following his happy trail down to his waistband. You fully plan on dipping your hand below it, where he’s already twitching and firming up for you under his sweatpants, but you get distracted by the delicious deep V lines on either side of his waist. You dip your pointer finger into the valley of muscle and trace the shape down, switching to the other side and drawing back up.

He stirs when you angle your finger to scratch lightly with your manicured nail, lingering just above the band of his Calvins that peeks out from his sweats.

“That’s so nice, baby,” he mumbles in his deep, crackling morning voice, “I love these hands.”

Rafe laces his fingers in yours with one hand, his other arm sliding under your neck and wrapping around your shoulders. He pulls you close so he can drop a sloppy kiss on your temple.

You sigh and lift your intertwined hands to place a kiss on each of his knuckles.

“Maybe you should stay home,” you suggest between kisses. “Then you can enjoy these hands all day long.”

He smiles knowingly, still not opening his eyes. You play this game every morning, trying to find ways to convince him to play hooky from work, though they never succeed. He’s always showered and out the door by sunrise, leaving you with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a quick kiss as you drift back to sleep.

“Sounds perfect, but I have an 8 a.m. with a potential investor,” he explains.

In the quiet, Rafe starts to drift off again. You continue to stroke his chest and think of all the many enticing reasons for him to stay, but before you can list them for him, his alarm blares from his phone again. 

You lean over him, reaching to the phone on his nightstand. He takes the opportunity to snake his hand around your waist and slide it under his big t-shirt you're wearing. His hands feel so nice on your lower back, you pause, almost forgetting what you were reaching for in the first place, until the alarm rings out again, making you both wince with its volume. You tap the screen desperately until it’s silenced.

“Just hitting snooze so we can have five more minutes,” you say, settling down over him and resting your cheek on his chest.

“Liar,” he says with a sleepy smirk. “You turned it off.”

You faked an offended gasp, “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such deception, Rafe Cameron.”

“So when five minutes go by and the alarm doesn’t go off again, what are you gonna say then?”

“I was hoping you’d fall back to sleep by then,” you confess with a giggle, laying a soft kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

“I knew it.”

He sits up in bed, causing you to fall back onto the pillows, immediately missing his warmth. You paw at his arm as he reaches over to check the time on his phone.

“Nooo,” you whine. “Don’t go yet.”

He smiles down at you, leaning over to place loving kisses on the edge of your jaw and up your face, touching his lips to your temple one final time before standing from the bed.

Your vision is still fuzzy from sleep and the darkness of the room, but you follow the general shape of him as he walks to the wall of windows on the other side of the room. He’s shirtless, the lower half of his body covered in soft gray sweats. You squirm a little under the comforter as you take him in. You didn’t know it was possible to be this attracted to someone, but it’s like every day you’re with him, your body craves him more, and it makes it that much more painful when he leaves.

Rafe interrupts your reverie by lifting his arms and throwing the curtains wide open. You flinch at the bright sunlight that pours through the windows like it’s burning you.

“Too bright, Rafe!” You protest. 

He just turns with a smug smile, his tall silhouette casting a shadow over the bed, blocking you from the blinding sun.

“I’ll make you some coffee before I go,” he promises as he leaves you alone in the bedroom, pulling a pillow over your face to shield yourself from the daylight.

It’s silly to complain when his hard work is the whole reason you can lay in this comfortable bed so late into the morning. When he’s not with you, he’s at the office, earning you all this comfort, but it still seems unfair when you want him this badly.

You used to be an early riser, but the way he lays you down every night when he gets home, fucking you hard and slow until you fall asleep clinging to him, it’s made you a whole new person. You’d pay him twice his salary if you had it just to get him to stick around a little longer, make you feel that good again.

A devious idea comes to your brain, and you pull the covers from yourself quickly, making fast moves before he gets back.

When Rafe comes back into the room a few minutes later, he nearly spills your hot coffee all over himself at the sight that greets him.

The comforter is bundled at the end of the bed, nothing covering your body as you stretch out on the mattress. You’ve switched out his t-shirt and your baggy sweats for a silky pair of boy-short panties and a lacy bra. You're facing away from him, laying on your side, the curve of your hips and peekaboo view of your ass casting a scandalous shadow on the wall. The fabric of your panties is so flimsy, it climbs up the curve of your ass, revealing you to him as if they’re barely there at all.

“Nice try,” he shakes his head, though the small crack in his voice betrays his defiance. You know you’ve got him hard and frazzled.

“Hmmm?” You don’t turn to look at him, instead bending your knee and sliding one leg up higher to give him an even better angle of your ass. 

“It’s not gonna work…” he insists, setting your coffee down, fully intending to turn and make his way to the walk-in closet to get dressed, yet somehow finding himself completely immobile.

“What’s not going to work?” You echo, feigning cluelessness in a way you know is gonna drive him mad.

“I really do have a meeting,” he continues his one-sided argument, trying desperately to convince himself. “I can’t be late, it’s important.”

“Okay! Have a good day, baby,” you yawn, shifting on the sheets as if you’re just getting comfortable, hoping he doesn’t see the smile you’re hiding in your pillow, obsessed with the strain in his voice that reveals his resolve is cracking.

The mattress sinks slowly under his weight, and you can feel the heat of him before he even touches your skin. His hand slides up your leg, from your ankle all the way up to your thigh, where he pauses to squeeze your flesh. 

“You’re gonna be late,” you let your mouth twist into a cheeky smile. 

He huffs a defeated laugh, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder in frustration, “you’re killing me.”

“I’m not doing anything!” You giggle, arching your back and giving him a better glimpse at the other side of you, your nipples already pebbling in anticipation, clearly visible through your see through bra.

Rafe responds by saying your name, so low and needy it’s almost inaudible. You twist your torso just enough to meet his eyes, blinking at him sweetly through your eyelashes.

“Yes?”

He doesn’t respond with words, just a piercing gaze. His blue eyes are blown wide with lust as he takes you in, dragging over your body helplessly, fighting an internal battle as he plots his next move. Filthy thoughts are etched on his face, you know him well enough by now to see the gears turn behind his eyes, imagining all the things he could do to you if he stayed.

“Can I at least have a kiss before you go?” You ask, hoping the taste of your lips will tip the scales in your favor.

He can’t deny you a kiss, he never does, so he leans in and meets your lips with a nod, his hand rising to softly cradle your jaw. You run your tongue so gently across his lower lip that he wonders if he imagined it. When you part your lips for him and release a small sigh, the game is over.

With another squeeze of your thigh, he pulls back from you just enough to reach his phone on the nightstand. You watch with a victorious grin as he types out a quick message, surely to his secretary, and tosses the phone somewhere on the bed. 

“Bought us an hour,” he tells you.

“Only an hour?” You pout.

“Don’t be greedy,” he teases you, shuffling behind you so he can spoon you, placing a dozen quick kisses up your arm, making you giggle in delight.

Rafe’s hand slides from your thigh to your waist, dipping to splay over your stomach so he can pull you flush against him. You sigh dreamily as he begins to suckle on your neck, leaving little pink marks everywhere his lips touch.

“Wasn’t that kind of an important meeting?” You ask, feeling a little guilty for potentially making him miss out on a good opportunity.

“Nothing’s more important than this,” he assures you.

You let out a little whimper at his sweet words, igniting a fire in him. His hand drifts up your stomach until his palm is settled over your breast, kneading gently. 

“Oh,” you gasp. “That feels good.” 

“Yeah?” He drawls with a crooked grin, pausing to drag the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Just needed a little attention today?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Needed you.”

His hand leaves you for a minute to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You lift your arms up so he can slide it off and toss it somewhere on the floor of the massive master suite.

The rough skin of his palm comes back to rest over your hard nipple, the sensation is so sweet that your whole body hums with pleasure. 

“God you’re so soft,” he breathes over the wet spot he’s just left on your skin, “love these tits so much.”

With that confession, he pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, the pain lasting only a second before he smoothes it over with the pad of his thumb.

“Rafe!” You squeak out at the sting.

He shushes you gently, lowering his mouth to pull your earlobe between his teeth, the pressure strong, but not strong enough to pull your mind from the way his hand is dropping lower on your torso towards your panties. A pool of silky arousal gathered between your legs, you rub your thighs together in search of friction as his hand continues to move maddeningly slow.

“Don’t worry baby,” he coos, “gonna take good care of you like I always do.”

Your fingernails dig into the sheets in preparation when he finally reaches the band of your pantines, lifting them to slide his hand in.

“You always take such good care of me, Rafe,” you agree.

He places his other arm under your head for support, allowing you to look down at the outline of his big hand wriggling under the damp cloth of your panties. His fingers find your entrance easily, pausing outside to swirl in your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he praises. “Always so ready for me.”

After a few more swirls, he’s satisfied with the coating, dragging his fingers back up to your clit. He hits it right away, he could find it in a hurricane. He runs his fingers over you at the perfect angle, starting with delicate figure eights.

Your head falls forward in ecstasy, unable to form words. Rafe bends his arm at the elbow, laying his hand flat against your forehead to pull your head back into his chest, your neck arching with the stretch. The pink spots he’s left on your exposed throat have darkened nicely, giving him a chance to appreciate his handiwork. He reattaches his lips, desperate to claim you as many times as he can, hungry for you.

The sweetest, breathiest moans fall from your puffy lips, and he basks in them like the sunlight that’s bleeding through the curtains. He’s nibbling on your shoulder like it’s his breakfast as his fingers pick up speed on your clit. 

Between circles and flicks, he stops to tap quickly with the tip of his middle finger, the rhythmic pressure and release has the sensitive bud pulsing. You chase his fingers pathetically with the roll of your hips, needing more.  

As you writhe, his cloth covered cock slots between the valley of your ass, each wave of your hips grinding perfectly against his shaft. You shut your eyes tight, picturing his perfect length and the gorgeous noises he makes when he comes. You need to hear those sounds like you need air.

Your hand releases from the sheets, reaching behind you to rub the hard ridge of his dick over his sweatpants. Rafe clenches his jaw, a throaty groan vibrating through his chest and straight into your body. 

“This what you wanted, angel?” He asks, his tone dominant and desperate all at the same time. The perfect balance of ownership and a genuine urgency to please you.

“Just wanted you,” you confirm through your pants, grinding yourself into his hand, “all I ever want is you.”

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

No further instruction needed, your hand finally dips below his waistband, immediately finding his pulsing cock. 

“Shi-ii-t,” he shudders as you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly and reveling in how hard you’ve made him.

You notice goosebumps rush up the arm that’s disappearing into your panties, you realize your hands must be cold. You know he’d never complain, but you don’t just want him to feel good, you want him to feel as amazing as he makes you feel.

You draw your hand back from his boxers, and he groans at your absence, nearly protesting until he sees what you’re doing. You dip your hand into your own underwear, gently nudging his out of the way, and collect some of your wetness onto your own fingers. Your hand glistens in the morning sunlight when you pull it out, displaying it for him before returning your grip to his cock.

He’s speechless. Eyes rolling back at how fucking sexy that was, desperate to ground himself before he comes too quickly in your hand. He moves his palm down from your forehead to cup your throat, not too much pressure to hurt, but enough to remind you how strong he is. You whimper, swallowing hard under his broad palm.

“Jesus christ, baby,” he sputters, “you’re my fucking dream girl.” 

You fall in sync, Rafe rubbing tight, firm circles over your clit, while you slide your hand up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip with each stroke to swirl your thumb in the precum he’s leaking. His knuckles flex in response to each flick of your thumb, pads of his fingers holding and releasing your neck in steady pulses. 

You squeeze his cock as he squeezes your throat, so perfectly aligned in your drunken pleasure that you both chuckle at how unbelievable it feels. But if you’re laughing, then surely he’s not doing a good enough job.  

He draws your clit between his fingers, rolling over and over, not pinching too hard, but just hard enough to set every nerve ending in your body on fire. You draw your knees up, your hand slowing involuntarily on his cock as you feel the familiar coil tighten in your tummy, seconds from snapping.

“I can’t believe you’re real, you’re so perfect,” Rafe whispers into your shoulder, kissing you over and over.

“Gonna make me come talking like that, baby,” you warn him.

“You want that? You want me to make you come in my hand?”

“Not yet,” you choke out, so close that you’re already dreading coming down from your high. It’s too soon, it’s not enough. No amount of him will ever be enough, but you at least need him closer. “Want you inside, need you in me.”

“Anything. Anything you want,” he swears as he pulls his hand from your core to rip your panties down your legs. You pull them off over your feet and toss them away as he removes his pants and boxers behind you. 

The fabric finally out of the way, his dick spears into your back, somehow always so much bigger and more powerful than you remember. You pray he doesn’t make you wait any longer, wriggling back onto your side so your soaked pussy is perfectly exposed to him. 

In the soft morning light, he finally gets a good view of your slick folds, nearly busting all over your back at the sight. He’s filled this new condo with the most expensive art he could find, but nothing comes close to the masterpiece in front of him. To him, you’re fucking priceless.

He wastes no more time, tucking a hand under your knee to angle your leg up. You take his cue, understanding each other without words as always, and brace your foot flat against his calf, propping yourself open for him.

A combination of the angle and his picture perfect memory of your walls has his tip hitting your g-spot on the very first thrust. He stretches you so sweetly, the tight fit making your brain go foggy and your mouth fall open, gasping helplessly.

“Like this?” He asks, not taunting but not really asking either, already knowing the answer to “this how you want it?”

“Not quite,” you whisper. 

He freezes with confusion before you reach behind you to find the hand he has braced on your hip, pulling it up and placing it back around your neck.

