#Nothing is going on in the right down corner of the last one btw

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I really don't understand what I'm happening with the whole situation (just something about ai), and I've been reading you fanfics for a while now (and I've been eating them up, theyre scrumptious and yummy), and never once have I thought they were ai. You can see it in writing structure(?) And the way you write, it feels human. And there is nothing wrong with using grammarly cause we all do.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for your hate, but if it's not much trouble, can you make a fanfic about childhood best friend!reader x Han Su-gang who is older than her by 2 years. She left town, sugang was devastated, and she came back and transferred for her last year.

He makes himself known by lingering around her for a long while (in the halls, brief touching, just tormenting her), wondering if she remembered him. things have been quiet, and no one tells her the incidents. She simps over Han su-gang about how handsome he is to her friends (she's a bunble Ray of sunshine and naive so they tell her nothing) and how adorable their children will be and all that like a middle schooler. It's like pure and adorable saying they'll have 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl, and have 5 cats (being dululu), and he hears about this and decided to give her a good time!(smut)

Anyway, please and thank you and take care of yourself (so sorry that this is long💔)

hey babeee thx for the request sorry for the delay btw 😘

Title: Guess You Grew Up Pairing: Han Su-gang x naive!sunshine!childhoodbestfriend!Fem!Reader Rating: 🔞 MDNI Tags: childhood best friends to something else, naive reader, light corruption, possessive Su-gang, unaware reader, fluffy smut, oral (f receiving), size kink, breeding talk (delulu style), soft and dark tension

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Han Su-gang never forgot you.

You were the only bright thing in his life back then. Messy pigtails, scraped knees, and that ridiculous laugh. You were the first person who held his hand without flinching. Who told him he was your “favorite person in the world.”

Then one day, you were just… gone. Moved away. No goodbye.

It haunted him. For years.

And then—just like that—you were back.

You transferred in mid-term, your backpack bouncing, your voice still sweet and chirpy as you introduced yourself with a wide smile to a classroom full of half-dead teenagers. “I used to live here when I was little! It’s so good to be back!”

Su-gang leaned back in his chair, staring at you from the back row, jaw tight.

You’d grown. Legs longer. Hair shinier. Same fucking smile.

But you didn’t even look at him.

Did you forget him?

He watched. Waited.

And when the bell rang, you skipped right past him like you didn’t even notice the boy who used to protect you from bullies.

He almost laughed.

You started following him with your eyes first.

He could feel it when he walked down the hallway, his hands in his pockets, and you’d pause mid-conversation, glancing up at him like a little lost puppy.

Then came the whispers. The blushing.

“He’s so pretty, right?” you said to your friends one day in the bathroom, unaware he was around the corner. “Like, dangerously hot. Oh my god. I want him to kiss me and then ignore me for a week so I can cry about it like in a drama.”

Your friends stared at you in horror.

You just kept going. “If I married him, our kids would be gorgeous. We’d have, like… three. Two boys, one girl. And five cats! Or maybe seven. He looks like a cat dad, don’t you think?”

Su-gang bit his lip to keep from laughing.

You really hadn’t changed at all.

He started showing up more.

Behind you in the hallway. Lurking near your locker. Sitting near you in the cafeteria. His knuckles would brush yours when you passed. His shoulder would graze yours in class.

It drove you crazy.

You kept stealing glances, your brain turning into fluff every time he licked his lips or leaned against the wall like a walking daydream.

One day, after your “dream wedding fantasy” rant, Su-gang finally snapped.

He cornered you after school, pulling you into a supply room and shutting the door with a soft click.

You gasped, back hitting the shelf.

“Han—Han Su-gang?!”

He stared down at you, silent.

Your heart thumped. “Are you—um, are you lost?”

He stepped closer. "You really don’t remember me?"

You blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“I used to walk you home. You made me hold your stupid Hello Kitty umbrella.”

Your mouth fell open. “…Sooie?”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh my god—Han Sooie!” You laughed, teary-eyed, and then threw your arms around him. “I missed you! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

“I was waiting,” he muttered into your hair, his arms tightening. “Wanted to see if you remembered. You didn’t.”

“I do now!” you pouted. “You got hot. That threw me off.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze dark. “You really think I’m hot?”

You nodded without thinking. “Like… really hot. In a ‘ruin me’ kind of way.”

“…You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I will.”

He kissed you hard, like he’d been holding it in for years.

Your lips parted in surprise, and Su-gang took full advantage, sliding his tongue into your mouth, one hand cupping your cheek while the other settled low on your waist.

You melted into him instantly.

“I should make you pay for forgetting me,” he murmured against your lips.

“S-Su-gang…”

“You say I’m hot? Say you want kids? Say stupid little things about marrying me?” He kissed down your neck, biting gently. “You think I wouldn’t hear that?”

You whimpered. “You heard that?!”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re not subtle.”

His hand slipped under your skirt. Fingers finding you embarrassingly wet already.

“Oh my god—”

“You this wet just from seeing me around, sunshine?”

You nodded, dazed. “You always look so good. I—I just thought about it a lot.”

“You want me to give you a good time, yeah?” he whispered, fingers stroking your clit slowly. “Since you dream about it so much.”

You whined and nodded again.

He kissed you breathless as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them slow and deep. His other hand moved to your chest, pulling down your top just enough to mouth at your nipple, sucking lightly.

Your legs shook.

“Please—please, Su-gang…”

“Shh. Let me take care of you, sunshine.” He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up.

“Wait—w-we’re still at school—”

“Then be quiet,” he smirked, before licking a thick stripe up your pussy, making your knees nearly buckle.

He ate you like he was starved. Like he owned you.

You were already close—years of fantasy finally crashing into reality.

“S-Su-gang, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” he murmured, fingers tightening on your thighs. “Cum for me. Then maybe I’ll fuck you for real and give you those kids you keep talking about.”

You cried out, biting your fist as you came hard, hips grinding against his mouth.

When he stood again, your legs were trembling, and he kissed you soft this time.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Got it?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless, ruined.

“Good girl.”

[shqrkdud]

Chat I'm going insane

[reminiscingthesea]

Synopsis (finally spelt it right)- Yandere popular Phainon x Nerdy loser reader who thinks no one likes her… mmmmmghhhh..

A/N- Tysm for the support on my last fic!! The ending was kinda rushed LAWL😓 I had to go out that day and I didn’t wanna leave it unfinished 🧍🏽‍♀️ set in college au btw

Warning- Stalking, mentions of violence and gore, self deprecating thoughts, sexual thoughts, reader is such a loser tbh…

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What did it mean to be alone? Did it mean you’d have nobody around you for comfort? Did it mean you were just an invisible speck of dust in the eyes of everyone around you? Were you truly lovable? Would you die alone?

These were all questions you grew quite familiar with the existence of, as they’d live in your mind rent free, propagating at the sight of love and passion in the world around you. It hurt, of course it did. Knowing you would never experience such luxuries.

But over time, you grew used to it. You grew used to the silent murmur of degrading thoughts, that lingered at the back of your head, only growing in volume slightly as you’d pass by some random couple cooped up in the lone corner of the library, away from prying eyes besides your own, making out passionately behind a bookshelf, such as right now.

Groaning at the filthy, public display of affection, you kicked off your seat, holding your heavy books to your chest, slinging your backpack- which was filled with even heavier books- over your shoulder, and making your way out your once safe haven of literature and knowledge, which was now dominated by lust. You didn’t wanna think of what that couple may be doing now, with nobody around. As you walked, those thoughts that would ring in your head somehow got louder, it was unbearable for some odd reason- but not enough for you to collapse or anything- but just enough for you to lose focus, causing you to collide with something hard and firm, resulting in you tripping up pathetically and dropping your books with a slight gasp.

“S-sorry-“ You whispered apologetically realising what you had bumped into wasn’t a wall, but a person. Nervousness seeped into your voice as you frantically reached to pick up your books, that were now spread out across the floor, with desperate hands.

“Oh god, are you hurt?? Do you need me to take you to the nurse’s office?” Called out a gentle, handsome voice as their shadow grew smaller, the sight of pale, large- but bony hands- reaching out to hold your shoulder, gazing into your eyes with worry, which were fixated onto the floor in embarrassment.

“I’m fine I-“ Your words were cut short once your head had finally lifted up to meet with his. Your eyes locked onto his, which were dominated with a beautiful hue of azure blue, with small yellow pupils that resembled the sun. You felt your face heating up at the very close distance between your nose and his, glancing away shyly. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” You’d say meekly, trying to get up, but feeling something heavy weigh you down. You forgot about that heavy bag you carried. You then heard a soft chuckle, that reverberated nicely through your ear due to the close contact.

“You sure? That bag of yours seems to be holding you down a bit. Here, lemme carry it for you.” Without a second thought, he effortlessly unhooked your bag’s strap around your shoulder, and lifted it up, as if it weighed nothing. The loss of weight made you think more clearly, as you managed to grab all your books and smaller trinkets in quicker succession. You felt his large, warm palm on your back as he coaxed you to stand up slowly, following through just as gently.

“We can go to my dorm room and you could just drop my bag off for me there, if that’s okay with you..” You muttered quietly, avoiding his gaze, knowing it would only make you even more awkward if you kept your eyes on his. He beamed brightly at this, and although you weren’t looking at him, you could easily hear the innocent smile in his voice as he spoke.

“That’s fine with me! And don’t worry, I’m used to carrying heavier objects, so this is light work for me~” He exclaimed proudly, without a care in the world for whoever may hear his less-than-egotistical tone that boomed throughout the empty hallways. You thought it was.. cute. But there was a lingering feeling in you that secreted less-than-innocent thoughts into your mind. ‘God, could he carry you around like that with minimal effort, and boast about it for everyone to hear?’ You thought to yourself as the pair of you walked, growing closer to your dormitory. Once the dirtier thoughts dissipated away, another thought came.

“..Uhm, you’re Phainon, right? Captain of the sports team? Shouldn’t you be with your team training or something?” You asked curiously, now turning your head to look at him, having to tilt it upwards slightly to meet his gaze, due to the slight height difference between the two of you, which stirred even more sensations in you, that you tried to ignore as he spoke.

“Ah, training is cancelled for us today. One of my members was gravely injured a few nights prior, and I, as the sports captain, firmly believe that a good days training must include the whole squad. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to critic each other, and build stronger bonds between us all equally!” Phainon declared virtuously, holding his head up high with his eyes closed, a hand over his heart. At this, you giggled softly, admiring his show of righteousness and dedication to his team.

“They must feel so lucky to have such a strong-willed captain such as yourself, who cares so much about his teammates, Phainon..” You admitted gently, before wanting to take it all back as you realised how corny you may have sounded. Gosh, you couldn’t even form a proper compliment. Was he creeped out by you now? Did you make him cringe? Did he find you weird now?

Amidst your internal turmoil, Phainon laughed quietly, a faint pink flush spreading onto pale, slim cheeks, his voice now taking on a more shyer, sheepish tone as he began once more.

“You’re praising me too much here. I’m sure they’re more than happy to have me as their captain, I know I am. But I fear I’m sometimes a bit too encouraging at times, which may overwhelm them a bit. I’m working on it though!”

To that, you smiled at him sympathetically, acknowledging his worries as he now had his face down turned and away from yours.

“I’m not the best at comforting, but if you’re worrying too much about how you’re training your team mates, then maybe that’s a good thing, y’know? Worrying about things like this just means you’re worrying out of good will, which shows that you truly care. I’m more than certain your team mates are aware of this, but if it’s bothering you so much, why don’t you talk to them about it? I’m sure they’d understand.” You spoke calmly, the words flowing out your mouth with precision. As you said, you weren’t the best at comforting another person, you couldn’t even help yourself, but the topic of bad thoughts and feelings was something you knew like the back of your hand, so why not at least try to comfort someone on a topic you knew so well?

“I.. thank you. I guess I never saw it that way, I always thought my worries were a product of my own faults, which in turn, would make me even more worried.” He admitted lightly, his voice becoming less pronounced and more relaxed, which was short lived as he continued yet again, tone now taking up a more teasing lilt. “..Though, I didn’t take someone as quiet as you to be such a smooth talker. You’ve got a way with words, that’s for sure. I almost thought my heart was about to jump out and end me right there!” He grinned, his expression becoming less somber, and more playful as he teased you, monitoring your own expression shifting from one of pity, to one of surprise.

“You’re just teasing me now.. I’m really not that good with words. I just know how it feels to be overwhelmed with such thoughts, I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through that, especially someone as hardworking as yourself.”

As you both drew to the entrance of your room’s door, which was situated in a lone corner of the campus, where other quiet kids liked to stay, he flashed you a boyish, toothy grin.

“Hmm, say what you want. It’s always the quiet ones who shock us louder ones with their words the most. Oh! I forgot to ask you for your name, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m [Name]. Uh, I like to study literature and ancient texts, but I major in science. Not that you needed to know all of that anyways.” You answered absentmindedly as you fumbled with your key in the door’s lock hole, opening it quietly, picking up your bag and looking at him.

“Oh, no way! I also like to study ancient texts! I major in history, so we have something in common! Here, I’ll give you my number, we can chat more frequently!!” He chirped happily, quickly swiping a pen from his pant’s pocket and grabbing your hand, scribbling his number messily onto your palm.

“Our schedules may be different, but I’ll still look for time to talk to you, [Name]. I gotta run though, I have an essay to complete for Professor Anaxa..” Dullness and gloom creeped into his tone as he rolled his eyes, which you could only copy. Professor Anaxa- or Anaxagoras as he liked it- was definitely someone you’re glad didn’t teach practical science, and instead, theoretical and spiritual science, as well as history.

“I can imagine that.. anyways, bye Phainon! I’ll add you later.” You waved him goodbye, before disappearing into your dorm and shutting the door with a last smile to him, locking it securely.

‘Perfect.’ He thought to himself, as he began his journey back to his own dorm, his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he walked.

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You sat at your desk at the peak time of exactly 3:58am in the morning, papers messily scattered across the wooden expanses, as pen met paper hastily, untidily. You were so unbelievably tired of being assigned research project after research project by your ever so cruel, demanding professor, who happened to be an even crueller teacher than Professor Anaxagoras, or Anaxa as Phainon liked to call him.

Speaking of Phainon, you had forgotten to add his number to your contact list. Getting up and walking over to your bedside to unplug your fully charged phone from its charger, you couldn’t help but notice something small and black on your bed’s headboard, just above where you’d rest your head on your pillow. Assuming it was just a mere bug, you flicked it away with your fingers, and opened your phone, adding Phainon’s number.

What you didn’t know, was that said ‘bug’ wasn’t gone.

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Phainon leaned over his own desk, nervously looking at his computer screen as you stared at the camera he had placed to discreetly in the middle of one night. He was a mess, even messier than those papers that mapped out your desk, that were littered with scribbles and whatnot. Drenched in sweat, biting his nails whilst running another hand through his now matted, damp white locks, he stared in anticipation. It didn’t help how you also hadn’t added his phone number and messaged him hours prior. You must’ve hated him, he thought.

As you flicked the camera aimlessly and turned to your phone, he let out a long sigh of utmost relief, as if he weighed nothing, slumping back on his chair in solitude. He was at his desk all day after the two of you parted ways, he was glad he had a reason to, considering it would be more than suspicious if the captain of the sport’s team wasn’t at training today..

He reminisced shortly on the scene from last night, as he followed one of his members home from practice. Said member was giving you the dirtiest of looks a few days prior in a crowded hallway, laughing and making odd faces as you’d walk by. Phainon knew he just couldn’t let such a crime to unpunished, especially with that dejected, sad look on your face. Oh how he wanted to break his stupid teammate’s legs right then and there, and just bunch you up in his arms and take you away someplace else, comforting you and praising you gently whilst peppering kisses all over your sad face.. he wondered if you were into praise and manhandling , though, he did know that going for that route would mean carnage. So instead, he simply opted for just the first part instead, breaking that bastard’s knees of course!

He had cornered the unknowing guy in the middle of an alleyway from behind, and was clad in a dark black hoodie, with the inside of the hood being purple, dark pants, and black gloves to remove any DNA evidence from his bat if it was ever taken into custody. With one swift hand, he drove his bat hard against the other boy’s knees, which made him cry out and fall. To avoid raising suspicions, he bent over the figure and hit him harder, whilst digging his shoe over his mouth, silencing him effectively. Once his legs were on the verge of breaking, as he checked by roughly twisting them with his free foot to check for any fractures, he bent down further, lifting him up by his shirt’s collar.

