#dart variables

[thetexvn]

Variables in Dart Programming

The Following are keywords used for declaring variables in Dart:

var

string

int

double

dynamic

final

const

Read more: https://www.thetexvn.com/blogs/@zia/variables-in-dart-programming-138

[darkmatilda]

𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer genuinely can't believe that you're being kind to him. and you—well, you weren’t ashamed to admit that seeing him with the child had just a little melted your heart.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, a very fleeting mention of the babysitter kidnapper, but other than that, the fluffiest shit ive ever written (don't get used to it) (love them so much shshaha its unhealthy) (spencer performing MAGIC TRICK!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.3k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by lovely @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat love you so much you have no idea

The yellow Ford Falcon XB was reaching its record speed, slicing through the racetrack like a released arrow, emitting that signature mechanical growl and drawing dozens of captivated gazes.

At least, that’s how it looked through the eyes of a six-year-old.

Through Spencer’s eyes, it was just a toy car being pushed across the wooden surface of the table by a small hand.

The boy’s brown hair nearly touched his shoulders, and he wore a blue soccer jersey with a number on the back. His gaze wasn’t curiously darting around the office where they were alone—it was fixed solely on his favorite toy.

Reid watched him in silence for a moment, letting him play in peace before starting the conversation he, unfortunately, had to initiate.

For some time now, they had been working on a case involving the abduction of babysitters—each disappearing while on the job, vanishing after leaving the house with the children they were watching. Whether heading to the park, the playground, or a store, that was the only variable. The rest of the details were so methodical, so patterned, that there was no doubt they were dealing with a serial offender.

"Liam," he began, drawing the boy’s green eyes to him.

Spencer didn’t feel comfortable in this role. He never considered himself particularly gifted when it came to interacting with children—which was strange, considering everyone around him seemed to think otherwise. Especially since the arrival of his godson, Henry, had given him more opportunities for it.

"My name is Spencer, and…I’d like to talk to you for a moment."

He paused. The boy's face took on an odd expression; he didn’t respond, just looked at him with a certain shyness. Spencer hesitated, opening his mouth only to close it again.

All the previous babysitters had been taken the moment they looked away, leaving the children alone. From a child’s perspective, it must have been confusing. One moment, their beloved babysitter was with them, and the next, uniformed officers arrived, whisking them away to a place where more strange adults asked them strange but gentle questions.

For example, if they saw anything strange.

Strange? The children never really understood what that meant. After all, they had just been playing at the park like they did every afternoon. What could possibly be strange about that?

Spencer sighed. He didn’t want to bombard the boy with questions that would, at best, earn him a nod or a shake of the head. If he wanted answers—testimony (though the word felt absurd when referring to a six-year-old)—he’d have to take a different approach. He needed Liam to open up naturally. Even if it took a little longer.

"Is that a Falcon XB?" he asked, deliberately exaggerating his interest as he nodded toward the toy car teetering at the edge of the table. He moved around to take a seat beside the boy, slouching slightly. It always seemed easier to talk to kids when they were at the same eye level. "Can I see it?"

Liam stared at him for a moment before nodding.

Spencer carefully picked up the toy. His hesitation wasn’t just about earning the boy’s trust—though that was important. No, the real reason for his reluctance was the fact that, just five minutes ago, he had watched Liam absentmindedly shove the car into his mouth, biting down on its yellow surface.

"It’s really cool. Is it your favorite?" he asked, trying to push aside the thought of bacteria. The countless, countless bacteria.

There are an estimated 700 different species living in the human mouth…

Liam nodded again.

Focus, Reid. Cars, not bacteria.

"Did you know the original Falcon XB had an engine that let it reach over 220 kilometers per hour? It was so popular in Australia that the police used it for high-speed chases."

The boy studied him in silence for a moment, but Spencer could tell he had his attention.

“So…it’s a police car? Why doesn’t it have a siren?”

“The ones used by the police did," Spencer explained. "They also had lights on the roof so they could chase criminals. You know, yours might not have them because…”—he lowered his voice—“…it’s actually a secret police car.”

Liam frowned, clearly not following. “A secret police car?”

Spencer nodded.

“Used for undercover missions,” he continued. The boy’s full attention was locked onto him now—he must’ve hit on something that really fascinated him. “By secret agents, so they wouldn’t be noticed. And when they really need to…”

He glanced at Liam out of the corner of his eye, making sure the boy was still watching him closely. Once he was sure he had him hooked, Spencer clasped his hands together, concealing the Hot Wheels car between them. He held them still for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

Then, finally, he pulled them apart—revealing nothing but empty palms.

“…it disappears.”

  The boy’s mouth fell open in amazement, gasping. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even though, to him, it was nothing impressive. He had done this trick hundreds of times—it was so simple. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about watching the boy’s reaction, seeing how intently he studied Spencer’s hands, completely baffled by the disappearance of his toy.

Then suddenly, in the middle of it all, Spencer felt someone watching him.

He shifted his gaze toward the doorway, toward the figure standing in the threshold—the sight of whom caused his smile to falter. Not out of displeasure, but more out of surprise. And it wasn’t just her presence that caught him off guard. Lately, they had been running into each other in the most unexpected situations, to the point where he was starting to get used to it. What he wasn’t used to was the expression on her face.

By now, he had memorized the looks she most often wore around him—irritation, sarcasm, playful exasperation. But the way her head tilted slightly to the side, the faint curve at the corner of her lips, and the softness in her eyes didn’t fit into any of those categories.��

 Spencer felt his shoulders tense. He wasn’t sure if he had always been this paranoid or if it was a newly acquired trait—maybe one tied specifically to her—but a sense of unease settled over him. Before standing up to approach her and find out what she wanted, he cleared his throat and turned back to Liam one last time. He placed his hand behind the boy’s ear, pulling out the toy car as if it had been hidden there all along.

“I’ll be back in a moment, alright?” he informed him.

The boy didn’t even look at him, completely engrossed in examining the car from every angle, as if truly believing it could vanish on command. Spencer found himself smiling again. But that expression faded entirely when he stepped closer to the woman leaning against the doorframe. She shifted slightly backward into the hallway—probably to keep their conversation out of the child’s earshot.

“You know,” she started before he could say anything, raising her eyebrows slightly.

She lifted something in her hand—something Spencer hadn’t even noticed before, too focused on analyzing the look on her face. That suspicious look on her face. It was a plastic box of crayons.

“When JJ ran into me in the hallway, shoving this into my hands and begging me to find Spence and give it to him, I was a little confused. But now I get it.”

She nodded toward the boy.

Spencer instinctively followed her gaze, mirroring its path. At the same time, she shoved the box of crayons into his hands. Caught off guard, he had to grip it tightly to keep from dropping it. She then crossed her arms over her chest.

He glanced at her face once more and suddenly sighed, finally realizing what this meant.

“Oh, well, let me guess,” he began, rolling his eyes upward. “Because you had to deliver this to me, you now expect something in return. And you won’t tell me what, you’ll just keep me in suspense for the next few weeks, casually reminding me that I owe you, until eventually, you demand something absolutely ridiculous.”

He spoke with confidence, convinced of his theory. But as a prolonged silence settled between them, he started to doubt it. Especially when she averted her gaze for a moment.

Someone might think she was crafting a particularly sharp retort—he himself considered it for a second—until he realized she never needed time to think of a comeback. When talking to him, they rolled off her tongue at machine-gun speed.

Another brief glance toward the boy.

"This is about the case with the kidnapped babysitters, isn’t it?" she asked, completely ignoring his entire speech. "I heard something about it. The kid—he's okay?"

Spencer didn't hide his surprise at the question. It took him a moment to realize that it was completely natural in this situation—almost anyone would have asked it. Maybe it was just the rare trace of concern in her voice that caught him off guard.

“Um… yeah…yeah, he's okay,” he stammered, his tongue suddenly twisting over the words. He had no idea why. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the strange fog in his brain.

“I mean, I was just about to talk to him, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t see anything. Same as in the previous cases. This unsub doesn’t…doesn’t hurt kids.” Suddenly, he became aware of the weight of the crayons in his hands, remembering them again. He added, “And, uh, thanks for this. When we work with kids, we often give them paper and crayons. Sometimes it’s easier for them to draw something than to say it out loud.”

She let out a sound—a hum—suggesting that she understood.

He caught himself mentally keeping track of time. They were probably breaking a record for how long they had gone without arguing. Or at least without one of them slipping in a tiny jab at the other.

He was experiencing so-called cognitive dissonance.

“So, they stuck you with babysitting duty today?” she asked. Before he could respond, she let out a quiet snort. “Well, no surprise there.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned. “By the way, this isn’t a common thing. I’m not particularly good with kids. Usually, they assign someone else for this, like—”

“I’m not particularly good with kids,” she repeated, her voice laced with mockery.

Oh. So they were back to their usual dynamic.

“Congratulations. You heard me correctly.”

“I know I did,” she shot back, sharper this time. “I just don’t agree. I watched you two for a moment. You are good with kids. Didn’t you see how excited he was when you did that trick?”

“He was just surprised. I made his toy disappear.”

“Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s a kid whose babysitter was just…” She mouthed the word kidnapped, only her lips forming the shape of it. “Something he might not fully grasp, but still—he was taken to a completely unfamiliar place, away from his parents. And instead of being terrified, he’s calm, even fascinated by what you showed him. So, like I said, you are good with kids.”

Spencer listened to her explanation, an odd feeling creeping over him. A kind of uncertainty, like she couldn’t possibly be talking about him. He almost wanted to turn around, check if someone was standing behind him, if the words were meant for someone else. But he didn’t—because, strangely, even moving felt difficult at that moment.

“Anyway,” she murmured suddenly, breaking the prolonged silence between them. “I’ve got to go. And don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything this time. I’ll let you off the hook—just this once.”

Before she left, she focused on his face one last time. That strange expression was still there—the same one from the beginning of their conversation, the one that had thrown him into cognitive dissonance. That strange expression that, maybe, was… something kind?

He returned to Liam, so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the boy watching him for quite some time. He gave a small nod, pulling himself back to reality, back to the case at hand.

“She’s your friend?” Liam asked, his gaze drifting to where the woman had just been standing.

Spencer set the box of crayons down on the table, within the boy’s reach. He considered the question for a moment. He decided, however, that a six-year-old didn’t need the complicated details of their relationship.

“Yes.”

A brief silence followed his—well, lie.

“Really pretty.”

Laughter gathered in his chest. It was, in its own way, charming—the infatuation hidden in his shy words.

"Yes," he nodded gently. "I mean, she knows that” 

"Because you told her?"

He hesitated at those words, genuinely unsure of what to say. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t waiting for an answer. For a moment, his green eyes locked onto the toy car still sitting on the table, then back to Spencer, full of silent request.

"Can you teach me that trick?"

*

"Okay, buddy. Don’t stress. You’ve got this. Good luck."

Spencer patted the boy on the back. Liam gave a small nod, as if gathering courage, then hesitantly made his way toward the woman.

At the sight of a child suddenly at her feet, her eyebrows lifted high. She crouched down, asking him something in a soft voice.

Liam held out both fists, the yellow toy barely fitting in one of them. It was obvious where it was hidden, yet the woman pretended to consider her choice carefully before pointing at one hand.

Proud of himself, he revealed both empty palms—then pulled the toy car from behind her ear.

Her lips stretched into a wide smile, exaggerated in surprise. Then, she sought out his gaze, holding it for a lingering moment—just long enough for Spencer to realize he was smiling too.

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF (ii)

Summary: It's date night with Sanji. He meticulously prepared this for weeks and he's so nervous that he feels like he's going to faint. Afterwards, he's planning on asking you to come over. What will happen if you say yes? WC: 7.5k (read part 1 here!) CW: NSFW! Afab reader w/gendered pronouns (she/her/hers). Modern-ish AU; pwp; intercourse; oral (f. receiving); ejaculation inside. Minors do not interact!

It’s a Friday night. Months ago, you would have been gearing up for a long night at your job, being a phone sex operator. But you quit a while ago and your weekends look different now.

Like many Friday nights over the last year, you’re spending it with Sanji. But this time he’s actually there—materially present, in the flesh, smiling at you a couple feet away.

It’s a special night tonight. You’ve been seeing Sanji for around a month and a half, and tonight you’re at his restaurant, finally. You’ve fantasized about this for ages.

The darling chef across the table from you planned this carefully. He adjusted his schedule—instead of working tonight, he’s added an extra shift in next week, making up for the deficit.

He’s gone to great lengths to ensure that the crew in the kitchen is the best of the best, including that sous chef, who he strongly dislikes—but personal feelings aside, in Sanji’s kitchen there are only the most talented of chefs. He’s made sure of it.

He watched the ordering forms and produce vendors like hawks in the week leading up to this. You will only be eating the best quality ingredients, the freshest food, and nothing less.

Sanji is tense and he’s so nervous that he’s starting to feel sick. He’s running the logistics over in his head, trying to calculate if there’s anything he forgot, anything he missed, anything that could fall flat.

You can tell he’s overthinking, and it’s endearing. When his eyes aren’t darting around the restaurant, peeking into the semi-open kitchen and factoring all sorts of minuscule variables in your dining experience, he’s looking at you.

His gaze is warm, and when he’s around you, he’s sunshine personified. You can’t deny that he looks at you with such reverent adoration that it’s almost off-putting. But nothing he could do could actually put you off. You’re far too in love with him for that.

The restaurant is dark and the lights are warm. Slow jazz music plays at a low volume and the whole establishment smells exquisite.

There are tea lights on each table, with tiny flames that reflect in the gorgeous dark mahogany accents and mirrors on the walls. Next to each candle is a small vase filled with a couple flower stems—tonight, Sanji specifically asked the front of house staff to use your favorite flowers.

Across from you, the blonde man is dressed in what you now know is his signature outfit—black slacks with a button up; the sleeves are rolled up and a few buttons are undone. He looks effortlessly handsome and stylish. Your heart beats a bit faster when he catches your eyes.

How many dates has it been?

You’ve lost track at this point. Maybe you should be taking things slower with him, but you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to spending time with him.

One thing that you’ve been very intentional about, however, is intimacy (which is interesting, given your relationship history). After all, Sanji used to be one of your clients. You’ve had plenty of phone sex, but you haven’t gotten to the real thing yet.

You’re saving that for the right moment. Sure, you’ve made out with him a few times and you can’t deny that you both certainly get excited, but you’ve exercised self-restraint so far. You take this man very seriously. That seriousness entails caution.

The caution is only natural—not only do you feel like this man may be the love of your life, but he also wounded you deeply before. Building your trust, becoming accustomed to his affection and attention, and mending your heart has taken a little while. It’s an active process. But you’re comfortable now.

Soundlessly, Sanji breaks your train of thought. He reaches his hand across the circular table and places it palm-up in front of you.

You slide your hand onto his and he twists his wrist slightly—your fingers are entwined now. His thumb tickles as it draws a soft circle across your skin.

The flame from the tea light on the table reflects in his irises.

“My love?” He asks, rousing you from your stupor of thought. “What do you think?”

He gestures to the scenery around and you take a second to respond, soaking in the ambiance before giving him your verdict. He’s dying to know whether or not you’re impressed.

You haven’t told him yet, but you’ve been here before. Just once. A date took you here long ago, years before you started your old job, years before Sanji took up the position as head chef. The ambiance hasn’t changed much but it feels different now. For one, the man sitting across from you is simply radiating love. He’s devilishly handsome and chivalrous. He squeezes your hand gently.

“I like it,” you reply. “It’s just like you described. Very classy.”

He smiles. “I can’t wait for you to try the food.”

You’ve had Sanji’s cooking before, and it’s (simply put) the best food you’ve ever been served. Any time you go to his apartment, he cooks for you. But tonight, Sanji isn’t in the kitchen. This is a show of his skill in managing the kitchen, purveying ingredients, instructing his subordinates, and running the show, more than anything else.

“Tell me about the menu tonight,” you prompt him. You know he’s put an exorbitant amount of thought and energy into creating and testing what will be served tonight.