“There,” you say, “now it’s perfect.”

“Holy shit,” Rafe stammers, hips jerking forward, slamming into you a little too hard, lost in his infatuation with you. 

At first he worries it’s too hard, but a dreamy moan rises from your throat and you encourage, “yes, yes, like that, please.”

Mouth agape in disbelief at his pure fucking luck in finding you, he obeys your plea, pulling back slow before thrusting in hard again. The hand that’s not on your throat pushes into the mattress beneath your head, lifting himself up for leverage. He continues to fuck into you hard, pausing after each stroke to hit as deep as he can possibly get. You’re a mess, crying out with each slap of his hips against your ass, blabbering incoherently as you clench around him.

“Ohhh my god you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth. “‘I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing me like that. You gonna let me come inside?”

Your eyes fly open as an invisible light bulb goes off above your head, you twist to meet his eyes, his lids low and irises completely blown out with lust.

“If I do, will you stay home?” you proposition him.

He scoffs, shaking his head in pure amusement and adoration, tongue digging into the side of his cheek in the cocky way you love. From this angle, the sharp features of his perfect face hover just inches from yours. The sheer attraction you feel makes your walls flutter around his cock, a tease of his reward if he promises to stay.

Rafe screws his eyes shut, his head falling back as you pulse around him repeatedly.

“Fuck! Yes, I promise, I promise,” he cries out as he continues thrusting into you sloppily, “I’ll do anything. I’ll sell my house, I’ll change my fucking name. Just ask me and I’ll do it.”

His theatrics delight you, bubbly giggles rising from your stomach as he loses himself in you. You can’t remember ever loving anyone as much as you love him at this moment.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, completely enamored with the man inside you.

Without a thought, he slips the hand on your throat to the back of your neck, kneading your skin as he pulls your mouth to his. It’s not gentle, like his typical good morning kisses, it’s messy and wet and hard and completely mind numbing. You bite on his bottom lip, almost accidentally, losing your mind at the taste of him.

“B-baby,” he stutters, his hips doing the same, “can’t - fuck -  can’t wait any longer. Tell me where you want it.”

“Mmmph, inside, please! Please fill me up, Rafe.”

It’s all he needs to hear, he buries himself deeper than he’s ever been. 

“Come with me?” he pleads.

You’re so close, you can’t even find words, nodding rapidly. He hits your g-spot one final time and you slip off the edge of the earth into uncut ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back and your toes dig into his leg, bruising his calf. His tip hits your cervix hard, hot cum pooling deep in your core, spilling out of him for longer than you thought possible. His breath is ragged and his chest heaving as his body jerks around you.

Both trembling, his arm gives out and he slumps down, curled around you. Sweaty and satisfied, you catch your breath together, Rafe still buried deep. 

He plants wet kisses on the nape of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way and blowing gently to cool you down. You see only bright white behind your closed eyes, floating in a perfect pleasure you didn’t know was possible until you met this man.

After a few moments, or possibly hours, he starts to pull out. Your hips chase his defiantly, refusing to lose his warmth again.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, reaching back to grab his hip and hold him in place. “You promised.”

“I also promised to change my name, you gonna make me do that, too?” He laughs.

“Maybe.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna call me?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “How about daddy?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, Rafe twitching inside you, already hardening again. He knows you’re just playing with him, but his mind spirals out of control at the pet name. He’s so in love he thinks it might kill him.

Settling back into you, he reaches around the bed until his hand finds his discarded cell phone.

Your lips twist into a smirk as you hear him dial, still buried in your heat.

The dial tone rings a few times and he says, “yeah, gonna need you to clear my whole day. Something came up.”

He thanks the voice on the other line, hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere in the mountain of blankets on the floor.

“A whole day?” You ask, nestling back into his chest. “Aren’t you gonna lose the money from those investors?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, laying more slow kisses on your shoulder. “Worth every fucking cent.”

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[differenteagletragedy]

A loose continuation of this little thing where you love Simon and Simon loves you too but he also loved Johnny :')

Simon keeps some of Johnny's ashes in a tiny little vial that you pretend you don't know about. Most of the time he keeps it in a box in his nightstand, sometimes you catch him sitting on the bed you share, twirling it in his hands, lost in some memory you'll never know.

You tell yourself it doesn't bother you, knowing even as the notion crosses your mind that it's a lie.

It's not that Simon tries to be deceptive about it, or about anything, it's just that he doesn't like to talk about it at all. He'd told you when things started getting serious between you that he had a lost love, a soldier that fought and died beside him, and as time went on, you got more glimpses.

You learn, in quick little bursts, just how much Johnny meant to him. He tells you offhandedly some funny thing he said on some mission down in Mexico. There's some passing remark when winter comes about how much he'd loved the snow. During one shopping trip, when Simon spends a little too long looking at a blue t-shirt, his hands, holding it up and some far away look in his eye, you think you get an idea of what color his eyes were.

And you try to be patient. You'd love nothing more than to be understanding, and logically, you do understand it. You know that human beings are complex, that a person is capable of loving more than one person in their lifetime. It doesn't matter that if Johnny were still alive, Simon wouldn't be with you -- you don't want that to matter, because it's not the reality.

But still, it feels real. It's a real pain, deep and aching and persistent. It makes you wish you didn't love Simon so damn much, because maybe then it would be easier to look past all this.

Sometimes, when it throbs, the pain makes you mean.

"I'm right here, Simon," you tell him on a bad day.

"I can see that," he responds, willingly ignoring the weight behind your words, and it sets you off.

Your voice rises, shrill and cutting, as you say, "He's dead, Simon. I know you loved him, but he's dead."

His eyes go flat, the warmth in the brown seeping away and leaving two dark pits in its place. But it's not scary. It's just nothing.

"Look," you start again, willing your voice to steady, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be mean, but if you want to be with me, then I'm gonna need you to actually be with me. Because the way it is now ..."

"I give you all I can."

It's a quiet truth. Another handful of small words that are enough to rip you wide open.

Part Three

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Just A Normal Day On The Going Merry

Yandere Strawhats x Sweetpea

She was sprawled on the sunny wood, sandals off and sleeves rolled up, locked in a mock wrestling match with Chopper. He was currently “fainted,” tongue out, little hooves twitching dramatically.

The Going Merry sliced across the glittering blue like a dream. Sunlight shimmered over the ocean in bursts of gold, the air warm and salted, wind teasing at the sails overhead.

Sweetpea sat cross-legged on the deck, a soft pink ribbon Chopper had tied into her hair fluttering with each gust. Her sandals had been discarded nearby, and she was laughing—full-bodied and bright—as Chopper dramatically pretended to faint from a tickle attack.

“Agh! Too strong, Sweetpea!” the little reindeer cried, rolling on his back.

“You promised you wouldn’t use your Rumble Ball!” she giggled, hands up in surrender.

“I’m not, I swear!” Chopper puffed up, cheeks pink beneath his fur. “But you’re cheating! That laugh—it’s not fair!”

“Doctor Down,” she whispered, poking his fuzzy cheek. “I thought you said you were the strongest on the ship?”

Chopper jolted up, flustered. “T-That’s only when I’m serious! I was holding back! If I really went all out, you’d be on the floor!”

The girl pouted. “Mean… I just wanted to play…”

He instantly folded. “Wha—N-No! You’re amazing! I was just kidding, Sweetpea!”

The nickname had become her name after the accident. Something about the real one had been swept out with the tide — a head injury in some long-gone storm, the details swallowed by time and salt. They never talked much about it, only said she was found floating near a wreck, half-drowned and clutching a piece of sailcloth like it mattered.

Now, she was Sweetpea. That was all that mattered to them.

A lanky shadow fell over them both.

“Hey, Chopper,” Luffy’s voice cut in, deceptively bright, “you’ve had her all morning.”

The little reindeer blinked. “Huh?”

Luffy crouched beside her, straw hat tilted back so you could see the impatient gleam in his eyes.

“Sweetpea, let’s go. I want to try something with my Gomu Gomu no… you’ll love it. Come on!” He didn’t wait for a response, fingers curling gently around her wrist.

Chopper puffed up. “She’s resting! You always get to steal her!”

“But she said she’d help me today,” Luffy whined.

“I didn’t,” the girl started, confused.

“Yes, you did,” Luffy said, voice still light but sharp beneath it. “You forgot again.”

That made her freeze, and Luffy’s grin widened just a little. His grip tightened.

“She forgets a lot,” he said softly. “So we have to remind her.”

“Don’t pull her like that,” Zoro’s voice cut in from the upper deck.

He was leaning against the railing, swords at his hip, gaze cool and unreadable. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Sweetpea once since breakfast.

“She’s not some tug toy, Luffy.”

“Don’t act like you’re not waiting to drag her off to nap on your stupid moss pile again,” Nami said sharply, brushing past Zoro with a thick binder of maps in one hand. “I actually had plans. Sweetpea and I are reorganizing my old route logs—”

“Like hell that’s happening,” Sanji appeared on the lower deck with a tray of melon slices, eyes burning like twin suns. “She hasn’t eaten enough today. I’m taking care of her.”

“She was with me,” Chopper protested.

“And now she’s mine,” Luffy shot back.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said, small and uncertain.

The deck went quiet.

Sanji’s smile trembled at the edges. Zoro’s knuckles turned white around a sword hilt. Nami didn’t blink. Luffy’s arm curled a little tighter around her wrist.

“You don’t mean that,” Luffy said gently. “That’s just the memory thing talking.”

“I—”

“You’re one of us,” Nami added, kneeling in front of Sweetpea, brushing her hair back. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Zoro stepped down the stairs slowly. “And we’re not sharing you around like a game piece.”

“I didn’t say I wanted—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sanji said, pushing the fruit tray into her hands with a too-bright smile. “We’ll make sure you’re happy. Always.”

A breeze stirred the deck. The sails flapped softly.

She looked down at the melon in her lap, her hand still caught in Luffy’s, the others crowding closer, all of them staring like their newest crewmate was the only sun in the world.

She smiled sweetly.

It felt easier than arguing.

[witchingwithscissors]

Divorce Lawyer Rio/Brewery Owner Agatha + I’m 🍃 = this sapphicy AU thing. Ps I’m an elder millennial so I don’t know how to flip the gif so just imagine they’re seated across from each other in your terror dome.

Rio hadn’t meant to stay this late.

She had only stopped into Cinder & Grain because her usual bar was packed, and she wasn’t in the mood for small talk or lingering stares. She wanted a drink, a quiet corner, and maybe a moment to forget she’d spent the last eight hours in her office breaking apart marriages for a living.

She didn’t expect her.

The bartender. Agatha, according to the embroidered patch on her worn-in T-shirt, moved like she belonged to the space. Effortlessly pouring drinks, laughing at someone’s joke, and running a towel over the bar top with absentminded ease. She had the kind of presence that made people lean in, that made a room feel warmer just by being in it.

And, at some point, her eyes caught Rio’s.

She looked once. Quickly. Then twice. Lingering. And before Rio could pretend not to notice, Agatha was sliding into the booth across from her, elbows resting on the table like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“You’re not a regular,” Agatha said, tapping a finger against Rio’s whiskey glass.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “That obvious?”

Agatha smirked. “Whiskey neat? In a brewery?” She shook her head. “Yeah, that stands out.”

Rio exhaled through her nose, amused. “I don’t do beer.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Agatha said, leaning back like she had all the time in the world. “I was just about to offer you my favorite one.”

Rio smirked. “Would it change your mind if I said I was allergic?”

Agatha tilted her head, considering. “Not unless you’re actually allergic.”

“I just don’t like it.”

Agatha sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic.” Then, after a beat, “Let me guess… you’re a lawyer.”

That made Rio pause. “That obvious?”

Agatha grinned. “You have that whole I could argue you out of your own drink order look about you.”

Rio let out a short laugh. “I’d be offended, but you’re not wrong.”

“Lucky guess.” Agatha drummed her fingers on the table, studying her for a second. “Wait! Fuck, hold on.” A flicker of recognition flashed in her expression. “You’re that hot witch lawyer, aren’t you? The one from that billboard a few years ago?”

Rio smirked. “Depends. What do you remember?”

Agatha snapped her fingers. “It had a fucking witch pun… ugh what was it? Something like—”

“Don’t Let Them Hex Half Your Assets.”

Agatha pointed at her, grinning. “That’s the one.”

“Wow,” Rio mused, swirling her drink. “A woman remembers my face… from my shitty divorce ad. That’s a first.”

“I mean, you made an impression.” Agatha smirked. “Some part of me wanted to call just to see if you were actually that dramatic in person.”

Rio lifted a brow. “And?”

Agatha’s gaze flickered lower, slow, deliberate. “Still deciding.”

The way she said it sent something warm through Rio’s chest. No, maybe lower.

This was flirting. Definitely flirting.

Rio should have finished her drink, thanked Agatha for the company, and gone home. She had an early morning conference call she had to be on camera for. But she didn’t go home yet.

Instead, she leaned in slightly, watching the way Agatha tracked her movement. “Alright,” Rio said. “Let’s test something, then.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Test?”

Rio reached for the glass Agatha had brought with her, half-filled with some dark amber brew, the kind that looked deceptively rich and smooth.

She picked it up, took a slow sip, and waited.

The taste hit her tongue. Not bitter like she expected, but something layered, something full, with just the faintest hint of brown butter honey at the end. Good. Really good.

Agatha was watching her closely, eyes flicking to her lips as Rio swallowed.

Finally, Rio set the glass down, tilting her head. “Alright. I’ll admit it.”