“You wanna talk shit about my [Name]? I’ll cut your tongue off clean and shove it down your throat like the mangy dog you are. And I know where you live, and I also happen to know that your stupid little sister’s being bullied. We wouldn’t want her bullies to go further, would we? So keep your mouth shut, unless you want to see her hanging from her ceiling tomorrow.” His voice was muffled, due to the hoodie’s collar covering his mouth. With a swift kick to his face, he concealed his bat and started walking off into the night, making it back to the campus and sneaking in through his window, to avoid raising any suspicions.

Back to the current moment, he let out an involuntary moan, as he felt something warm and gooey coat his shorts. He chuckled softly as he lifted them up, seeing the white expanse of his cum coating his underwear and shorts, as well as his big, lengthy cock, his angry tip pulsating and spewing out more cum somehow. He gently rubbed his thumb against his tip.

“Tsk.. I’ve made such a mess.. if only you were here, [Name]. You’d look so sweet cleaning this mess up you made me make.. I bet you’d be so fucking loud too, gagging and choking over me.” He spoke reverently, imagining you sucking his dick lovingly, on your knees and looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, his cock spreading open your lips. Oh, how he wished his cock could spread open both sets of your lips.. With a sigh, he peeled off his bottoms and carried them into his bathroom, along with his phone. Setting his phone aside, he piled his boxers and shorts with his other dirty clothes in the laundry basket by his cupboards, before hopping into the shower to draw some cold water from the shower head, but not before placing his phone in a safe corner, away from any water, just to watch you on an app that could also monitor your activities through that camera placed in your room, that had, by miracle, not flung to a dusty corner of your room as you flicked it away with no thought. It was definitely reliable, to say the least. Being able to watch you from anywhere was most certainly a good pastime.

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Anxiousness creeped into your mind as you were thinking of a message to send Phainon. Would you be nonchalant? Overly sweet? Funny?? Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought of a message to send him, before finally tapping the appropriate keys for each word in your message.

[Name]: “Hi Phainon!! I’m really sorry I didn’t add your number before, I was really cooped up with work and assignments, so I didn’t get the chance to contact you earlier today!”

You anxiously waited for a reply, but didn’t get one for a few minutes. Thoughts lingered in your head- Was he asleep? Was he airing you on purpose for not messaging him sooner? Was he angry at you? Did he find you annoying? Were you just a charity case?-

Your endless supply of thoughts came to a sudden halt as you heard the nice ‘ding!’ of your phone, and his message pop up at the top of your screen in banner form.

Phainon: “Hey [Name] !! It’s completely fine, I was busy too with my own affairs, so you’re not to blame! I will admit, I was still a bit upset when I didn’t receive any response or notification of a message from you tho… (*´Д｀*)…”

The usage of those deathly adorable emoticons, and his ‘texting language’ in his message made you coo and squeal in delight, you didn’t think such a popular, charming guy would use such displays in his texts. Though, he was quite bubbly in real life too. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d also use these cute emoticons with his friends as you typed out your response message.

[Name]: “Omg I’m so sorry! :(( I’ll make up for it, I swear. Idk how, but I will!! 😼 And btw, that emoticon was so cute!! I didn’t think someone like you would use them!”

Phainon: “Haha, I do like to use them from time to time. They really capture how I feel yk? Typical emojis don’t exactly cut it for me (＞人＜;)..”

Before you could write your own reply back, he sent another message in quick succession.

Phainon: “Besides, someone as cute as you deserves to be spoken to in equally as cute ways ^_−☆”

At this, you flushed greatly and fell onto your bed, kicking your feet and burying your face into your pillow. There was absolutely no way in hell such a popular guy just called some loser like you cute! But he did complement your manner of speech a lot earlier… Despite feeling so cringed out in the moment, you also simply couldn’t help but feel like a lovesick fool, fantasising about being his girlfriend, what it would be like.

[Name]: “Oh wow, thanks Phainon. I honestly don’t know what to say- I’ve never been spoken to like this before 😭 ty tho, I really appreciate it. :))” You sent back quickly, not caring how corny or stupid you may have sounded with that text, simply focusing on a life with Phainon as his girlfriend, walking hand in hand after games.. going on romantic dates.. him saving you from the clutches of your dark thoughts..

Phainon: “Aww, I’m surprised nobody’s ever spoken the truth! Well, I’m here now, and I’ll 100% make sure you know your worth!! Anyways, you better get to sleep, or I’ll drag myself back to your dorm and put you to sleep myself ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ !”

[Name]: “Okay I willlll dw!! I’m putting my assignments away as we speak- or type. My stupid prof assigns sm work everyday! Now I’m regretting ever thinking poorly of Prof Anaxagoras, I’d rather have him! 😞💔 Anyways, to avoid your wrath, I’ll go to sleep, but you better too! Ik I said you’re a good team captain, but even captains need good rest too!! Goodnight!”

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Phainon laughed huskily at the sight of you blushing and kicking your feet on your bed at his message, as he rewatched the recorded footage on his phone- since he was busy washing himself up-. He had meant every word in his message, no denying that. You were the sweetest, most cutest thing he had ever come across in his life before, and it was his duty to make that known to you. Albeit, it was difficult at first, considering how distant the two of you were, regarding classes, cliques, personal schedules and whatnot. But now, he had done it, and he had definitely implemented himself into your mind. But he didn’t want to assume he was fully in control, that just didn’t sit right with him. Because although he had made you swoon, you were truly the owner of his heart.

As he made himself comfortable in his own bed, after having cleaned himself and his room up, now watching the live footage from your room. You were indeed curled up in your bed, as he watched from the sneaky camera on your headboard. The camera had night-light vision, so he could easily see your soft, peaceful sleeping face. Your lashes fluttered gently over your soft cheeks, oh, how he wanted to squish your face so hard ‘til it’d burst.. he’s sure confetti and glitter would come out !

Alas, he himself put his phone down, keeping it next to his head on his pillow. He had only your notifications on, in case you were in a life threatening emergency, and required his knightly aid. He felt himself drifting off, his face pressed against the cloth of his pillow, which was actually one of your old t-shirts, that was coated with your scent, as if it was sewn in along with the cloth.. Your scent, the memories of today- and yesterday-, made him sleep like a baby reborn, a sweet smile gracing his features.

[gf2bellamy]

hello again <333 i loved what you did with my other request btw

i was wondering if you could write a fic where reader is late night baker. so spencer comes home near like 2am expecting reader to be asleep but instead finds them goofing off in the kitchen while waiting for their bake goods to be done?

- 🦔

cookies — spencer reid

pairing: sencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: hi hi 🦔 !! i'm glad you liked the other one <333 hope you like this too :) ( i'm craving cookies now )

Spencer opened the door as quietly as possible, careful not to let it creak. After all, it was nearly 2 AM, and the last thing he wanted was to wake you. But before he could even set his bag down, he heard a sudden clatter from the kitchen. His brows furrowed.

That wasn’t the sound of someone asleep.

He hesitated for only a second before shutting the door behind him, placing his bag on the ground, and slipping off his shoes. As he hung up his jacket, more noises drifted through the apartment. Spencer slowly stepped closer, rounding the corner to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him made him pause.

You were sitting on the counter, legs swinging absentmindedly, a book open in your lap. The kitchen was a disaster, flour dusted the countertops, sugar spilled in little trails, and an open bag of chocolate chips was dangerously close to tipping over.

Spencer’s lips twitched. “Should I be concerned?”

You tossed your book onto the counter, grinning as he stepped closer. He chuckled, settling between your legs and resting his hands on your thighs as he glanced at the oven. Through the glass, golden cookies were baking, chocolate still glistening from the heat.

“Cookies?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice.

You hummed in confirmation, looping your arms around his neck. “Midnight cookies.”

Spencer tilted his head. “It’s 2 AM.”

“Fine, late-night cookies,” you corrected. “I got bored.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “So your solution to boredom was turning the kitchen into a crime scene?”

You scoffed. “First of all, rude. Second, it’s controlled chaos.”

Spencer glanced at the counter. “That sugar bag is on the verge of death.”

“…semi-controlled.” You grabbed a spoon from beside you, holding it up to his lips. “Taste.”

He eyed it warily. “There’s raw egg in this, isn’t there?”

“You solve murders for a living, but this is where you draw the line?”

Spencer sighed but leaned forward, taking a small taste. The second it hit his tongue, his eyebrows lifted. “That’s… actually really good.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek, taking in the faint shadows under his eyes. “You must be exhausted.”

“I was,” he murmured. “But this is… nice.”

Your smile softened, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “You should go to bed,” you murmured. “I’ll clean up and—”

Spencer shook his head. “Not tired anymore.”

You shot him a knowing look. “You’re lying.”

“I’m just delaying the inevitable,” he corrected, squeezing your thighs lightly. “Besides, if I go to bed now, I won’t get to steal a fresh cookie.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s your priority right now?”

He nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

Before you could respond, the oven timer beeped, breaking the moment.

Spencer stepped back as you hopped off the counter, grabbing an oven mitt and carefully pulling the tray out. The cookies were golden brown, the chocolate still slightly melted. The smell alone was enough to make Spencer’s exhaustion momentarily fade. You broke a cookie in half and blowing on it dramatically.

You then held it up to his lips. “Here.”

Spencer leaned in, taking a bite. The warmth of the cookie combined with the rich chocolate made a pleased hum escape his throat.

“Okay,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “This was worth you staying up.”

You beamed. “Told you.”

Spencer reached for the other half of the cookie in your hand, but before he could grab it, you popped it into your mouth, grinning mischievously.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

You giggled, grabbing another cookie and pressing it into his hands. “You deserve a whole one, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer shook his head, laughing softly as he took a bite. He hadn’t planned on staying up much longer, but if late-night baking sessions with you meant stolen bites of cookies and laughter in the kitchen, maybe sleep could wait just a little while longer.

[anundyingfidelity]

AFFECTION — Soldier Boy

Summary: During a mission, Soldier Boy receives a hug from you unexpectedly. He likes it.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female supe!reader.

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: canon violence and language, reader is kinda hurted, descriptions of blood and stuff, AU where Ben is working with the team on missions (which is what should've happened on the show btw), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy lmao, Ben and reader are totally opposites and I live for that. Based on this post.

Note: soooo I'm still making some arrangements to my Soldier Boy long fic and instead I have this short drabble in the meantime. Hope you enjoy it hehe.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

(if anyone would like to be added to my tags just tell me^^)

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You groanned, feeling the hard wall hit against your back. It was hard to believe but you thought probably you wouldn't go out of this alive. Your body ached and not even your strenght could stop this guy.

Fucking Butcher, why did you have to follow him to suicide again? Just a couple of cunts, he said. But he forgot to mention they had a weird improved dosis of V injected.

You fell to the ground as the man walked towards you. He was extremely tall and well-buff. No sense the Compound V on his system made him better, or at least that's what he thought. He was tossed to the ground by your side, and you crawled to the corner of the small room.

The distance was not enough to let you run away. You stayed there, watching Soldier Boy's big frame over the man. He used his shield, beting him to death and destroying his face and neck during the process. You were so damn sure his loud groans of pain would remain on your mind at least for a couple of days.

"Fucking pussy," the old man said, wipping some blood off his face. He got on his feet ungracefully and grabbed his shield back. He turned to look at you, still sitting on the floor. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He held you a bloody hand, which you took to stand up. There was an akward silence as you and Ben left the small room, you followed him around the dirty basement, filled with lifeless bodies and fluids on the ground, to meet with Butcher and Hughie.

"Guess those were all," Butcher announced.

"I have the remaining dosis," you took the tube from the pocket of your pants and showed them with a smile on your face. "Was the last one."

"Excellent," Butcher grabbed it and tossed it to Hughie, who saved the tube on a bag.

"We made it out, huh," you mumbled.

"Well, we're still down here, so," Hughie shrugged and three pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Just think positively, for once," you pleaded with a fake sharp tone. "Isn't that hard, y'know."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"We're on a fucking shithole, the kid's right. Let's go now before any of you fuck this up," he ordered and passed by between Butcher and Hughie, hitting his shoulder intentionally in the process.

You quickly followed behind his long soldier strides. "Wait!"

Soldier Boy scoffed and closed his eyes slowly only to open them again. You stood on his way with a big smile and wide eyes. Bruises and blood adorned your face and neck, your clothes were also splattered with dry blood and dirt after killing those clandestine stupid supes on an undercover mission at night, and still you acted like nothing had happened. He stood in place, with Hughie and Butcher standing behind expecting what the fuck you'd be doing this time. Sometimes he thought you were so fucking annoying.

"The fuck you want?"

You opened your lips to say something but nothing came out. Once you closed them, you beamed again and closed the distance between him and you. You wrapped your arms around his strong waist and rested your grubby check against his chest. He tensed visibly under your hug and after a moment you pulled away, your hands behind your back with a shy smile. Hughie and Butcher were clearly holding back a good laugh. They knew better not to mock Soldier Boy, not yet though.

Ben blinked a couple of times, trying to process what happened.

"What the fuck was that?"

You giggled. "Affection."

He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."

You gasped and faked sadness on your voice. "Why? I was just saying 'thank you for saving my ass'."

"It's fucking nothing," he rolled his eyes and started to walk again to guide the team outside, with the other two men with playful smirks on their faces following behind.

"Ben!" you quickly caught his pace to stand by his side. "Thank you, okay? Probably you don't like physical contact but I do. And this is how I show others that I care about them and that I'm thankful. I also give hugs because I like them and–"

"Shh!" Ben raised his hand, suddenly stopping his tracks by the end of the stairs that'd lead you outside. He turned and looked at you with that grumpy face of his. "I said you're welcome, sweetheart. Now we need to go, you can talk to me about your hugs shit later."

He pointed to Hughie and Butcher. "Now, you, cocksuckers, go up."

Butcher grinned, going first. "Sure, cap."

"You shut up," Soldier Boy warned, Hughie gulped and nodded, and made his way up on the stairs.

You stood there, with a smile on your lips. Always that fucking, idiotic, stupid smile, even after hard missions like the one you just had. It was like if you were the only one who didn't seem scared of him or anything else. Sure, you were a supe and a smart asset on the team. But still, a very peculiar lady through his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Once Butcher and Hughie were out of sight he finally talked.

"Do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"The stupid hug, do it again."

You raised your eyebrows, eyes bright as you realized his request. "Really?!"

"God, woman. Do I need to fucking repeat my—?"

His words were cut by your strong hug. You crashed against his frame so hard he lost balance for a bit. He was certainly surprised by how warm your hug it actually felt. You angled your eyes to see his face.

"Thanks!"

You let him go and got up the stairs. He barely curved his lips at how happy you climbed them. Yeah, well he actually liked your stupid hugs.

soldier boy / reader

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: GUILTY CONSCIENCE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!au: ever since that first night, you can't get him off your mind—and even though you handed him over to law enforcement, it looks like he still wants you too. PART 1 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, semi-public sex (in a bathroom), oral (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), pet names (detective, princess, smart girl, pretty girl, etc.), gojo cums in your mouth. non-sexual threatening. non-sexual usage of knives/guns. more plot than porn. this is not good for you btw !!! 4K words.

author's note: pls appreciate your smut writers bc this shit is hard !!!! the sk!series might be over after this one bc i'm not feeling it anymore, but nothing's set in stone yet. posting this for the ppl who wanted a part two, but personally i would've just left it as a standalone.. oh well, i didn't want 4K words to go to waste, so enjoy 🤍

“satoru gojo, what are we going to do with you?” your subordinate asks, resting his hands on the table dividing the dim interrogation room in two. you and your coworker sit on one side, facing the serial killer on the other side—who also happens to be the man you fucked in an alley two weeks ago.

ever since that first encounter, you haven’t been able to get his face out of your mind. at work, his ice blue eyes haunted your every move. at home, he was all you could picture as your mind strayed back to your time beneath him. and now, as you and your boss interrogate him, all you can think about is how good satoru’s hands felt roaming over your skin when you cornered him—or, more accurately, when he cornered you.