This restaurant is French. Sanji describes the prix fixe menu—he tends to link the dishes and flavors he constructs to very specific memories, emotions, or envisioned scenes. It’s impressive, and he shares each nugget of inspiration with you as the courses are served, per a promise he made weeks ago.

This experience is necessarily intimate—this is his passion, his art, the thing that he’s dedicated his life to.

It doesn’t escape him that you’re listening intently, appreciating the nuances of what he’s saying, and looking breathtaking while doing it.

The courses are small and painstakingly procured and presented. It’s interesting, looking at each dish and hearing the waitstaff explain what’s going on with each one, especially when the man in question—the artist and chef himself—is sitting in front of you. You can tell that the waiter is a bit nervous to serve him, but Sanji is kind and affable, putting them at ease immediately.

The first dish is a rocket salad with pears, pea blossoms, and a light vinaigrette.

“This recipe was actually passed down from my dad,” Sanji begins. “The story is kind of funny. Years ago, he was exploring some island and came across a tavern. They served something similar to this. He tried to get the recipe but ended up getting in a fist fight with the owner, so he just had to recreate it himself. He always complains that this salad isn’t as good as it should be, since it’s missing that ‘je ne sais quois’, but over the years he’s tweaked it. I stole it, obviously, and made some of my own adjustments.”

The dish is tangy, refreshing, and bright. It’s ridiculously good. Obviously.

You compliment him and, even though the room is dark, you can make out a pink flush across his cheeks. He lives for your praise.

Next, there’s a soup. Sanji explains how it came about.

“When I was growing up, Zeff had a bunch of leftovers that he was going to use for something else and I swiped them when he wasn’t looking. I threw them into a pot and… this is kind of the outcome. He was making some dish with leeks, so the scraps I stole were mostly leek trimmings. He was pissed when he realized I snagged them. The soup turned out awful the first few tries, like it was literally inedible, but I got it down to a science at some point. The trick is adding in some sage and the tiniest amount of white wine—it changes the balance of flavors completely.”

“How old were you?” You ask between flavorful spoonfuls.

You swear no one has given him any attention or love before, from the way he responds to your questions and praise. He looks genuinely shocked that you’ve asked him a such a thoughtful question. He’s never gotten used to the very sincere attention you treat him with, hasn’t reckoned with the fact that someone like you would be genuinely interested in him. You’ve known him (and treated him like this) since your first conversation, but it still takes him aback.

Sanji explains that he must have been 13 or 14 at the time, and he goes on to describe how upset his dad got with him over the whole fiasco. When Zeff finally tried the one of the more perfected, streamlined iterations of the leek soup, he said dropped the subject entirely. “That means that he liked it,” Sanji explains.

You’ve tried to piece together the man in front of you as long as you’ve known him—evidently, he wasn’t showered with praise as a child. The stories he’s told you, and his reaction to your compliments, make that clear. But he still has so much kindness in his heart, it’s absurd.

While Sanji tells you about the anecdotes and memories that prompted certain recipes, you notice that he’s figeting with the edge of his napkin with one hand. He’s nervous. It melts your heart a bit.

You lose track of the courses. Each is more scrumptious than the last, which shouldn’t be possible, but he’s a culinary genius so he’s pulled it off somehow. Afterwards, there’s a cheese course, a platter of dips, a carpaccio of some sort, a savory galette, another salad… the plates are small and never ending.

The last dish is, of course, dessert. It’s a tiramisu, scooped out of a huge serving dish, table-side.

The layers are defined, and it smells like cocoa. Sanji hesitates with this explanation. You wonder why.

“Tiramisu? How’d you come up with this one?” You smile at him, sensing his pause, and his heart flutters.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I heard my mom say that she liked it one day, offhand… So, I made it. I’ve been making it ever since.”

This is the first time he’s mentioned her in all your long months of talking. “Your mom?”

“Y-yeah, she uhh… She passed a long time ago when I was a little kid. She got really sick. She never got to try the tiramisu. But, ah, fuck, this sounds a bit cheesy, but whenever I make it, I make it for her.”

“Oh,” you respond, softly. “That’s very sweet, Sanji.”

He averts his eyes for a split-second, and you see that blush is taking over his whole face. Your heart is twisting at his story—how is this man real? He makes it for her? Fucking hell, he’s perfect.

Each story he’s told tonight has given you a look into his character, his childhood, memories, and impressions of the world. The tiramisu is perfect—it’s not too sweet and the flavors are balanced. The perfect way to end the perfect meal.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you say, furrowing your brows in an expression of incredulity. “It’s delicious. Like, one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I made this batch myself.”

You can taste the love that it’s made with, really. This whole meal has been ridiculously good. You didn’t know food could be this good. It tastes even better because the handsome man across from you is showering you in compliments and the bill is completely taken care of.

“So, what did you think?” Sanji asks when the meal is over, reaching for your hand again. He’s smiling and a bit shy.

“It was amazing.” You respond simply, and he sees your lips curl up into that smile he so covets. “Thank you, Sanji. Seriously. For sharing everything with me. This was lovely.”

“It didn’t disappoint?” His eyes are brightening. You can see he’s starting to positively beam at your praise.

“It didn’t disappoint in the slightest. You’re so talented, it’s just, wow.”

When you leave the restaurant, you walk into the parking lot holding hands. You reflect in the third person for a second—how wild is this, to be with this man here, right now, hand in hand, with bashful smiles. Those familiar butterflies stir when he looks at you.

Like clockwork, Sanji invites you back to his place. You usually decline his invitation (which he presents without fail) because you don’t want to get too attached too fast, but… you’ve decided that sentiment is futile. You’re already attached. Very attached. There’s no point in deluding yourself any longer, really. You’re madly in love with each other and it’s no secret.

“Would you like to come back to mine for a drink, gorgeous?”

You take a second to study him. He does look fantastic, so put together and well-kept, and he’s been so sweet with you. You like him too much to decline.

“I’d love to.”

The ride back home is quiet—you’re comfortable enough with Sanji to sit in silence for periods of time. It’s peaceful, and it feels like you’ve known each other for years. He reaches a hand over and sets it on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze.

Before you know it, you’re in Sanji’s apartment again. You’ve been here a handful of times. He’s made you dinners and lunches, you’ve watched shows together and cuddled on the couch. But tonight, you feel something in the air. Maybe tonight is the night that you go all the way with him, finally.

When you’re settled on the couch, he offers you a glass of wine or a cocktail. He caters to you like you’re royalty. An interesting irony.

“Would you like a pair of sweats and a hoodie, darling?” He asks after he’s fixed you your drink. You smile at him and respond in the affirmative—the stuffy, cute outfit you’ve been wearing is getting on your nerves, and it’s going to feel so much better to wear his clothes. It always does.

When you change into his clothes and return to the living room, Sanji’s face goes crimson again. He’s only seen you in his clothes a handful of times before and it makes him feel things. His heart and stomach are doing flips and his eyes are practically turning into hearts. He’s adorable.

“Would you like to watch something together, gorgeous? Maybe that show you were telling me about?” He asks as you both get comfy on the couch. Your bodies are pressed side-by-side.

“How about we just snuggle for a bit?” You propose, and he readily agrees.

“I could be persuaded to snuggle.” Sanji puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “I can’t believe you spend time with me. I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He’s smiling and peppering your face with kisses.

“Sanjiiii,” you say, giggling. “Cut it out. It tickles.”

“I—don’t—ever—want—to—stop,” he kisses you somewhere between each word. Your cheeks, your neck, your hand, your forehead. Anywhere he can reach. “You’re stunning.”

His hand reaches for your chin and guides your lips to his. He’s preposterously suave. It’s like something out of a romance movie.

When he breaks the kiss, he says, “How did I land you? You’re just too beautifu—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips on his mid-word. You can tell he’s nervous and high-strung from dinner. But now that he’s impressed you like he wanted, he can calm down. He relaxes into your embrace after a second.

The kisses start soft, but they quickly increase in desperation. He wants you so bad that you can feel his yearning with each kiss. Ever the gentleman, he keeps his hands to his self, only placing one on your cheek and the other softly on your hip.

Maybe tonight is the night.

As you lock lips, you move his hand from where it rests on your hip downwards, so he’s touching your ass now through the sweatpants he lent you. Sanji timidly grabs a handful. He’s being gentle and shy, but you suspect that he’s in agony with desire.

This is a moment he’s dreamed about for around a year at this point. This night is about to be filled with moments that he’s been dreaming of.

You move his other hand from your cheek to your chest—his hands do as they please, petting and kneading you through the fabric of his clothes. After a few moments of Sanji’s hands getting their fill, they trail to your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, guiding you to lay on the couch while he perches over you.

You’re on your back now and he’s braced over you, with one hand next to your head and the other placed on your waist. He slides a knee between your legs, pressing it up between your legs, leaving it to rest there. Who knew this chef had it in him.

As you continue to lock lips, the pleasure from his knee grazing your core starts to make heat bloom between your legs.

You start to grind onto his knee slightly, and when your quiet sounds of pleasure seep out of your lips and into Sanji’s mouth, your hand finds his hard bulge. You caress him gently and pulls your lips from his.

“I want you, Sanji,” you murmur, and he pauses his wandering hands. He wants to ravage you totally, to have his way with you and make you reel in ecstasy, but he needs to check on you first.

“Wait, wait, my love, are you sure?” He whispers, softly placing a hand over yours, keeping it still. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go farther?”

“Mmmhmm,” you look at him with pleading eyes and he almost melts on the spot. “I’m sure, Sanji.”

“Then let’s get more comfortable,” he says. “Want to go to my room?”

You agree, and within moments you’re in Sanji’s bed under the covers. The bed is big and plushy, the sheets are soft, and the lighting is low and warm. He wastes no time pulling off his shirt and pants as he slides under the sheets.

You do the same, pulling off the clothes he so nicely lent you. You’re in your underwear now, and he’s in his, and he’s looking at you like you’re a piece of art. He’s wondering if he should pinch himself—is this a dream?

Not only does he get to spend time with you, the person he loves, but he also gets to see you and touch you? He’s thanking his lucky stars. If he knew many months ago that this would be his future, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Sanji pulls you to him and your chests are pressing together. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

“What did I ever do to get so lucky?” He asks again before he presses his lips on yours. His skin is warm, and his hands are rough. But the rest of him is soft—especially his hair, which your fingers weave their way through.

You throw a thigh over his hip and draw him closer. You realize that he’s hard, pressing on your core through the fabric of your underwear. While he kisses you he starts to slowly, barely rock his hips into you.

Sanji’s strong hands wander to grab rough handfuls of your ass. He uses his grip on your skin to press your body closer to his, and at the same time, he grinds harder into you. Heat is starting to build at the base of his spine—he can feel his lust slipping out. He’s about to lose his composure.

You suspected that Sanji would have some skills but he’s sinfully good in bed so far and you’re not even naked yet. Just the way he rolls his hips is mesmerizing. His kissing technique leaves nothing to be desired.

You have a feeling that he could do this for hours. But he’s not going to make any first moves here, no matter how crazed and desirous he feels. You’ve already talked about what this moment would look like, after all. Sanji told you a while ago that if and when you had sex for the first time, he wanted you to take the lead. He hates the idea of doing anything to you that makes you even the least bit uncomfortable or pressured.

Knowing this, you extricate yourself from him and remove your bra. He helps you shimmy out of your panties. Then you place your hands on him and drag your fingers downwards, conjuring a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your fingertips pass over his broad chest, his toned and hard abs, and his dark happy trail. They reach the waistband of his boxers and slide underneath.

When your fingers touch his bare skin and wrap around his erection, his breath hitches and he goes completely still. All of his senses are focused on how soft your hand feels on his aching length and how leisurely you start to stroke him.

“Ah,” he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a groan. “That f-feels so good, gorgeous.”

You hum in response and bring your other hand to the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down so his erection springs all the way out. Bringing both hands to his shaft now, you stroke him, slowly twisting your wrists.

His shaft is thick and long—the perfect size. You can tell it’s going to feel like a nice good stretch when he finally nestles himself inside you. If he’s not careful it might be a bit painful. He’s quite well endowed.

Minutes pass like seconds and precum starts to weep from his head, trickling down your fingers. He’s squirming slightly. Every twist of your wrists around his throbbing length elicits a delightful, lewd noise from him.

“Fuucck,” he whines softly, “if you keep it up I’m gonna—gonna cum.”

 “Well, we wouldn’t want that yet, would we?” You offer him a coy smile and stop moving.  

Sanji kisses you in short, passionate bursts. After a second, he makes a proposition.

“How about I go down on you?”

“Mmmm. I’ll allow it. I heard you’re quite talented.” You smile, referencing a conversation the pair of you had many months ago. Sanji cracks a grin, and you giggle.

“Let’s hope I wasn’t overselling myself, huh?”

You lay back on the pillows. Sanji gets on top of you, situating himself between your wide-spread legs—he starts to leave a trail of kisses from the hollow of your throat over your sternum and across your belly button. His lips keep moving lower—when he reaches the space where your thighs meet, he pulls one of your thighs up slightly. He holds it up effortlessly, kissing from behind your knee inwards and upwards towards your core. His lips stop right before they get to the place you crave them the most.

Sanji does the same with your other thigh, lifting it up and kissing the inside until he’s painfully close to your sensitive spots.

After teasing your thighs with kisses, Sanji finally touches you where you’ve been waiting for. He brings his fingers to your already sticky core. When his flesh meets yours, you gasp. He spreads you apart just barely, giving himself full access to your clit.

He wets his lips and places a soft, delicate kiss right on top of your sensitive bud of nerves. It’s a slow kiss, one that’s so gentle that it leaves you wanting more. When he goes in for a second kiss he uses a bit of tongue this time, just barely swirling the tip of his tongue in a circle. It sends a zap of pleasure through your body—your toes curl and you inhale sharply.

Sanji spends a few minutes doing this. He kisses your clit, alternating between using tongue and no tongue, and when your thighs spread wider and you begin to shake just the tiniest amount, he places a long lick from below your folds all the way upwards, ending with your clit. He dips his tongue in slightly, tasting you and relishing your scent, noises, and movements.

Your hands wander into his hair and he holds back a smile. He needs to focus on making you feel good. He knows he’s doing that right now, but he wants to make you feel even better. He’d love to hear you begging for more.

“S-sanji,” you murmur, your tone bathed in lust and oozing with need. You don’t say anything other than his name, but he knows what you mean.

His tongue and lips move lower—he presses his tongue into you slowly and it feels otherworldly. He brings it out and back in again, going as deep as he can. One of his hands rests on your thigh, pushing it down so he can have better access.

He relishes the weight of your fingers in his hair and your shallow, rapid breaths. This is heaven. He wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

As more arousal seeps out of you, Sanji pushes his ring finger into you slowly. He hooks it, delicately pressing you in all the right spots. While his finger explores, he keeps placing kisses on your clit. After a few moments, when you’ve adjusted to his finger, he presses another one into you.

Sanji’s cock is weeping against the covers as he eats you out and fingers you. His hips press into the sheets, humping against the fabric slightly. He can’t hold himself back.

His eyes snap upwards and meet yours. You’re staring down at him, gazing at where his pretty lips meet your flesh. When he looks up at you, he sees how glossy and half-lidded your eyes are. His heart patters and threatens to stop. He takes a mental screenshot.

Sanji’s fingers search for a certain spot inside of you—a spongy, gooey one. When he thinks he’s found it, he presses it slightly. Your thighs shake, your back arches off the sheets, and your toes curl again.

“Mmmppphhhh, Sanji, fuck,” you moan and he hums in response.

The slurping noises that he’s making are paired with muted squelching noises from where his tongue works on your heat and his fingers caress you inside. You’re almost at your limit.

He pulls his lips away and his fingers stop moving. “Do you want to cum, princess? Or do you want to wait?”

He’s so polite even when he’s feral. It’s heart melting.

Your brain is short circuiting. You do want to cum. You feel too good to ignore that crazy desire. But you also know that waiting and edging yourself a little bit would result in a better orgasm overall. But who’s to say that you can’t cum multiple times?