Agatha quirked an eyebrow. “Admit what?”

Rio let out a slow, heated breath, voice dipping lower. “I never realized how hungry I was… until I tasted you.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she expected, and for the first time all night, Agatha didn’t have a quick reply.

She just looked at her. Really took her in.

Then, finally, Agatha let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That was fucking smooth.”

Rio smirked. “I know.”

“You always this bold?”

“Only when it works.”

Agatha’s lips twitched. “And what makes you think it’s working?”

Rio leaned in just a fraction more, voice dipping lower. “Because you haven’t looked away from my mouth since I picked up that glass.”

Agatha drew in a sharp breath, hesitation flickering for only a moment before instinct took over. Her fingers slipped around Rio’s wrist, her touch light but possessive, her thumb tracing a slow, teasing stroke over the rapid beat of her pulse.

Rio’s breath hitched.

Agatha didn’t say anything at first, just let her touch linger.

Then, quietly, “Tell me to stop.”

Rio’s fingers twitched, itching to close the space between them entirely. Instead, she tilted her chin, holding Agatha’s gaze steady. “Not a chance.”

And that was it.

Agatha moved first, sliding closer, brushing her lips against Rio’s in a way that wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed… just a slow, lingering confirmation of something inevitable.

The kiss was warm, unhurried. Testing. Tasting. Teasing.

Agatha let her fingers trail along Rio’s wrist, anchoring her there. Rio parted her lips slightly, letting her lean in deeper, letting the taste of the beer linger between them.

By the time they pulled apart, Rio was breathless, and Agatha looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“Damn,” Rio muttered.

Agatha exhaled a soft laugh, thumb brushing against Rio’s wrist one last time before letting go. “That’s one way to convert you to beer.”

Rio huffed, shaking her head as she reached for her glass again, lips still tingling. “I’m still not a beer person.”

Agatha smirked, leaning back, her gaze lingering on Rio’s mouth with clear amusement. “Sure you aren’t.”

A charged pause passed between them only long enough for Rio to feel the echo of Agatha’s touch warm against her wrist. She wanted to stay. Wanted to close the distance again. But instead, she grabbed a bar napkin, scribbled something across it, and slid it across the table, letting her fingers brush against Agatha’s one last time.

Agatha waited until Rio was nearly out the door before picking it up. She raised an eyebrow at the neat digits beneath a single name: Rio. Flipping it over, she caught a hint of laughter in her own breath as she read the note scrawled on the back:

“If you’re still deciding, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. Rolling the napkin between her fingers, she slipped it into her back pocket, already imagining Rio’s voice on the other end of the line.

Outside, Rio paused on the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder through the window. Their eyes met in a heated, unspoken promise.

Yeah.

Agatha would definitely be calling.

[loganhowlettsmybf]

logan finally seeing you again after he thinks you died many years ago but you were being held hostage for experiments

Echoes of the past

word count: 1,5k

warnings: deception of grief, mention of abduction and torture

logan gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure. the glass was almost empty, a few swigs left, but enough to blur the edges of his relentless memories. it didn’t help. nothing did. not the liquor, not the fights, not even the passage of time. years had passed since he lost you, and the pain never dulled. you had been taken from him, ripped away by forces darker than anything he'd ever known. they had broken into the place you called home, leaving nothing behind but a trace of your blood.

he had searched everywhere, for years, for a hint, a clue, anything that might lead him to you. but time after time, his efforts met dead ends, and after years of failure, he resigned himself to the cruelest reality: you were gone. dead.

that was supposed to be the end of it. that was supposed to be the closure that allowed him to move on. but he couldn’t. the nightmares never stopped. the ghosts of what you shared together haunted every quiet moment, every breath. and the bottle of whiskey in his hand was just another failed attempt to drown out the echoes of your laughter.

but something had changed. a lead—something tangible—surfaced, out of nowhere, dropped into his lap by a mutant with telepathic powers. "she’s alive," the voice had said in his mind. "she’s still out there."

at first, logan didn’t believe it. he couldn’t let himself believe it. but the mutant had given him coordinates, a remote facility in the mountains where you were supposedly held. logan couldn’t risk ignoring it. and so he went, the last shred of hope dragging him through hell and back.

————————————————————————

the wind howled through the dense trees as logan scaled the side of the mountain. his body moved with a singular purpose, his senses heightened by desperation. he reached the facility, a hulking, abandoned bunker and smashed through the gates without a second thought. inside, the air was stale and cold. the place reeked of rot and death, but logan pushed on, the scent of you pulling him deeper.

he tore through doors and guards alike, the claws in his hands slicing through steel and flesh with ease. he could hear screams in the distance, the final cries of those who had kept you here, and it only fueled his rage. they had taken you from him, stolen years of your life. they were going to pay.

finally, logan reached a door, thicker than the others, with heavy locks that screamed of secrets too dangerous to escape. he tore it down without hesitation, and what he found inside made his heart stop.

you were there, crumpled on the floor, shackled and broken, your body battered and bruised from years of captivity. the sight of you was like a punch to his gut. you looked so fragile, so small compared to the vibrant person you had once been. but the worst part was your eyes, empty and hollow, a shell of the person he had loved.

logan fell to his knees beside you, his breath caught in his throat. "is it really you?" he whispered, voice cracked with disbelief.

you flinched at the sound of his voice, shrinking back against the cold floor as though you expected more pain to come. you didn’t recognize him. not at first. how could you? years of isolation and torment had twisted your reality, left you in a constant state of fear. but then, something in his voice, in the way he said your name, sparked a faint memory.

"logan?" your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. you blinked up at him, and for a moment, just a moment, he saw a flicker of recognition in your eyes.

"it’s me, darlin’," he choked out, his hands hovering over your form, unsure of where to touch, how to comfort. "i’m here. i’ve got you. i’ve got you now."

tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as the realization hit you. after all these years, after everything they had done to you, logan was here. he was real. but the pain, the fear, the trauma—it all came crashing down on you at once, and you broke.

"i thought… i thought you were dead," you sobbed, your body shaking with the weight of it all. "i thought i was dead."

logan pulled you into his arms, careful of your injuries but desperate to hold you close. "i thought you were gone too," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "i looked for you… god, i looked for you everywhere. i’m so sorry i couldn’t find you sooner."

you clung to him, your fingers digging into his jacket as though he might disappear at any moment. "they… they did things to me, logan. they…"

"i know," he said softly, his voice trembling. "i know. but you’re safe now. i’m not gonna let anyone hurt you ever again."

you cried into his chest, years of torment pouring out in a flood of tears that wouldn’t stop. and logan held you, his own tears mixing with yours as he tried to soothe you, tried to take away your pain. but he knew he couldn’t. the scars they had left on you ran deeper than anything he could heal. all he could do was be there for you, hold you tight, and promise that you’d never have to face this alone again.

————————————————————————

the journey back was a blur. logan carried you out of that place, away from the horrors that had kept you imprisoned for so long. he didn’t stop until he found a safe house, far away from everything.

days passed in a strange, delicate rhythm. logan stayed by your side through every nightmare, every flashback, every moment when the weight of what you had been through became too much to bear. he was patient, gentle in a way that felt foreign to him.

at first, you barely spoke, still trapped in the silence that had been forced upon you for so long. but logan didn’t push. he stayed close, making sure you knew he was there whenever you needed him, ready to listen when you were ready to speak.

one night, as you sat together by the fire, wrapped in a blanket he had draped around your shoulders, you finally found your voice.

"they took everything from me," you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the flames. "i thought i’d never be whole again."

logan’s heart broke at your words, at the quiet resignation in your tone. he moved closer, his hand reaching for yours. "you’re not broken,“ he said, his voice gentle but firm. "they didn’t take you from me. you’re still here. you’re still you."

you looked at him then, your eyes searching his for something, maybe hope, maybe reassurance. "but what if i’m not?" you whispered. "what if i’m not the same person you loved?"

logan shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening. "you’re the person i love, darlin’. that’s never gonna change."

a small, broken smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and for the first time since he found you, logan saw a glimpse of the person you used to be. it wasn’t much, but it was enough. enough to remind him that healing wasn’t a straight path, it was messy, painful, and sometimes it felt impossible. but it was possible. and he would be there with you every step of the way.

————————————————————————

months passed, and the scars of your captivity began to fade, not completely, not ever completely, but enough that you started to reclaim pieces of yourself. you and logan rebuilt what had been taken from you, brick by brick, moment by moment. the nightmares didn’t stop, and the fear didn’t entirely go away, but you found strength in each other. and slowly, little by little, the cracks in your heart began to heal.

one day, as you stood on the porch of the cabin, watching the sun dip below the horizon, logan came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. you leaned back against him, letting out a soft sigh as you felt the warmth of his presence.

"thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the evening.

"for what?" logan asked, his breath warm against your ear.

"for not giving up on me," you said, turning in his arms so you could look into his eyes. "for finding me.”

logan’s eyes softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

tears filled your eyes, but this time, they were tears of something new. not pain, not sorrow, but hope. because even after everything, you had found your way back to each other.

[a-killer-obsession]

Hey you know im gonna need AFAB she/her reader with a respectful number 9 with some accidental P and desperate T >:3c and if you can work in some F and W elements too well that would be an added bonus

That's a extra large number 9 McHorny Meal with a boytoy, please enjoy your meal!

Touch of Pollen, Touch of Pearl

Prompt: Sex Pollen + Thighjob + First Time + Body Worship

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, shark anatomy (claspers aka two dicks), masturbation, this came out a little omegaversy lmao, biting, size difference, this is basically a monsterfucker fic, oral (recieving), fingering, forced orgasms, pervert fish?, p n v sex, creampie, cumshot, aftercare, friends to lovers

WC: 7.6k dear god

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

You were a little anxious to say the least, pacing the lawn deck of the Sunny nervously as you waited for the scouting party to return. You'd only been on the crew a few months, but you cared about them greatly, and though the island was uninhabited you still held concerns. As the new botanist for the Straw Hats, born and raised in the New World, you knew how deceptively dangerous even just the plant life on these sorts of islands could be, and you cursed yourself for not insisting you joined the scouting party when you didn't draw a coloured straw to be chosen. Grass was flattened and getting damaged in the straight path you walked back and forth, other members idly sitting around on the lawn or stairs but nonchalantly keeping an eye out as well.

Usopp stood on the stern castle deck near the entrance to the aquarium, a telescope in hand that quickly shifted as he caught movement at the treeline. “They're coming back!” He announced, mouth turning downwards to a pout, “I think something is wrong, Robin's fleur is carrying Boss Jinbei”

You rushed up the stairs and grabbed the telescope to look, pointing it to where he'd been looking. Sure enough Nami and Robin were running towards the ship, Robin's arm's crossed and pink petals swirling in the air as giant hands appeared and disappeared in turns, carefully passing along Jinbei between them to move alongside them. He looked unconscious but you couldn't see any blood from this distance, so it was impossible to tell what was wrong. You could see Robin through the telescope as she spotted you, concern on her face as her mouth began to move. You almost yelped as the voice appeared right beside you, her pretty mouth tickling your shoulder where it had appeared as she spoke.

“[Y/n]! Can you hear me? Nod if you can,” the mouth said in Robin's sweet voice, a little panicked sounding which filled you with worry given her usually calm demeanour during times of crisis. You nodded in her direction, still too small to see her properly without the telescope but you assumed she had an eye somewhere you couldn't see. “Good, listen to me carefully. The three of us got hit with some sort of pollen spores, but it only seemed to affect Boss Jinbei. I'm worried about contamination so tell the others to put Boss Jinbei's mattress in the aquarium, then keep everyone clear of us, I mean it. Even Chopper, we don't know yet how this will affect the others if we still have pollen on us”

You gave a stern nod and turned to the others, who were slowly gathering behind you. “Franky, grab the Boss's mattress and take it to the aquarium then come back here. Nobody approach them when they arrive, I have a theory but right now it's not safe, we don't know how contagious they are”

“But I have to treat Boss!” Chopper cried.

“I know Chopper, but we can't have our brilliant doctor getting sick, Jinbei wouldn't want that,” you told him, making Chopper do his blushy little wiggle dance, “they said they all got hit by pollen so they could still all be covered in it, we need to keep our head about us”

“Okay…” Chopper said sadly, kicking at nothing. Franky returned from moving the mattress and joined the others as they gathered in front of the door to the boy's cabin, leaving plenty of space for the scouting party to ascend the gangplank and head to the aquarium. A giant hand appeared on the deck in a flurry of pink petals as they got close, receiving Jinbei from the previous hand and taking him to the aquarium as a trail of smaller hands received him and passed him through the door and out of sight.

“Robin-cwan! Nami-swan!” Sanji cooed as he ran towards the two women ascending the gangplank with open arms. You caught him by his collar, momentarily choking him as you yanked him backwards, throwing him at Zoro who rolled his eyes and hooked his arms under the cook's armpits to trap him.

“Sanji are you stupid?” You chided, “I told you we have to stay clear!”

“Sorry, my darling! I was caught in a spell of love!” Sanji replied, immediately starting to fight Zoro and setting off a fistfight that quickly ended for both of them with a hard knock to their heads from your closed fists, leaving them to sit on the grass and rub their scalps. Robin was saying something to Nami as they came on deck, and Nami quickly disappeared up the stairs and through the aquarium door.

“Robin! What happened!?” Chopper cried, rearing to go to her.