“i dunno,” satoru replies, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands behind his head. he grins shamelessly, looking you up and down with interest. “so, pretty girl, how’ve you been since we last met?”

you slip your hands into your pockets to stop yourself from doing something you’ll regret and ignore the curious look your coworker gives you. “this meeting isn’t about me. this is about the people you killed and the punishment you’re about to get,” you answer through gritted teeth.

satoru laughs, eyes locking with yours and seeing right through you. “that’s funny. so, who’s this shrimpy guy next to you? your boyfriend?” he jeers, grinning unnervingly at your coworker. you shoot your subordinate an apologetic look, which he responds to with a nod.

“i’m her boss, actually,” he clarifies, running a hand through his blonde hair and narrowing his eyes. “kento nanami. and i’ve been referred to as a lot of things, but shrimpy is a first.” satoru makes a face and laughs, as if he’s amused by the whole scene. 

“really? i’m surprised,” satoru replies easily. “i mean, whatever. i’ve seen better looking officers… like the one next to you.” he looks back at you, a careless smile still dancing on his lips. kento frowns and looks back and forth from you to satoru, and you force yourself to maintain a poker face in order to detract any suspicion.

“do you two know each other?” kento asks, crossing his arms. satoru starts laughing again, to which you roll your eyes. even if satoru were to tell kento what you hadn’t—that you two had fucked when you were supposed to be arresting him—you doubted that kento would believe him. after all, what’s the word of an obnoxious criminal compared to yours?

you shake your head and ignore satoru. “i’m the one who’s been leading the investigation on him for the past couple months,” you answer. kento meets your eyes and cocks an eyebrow, so you continue, “we met two weeks ago. i cornered him, but he escaped—”

“she let me,” satoru interjects, clearly enjoying the death glare you shoot at him a second later.

“you held a gun to my forehead,” you remind him pointedly, tapping the spot on your head where you vividly remember the cold metal resting against. 

“yeah, but i kissed it aft—”

“we’re getting off-topic,” kento interrupts, shooting you a warning glance. “detective, i’ll handle the interrogation from here.”

you hesitate, not liking how smug satoru’s expression is—but, seeing as you don’t have a choice, you dip your head in assent and exit the room. 

now that satoru’s been caught and is now in the grasp of the law, you don’t really have anything to do for the rest of the day. he was your case, and now, it looks like it’s closed, especially if your boss is the one interrogating him.

kento nanami has a reputation among law enforcement—he’s known as the stoic, serious man with a perfect record. there hasn’t been a single criminal he’s interrogated that hasn’t cracked, although the knot in your stomach tells you that this might be the first.

a sharp knock sounds on your office door, summoning you back from your train of thought. “it’s open,” you call, holding a piping hot coffee with both hands. kento opens the door and steps inside, eyebrows unusually tensed. his hands are balled into fists, too, in stark contrast to his characteristically calm demeanor. 

“something wrong?” you ask tentatively, studying your boss’s troubled eyes.

kento takes a seat in the leather chair in the corner of your office and rests his elbow on the armrest, rubbing his temples. “detective, be honest with me. what happened the night you were supposed to arrest satoru gojo?”

for the first time since satoru pinned you to the wall of a darkened alley, your heart drops. kento’s knowing eyes watch your every move, from the subtle twitch in your eye to the way your fingers tense around the cup of coffee. “what do you mean?” you ask carefully, surprised at how steady your own voice is.

“detective, don’t play games with me,” kento asserts calmly, hand casually drifting towards the side of his waist. you know him well enough to know what he’s reaching for—the same instrument that another man pressed against your forehead just two weeks ago.

despite your mind being clouded with fear and uncertainty, you manage to rationalize your way through the situation. what proof could your boss possibly have besides the word of a criminal? 

it’s your word against his—and you both know whose word kento’ll believe.

“that night, he threatened to kill me,” you start, repeating the story you told the authorities when they came ten minutes too late to catch satoru. “and he must’ve drugged me or knocked me unconscious because next thing i knew, he was gone.” your confidence grows with every word, and you start nodding as if you believe your own lies.

kento’s eyes narrow, and you force yourself to hold your poker face as he scrutinizes you and your words. three long, painful seconds of silence pass before his hand moves away from the holster strapped to his waist, and you internally sigh in relief. he stands without a word and makes to exit the room, but before he does, you risk it all. “why do you ask, sir?”

your boss pauses and turns back to you, eyebrows lifting in mild interest. he doesn’t answer immediately, and you tentatively ask, “...what did he tell you?”

kento exhales a soft huff of air, a look of dread in his brown eyes. “detective, for your own peace of mind, i assure you that you don’t want to know.”

well, fuck.

“i trust your judgement, then,” you reply, feeling your poker face start to slip away. you lift your now-cold cup of coffee to your lips and take a sip, attempting to hide the grimace that threatens to make an appearance. “have a good night, boss.”

“you too, detective. stay safe.”

“i’ll do my best.”

kento nods and heads out, and through your open window you watch him tell another one of your coworkers about how he’s planning on heading out early to make bread for his family, a gentle smile on his lips. eventually, he waves bye and exits the building.

you finish off your coffee and stand up, fishing out your key card from your pocket. you figure that you should head to the bathroom before you go home, just in case. a couple of your coworkers congratulate you when you come out of your office, praising you on the capture of your suspect. you take their compliments with a smile, ultimately wishing them a good night and escaping to the bathroom.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the comfortable quiet eases you at once. but before you can even appreciate the silence of the confined room, a sultry, familiar voice interrupts your thoughts. “aw, you weren’t gonna say bye before you left?”

you turn and your mouth drops open—standing before you, in the flesh, is the criminal you swore you last saw handcuffed to a chair.

“what the fu—”

satoru reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can scurry away or grab your phone. he pulls you into his chest, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back—at least, that’s what you notice before he clamps his hand over your mouth to stifle your yells.

“shut it,” satoru hisses, breath hot against the side of your face. he turns you towards the mirror of the bathroom so you can see how he’s holding you—one hand over your mouth, and one wrapped around your waist. “don’t try anything clever, sweetheart. i wouldn’t wanna have to hurt that pretty face of yours.”

you turn your head and glare at him furiously, cussing like a sailor against his hand. you eventually try to bite it, but your meager attack is essentially useless against his iron grip. satoru raises his eyebrows sternly and hushes you again, ice-blue eyes boring into your own. 

“i’ll answer your questions, honey, but be careful,” he pauses and nods at his pocket, where the handle of what appears to be a knife—how the fuck did he get his hands on a knife?—pokes out of the cloth. “okay, i’m gonna take my hand off your mouth now,” he murmurs, purposefully lowering his voice.

true to his word, satoru removes his hand from your mouth. you take a long breath and hesitate—again, there’s not much you can do in this situation but play along. if he’s telling the truth, you can ask questions and he can answer them, so you try your hand at getting some information and biding time. someone would have to walk in the bathroom eventually, right?

“by the way,” satoru starts, a grin curving the corners of his lips upward. “nobody’s gonna come save you, princess. the door’s locked from the inside.” he also removes his hand from your waist, letting you take a step back.

“how?” you ask suspiciously, unsure if he’s telling the truth or not.

satoru laughs—his hair falls into his eyes, and immediately shakes it away with a huff of breath. “i’m good with my hands. but you already know that, don’t ya?”

you back away towards the other side of the bathroom, where sinks line the quartz countertop. “why aren’t you still in the interrogation room?”

“you think you’re the only girl i can convince to let me go?” satoru tuts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. he reaches into his pocket—not the one with the knife—and extracts a badge of some sort. satoru flicks it at you, and you catch it in midair. to your surprise, it’s the badge of one of your superiors who was supposed to be keeping an eye on satoru. the coy smile on satoru’s face confirms what you’re thinking, and his nod seals it the next second. 

“okay,” you say carefully, drawing out the word for a couple seconds. “how long have you been waiting here?”

“long enough,” satoru answers vaguely, not bothering to elaborate.

“thanks a lot,” you deadpan.

“nice to see that you’re still feisty—”

“and what the hell did you tell my boss?” you interrupt, suddenly remembering the dread-filled way kento had looked at you. the way your voice rises is unexpected enough to force satoru to involuntarily take a step back. it’s not much, but the step you take forward a second later to assert your position brings you a small feeling of satisfaction. after all, he’s only human—and all humans get surprised by loud noises.

satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender and eyes you skeptically. “you’re really worried about your boss’s approval, aren’t you?” he asks dryly, white hair falling into his eyes again. “heh, desperate much?”

you roll your eyes and curl your hands into fists—unfortunately, your action only seems to amuse satoru, but you ignore the little “aw” he coos and continue glaring at him. “answer the fucking question, satoru.”

“language,” he snorts. a second later, satoru cocks his head and thinks for a moment, and when his eyes land on you again he asks, “so, you’re still callin’ me satoru? cute.”

your face involuntarily heats up, and even though you’re sure satoru can tell, you pretend not to notice—again. “answer the question or i’ll scream.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

“wouldn’t i?”

you don’t get the chance to fufill your threat, because satoru sees that you’re serious a second too early—everything’s a blur as he grabs your wrists and bunches them into one hand, firmly securing your hands behind your back. his chest rests on top of your back as he folds you over the bathroom counter, and his reflection leers at you from the mirror. “nice try, baby. but remember, you’re dealin’ with a world-class serial killer.”

“world-class? how humble of you,” you snap irritably, craning your neck to glare at satoru out of the corner of your eye. “you asshole, get off me or i’ll—”

satoru interrupts you by prodding at your lips with two of his fingers, forcing your mouth open and slipping them inside. you instantly attempt to bite him, but his fingers are so long that they trigger your gag reflex instead. “missed me, detective?” satoru coos, curling his fingers downwards and pressing on your tongue. a little whine involuntarily slips out of your lips, and satoru takes that as a yes. “yeah, i can tell,” he continues, studying your heated face in the reflection of the mirror. “i bet you couldn’t stop thinkin’ about me since that night, yeah?”

he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before he extracts his fingers and leaves you gasping for breath. you watch as satoru lifts his now-soaked fingers to his lips and runs his tongue over them, ice-blue eyes boring into your own. it’s disgusting, filthy even, but that doesn’t stop your thighs from clenching together in a futile attempt to hide your arousal from him.

“y’know, i think you’re wearing too many clothes,” satoru sighs, resting his chin on top of your head and smiling coyly. “wanna fix that for me?”

“do i have a choice?”

“no.” satoru pushes himself off of you and gives you enough space to start removing your clothes without his smothering presence. the idea of running away or screaming crosses your mind, but the serial killer’s smile makes you certain that you’d regret it—and that’s even disregarding the knife that’s still shining at you from his pocket. 

seeing as you don’t really have any other option, you slowly shrug off your coat and let it slide down your body and onto the floor. your collared shirt comes off next, followed by your pants, until there’s hardly anything shielding you from satoru’s hungry eyes. the feeling stirring in the pit of your stomach is hard to describe—it’s something like a mix between longing and fear, two emotions you hadn’t felt since that night.

and maybe, even though every instinct you have insists that this is the last thing you should be finding pleasure in, you want to feel that way again.

“you really coulda been anything in the world with that body,” satoru sighs, leaning back against a wall and taking his sweet time looking you up and down. his eyes narrow slyly as he watches you shrink away from him instinctually, and the next thing you know, he’s on you again, hands tracing over your skin and lips unbearably close to yours. “although, i guess it’s a good thing you’re a detective, ‘cause i wouldn’t have met you if you weren’t.”

you shouldn’t be agreeing with him, and as he lifts you up onto the counter, you also know that you shouldn’t be letting him do this. it goes against everything you swore to protect when you joined law enforcement, and if this ever got out—no, when it got out, you’d be the pariah of the city.

but even after thinking it through, one, two, maybe even three times, you can’t find it in your heart to care about much else than the hands pushing apart your thighs and slipping inside your shamelessly wet cunt.

“heh, how long has it been since we last did this?” satoru coos, eyes glazing over with a mixture of lust and adoration. his face is redder than you’ve ever seen it—the blush spreads all the way up to the tips of his ears, and it’s even more prominent underneath the overhead lights as he eyes you. “two weeks, right? feels like it’s been twenty.”

“do you ever shut up?” you mutter sourly, averting your eyes from satoru’s. he responds by curling up the two fingers he has inside your cunt, a mean little smile on his lips. 

“careful with that mouth of yours,” satoru warns, pushing his fingers in farther until he’s practically knuckle-deep inside of you. his thumb rests firmly against your clit, toying with the sensitive skin. “it’ll get you in trouble one day, pretty girl…” satoru withdraws his fingers in one swift motion with a soft, wet pop. he lifts his hand to his lips and licks off your slick, swiping his tongue over his fingers a couple times with a smile. “y’know what? i’ll let you go if you can do one thing for me, ‘kay?”

he waits for your response, raising an eyebrow patiently for you to catch your breath. it almost feels like deja vu, or some cheesy movie from the 90’s: the pretty little detective getting fucked by the big bad serial killer, and you know how these films always ended—not pretty.

“what?” you ask halfheartedly, expecting him to ask you to do something like erase him from the police records or sabotage the investigation. satoru cups your face with both hands, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush against yours, and his smile is almost mocking when he replies.

“suck my dick.”

part of you wants to ask “that’s it?”, but the glimmer in satoru’s knowing eyes makes you certain that he won’t make this easy for you. 

“what if i say no?” you ask tentatively. it’s a stupid question—now you’re just playing russian roulette with his rationality, and either way, you already know your decision.

the past two weeks have been torture. every waking moment of yours was spent thinking about the man you fucked, and every time you thought of his carefree smile and feather-light touch, you just felt guilty for wanting more. after all, when you first became a detective, you swore to prioritize your job and not make any personal relationships with your subjects. and yet, here you were, almost too eager to get on your knees for the serial killer who you swore to incapacitate. 

satoru shrugs nonchalantly in response to your question and not-so-subtly shoots a furtive glance at his pocket, where the handle of his knife still pokes out. “you’re a smart girl. i think you can guess, yeah?”

and that’s how you ended up with your lips wrapped around satoru’s dick for the seventh time (if you include every fantasy you’ve had about giving him head). it’s almost funny how he switches up the second you run your tongue over his blushing pink tip—his face goes red, all the way up to his ears, and the little breathy moans that slip out of his lips would be adorable in any other context but this.

“f-fuck, wasn’t expecting you to be this good,” he manages to mutter through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering open and shut. “where’d you learn to suck dick like this, heh—”

it’s been.. a while since satoru first helped you get on your knees in front of him and unzipped his pants, and even though it could’ve just been a couple minutes, it feels like this is all you’ve ever known. satoru’s ice blue eyes have barely moved from you since you started, and it looks like it’ll stay like that until you finish—or, more accurately, until he finishes.

satoru’s foot bounces on the floor as you lick a long stripe from the tip of his dick to the top of it, and the way his nails dig into his palm makes you absolutely certain that he’s close to cumming down your throat. “shit, don’t— don’t stop,” he chokes out, threading his fingers through your hair and involuntarily pushing down your head. “fuck—”

when satoru finally cums, it’s pitifully obvious—actually, it’s almost embarrassing. last time, you were the one in shambles when he was done with you, but now, it looks like it’s the other way around. his eyes flicker as they almost roll back from the sheer pleasure of you sucking him dry, and when satoru’s cum shoots out of his painfully hard dick, it’s a hot mess that leaks out of your mouth and down your chin. 

“y-yeah, good girl,” he murmurs shakily, reaching down and swiping his thumb over your cum-soaked, swollen lips. you lick off the thick, viscous liquid from his fingers instinctually, a dazed little smile on your face as you watch satoru tilt his head back towards the ceiling.

it’s interesting, seeing the city’s infamous serial killer like this. he’s leaning back against the white tile of the bathroom walls, chest heaving from his orgasm, and in that moment, you realize that his attention is on everything else but you. 

so, naturally, you stab him in the back.

not literally—that’d be a pain for your office’s custodian to clean up, but you extract the knife from satoru’s discarded pants and, before he can register the sharp object in your shaky hand, you press it to his blush-red throat. 

satoru’s hazy eyes widen in disbelief as he realizes what’s going on before they narrow in what looks almost like a mix between anger and shock. it’s stupid, foolish, and almost naive, but somewhere in your chest, it feels like a dagger pokes at your softened heart when you categorize the look in his eyes as betrayal. which is, by all accounts, entirely unreasonable—did he seriously think you wouldn’t take advantage of him like this?

at the end of the day, no matter how good the dick was, you weren’t about to sacrifice your well-paying job for a man on the run from the law.