Sanji can see you check out mentally while you have this inner conversation with himself. A couple seconds pass. It’s hard to think straight while his fingers are inside of you, while his lips are poised so closely…

While you attempt to think it over, Sanji presses a kiss on your clit to get your attention. You whimper and respond, “I can’t make up my mind.” Your face looks tortured and it’s making his heart do flips.

“Just let me make you feel good,” he says, voice warm and comforting. You nod, closing your eyes, and he reaches under you to pull you even closer to his face.

Sanji draws his fingers out of you slowly and then presses his lips back to your entrance, probing his tongue against your hot arousal. Your hips buck inadvertently, and the movement presses his tongue deeper into you. Lost in pleasure already, you pull on his hair so hard that it hurts him (in the best way).

Sanji’s technique is mind blowing. You lose track of where his tongue and lips and fingers end and where your skin begins. All you know is that the space between your legs feels good, and hot, and sloppy, and buzzing, and throbbing, and Sanji’s there.

He can tell you’re close after a little while, can feel you writhing against his eager tongue as depraved sounds trickle out of you.

After fucking you with his tongue and playing with your clit, Sanji slides a finger into you to caress and pet your g-spot as he lavishes your clit with the rest of his attention. It’s mind-numbingly good and brings you to orgasm in seconds.

“S-s-sanji, I—fuck, fuck,” you whine at him and moan his name through your orgasm. The greedy slurping sounds that ring in the room are filthy and loud. While you cum you pull him (by his hair) as close as he can get to your core. Sanji licks you clean, savoring every last drop of the pleasure he coaxed out of you.

You’re in a daze, riding out the ripples of ecstasy from your orgasm as he moves upwards, climbing over you, to pull you into a tender kiss.

He’s prepared to leave it there—he doesn’t want to push anything further. He made you cum and that’s his dream come true. But even though you just came, you feel a burning, carnal desire for more. More of Sanji’s skin on yours, more of his hips moving, more of his soft hair in your hands, more everything.

“Sanji,” you mutter and his ears perk up. “Wanna do more.” It’s both a statement and a question.

“Are you sure, gorgeous?” He looks worried for a second. He doesn’t want to push you too far. But when he sees how strongly you nod your head yes, how blown out your pupils and lidded your eyes are in lust, he lets go of all apprehension.

“How about you sit up, pretty?” He asks, and you do as he says. Sanji sits up too, and he maneuvers you so you’re straddling him, chests pressed together. Your arms are thrown over his shoulders, you wrap your legs around him, and your lips come to meet his neck—he smells manly, musky, and faintly of cologne. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest.

Your head is still floating from your orgasm moments ago, but you have enough sense to lift up slightly, positioning yourself over his erection.

“Please, darling,” he whispers, feeling your hot breath on his neck.

While you place kisses on his neck, you sink down onto his length, slowly and cautiously. It’s a delicious feeling of being spread open—your body conforms to his girth and accommodates his (many) inches. The stretch feels amazing somehow, not painful like you were worried about.

When he’s fully inside of you the wiry ring of hair at the base of his shaft meets with your skin and he lets out a quiet groan.

“F-fuuhhhckkk.”

You sit like this for a second—his arms come to wrap around your waist and your walls throb around him. He’s trying to be patient, trying to fully appreciate this moment and etch each sensation in his mind. But his body is going into overdrive. His patience wears thin and disappears.

Sanji presses his hips upwards slightly, eliciting a gasp from you that makes his heart flutter. He does it again and the leaking tip of his shaft brushes that spongey spot inside of you just right.

“Ah, Sanji, fuck that feels good,” you whimper, speaking into the crook of his neck.

He does it again, harder this time. Each thrust of his hips conjures what feel like fireworks of pleasure. While your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs open in absent concentration, each press of his hips makes pretty colors erupt behind your eyes. Every burst of pleasure is red, white, purple, dazzlingly distracting.

His hands creep from your waist to your ass, then lower, to cup your thighs underneath and you’re reminded that this is a very real moment. He begins to slowly pull you up his length and press you back down, manipulating your movements on his shaft in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your moans increase in desperation.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re perfect,” Sanji forces the words out between ragged breaths and grunts. “Perfect for me.”

Sanji is getting dangerously close to orgasm. He doesn’t know what to do—should he go slower now? Edge himself? Would you prefer he pulled out and took care of his own business?

As Sanji’s mind races for a second, you mutter something into his neck that makes him feel like his heart is going to stop.

“Inside.”

He pauses.

“What?”

“I said—ah—I said inside.”

Sanji gets the message. And while you’ve been explicit, he has to check. He’s just a gentleman through and through.

“Are you absolutely sure, beautiful?”

You nod again and lick a soft stripe up his neck. Sanji stifles a groan. His voice is hoarse, and his groans are punctuated by raspy breaths that go straight to your ear (and right between your legs).

When he starts to move again, Sanji finds a measured pace that shifts up a notch every few thrusts. The speed grows and he’s using all strength and concentration to make you feel as good as possible.

Your moans are so guttural that they almost sound like sobs. Each one goads on Sanji’s pace—and all the while, he’s actively conscious of the fact that he’s having sex with you, the person he loves, the person he’s loved for many months, the person he’s fantasized about being close with in every way.

If you could focus enough to get a good look at him you’d see that his cheeks are ruddy and his hair is plastered around the temples with sweat. He looks like a mess, and damn, it suits him.

In your daze, you’re approaching orgasm. You want him to cum, too, of course. You have an idea of something that might push him over the edge.

Your lips trail from his neck upwards, finding his earlobe. When you suck on it softly, Sanji pauses almost imperceptibly. He’s holding on for dear life. He’s close to orgasm, resisting it as much as he can so he can relish this moment for as long as physically possible.

But when you bite down on his earlobe, just enough to cause pain, Sanji crumbles. His thrusts turn haphazard and frantic. He loses himself in pleasure. Each gravelly moan that tumbles out of his mouth is followed by a whimper.

He cums when you bite down again. And while he cums, you whisper his name into his ear in the filthiest tone you can manage. It’s a tone that’s far more erotic than any you employed with him on the past. It’s a sincere one, one from the heart (and elsewhere), totally anchored in the reciprocal and yearning desire of the present moment.

Sanji comes apart and splits at the seams. As his arms encircle and pull you tighter, he rocks up one last time then, per your request, he orgasms inside of you. He moans your name through his orgasm, much like you did for him, and you know that he’s done this many times before. Your name is familiar and comfortable in his mouth.

The difference now is that (among other things) his words are met with a pair of ears other than his own. His moans are caused by your real warmth, flesh, and pleasure, too. It’s more intense than he could have imagined. He’s seeing stars. He buries his face in the crook of your neck while he orgasms, shuddering breaths while he embraces you so tight that it’s almost painful.

After many moments of labored, recovering breaths and soft nuzzles into each other’s skin, Sanji gingerly pulls out of you. He lifts you and sets you on your back on the bed. You’re coming back to reality slowly but surely. He props himself next to you and brings a hand to pet your hair.

“That was spectacular. You’re perfect, my love.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Mmmm. Agree to disagree, gorgeous. C’mere.” Sanji kisses you softly once, cupping your face with both hands. When he pulls away, he seems to stiffen a bit. He offers a smile—did that look a little reserved, or are you overthinking things?—puts on his boxers, and goes to the bathroom to get you a towel.

The thought that just flitted through Sanji’s mind making him stiffen up isn’t a kind one. Frequently these sorts of thoughts weasel their way into his mind. This one just reminded him to not be 'too much'. Don’t be too overbearing. Don’t scare her away. Don’t suffocate her with your affection. What if she doesn’t want it? What if it’s too much for her?

Sanji reflects as he walks to grab you a towel. He’s been holding back his love for you for months. Ever since you first talked on the phone, he knew that he loved you. It has been many long months since then. And through all these long months, he’s tried to keep the visceral strength of his emotions at bay.

Now that Sanji knows you in real life, now that he’s started seeing you, now that the feelings are (supposedly) mutual, the love inside of him has only grown. But it hasn’t grown proportionately to what he allows to escape. In other words, as much as his love for you grows, he tries to reign it in for fear of being too much for you.

Sanji has been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you’re comfortable enough with him for him to be fully himself. Because of his fear of scaring you away, he’s been trying to practice restraint. He’s been trying to present a version of himself that doesn’t seem too eager, too lovey-dovey and too obsessed. But every time he sees you, he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

As he walks through his apartment to grab you a towel, thoughts of self-doubt and caution assail his mind.

Could someone like you really love someone like him, a lonely, desperate loser who only works and smokes? It doesn't make any sense.

Will you get sick of him if he lets loose the strong feelings inside? If you get sick of him, he doesn't know how he'd cope with the heartbreak.

If he’s open with you, if he pets your hair like he wants to, holds your hand, stares longingly into your eyes and pulls you closer—if he does all of that and more, would it be too much for you? Will too much put you off, chase you away, or scare you?

Concern is written on his face plain as day, as much as he tries to hide it. You’ve noticed it a couple of times. On a few of the dates you’ve been on you've seen it peek through. And you saw it just now, when he stiffened up a bit.

You ponder for a moment on how to ease the tension you feel from him. How best can you offer this man some solace, in a sincere way that doesn’t have a trace of the artificial sugar through which you used to have to filter your words?

A couple seconds pass and you can hear Sanji padding softly back into his bedroom with a plush, white towel.

You take a second to admire his frame as he approaches the bed. He’s slender and toned. His hair is ruffled up and his cheeks are still rosy from the effort moments ago.

Your eyes sweep from his feet to his legs and thighs—they’re thick and hairy. Upwards more and you admire his pretty happy trail that snakes up his abdomen and thins out before it reaches his belly button.

Your eyes wander farther and you see his pecs—trimmed and defined—the same goes for his biceps, shoulders…

Sanji can tell you’re giving him a good look and he flushes crimson. The blush is enough to avert the negative thoughts mulling in his head.

As your eyes flick up to meet his, he smiles, but you can still make out some restraint—this faint tension from Sanji is a tension you can only surmise comes from his insecurity. You know him too well.

“Here you go, beautiful,” he says, rounding the bed to your side. He gets ready to kiss you again and help you get a bit tidier.

“Sanji,” your tone is different when you speak. It’s soft and firm at the same time. He pauses, heart stopping for a second.

Are you about to tell him you don’t want him? His mind races to the worst-case scenario.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I’m head over heels for you, okay?” You reach out a hand to him. “You don’t have to hold anything back with me.”

He exhales and sits down on the bed next to you, sliding his fingers through yours.

“Fuck. Am I being that obvious?” He furrows his brow and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Mmmm, only a little bit. Are you doing okay?”

He brings a hand to your cheek again. “I’m doing wonderfully. I’m just… I’m trying not to drown you in affection. I like you so much and I feel so strongly about you that I get a little worried about scaring you away.”

“Sanji.” You frown. It hurts to hear him say something like that. Maybe you haven’t been vocal enough with him about how you feel. “You’re not going to drown me in affection. I told you I’m head over heels for you. I mean it. I’m here for good and I love you.”

“You promise?” He squeezes your hand, and a smile takes over his lips.

“I promise. You're not going to scare me away. So no more holding back, okay?”

Sanji nods, relieved, and leans in for another kiss. He goes in with the intention of giving you a good one. But it turns into multiple.

His kisses feel different this time. Maybe they feel more honest. Softer. Sweeter. Something has changed.

When he pulls away from you, he keeps his face close. He’s so pretty up close like this—his eyes are stunning. His irises are a complicated color that you can’t quite place, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is pushed back. His smile is charming and makes your stomach do flips.

“Now that I’m not holding back anymore,” he begins, “do you know how precious you are to me? How much I cherish you?”

“A lot?” You venture a guess, and your grin makes Sanji’s heart trip.

“A lot is an understatement. I can’t put it into words. I just want to shower you in affection, cook for you all day, and treat you like you deserve. I think about you a, uh, probably a concerning amount. I’m enamored.”

You thread you fingers through his hair again, pushing it back to expose his forehead some more, admiring those pretty cheekbones, and those swirly eyebrows.

“Well, I feel the same, Sanji. I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. You say that I’m perfect, but I think that’s you. Do you know how much I cherish you, Sanji?” You bring your entwined hands to your lips, kissing Sanji’s softly. "A lot. So don't ever hold back with me."

“Hearing that makes me happier than I can put into words, gorgeous.”

After exchanging more kisses and sickeningly sweet words, you put Sanji’s comfy clothes back on. You move to the living room again and he fixes you anything you please. You show him that show you love a lot, and he watches intently, laser-focused because he believes your taste in media (and other things) reflects some part of your character. As he watches, he wonders, what does she like best about this? What speaks to her about this?

His ardent admiration for you seeps out of him in a steady stream now. You soothed his heart and applied a salve of words and kisses. He’s happy to his core, with every fiber of his being, a pure sort of joy that he hasn’t felt in many, many years. He savors you as much as he possibly can and never stops counting his lucky stars, per say.

Maybe his lovesickness and insecurity will sneak up again on him. Most likely. He knows that next time that crushing wave comes for him—the wave of self-doubt and disgust—you’ll reassure him wholeheartedly. He won’t scare you away, he can’t, and he will never be too much for you.

< previous part | masterlist >

a/n: yay for more writing to laufey! i hope you liked this :) i feel very intense things about this man! :0 also this really is a labor of love it took me so long omfg.

[aventurineswife]

Hello earthian!! Can I request where aventurine, ratio, and whatever characters u wanna add with their kid begging for a sibling. This idea occupied my mind for days^^

“I want a sibling!”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Established Relationship, Parenting, Suggestive Themes, Family Dynamics, Light Angst(?), Playful Banter.

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive Content (Implied intimacy), Parent-Child Discussion of Siblings (Handled in a light and humorous tone), Reader Embarrassment, Mentions of Childhood Loneliness (in the context of the child wanting a sibling), Reader is referred to as 'Renny' as a gender-neutral term for mom or dad.

The soft clink of bracelets echoed in the room as Aventurine leaned against the edge of the grandiose dining table, his signature smile curving on his lips. His eyes sparkled as he watched your child, a spirited seven-year-old with eyes like his, puff out their chest in determination.

“Papa,” the child declared, stomping a tiny foot for emphasis, “I want a sibling! Someone to play cards with me—and win! Renny's too busy, and you always say you’re unbeatable!”

You nearly choked on your tea, coughing violently as heat flushed to your face. “W-Well, sweetie,” you stammered, setting down your cup, “it’s not… it’s not that simple!”

Aventurine’s grin widened as he crouched to your child’s eye level. “Oh, is that so?” he purred, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re requesting an addition to our little family? Quite the gamble, don’t you think?”

The child’s eyes sparkled. “I’m serious, Papa! You said you’re good at making plans. Make a sibling plan!”

You buried your face in your hands, muttering, “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Aventurine chuckled and ruffled the child’s hair. “Alright, little one. I’ll talk to your parent about… the logistics.”

The child beamed, clapping their hands before darting off, presumably to draw up a “sibling plan” themselves.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Aventurine rose, striding over to you with that infuriatingly charming smirk. “Logistics, hmm?” he murmured, his hands finding your waist.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, but I think it’s worth discussing,” he whispered, leaning close until his lips brushed your ear. “After all, I am very good at planning... and execution.”

You swatted at his chest, your face burning hotter than the Sigonian desert. “You’re impossible!”

“And yet,” he teased, pulling you closer, “you still can’t resist me.”

The evening was calm in Ratio’s study, the golden hues of a setting sun casting a warm glow over the shelves lined with books and artifacts. You were seated comfortably in an armchair, flipping through a datapad, while Ratio scribbled something in his journal, his violet hair catching the light.

Your child burst in, their eyes filled with excitement. “Daddy! Renny!” they called, rushing over to Ratio’s desk.

Ratio set down his pen, tilting his head curiously. “Yes, little scholar?”

“I want a sibling,” the child announced, planting their hands firmly on the desk. “It’s boring being an only kid. Everyone else at school has brothers or sisters!”