“It was some sort of mushroom,” she panted heavily from the run and straining use of her devil fruit, who knew how long they'd been running. “Nami stepped on it and it let some sort of cloud of spores out, and then Boss Jinbei started getting sweaty and feverish and collapsed”

“Did you see the mushroom?” You asked, a theory in mind but you needed to check your books and confirm the plant first.

“I did, and I'm guessing you have the same theory as I do about its effectiveness,” she suggested.

“Aye,” You replied confidently. “Sanji, Chopper, go to the kitchen once Robin and I are behind closed doors, use the pulley to communicate with Nami. I don't know the exact nature of what he's being affected by right now, but there are many plants and fungi on the Grandline that only affect males, so I believe us women are safe, as well as Brook I believe, since he doesn't have the capacity to be affected by drugs. Brook, go take Nami's place so she can shower, tell her to rinse her clothes and make sure she scrubs her hair well, Robin and I will go to the library to confirm the mushroom”

“What about the rest of us?” Luffy asked, pinky up his nose casually. You were glad to have such a laid back captain who had no problem giving up power at a time like this.

“The rest of you stay in the boy's cabin till someone comes to get you,” you ordered, already starting to leave, Brook long since run off to relieve Nami. “You have to all stay here till there's no chance of contamination. It shouldn't take long, just until Nami and Robin are clean, but under no circumstances is anyone other than myself, Robin, Nami or Brook, permitted to enter the aquarium. Even if Jinbei is cleaned we won't know if what he has is contagious to the rest of the men on board anyway”

“Right!” Usopp declared, hands on hips, pretending that he wasn't terrified and unbelievably relieved that he could just go hide in his bed.

You hurried off to join Robin, the two of you rushing up the stairs, the sound of footsteps and little hooves a safe distance behind you as Sanji and Chopper headed to the galley. You rushed to your shelf and pulled out a few books while Robin described the mushroom in great detail. Small, fat head, vibrant purple, blue spots, bulbous, she described it as being the relative shape and size of a dog's penis, which seemed oddly specific but you didn't question it. Robin searched through one book while you searched another, until she, with her undeniably impressive research skills, found a diagram of the mushroom she'd seen and slid the book across the table for you to decipher the technical jargon that she only particularly understood, being that this wasn't her field of knowledge.

“This isn't good,” you bit you lip as you recognized the page and remembered what you knew of it, “he's been hit by a powerful aphrodisiac, and just as we thought it only affects the males of species that procreate through sexual reproduction”

“It probably bolsters species numbers so it has more corpses to feed off,” Robin said nonchalantly. You shuddered at the incredibly morbid observation but she was probably right. “How will it affect Boss Jinbei?”

“His body is telling him right now that he needs to breed,” you sighed, scanning the page and reading the lists of side effects and potential treatments. “He's essentially going into the mammal equivalent of a rut. It says here the effects can last up to four days until-” you re-read the passage over and over hoping you were reading it wrong but disparingly it remained the same.

“Until what?” Robin asked with great concern as she noted your hesitation.

“Until his body gives out from the strain and he dies,” you replied, voice shakey. Robin was cold and silent as she processed the statement, logical mind in overdrive as she looked for a solution, separating herself from her feelings to keep her wits about her as she often did in situations like this. “What happens when animals are exposed?” She finally asked. “If it wants them to reproduce, surely it doesn't just kill them?”

“It says they mate several times and the effects wear off, if they don't find a mate the mortality time frame is two to seven days depending on the size of the animal,” you reported, slumping into a chair in defeat, already mourning the loss of the helmsman you'd come to really care for. Really, really cared for. Now that you were losing him, your heart was going into overdrive and you regretted never telling him how you really felt. Would he even be coherent enough to understand if you told him now?

“So he just needs to mate then,” Robin said matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal, shaking you from your self-immolating spiral. You brows shot up in surprise, like she wasn't suggesting the fishman just needed to get laid to save his life. “Do you want to do it or shall I? Nami is only interested in women, I don't believe she'll be of help here.”

“Robin!” You exclaimed, vibrant blush spreading on your cheeks as you considered what it might be like to lay with Jinbei. So strong… so… big… it wasn't like it was the first time you'd thought about it either. Robin quirked a brow, she could practically see the cogs turning in your head.

“You like him, don't you?” She smiled knowingly. You gave a frustrated huff and crossed your arms but didn't correct her, making her giggle. “I'll leave him in your care then. I should go shower, but I'll update Chopper on the situation afterwards and say what he says”

“Robinnnn, I can't-” you complained, “I mean… he's not in his right mind, what if he hates me after?”

“I can assure you that Boss Jinbei will probably be the one apologising profusely afterwards,” she smiled, “he'll probably blame himself and claim he took advantage of you. It'll be fine, [y/n], I think he'll be thankful you did it instead of letting him suffer and die. It's not the worst thing to happen, he is quite fond of you after all”

“He is?” You blushed, picking at your cuticles under the table.

“He told me himself he thinks you're quite beautiful,” she assured you, no hint of untruthfulness or malice in her voice. “I should warn you though, I've discussed fishman anatomy with him in great detail for my research and you may find he is quite unlike any human you've been with”

“Ah, yes.. because I have definitely slept with other humans,” you mumbled sarcastically. Robin took a seat next to you and rubbed your hand reassuringly.

“[Y/n] my dear, are you a virgin?” She asked softly, no hint of mockery in her voice, only quiet concern.

“... yes,” you replied in a small voice. She made a little sigh and rubbed the back of your hand with her other, your palm sandwiched between her soft warm ones.

“Are you sure you want to do this then?” She asked, “I don't want you to be uncomfortable. It's a lot to ask of someone even if they had experience”

“It's okay, I think, if it's him,” you replied with a heavy blush, “it's not that I never wanted to, I just never had the opportunity, given my… coloured… history. I've done… some things… just never the whole way. What do you mean thought by ‘he's unlike a human’?”

“Ah,” Robin smiled softly at you, “you see, Boss Jinbei is a whale shark fishman. His genitals are quite like that of a whale shark.”

“Meaning?” You pressed.

“Meaning, he has claspers instead of a penis,” she explained. You cocked a brow, not missing the plural.

“Claspers, multiple?” You asked.

“Yes, two of them,” she answered causally with that usual sweet smile of hers like she hadn't just dropped a bombshell. You must have been cherry red at this point, your face hot with flush. “There is also something else,” she continued, and you wondered how she could possibly have anything more shocking to say than dropping than Jinbei has two dicks. “You are aware of how some mammals lock together during mating, yes?” You nodded anxiously, already seeing where this was going, “Claspers have a similar process, so you may find a little discomfort as he finishes”

“Oh, okay,” you blinked, trying to recall every moment in your life that led to this bizarre scenario. That's what you get for staying on the Grandline you guessed. “What do I… um… what do I do? I mean how do I… how do I please him?”

“Just follow his lead,” Robin assured you, “I'm sure despite the pollen he will be a gentleman. Boss Jinbei has a strong will, a little horniness isn't going to be enough to make him hurt you”

“Okay,” you replied anxiously.

“I'll keep the other's from the aquarium, make sure you shut the pulley hatch though, or the sound will travel,” she winked as she stood, bringing on a whole new round of fluster. “If you change your mind just tell me, I won't judge you if you don't feel comfortable with the situation, I'll take care of him if you find yourself unable to”

“Thank you Robin,” you sighed as you stood, following her out the door. You made your way down the stairs as she headed the other way to head to the bathroom, and you took a deep breath before entering the aquarium. Jinbei was laying on the mattress in the middle of the floor, pushed up against the bar seating that surrounded the mizzenmast running through the center of the room. His kimono was open to the waist, his red sun tattoo on full display, smooth skin dripping with sweat as his chest heaved with heavy breaths. He was unconscious still, Brook carefully dabbing at his forehead with a cold damp cloth.

“Ah! [Y/n]-san! Do you have news?” Brook asked hurriedly, resting the cloth over Jinbei's forehead as he turned his attention to you. You sat on one of the bench seats that lined the half moon room, blue aquarium lights colouring the room in soft lighting that would be romantic under other circumstances.

“We know the mushroom that he was affected by, and we were correct in thinking it only affects males,” you looked at Brook, “sorry, males within their fertile age range.” Brook nodded for you to continue, not taking offense to your attempt at not immasculating him, he understood what you meant. “I can help him, he'll be okay, but I'll need some privacy for the rest of the day and evening. The treatment is quite delicate, I don't think he'd like others seeing him in that position”

“It sounds like you're going to torture him,” Brook half laughed, and you struggled to force a smile for him to keep it lighthearted. In reality, Jinbei's current position, laid out and panting, half clothed and covered in sweat, was having an effect of its own on you, and you felt a little ashamed that you were beginning to look forward to the… treatment… despite the fact that Jinbei was clearly suffering right now. “Shall I leave then?” Brook asked, standing and reminding you how incredibly tall he was.

“Yes, thank you Brook, I can look after him from here,” you hummed, “please ask Sanji to send our dinner up in the pulley as well as plenty of water. I'll also need some clean towels, and probably some more cloths with a bucket of water to wet them”

“Aye aye, [y/n]-san!” Brook gave a mock salute, “please take care of Boss-san!”

“He's gonna be okay, Brook,” you smiled, running a thumb over the back of the skeleton's cold boney hand. You weren't sure if he could feel it but you hoped the motion was comforting anyway. You could tell that Brook was concerned, he was doing his best to come off as nonchalant but you knew he cared a great deal about Jinbei, and could hear the underlying concern in his voice. He gave your hand a squeeze, letting you know he understood the gesture and appreciated it, before leaving to pass on your message and gather things for you.

You pulled your knees up to your chin as you watched over Jinbei. From what the book explained, right now he was going through a process that would usually take several days, his body being pumped full of hormones that would put him into a frenzy when he eventually woke up. For now he would likely be asleep a little longer, so you had a little time to prepare. First you took the towels and bucket of water that were sent up the pulley, setting them aside on a bench with the bucket on the floor. You set the large jug of water Sanji sent up on the bar counter along with the two glasses, and set beside them the lovingly made snacks that were sent up with them. You took the opportunity to eat and drink a little while you could, then, satisfied there was nothing more to be done, you locked the aquarium door, shut the pulley hatch, and removed most of your clothes. They were going to come off anyway, you may as well make it less awkward for Jinbei by doing some of the work now, leaving yourself in only your loose comfortable shirt and panties. You curled up on the mattress beside him, Jinbei making little groans as you pressed against his side. His usually cool skin was almost blistering to the touch, yet it erupted in goosebumps wherever you made contact. You hoped your physical presence could offer him some comfort during his fever dreams, at the very least he would know he wasn't alone when he woke up.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The mattress shifting underneath you woke you from your unintentional nap, heavy breathing and groans next to you indicating that Jinbei was awake. You realised his kimono was draped over you like a blanket, still warm from being against his feverish skin, but notably that meant he was likely naked. You turned your body to face him, his bare back to you, hand at his front moving frantically, you didn't need two guesses to know why. You could hear his teeth occasionally click together like he was biting air as he made frustrated growls and fisted himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin as you reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, his smooth skin coated in sweat.

“[Y/n]!” He exclaimed, curling in on himself to hide his shame, “please excuse me! I didn't mean to- I mean I had to- ah, I'm usually more controlled than this!”

“It's okay Boss, you're not in your right mind,” you cooed, rubbing his back soothingly, “you've been dosed with an aphrodisiac, how much do you remember?”

“Ah, we were scouting and then,” his brows furrowed as he tried to fight the horny haze in his brain to concentrate, “Nami stood on something, and there was some sort of cloud, and I felt warm and dizzy. I don't remember anything after that. Ah, are the other's okay?”

“She stood on a mushroom,” you explained, “Robin and Nami are okay, as is everyone else. The mushroom only affects breeding age males, the others are all being kept clear of this room. Right now, you're experiencing the mammal equivalent of a rut. Do you understand?”

“Ah, that does explain my… condition,” he hummed, cheeks flush with embarrassment. Jinbei was strong and brave, even against emperors he showed no fear, but when it came to matters of sexual needs, his confidence was practically stripped from him. He was raised in a generation that instilled a great amount of taboo about all things of a sexual nature, he knew it was just a natural process many experienced and the foundation of how most species continued, but he couldn't bring himself to work past the feeling of shame that sat deep within him for having such desires.

“I know this is… awkward… but you have to let it run its course,” you said softly, “you have to give in, or it'll wear you down till your body gives out. That's why I'm here. I imagine you are… unable to find satisfaction on your own right now, because of the pollen”

“You would be correct,” Jinbei cleared his throat awkwardly, “but I can not ask you to do that. I will die with my honour intact instead, I will not force myself on you because of this”

“Jinbei…” he shivered a little at your use of his name, you only ever called him Boss as many of the crew did, and his name sounded like honey dripping from your tongue. “You won't be forcing me to do anything, I'm offering. I… like you…” your voice cracked a little as you forced out the confession, no time like the present you guessed, especially if this was your only chance to say it. “Robin has offered as well, if you would prefer her…”

“No!” He spooked you a little with the speed he turned over, taking your wrist firmly but not painfully in his large smooth hand, “I, I want you. I woke up thinking about you. Even before I realised you were here, I could smell you, that delicious sweet scent you have,” your breath hitched as he pressed his nose against the crook of your neck, forcing your head to move and unintentionally baring it for him. He took a deep inhale, making a small groan as he caught your scent. “You've always smelt so good to me, and you're so beautiful. So sweet and strong and kind, I care a great deal about you. Which is why I can't take what you're offering, my pearl”

“I can't let you die,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his as he retracted his face from your shoulder. You shuffled forward so your bodies were pressed together, feeling the long hard forms of his two cocks against your abdomen. It made you ache with need, unconsciously pressing harder against him. “I want you, Boss,” you whispered, “and I want you to be okay. So use me, use my body to fight the pollen, so you can live. You care about me, don't you? Don't hurt me by letting yourself die because of a stupid outdated concept like honour. It's not honourable to let yourself die needlessly, let me help you”

Jinbei made a little whimper as your words soaked in, letting you guide his hand to rest against your ass. You reached down between your bodies, taking his claspers in your small, shaky hand and doing what you could to hold them together, unable to wrap your hand around them properly. He was big, proportional to his large body, each one being about the length and width of your arm from fingertip to elbow, thicker even perhaps, smooth and tapered at the end, witg none of the prominent veins or defined head that a human cock had. He made a stuttered groan as you touched him, his hand flexing on instinct and unintentionally squeezing the flesh of your ass, his hand large enough to cover the whole of your rump. It was just as well he was big, with your face up near his you could barely reach, the base of his cock closer to your knees than your own center, but his cocks were long enough that you could reach the top third of them anyway.