“what the fuck?” satoru snaps, hand twitching in a movement to throw you off of him, but thankfully, the sudden shift in atmosphere heightened your instincts to a point where nothing could possibly catch you off-guard. you dig in the knife a millimeter deeper into his throat, avoiding eye contact with the man you just made cum with your mouth. “are you—”

“yeah, i am,” you assert, biding time. as much as you’d like to pretend that you’re completely in control of the situation, there’s only so long that you can hold up this stalemate. satoru’s stronger than you physically, and the second he figures out a way to handle the knife pressed to his neck, he’d get his revenge.

satoru comes to this conclusion about as fast as you did, and his lips curve upwards in a jeering smile. the look in his eyes is borderline insane when he snarls, “nobody’s gonna rescue you from me, princess. just you wait—”

and, with perfect comedic timing, the bathroom door opens, and one of your female co-workers steps in. you’ve never talked to her much, but thankfully, her instincts are even faster than yours.

what happens next goes by in a haze. your co-worker holds a gun to the side satoru’s head, and calls for backup. then, a handful of sleepy-eyed police officers haul away a cursing and fighting satoru to who-knows-where.

but just before he’s out of sight, satoru shoots you an unsettlingly calm look. and as if that wasn’t concerning enough, the last words he mouths to you are “this isn’t over.”

[dismalflo]

hiii! It’s my first time ever requesting, so, I don’t know if I’m doing it the right way, but I was wondering if you could write a poly!wolfstar x fem!reader, where the reader has chronic pain in her dominant hand/wrist and the boys comfort her about it? Like last week my sister asked me to pass her a cup but I got sudden pain and accidentally dropped it (which resulted in the mug shattering on the ground) Totally okay if you don’t feel like writing this btw! I just love your works and how you write 🤍🤍

hi lovely! thank you sm for requesting!! i hope that you enjoy <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who's frustrated after an accident in the kitchen ✩ 1.3k words

cw: chronic pain, hurt/comfort, fluff, worried remus, sweetheart and little shit sirius

When Sirius steps through the front door, it’s the silence that greets him first—quieter than usual. His gaze drops to the neat row of shoes by the mat—Remus’, and yours. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he toes off his boots. You’re home.

He moves further inside, drawn by the faint, familiar sounds drifting from the kitchen—soft movements, the hush of someone trying not to make noise. Comforting. Instinctual. Without hesitation, he follows the sounds.

“Hi, Handsome,” he calls gently from the doorway.

Remus looks up, and Sirius watches the tension melt from his shoulders in real time. Just like that.

“Hello,” Remus says with a smile, and Sirius steps forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. His arms loop around him, a moment shared before he pulls back slightly.

“Where’s Dolly?”

At that, Remus’s face shifts—his shoulders dip, his smile falters.

“She… uh, her wrist was acting up again,” he says with a sigh. “She dropped a plate while doing the dishes and got upset. Went to calm down in the bedroom. Didn’t want me there.”

Sirius feels something tighten in his chest—your absence, the hurt in Remus’s eyes.

“Was she teary?” he asks softly, reaching up to twine his fingers through the hair at the nape of Remus’s neck, a quiet comfort.

“Not awfully,” Remus replies, frowning. “Just… frustrated. A bit embarrassed, maybe.”

Sirius nods, like that’s exactly what he figured.

“I’ll go up. You finish here, Moons.”

He presses a final kiss to Remus’s temple before slipping away toward the bedroom. He eases the door open slowly, careful not to startle you.

There you are—curled in the center of the bed, face flushed, sniffling into your sleeve.

“Well, don’t you look absolutely killer, babe,” he murmurs, flopping onto the bed beside you with a playful grin.

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping despite yourself as you wipe your face on the sleeve of your jumper. “Very funny, Sirius.”

He gasps dramatically, wounded. “I’m dead serious,” he insists, setting a gentle hand on your thigh. “Always such a pretty thing. What’s going on?”

Your eyes drop, shoulders curling inward like you can physically shield yourself from the warmth in his voice. It only makes Sirius scoot closer, one hand still resting on your thigh, the other reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I just—” you start, then stop, your voice thin and uncertain. You look down at your hands. “It was stupid. I was just trying to do the dishes. And then the plate slipped, and I—I couldn’t even catch it properly, and it shattered and—”

Your breath hitches, and Sirius doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush you. He just watches you with those soft, storm-gray eyes, steady and grounding.

“It just feels so silly,” you say finally, voice small. “Like I can’t even manage basic things without it going to hell. And then I got upset and… I didn’t want Remus to see me like that. He already does so much.”

Sirius’s fingers gently tighten on your thigh—not a grip, just a reminder. A grounding warmth. He doesn’t speak right away, doesn’t fill the air with placating words. Just lets you have your space. Lets the silence stretch for a moment, because he knows it’s not nothing, not silly. Not to you.

Then, softly, “You know what I see?”

You glance at him from under your lashes, lips still pulled into a frown.

“I see someone who did manage,” he says, eyes flicking toward your hand briefly. “Even when your wrist’s giving you hell, you tried. You wanted to help. You do help. That’s not failure, sweetheart. That’s being human.”

You blink rapidly, and he’s already shifting closer, brushing your tear-damp cheek with his knuckles.

“Remus and I aren’t keeping score. You don’t have to earn space in this house. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love, alright?”

“Thank you.” You say, moving forward to hug him. “When did you become so sappy?”

“Don’t tell Rem,” he teases.

He lets out a soft laugh against your shoulder, his arms winding securely around you as you press into him. He’s warm and steady, and his scent settles something in your chest.

You’re quiet for a moment, just breathing with him. You want to believe him. Part of you does. The rest—that stubborn little piece that whispers you’re a burden—still lingers, but it’s quieter now. Easier to ignore when Sirius holds you like this, like nothing in the world could make him let go.

A gentle knock sounds on the doorframe.

You both look over to find Remus leaning against it, sleeves pushed up, a tea towel slung over his shoulder.

“Mind if I join?” he asks softly, his voice warm but careful.

You lift your head from Sirius’s shoulder just enough to meet Remus’s gaze, your eyes still a bit glassy but softer now, like the storm’s passed. You nod.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Please.”

He crosses the room in a few strides, careful like he’s trying not to disturb the mood, but the bed dips with familiar weight as he climbs in on your other side. His hand finds yours instinctively, fingers lacing through yours like they were always meant to.

“You alright, dove?” he asks, thumb brushing the back of your hand.

You nod again, slower this time. “Getting there.”

Sirius shifts to lie back, dragging you half into his lap, arms lazily thrown around your middle. You don’t resist—just curl into the space he makes for you, grateful. Remus presses a kiss to your temple, then rests his cheek against your head, the three of you forming a quiet tangle of limbs, breath, and shared warmth.

“I hate that you felt like you had to hide,” Remus says after a while, voice hushed but firm. “You know you never do, yeah?”

You give a little shrug against them. “It wasn’t about hiding… not really. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Too late,” Sirius mutters, nosing at your hair, and you let out a breathy laugh, small but real.

“It’s okay to need us,” Remus says gently. “Just like we need you.”

You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are tired but tender, all that quiet steadiness that’s made you feel safe since the very beginning. And there’s Sirius too, dramatic and loud in his love, but solid when it counts, grounding you without even trying.

Sirius presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and then his voice turns teasing, as it often does when he’s trying to make light of a moment that’s too heavy to hold in silence. "You know, if I had known all it took to get you two to cuddle up like this was some broken plates, I would've tossed the entire set weeks ago."

You chuckle softly, your lips trembling with the ghost of a smile. “Don’t even think about it, Black,” you murmur, but the warmth of their presence is like a balm, easing the rawness from your chest.

Remus chuckles too, his thumb still brushing gently over your hand. “Always so full of surprises, Pads,” he says, his voice light but full of that unspoken affection that always lingers between them.

Sirius grins, his usual playful smirk back in full force. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“You’re lucky you're cute,” you tease, shifting slightly in Sirius’s lap to meet both of their eyes. The tension in your chest is finally fading, replaced with a quiet, contented peace.

“Lucky?” Sirius says, pretending to be offended. “I’m ridiculously handsome. It’s not luck, poppet.”

masterlist <3

[cozage]

Could you write a short fic for Zoros reaction to his s/o falling down some stairs (but she is ok just bruised) please. BTW love your writing

Characters: Zoro x female reader CW: none :) Total word count: 1k

Slip and Fall

One second you were upright, walking down the stairs.The next moment, you were staring up at the ceiling. 

The pain caught up with you quickly, and you groaned from the aches that riddled your body. Judging by the pain in your back, you must’ve slid down the stairs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but you were certain you’d have a few bruises to show for your misstep. 

You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to recenter yourself and minimize the pain.

“What the hell was-” Zoro’s irritated voice cut off abruptly, and you braced yourself for some kind of cheap joke at your expense. 

But nothing came. You were certain he hadn’t left, but he also made no move to get closer to you. Or do anything. 

“Y/N?” Zoro’s voice came out as a harsh whisper. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You breathed out a laugh. The pain seemed to be getting worse the more you lay there. “Help me up, will you?”

“No!” Zoro finally moved, rushing over to you to keep you still. “You shouldn’t move. It could-you could-I don’t want you to-”

“Zoro,” you groaned, finally opening your eyes and instantly meeting his. 

His eyes were so full of worry. They raked over your body, searching for any sign of injury. And you realized that Zoro was truly scared. 

Naturally, his fear made you panic. 

“What?” you tried to lift your head, but Zoro refused to let you move. 

“Chopper needs to check for a spinal injury. If you landed wrong…” He shook his head, as if he were shaking a thought from his head. 

“Zoro, I’m fine.” Though your back was probably blossoming with bruises, you were sure you’d survive.

“Let me go get Chopper. Just stay here for a minute. Please.” His last word was barely a whisper. It was that word, that small act of begging, that kept you anchored to where you laid. 

“Alright, alright.” You closed your eyes. “You fuss too much.”

“I do not-” You could hear him clench his jaw in frustration. “Just stay still for a minute!”

His hurried footsteps receded, and you could hear distant shouts from off in the distance, followed by footsteps coming back to you quickly. 

“She slipped and fell,” Zoro said softly, and you could hear Chopper set down his medical kit and open it. 

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Chopper asked. You opened them. 

“Do you know your name?”

You laughed. “Of course I do!” 

Chopper and Zoro didn’t join your laughter, so you gave your full name to the doctor. 

The reindeer nodded. “And do you know where you are?”

You sighed. “The Sunny. The Grand Line. Don’t ask me where on the Grand Line, because I wouldn’t even know that on my best day.”

Chopper gave a slight smile at that answer, but Zoro was still watching you from a few feet away. He was tucked back in a corner, almost as if he was scared of you. 

“Did you hear me?” Chopper asked, waving a hand in front of your face. 

You blinked. You hadn’t heard his question. You hadn’t even realized he was speaking. 

“What is five plus five?” Chopper asked again. 

“Oh. Ten,” you answered quickly, taking your eyes off of Zoro for only a moment before finding him again. He looked so pale, and his mouth was pressed in such a tight line as he watched Chopper. You opened your mouth to speak, but Chopper spoke first. 

“Zoro, can you come help her sit up? I’d like to check her back for any signs of injury.”

“Chopper, I told you already! I’m fine!” Your words were accompanied with a groan as you tried to sit up on your own. 

Zoro was suddenly there, gently guiding you into a sitting position. You rolled back your shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness of your muscles. Zoro only watched you, his face still hard as stone. 

“Zoro.” Your fingers cupped his face, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. “I’m here. I’m okay, really.”

“She’s right,” Chopper agreed, looking at you. “Some icky bruises for a few days, and you probably have a minor concussion, but you’re okay.”

“See?” You smiled. “I’m okay.”

Zoro nodded and pulled his face away from your grip. The panic in his eyes has subsided, but only slightly. 

“I probably need a lot of bedrest though, right Chopper?” You gave a slight nudge to the reindeer. 

“Huh? You don’t-” Chopper caught your wink and worried glance at Zoro. “Oh! Yes! She needs lots of rest. And she shouldn’t be alone…because of the concussion! Zoro, can you look after her?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes slightly, and you gave him a sheepish grin and you held out your hands. “Help me up?” you asked. 

He did you one better, gently picking you up off the ground. He was careful to avoid the sensitive spots on your back. How he knew exactly where they were, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful he was considerate. 

You were quick to pull him into bed and snuggle into his chest. Even if it wasn’t the most comfortable for your sore body, you were happy to be close to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” His response was short, clipped. 

“Okay,” you hummed, curling in closer to him. 

A few minutes passed in comforting silence, and you were almost asleep when he kissed the top of your head. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “I thought I lost you and I just…I couldn’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m right here,” you murmured softly into his chest, letting his warmth lull you into a deep sleep.

[jaysgirlx]

I think I NEED a some head canons about about Jason Todd meeting his lovely girlfriend at one of Bruces annoying get together at the opera where an ballet piece plays as entertainment, just with the slight specialty that she’s the ballerina

Btw love your work <3

Jason Todd Gala Meet Cute Headcanons

— To be frank, Jason Todd hates galas but when Dick doesn't want to go alone or when he wants to support Bruce or Cass he'll be there. Family is Family.

— When he first sees you his jaw nearly drops because he's never seen anybody as stunning as you. As graceful as a swan, you glide across the stage with ethereal elegance. Each movement is a dance of precision and passion, your body a canvas painting a story of love and longing. Jason Tood was now indeed a lovesick boy.

— You've got the poor boy hooked, watching you like you're his last meal. Even Dick could see, that you caught Jason's eye. At the end of your performance, you took a bow and you looked right over at him and smiled.

— He wasn't sure if that had really been meant for him but that didn't stop him from blushing a bit. So he's nearly on the floor begging Bruce for your name or to at least introduce him and he agrees just so Jason would calm down.

— Bruce invites you to join the rest of the gala if you're interested, since his son was very fond of your performance, "Oh is he the one with the little white strip in his hair? he's quite cute isn't he?".

—Dick's grinning ear to ear, watching his brother stare at you from across the room, while guides you to one of the private bathrooms. He'd never seen Jason so whipped for a girl who he didn't even know.

— Once you finally finished changing, you found yourself drinking a glass of red wine, standing in the corner alone. You usually don't come to events like these but since you were personally invited by Bruce Wayne you saw no reason not to.

— When Jason spots you from across the room, he debates on waiting for Bruce to introduce the two of you but just says fuck it and goes for it.

— "I didn't know ballerinas, came to galas like these, there's not much fun doll," he asks putting his hand out for yours. You hesitate but place yours on top of his, allowing him to kiss the back of your hand. "Only when pretty boys like you request for us," you say giggling, and now for sure you're fucked. Jason Todd wasn't just cute, he was hot.

— He butters you up by asking your favorite composer, "Well I've never performed any of his music but I'm quite the fan of Vivaldi" you say while he leans against the wall next to you. He asks the questions and lets you do most of the talking since he'd prefer to listen to you. By the end of the night, there was nothing Jason didn't know about you but it seemed like you hadn't gotten to know him.

— He had spent the whole night flirting with you and buttering you up and you're not even surprised when he asks to walk you out, "Why not but only on one condition, you have to take me out on a date and let me get to know you this time" and Jason had no objections to that.

— Now you've got the Jason Todd following behind you, people are whispering and watching the two of you. How'd you manage to pull one of Bruce Wayne's sons, especially the standoffish one? You weren't even his girlfriend yet and people couldn't stop talking about you and exactly what Jason wanted, well at least before he made you his.

[yvesssssssss]

hey ...gulps...heh got this crazy idea where Sakamoto days men (shin, nagumo...idk who else anyone) go for a mission maybe for sum months with their girlfriend n they come back w a whole ass baby?????(3!_!# love ur writing btw☺️☺️🥳🥳🌅🙇🏻‍♀️

Sakamoto days men coming home with a baby..

Thankyou so much!!>⩊< i hope you lyk it!!

࣪ ִֶָ☾.Nagumo Yoichi

You hadn’t seen him in three months.

You kept your cool at first. After all, he was on a mission—long-term infiltration, Sakamoto said. "Nagumo’ll be back when he’s back," he told you, munching chips like it was nothing.