You blinked, stunned by their bluntness. “Oh… well… that’s…”

Ratio leaned back in his chair, one hand thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Interesting proposition,” he mused, his tone as serious as if the child had asked him to solve a mathematical theorem. “Have you considered the variables involved?”

The child frowned. “What’s a variable?”

“Time, energy, resources,” Ratio said, ticking off on his fingers. “And, most importantly, whether your parent and I agree to the hypothesis.”

Your face turned scarlet. “Veritas!”

He smirked slightly, meeting your gaze. “Am I wrong?”

The child tilted their head, clearly not grasping the layers of meaning in his words. “So… does that mean yes?”

Ratio chuckled, patting the child’s head. “It means your parent and I need to conduct… further discussions. Why don’t you go revise your spelling words while we deliberate?”

With a satisfied nod, the child ran off, leaving the study in blissful silence.

You crossed your arms, glaring at your husband. “Further discussions? Really?”

Ratio stood, his hair falling into his eyes as he approached you with a teasing smirk. “I see no flaws in their logic,” he said, leaning close enough that you could see the gold flecks in his eyes. “Perhaps we should test their hypothesis.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I can’t believe you’re entertaining this.”

“I’m merely responding to a valid inquiry,” he replied smoothly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “But… I admit, I’m curious to see how this experiment might unfold.”

Your protest died in your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours.

“Veritas…” you murmured, half-exasperated, half-enchanted.

He pulled back slightly, his smirk deepening. “Shall we begin our research?”

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩

paige bueckers x tutor!reader

wc: 3.5k

synopsis: In a tense library setting, Y/N tutors Paige Bueckers in math, but Paige’s distracting flirtations make it difficult for Y/N to focus. As the session progresses, Paige's teasing escalates, and the playful tension builds between them.

warnings: flirting and sexual tension, mild power dynamics, explicit sexual content, public setting, sexual innuendos and suggestive themes

a/n: smut!! hopefully the next thing i post is for the hot take?

“Alright, so this is a basic setup for solving linear equations,” you said, your voice calm but tinged with a teacher-like authority. Your pen glided over the page, underlining the example problem with precision. “The key is to isolate the variable, so you want to start by simplifying both sides.”

The library was bathed in soft afternoon light streaming through tall windows, the rays casting long, golden streaks across the tables and shelves. The air felt still, heavy with the kind of focus that seemed to permeate academic spaces. Occasionally, the faint hum of the air conditioning broke the silence, accompanied by the gentle rustle of someone turning a page or the muted scrape of a chair being adjusted.

Across from you, Paige sat slouched in her seat, an air of nonchalance radiating from her. Her elbow was propped on the table, fingers cradling her cheek, her head tilted ever so slightly as though the weight of paying attention was too much effort. The textbook lay open in front of her, but its pages were pristine, unbent, untouched—like a prop more than a tool.

Meanwhile, your notebook was the complete opposite. The pages were covered in neat rows of equations, annotations, and diagrams, each one carefully designed to explain the problem at hand. You leaned forward slightly, your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled another step beneath the problem.

Paige’s eyes weren’t on the notebook. They weren’t even on the textbook. Instead, her gaze lingered on you—on the way your fingers moved smoothly over the paper, the way a strand of hair had fallen into your face, the way your lips pursed slightly when you were focused.

“Are you even listening?” you asked without looking up, sensing her lack of attention.

Her blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with feigned innocence, as if she’d just been caught red-handed and was scrambling to cover it up. The corners of her lips twitched, hovering between a smirk and a nervous smile. “Yeah. Totally,” she said, her tone overly casual, as though repeating your words would make up for the fact that she clearly hadn’t heard a single one. “Isolate the variable.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in your chair to give her an expectant look. “Okay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with skepticism. “Tell me what the first step is.”

Paige’s face froze for a beat, her confident front cracking just enough for you to catch the flicker of panic in her eyes. She shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as she stalled for time. Her gaze darted to the notebook between you, scanning it as though the answer might jump off the page and save her. 

She blinked once. Then twice. Each deliberate, slow flutter of her lashes seemed like an attempt to buy time, to summon an excuse that would pull her out of the corner she’d backed herself into. Finally, with a resigned exhale, Paige leaned back in her chair, the legs creaking softly under the shift in her weight. A sheepish grin spread across her face, one of those lopsided ones that managed to look charming even when it was entirely unearned.

“Uh… you know,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “this whole tutoring thing would be way easier if you weren’t so distracting.”

Your pen froze mid-scribble, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Heat bloomed across your neck, a quiet embarrassment sneaking in at her unexpected comment. “I’m the distraction?” you shot back, trying to sound exasperated but unable to keep the faint incredulity out of your tone. “You’re the one zoning out like we’re not cramming for your math quiz tomorrow.”

Paige shrugged, entirely unfazed, her smirk stretching wider, becoming more self-assured. “Can you blame me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned your face, her expression making it clear she was in no rush to answer seriously. “It’s hard to focus when you look like…”

She trailed off, letting the silence hang between you, knowing full well it would make you curious. Her hand lifted lazily, gesturing vaguely in your direction as if the rest of the sentence didn’t even need to be said.

“Like what?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at her and crossing your arms over your chest, the action more defensive than you intended.

Paige leaned forward again, her elbow resting on the table as she met your gaze with a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “Like that,” she said simply, her voice soft but firm, as though the words held a weight she wasn’t willing to explain.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t completely hide the faint smile threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. There was a part of you—a small, secret part—that enjoyed her relentless teasing, even if it made concentrating nearly impossible. In truth, who didn’t want an attractive athlete constantly flirting with them? “Compliments won’t get you out of this, Bueckers,” you said, shaking your head as you tapped the open notebook with your pen. “Eyes on the notes. We’re finishing this problem before I lose my patience.”

She groaned dramatically, her head tipping back as though the weight of the request was unbearable. “Fine, fine,” she relented, her voice dripping with exaggerated defeat. Slowly, she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as her other hand hovered above the notebook. Her gaze skimmed over the words without much urgency. “Isolation of variables. Got it. So simple.”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on you. “If it’s so simple,” you countered, shifting in your seat to lean closer, “then what’s the next step?”

Paige tilted her head, her eyes lingering on the page for a beat too long, as if stalling for time. The faint crease in her brow made it clear she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. But then, her focus flickered—first to your hand, resting near the edge of the notebook, and then upward, locking onto your face.

Her lips curled into that signature smirk of hers, the one that practically radiated confidence and just a touch of mischief. “Honestly?” she began, her voice taking on a softer, almost playful tone.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

“The next move,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “is probably asking you out. That’s gotta be easier than this math stuff.”

You froze, your pen hovering mid-air above the notebook, her words replaying in your head like a broken record. Slowly, you blinked, your brain scrambling to formulate a response as an involuntary warmth spread from your chest to your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as you refocused on the paper in front of you, hoping she didn’t notice the subtle hitch in your composure.

“But you’re still here,” she quipped, her voice light and teasing, accompanied by a grin so self-satisfied it could’ve powered the room’s dim lighting. She leaned back in her chair again, stretching her arms behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.

You shot her a look, your eyebrow arched in mock annoyance. “Not for much longer if you don’t start paying attention,” you warned, though the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best efforts to stay stern.

Paige tapped her pencil lazily against the edge of the table, her eyes flicking between the open textbook and your concentrated expression. A playful grin spread across her face as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You know,” she started, her tone light and teasing, “I think I could probably focus better if I was sitting next to you.”

You paused mid-scribble, lifting your head to give her a skeptical look. “What difference would that make?” you asked, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of her mischievous gaze.

Paige shrugged, the grin on her face growing wider. “I don’t know. Something about proximity to greatness or whatever,” she said with a wink. “Plus, you could point out what I’m doing wrong in real time. Super efficient.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Or you’d just get more distracted,” you countered, trying to sound unfazed.

Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “But I think it’s worth the risk.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you tried to focus on the notes in front of you. But the warmth of her words lingered, and from the corner of your eye, you could see the triumphant spark in her gaze.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. Before you could question her, Paige stood and casually made her way around the table, plopping herself down in the empty seat right beside you. The subtle scent of her cologne hit you immediately, and your heart rate spiked as the proximity closed the space between you.

“Paige,” you said, your voice low but exasperated. 

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden closeness. Her shoulder brushed yours as she leaned just slightly into your space, and you could feel your face heat up. “That’s not how this works,” you mumbled, looking down at your notes in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze.

Her eyes dropped to your notebook, and she gestured toward it lazily. “Alright, teach. Show me how it’s done.”

You sighed, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. “If you don’t take this seriously—”

“I am,” Paige interrupted, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at you, her smirk softening into a small smile. “Promise. Just… don’t mind me sitting here.”

Before you even realized it, your concentration shattered like fragile glass, the words on the page blurring into meaningless scribbles when Paige’s hand, warm and deliberate, began a slow, almost hesitant journey up your thigh, slipping just beneath the edge of the table. Her fingertips grazed your skin lightly, tracing lazy, teasing circles that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was featherlight but impossible to ignore, each movement deliberate enough to make your heart race.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively glanced around the library, your eyes darting to the other tables to see if anyone might be watching. The muted hum of the room felt louder, the soft rustling of pages and faint whispers of conversation suddenly heightened against the thrumming of your pulse.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of shock and disbelief. Your gaze snapped back to Paige, wide-eyed, but she didn’t flinch.

She leaned in slightly, her lips tugging into a sly, self-assured smirk. “Helping you relax,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to call her out—but the steady rhythm of her fingers told you she had no intention of stopping.

"Shh," she whispered, her hand inching further up. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as her fingers found the hem of your skirt. The possibility of getting caught only heightened the thrill, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Paige's hand slid under the fabric, her palm grazing against your bare thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath, your skin tingling at her touch. She traced light patterns on your inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to your aching core.

"Paige, we're in public," you hissed, but your words held no conviction. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifting towards her teasing touch.

"I know," she purred, her fingers dancing maddeningly close to where you needed them most. "But no one can see what I'm doing to you under this table. So, you just sit there and look pretty, and I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

The war raging in your mind was written all over your face, each flicker of hesitation and uncertainty etched into your features. Your eyebrows furrowed, then lifted slightly, your lips parting as though to speak but quickly pressing together again. It was a silent tug-of-war, the conflict within you mirrored in the subtle shifts of your expression, betraying the chaos swirling behind your eyes.

As Paige's delicate fingers traced tantalizing patterns across your skin, a shiver of electric pleasure coursed through your body. Her touch was like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending and sending waves of intoxicating sensation straight to your core. You found yourself lost in a haze of desire, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain your composure.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to pull away from whatever this was. But the primal urge growing within you drowned out all reason. Your body betrayed you, responding to Paige's skilled touch with a hunger you'd never experienced before.

As if in a trance, you felt your head slowly nodding, giving in to the overwhelming need that consumed you. Paige's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes glinting with triumph at how easily she'd convinced you. That smug expression only fueled your arousal further, making you ache to prove just how dirty you could be.

At your agreement, Paige's eyes flashed with predatory hunger. In one fluid motion, she removed her hand from your thigh, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. Her slender fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, nails digging into the fabric.

With surprising strength, she yanked your chair towards her, the wheels squeaking in protest. The sudden movement sent a jolt through your body, your heart pounding as you were pulled into her personal space. The scent of her perfume - a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, more primal - enveloped you.

Your bodies were now mere inches apart, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Paige's chest heaved with each breath, the swell of her breasts straining against her tight top. Her legs parted slightly, inviting you closer.

The abrupt closeness left you dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. You could see every detail of her face - the flecks of gold in her eyes, the slight parting of her glossy lips, the flush creeping up her neck. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come. 

Paige abruptly broke the intense eye contact, her gaze darting down to the open textbook on the desk. The sudden shift in her demeanor was palpable, like a switch had been flipped. Her long lashes fluttered as her eyes scanned the page, a slight furrow appearing between her perfectly shaped brows.

With a graceful movement, she extended her arm, her finger tracing a line in the book. The simple gesture drew your attention, almost hypnotically. You could see the delicate bones of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner arm, the way the fluorescent light caught the fine hairs there.

Her body language had changed subtly. Where moments ago she had been all seduction and hunger, now she affected an air of studious concentration. But there was a tension in her shoulders, a slight quickening of her breath that betrayed her act.

As you followed her gesture to the textbook, you caught a whiff of her scent again - that intoxicating blend of jasmine and musk, now mingled with the faint smell of arousal. The proximity of your bodies hadn't changed; you could still feel the heat radiating from her, could still see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

The moment of studious concentration was shattered as Paige's hand found its way to your bare thigh. Her fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your exposed skin, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through your body. You felt the heat of her palm, the slight calluses on her fingertips, as she caressed your leg.

Paige's eyes lifted to meet yours, the fleeting vulnerability replaced by a smoldering intensity. The air between you was charged with tension, thick with the promise of things to come. You could see the dilation of her pupils, the flush that was creeping up her neck, the slight parting of her pink lips.

Her hand moved higher, inch by torturous inch, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The flimsy skirt provided little barrier, and her touch felt like a brand against your flesh.

Paige leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, “Tell me,” her hand continued its torturous exploration, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt. She pulled back slightly, her gaze locked on yours, "how badly do you want this?” 

Her hand slid higher, skimming the edge of your panties. Suddenly, her pinky and ring finger slipped underneath the elastic band, hooking into the side of your underwear. With a quick tug, she pulled them to the side, exposing you fully to her touch.

You hesitated before whispering out, “So bad, Paige, please.”

Paige's fingers stroked through your wet folds, gathering the slick arousal there. She brought her hand to her lips, wrapping around them, swiping her tongue across the digits in a slow, deliberate motion. "So good," she said, her eyes never leaving yours.

You watched, mesmerized, as she pulled her fingers out with an audible pop and returned them between your legs. Her fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, maddening circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure jolted through you, your legs quivering and toes curling in your shoes.

Just as you felt something within you building, Paige moved her hand lower. You gasped as you felt her tracing your entrance, your slick arousal allowing her to glide easily across the delicate skin, Paige's lips curving into a wicked grin against your ear. 

"Feels like you want this," she whispered, dipping her finger teasingly inside your heat before retreating. "So wet. I wonder..." She dipped back in, this time adding a second finger to tease you as she withdrew. 

Paige continued her maddening torture, fingers slipping into you only to withdraw once more before you could get too accustomed to the sensation. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting in the arms of your chair as you tried to control your breathing.

"Feel so good," Paige murmured appreciatively, "I can't wait to feel you around my fingers." 

She pushed two digits deep inside you, finally giving you the penetration you craved. Your head fell back as she began to pump slowly, building up a rhythm. Her thumb found your clit, adding another layer of stimulation that had you squirming. "You like this, don't you?" Paige's breath was hot against your neck as she pressed open mouth kisses to your pulse point. "Being touched like this, in public where anyone could catch us. It excites you, doesn't it?" 

Paige's fingers were relentless, plunging into you at a steady, driving pace that had you seeing stars. Her thumb circled your clit, each touch sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion, your body tensing tighter and tighter. "Go ahead and cum for me," Paige commanded, her voice a dark, sinful purr. "I want to feel you soak my fingers with it." She pressed her thumb hard against your clit, the increased pressure finally pushing you over the brink.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Paige's fingers, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your noises. 

Even as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax, Paige didn't stop. Her fingers continued to pump into you, drawing out your pleasure and making the intense sensations border on painfully overwhelming. You almost sobbed, you mouth forming an O, your hands coming down to clutch at her arm, nails digging into the skin there. "Paige, please," you begged, unable to tell if you were begging her to stop or for more. But she knew exactly what you needed.

Paige removed her hand from between your legs, your hips still jerking sporadically. Through the haze of pleasure, you saw her raise her hand, slick with your arousal. Rather than wiping her fingers off, Paige brought them to her mouth again. Your gaze locked with hers as she sucked them into her mouth, licking them clean. A low, throaty moan escaped her at the taste of you.

Paige leaned back in her chair, her trademark smirk firmly in place as she grabbed her pencil tapped it against the edge of the table. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, locking onto yours as if she’d just won some unspoken game, and in some ways, she had.