His eyes were shut as you touched him, making restrained groans as you ran your other hand up his chest, till it cupped his cheek, running your thumb curiously over the edge of a tusk. His eyes opened in surprise as you pressed your lips against his, small mouth slotting nicely between his tusks which were smooth against your cheeks. His eyes closed again as he returned the kiss, his lips parting as his tongue pressed against yours, so wide it barely fit in your mouth, sparking arousal at your core at just how big everything about him was. His sharp teeth were no issue as he kept dominance over the kiss, pollen driving his need as he began to buck into your hand, the tips of his claspers finding their way under your shirt till he was sliding against your warm bare skin. Something in him snapped as you let out a needy whine, pollen taking his mind completely as he broke from the kiss and flipped you over so your back was against his front, your core aligned with his. He pressed against your ass, his cocks driving against you as he rutted desperately till he found what he needed, the pair sliding between your thighs and making him growl as he found the pressure he was looking for. He immediately set a fast pace, fucking your thighs hard, hands holding your hips tight as his cocks rubbed firmly against your center, grinding against your clothed clit and making you moan. Your moans only spurred him on more, entirely driven by lust and need, and he could feel the way your panties grew damper with every long pull, the scent of your arousal thicker by the moment and slowly driving him insane.

He made a possessive growl as he tore your panties from your body, making you yelp in surprise, his hands pushing your shirt up roughly and groping your soft breasts as he felt the first drops of your slick against his cocks and made a deep satisfied rubble that reverberated through your chest as he pinned you against him. His claspers were pressed hard against your pussy, slicker with every pull, rolling your clit back and forth between them as they moved, making you whine and squeeze your thighs harder to force more pressure. You couldn't have fought him off even if you wanted to, his hold so tight on you as he moved one hand back to your hip, the other still kneading your breasts and playing with your nipples, that clicking sound of his teeth slamming together returning behind you. A thought occurred to you, knowing he was being driven by instincts right now, and knowing many predator species used their teeth to hold the female during mating.

“Boss, you can bite me if you need to,” you whined, pulling your shirt aside to expose your skin. His nose breezed against your neck again, making you shiver, the clicking sound now right against your ear. Your shirt was suddenly torn open, the remnants hanging weakly from your torso as you felt his teeth nip at your skin. He didn't sink them in like you thought he might, instead just pricking the skin like little needles, barely noticeable past the pleasure he was giving you, making small love bites that only occasionally drew a tiny amount of blood, which he would tenderly soothe with his wide tongue before making a new mark. The deep rumble in his chest continued, almost akin to a purr, making your whole body vibrate pleasantly. He shifted slightly and it had the effect of making one cock zero in on your clit. Previously it'd been sort of ground between them, but now he was making direct contact against it and your coil quickly pulled taught. You fought his hold instinctively against the overstimulation, but unable to escape you had no choice but to let go, gushing over his cocks and shaking hard against him. He groaned as he felt your release and bit your shoulder again, this time holding his teeth almost threateningly against your delicate skin as the ends of his claspers opened like umbrellas and great swathes of cum shot from them, pooling against your thighs and on the mattress in front of you as you made overstimulated whimpers.

His hold only slightly loosened on you, his thick tongue running over your shoulder and neck before shifting so you fell back against the mattress, cum pooling underneath you as the weight on the mattress made it run in your direction. You felt utterly lewd sitting in a pool of his cum, some of it still dripping over your front as you panted, the thick fluid slowly seeping into the bedding below as it cooled. His tongue never stopped moving as he loomed over you, running it over your torso, wide enough that he could envelop an entire breast with one swipe of the wet appendage before sucking it into his mouth, careful of his teeth as he flicked your pert nipples with the tip of his tongue. You were a squirming, panting mess underneath him, the scraps of your shirt pulled from your body leaving you entirely nude underneath him, his tongue travelling further and further down as he licked and touched every part of you. He pushed your legs apart and knelt between them, grabbing your ankles and pulling them up so he could run his tongue over your legs, leaving you with only the upper half of your torso against the mattress as he dangled you practically upside-down. The way he manhandled you made you ache, he could snap you like a twig if he wanted to but his hands were firm and gentle, prying your legs apart as you grew suddenly shy. He gave you a hungry look as he held you open by your thighs, his large hands able to wrap right around them like he was holding no more than a couple of training weights, admiring the vibrant blush on your face as you failed to hide behind your hands, and the way his cum was now coating your hair with the way he was holding you. He kept eye contact with you as he ran his tongue between your folds, making you buck and squirm as he held you tight, lapping at you like you were a frozen treat before zeroing in on your sensitive clit and giving it a harsh suck. The sounds you were making made him rut against nothing, though occasionally you could feel the tips of his hardened lengths against your back whenever his hips jolted forward. The end of his tongue teased against your entrance and you held your breath, overly anxious from having never been penetrated before. He could see your hesitation and despite the cloud of lust, he stopped himself, concerned for your wellbeing.

“Do you want me to stop, my pearl?” He asked, voice husky and deep, making your eyes momentarily flutter shut as you shivered.

“No, don't stop,” you whined, “I just haven't… I've never had anyone there”

“I can avoid that, if you'd like,” he said softly, “there are plenty of other things I can do,” he continued playfully, running his tongue flat over your pussy to emphasize his point.

“No, I want it,” you moaned, reaching up to touch him but unable to reach, arms falling uselessly back to the blankets, “I want you inside me, please Jinbei”

Your hips rolled on their own accord, searching unconsciously for fullness, and his cocks twitched at your neediness. “I'll be so gentle with you, my pearl,” he cooed, the tip of his tongue back at your entrance where you ached for him. He pushed it in slowly, watching your face carefully for any sign of unease or pain, knowing full well his tongue was thicker than any normal human man's cock. He probably should have used his fingers first, but they were impossibly thick as well, so it probably made little difference. At least your previous orgasm had relaxed you a little, allowing him to get about a third of his wide tongue inside you without much resistance, slowly sinking more in as you stretched around it. You were already moaning and writhing at the fill and he hadn't even done anything yet, making a grin spread over his face as he watched you drape an arm over your eyes and grope at your own breast with the other hand.

Finally he hit the thickest part of his tongue, sliding the rest in with relative ease, making you let out a long, deep moan as his tongue began to thrust in and out of you, causing you a type of pleasure that was entirely unfamiliar to you. He barely had to move, making agonizingly slow, shallow pulls and thrusts with his tongue that had your pussy fluttering around him, crying out in pleasure while your honey pooled on his tastebuds. He curled it inside you, pressing against your spongey g-spot and making you see white as you suddenly came again without warning, gushing on his tongue, making him groan as he made lewd slurping noses and drank your release.

“You're doing so well, my pearl,” he praised as he removed his tongue, giving you one more wide stripe of it before lowering your pelvis to his lap as he licked his lips. You could feel his claspers, hard and twitching against your back. Your legs were either side of Jinbei, soaked pussy pressed against his front by design, arousal catching on his curly black tuft of pubic hair as your chest continued to heave with every heavy pant. Your ass was pressed against the base of his cocks, and from this position you could feel how they reached all the way to your upper back, to the bottom of your shoulder blades. There was no way you could take him, it was physically impossible, but you couldn't help your curiosity as you wondered what it might feel like for him to fill you with what he could, especially given the nirvana you'd found with his tongue alone. One of your hands stayed drapped over your face, unable to bring yourself to look at him, embarrassed by how debauched you must look. The other you slid under your back, making Jinbei grunt as you found a clasper and stroked it experimentally.

“Jinbei,” you whined, “want you~”

“Are you sure, my pearl?” He asked hesitantly, bringing a thumb to your wet cunt and pressing it gently against your swollen clit, making you squeak. You could feel how hard he still was underneath you despite how much he'd cum earlier, the pollen needed more from him, he needed another release, and you wanted it too.

“Want you inside me, please,” you moaned, rolling your hips to grind yourself against his thumb. Jinbei's teeth clicked together again, and he shook his head as he fought the suffocating cloud of lust the pollen was causing. Everything in his brain was telling him to grab you hard and use your body till you were fat with his babies, but he couldn't do that to you, so small and fragile and trusting under his strong hands. You finally pulled your arm away from your face enough to look at him, peeking out from beneath your forearm, eyes blown out with lust, your lip millimeters from bleeding as you bit down on it.

“Fuck,” he huffed, knowing full well he couldn't deny you when you were looking at him like that. You shivered with anticipation, you were sure you'd never even heard him swear before, and it made your pussy drip knowing it was your expression alone that made the usually polite, well mannered gentleman curse. He wasn't even sure at this point if it was the pollen or just your body squirming under him that made him feel so aggressively horny and possessive of you, seeing the perfect half moons of small red dashes that littered your skin from his teeth, marking you as his. He wanted all of you, and the way you gripped his cock told him how much you wanted all of him too.

He slid his hand under your rump for just a moment, freeing the clasper you weren't holding, pulling it to the front and letting it fall heavy against you with a wet slap. The base of it gave you something to grind against, which you did eagerly, lubricating him with your arousal while his tip laid between your breasts, precum dripping from it and dribbling down towards your neck. You looked at him as you teasingly craned your neck, swiping your tongue over the end and gathering some of the salty fluid that leaked from it, feeling it pulse against your abdomen as more fluid leaked onto your tongue. You let yourself lay back again, ass still raised in his lap as you grinded against him, licking your lips as you held eye contact. He made a little growl, undeniably turned on by what you'd done, then he grabbed you with a hand under your back and the other under your ass, scooping you up and moving you easily as though you weighed nothing, seating you on the long bench that bordered the aquarium. Your body was almost as blue as his under the soft lighting, and his hands pressed against the underside of your thighs, pushing them up and out so your cunt was on full display for him, pussy slightly gaped from his thick tongue and glistening with honey. He had you practically folded in half, chest and head pressed against the back of the padded bench, ass at the edge of the seating, legs in the air. You would have been embarrassed by how exposed your cunt was but the hungry way he was looking at you overrid any inclination of shyness. He lowered his face to your pussy and ran a wide stripe up it again, letting his tongue continue upwards, running over your stomach and between you breasts, lapping up his own precum until his tongue reached your mouth and he captured your lips in a hungry kiss.

He used the kiss to distract you as he slid two thick fingers inside your pussy, pumping you slowly and scissoring them to stretch you out, the webbing between fingers catching against your edges and assisting with the stretch. He added a third, swallowing the whine you made at the slightly painful stretch, which faded back to pleasure as you adjusted to him. He brought his cocks up to rest against your stomach and you reached between your bodies to take one in each hand, stroking them the pace he was setting with his fingers even if you couldn't fit your hands right around them.

Satisfied you were open enough to take him, he sat back on the balls of his feet, fisting his claspers together in one hand, his hands big enough to reach around both at once with no issue. You bit your lip as you looked at them, so impossibly big, and it was like he could read your mind as he ran a soothing thumb over your inner thigh.

“I don't expect you to take all of me, my pearl,” he assured you, “just some of one will feel devine I am certain. Are you ready my love? You can say no, I won't be upset with you.”

You nodded and bit your finger nervously, letting your knees fall outwards to spread yourself as wide as you could, feet resting on the curved bench either side of you. He took a clasper in each hand, guiding one to rest against you while he positioned the other at your entrance. “It may hurt a little at first, but only for a moment. You'll tell me if it gets too much, right?”

You nodded again and he gave you a soft smile, running a hand up your chest till it cupped your face, holding you so very gently and rubbing his thumb over your cheek and lips as he began to slide his cock inside you. He'd prepared you well, but there was still some amount of stretch, a slight stinging pain as your entrance widened to its limits. He saw the pained expression on your face and cooed soft praises, moving as slowly as he could until he felt his tip press against your cervix, pulling back a little so he wouldn't hurt you by pressing against it. He stayed deadly still until the pain written on your face melted, your expression falling back to pleasure as you appreciated just how full you were with his body connected to yours. When your eyes opened, not even realising you'd closed them in concentration, you found him looking at you with such pride and devotion that you couldn't help but offer him a half-lidded smile, which he returned with his usual toothy grin, making your heart soar.

“Are you ready now, my love?” He asked softly, his smile making you feel significantly less nervous, remembering that this was Jinbei, and you were safe with him.

“Y-yes,” you replied, biting your lip as he began to drag himself back out of you, and gripping the fabric of the bench below you hard as he sunk back in. His pace was agonizingly slow for both of you, barely half of his cock shealthed, the other clasper resting heavily against your abdomen and grinding against your clit with every thrust, meeting with the buldge in your abdomen that made Jinbei's eyes roll back every time he saw it, aroused by seeing himself so deep inside you.