So you waited. Painted the living room. Reorganized the kitchen. Took up knitting. Cried a little into a stuffed alpaca he won you last year.

Then one day, you hear a key turn in the lock.

You bolt up from the couch, halfway between yelling at him and tackling him—and then you freeze.

Nagumo Yoichi, King of Chaos, saunters in like he never left. His coat’s a little scuffed, sunglasses on indoors like an idiot, and strapped to his chest is…

“…Yo,” he says, lifting his hand casually. “Guess who’s a dad now?”

You blink. Hard. “Is that a baby?”

“Yup. Pretty sure.”

“…Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Mission went sideways. Baby’s mom was a target, turned out she was innocent. Long story short, I uh… may have promised not to let the kid end up in the system.”

The baby—chubby-cheeked, yawning, dressed in a pastel strawberry onesie—blinks up at you with round eyes.

“Nagumo,” you say slowly, “you’ve been gone for three months and come home with a baby strapped to your chest.”

“Technically, he clung to me. You should’ve seen the way he latched onto my coat. Cute little parasite.” He grins.

You stare at him. The baby burps.

Nagumo tilts his head. “So, uh… can we keep him?”

You: “WHAT—”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.Shin Asakura

You were doing the dishes when the knock came. It wasn’t even dramatic. Just three soft taps, and then the door creaked open.

You dried your hands and turned the corner—then stopped dead in your tracks.

“Shin?”

He looked exactly like he did three months ago. Tired. Ruffled hair. That guilty, wide-eyed expression he always wore after getting caught snacking at midnight. But this time, he had a baby cradled in his arms. A real one. With soft, dark hair and the world’s tiniest sock hat.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Shin panicked first.

“I KNOW HOW THIS LOOKS.”

“…Do you?”

“It’s not what it looks like!! Okay okay okay listen—I was supposed to evacuate this research compound, but there was a childcare wing because of some scientist’s kid, and I didn’t realize there was a baby hiding under the desk and then he just—he started crying and I was the only one who could calm him down and I tried to leave him with an agent but he screamed and they told me to just—keep him?? And now I’ve memorized his bottle schedule and I haven’t slept in 76 hours—”

You blink.

He breathes hard.

The baby coos in his arms.

“…He likes your voice,” you murmur, dazed.

Shin looks down like he just remembered he's holding a baby. “He also likes the Naruto opening songs. Which is… weirdly specific.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

Then: “Did you bring diapers?”

“…No.”

You sigh, already grabbing your keys.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.Gaku

It’s almost midnight when he shows up.

You hear his heavy boots first—scuffed, stomping up the stairs. You rise from the couch just as he slides the door open with his foot.

And there he is. Gaku, messy as ever, hoodie stained, wild hair even worse than usual.

He’s holding a child.

A toddler, technically. Maybe two or three years old. Grubby cheeks, messy bangs, and a permanent scowl that matches his exactly.

You stare.

The toddler stares back.

Gaku grins. “Hey babe. Look what followed me home.”

You blink. “…Why does he look like you?”

“Right? That’s what I said!”

“…Gaku.”

“What?”

“What. Happened.”

“Okay so the mission was supposed to be just recon, right? But turns out there was this war orphan sneaking through the compound—kept stealing rations, sneaky little gremlin—and one night he bit me. So I bit him back. Now he won’t leave me alone.”

You just blink again. “You bit… a child?”

“He started it.”

You inhale. Deep. Controlled. “And now?”

Gaku shrugs, like it’s obvious. “Guess I’m his dad or something.”

The child sneezes. Then tries to kick Gaku in the shin.

Gaku snickers. “He’s got spirit.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do you even know his name?”

“Yeah! I think. Pretty sure it’s Tora. Or maybe that was the dog. Either way, we vibe.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.Natsuki Seba

You were just finishing your nightly skincare routine when you heard the sound of a cabinet slamming. At first, you thought it was a burglar. You grabbed a spatula.

Instead, you found Natsuki in the kitchen.

With a baby in his arms.

And powdered formula all over the counter.

And flour. And egg yolk. And the faint smell of burnt croissants.

He looked at you like a deer in headlights. “I—I can explain.”

You crossed your arms.

He looked down at the baby, who was snuggled in a dish towel with bunny ears.

“Okay maybe I can’t explain, but I’m trying. There was a bakery next to the mission site. I was buying flour. The owner was in trouble. There was a fire. A getaway. And then someone handed me the baby and said ‘Protect him with your life,’ and now he only stops crying when I hum recipes at him—”

“Recipes?”

“…Mostly sponge cakes.”

The baby yawned and gripped his apron with a tiny hand.

“I made a makeshift bottle,” he whispered, “and I think I cried more than the baby did.”

You stepped forward and placed a hand on his back.

“…We’re keeping him,” you said softly.

Natsuki blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Only because he already knows your voice. And because he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You pause. “Besides you.”

He flushed pink to his ears.

Then the baby spit up all over his collar.

[goosewriting]

Hellow, I saw that you open request for joaquin torres 🤩

Like obviously we NEED this man FICS!

So, I am going to request about him please.

You are a civilian and in danger(?) Sorry I have not watched the movie so idk what are the dangers throught the movie. However, I love how joaquin saves you and your little sister maybe. He wants you to pay him in a date.

Additional, your little sister says "My sister is single".

Thank you so much ✨️💖

No Bribe Needed

summary: after getting saved by Joaquín, reader decides to ask him out for coffee.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: mention of blood and small injuries, car accident (no one gets hurt), language, fluff, kisses

word count: 6k

A/N: since bnw kinda happens all in one go, there’s nowhere to insert reader to put them in A Situation, so this one is set somewhere between tfatws and bnw. joaquín doesn’t give me the impression to be the kinda guy who expects to be “paid” with a date as a thank you, so i changed it up a bit. i think i still made it work though ;w; thank you sm for requesting, this one was very cute<3 reader’s sister is a teenager btw, i was thinking somewhere around 15yo maybe. 

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After parking your car a couple streets over, you and your sister start the short walk to your favourite coffee shop. The barista knows your orders the moment she spots you from the window, and you exchange some smalltalk as you wait for your drinks. Once those have been acquired, your sister taking a big gulp through the straw with a delighted hum, you decide to sit outside at one of the tables. The weather is really nice today; sunny, but with a fresh breeze rustling the leaves in the trees providing shadow above you. 

Your sister is rambling about some gossip from her soccer group; there’s been a huge fight over a boy, apparently. You’re trying your best to keep up with the story and all the names, but a while after her chaotic retelling starts, your eyes drift to the side, where you spot a man sitting a couple tables over. He’s sitting alone, sipping on his cup, looking out to the street. Your eyes move on their own as they roam his features; from where you sit, you see the sharp profile of his nose and jaw, the way his bomber jacket accentuates his shoulders. 

You take a sip from your own drink, when the sudden call of your name brings you back to reality. With a slight flinch of surprise, you set down your cup and look at your sister. You blink a couple of times, and she narrows her eyes at you.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, instantly suspicious. 

“Huh? Nothing,” you say, daring one last glance to the stranger, then focusing back on the person in front of you. “You were saiyng?”

She cranes her neck, roaming the surroundings. Then she spots the man, and turns to you with a disppointed if not slightly disgusted face. 

“You know, you always tell me it’s rude to stare,” she says with a shake of her head like a disappointed mother. “Yet here you are, shamelessly checking him out in broad daylight.”

“I was not–!!” The man turns ever so slightly in your direction at the commotin, and you clear your throat. Once he looks away again, you give sister a pointed look. “I was not checking him out.”

“No, you’re right.” She brings her drink to her lips with a mischievous grin. “You weren’t checking him out, you were eating him right up, ogling even.”

“Oh my god, can you not?” 

Before you can say anything else, you hear tires screeching on asphalt, and both you and your sister turn your attention to the corner of the street. A van is making a turn at both a dangerous angle and speed. Within a split second it’s clear to you that it’s not gonna make it, and you let go of your drink, yelling at your sister to move, and make a run towards the building, grabbing her arm as you go to pull her with you. The van ends up driving full force into the lamp post right next to where you were sitting, the front part of the car bending inwards at the middle, and the structure bending over from the impact.

The door of the van opens and a man stumbles out, a trickle of blood running down his face. You instruct your sister to go inside the shop and wait there, and you’re glad that for once, she listens to you. So you approach the man, asking if he’s okay, already taking your phone out of your pocket to call 911. He holds his head, wincing when he touches his wound. That’s when you hear the police sirens approaching fast. But if the police is here already that means… this was a pursuit, you think, and as realisation hits you, the man notices you’re still there, and he harshly grabs your arm, his other hand producing a gun from under his jacket. 

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind you, and you turn to see another man appraoch you, with a gun of his own, pointed at the driver. Your mind reels as you try to make sense of the situation, and before you know it, two police cars arrive, the officers that step out commanding the man to let you go. But he only tightens his grip, trying to hold you still to point his gun into your side. Your body reacts and you squirm, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the firearm, which takes the driver by surprise. This leaves an opening, and the man from the cafe uses the opportunity to whack the gun out of the other’s hand, followed by a punch right in his face. The driver stumbles backwards, letting you go, and the policemen are quickly all over him, pushing him to the ground to cuff him. 

Trembling, you just stand there, looking at the scene, and your saviour puts away his gun. He carefully holds your shoulders, to guide you a little further away, and gives you a once over.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Huh?” 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. Are you hurt?” he reassures you.

“I’m–” You look down at your arm, a bruise forming where the other man had held you. You smooth over it with your fingertips and look up at him. Only then do you realise it’s the guy from before. Now that you can see his face properly, you’re almost breathless at how handsome he is, his eyes so full of genuine concern that you can’t hold his gaze, and look to the side. “I think I’ll live.”

You hear your name being called, and you turn to look. Your sister comes running and tackles you in a hug. 

“Are you okay? What was that?” she asks.

“It’s all good, they arrested him,” You bring your gaze back to the man. “You really saved me there, thank you, …”

“Joaquín. Joaquín Torres,” he responds to your implicit question extending a hand, which you take and shake, introducing yourself and your sister. Somewhere in your brain you register that his hold is warm and comforting.

“So, why do you have a gun? Are you a policeman, too?” your sister asks in a suspicious tone.

“No, I’m in the Air Force, actually. I just happened to be here on my day off,” he explains, looking down at her. Without missing a beat, your sister replies.

“Ah, a man in uniform. He really is your type,” she says, shoving her elbow into your side and shooting you a knowing side-eye. Your eyes open like dinner plates and you say her name through gritted teeth, your hand giving her shoulder a warning squeeze. She goes on to tell him you were totally checking him out earlier, but before she can add anything else, you place your hand over her mouth, finally shutting her up.

“I’m so sorry about her,” you apologise, then grab her face to make her look at you. “Go wait in the car, I’ll be right there.”

Joaquín followed this whole exchange with a suprised but amused smile. Your sister says goodbye to him and starts heading to the car, but turns aorund one last time once she’s out of reach from you.

“He just saved your life, you should totally ask him on a date as a thank you! You’re not getting any younger, you know!”

“I said car!” You shoot her the best glare you can muster, given the embarrassment she just put you through. With a playful shriek she turns on her heels and runs to the car. You run your hand over your face with a sigh, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his. To your surprise he has a bit of a playful glint in them, and isn’t looking in total shock at you like you were expecting.

“She’s got spunk, huh,” he says, looking after where your sister left.

You huff a laugh.

“You have no idea,” you say, raising your brows to underline your point. 

One of the policemen calls Joaquín over, and he gestures he’ll be there in a moment. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, figuring that if your sister laid out the groundwork, you might as well play into it.

“You know. You did save my life back there. Can I get you a coffee sometime? Only of you want to, of course, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that,” he responds, and you swear you felt your heart hiccup. You glance at the time, an apologetic look crossing your face. 

“I have to bring my sister to soccer practice now, but… Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies with a smile.

You give a short breath of relief, and take out your phone to exchange your contact information, and he enters his number.  

“Great. I’ll text you. See you then.” You smile up at him, and turn to leave, but he adds something else.

“Are civil clothes okay or should I wear something else?” he asks, teasing evident in his voice. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter with a laugh, running your hand over your face. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“Take care,” he says after a chuckle, giving you a short wave.

“You too, bye,” you say, mirroring his gesture. 

As you walk back to the car, your heart skips every other beat at everything that just happened. Once you’re in the driver’s seat, you can feel the prying eyes on you. 

“Soooo..?” your sister asks from the seat next to you. You sigh, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. 

“We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow.”

She triumphantly pumps a fist in the air.

“If you end up dating, I want him to teach me to shoot a gun.”

“Hah! Absolutely not. In fact, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m telling mom and dad to disinherit you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she ignores your comment with a dismissive hand gesture. “You’re welcome.”

With a shake of your head, you start the car and take off.

“Hm. We never got to finish our drinks,” she adds after a moment. “Can I go with you tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll bring you something on my way home,” you offer.

“Then pick up some chicken nuggets and fries, too.”

“What am I, your personal food delivery service?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell dad you fervently made out with an army man at the coffee shop.”

You come to a halt at a red light and narrow your eyes at her. You know she’s 100% serious. You sigh in defeat yet again.

“Fine, deal, you menace” you finally give in. “Sometimes you scare me.”

— — — — —

The next day, you meet up with Joaquín at the coffee shop as planned. After grabbing your drinks, you decide to enjoy the good weather, and take a walk in the nearby park. You tell him about your job and where you grew up, and he does the same. 

He’s just telling you a funny anecdote about one of his deployments when he gets a call.

“Oh, sorry I gotta take this.”

You recognise the screen on his phone to be a video call, and you expect him to walk a little farther away for privacy, but he keeps walking with you.

“Hey, man,” a deep voice says from his phone when he picks up. 

“Hey, Sam.” Joaquín swivels a little on his heels so you’re in the image behind him, and tells his caller your name. You raise your hand to give a little wave as you’re sipping on your drink, and almost choke on it when you see the face on the screen.

“Holy crap, is that Captain America?!” you say between coughs. They both chuckle.

“The one and only,” Joaquín responds, holding his phone in front of him again. 

“I thought you were at HQ for, you know, the thing I needed you to do.” Sam’s tone indicates he knows you’re still there.

“Allready done, amigo. Thumb drive is on my desk. The files were encrypted but, well. You’ll see for yourself. I had a… previous commitment, so I left a little earlier.”

Joaquín shoots you a little side glance with a smile, and you mirror him, heat prickling at your cheeks.

“I see how it is,” Sam says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Have fun kids, but not too much fun.”

You bring your hand to cover your face, muttering “oh my god” under your breath as Joaquín laughs and says his goodbyes, then hangs up. 

You walk in silence for a bit, then you stop, and he halts as well, turning to face you.

“So, who are you really, Joaquín Torres?” you ask, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. You start counting on your fingers. “Charming, handsome, apparently a tech wiz, and you have Captain America on speed dial? You’re not secretly an Avenger, are you?”

“No, not by a long shot,” he retorts, holding up his free hand defensively. “I wish though. I have yet to convince Sam to introduce me to Ant-Man.”

You both laugh and just look at each other for a moment. The breeze moves the trees above and for a second, the sunlight hits Joaquín’s face just right, his eyes shining like honey, the freckles on his cheeks glistening against his skin. Before you can stop youself, you find yourself asking him out. 

“I know this was just to say thank you for yesterday, but I’d actually love to meet again. If that’s okay with you.”

He raises his brows in slight surprise, but it quickly melts into his signature smile which you just can’t get enough of. Scratching the back of his neck, he looks to the side for a moment, then his eyes find yours again.

“You took the words right outta my mouth. I was really hoping I’d get to ask you out first, though.”

“Oh, my bad. You want a do-over?”

“Sure,” he chuckles, then opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and he laughs  nervously. Wait, is he really nervous? Because of you? The thought unloads an explosion of butterflies in your stomach. Finally he manages the question, “I was hoping you’d join me for a proper dinner some time?”

“I’d love to.”

“Cool, cool. Great even. Uhm, when are you free?”

You take your phone out to take a look at your calendar, and that’s when you notice the time.

“Ah crap, it’s this late already? I have to go pick up my sister from practice.” You down the rest of your drink and throw the cup into a nearby bin. Without giving it much thought, you place your hand on his arm, and you think you see his breath catch in his throat for a moment. “Today was lovely. Really. I’ll call you later so we can discuss a date and time, okay?”