“So,” she drawled, her voice dripping with smug confidence, “the next step?”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Could you do a sub tutor si eun x teasing reader please 🫣

Office Hours

Pairing: Sub!Tutor Si-eun x Teasing Fem!Reader (Y/N) Rating: Explicit (18+) Tone: Shy boy x confident girl, dom/sub dynamic, teasing, lap play, dry humping, oral (m. receiving), delayed gratification, mild overstimulation, soft praise + slight humiliation Word Count: ~4,000]

part 2

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

Si-eun’s study room is too small. That’s your first thought.

The desk isn’t even wide enough to give you proper distance. He’s sitting directly across from you, neat posture, collar buttoned to the top, voice quiet as he explains the same formula for the third time. And you? You're not listening. Not really.

You’ve been watching his hands.

They’re so delicate. So clean. So twitchy, every time your thigh brushes his beneath the table. He's trying to hide it, but the flush in his ears is impossible to miss.

"...and then you isolate the variable," he says, glancing up from the workbook. His glasses slide slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushes them back in place with one finger. “Y/N… are you following?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Not really.”

A faint crease forms between his brows. “I can go slower.”

“No,” you smile. “That’s not the problem.”

Si-eun swallows hard, pen halting mid-air. You watch him carefully, lean in just a little across the desk — enough for your shirt to shift open at the top.

“I just get distracted,” you murmur. “My tutor’s kinda... cute.”

His pen drops.

“I—I don’t think that’s appropriate to say,” he stammers, cheeks going bright pink.

“Why not? You don’t like hearing you’re cute?” you coo.

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbles, eyes darting to your collar before snapping away again. “But this is supposed to be… academic. I’m trying to help you improve your score.”

You let out a soft hum. “I’m sure you are.”

And then you stretch out your leg under the table.

Your socked foot nudges his calf, slow and deliberate, and he jolts like you’ve shocked him. You keep your face sweet, innocent, lips curling into a playful smile as you drag your foot up further, brushing the inside of his thigh.

His breathing changes. His hand curls into a fist.

“Y/N…”

“Mm?”

“You—You shouldn’t…”

You lean forward again, propping your chin on your hand. “Shouldn’t what? You don’t want me to stop.”

“I didn’t say that,” he breathes.

You smirk.

“You’re such a bad liar.”

Then, slowly, you stand — the creaking of the chair loud in the quiet room — and walk around the desk. Si-eun tenses as you approach, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, eyes wide with panic and something else. Something darker.

“I just think,” you whisper as you swing your leg over and straddle his lap, “if I’m going to learn anything, I should at least be comfortable.”

His hands shoot up in protest, hovering like he's scared to touch you. “W-We can’t—”

“Shh,” you whisper, pressing a single finger to his lips. “You’re the one always saying I should sit still and pay attention, right?”

You lower yourself onto his lap.

And he chokes on a moan.

Even through the layers of your clothes, you can feel it — the way he’s already half-hard beneath you, hips locked, thighs trembling. You grind once, slow and subtle, and his breath leaves him in a broken rush.

"God, Si-eun," you murmur, leaning into his ear. “You’re already hard?”

He nods before he can stop himself, humiliated.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” you coo, rolling your hips again. His head tilts back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut. “Why? You didn’t even touch me.”

“I can’t—think—when you’re like this—”

“Maybe I don’t want you to think.”

You cup his jaw with one hand, angling his face toward you. He’s flushed all the way to his throat, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. His eyes meet yours — nervous, pleading, unsure.

“You’re always so composed, Si-eun,” you murmur. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

His lips part like he wants to speak, but he can’t get the words out.

So you kiss him.

And it breaks him.

His hands clutch your hips, desperate and trembling. He kisses you back like he’s starved for it — like he’s been imagining this for weeks. You moan into his mouth, grinding down against his cock through his jeans, and he whimpers.

“Please,” he breathes between kisses. “Y/N, I—I can’t…”

You pull back just enough to look at him, lips swollen, eyes wide.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t—hold back—if you keep—”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You don’t have to.”

His eyes go glassy.

You roll your hips again, a little rougher this time, and he bucks up without meaning to. He gasps like he’s ashamed of it — of how easily he reacts — and you catch his lip between your teeth, pulling just enough to make him whimper.

“Want me to take care of you?” you whisper. “Or do you want to keep pretending this is just tutoring?”

“I want—” he chokes. “Please. Please, Y/N…”

You kiss him again — slower this time — and slide your hand between your bodies.

Undoing his jeans is quick work. You slip your hand inside, past his boxers, and he moans into your mouth when your fingers wrap around his cock. He’s hot and thick in your palm, already leaking, and he twitches when you squeeze.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, forehead pressed to your shoulder. “That feels—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

You stroke him slowly, fingers gliding up the underside of his cock, teasing the sensitive tip until he’s panting, grinding up into your fist with small, helpless thrusts.

He moans your name like a prayer. Like he’s trying to be good. Like he wants to come just from your hand.

But you stop.

He whines, hips chasing your touch.

“No—don’t stop—please, Y/N, please—”

“You’ll get it,” you murmur, kissing his jaw. “Just not yet.”

You slide down between his legs, gently nudging his thighs apart. He looks wrecked — shirt rumpled, lips bitten red, cock hard and aching where it’s straining out of his jeans.

“Sit still,” you whisper. “Be good for me.”

And he obeys.

You kiss the head of his cock first — slow, deliberate — and he shudders violently, one hand flying to cover his mouth. You lap at the precum, humming at the taste, and then take him in fully, inch by inch, until your lips brush his base.

He screams behind his hand.

You suck him slowly, deliberately — dragging your tongue along the underside, stroking what doesn’t fit with one hand, the other gently rubbing his thigh. His legs tremble. His breath comes in ragged sobs. His other hand fists the chair.

“Y/N—gonna—gonna come—please, let me—!”

You pull off with a wet pop.

He sobs.

“Why—why did you—”

You smile up at him. “Not yet.”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracking. “Please, I’ve been good—”

“You’ve been so good,” you whisper. “And I’m gonna let you come.”

You straddle him again, taking his cock in your hand and guiding it between your soaked thighs. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore — your panties are soaked, clinging to you, the fabric dark where you’ve been dripping for him.

You grind down, slow and hot, the slick friction dragging his cock between your folds.

He almost blacks out.

“I—Y/N, I’m gonna come—please, I can’t stop it—”

You grab his chin, force him to look at you.

“Then fucking do it.”

And he does.

He comes with a choked cry, cock twitching violently between your thighs, the heat of it soaking your panties and staining his jeans. His eyes roll back. His whole body trembles. He clings to you like he’ll fall apart without your weight on top of him.

And even when it’s over, when he’s panting and shaking, you don’t move.

You lean in and kiss his temple, stroking his hair back gently.

“Good boy.”

He moans again, wrecked and boneless beneath you.

“Y/N…”

You cradle his face in both hands.

“Next session,” you murmur, licking his bottom lip. “If you’re good again…”

You rock your hips once, slow and firm.

“I’ll let you come inside.”

Si-eun whimpers.

And nods.

[lordprettyflackotara]

who’s afraid of little old me? || eyeless jack

smut minors dni 18+ ! tw: primal!eyeless jack, tall!cryptid!cannibal!reader, descriptions of gore/cannibalism, unrealistic predator/prey tendencies, blood kink, biting kink, breeding kink,squirting

full credits to @miss-multi45 for this concept <3

Strength. Skill. Stealth.

These were the traits that made Eyeless Jack believe he was at the top of the food chain. He had fought grizzlies before for fun, just to test his limits. The wolf pack that hunted in Slender woods steered clear of him. His scent was everywhere, along with the screams of his victims still echoing throughout the trees. Jack never had any issue hunting, a deer becoming a treat if campers hadn’t dared to wonder into the forest. With his heightened senses, he could smell or hear any living thing with no troubles. Truthfully the older he got, being an immortal cannibal was making him cocky. The self deprivation and depression was beginning to fade away. He was the best of the best. The only member of his kind. And better yet, he lived like a goddamn champion.

Hunting always put Jack in a good mood, the trill of the chase his favorite part. The potential of the victim, the variables he couldn’t control always made things so exciting.

So he did what he did best, shoving his scalpel in his hoodie and walking into the Slender forest. He was barely twenty feet in, when the sweet scent of metallics hit his nostrils. Jack frowned, lifting up his mask for a moment to deeply inhale. It wasn’t uncommon to smell blood in the forest, after all, Jack wasn’t ignorant enough to think the circle of life didn’t exist without him. But as he inhaled deeply, his eye sockets widened. Copious amounts of blood had been shed on his land and he hadn’t caused it. It could only mean one thing: there was an intruder lurking on his territory.

Not only were you lurking, you were hunting. You might as well have slapped Jack in the face. Jack gritted his teeth, darting into the direction of the scent. He zipped effortlessly through the trees, ignoring all of the curious gazes the forest’s creatures gave him as he zoomed by. Usually Jack stalked his prey effortlessly, he never ran unless he was chasing something. Little did those little chipmunks and squirrels know he was hunting, just something much more dangerous than normal. You.

When Jack had hit the clearing, that’s where he saw you. A secluded campsite that once sat in the open field was now painted crimson red. Tents were barbacilbly torn open, blood trails splattered across the grass. It was something straight out of a horror movie. Dont get him wrong, Jack loved horror movies. But only when he created them. He walked past the abandoned tents, the wind blowing past him only increasing the sweet stench of exposed organs. That’s when Jack saw you. As ethereal as the internet and story tellers had described. Your hair was long and luscious, braided down your back. Your eyes were bright and snakelike, the golden color focused on your meal. You held a young man in your grasp, the life drained from him ages before you had gotten him in this position. His eyes were lifeless, his body slumped over as you bit into his neck. Jack watched silently as you ripped out a chunk of flesh, chewing on it quickly before swallowing it. Jack was puzzled, were you even enjoying the flavor? He watched as you continued to eat the scraps of flesh that remained on the corpse. Blood trailed down your chin, thin splatters of the red liquid were drying across your cheeks.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to join me?” You asked suddenly. You were very aware of Jack’s presence, the notion alone freaking him out. “I don’t dine with trespassers,” Jack stated plainly. He stepped fully into view, your eyes briefly flickering up and scanning him briefly. “You’re not human, what are you?” You asked. Jacks hands were tucked in his pockets, his height giving away his species. “I could ask you the same. Thought you were just a myth,” Jack replied cooly. You finally looked up from your meal, ignoring the dozens of other ripped apart corpses that laid between the two of you. “And I thought one could only have sight if they had eyes. I guess we both thought wrong,” You quipped. Jack tried to conceal the animalistic growl that boiled in the bottom of his throat. “Allow me to cut to the chase, you’re hunting on taken land,” Jack spat, venom placing his words. Curiously you rose to your feet, the demons eye sockets widening. You were just as tall as him, without shoes. You were bare foot, your long legs glimmering in the sunlight.

The pastel yellow sundress you wore was stained with dry and fresh blood, rising up just above your inner thighs. “The Operator owns this land,” You answered, slowly. It occurred to you that Jack may look human like, but his animal instincts were overriding any sense of humanity he had left. “Right, but I hunt here. My scent is everywhere, I know you smelled it when you decided to slaughter my cattle,” Jack snarled. You narrowed your eyes, momentarily blinded by one of the corpses being reanimated. The young woman was barely clinging to life, her intestines hanging loosely on the ground. Both of you could hear her shallow breathing. “Oh for fuck sake,” You mumbled, stepping over your previous meal. Jack growled, watching you pick up the slumped over body. You grabbed her neck, twisting it to the side. A sharp snap rung through out Jacks ears. “I like my organs fresh,” Jack snapped. You dropped the fresh corpse. Rolling your eyes, you straightened your back. “Her organs were quite literally coated in dirt, is that the freshness quality you were searching for?” You asked sarcastically. Jack’s patience was thinning. In a swift motion he took off his mask, baring his shark like teeth.

“Enough chit chat. I am an apex predator. You are quite literally no where near me on the food chain,” Jack yelled. You blinked, your mind spinning as you contemplated your next move. “Are you really afraid of little old me?” You questioned quickly. Should you laugh? He couldn’t quite possibly be serious right? “Um, I mean we can share the leftovers..?” You asked slowly, unsure how to respond to his animalistic behavior. Jack snarled, throwing himself at you. You were a threat. Jack knew how to handle threats, he did it for Slender on occasion. He was proficient in his ability to kill. Killing you was no exception. You narrowly dodged him clawing at you, his sharp claws ripping through your dress. He was huffing as you both watched the fabric fall to the ground. Shreds of the pastel yellow cloth hit the dirt, a cool breeze sending goosebumps across your freshly exposed skin. Jack’s eye sockets widened at the sight of your exposed breast, a creamy silk lingerie covering you. Jack couldn’t quite remember the last time he had given in to his primal urges to mate. He never considered a human being, due to the likelihood of him breaking them by mistake. But you, you were just like him in an odd way. Your breast were nice and perky, your cunt covered with a thin fabric that he could hardly consider to be undergarments.

He had anticipated you to rush to cover yourself, as the average person would do. But if anything you stood taller. “One minute you want to kill me, the next you’re staring at me like a pre teen boy. Are you bipolar?” You asked. Jack snickered at the question. “I’m a doctor, i’d know if I was bipolar,” He answered. Something about your unwavering confidence only made you more attractive. You were a threat surely, but you seemed to have much more potential as a mate. The primal urge to breed was clouding Jack’s judgment, his temporary territorial rage completely subsided. “I’m no doctor but i’d say you’re animalistic then human,” You say. Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh really? How do you gather that?” He asked. You pointed at his pants, your hands still covered in fresh blood. “Your cock is straining against your jeans,” You say. Jack felt heat rush to his cheeks, before looking down. He hadn’t felt embarrassment for the first time in a long time. Yet here you were, flustering him beyond belief. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. I get the sense that neither of us have had the privilege of mating in a long time,” You said. Jack nodded, trying to seem cool and level headed. “May I make a proposal?” You asked.

Jack agreed, trying to keep his voice steady and even. “I’d say one thing we have in common is the fact we have pent up stress due to what we are. Now, I think leaving you these delicious leftovers as well as allowing ourselves to indulge in our more primal urges with one another is more than fair,” You offered. Jack ran the offer in his head, calculating all of the different possibilities. “And after you’ll leave?” He asked. You nodded affirmatively. “I never stay in one place for too long,” You answered. You walked towards the demon, bringing your index finger to under his chin. You lifted his head up, examining his neck. You could hear his pulse up close, it was beating much faster than the average human. “I will admit though i’ve broken my previous toys in the past. Are you sure you can handle me?” You questioned. Jack chuckled darkly, grabbing your wrist and moving your hand away. “I could ask you the same question,” He grinned. Quickly you brought your lips to his, allowing yourself to shudder under his warm touch as he grabbed your waist. His hands were large and warm, pulling you closer towards him. You could feel his aching boner as you kissed him deeply, the demon on cloud nine.

Your height complimented his if anything, his large hands grabbing your ass. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. The dampness of your panties was already soaking through, leaving a wet spot on his crotch. You whined as you bucked your hips against his, the demon unfazed by your height. You briefly pulled away, nibbling teasingly at his bottom lip. You tasted like blood, as well as faint bubblegum. “You’re stronger than I thought loverboy,” You complimented. Jack roughly brought you to the closest tent, your back hitting a forgotten sleeping bag. “Yeah? Let’s see how you handle me,” He replied smoothly. He kissed down your neck, purposefully nibbling at the sensitive skin. His hands wondered down to your hips, pulling apart what remained of your dress. “I assume you’ll be acquiring me some clothes?” You questioned. Jack shrugged off his hoodie, carelessly tossing it at your face. “Here, that should fit you,” He grunted. Tearing away your panties and tossing them aside, your bare slick drove the demon into a frenzy. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping them pried apart as as began to lap at your cunt.