Bit by bit he increased his pace as you grew more comfortable, whines turning to strings of loud moans and cries of his name, making tears in the fabric of the seating below you as your nails sank into it while you held on for dear life. Your entire body was being rocked back and forth as he fucked you, pollen slowly winning out over his better judgement as he lifted one of your legs and nipped at the calf. He had to put all his will power into keeping himself from sinking any deeper into you, but your hot wet walls felt so tight and devine around his cock, the soft skin of your belly giving pleasant friction to the other. The hand not holding your leg was resting at the top of the bench over your head for support, wood creaking under the strain as it threatened to break. He couldn't help but blush when he looked up and saw the fish in the aquarium watching him, a small audience as he fucked you senseless.

“Jinbeiiii,” you whined, pulling his attention from the voyeuristic fish, “I'm- I'm gonna-”

“Let go for me, my pearl,” he groaned, “I'll be right there with you, you're doing so very well”

You went practically silent as you saw white, body arching off the bench and seizing, hands reaching out and grabbing at forearms, sinking your nails into them as you came hard. You felt a swelling inside you as his clasper opened, vaguely registering through your haze as the other opened against your belly, liquid spraying out over your breasts and neck, some even splashing against your face, while more still filled you and dripped from your overstuffed cunt as Jinbei groaned and stilled. Both of you went slack, Jinbei's cocks slipping from on and in you and slapping against his thighs wetly as he pulled away, hands either side of you to keep him from crushing you. He kissed you softly, both of you unable to do any more than exhausted soft pecks in the intense afterglow of your orgasms, cum dripping down your center and leaking from your cunt, pooling on the floor beneath you as he helped you sit up a little better. He looked at the fish above you and gave them a little growl, the school quickly dissipating at threat of being eaten.

You weren't sure how long the two of you sat there in silence, panting heavily and exchanging soft kisses. At some point he redressed, using the cloths and towels you'd prepared earlier to clean you both up as best he could. He frowned at your clothes, torn in his lust-addled haze, making note to himself to replace them, before taking the cape from his kimono and wrapping it around you. He sat on the bench next to you and pulled you into his lap, and you giggled as he hand fed you snacks and water, smiling to himself at how cute you were, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks that you still seemed so trusting of him after the relatively hard fuck he'd given you. His mind felt a lot clearer, the pollen now worked out of his system, but he couldn't find any ounce of regret at what had happened, and neither could you.

[gildedbirdcage-if]

DEMO TBA

Berenzia- a kingdom ruled by a powerful, stern King. For most of his rule, most anyone would report that he was a fair man to those who relied on him and merciless to those who opposed him or wished harm to his kingdom. It’s said there was once a time where he had calmed, finally found himself beyond his role, and all was well. The people loved, practically worshipped, their soft, perfect, patient, and kind Queen but the King would tell anyone that it paled in comparison to his love for her. The King and Queen were truly one half to the same whole and envied by all. As with all things, it did not last. In a classic tale of tragedy, the King lost his beloved Queen and it is said that it was an event he could never recover from. Whisperings in the street and kingdom’s borders would report that he lost his humanity the day the Queen died.

An event that coincides with your birth.

Play as the only child of Berenzia’s king- from your isolated youth to your isolated adulthood. You’re relatively safe from your father’s ire until your mid-twenties as you must fulfill your duty and get advantageously married. Build your relationships with your childhood friends, your new suitors, and a new friend. Will you do your father’s bidding or will you take destiny into your hands?

Gilded Birdcage is an 18+ interactive fiction not suited for minors. This interactive fiction will contain optional sexual content, suggestive themes, optional references to suicide, child neglect, abuse, deadnaming (gender selectable content), use of incorrect pronouns (gender selectable content), sexism, and death. This list will be updated as needed during content creation.

MC will be set to AFAB with options to explore gender identity. ROs down below will also not be gender selectable.

Aleksander “Alek” [M]:

Age: 25

Physical Description: 6’4”, ivory skin painted with freckles, red, loosely curled hair that reaches his nape, broad shoulders, thin waist, deceivingly strong despite appearance, crooked nose from a break, with warm, brown eyes.

Personality: Warm, affable, easy-going, energetic, extroverted, and impossible to not get along with. Makes anyone feel like they’re the only person in the room… until you walk in. [ENFP-T]

Info: Your childhood friend since diapers, you were born only two days apart. Alek is your first, and closest, friend. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. He has loved you his whole life but will never act upon it, believing you could never feel the same. He enters the battle for your hand not because he hopes you’ll see him as more than a friend, but to give you a friendly, familiar face to choose from. He’ll only ever have eyes for you. (Note: Can choose Alek for a platonic,romantic, or poly route)

Relationship to MC: Childhood friend, Suitor

Orion [M]:

Age: 24

Physical Description: 6’2”, tawny skin with small burn scars scattered on his forearms from cooking, stocky build, straight brown hair (loosely tied in a knot), with piercing green eyes.

Personality: Hardworking, sardonic, introverted, pessimistic, and pessimistic. [ISTJ-A]

Info: Orion began working in the castle at a very young age, thus being one of the only other children you had around growing up. Orion could not stand your demands or position and was, and always will be, quick to point out how the real world works. Despite his cold behavior, he does come around to like you as a person (friend or romantic) and will do anything to make things… livable for you. You often spend time taking up space in his kitchen as a sanctuary of sorts. (Note: available for romantic and poly route)

Relationship to MC: (reluctant) Childhood friends, personal chef

Cyrus [M]:

Age: 29

Physical Description: 5’10”, chestnut skin, thin, black hair that falls in messy waves (reaches his shoulders), with dark brown (nearly black) eyes.

Personality: Flighty, playful, cunning, charming, deceptive, extroverted, and (occasionally) manipulative. [ESTP-A]

Info: An inconsequential prince (fourth born) from a bordering, allied kingdom. Takes life as it comes and never tries to be serious about anything. He has entered for your hand to continue his easy life with hopefully less people trying to control his actions. He is a flirt above all else, capturing every heart he desires, but never offers his own.

Relationship to MC: Stranger, suitor

Irvine [M]:

Age: 28

Physical Description: 6’0”, sun-kissed skin, straight, dark blonde hair that falls to his waist, muscular build, scar across his eyebrow and lip, with one gray eye and one brown eye.

Personality: Calm, sweet, patient, ambitious, peaceful, extroverted, and warm. [ENFJ-T]

Info: The second born prince from a country threatening to wage war against your own. He is hoping for a mutually beneficial marriage between the two of your to keep peace. Despises war and will do anything with minimal bloodshed to get it. Will promise you near anything if you give him your hand. Will wear whatever mask he needs to, as well. (Note: Available for platonic route or a strictly physical route)

Relationship to MC: Stranger, suitor

Blaire [F]:

Age: 23

Physical Description: 5’2”, deep umber skin tone, tightly curled (4B) black hair that reaches her jaw, thin build, with amber eyes.

Personality: Fun, mischievous, joyful, secretive, confident, conspiratorial, extroverted, playful, and a tease. [ENFJ-T]

Info: One of the latest nobles to hit the scene, her father is staying at the castle to work with the king to further himself as an advisor. Noticing you lack companionship, especially female, Blaire’s father offers her up to spend her days with you. She is your first female friend and confidant. Happy to give you opinions on your suitors- you’ve become her latest project and game.

Relationship to MC: Stranger

~Under Construction~

12/27/2024

- Updated that there will not be an option to not have the MC be AFAB- the story is so built around the treatment of being born female. There will be gender identity options as the MC grows up but there will be no option to be AMAB.

-Still working on if I will end the project with choicescipt or twine, but for now all demo is going to choicescript.

- I have about 6,000 words all typed out over four scenes and am hoping to have the demo up and going once I have the MC through toddler phase. So far I finished the MC being born.

-Questions are welcome! Including RO questions! :)

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

tags: fem reader, penetrative sex, mentions of oral sex, deception, dubcon, slight perversion

my au where i create timelines and this makes sense ok

geto suguru was always gentle with you in every sense of the word. he never raised his voice at you, always holding a soft tone even in argument. he never snapped at you, never chose a reason to fight, and never found a reason to be upset with you.

suguru was gentle in bed too. when your lips were wrapped around his cock, he never pushed you enough to choke you. instead, he’d softly hold the head of hair you had, never guiding, but holding it there in assurance. when you rode him, he’d help you when your thighs began to burn and you got tired, hands lifting you up and down his length until you found your own sweet pleasure. and when he was overtop of you? he was pressing gentle kisses to your chest despite the way he’d fuck you to the point in which you wouldn’t have a single thought to worry about

suguru was a really good boyfriend.

when he had people to meet that took him into the late hours of the night, he’d be quiet when walking into your bedroom, a small grin leaving his lips as he sees the lights turned off. the only light in the room was coming from the screen of your phone that you were laid in bed, scrolling through.

he changed into pajamas, something he usually wouldn’t do, but he had a long day. finding comfort in a soft pair of pants that you’d bought for him, deciding on a plain black t-shirt to accompany it.

and before you knew it, he was sliding into bed, big arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him while he kisses the back of your neck.

"missed you," suguru says, hand hesitating a moment before creeping under your shirt to rub your tummy, trying to get a touch of every inch of skin he was able to on your abdomen.

and you felt it from the moment his body made contact with yours, he was hard and you let out a laugh. "i can tell," you speak, and suguru let’s out a deep laugh, continuing to kiss the outline of your neck until he’s pressing kisses across your shoulder.

the man knew your body like the back of his hand, knowing where to kiss, where to touch, and how to get you a begging mess in a matter of seconds. but he didn’t want that now, he only wanted to lull you into sleep, fuck you till your brain is only begging for sleep and your eyes, to close.

the soft moans that creep their way between your lips in the quiet hours of night are music to his ears. giving him a green light that he was doing things right, that his hand was allowed to find the waist band of your pajama shorts and that he was allowed to pull them down your thighs.

"gonna make you sleep good, how does that sound, pretty thing?" he says, sliding down his own pants and then moving to find your entrance. your soft moan of approval against your pillow case makes suguru smile. you really were pretty.

his hand moved to find your wetness, running a finger from your clit and down to your entrance, moving back to rub circles into the bud that has your legs trembling. suguru appreciated how sensitive you were for him. though, he couldn’t tell if you were sensitive, or he just knew how to reach all the right spots.

he was still learning.

the rough, calloused pad of his finger tip continues rubbing soft and slow circles, aided by the wetness he collected from your heat. and once he hears you moaning out his name, he retracts his hand to take hold of his cock.

he gives a few teasing rubs of his tip against your slit, running it back and forth while it grabs some of your slickness. then in one fluid motion, he’s pushing himself into your hole. slowly, painfully you can feel his head push you open, slow enough that you can feel every inch of his entering your gushy walls that accept him with some effort.

god, suguru loved the sound of your voice. the voice that grew an octave higher, a tone louder as he pushed further and further inside of your tight entrance. it was something that he’d make sure to never forget, bottoming out finally, and sitting there for a second.

his palm holds the skin of your hip that’s exposed from clothing, but still under thick blankets. he allows you to warm his cock, to get a good feeling of his size and length as if it was the first time you’d felt the man in his entirety.

but, whether he was doing it for your pleasure or his, he couldn’t exactly figure out.

"how does that feel, hm? could just sleep like this, baby. let you fall asleep all pretty on my cock, huh? how does that sound," he whispers, lips moving against your earlobe before biting it softly. "squeezing me so good, could fall asleep and dream of that pretty pussy," he says, though it sounds more like a growl from the depth of his voice.

half awake as is, your hand drops your phone against your sheets as you whimper softly at the feeling of your lover bottoming out inside of you. reaching that sweet depth that suguru doesn't have to try to touch, the weight of it as light as a feather as he touches it, the tightness in your stomach coiling as he presses deeply within you.

"need more," you moan out, moving your hips against suguru's backside in an attempt to grind against the man. while the thought of cockwarming the man to sleep didn't seem awful, your tired body was begging for release.

the release that suguru wanted as well as he began lazily fucking himself in your pussy, pulling out and pushing back in without quickness. he wasn't in a hurry, loving the way your heat sucked against his walls.

and even in his slow and pacing movements, the way your pussy pulled his length inwards made wet sounds underneath covers, and the man behind you can only laugh against the soft skin of your neck. "you look so pretty," he kisses your neck, though he hasn't caught an actual glimpse of your face once. only tracing the silhouette of it that the moon was helping illuminate.

and when you begin to turn to face the man, his hand is quick to move from your hip to your jaw, making you face the wall that you had been. "finish first, honey. then you can kiss me all you want," he teases, holding your jaw until your resistance falters with a nod. "close," you whisper as he continues fucking your cunt.

suguru had the ability of finishing as soon as he entered you, the feeling sweet enough for him to fill you with his seed. but he wanted to finish with you.

the hand that holds your jaw moves downwards, sliding under your shirt to squeeze at your breasts, pinching your nipple which elicits groans from you and the clenching of you walls against him. suguru smirks.