With a sudden burst of confidence, you lean in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for today, Captain,” you say with a little salute. “Catch you later.” You wave at him as you walk towards your car.

“Y-yeah, see ya.” He waves back, a silly smile spreading on his face.  

— — — — —

For your next meeting (dare you call it a date, even?) you decide to go to a restaurant. Joaquín took care of the reservation, telling you he’d pick you up, to which you texted him your address. Shortly before the planned pick-up time, he texts you saying he won’t make it on time, to instead meet at the restaurant, so you drive yourself.

You’re wearing one of your better outfits that you haven’t worn in a while, feeling good about yourself, if a little jittery because of the anticipation. It quickly dies down though, as you sit at the table for over half an hour, snacking on your third breadstick.

Finally he texts you, apologising that today’s mission went on much longer than expected and he won’t make it after all. You understand, but you’re also disappointed. On your way back home, you come to the realisation that being with someone like him, not just in the Army but also working closely with someone like Captain America, these things are bound to happen. You don’t come to a conclusion regarding how you feel about that, though.

Once you’re home, you change back into your lounge clothes. Since you didn’t actually get to eat anything other than some bread, you decide to make some quick ramen, indulging in your favourite toppings. Just as you’re about to pour hot water into the bowl, your phone rings. You see Joaquín’s name on the screen, and for a moment, you consider not picking up. But you’re not that petty, and you actually do want to talk to him, so you swipe over the screen to accept the call. 

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, setting down the kettle.

“Are you home?” Joaquín asks. He sounds out of breath.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m at your door.”

“What?”

You walk to the door and open it, and sure enough, Joaquín stands there, still panting slightly. The first thing you notice is the bouquet of flowers in his hand, and as you look up at him, you see the debris and dried blood on his temple.

“You’re bleeding!” you say, hanging up the phone and ushering him inside.

“I’m fine, I- I’m so sorry,” he apologises intently and you close the door behind him. “The mission didn’t go as planned, I really thought I could make it on time. I came here as soon as I could. I’m really sorry.”

You hold his gaze, full of warmth and guilt and something else you can’t quite place. But you’re sure he means it, so you give in with a sigh. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a small smile. “Have you eaten yet?”

He looks like he wasn’t expecting your question at all, and shakes his head.

“Then go wash your face first, bathroom is to the right.” You gesture towards it with your chin while you take the flowers from his hands. “And thank you for these. I’ll put them in water.”

He leaves to clean himself up and you unwrap the flowers, taking a big glass to serve as a temporary vase. It’s a small and simple bouquet, consisting of multiple tulips in several colours. As you’re filling up the glass, you smile to yourself. When was the last time someone brought you flowers? 

Once Joaquín comes back, he takes off his jacket, placing it over the back of one of the chairs, and you indicate for him to sit down. Standing in front of him, you gingerly hold his face in your hands to inspect the cut on his temple. At least it isn’t bleeding anymore.

“I have something for that, hold on.” He can’t even protest before you’re rummaging in your bag, and you hold up some band-aids with a triumphant “a-ha!”. Taking a closer look at them as you stand before Joaquín, you giggle a bit.

“So, we have dinosaurs or farm animals,” you offer, holding up the two patterned band-aids for him to see, and he laughs. “Let me guess, you’re more of a dinosaur guy?”

“You know me so well already,” he says with a chuckle, turning his head slightly to give you better access. You chuckle, peeling the protective layer off the band-aid, and carefully place it over the cut. Then you lean down, placing a soft kiss on it.

“There, all better,” you smile down at him, and he looks up at you with so much adoration, you think you might faint. His face quickly morphs back to worry though, and he takes your hand in his.

“I really am sorry, I promise I’m better than this,” he says, and you believe him. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you say, walking back towards the kitchen to heat up more water. “You want some ramen?”

“Yes please, I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning, I think.”

You click your tongue in mock disapproval.

“Well, that’s no good. Here.” You bring a second bowl of ramen, utensils and the kettle to the table where you take a seat next to him. After pouring the water, you cover both bowls. “Think you can make it 3 more minutes?”

He leans his head onto his hand, elbow propped on the table, and looks at you from the side.

“I think I’ll live,” he replies with a goofy smile, and he remembers that’s what you told him when he saved you from that one driver when you first met. Joaquín’s eyes travel down your arm to your wrist, where the faintest marks are still visible on your skin. His brows furrow a bit at the memory, but his eyes travel further, and only now does he seem to realise that you’re only wearing an oversized T-shirt and some shorts. He quickly averts his eyes, a blush creeping onto his face as he straightens up in his seat. His travelling eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you squirm sligtly, heat prickling at your cheeks as well. 

“You know, I had picked out a really cute outfit for today,” you say, if only to break the silence, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you.”

Joaquín lets his head hang in defeat for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to yours. 

“Any chance I can convince you to put it on again?” he asks with hopeful eyes, and you tap your chin like you’re thinking it over with a hum.

“Nope,” you conclude, and he looks a little bit dejected for real, so you add, “Next time, though.”

He sighs in relief.

“It’s good to know there’ll be a next time after today, actually.”

“For a moment I wanted to be mad at you but I couldn’t bring myself to be,” you admit. “The flowers were a nice touch, too.”

“Nice,” he mutters under his breath, like commending himself for a job well done. “It was a bit last minute, so they didn’t have much to choose from. I hope tulips are okay?”

You lift your hands to caress the fragile petals, humming in agreement. You do tell him what your favourite flowers are, though.

“Noted. Next time, then, I’ll get you the proper ones.” 

Your heart swells at the thought that he also wants there to be a next time, and he’s already taking note of these things. 

“Alright then, let’s eat before it gets too mushy,” you say, and you’re not sure of you mean the noodles or yourself. 

Over the impromptu dinner, you ask him about the mission he was on, and he tells you about it. Whatever he can tell you, anyways. Much of it is confidential, and he seems to gloss over a lot of details, possibly to keep it palatable to discuss it over food. 

Once you’re done with your meals, the conversation dies down for a moment. 

“So, what now?” you ask, hoping your tone conveys your desire for him to stay a little longer without sounding desperate. He gives a light shrug.

“Hmm, we could watch something?” he proposes, then goes ‘ah’ like he just remembered something, and turns a bit in his seat towards you. “Actually you mentioned something when we were at the park the other day, and it made me think of this one movie, I think you’d like it.”

Another blush creeps up your face at the thought that he paid attention and remembered details of your conversation.

“Sure, what platform is it on though?”

“Netlfix, I think.”

“Oh, I don’t have that one,” you say, considering restarting your subscription if only to watch a movie he recommended.

“We can use my account, no problem,” he proposes, and your face lights up. 

“Alright then, the remote is on the couch,” you say as you rise to your feet. “Go set it up and I’ll load the dishwasher.”

“I can help with that,” Joaquín offers, also standing up. 

“No no, it’s fine. But thank you.”

You pick up everything and bring it to the kitchen. Truth is, you need some distance between you two because you feel like you’re going to explode. Your mind is already filling with images of the two of you cuddling on the couch, one thing leading to the next… and you’re not sure how much more your heart can take. As he sets everything up, you finish cleaning up, doing your best to rid your mind of all the scenarios it’s coming up with at an alarming speed.

“You want dessert?” you ask after you’re done with the dishes, and take something out of the fridge.

“Always,” he says, and his response makes you chuckle.

You cut two slices and bring the plates with you as you walk to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table. 

“Thanks, what’s this?” he asks as he picks up the plate with curiosity, trying to make out what it is in the dim light of your living room.

“Strawberry shortcake,” you say, a sheepish smile spreading on your face. “I actually wanted to perfect the recipe a bit before letting you try it, but since you’re already here… Well, I hope you like it nonetheless.”

“You made this? For me?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice. The fork stops for a moment as it travels up to his mouth when he looks at you. You nod, and he takes a bite. You’ve tasted it, so you know it’s decent, not perfect. But still you hope he’ll like it.

“This is delicious, thanks,” he says, taking another bigger bite. You chuckle.

“Well, glad to hear that.” You take a bite yourself, leaning back a bit. “So what are we watching?”

He clicks onto the movie’s title card, and it seems to be a criminal thriller of some kind, an older one that you haven’t watched yet. He starts the movie, and you’re instantly immersed into the story. 

Joaquín is quick to finish his cake, leaving the plate on the coffee table and leaning back into the seat, sinking into the cushions. You feel him shifting a bit, his arm now outstretched over the back of the couch behind you, and you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, seeping into your side. 

You take your time to finish the cake, paying attention to the movie but unable to not perceive him right there next to you. Once you’re done eating, you also lean back, but you misjudge your angle as you end up far closer than you intended. You can hear your sister’s voice in the back of your head, telling you to own it, so you do just that, and essentially cuddle into his side, with your head on his chest. He stiffens up only for an instant before bringing his arm over your shoulders, and you further curl yourself into him. 

Joaquín is a trained soldier so it makes sense for him to be fit, but only now does this occur to you, as you can feel his pecs and his bare arm on you. You really hope the TV is loud enough to silence your erratic heartbeat, which echoes in your ears, maybe even the whole room. 

You two stay like that for the remainder of the movie, only shifting every so often when one of your limbs starts going numb, but never separating. If anything, you keep curling more and more into him, until finally you drape your arm around his torso. After that, Joaquín doesn’t move an inch. 

Once the credits start rolling accompanied by some ballad, which you find a strange choice for the tone of the movie, you hear him sigh deeply. 

“You didn’t fall asleep, did you?” you ask him without getting up.

“What? No.” He blinks a couple of times, bringing his free hand up and running it over his face. His other hand is still holding you to him, softly drawing figures onto your bare arm and setting your skin on fire. “At least I don’t think so.”

You hum in acknowledgement, neither of you wanting to be the first to disrupt your position. 

“What time is it?” he asks suddenly, wriggling underneath you, trying to get his phone out of his pocket. With a chuckle, you fully lean back to give him some space. Activating his screen, he curses under his breath.

“It’s really late,” he remarks, leaving all further implications in the air.

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look at him given your inner battle of whether to ask him to stay or not. After a moment he sits up a little straighter.

“I have to be at HQ early tomorrow,” Joaquín says. “I… I should go.”

“Right…”

He motions to stand up, but you hold his hand and he remains seated.

“Wait.”

You immediately have all of his attention.

“A part of me wants to ask you to stay,” you start, and you swear your whole face is surely on fire right now. You avert your gaze from him and look at your hands holding his instead. “To stay the night, I mean. But I also don’t want to rush anything.”

Somehow you manage to bring your eyes back up to his, and he’s looking at you with so much affection and understanding, you fear your heart might burst straight out of your chest.

“I really like you, Joaquín, and I want to do this right,” you finally say.

“Well, that’s actually great to hear.” He brings his other hand up to cup your face. “Because I really like you too.” He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering down to your lips. “I really do have to be up early tomorrow, but I think I still have a couple more minutes.”

“The movie is already over,” you say, barealy above a whisper, your faces starting to inch closer and closer. “What should we do?”

“I can think of several things,” he replies just as softly with a lopsided grin, and your stomach does a summersault. You can feel his breath on your lips. “But right now, I kinda just really wanna kiss you.”

“Then you better hurry up.”

Joaquín’s lips find yours, and everything around you ceases to exist. His kisses are warm and slow, and they taste like strawberries. He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, his tongue peeking out to run over your bottom lip, and you gasp. The hand that cupped your face goes to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer as your mouths move together. His other hand runs down the side of your body, slipping underneath your thigh to pull you up sideways into his lap, finally coming to rest over your hip. Your own hands are on his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

When he breaks for air, his lips travel to your throat, peppering it in small kisses, and you giggle at the sensation. You pull back a little and hold his face in your hands, both of you sporting drunk smiles.

“I’ll make you all the cakes you want if you promise to kiss me like that again,” you blurt out, breathless, and he laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sigh.

“I was planning to anyways, but I’ll take the bribe.” He softly bites down where your neck and shoulder join, then places a kiss over the mark, and you shudder, taking a shaky breath. You gingerly hold his face again to make him pull back and look at you.

“Thank you for coming by after all. I mean it.” You smooth your thumbs over his cheekbones, and his eyes flutter closed a bit at the sensation.

“I just really wanted to see you,” he says, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, then goes to stand up, lifting you with him. You hold onto his shoulders with a squeak of surprise and he laughs, gently letting you down again to stand on your own legs. “I better get going now, or I might not want to leave at all.”

Taking his hand in yours, you walk him to your door, picking up his jacket on the way.

“Sorry again for today, I’ll make it up to you,” Joaquín says as he puts on his jacket, and you adjust the collar. 

“You already have,” you pull him to you, kissing him one last time, and he melts into you. When he pulls back, he sneaks one more peck to the corner of your mouth. “Now go back to saving the world. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” he remarks, momentarily bringing his hand to yours to give it a squeeze. Before you open the door, you suddenly remember sometihng.

“Oh, wait, before I forget!” you exclaim, hurrying to your bag to find something. Joaquín watches with curious eyes as you step back to him, holding out a card of sorts. He takes it to inspect it, and when he realises it’s a collectible card with Sam’s face on it, labelled ‘Captain America’, he laughs heartily. 

“My sister asked if you could get that signed for her,” you say with a sheepish smile.

He rises a brow at you, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“I told her that the other day Captain America called you,” you remark, bringing your hand to your mouth with a gasp as you realise your mistake. “Oh crap, that wasn’t confidential or anything, right?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have taken the call in front of you if it were,” he says, tilting the card back and forth sideways in his hand, the low light of your apartment shimmering on the holographic pattern; it’s a rare one. He looks up at you again with a boyish smile. “Besides, I kinda wanted to impress you with the call.”

“You don’t need to do that, I already think you’re amazing,” you admit, your face burning up again, and even he can’t hold your gaze at your words, looking to the side momentarily with a smile. You’re quick to add, “It did impress my sister though. In fact she said if you can get that signed, she’ll officially give her blessing for me to date you.”

“Really?” Joaquín says, perking up immediately, and he carefully slips the card into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’ll make sure to get that ASAP, then. Anything else I can get her?”

You laugh, glad that he’s set on winning over your sister. Not that it would be too hard, anyways. She acts tough (and slightly deranged at times), but you know she’s a kind soul when it counts. 

“Actually, she has a soccer game next weekend,” you tell him. “Bring her the signed card and some chicken nuggets, and she’ll pledge her undying loyalty to you.”

“I see the bribes run in the family,” Joaquín remarks, and you can’t help but laugh. Yeah, you might have been the one to teach her that. He leans in to place one last lingering kiss on your cheek as he opens the door. “Text me the details and I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Will do. Good night, Joaquín,” you say your goodbyes, leaning onto the door frame as he leaves towards the staircase of your apartment bulding.

“G’night.” He winks at you and leaves.

You close the door, leaning back onto it and letting out a sigh. Yeah, you’re positively smitten. A second later, you grimace and laugh at yourself at the realisation that you kind of owe this to your sister and her big mouth. You might have to bake a whole cake just for her as a thank you. 

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🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @magikdarkholme @f1-tennisgirlie @tsunchani @Chuchu8923 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel

[lichenes]

Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.  

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full. 

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl. 

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume. 

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!” 

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you. 

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated. 

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless. 

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.” 

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright. 

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted. 

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment. 

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling. 

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.” 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

anything related of Anders??

prob some fluff where this menacing teddybear is all lovey-dovey with his girl?? or, or some teammates to lovers??

anything really, I just need something for this man as there AREN'T ENOUGH FICS ABOUT HIM!! Gosh, I need him like air 😭😫

Btw, I adore your writing 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Thank you so much, love! I am so obsessed with Anders and you're right, there is seriously NOTHING for him. Send as many ideas you want, I'll do my best to answer them. And let me know if you want a smutty follow up.

Anders Lassen x Female Reader

Warnings: 18 + for language, blood, and canon typical violence.

Living for Later

The situation was grim at best. The soldiers in their crisp white uniforms had varying degrees of expression, from confusion to anger, and the worst of all glee. The glass case at your back digs in, the sharp edge leaving an imprint and the gun slips from your fingertips. The last of your bullets expended on the men bleeding out onto the soles of your boots. 