Your hand instinctively flew down to his hair, tugging harshly at the roots as he stuck two of his tongues inside of your aching entrance. You gasped in surprise, moaning in delight as he curled them upwards. “At least that mouth is good for something,” You panted, grinding against his face. His third tongue flickered and swirled at your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your human lovers could never compete with this. He had been buried in between your thighs for mere minutes and you already could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. Jack grunted in response to your comment, delivering a sharp slap to your thigh. A whine escaped your lips, your thighs squeezing around his head. His tongues were merciless, your juices so delicious Jack found himself humping against the tent’s floor to help relieve his aching cock. He could feel your gummy walls squeezing his tongues, a concealed smirk spreading across his lips. You were just as delicious as the chaos you caused. You gave his hair one final tug, releasing all over his face.

Jack contained to lap at your slick until he deemed you clean. You were dazed, but repositioned yourself quickly. Your mouth was watering at the idea of sucking his cock. You’d never wanted something more. Jack quickly pushed you back down, the clinking of his belt sending a shiver down your spine. “Not this time. I can’t go another minute without being inside of you,” He snarled. His sudden dominance only made you more wet, his hands roughly shoving you into a mating press. Jack licked his lips as he pulled out his cock, slowly pushing it inside of you. You whined at the stretch, Jack not failing to notice your claws digging into his arms. “Not so big and bad now are we?” He teased. He let out a groan as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The way you were gripping him, the way your nails were digging into his back. You wanted this just as bad as him. You needed this just as bad as him. He fully bottomed out inside of you, his tip brushing against your g spot. “Holy fuck,” You whimpered. Jack couldn’t help but grin devilishly as he slowly moved his hips. “It’s like you were made for me,” He grunted. He began to pick up the pace, snapping his hips into yours.

His thrust were rough and desperate, his body craving to release into yours. He had never felt such a raw and intense connection before, his body demanding more. “You’re mine, all mine,” Jack grunted. He continued to fuck you, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasped at the sensation, a moan escaping his lips and being muffled by your skin as he sucked at your blood. The metallic taste was euphoric, your cunt squeezing him tighter as he marked you. “Fuck leaving. You’re mine. My mate,” Jack moaned. His thrust became more aggressive, his cock abusing your cunt as he claimed you as his own. You felt your eyes roll into the back of your head, your thighs shaking. “Oh my fucking- fuck! Jack!” You moaned. Jacks thrust were uncontrolled, his body demanding to fill your cunt to the brim. He released your neck, his three tongues lapping at the wound. “This feels nice huh? Being knocked down a peg?” Jack snickered. The feeling of your gummy walls milking him dry was euphoric, the demons orgasm coming closer.

“Gonna fill you up over and over and over. My little mate. Your pussy’s like goddamn heroin,” Jack rambler. You forced yourself to prop yourself up on your elbows, crashing your lips against Jack’s. “You talk too much,” You teased, nipping at his bottom lip. You groaned in his mouth as his cock abused your g spot, your eyes fluttering open as you squirted around his cock. Your juices coated his lower half, the demons hips finally stuttering and coming to a halt. His warm, thick cum flooded your cunt, filling you to the brim. You both were panting messes, Jack utterly surprised when you flipped the two of you over effortlessly. You straddled him, managing to keep his cock buried inside of you.

“So loverboy, wanna go for round two?”

You had so much stamina it was scary. Jack could see it in your eyes, you were ready to go as many rounds as he could do.

Maybe Jack should’ve been afraid of little old you.

[obeythebutler]

For the fluff prompt, may I please have Lucifer and "making funny faces behind the computer while the other one is in a boring Zoom meeting" with Mc being the other one???

It starts small.

The most insignificant of details that the eye won't catch at first glance, but the brain notices something is amiss.

For starters, the pair of spectacles Lucifer always dons is sitting on his desk. You swear he was wearing them just a moment before—your eyebrows furrow—but then you divert your attention back to the screen. The demon continues with his paperwork.

End semester projects require regular progress checks. Your group members are done informing the professor of their progress, now it is your turn to speak up.

"We are done with our research," You say, involuntarily straightening your posture. "We have encountered several problems while trying to know more about the economic practices of the Devildom in the year 1121. Astarion and I have gathered what we could find and compiled it in the document attached in our recent email to you."

"And what is to be done next?" The demon asks.

Magoth speaks up, and you take the moment to grab the bottle of water next to you. You open the cap and take a sip, eyes darting behind the screen.

"We have already verified it from—"

You choke on the liquid in your throat.

Several voices of concern chime in through your speakers as you hack and cough. Hurriedly wiping your mouth, you splutter and blurt out words of assurance. The talking resumes, and your brain can't believe what it saw.

Lucifer, pouting as he stares into his phone, the device outstretched in his left hand. Puckered lips and and all.

"Don't." You mouth the words at the demon, who smirks and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

"This project will be submitted by the end of next month," You pipe in, voice confident of your group's ability to meet deadlines. "There's a survey also planned for extra credit, and Astarion has already formulated the questions."

"Very good! Ah, that reminds me, I've made a new email id—please mail me your survey results on..............."

You make the mistake of glancing at Lucifer.

You have to resist the urge to smile after.

He's winking at you now, comically so, and the demon looks ridiculous.

You mute your mic, and let yourself giggle. "Lucifer," You whine, "I'm in a meeting!"

"Can't I have a little fun now and then?" He says, picking up his pen again. "Besides, you should be focused on the meeting, and not on external variables."

You glare at the demon.

"MC?" Magoth chimes. "Are you trying to say something? Your mic's on mute."

You force yourself to make a polite smile. "Everything's alright! Just a little disturbance. Please, carry on."

You lean back on your chair. The sound of pen scribbling on paper makes for a suitable background noise, and you finally focus on the meeting being held.

You assume the demon has finally calmed down on his rare antics.

Progress is made, conclusions revised, and the meeting is wrapped up in the next twenty minutes.

You close your laptop after, and nearly jump in your seat.

Because there is Lucifer, eyebrows furrowed and a hand grabbing his chin. Lower lip being bitten by his teeth.

This time, you let yourself laugh freely.

[iridescentparkers]

study buddies - tasm!peter parker x female reader

a/n - this also works for any peter ;)

THE BRIGHT BLUE flyer posted on the Midtown bulletin gave Peter flashed lightbulbs in his already crowded brain. 

Tutoring. It was the only way he could talk to Y/N. Intentionally walking his body in her direction and offering to buy her dinner? Heck no. Baby steps, he thought to himself. 

So after school today, Peter put on a new hat, an actor. He was amazing at physics, even planning to take AP next year, but he couldn’t tell her that. 

Now, he sits in the dark physics room, putting on an amazing show for his new study buddy. 

“Coulomb’s law?”

“Something with electric fields?” He asked, looking down at his worksheet and tapping his pencil rapidly on the desk.

“Something like that.” She informed, her voice raising an octave as she lowered her lids. 

She picked up her pencil, writing out some numbers in her textbook, “All of these variables should be over “F” squared.”

“Actually “r” squared,” he muttered, looking at the sheet.

“What?”

“What!” 

“You knew I already knew this?”

“And you dumbed yourself down to come talk to me?” Y/N laughed, darting her eyes from the false practice problems to his large, droopy brown eyes. “I think you win.” 

“Why did you lie?”

“To talk to you.” He informed, shrugging a shoulder as he darted his eyes to Y/N’s expression.

“I know you’re a genius, Peter.” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “We were in the same classes in 9th and 10th grade”

“But if you knew that, why did you agree to study with me?”

“Cause…” she trailed, moving her eyes up and down. “I think you’re cute.”

He felt heat in his cheeks as he ran an index finger over his forehead. Y/N reached up to place a long kiss on his cheek, “Except for when you fake being dumb.”

“The nerd thing is really hot.”

[mattsundaes]

hajime umemiya x reader

c: fluff, pining, brother’s best friend!hajime

for all that’s changed in your hometown since you moved away to college, some things, it seems, will always stay the same—like your unfortunate affinity for running into hajime umemiya half asleep in your rumpled pajamas in your parents’ kitchen.

it seems impossible, that your older brother’s best friend has somehow grown even more handsome in the three years since you left.

the pictures to be found of him on social media are scarce, his own infrequently-updated feed is nothing more than a showcase of updates on his vegetable garden. but the rare, recent ones you’ve caught from acquaintances—and stared at for far longer than you’ll ever admit—clearly haven’t done him justice.

his mid-20s have done little to change his penchant for pushing his wavy white hair away from his face though, and one rogue lock rests against the prominent scar on his eyebrow. it’s embarrassing, the way your fingers still twitch at your side with the urge to touch it after all this time.

(and it’s even more embarrassing—how long your stupid, lovesick heart has carried a torch for him.)

“fancy seeing you here,” he grins, looking up from where he’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone—likely waiting for your lazy brother to drag himself out of bed.

“hey umemiya,” you chirp, quickly averting your gaze from his blue eyes, heart thundering in your chest as your arm brushes his when you go to open the cabinet beside him.

there’s warmth at your side as he spins, his body nearly caging you in as he casually reaches up to grab the box of cereal your fingers were stretching for. the same kind the two of you always used to sit at the table and eat on mornings like this, when he’d plan something foolish like an early hike with your brother and end up at whims of his terrible sleep schedule.

“hajime,” he says, placing the box down in front of you. running a hand through his hair, he gives you a rueful smile.

your toes curl against the cool floor tiles.

you’ve been on a first-name basis with him for long enough, but it’s always felt too intimate—like the way your lips and tongue move around the syllables will unwittingly serve as a blatant beacon announcing the truth of your pitifully unrequited crush on the man standing next to you.

“hajime,” you repeat softly, heart involuntarily bouncing against your ribcage at the way his eyes crinkle at the corners in response.

the sound of your phone vibrating against the countertop drags your attention away from hajime, but your lips turn downward in annoyance as you see the name that flashes along your screen.

“your brother said you guys broke up,” hajime states casually, eyes darting away from your phone and back to your face after he reads your ex’s name.

“because cheating on me once just wasn’t enough,” you sigh, flicking a button to silence your phone and decline the call. the joys of a long-distance relationship with your lame high school-turned-college boyfriend.

“i wish he would have let me kick his ass after the first time,” hajime crosses his arms, brows furrowing.

warmth unfurls in your gut, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, “how’d you know about that?”

he scratches the back of his head a bit sheepishly and then shrugs. “i may have asked your brother what was up when you stopped posting pictures with him for a little while last year.”

there are too many variables and factors bouncing around in your sleep-addled brain to find the sum of all these parts, logic slipping through your fingers like the honey-sweet feeling dripping down your spine and coating your nerves.

don’t be ridiculous.

“you could’ve just asked me,” you nudge his foot, feeling a little bold, like you can blame your uncharacteristic forwardness on exhaustion.

he mirrors the motion, then briefly catches the back of your ankle against his. “you changed your number.”

you did, after losing your old phone, though you hadn’t quite felt bold enough to message hajime on social media out of the blue to share your new number. your brother was always the proxy between the two of you, after all.

unlocking your phone, you hand it to him, suppressing the subtle shudder that runs down your spine when his fingers brush across your own. his lips quirk upward as he types, holding your phone out to you a moment later, only to snatch it back, reaching a hand out to pull you beside him.

with one arm wrapped around your shoulders, he finds his way to the instagram app, both of your faces popping up on the screen as he flicks to a story post.

“i just woke up!” you protest, like your legs aren’t threatening to give out under you.

he leans closer to you, the gentle scent of his shampoo leaving you dizzy on the inhale, a lock of his hair tickling your face.

“you look cute like this,” he grins, choking out a laugh when you pinch his side.

he snaps the photo and quickly clicks the post button. then he lets you go just as fast, like you’re not prickling with heat from head to toe, though you still find your shoulder flush with his when you lean back against the counter beside him.

opening the post, you have to stifle the sound that dances eagerly against your closed lips. the picture makes your heart lurch—his eyes are crinkled shut in laughter, his face turned slightly into yours, your smile bright.

he leans into you a little more, looking down at the picture with you, tapping the side of his foot against yours.

“he’s probably checking your posts,” he shrugs, eyes sparkling with mirth and something else you can’t quite identify.

“umeeee,” your brother’s tired voice interrupts you as he slinks into the kitchen, fully dressed—though his t-shirt’s clearly on backward, and his hair looks like he lost a fight with his pillow.

hajime pushes up off of the counter, fingertips skirting against your forearm in the whisper of a touch as he turns back to you before leaving and grins, softly murmuring, “text me sometime.”

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 5 - Behind Enemy Lines

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 4.5k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Note: This chapter is the last one I had fully written before. So, be prepared for slower updates on this.

It’s late, later than usual, for Melina to be working. The sun had long since set, and most of the scientists in the lab had retreated to their sleeping quarters. The corridors outside were quiet, save for the faint echo of footsteps from patrolling guards.

While Melina remained, she was too dedicated to her work to stop now. She absentmindedly adjusted the cuff of her lab coat as she leaned over the microscope, jotting down quick notes. The faint blue glow of the computer monitor cast sharp shadows across her face, deepening the lines of focus that seemed to be permanently etched into her brow.

Another failed batch. The data blinking back at her confirmed what she already suspected. Still too unstable. Still too many variables. Dreykov would not be pleased.

She sighed quietly, rolling her neck to relieve the settled stiffness. The test pig stirred restlessly in the cage across the room, sensing her presence.

“You’re still awake too,” she murmured under her breath, her voice softer then, almost warm, as if speaking to the animal anchored her somehow. Melina returned to her notes, methodically crossing out dosages and recalculating figures. She was already thinking of adjustments—how to make the serum more precise and eliminate the cognitive dissonance in the subjects' brains. How to make obedience effortless.

The sound of footsteps outside the lab door snapped her out of her thoughts.

One of the junior researchers peered in, hesitant. "Comrade Vostokoff? It’s almost midnight."

Melina didn't look up. "Go. Get some sleep."

"But—"

She cut him off with a glance sharp enough to send him retreating without another word. She didn’t have the patience tonight.

She returned her eyes to the computer screen, squinting at the figures and notes from previous dates, when she heard the door swing open again.

"I thought I said good night," Melina spoke, irritation bleeding through her words. She looked up to see Nora standing there with a notebook in hand.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," Nora stepped further inside, her voice measured, almost careful.

Melina blinked at her, her irritation slightly softening, though she didn’t say so. Nora rarely appeared in the lab at this hour—always observant, always keeping her distance unless she had a reason.

"You should be asleep," Melina said simply, leaning back from the monitor. "It's late."

Nora offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe you'd let me sit in. Watch."

Melina studied her momentarily, weighing whether to send her away like the others. But Nora stood steady under the scrutiny, notebook clutched tightly at her side, eyes flickering only once toward the monitor.

"You’re not here just to watch," Melina said, quiet but knowing.

Nora shrugged, but there was tension behind it. "I wanted to see the new data for myself. The last batch failed."

Melina’s lips twitched at that—not quite amusement, but close. "You’ve been paying attention. This isn't your field of work, Doctor."

Nora didn't answer. Her gaze darted between Melina and the monitor. She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the notebook.

Melina narrowed her eyes, taking in the subtle changes in Nora's expression. She was nervous. Uncomfortable. And Melina could tell it wasn't just from being in the lab after hours.

"Is there something else?"

"You've been away," Nora admitted. "I just wanted to check in on you."

Melina tilted her head at that. For the past month, Dreykov had sent her away on business. The details were confidential, as usual, but Melina had spent much of the month in the field with Widows, working on various projects. She knew Nora would have noticed. She noticed everything.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" Nora pressed, and her voice was softer than usual.

Melina stared at her. She didn't respond.

"I've met one of your girls," Nora said, and Melina perked up. "She's sweet."

"Yelena?" She asked.

"Natasha," Nora shook her head. "Seems that Dreykov is taking her under his wing."

Melina’s expression didn’t shift much, but Nora caught the subtle way her fingers paused over the keyboard—a faint look in her eyes.

“Natasha,” Melina echoed as if testing how the name felt. She hadn't seen it much since she returned from Ohio. She tried to erase her memories of the girls out of her head. They were better off without her.

Nora nodded, observing her. “She’s sharp. Observant. Quiet, but not out of fear.”