"that's my girl," he says. and you appreciate the way he's being more verbal than other times you'd had sex. usually keeping his voice at a minimum to hear you. but, you weren't complaining against the words he breathed into your skin.

his hand moves to your other nipple that hadn't received attention, pinching it before flicking it, and that's when you're pulling all of suguru's seed with your pussy, a mixture of cum filling your pussy. your eyes close, grinding against his length to ride out your high, your hand moving behind you to find suguru's thigh, holding it as your finished your high, coming down and grounding yourself with help of skin that you'd grown accustomed to.

the skin that wasn’t soft, but wasn’t rough. skin that you’d love feeling in intimacy and in public, holding hands and arms.

both of you took breaths, coming down from your high with eyes closed as tired and calmness settled over your bodies.

you’d begun to turn around, chest rising as falling in attempt to catch your breath. grin still spreading across your lips as you turn to face your lover. he was good at what he did, making love to you the sweetest way he knew how to, putting your eyes at rest as they fell half lidded, eager to be filled with sleep instead of him.

it’s only when you’re fully turned, facing suguru that your eyes widen. the moonlight that fell into your room shining on the face you had grown to love, the face you’d pressed kisses to hundreds of times. the face that you fell in love with, the one that was destined to you for life.

the face that had a new scar resting on the forehead of the man you’d called yours. a scar stretching the horizontal expanse of his forehead, a scar that told you one thing and one thing alone.

suguru hadn’t made love to you.

but, kenjaku couldn’t help himself when he had read suguru’s soul. couldn’t help but flash through memories with the pretty lady that had caught both his and suguru’s eyes, apparently. couldn’t help but examine the body you held underneath those pajamas you currently wore.

he couldn’t help himself but to envision you on top of him, the countless times you had fucked yourself against your lover. couldn’t help but to watch all the perverse images that didn’t belong to him.

kenjaku couldn’t help himself when he’d decided to touch you on his own time, as a sort of tribute to the body he was in. the one who’s no longer able to touch you the way it had before.

the body that wasn’t his, capabilities near endless. especially when he’s already got you in front of him.

"what’s wrong, pretty thing? i’m still me."

[kittenan2]

Pretty Little Warzone

Pairing: Mafia!Jin x Reader Genre: Romantic Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Mafia AU, Smut, Family-centric, established marriage Rating: Mature (18+ for explicit smut) | Minors DNI Tags: Mafia AU, Overprotective Dad Jin, Domestic Chaos, Soft!Mafia Boss, Humor, Sweetness, Smut, Girl Dad!Jin, Stick Figure Violence, Kid Hijinks, Spicy Kitchen Moments, Past Elopement, Mafia Romance Word Count: ~5k words

The morning sun spills through the frosted glass of your sprawling, ridiculously secure mansion, bathing the hallway in a soft golden glow.

You’re cradling a steaming mug of coffee, the kind that’s strong enough to wake a coma patient, when you hear it—a giggle so pure it could melt the heart of even the most hardened hitman. Your five-year-old daughter, Minji, is in her room, surrounded by a fortress of stuffed animals, her tiny voice carrying through the open door.

“Daddy, I think I’m gonna marry Jiho from my class,” she declares, brushing her favorite unicorn plushie with the seriousness of a boardroom executive. “He’s soooo handsome.”

You pause mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Kim Seokjin, your husband, the man who once ran the most feared mafia syndicate in the city and now spends his days arguing with a kindergartener over glitter glue, stops dead in his tracks. He’s sprawled on the floor, surrounded by Minji’s plushie kingdom, holding a tiny teacup that looks comically small in his broad hands. His dark eyes narrow, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh?” he says, voice deceptively calm, like he’s negotiating a turf war and not a conversation with his five-year-old. “Handsome, huh? Who? Me?”

You stifle a laugh, leaning against the doorway, your silk robe brushing your thighs. Jin’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and gray sweatpants—because of course he makes even loungewear look like a magazine spread—and his dark hair is still mussed from sleep. He’s unfairly gorgeous, and he knows it, the smug bastard.

“No, not you,” Minji says, rolling her eyes like she’s sixteen instead of five. “Jiho. He has shiny hair and gives me his crayons.”

Shiny hair? You bite your lip to keep from snorting. This kid.

Jin’s jaw ticks, just a fraction, but you catch it. “You’re gonna marry him?” he asks, setting the teacup down with the precision of a man defusing a bomb. “Already planning your future, huh?”

“Yep!” Minji beams, oblivious to the storm brewing in her father’s overprotective soul. “You won’t do anything to him, right, Daddy? He’s so handsome.”

You can’t help it—you giggle into your coffee, the sound muffled but not enough to escape Jin’s notice. He glances at you, and you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it’s quickly overtaken by his trademark drama.

“Daddy's gonna send him to God,” Jin says, voice low and deadly serious, like he’s ordering a hit instead of teasing his daughter.

Minji gasps, her tiny hands flying to her cheeks. “Nooo, Daddy!” She crawls into his lap, her glittery sneakers kicking as she unleashes her ultimate weapon: puppy eyes. Those big, sparkling eyes could disarm a SWAT team. “You can’t!”

“Yes, I will, baby,” Jin teases, poking her nose gently. “No one’s stealing my princess.”

Minji giggles, swatting his hand, and you finally step into the room, unable to stay out of this chaos. “Kim Seokjin, she’s five,” you say, leaning against the doorframe, one hand on your hip. “You’re already planning to whack a kindergartener?”

Jin looks up at you, his lips curling into that infuriatingly sexy smirk that still makes your knees weak after all these years. “I don’t negotiate with crayon-sharing pretty boys.”

Minji, still in his lap, tugs at his shirt. “Daddy, Jiho’s nice! He gave me the blue crayon.”

“The blue one?” Jin gasps, clutching his chest like he’s been shot. “Oh, he’s done for now.”

You burst out laughing, setting your coffee on Minji’s tiny desk. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, but your heart does a little flip at the sight of Jin with Minji, his broad shoulders relaxed, his usually sharp edges softened by her presence. He’s a mafia boss turned girl dad, and the contrast is equal parts hilarious and heart-melting.

Later that night, Minji’s tucked into bed, her unicorn plushie clutched tightly under her chin. The mansion is quiet, save for the faint hum of the security system Jin insists on keeping at Fort Knox levels. You’re in the kitchen, the one room in this ridiculous house that feels like a real home, with its warm wooden cabinets and the faint smell of garlic from last night’s dinner.

You’re stirring a pot of pasta sauce, the kind Jin swears he can make better than any Michelin chef, when he sneaks up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist. His chest presses against your back, warm and solid, and you feel the familiar spark of heat that never seems to fade, no matter how many years you’ve been together.

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmur, leaning back into him as his lips brush the curve of your neck. “Threatening a five-year-old over crayons.”

“He’s a threat,” Jin mumbles against your skin, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge of possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No one’s good enough for my girls.”

You turn in his arms, the wooden spoon still in your hand, and raise an eyebrow. “Oh, please. You didn’t have a problem when I fought with my parents and ran off with you.”

Jin’s smirk widens, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Sweetheart,” he drawls, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, “I kidnapped you from your own wedding. Big difference.”

You laugh, the memory flooding back like a scene from a blockbuster action movie, vivid and chaotic. Your family—another mafia dynasty, because your life is nothing if not a soap opera—had arranged your marriage to some sleazy heir to secure an alliance.

You’d been miserable, stuffed into a gaudy wedding dress that made you feel like a tiered cake, standing at the altar while your groom-to-be leered at you like you were a prize horse. The ceremony was seconds from starting when the doors burst open, and there was Jin, all sharp jawline and black suit, striding in like he owned the place. His crew followed, guns drawn, and the guests scattered like roaches under a flashlight.

Before you could process what was happening, Jin had you over his shoulder, caveman-style, your dress fluffing around you like a parachute. You should’ve been terrified, but instead, you were laughing, your heart pounding with exhilaration as he carried you out to the waiting helicopter, bullets pinging off the walls behind you.

Inside the chopper, the roar of the blades drowned out the chaos below. Jin set you down, his hands steadying your waist as you wobbled in your heels, your veil askew. You ripped it off, tossing it into the corner, and glared at him, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline.

“You couldn’t have called first?” you snapped, smoothing your dress, though your lips were twitching with a smile you couldn’t suppress. “I’m in the middle of a wedding, Seokjin.”

He grinned, that cocky, heart-stopping grin that had drawn you to him in the first place, when you’d met in secret months ago, sneaking around your families’ feud like rebellious teenagers. “Yeah, well, you didn’t look thrilled to be marrying that sleaze,” he said, stepping closer, his hands sliding up your arms. “Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“A favor?” you scoffed, crossing your arms, though the proximity of his body was already making your resolve waver. “You just stormed my wedding with a small army, Jin. That’s not a favor, that’s a scene.”

He laughed, low and warm, and before you could fire off another retort, he cupped your face and kissed you. It was fierce, desperate, all teeth and tongue, like he was claiming you right there in the vibrating belly of the helicopter.

You melted into him, your hands fisting in his suit jacket, pulling him closer as the world outside faded away. His lips were hot, insistent, and you kissed him back with equal fire, your heart racing as you poured every ounce of your defiance, your desire, into it.

When he finally pulled back, both of you panting, he rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Fuck your family, fuck that guy, fuck the alliance. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go.”

You smirked, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Pretty bold for a guy who just kidnapped me in front of two hundred people.”

“Kidnapped?” he teased, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time. “Sweetheart, you were practically climbing into my arms.”

“Keep dreaming,” you shot back, but you kissed him again, slower, deeper, your body pressed against his as the helicopter carried you away from your old life and into his.

Back in the present, you snap out of the memory, the wooden spoon still in your hand, a smear of marinara on Jin’s shirt where you’ve smacked him. “Technicalities,” you say, grinning. “I was a willing participant.”

“Willing?” Jin snorts, grabbing the spoon and tossing it onto the counter. “You were screaming ‘faster, Jin, they’re gaining on us’ while I was dodging bullets.”

You laugh, looping your arms around his neck. “And you loved every second of it.”

“Damn right I did.” His voice drops, husky and intimate, as he pulls you flush against him. “Still do.”

The air shifts, the playful bickering giving way to something hotter, heavier. His lips crash against yours, and you melt into him, the taste of him familiar but still intoxicating. His hands roam, one slipping under your shirt to trace the curve of your spine, the other gripping your thigh to hitch your leg around his waist. You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing yours in a way that makes your head spin.

“Jin,” you murmur against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair. “The sauce is gonna burn.”

“Let it,” he growls, lifting you onto the counter with ease, his hands sliding under your thighs to spread them. “I’m starving for something else.”

You laugh, but it’s cut off by a moan as he kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. The kitchen, this domestic haven, suddenly feels like a battlefield, all heat and urgency.

His hands are everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin just above your hipbone. You arch into him, your body responding to his touch like it’s programmed to, every nerve alight with want.

“Seokjin,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders as he presses himself closer, the hard line of his arousal evident through his sweatpants. “We’re supposed to be cooking.”

“Fuck the pasta,” he murmurs, his lips finding that spot behind your ear that makes you weak. “You’re my favorite meal.”

You’re about to make a snarky comeback when he slides a hand between your thighs, his fingers brushing against you through the thin fabric of your shorts. Your head falls back, a soft moan escaping as he rubs slow, deliberate circles, his eyes locked on yours, dark with desire.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says, voice rough with need. “Always have been.”

You tug him closer, your lips crashing against his as you grind against his hand, chasing the friction. The counter is cold against your skin, but Jin’s body is all heat, his touch igniting you like a match to gasoline. He tugs your shorts down in one swift motion, and you kick them off, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.

“Impatient,” he teases, but his own breathing is ragged as he slips a hand into your panties, his fingers finding you slick and ready. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.”

“Whose fault is that?” you retort, but your voice breaks as he slides a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure. You moan, your head tipping back, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your throat, his lips hot and hungry.

He adds another finger, curling them just right, and you’re a goner, your hips bucking against his hand as he works you with the precision of a man who knows your body better than you do. “Jin,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shirt, his hair, anything to ground yourself as the pleasure builds, sharp and overwhelming.

“Come for me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low growl that sends you spiraling. “Let me feel you.”

And you do, your body tensing as the orgasm crashes through you, your thighs trembling around his hand. He doesn’t stop, drawing it out until you’re a panting, boneless mess, clinging to him like he’s your lifeline.

He kisses you softly, a contrast to the intensity of moments ago, and you laugh breathlessly, your forehead resting against his. “You’re gonna burn the house down one of these days,” you say, still catching your breath.

“Worth it,” he says, smirking as he licks his fingers clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “You taste better than any sauce.”

You swat at him, but your heart’s doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he looks at you like that—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

The next morning, you’re all in the living room, sprawled on the plush rug with a pile of crayons and paper. Minji’s in her element, her tongue poking out as she scribbles furiously, her glittery sneakers kicking in the air.

Jin’s pretending to read a newspaper, but you catch him sneaking glances at her drawing, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. You’re cross-legged beside Minji, doodling your own little stick figure—a terrible attempt at a cat that looks more like a potato with whiskers.

“Done!” Minji announces, holding up her masterpiece with a grin that could power a small city. It’s a stick figure family portrait: you in a flower dress, Minji in a sparkly gown with a tiara, and Jin—oh, Jin. His stick figure is wielding a comically oversized bazooka, complete with little red flames shooting out of it.

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Minji, what is this?”

“That’s Daddy’s love gun!” she says proudly, pointing at the bazooka. “He protects us with it.”

Jin chokes on his coffee, setting the mug down with a thud. “Damn right it is,” he says, puffing out his chest, but his ears are turning pink.

You give him a look, one eyebrow raised. “She’s five, Seokjin. Stop encouraging her.”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence as he pulls Minji into his lap. “I meant emotionally. Right, princess?”

Minji nods solemnly, like she’s in on some grand mafia secret. “Emotionally, Mommy.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling. Jin leans over, snatching a crayon from the pile and adding to Minji’s drawing—a tiny heart above your stick figure’s head. “There,” he says, winking at you. “That’s you. All heart.”