“Shit,” you whisper, reaching behind you for the handle on the case, seeing the axe behind it from the corner of your eye. Behind the men, you see Apple's face a reflection of the anger you feel. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Apple quickly looks behind him, talking to someone on the ground and you strain to see anything when the soldiers close in. Two men grab each of your arms and another puts his hand around your throat. Something similar had happened the night before but this was a much less pleasant experience. You close your eyes when he moves closer whispering to you in his filthy tongue and you flinch away. 

The group laughs as he pulls back to spit in your face. You open your eyes and see the shine of a knife and start thrashing doing everything in your power to escape. Apple finds your eyes and a smile splits across his face. You’re ready to curse him at every language you know when the first wail of pain reaches your ears. 

Your heart pounds as you see the wide shoulders of Anders Lassen spear his way through the soldiers. He’s down to his last two arrows and he digs it into the eye of the one holding you, spraying blood onto the wall like a work of modern art. He’s seriously outnumbered and you look around when the axe catches your eyes. Ripping open the case you grab the axe and shout, “Anders!” He turns and grins, grabbing the axe and letting loose the beast you’d only seen twice before. 

Moving along the wall, you reach where Apple is watching his mouth wide. One of the men tries to grab the axe when Anders kicks him in the throat, shouting, “My woman gave that to me!” Before planting the axe in his head. Anders heaves, his shirt coated in blood before he turns to you with a smile, “You okay, love?” Like he didn’t just brutally butcher a group of enemy soldiers. 

You giggle and his smile grows as he crowds you against the wall, lifting your head with one finger his eyes checking over every inch of you. “Are you hurt, Min Elskede?” he asks quietly, his finger tracing over your cheek before he holds your face in his hands. 

“No,” you shake your head, the adrenaline slowly leaving your body, slumping against his body, “you killed them before they had the chance.” 

“I would burn the world down for you,” he presses his forehead to your own, “you know that, right?” 

“I know,” you reach up and press your lips to his own, “the feeling is mutual.” 

“While this is very romantic, being covered in blood, and kissing after just saving her life. We need to get moving,” Apple interrupts, wincing when you both glare at him. 

“Ja, we need to save the world, blah, blah, blah,” Anders grabs your hand tugging him behind you, “lead the way, Apple.” Apple starts up the stairs and Anders goes to follow but stops turning to give you a look that leaves your panties dripping, “this isn’t over, later you’re mine,” he presses his mouth to your own and you moan feeling his tongue tangle with you own, before he pulls away and pulls you up the stairs. 

You make a promise to live going up those stairs because you really wanna make it to later.

Do you want later? Let me know because that rope is giving me some thots.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Heyyy! , Can I mabye request an AIB x reader that they react to reader having a panic attack/nightmare (you can decline ofc) love ur stories btw :D!

AIB Characters react to Reader having a panic attack / nightmare

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, canon typical blood and violence, 3.964 words

Ann

The Beach is supposed to be paradise—pools, drinks, music echoing through the grand halls of a forgotten hotel. But nothing can scrub the blood off the walls, even if it's only in your mind.

The game's over. You made it out. Barely.

But your hands won't stop shaking.

You're curled up in a shadowy corner of the Beach's second floor, wedged between a vending machine and a broken lounge chair. The corridor is quiet here, away from the noise of the party downstairs. 

You tried to sleep. You thought you could forget. Instead, your brain replayed every flash of violence, every scream, every look in the eyes of the people who didn't make it out.

Your breath starts to hitch. Short. Too short. The walls close in. Your vision tunnels.

You don't realize you're hyperventilating until a hand touches your shoulder—cool, steady.

"Hey. Hey—look at me."

You flinch at first, then blink into the low hallway light. It's Ann.

Her eyes, always calculating during games, are softer now. Focused. Calm.

"Breathe in," she says gently, kneeling in front of you. "With me."

You try, but your lungs are locked.

She takes your hand—not forcefully, just enough to let you feel her presence.

"In... now out. Just focus on me, not whatever's going on in your head. You're safe. You're at the Beach. No one's going to hurt you."

You focus on the rhythm of her voice. Measured. Deliberate. Her breathing becomes your metronome. Eventually, you match her. Bit by bit. The dizzy edge fades.

When your breath steadies, she doesn't pull away. She just sits there, cross-legged on the dirty tile floor, her hand still lightly wrapped around yours.

"You had a nightmare?" she asks. Her voice doesn't push.

You nod. "It felt real. Like I was still... in there. I thought I'm okay, but—"

"You aren't," she cuts in. "None of us are. Not really. The game ends, but it doesn't stop. Not in this world." She says grimly. "But you're not alone in this."

You look down at your intertwined hands.

Ann isn't someone people approach for comfort. She's rational. Analytical. Distant, some say. But right now, she's the only anchor keeping you from spiraling again.

"I keep thinking about who we left behind," you murmur.

Her jaw tightens slightly, but her eyes remain soft. "So do I. That's the worst part."

Silence stretches between you, but it isn't uncomfortable. It's shared.

She lets out a breath. "Come on. I know a spot on the roof where no one bothers us. You can see the stars up there."

You nod, not ready to sleep yet, but willing to move. Willing to try.

Ann helps you up, and she doesn't let go of your hand until you're steady.

As you follow her through the empty halls of the Beach, the pulse of the party echoing far below, you realize something:

You survived the game.

And with Ann by your side, maybe you'll survive the night too.

Kuina

It hits you like a wave in the middle of the night.

One moment, you're asleep in one of the guest rooms—bare mattress, threadbare sheets, distant thumping from the Beach's endless party—and the next, you're wide awake, heart hammering so hard it feels like your chest might cave in.

The dream—no, the memory—lingers: blood, the sharp echo of a gunshot, someone screaming your name before silence swallowed it all.

You can't breathe.

You sit up, gasping, clutching your chest as if you could tear the panic out with your fingers. The air is too thick. The room too dark. The walls press in like the game arena never really let you go.

You don't notice the door creak open.

"Hey…" a soft voice says, tinged with concern.

You look up, and there she is—Kuina. Hair tied up messily, dressed in pyjama pants and a loose tank top, like she was about to head to bed herself. You don't know how she knew—maybe she heard you, maybe she just felt it—but she's already moving toward you.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she says, crouching beside the bed. "You're okay. You're safe."

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a ragged sound. She doesn't push. She just climbs up beside you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her voice grounding and soft.

"Breathe with me, alright?" she says, brushing your hair gently back from your face. Her fingers are cool and reassuring. "In through the nose… nice and slow. Then out."

You follow her rhythm—because her voice is steady, her eyes are kind, and her presence is everything you need in this moment. The panic doesn't vanish instantly, but it loosens. Your lungs stop fighting you. Your chest stops shaking.

Kuina doesn't ask questions. Not yet. She just puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side, resting her chin on top of your head.

"That bad, huh?" she whispers after a while.

You nod, eyes still damp. "I thought I was gonna die. I felt like I was still in the last arena."

"I get it," she says quietly. "Sometimes I wake up thinking I'm still bleeding out in a bathroom stall somewhere. Or that the next game's already started and I didn't hear the rules, don't know what to do in the game."

She pauses, then gives you a small squeeze.

"But we're here. Right now. You're with me. And I won't let anything happen to you."

You let yourself lean into her more, grounding yourself in her warmth, her heartbeat, her realness. Not a memory. Not a dream. Just Kuina.

"Want me to stay until you fall asleep?" she asks.

You nod again.

She doesn't leave.

Instead, she lies down beside you, curling up protectively, one arm draped around your waist, anchoring you. Her presence is soft but solid, like moonlight cutting through the fog. No more noise. No more games.

Just her.

Just this moment.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you think maybe you can sleep without fear.

Mira

You wake with a strangled gasp.

Your hands claw at the sheets, eyes wide in the dark. Your skin is slick with sweat, heart galloping like it's being hunted.

You try to remind yourself: you're not in the game anymore. You're at the Beach. You're safe. Safe.

But the echo of the last game clings to your skin. The timer. The screams. The look in that player's eyes when they realized they wouldn't make it out.

You sit up, shivering, unable to breathe past the rising tide in your throat.

"You cry out in your sleep," a voice says from the doorway, lilting and unnervingly calm.

You jerk around to see Mira, draped in a flowing robe, almost spectral in the low hallway light. She's not startled. She's curious. Like a cat watching something twitch.

"I was walking past and heard you," she says, stepping in slowly, as if entering a sacred space—or perhaps a game board. "You were dreaming of death, weren't you?"

You can't answer. You can barely meet her eyes.

But Mira doesn't need words. She sits on the edge of your bed like she belongs there. Like she's been here before.

"You don't need to be ashamed of fear," she says. "It means you haven't lost your mind yet."

You look away, struggling to steady your breathing. But then you feel her fingers—cool and deliberate—brush against your temple. You tense.

"Relax," she whispers. "Just a nightmare. The brain trying to make sense of madness."

You want to pull away. But you don't.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you like one of her games. "You survived, didn't you?"

You nod, finally. "I shouldn't have. They… they saved me. And I ran."

Mira hums. "Ah. Survivor's guilt. Classic. You do realize most of us here only live because someone else didn't, right? That's the rule. The unspoken one."

You nod again, but your chest still hurts.

She sees it. Somehow, she always sees it.

"Come," she says softly, almost tender now. "Lie back. I'll stay."

You hesitate, but her presence is oddly stabilizing. Not comforting in the traditional sense—but grounding, like the gravity of a planet you can't escape.

You lie down slowly. Mira reaches over and pulls the sheet up to your chest, smoothing it with careful hands. Then she leans in close, her voice velvet in your ear.

"If the dream comes again, tell it I'm watching. Nothing touches you without my permission."

You don't know why, but it helps. Her control, her certainty—it's terrifying, but it's solid. It gives your mind a place to settle.

As your breath evens out and your body stops shaking, Mira remains beside you, her hand resting lightly near yours. She hums a soft melody—strange, haunting, but somehow beautiful.

And just before you fall asleep, you hear her whisper:

"Sweet dreams, little pawn."

Aguni

The engine hums low beneath you, a broken rhythm in the silence.

Earlier tonight, the car was packed. Laughter, tension, fear—everyone crammed together shoulder-to-shoulder, on their way to another game. It was supposed to be a simple one. Survivable.

But now it's just you and Aguni.

The others didn't make it.

You stare out the cracked passenger window, the neon lights of the deserted city blurring past. Every flicker reminds you of the arena—the screams, the last-second betrayals, the way you couldn't save them even though you tried.

You clamp your eyes shut, digging your nails into your palms, trying to keep it together.

But the weight is too much. It crushes you from the inside out.

Your chest tightens painfully. Your breathing stutters, shallow and quick, like your lungs forgot how to work. Your hands start to tremble. Panic blooms fast and ugly in your gut, until you're gasping without even realizing it.

Aguni notices immediately.

"Oi," he says, voice low but firm. "Breathe."

You shake your head, trying to fight it off, but it's no use. It's like you're trapped, drowning in air.

Aguni pulls the car over sharply, tires screeching slightly on the asphalt. Without a word, he throws it into park and turns to you fully.

"Look at me," he says.

You can't. You're too far gone, spiraling down into the memory of the game, the arena, the friends you couldn't save.

Large hands grasp your shoulders—not rough, but grounding. Solid.

"I said look at me," he repeats, softer this time.

You manage to lift your head. His dark eyes are steady, intense, but not angry. There's a glint of something else there—something almost like concern.

"You're alive," he says. "You hear me? You're alive."

You squeeze your eyes shut, choking on a sob. "They're not. I—I should've—"

He cuts you off with a short, almost frustrated sound. Not at you—at the world.

"You didn't kill them," he says, voice rough like gravel. "The games did. This place did. Not you."

You suck in a breath, shaky but real.

"They made their choices. We all do. You did what you could. You made it back." He leans in closer, grip steady. "That's what matters. That's how you honor them."

The tears spill over, and you bow your head, shoulders shaking. You half expect him to pull away—to leave you to fall apart alone.

Instead, Aguni pulls you into a one-armed hug, strong and unwavering. It's awkward, almost stiff at first, but there's an undeniable sincerity in it. Like he doesn't know the right words, but he knows you need something real to hold onto.

"We don't leave our own behind," he mutters. "Not here. Not ever."

You stay there for a long moment—just breathing, letting the panic ebb away under the solid, quiet weight of him.

When you finally pull back, he lets you go without a word, simply reaching over to the glove compartment and tossing you a bottle of water.

"Drink," he says. "You're not passing out on me."

You give a breathless, broken laugh—and somehow, it feels a little easier to breathe.

Aguni waits until you're ready before shifting the car back into gear, the silence between you now less suffocating. He doesn't talk much after that.

He doesn't need to.

Because even if the car is half-empty now, even if the world outside is falling apart, you're not alone.

Not while he's still here.

Niragi

It's long past midnight.

The bigger pool is quiet now, the party music dead, the fire pit embers barely glowing. The smaller pool, tucked away behind the side building, is even quieter. No guards. No drunks. Just the chirr of cicadas in the distance and the soft lapping of water against tile.

You sit at the edge, feet dangling into the cold water. It should help, but it doesn't.

The game's still in your head.

Not the explosions or the blood this time—just the stillness afterward. The silence when it was over. The knowledge that someone you liked, someone who made it that far with you, was just... gone.

And no one talks about it. Not here.

You dig your fingers into the concrete behind you. Try to breathe. Try not to fall into the loop again.

But it's coming fast. Your heart starts racing. Vision tunneling. You grip your knees, chest tightening as your breath becomes short and shallow.

You barely hear the footsteps before a voice cuts in.

"…the hell are you doing out here?"

You flinch, too caught up in your spiraling to even hide it.

Niragi steps out of the shadows, his gun slung casually over one shoulder, loose shirt half-unbuttoned, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He's not smiling. He rarely is when no one else is watching.

You can't respond. Your throat won't work. The panic claws higher, faster. You press your hand to your chest, trying to get a breath in, any breath.

Niragi stops.

His brows twitch, cigarette lowering slightly from his mouth.

"Shit," he mutters, stepping closer. "Are you seriously freaking out right now?"

You barely manage a nod, eyes burning.

For a second, you expect the usual—mockery, maybe something cruel.

But instead, Niragi sighs through his teeth and crouches in front of you.

"Okay. Alright. Look at me," he says, voice sharp but steady. "Right here. You're not dying. You're not in a game. It's just your brain being a dick."

You glance up, shaking.

He raises an eyebrow, then tosses the cigarette aside, the ember fizzling out near the pool's edge.

"Breathe with me," he says, tone dry but weirdly serious. "In. Out. You know how this goes."

You force a breath in. Too fast. He notices.

"Slow it down. You're not getting any points for panicking harder," he mutters, but he sits beside you, back to the same wall, one hand resting near yours—close, but not touching.

"You think I don't get it?" he says after a moment, voice low. "Half the time I can't sleep because I'm still hearing bones snap. Thinking I should've died instead of someone else. Or maybe I just wish I did."

You blink, breath slowly evening. The admission stuns you more than anything else.

He stares forward into the water. "Don't get used to me saying shit like that. I don't do pep talks."

You let out a shaky breath. "You kind of just did."

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't move away.

"Yeah, well," he says, reaching over and lightly flicking water toward you with his fingers, "if you tell anyone, I'll drown you in this pool."

You manage a laugh—a weak, startled thing—but real. Your chest feels lighter. Like he kicked something loose.

He looks over at you then, gaze sharper, unreadable.

"You're still here. That means you didn't break. Not really." He pauses, then adds, "So don't let this place finish the job."

He stands, brushing off his pants, and offers a hand.

You hesitate.

But you take it.

His grip is firm, grounding. He pulls you to your feet like it's nothing, but holds on just a second longer than necessary.

"If you need to crash somewhere less depressing, come find me," he says, already turning away. "Just don't expect cuddling."

And with that, he vanishes back into the shadows.

But the panic doesn't come back.

And somehow, neither does the silence.

Last Boss

The scream tears from your throat before you're even fully awake.

You're drenched in sweat, heart thundering in your chest like a war drum. The dream—no, the memory—clings to you: running, falling, blood on your hands, voices crying out as fire eats everything in its path. You can't breathe. You can't move.

It feels real.

Too real.

You curl into yourself on the bed, fists pressed against your temples, trying to shut it out. The shadows of the room stretch long and monstrous. And somewhere in your panic, your brain tells you something is coming. Someone is coming.