Melina said nothing, returning her gaze to the monitor. The data in front of her suddenly seemed less important.

“You said Dreykov’s taking interest?” Melina asked, voice-controlled.

Nora flipped her notebook closed, resting it on the table. “Yes. I heard them speaking. He likes girls who don’t flinch.”

That earned a slight twitch at the corner of Melina’s mouth—whether it was pride, worry, or something else, Nora couldn’t quite tell.

“She’s too young for that,” Melina murmured, more to herself.

“We were younger,” Nora reminded gently. "How was the field?" She asked, changing the subject.

Melina shrugged. "Successful. He's satisfied."

"That's good," Nora nodded, but she couldn't help how her eyes searched Melina's as if looking for something more.

"How's your girl?" Melina asked, seeing the same look in Nora's eyes that she'd been sporting a few moments before. Nora’s fingers brushed absently over the cover of her notebook, but her focus stayed on Melina.

“She’s still so young,” Nora said, almost an afterthought. “They all are.”

Melina’s jaw tightened slightly, her eyes returning to the screen before she leaned back in her chair. “Dreykov prefers them young. Easier to mold."

Nora gave a quiet laugh, humorless. “And harder to break. Or so he thinks.”

“You shouldn’t care about her,” Melina reminded her. 

They both knew better. Neither had the right to feel ownership over you or Natasha being in the program. The Red Room didn’t permit attachments—it trained them out of you and punished any signs of weakness. Nora’s eyes didn’t waver. “Neither should you.”

Melina’s mouth curved into something faintly resembling a smile but didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I don’t,” she lied smoothly.

Nora nodded, accepting the lie as it was given. “Neither do I.”

Alone. And in this quiet, they could admit what they couldn’t anywhere else: that maybe they did care in whatever fractured, guarded way they knew how.

“She keeps her guard up,” Nora murmured again, softer this time. “Not because of me, but because she knows better.”

Melina's gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over her features. “They all learn eventually.”

Nora swallowed, letting that settle. She glanced at the clock on the wall—far past midnight now.

“I should go,” she said, standing and tucking the notebook under her arm.

Melina didn’t argue.

******

It’s the third time you’d watched that particular movie.

It was practically ingrained into your brain—the overly bright colors, the overemotional voices, the storyline you could recite in your sleep. Another movie you hated. Another lesson you were expected to absorb.

A damsel in distress. A girl too soft, too trusting, too naive. And, of course, a man would come and save her. Always a man.

Your lips moved silently, matching the characters' dialogue before the sound reached your ears. The instructors watched from the side, arms folded, waiting for the moment you slipped up—waiting for the accent to falter, the rhythm to break.

You didn't. None of you did. Not then.

They made sure of that.

Each of you mimicked the sing-song American cadence perfectly, the way your tongue curled right on certain words, the exact pitch of surprise or fear when the girl on screen gasps over and over until it is second nature. Until it was indistinguishable from real.

You glanced sideways at the others, expression carefully blank. No conversation was allowed during these sessions. Just repetition. Watching. Parroting. Learning how to sound like something you were not.

Someone you were not. Your back ached from the folding chair you'd been given, prompting you to stretch a little higher in your seat. You disliked Snow White.

Too much happiness. Too much hope. The girl was too trusting, and everyone knew how that turned out.

You were never allowed to talk about what you were watching or learning. What they wanted you to become. But you did anyway. This was the portion ofthe  class you almost enjoyed. The part where each of you would take turns practicing with a partner—mimicking the lines, the tone, the accent until it was second nature. No one could tell the difference between you and some average American girl.

“Romanoff,” the instructor barked, eyes scanning the room before landing on you. “With Y/L/N.”

You caught Natasha’s gaze across the room as she stood, her face unreadable. You knew better, though. Knew the sharpness in her eyes wasn’t just from the drill.

It felt purposeful. They deliberately paired you two, watching and waiting for something to happen. Rumors flew fast in the Red Room. Word around the compound was Natasha was taking your place and had been since you'd started privately training her.

You stood slower than you should have, weighing it.

And then you spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I’d like to switch.”

The room went still.

A few heads snapped toward you—eyes widening just slightly before they quickly refocused on the floor. No one asked to switch.

The instructor arched a brow, stepping toward you until his boots stopped right before you. "Who do you want instead?” he asked finally, voice clipped.

It was a test. Everything here was a test.

You flicked your eyes past Natasha, settling on a girl two rows over—one who wouldn’t challenge you. One who wouldn’t look at you like Natasha did like she knew the parts of you you’d rather keep buried.

“That one,” you answered simply.

A pause. Too long.

But then the instructor nodded once. “Fine.”

He snapped his fingers at the girl and motioned for her to move. She did, her eyes wide, darting between you and the instructor.

He gave the command, and you started over, the girl beside you stammering as you mimicked the lines perfectly.

You could feel Natasha's eyes burning into the side of your head, but you didn’t turn.

*****

The hallways were always eerily quiet during transitions. No one said a word as they shuffled to whichever classroom they belonged to. The silence was suffocating and suffering, depending on how you viewed it. In a sea of girls, Natasha couldn't shake the irritation in her chest. You had ignored her entirely this whole day. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much.

She tried to tell herself it was just another part of the game they played here—getting inside each other’s heads, testing limits. But it still didn't sit right with her, that moment when you chose another girl. Not because it made her feel insignificant—she wasn’t the type for that—but because you decided to distance yourself. She could see you just a few feet ahead, an invisible space around you, as the other girls tried to keep their distance. Even when you didn't try, they acted like you were the odd one.

"Why’d you do it?" Natasha asked finally, her voice quiet but sharp enough to break the stillness between you two.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you kept walking, gaze fixed ahead as if you hadn’t heard her.

“Why?” she repeated, slowing her pace to match yours.

You glanced at her briefly, eyes flicking up to meet hers, but only for a second before they quickly dropped back to the floor. “Just didn’t feel like working with you,” you muttered, the words half-distracted as if you didn’t mean them.

It stung, though. And Natasha wasn’t sure if you were even aware of it.

“Did I do something?” she pressed, her voice softer now, but there was still an edge to it.

You stopped walking, turning to face her. You were quiet for a moment, staring down at her, before you stepped forward, closing the space between you.

"Why are you still talking to me, Romanoff?" You asked quietly, the words a little too cold, a little too distant. "You're the one who doesn't need my help anymore."

Natasha stared at you. She didn’t know how to respond. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You are so naive," You shook your head.

"Is this how you treat your friends?" Natasha tilted her head. "Is this what friends do?"

“Friends?” The word tasted foreign in your mouth. “What do you know about friends? We don’t get friends here. We get missions.” You bit the word off like it was a curse. “You’re just... another assignment. Another thing Dreykov wants us to do.”

Your voice was colder than you intended. It came out more venomous than you'd meant, but the anger had already crept in. Natasha’s eyes flickered with something—disappointment? Confusion?

But that was the thing you couldn’t allow. You couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anyone.

“I’m not some charity case, Romanoff,” you continued, stepping even closer to her and narrowing your eyes. “I don’t need you to ‘save’ me. And I don’t need you looking at me like you understand a damn thing about me.”

"I understand that you're afraid," Natasha began.

"Oh, no, we are not doing this here," You shook your head.

"Then come with me, and we can talk elsewhere," Natasha challenged.

You glared at her, not moving.

Natasha rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

She grabbed your wrist and started tugging you along with her.

"Let go!" You hissed.

"No, because if I do, you'll run away."

Natasha's grip tightened as she dragged you further down the corridor, the other girls parting to let you both through. You glared at them, and they quickly averted their gazes.

You should've pulled your hand free. You should've resisted. But somehow, you let her lead you anyway.

"This isn't necessary," you muttered, trying to pull your hand away, but she gripped tighter.

"It is, though," Natasha insisted.

"How?" You scoffed.

"Because if I didn't force you to listen, you wouldn't. Because if I didn't drag you away from here, people would have surrounded us."

Natasha pulled you into an empty room, glancing around quickly before shutting the door.

"We're alone now. Talk."

You swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes. "Talk about what?"

"About the fact that you're acting weird and ignoring me."

"You really are naive," You shook your head.

"Stop calling me that," Natasha growled.

"What's it like being so good at everything?"

Natasha's face twisted, confused. "What?"

"Being Dreykov's new eye candy," you continued. "Getting the attention you want. Making him smile."

Natasha blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Is that why you're acting like this?"

"Acting like what? You're not my friend, Romanoff. You're competition."

"So this is what you're like," Natasha scoffed. "You're jealous."

"No, I'm not." You denied. "I tried to warn you how he is. I've given you every single tip I could, and you keep running into him. What makes you so special?"

"He's taken an interest in me," Natasha explained. "I can't fight that."

"He doesn't care about you, Romanoff," You spat. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"What are you scared of?"

"You're the one who should be scared," You sighed, settling onto a desk. "He's planning to send you on a mission soon."

Natasha froze. Her mind immediately went to everything you'd warned her about before.

"What do you mean?"

"It's why he's having me spend so much time with you. Why he wants you so close," You explained.

"How do you know this?" Natasha asked. "Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"He wants it to be unexpected, I guess," You shrugged. "It's not uncommon."

Natasha looked up, meeting your eyes. "Have you done this before?"

"His missions," You nodded. "Of course I have."

Natasha swallowed, the words heavy in her stomach. "Is that what the other girls call me? His newest girl?"

"They call you a lot of things," You murmured, averting your gaze.

"Like what?" Natasha asked.

"Like you're lucky, or maybe stupid," You paused, chewing on your bottom lip. "They think that's why you're suddenly getting special treatment. They don't know like I know."

Natasha studied your face for a moment. "And what is it that you know?"

"I know how he gets," You folded your arms across your chest.

"You're always so vague," Natasha sighed. "Why can't you just tell me what this mission is about?"

"It's painful sometimes to talk about," You admitted quietly. "I don't have anyone to talk about it with. I'm not supposed to trust you."

Natasha’s brow furrowed at your last words, the soft confession slipping out before you could bite it back. "You're not supposed to trust me," she repeated slowly. "But you do?"

You stared at her, jaw tight, arms still crossed like armor. You weren’t sure if it was trust, but it wasn’t distrust. You weren’t supposed to let anyone close. But somehow, she kept inching past the walls anyway.

"I don't know," you muttered finally. "Maybe I’m just tired."

Natasha tilted her head, voice quieter now. "Tired of what?"

Of course, you didn’t answer. Instead, you shifted.

"You don’t want to know what his missions are like," you said, voice low and flat. "It’s not something you come back from the same."

Natasha swallowed hard, her hands shaking slightly at her sides. She knew what you were implying. She knew how bad it could get, but hearing you say it...

"You don't think I can handle it?"

"You think too highly of yourself," You shook your head.

Natasha flinched, hurt. She hadn't realized until then how badly she wanted you to believe in her.

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it," You spoke after a beat of silence.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, confused. "Throw what?"

"The match. He's watching," You shrugged. "You need to make him angry."

Natasha stared at you, uncomprehending. "I don't—"

"Make him mad, and he won't send you," You said, cutting her off. "Trust me."

"How will I know?" Natasha asked.

"You won't."

Her brows knitted together, frustration mounting. She wanted to shake you. To demand more than half-formed answers and vague warnings.

"You're not making any sense."

"That's the point," You sighed.

Natasha stared at you, her jaw clenching. "You're asking me to lose on purpose," she said like she needed to hear it aloud to believe it.

You didn’t flinch. Just gave a slight nod, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"But why?" she pressed. "Why does it matter if I win or lose?"

You hesitated. "Because if you win, you’ll prove something to him. That you’re ready."

"And if I lose?" she asked, voice sharp.

You shrugged again, but your posture was stiff now—too casual to be real. "Then maybe you’ll get to stay a little longer. Maybe he’ll decide you’re not worth the effort."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, mind racing. She couldn’t piece together why you cared so much—why you’d rather she humiliate herself in front of the others, risk punishment, to avoid catching Dreykov’s attention.

Her throat felt tight. "What about you?"

You blinked, caught off guard.

"If I throw it," she said carefully, "what happens to you?"

For a second, your expression cracked—just slightly. Something flickered there, something too fast to name.

"I can handle it," you murmured, voice almost flat.

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer. "Why are you doing this?"

You didn’t answer, eyes hard as stone now. Guard back up.

Natasha exhaled shakily. "You’re not telling me something."

"You don’t need to know everything," you said softly, but something bitter was under the words. "Just do what I told you." With that, you left her with her thoughts, knowing you were late for your next class.

*********

The mat smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber. The other girl, Irina, circled Natasha like she was sizing her for something bigger. Natasha was quick on her feet, sharper than usual. Every movement practiced was efficient. She was winning, and they both knew it.

But then—

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it."

Your voice crept in, steady, certain. It lodged somewhere in the back of her head.

Natasha feinted left and landed a sharp hit on Irina’s ribs. Irina stumbled but recovered fast. Natasha could end this. She should end this.

She didn't.

Instead, Natasha pulled back. Letting her strikes land softer. Slower. Testing.

Her eyes flicked up once—to the far end of the room. A shadow near the door. Watching. Not moving. Just there.

Her pulse kicked.

She pivoted wrong on purpose, leaving her side exposed. Irina didn't hesitate and landed a blow to Natasha’s shoulder, sending her down harder than necessary. Natasha grimaced, letting its weight pin her.

Someone nearby laughed under their breath.

The instructor clapped once. "Again."

She rose, brushing dirt from her palms.

"Make him mad, and he won’t send you."

Irina rushed her, and Natasha braced for the impact. All she saw next was black as the blow she received was hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Good," the instructor called. "But she can take more than that."

A sharp kick to the ribs. Pain radiated.

"Better," the instructor commented, tone bored.

Irina smirked, circling her again.

Natasha moved too slowly. She took another blow to the chest, and at that time, her knees buckled. Irina didn't stop.

"I give," Natasha rasped, but the other girl wasn't listening.

Her fists rained down. Once. Twice. Over and over.

"Irina," the instructor called.

But the blows kept coming.

"I give!" Natasha yelled, louder this time.

The instructor intervened.

Natasha curled in on herself, shielding her face, waiting for the next hit. It didn't come. There was a silence across the training room. Natasha didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"Up, Romanoff," the instructor said.

Natasha looked up, and her vision was blurry. The pain was a dull throb in her ribs. Her lungs. Her stomach.

She wondered if that was it. If she’s done enough.

She didn't look for you but knew you were in the crowd. Watching, too.

*******

The girls filed out of the room one by one. The quiet chatter left with them as they discussed the match they just watched. Natasha walked on unsteady feet, hiding the pain behind short breaths as she headed for the door.

She doesn't make it out of the room.

"Romanoff."

She froze. Dreykov didn't look up from the clipboard in his hands.

His voice was clipped. Barely interested.

"Is this what you consider effort?"

Silence stretched. Natasha kept her posture straight, breathing steadily.

"Sir, I-" She attempted to defend herself.

"You had one task. And you couldn't manage that."

Still not looking at her. Like she was barely worth his time.

"You’re not here to coast on yesterday’s results." A pause. "If that’s what you plan to do, I’ll find someone else." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I brought you for training with y/n because I thought you were ready.

Natasha swallowed, a sick feeling churning in her stomach.

"I had a special mission for you planned," He said. "Something that would move you up the ranks. I will send someone else."

"Yes sir," She answered, her voice small.

******

The steam clung to the air, dense and heavy, curling around you like smoke. The shower room was mostly empty—just you, toweling your hair dry, pretending not to notice when the door swung open behind you.

You glanced up at the mirror.

Natasha.

Her eyes locked on yours, sharp, unreadable.

You didn’t even get a word out before she was moving.

"The hell was that, huh?" Natasha hissed, voice low but dangerous. Her fingers curled tight around the front of your shirt, yanking you closer. "Why did you tell me to throw it?"

You stared back, heartbeat steady even as her grip bruised. You could see the cracks—frustration, confusion, maybe even fear splintering beneath that cold mask.

"Let go," you muttered.

She didn’t.