“Oh, please,” you say, but your cheeks warm as you nudge his shoulder. He catches your hand, kissing your knuckles softly, and Minji groans dramatically.

“Eww, Daddy, stop being mushy!” she says, but she’s giggling as she grabs another sheet of paper. “I’m gonna draw us at the park now. With ice cream!”

Jin leans closer to you, his voice low so Minji can’t hear. “She’s got my artistic talent, clearly. That bazooka is a masterpiece.”

You snort, shoving him playfully. “You’re so full of it.”

He grins, stealing a quick kiss when Minji’s distracted, her crayon scratching furiously across the paper. “Full of love for you,” he murmurs, and you roll your eyes again, but you’re smiling so wide it hurts.

Minji looks up, catching you both in the act. “Mommy, Daddy, focus!” she scolds, waving her crayon like a tiny dictator. “You’re supposed to help me draw the ice cream truck.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jin says, saluting her with a mock-serious face. He grabs a crayon and starts doodling an ice cream cone that looks suspiciously like a grenade.

You shake your head, grabbing your own crayon to add sprinkles, and soon the three of you are lost in a chaotic, colorful mess of drawings, laughter, and Jin sneaking more kisses when he thinks Minji isn’t looking.

This is your life now—a retired mafia boss, a glitter-obsessed kindergartener, and a house full of love and chaos. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The backyard dojo is Jin’s pride and joy, a sleek setup with padded mats and a rack of training weapons that look like they belong in a museum. He’s in full Dad Mode today, teaching Minji basic self-defense moves while you watch from a lawn chair, sipping lemonade and trying not to laugh at how serious they both look.

Minji’s wearing a tiny gi that Jin had custom-made, her pigtails bouncing as she mimics his stance. “Like this, Daddy?”

“Perfect,” Jin says, adjusting her tiny fist. “Now, if someone tries to grab you, what do you do?”

“Kick ‘em!” Minji says, swinging her leg with surprising force for a five-year-old.

“That’s my girl,” Jin says, high-fiving her. “Why do you need to know this, Minji?”

She pouts, crossing her arms. “Why do I need this? I’m strong already!”

“Because you’re a Kim,” Jin says, crouching to her level, his voice softening. “And Kims are strong, but we’re also smart. And…” He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes twinkling. “You’re only allowed to marry someone who can beat me in a fight.”

Minji’s eyes widen, like he’s just revealed the secret to the universe. “No one can beat you, Daddy!”

“Exactly,” he says, winking at you.

You snort, setting your lemonade down. “You’re setting her up for a life of spinsterhood, you know that, right?”

Jin grins, sauntering over to you and leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Good. More time for me to spoil my girls.”

Minji tugs at his sleeve. “Daddy, can I have a bazooka like you?”

You choke on your drink, and Jin laughs so hard he nearly falls over. “We’ll start with a water gun, princess,” he says, ruffling her hair. “Work your way up.”

That night, after Minji’s tucked in with her unicorn and a bedtime story about a mafia princess who saves the world (Jin’s storytelling is wild), you find yourself back in the kitchen. The pasta from last night is long gone, and you’re craving something sweet, so you’re whipping up a batch of brownies while Jin cleans up Minji’s latest glitter explosion.

“You’re such a softie now,” you tease, stirring the batter as he sweeps glitter into a dustpan. “The great Kim Seokjin, feared mafia boss, defeated by a five-year-old with a glitter glue obsession.”

He straightens, tossing the dustpan aside and stalking toward you with that predatory grace that still makes your pulse race. “Softie?” he says, his voice low and dangerous, but his eyes are all warmth. “I’d still burn the world for both of you, baby.”

You smile, your heart doing that fluttery thing again. “I know,” you say softly. “You and Minji are the one who makes me feel safe enough to laugh in a house full of weapons.”

He’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your hips as he backs you against the counter. “You’re gonna pay for calling me a softie,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours, teasing but not quite kissing.

“Oh?” you challenge, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. “What’s the punishment, Mr. Kim?”

His eyes darken, and before you can blink, he’s lifting you onto the counter again, the brownie batter forgotten. His lips crash against yours, hungry and demanding, and you kiss him back with equal fervor, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.

“Fuck, I love you,” he growls against your mouth, his hands sliding under your shirt to grip your bare skin. “Always have, always will.”

You moan softly as he kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. “Jin,” you breathe, your fingers tangling in his hair as he unbuttons few buttons of your shirt. His hands are everywhere, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, and you arch into him, desperate for more.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, his voice rough with need as he unhooks your bra inside shirt. His lips find your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, and you cry out, your hips grinding against him instinctively.

“Jin, please,” you whimper, your hands tugging at his shirt until he pulls it off, revealing the sculpted chest and abs that still make you weak. You run your hands over his skin, feeling the scars from his past life, each one a reminder of the man who’d fought for you, who’d chosen you over everything.

He tugs your pants down, his fingers slipping into your panties to find you already soaked. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, his fingers sliding through your slickness, teasing your clit until you’re trembling. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

“Then we’ll die happy,” you gasp, pulling him closer for a messy, desperate kiss. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you moan into his mouth, your body arching off the counter as he works you with expert precision.

But before you can lose yourself completely, a small voice pipes up from the doorway. “Mommy, are the brownies ready yet?”

You freeze, your heart lurching as you shove Jin away with a panicked push. He stumbles back, caught off guard, and bangs his head against the edge of the kitchen island with a loud thunk.

“Ow, fuck,” he hisses, rubbing the back of his head as you scramble to pull your shirt and pant back on, your face flaming.

Minji stands there, clutching her unicorn plushie, her eyes half sleepy. “Why’s Daddy on the floor?”

You choke on a laugh, trying to compose yourself as Jin glares at you from the floor, still rubbing his head. “Uh, Daddy just… tripped,” you say, hopping off the counter and smoothing your hair. “Brownies aren’t ready yet, sweetie. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Jin groans, pulling himself up as you usher Minji out of the kitchen. “You owe me for this,” he mutters, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips as he watches you lead your daughter away.

Later, after Minji’s back in bed, snoring softly with her unicorn, you find Jin in your bedroom, sprawled on the king-sized bed, still rubbing the back of his head dramatically. “You tried to kill me,” he says, pouting as you climb onto the bed beside him.

“You’ll live,” you say, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss the spot he’s rubbing. “Poor baby.”

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer, and the playful glint in his eyes turns heated. “You’re not getting out of this that easily,” he murmurs, flipping you onto your back with a swift, practiced move. “We’ve got unfinished business.”

You laugh, but it’s cut off by a gasp as he kisses you, deep and hungry, his hands sliding under your shirt again. This time, there’s no interruption, no tiny footsteps to derail you. He takes his time, peeling your clothes off slowly, his lips trailing fire across your skin—down your neck, across your collarbone, lingering on your breasts until you’re squirming beneath him.

“Jin... Mhmm...,” you breathe, your hands tugging at his sweatpants, desperate to feel him. He obliges, kicking them off, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close as he presses himself against you, hard and ready.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he growls, kissing you again as he slides into you, slow and deep, filling you perfectly. You moan, your nails digging into his back as he sets a steady, intense rhythm, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through you.

“Love you,” you gasp, your body tightening around him as the heat builds, your hands clutching at him like he’s your anchor. He groans, his lips finding yours in a messy, desperate kiss, and you lose yourself in him, in the way he moves, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you come, it’s with a cry of his name, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure crashes over you. He follows moments later, his thrusts growing erratic as he spills inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting, sweaty, and utterly spent.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, and you nestle against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

“Worth it,” you say, echoing his earlier words, and he laughs, the sound warm and familiar.

Sunday morning dawns bright and chaotic, as all mornings in the Kim household do. You’re flipping pancakes in the kitchen, the smell of vanilla and butter filling the air, when Minji marches in, wearing oversized sunglasses and wielding a neon-green water gun.

“I’m defending Daddy from Jiho today,” she announces, striking a dramatic pose like she’s in a spy movie.

Jin, who’s stealing a pancake from the stack, pauses mid-bite, his eyes twinkling with pride. “That’s my girl,” he says, ruffling her hair. “No crayon-sharing pretty boys allowed.”

You roll your eyes, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of Minji. “She drew you another bazooka, by the way,” you say, pointing to the latest masterpiece taped to the fridge. It’s Jin’s stick figure again, this time with an even bigger bazooka and what looks suspiciously like a flamethrower.

“Good,” Jin says, dead serious. “That’s accurate.”

Minji giggles, climbing into her chair and aiming her water gun at Jin. “Pew pew!” she says, squirting a stream of water that catches him square in the chest.

Jin clutches his chest, falling dramatically to the floor. “You got me, princess! I’m done for!”

You laugh so hard you nearly drop the spatula, but then Minji turns to you, her sunglasses slipping down her nose as she points an accusing finger. “Daddy, you gotta stop kissing Mommy every five minutes,” she says, her tone scolding but her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jin props himself up on his elbows, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Baby, she is my girl before you,” he says, winking at you. “I get first dibs.”

Minji gasps, clutching her water gun like it’s a sacred relic. “Nuh-uh! I’m your princess!”

“You both are so dramatic,” you say, leaning down to kiss Minji’s forehead before turning to Jin, who’s still sprawled on the floor, looking far too pleased with himself. You offer him a hand, pulling him up, and he steals a quick kiss, earning another “eww” from Minji.

“Gross!” she says, but she’s giggling as she sprays you both with her water gun, turning the kitchen into a chaotic battlefield of pancakes, water, and laughter.

You shake your head, your heart swelling with love for this ridiculous, chaotic, perfect little family. Jin might be a former mafia boss, and you might have a house full of weapons hidden behind secret panels, but right now, in this kitchen, with pancakes and water guns and stick-figure bazookas, you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

A/n: Softie Jin is everything I want. 😩🙈

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bebabido

[tiamathh]

Your Next Friendship <3

Note: it's been a while, this is a repost but I have the same audience I had like 4 years ago so bear with me, new pac being worked on love you stay hydrated stay healthy muah <33 like and rb if you can!

Do not plagiarise, reword, steal, repost my work!

✧ Masterlist

Pile 1

Oh, this is cute, this will be a very new beginning for both parties!! There will be a lot of innocence here, it's playful and will help heal your inner child. This person may even help you feel freer, you could help them back by making them be more careful and grounded with their decisions. You may be manifesting this friendship!! It will definitely be some sort of wish fulfilment for you. They would be someone who's really accomplished and successful in whatever they do, they could have Aries or Capricorn in their chart as well. They'll teach you how to be more confident and open to accepting love and affection. Your relationship dynamic is very given and take, however you may find yourself too absorbed in this friendship at one point where you could miss out on meeting new people and making more friends, so beware of that.

Ah there's so much cheerful and extroverted energy here! The person coming in is definitely a people person, they may love socialising and something about their laugh will stand out, they could like accessorising as well. They're someone who looks towards the brighter side of life, but they may have problems with facing negative emotions, which could lead to toxic positivity to a certain extent. They may also like spoiling their loved ones with gifts, you may work on a project together as well.

Keywords: close, build, seeking answers, paying attention, curiosity, money, status, complacency, love you as a friend, anger, define, allowed, everything, dreams, smooth, why? Far away

Song: Manta Rays - Chloe Moriondo

Pile 2

Ah, okay so this person is probably someone who is mysterious and can come off as deceptive at times. The kind of person you may think is shady or brooding, someone who could be a little more pessimistic. They could be struggling with their mental health and could get stuck in their own head quite a bit, and may have issues with feelings of inadequacy. This friendship may be more for them and less for you, it's giving karmic relationship where you'll help heal them and they'll teach you important lessons. They could be extremely wise beyond their years, but they could have trouble expressing it in a way that doesn't come off as slightly argumentative.

However, your relationship dynamic would be very sweet and promote a lot of growth for the both of you. They may teach you how to stand up for yourself more and take a more realistic approach, maybe you're someone who is more idealistic, they'll help ground you whereas you can teach them how to take it easy and not be very hard on themselves. This would be a very strong bond, they may be someone who believe actions speak louder than words and their love language could be acts of service and physical touch, they would be the kind to ensure your comfort over anything else and could remember small details about you.

Keywords: angry, forgive, camp, dirty shoes, first choice, night conversations, strangers, doubts, imagine, almonds, loneliest, accept myself, worship, passion, devotion, planning.

Song: Wish on the same sky - Monsta X

Pile 3

Oh, this could be someone who you could meet either while travelling or online. They may be different than you in terms of your ideologies, ethnicity, country, etc. They could also be someone who has different ideologies from you and could teach you how to look at things from different perspectives especially if you're more stubborn and set in your own ways. There could be some argumentative energy here, initially there could be a bit of conflict however the both of you will bring balance into each other's lives. They may teach you how to balance your masculine and feminine energies and make them work together rather than focusing on one at a time.

This could prove to be a perfect partnership, probably a long-term friendship as well, this person will be charming and fearless, they could be someone who thinks about consequences after an action been completed, a bit impulsive but it works for them either way. You could think they're really lucky and generous, something about their hair would stand out as well, they could attract big crowds too. Your dynamic would rely a lot on words and communication, maybe you text more than call but they would be big on words of affirmation, the kind to stop you from continuing negative self-talk (if you do talk negatively about yourself).

Keywords: power, universe at play, timing, patience, repression, hunger, senses, hands, drink, forever, exploring, learning, protection, in love, believe, trying, dream girl, boring clothes.

Song: Suburban Wonderland - BETWEEN FRIENDS