You don't realize you screamed again—until the door slams open with the force of a small explosion.

Metal sings.

A sharp shhhhink as steel clears its sheath.

Your head jerks up—and there, framed in the dim light of the hallway, stands Last Boss. His eyes are wild. Alert. His katana gleams in one hand, raised and ready to strike. His chest rises and falls beneath his open shirt, his tattoos moving like smoke across his skin.

He's searching for a threat.

And for a heartbeat, you think he might be the threat—until his eyes lock on yours.

He sees you.

Sitting there, frozen, panicked, and alone.

His brow furrows. The bloodlust in his stance falters.

"…You're alone?" he asks, voice hoarse, low.

You nod weakly, trembling. You can't even get the words out, but the answer is clear: Yes. No one attacked you. No one's here.

Just a nightmare. Just the past digging its claws into your throat again.

He lowers the blade immediately. Not clumsily, but with deliberate care. His eyes never leave you.

Then he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Quietly this time.

You flinch anyway.

He notices.

"…It was just a dream?" he asks, not mocking, not skeptical. Just checking. Just making sure.

You nod again, harder now, your breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. You try to hide your face, ashamed.

But you hear the katana being set gently down on the floor.

Then the rustle of clothes as he crosses the room.

You don't know what to expect—he's never said much to you beyond nods in passing, the occasional look that's unreadable—but now he kneels beside your bed, one knee to the ground, hands on his thighs.

"I thought someone came in here and…" he trailed off. "I would've killed them."

You believe him.

His voice is flat, without hesitation. Not angry. Just certain. Like it's a fact.

That thought—the way he stormed in, sword drawn, ready to protect you without a second of doubt—cuts through your panic more effectively than anything else has all night.

"I didn't mean to scream," you whisper, voice raw. "I just— I thought I was back there. In the game. Watching them die again."

He nods once, like he understands. Not just pretending. Really gets it.

"You made it back," he says, voice gravel-soft. "You're not there anymore."

Your breathing begins to slow.

He doesn't touch you, not without permission. But his presence is heavy. Anchoring. Like a wall between you and the memory.

After a few quiet minutes, he shifts slightly and murmurs, "Do you want me to stay until you sleep?"

You don't answer with words. Just a small nod.

He says nothing else.

He stays right there, kneeling beside your bed like a silent guardian. The katana rests within his reach, but his eyes are on you now, watchful, protective in that quiet, intense way that no one else at the Beach ever offers.

And for the first time in a long time, the nightmares don't follow you back into sleep.

Chishiya

The silence presses in like a second skin.

You and Chishiya sit in the corner of a half-collapsed apartment—peeling walls, broken glass underfoot, and the stench of burned-out powerlines hanging in the air. It's the kind of place no one would look for survivors. That's why he picked it.

Outside, somewhere in the city, the King of Spades is still hunting. The echo of his gunfire hasn't stopped in hours.

You're crouched by the window, trying to listen for movement, but the city hums with the kind of dead stillness that makes everything worse. Every distant sound could be him. Every second you survive feels borrowed.

And then it hits.

Your breath starts to catch.

You try to focus, to ground yourself in what's real, but all you can think of are your friends — they might be dead already, killed by the King of Spades like many others. Or they were killed by other players, like all the people at the Beach.

Your hands shake uncontrollably.

You can't breathe.

Your vision blurs and the panic sinks its claws in, fast and cruel.

That's when Chishiya looks up from where he sits by the door, his back pressed to the wall. Calm, collected—he's barely flinched since the explosion. But he sees you now. And something in his expression shifts.

He doesn't speak right away. Doesn't say something hollow like It's okay. Because it isn't.

Instead, he gets up slowly, with his usual quiet precision, and crouches down in front of you.

"Look at me."

You can't. Not yet. But his voice cuts through the static, clean and steady like a scalpel.

"You're panicking," he says, matter-of-fact. "That's fine. But you're not going to die right now."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "You don't know that."

"I do," he replies, unfazed. "The King of Spades isn't anywhere near us. He'd be making noise if he was. You know that."

You swallow hard, your breaths still coming too fast, too shallow. "But he could be. What if he finds us? We can't win. I can't fight him, Chishiya. I'm not like—" Your voice cracks. "I'm not like Kuina."

His gaze sharpens. That strikes something in him.

"Kuina fights because she has to," he says quietly. "She is brave, but she is scared, too. We all are. If you weren't scared, you'd be dead already."

You look at him then. His voice is calm, yes—but not cold. It's careful. Measured. That kind of calm isn't for him. It's for you.

"You don't need to fight him," he adds, tilting his head just slightly. "You just need to stay alive. And you have me."

Your breath stutters.

He watches you for a long moment, then reaches into his pocket and holds something out—an old packet of hard candy, scavenged somewhere along the way.

"I've found panic attacks go better with sugar," he says dryly.

Despite everything—despite the fear, the grief, the ruin outside—you let out a soft, almost broken laugh.

You take the candy. Your fingers still shake.

Chishiya leans back against the wall beside you, legs stretched out casually, eyes back on the window. Watching.

But before the silence fully returns, he speaks again. Softer.

"I'll know if he comes," he says. "And if he does… we'll run. Together. I don't plan on dying, and I'm not planning on letting you die either."

You nod. Slowly. The worst of the panic begins to ebb.

And for a moment—for the first time since the Beach—you believe him.

Not because he promises survival.

But because Chishiya never says anything he doesn't mean.

Masterlist

[another-goblin]

A little analysis of Ratio's owl symbolism. He's absolutely covered (and surrounded) with stylized images of owls. Here are just some examples (feel free to study him to find more). He was even (apparently) supposed to wear an owl mask in an older version of his design. But why.

1. In western culture, owls are traditionally associated with knowledge and wisdom, which indicates his connection with Erudition, as a scientist. That's the most obvious explanation for his owl imagery, and probably the only one intended by the designers. But why stop here. Why not overanalyze it.

2. Owls are known as highly specialized and effective predators. So basically, an embodiment of the Hunt.

Dr. Ratio (about the phase flame): Do you know what to do with cornered prey? Hunt it to the death.

Btw, considering that paths are not just a gameplay convention but the actual in-universe things characters recognize in themselves and others, it's even more ironic that the character who dedicated his whole life to science and education belongs to the Hunt. Because gameplay-wise, the Hunt is the opposite of Erudition. The poor guy couldn't have been further away from Nous even if he tried.

3. Owls are good at being unnoticed. They hunt by hiding, observing, and waiting for the right time to strike. It reminds me of that mission at Herta Station, where we first met him. Most people on the station didn't even know that he was there, even though he personally saved these researchers. 

Screwllum (about Ratio's involvement in that mission): …and pulling the strings from behind the curtain is akin to laying down the gauntlet to a genius.

There is a theory that more or less the same thing is happening on Penacony, with most characters probably not knowing that he's even there.

4. The special structure of an owl's wings and feathers makes their flight practically noiseless, so they can approach their prey unnoticed. In addition to point 3, with him moving through Herta station unnoticed, it also reminds me of how he silently disappeared a couple of times in the middle of his conversation with Aventurine.

5. They gave him vertical pupils, probably in an attempt to make his eyes more owl-like. The problem is, I wasn't able to find a single photo of an owl with vertical pupils. They are round. So, if anything, it makes him look more like a cat.

6. And the last point, it's most likely not true, it's my little conspiracy/crack-theory. 

But he's sometimes referred to as a Professor; he's as much of an Owl as Aventurine is a peacock. Game, please don't tell me he has nothing to do with Penacony's Professor Owl the origami birds often mention, whoever it is.

In fact, if he wasn't too young for that, I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with the creation of Dreaworld. Because he mentioned before that taking a bath helps him with going to sleep, and on Penacony you take a bath to go to sleep (what are the chances), and then you enter a world filled with images of owls. It's probably actually nothing, but what a coincidence.

[devdozes]

Bye idk if this sent twice.. BUT CAN YOU DO A BLADE X KANADE READER FIC like Just her personality and stuff and make it depressing i am DYING for more blade fics from you..... I LOVE UOUR WRITING BTW

ilysm AAAAAA HTNAK YOU OS MCUCH I HAVE LIKE 8 BLADE FICS IN DRAFTS HAHA I JSUT NEED TO REFINE AND POST IT

The air in the room is thick, heavy, like it’s been stuck here for far too long. The only sound is the faint hum of your computer, the occasional tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. You’ve been here for hours, maybe days—time seems irrelevant now. The light from your screen flickers intermittently, casting shadows in the corners of the room, where they belong. You never bother to turn on the overhead light. The darkness is comfortable. It's familiar. It shields you from everything outside, from the world that feels so far away.

Your bed is a mess. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and dishes are piling up on the desk. The window is shut tight, blocking out the sun, keeping you cocooned in your little space. You don’t mind it this way, not really. The sunlight hurts your eyes, and the thought of facing the outside world? That’s too much. It’s easier to stay here, where it’s quiet, where no one can ask anything of you. No one can expect anything. You don’t have to be anyone else when you’re here. You can just exist.

You haven’t been out of this room for days. Meals are a quick affair—instant noodles, maybe a sandwich if you’re feeling particularly motivated. But that’s about it. Nothing real. Nothing to take care of yourself, nothing that could actually nourish you. Your body feels heavy, sluggish, like it’s getting more and more difficult to keep going. But it doesn’t matter, right? You’re not doing this for you.

You don’t remember the last time you took a real shower, or put on clothes that weren’t just the first thing you grabbed. You barely even look at your reflection when you pass the bathroom mirror. What’s the point? It’s not like anyone’s going to see you. Not like it would matter.

The only thing that matters is this—your music. The only place where you feel like you can make a difference. It’s the only time you can breathe, the only time your heart isn’t suffocating under the weight of everything. When you compose, it’s like you’re pouring every last ounce of yourself into the notes. Every painful emotion, every tear you can’t shed, every word you can’t speak—they go into the melodies, into the harmonies that fill the empty space in the room.

You tell yourself that this is why you do it. To save people. To help them feel seen, to help them heal. You pour your heart into every song because if it can make just one person feel less alone, then maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. But even as you tell yourself this, there’s a gnawing ache deep in your chest that won’t go away.

What about you? Who’s saving you?

You don’t know. You don’t think anyone could. You don’t think you deserve saving, not when you’re stuck here, in this endless loop of forgetting yourself.

It’s always about others. Always about helping, always about making someone else’s life better. You’re a fixer, a healer, someone who believes that if you can just make enough people feel better, if you can just write that perfect song that will fix someone’s broken pieces, maybe you’ll finally feel like you matter.

But what if you can’t? What if all of your efforts are meaningless because you can’t even save yourself? What if, despite everything, the emptiness inside you can’t be filled?

You close your eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The songs are coming slower now. Your fingers hesitate over the keys, unsure. Every note feels like it’s just a cry into the void. It’s never enough. It never fixes anything.

You let out a breath, soft and shaky, and the tears come before you can even stop them. They fall silently, rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat of exhaustion. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, trying to stay composed. You can’t afford to break. Not now. Not when there’s so much work to do. Not when there’s still more people to help, more songs to write.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard. You want to give up. You want to sink into the dark, pull the blankets over your head and never come out. You want to disappear, to stop feeling so alone in this never-ending cycle of giving and forgetting yourself.

Your vision blurs, your breath catching in your throat.

You wonder if anyone would even notice if you were gone. Would it matter? Would anyone care? No. Not the time. You have to keep going. You had to keep going. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Blade had been passing by the library when he saw it—a missed call from you.

It wasn’t unusual to get a message or a missed call from you. You’d call him sometimes, usually with that quiet, almost fragile voice of yours, asking about some random piece of engineering trivia or questioning a theory. But there was something in his gut that twisted uncomfortably. Something in the way you’d been acting lately. He couldn’t put his finger on it—he never could with you—but something about your silence was different this time. The way your texts were getting fewer, the responses shorter. Almost like you were pulling away.

He tapped his phone and called you back, his thumb hovering over the dial button. You didn’t pick up.

He cursed under his breath, slipping the phone into his pocket as he turned and headed toward the direction of your place.

It had been days since you last spoke in person. Blade wasn’t a person who dealt with emotions very well. He kept his distance, his walls high, his words sharp and guarded. But with you... there was something that drew him in. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was because you always seemed so quiet, so withdrawn, yet the way you cared for people, even when it tore you apart—it pulled him in like nothing else.

He tried to push it all down, tried not to let the worry rise in his chest. You were fine, right? You always managed to keep going, always found a way to keep moving forward. It was just who you were.

But then, why did he feel this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach?

As he neared your apartment building, his eyes flicked to the entrance, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. He hesitated. Maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the strange sense of urgency that had settled over him, but Blade found himself stepping up to the door of your unit without thinking.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, harder this time, his hand balling into a fist. The second time was met with a faint shuffling sound from the other side. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

“(Name),” he said, his voice low, a gruffness slipping through, though he didn’t quite know why. “Let me in.”

There was a pause. Silence. And then, the sound of the door unlocking. Blade pushed the door open, stepping inside, his heart heavy.

The apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of your computer screen. Your room looked as if it had been untouched for days—clothes piled on the floor, dishes left in disarray, the air heavy with the smell of stale noodles. Blade’s eyes scanned the room, immediately drawn to where you sat hunched over your desk, the soft glow of your screen illuminating your face.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even acknowledge him.

“(Name)...” His voice softened, the cold, gruff edge of it cracking for just a moment. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t respond. He felt that familiar ache in his chest, like something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite put it together. He watched as your fingers hovered over the keys of your computer, hesitant, almost lifeless. It was as if you were just going through the motions, disconnected from everything, even from yourself.

His instincts kicked in, and without thinking, Blade crossed the room, kneeling beside you. “Talk to me.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice, your shoulders tensing. The sight of your tear-streaked face and the mess around you made his gut twist painfully. Your eyes didn’t meet his. Your gaze was lost in the screen, distant, like you were somewhere far away, lost in a place he couldn’t follow.

“(Name),” Blade repeated, his voice firm, but there was something uncharacteristically soft in his tone now. “Stop it. This is insanity.”

You finally glanced up at him, and for a split second, he saw the emptiness in your eyes. It was a look that made his heart ache—a look that made him want to do anything, everything, to take it away.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

The words were so flat, so lifeless, Blade knew they were a lie. You weren’t fine. He could see it—see the way you were falling apart, see the way you kept pushing everything, everyone, away.

“You’re not fine,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “You’re not fine, (Name).”

There was a beat of silence before you exhaled shakily, your breath hitching. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix... me. I just... I just want to help people, but I don’t know how to save myself. I feel like I’m failing... at everything.”

His heart clenched in his chest at your words, at the vulnerability you were showing. You always hid behind your mask of quiet strength, hiding all of this from everyone. But Blade wasn’t stupid. He knew you too well.

“You’re not failing,” he said gently, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “You’re not alone in this, (Name). And you don’t have to save everyone. It’s not your job to fix everyone else while forgetting about yourself.”

You blinked rapidly, the tears threatening to spill over, but you bit your lip and held them back. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to stop being the one everyone relies on. I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not helping...”

Blade’s hand reached out, resting gently on your shoulder. The touch was firm but comforting, like a steady anchor in a storm. “You don’t have to be that person all the time. You’re allowed to take a step back. You’re allowed to need help, too.”

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as he stood up and walked to your desk. He reached over and closed your laptop, turning off the screen that had been your sole focus. The room fell into an eerie quiet, and it felt like the tension had been temporarily lifted.

You finally looked up at him, your eyes glossy, full of unspoken words.

“Just... take a break,” Blade murmured. “Take a break for once. It’s okay to be selfish.”

You didn’t say anything for a while, and for a moment, Blade thought you might shut him out like you always did. But then, slowly, almost hesitantly, you spoke.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, your voice breathy and fragile, as if breath wasn't reaching your lungs.

Blade’s heart twisted in his chest, and he stepped closer, his hand gently resting on top of yours. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know. And I’m here, (Name). I’m here, You.. don't have to do this alone. My hand will always be with yours.”

The words weren’t much. They weren’t some grand, flowery speech. But they were honest. And sometimes, that was enough.

The silence between you two wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was calming. Blade stood by your side, ready to be the one who supported you, no matter what.

♡