"Answer me first," she snapped. "You knew he'd be pissed. You set me up."

You exhaled through your nose, eyes flicking past her to make sure no one else was listening.

"I didn’t set you up," you said evenly. "I told you how to survive."

"How to survive?" She said angrily. "Surviving by not being able to move up a rank? Because of you, I failed this test. Because I trusted you. Because I thought we were friends. You keep telling me differently, and maybe I should listen. Maybe he was right."

"Right about what?" You furrowed your brows. You pushed her hands away.

"That you're jealous," Natasha answered, her voice hard.

"He said that?"

"You're holding me back because you think I'm better than you," She pressed like she had to say it out loud to believe it. "That’s why you wanted me to lose."

You stared at her, jaw tight, letting the silence stretch a beat too long. Letting her think she’d won whatever argument she thought this was.

Finally, you tilted your head, your voice quiet, calm, and almost bored.

"You believe that?"

"Yes," She nodded. "I do."

You let the words settle for a second.

"All of the other girls were right about you," Natasha shook her head. "You like being his favorite. You like doing his bidding and parading around here like you don't have to follow the rules."

"You think this is about me?" You scoffed. "This has nothing to do with me."

"Oh yeah?" Natasha challenged. "Then why are you always telling me to stay away from him?"

"I told you the truth," You defended. "This is stupid. You believe what you want. Just know if you put your hands on me again, you will regret it." You stepped into her space, taking advantage of the height difference and staring directly into her eyes.

"Fine," Natasha said. She didn't back away. She wasn't afraid of you. It was almost as if she was challenging you. The sound of the door swinging open pulled you apart. Natasha was the first to leave, limping past the girl interrupting you as the girl gave her a sympathetic look.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Natasha ignored her and kept walking.

You turned back to the mirror, eyes catching briefly on your reflection before you looked away. You hated how your face looked when it felt like this—too exposed and raw like the cracks were showing.

You took a breath. Tried to steady yourself.

It was stupid. You knew better. Friends weren’t a thing here. Not really. The girls didn’t like you; they never had. You learned early that it was easier and cleaner. People couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them close. Couldn’t take something from you if you never offered it.

And Natasha—she was supposed to be the same. Another girl trained to outlast you, outmatch you. Another person you were supposed to watch, measure, and be ready to step over when the time came.

Except she wasn’t. Not exactly. She didn’t hate you. She hadn’t tried to.

Maybe that’s what made you reckless. Letting yourself think for even a second that she was different. That maybe she could be something to you.

But wanting something like that was dangerous.

So maybe you shouldn’t try. Maybe it was better to shut it down now before it got worse.

You flexed your hands once, twice, before reaching for your towel like nothing had happened at all.

----> next part

[averageallogene]

Lyney ♡⊹˚ His lucky charm [NSFW]

✧˖°. Summary: Before his most recent shows, Lyney seems to have some nervousness regarding his abilities as a magician. Thankfully, his lovely girlfriend is always there to ease his mind beforehand, providing him with the luck her magician boyfriend needs.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; this is basically smut with little more than an intro to it, so beware. Also SPOILERS for ACT I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

5k words.

notes. Hi yes hello I am back, I have played the two Archon Quests, and after working a little for my thesis I decided to write something by my own volition <3. I’m not sure if Lyney here might be portrayed accurately but nonetheless I really wanted to write a smaller piece for him before doing it for other characters! He’s adorable :( ♡ Enjoy ✧˖°

By clicking on the “expand”, you are hereby agreeing to view NSFW content. PLEASE if you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT. 

PLEASE do not report, as this is my warning to those who do not wish to view NSFW. I, like most writers, work hard on each piece we choose to publish, and reporting it will decrease the number of readers it reaches... Thank you for understanding ✧˖°

Magicians have no need for something many folk cling onto - luck. After all, every trick they perform is something they study, polish, rearrange, rehearse. Everything is staged to the finest of details, leaving no room for unpredictable variables to enter the equation. Every performance is acted out accordingly, a mental checklist going on inside the performer's mind as each prop is placed and moved about, each line is repeated from the rehearsals, each movement in one’s body is carefully played out. Everything is a carefully crafted performance, and what need do they have for luck? None.

To Lyney, such is the truth. Well, at least this philosophy held itself rock solid, up until the incident that nearly landed him a guilty verdict. Despite his confidence in his abilities to wow the crowds, even before there would always be a small but ever present pitter patter to his heart, a quiet reminder of his own nervousness before the show would begin. He would usually handle himself most well, though through the eyes of those closest to them, the normal feeling of “performance jitters” wasn’t all that well hidden. Well, and if that were the case, more so after things went back to normal.

His breathing would be a little more unstable, his fingers would fidget with one of his cards as his eyes darted about his changing room. He would fiddle with his exquisite hat, rebraid his hair while trying to ease himself. Things had gone back to normal, their scheduled shows were once more popular and always fully booked. Yet still, there always was this sense of anxiety deep in his stomach, never truly going away as he quietly wondered if the show would go as planned. 

Well, thankfully he had someone to help ease his mind each time. And as if right on que as he brooded over the upcoming performance, a knock to his dressing room was heard, the door opening to reveal the loveliest of sights. At the door stood [F/N], his lovely girlfriend who would always visit him before he went on stage. 

“Hi Lyney! Hope I’m not intruding?” She asked sweetly, smiling his way which only helped to ease his worries.

“You never are, my love. Come in!” He breathes out, the eagerness to have her close not quite passing unnoticed to her. He extends his arms before fully taking her in his embrace, sighing deeply as he inhales the familiar perfume she would always wear. His favorite. 

“How are you feeling?” [F/N]’s voice grows softer, her arms resting around his lower back as she smiles his way. The silence that follows is enough of an answer, her magician simply distracting himself with playing with the tips of her hair. “...Nervous?”

“...Hah, why it seems nothing really blinks past you. I may have taught you… Too well…” He jests, the smile on his face betraying him before it drops slightly. It reveals some of his vulnerability for her, his violet eyes locking with her own before he speaks up again. “I suppose it’s just some performance jitters again, nothing new...”

“It’s okay Lyney. You’ll do great, I know so.” Her smile shone brighter than the very sun, beaming with warmth that was only cast to him. It comforted his very being, filling his conflicted heart with sugary sweetness that only soothed him in a way no one else could. And if that wasn’t enough, the next few sentences were the ones that would always, always seal the deal for him. “Everything will go well, and everyone will be wowed by your hard work. I’m proud of you.”

It was as though his heart was struck, pierced with cupid’s arrow as he couldn’t keep up the calm and confident act. Lyney’s body visibly relaxed, a content snicker escaping his lips as his arms brought her closer. His lips were quicker than his words, filling her face with brief yet lovely kisses, watching with glee as she giggled as a response. Amidst each kiss he whispered words of gratitude for her support, his hands roaming throughout her lower back as he yearned to feel her closer and closer. 

“Lyney… You didn’t even let me finish!” She laughed, her words being cut off with a deeper kiss as his lips found her own. She could feel his smile against her lips, the magician quite literally stealing her breath away before finally pulling away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I just can’t contain myself, you’re just too adorable for me to!” He sighed, the flamboyant hum in which he spoke glittering the otherwise full truth she very well knew. “To think a professional magician would be wowed in such a way, you’ll be the death of me…”

“You almost make it sound like I’m such a bad thing.” [F/N] rolled her eyes playfully, her fingers carefully adjusting his hair before inspecting to see if his braid was well done. 

It was in small moments like so that Lyney would cease to speak, allowing his beloved to do as she pleased. His eyes would focus solely on her, watching how her expression would shift, her eyes roaming about to ensure he looked his absolute best. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribcage, no longer solely because of the nervousness he would feel before each one of his shows. The mere sight of his girlfriend was enough to blow away the growing blaze of anxiety, leaving it only in embers that with time would cease. Her mere care, her mere nature, her beauty inside out… 

It was enough to leave Lyney riddled into little more than a lovesick puppy, the loopy smile upon his pretty face being reserved only for her. 

“Lyney?” [F/N] called for him once more, watching as he finally seemed to come back to. His hands were roaming around her hips, carefully circling around her figure as he finally let out a soft hum for her to continue. “You’re a little too quiet… Everything okay?”

“I’m so lucky to have you, [F/N]...”

It was her turn to be left speechless, her face morphing to surprise as their gazes locked. He watched as the loveliest shade of red adorned her cheeks, the flusteredness he’d often cause on her never failing to amuse him. Still, despite so, he hoped she knew just how sincere he was with his words. 

“Oh Archons… What’s gotten into you?” Her voice whined a little lower, her eyes turning away to avoid him for a mere instance in which her flusteredness was still far too raw. She could feel how his lips chased after her skin, peppering her with light and soft kisses by the corner of her mouth. 

“Nothing.” He responded, his usual flair dropping to soft whispers as he carefully turned her around, helping her have a seat on his vanity. Between fleeting kisses, Lyney took the opportunity to bring himself between her legs, his hands never letting her stray far from himself. “I just wish to remind you more often, because it’s the truth.”

“Well I think it’s the other way around, you know… I’m the one that’s lucky here.” [F/N] smiled softly, her hands finding rest on his shoulders before gently massaging his tense muscles. Her boyfriend leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle that seemed familiar, one of challenge and mischievousness that would often leave her questioning before finally realizing what he’d plotted. 

“My my, is that so?” He hummed, head tilting to the side while his grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “If that’s the case, how come each time you visit me beforehand, every show I perform runs far better than what I expect?”

“Oh, you’re really running with that?” She giggled, music to his ears. “Only because I kissed you that one time, telling you it would bring you good luck?”

“And did that show not go beyond amazing? In fact, I do believe that was the peak in my career thus far.” He reasoned with a nod to his head, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against her own. “Therefore, I’m the lucky one here, and you my dear [F/N], are my lucky charm.”

“Oh Lyney…” She sighed softly, stroking her hand through his blond locks slowly. “I didn’t know that tonight my magician was planning to turn me into putty in his hands.”

It was his turn to laugh, quietly, yet full of warmth and endearment. “It’s what you get for stealing this magician’s heart long ago.”

“Ah! I’m gone. Goodbye Fontaine, I am melting from my boyfriend’s words!” [F/N] leaned back dramatically, Lyney catching her before she would fall too far and hit her head against the large mirror of his vanity. The pair laughed in unison, fingers interlacing as he brought her close to himself once more.

“You’ve definitely gotten that dramatic flair from me.” He pointed out, his free hand now resting firmly on her thigh. He watched with hearts in his eyes as she giggled at his comment, shrugging her shoulders before bringing him closer with her legs. 

“I love you.” [F/N] whispered, leaning forward before it being her turn to steal a few kisses for herself. 

It never stopped after that though, one going after the other, kisses lingering longer before them turning into a longer makeout session. The way her lips were always so soft, so warm, the faint taste of her favorite chapstick melting against his own, it never failed to leave Lyney yearning for more, his whole being focusing solely on his lover whilst everything else blurred around them. His tongue carefully peeked through his own lips before swiping across her own, the grin being felt against her mouth as he felt her jolt slightly from the antic. Giving him permission to continue, Lyney carefully led the dance, his tongue meeting her own as they both ignored the need of air, muffled breaths fanning one another as their hands held the other closer, tighter. Before he knew it he was leaning himself forward and her backwards, a little more, his body pressing against her own before they were practically bent with her head touching the mirror behind them. Her legs were pressed against his sides, never letting him stray too far, her hands stroking through his back and hair, sending shivers down his spine as sparks ignited deep within him. 

“L…Lyn-ney…” She murmured between breaths, him finally tilting his head so the two of them could breathe. The way her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she breathed heavily seemed to only entice something further deep within him. “W…What about your show?”

“Worried about that?” He inquired, the clear endearment for her concern being evident in his tone of voice. He leaned closer, voice whispering as he slowly licked the strand of saliva that had dropped down her chin. “We still have time, if that’s what’s troubling you dear.”

“H-Hah…” The words seemed to get stuck on her throat as his hands maneuvered around her frame, carefully parting her legs a little more to give him better access. His fingers quickly grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, lifting it up slightly before resting his palm on her warm thigh, his lips still remaining close to her own as his very being craved more of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lyney softly asked, leaning back as his own breath grew uneven. His face too displayed a lovely shade of pink, his lips redder after the relentless kisses she’d given him. His eyes were glittering with excitement, half-lidded with pure love as he waited for her response. His thumb was caressing her skin softly, the circular motion he did easing her more than arousing her as he searched for her honest answer.

It was embarrassing to admit, but [F/N] absolutely did not want to stop. Her body felt far too hot for her to go back on it now. “I… N-No.”

“Are you certain, dear?” He leaned closer, eyes squinting softly as his breath fanned her face. His hands slithered a little more upwards, giving her goosebumps as they traveled up to her hips. “I don’t want to put you in any situation that might be even a little uncomfortable… I will understand if this is-”

“N-No Lyney, I’m okay.” She nodded her head to reassure him, her hands gripping his clothing tighter as if not wanting him to move an inch away. “I admit, it’s… A bit nerve wracking, given the place but… I still don’t want you to stop.”

He bit his lip, smiling with both excitement and apology. “I’m sorry love, I always seem to get carried away when it’s about you.”

It definitely was the truth, especially given with the way his hands moved around her body. There was always a certain kind of care in each movement, his grip upon her skin tight and loving, as if reassuring himself she was there, with him. Lyney was both selfish and giving when it came to his beloved [F/N], always wanting more for himself, yet always wanting to reassure her she felt properly adored.  

“We’ll have to be-” He kissed her again, followed by another, her lips trying to keep up with his own as he gave her fleeting kisses. “Very quiet- Okay?”

“M-Mhm.” She nodded her head, her face blushing a deeper shade of red as his fingers finally lifted her skirt up. Her own hands helped him hold it up for him, watching him as it finally dawned on her, his figure getting nice and cozy in between her legs before he kneeled down. “L-Lyney?”

The grin he gave her was enough to make her lower region throb. 

“I’m craving a taste of you, baby. Could you please indulge me?” He whispered, his hands parting her legs before resting securely against them. His head turned to her left thigh, leaving a trail of small bites and kisses as he came closer, delighting himself in every reaction she offered him, every gasp and jump, every attempt at caging his head in between her legs. 

“J-Just- Don’t tease me, please.” [F/N] outright pleaded, earning herself an honest nod of his head as his eyes sparkled in anticipation. 

Carefully, her eyes jumped back at the closed door before going back to him, her breath trembling as she breathed out from her parted lips. Whilst one hand held her dress up, the other slowly lowered, helping him to remove the lacey underwear that hid his most wanted prize away. And with a lift of her hips, they were off easily, hanging by her ankle as Lyney’s gaze focused solely on the erotic view before him. His [F/N], holding her dress up for him, sat on his vanity as her chest rose and lowered irregularly, her pussy in full display for him alone. It was enough to get him aroused, the fabric of his own clothes becoming far too constricting as he felt his boner raging to be freed.

His experienced hands crept closer, thumbs slowly hovering her juicy lips before deliciously parting them. He could feel his mouth go dry in an instance, the view of her leaking pussy outright hypnotizing him as she let out a quiet moan. He couldn’t help himself but play around with her pussy lips a little, after all, how could he not? The way her pretty hole would throb in want, leaking out her nectar only for him, dripping down her skin and onto his table, the squelching sounds being nearly enough for him to lose all sense of control. He couldn’t help himself but stare, watch in lust before her soft moans and whines became a little too loud, all the while still arousing him even further.

“Lyney!” She pleaded in a whisper, the pout she offered him sending his heart racing. 

“Yes, you’re right baby… I’m sorry.” He hummed, leaning forth before finally giving her heat a long, slow and deep lick. The vibrations from his hum resonated with her pussy, sending pleasant shockwaves throughout her body as she shut her lips right before moaning. “We’re gonna have to be quieter, love. Can you do that for me?” 

It was difficult to hear him when he was practically squishing his face against her pussy, yet from the mere fact he’d stopped, [F/N] had been able to deduct what he wanted from her quickly enough. She nodded her head eagerly, blushing even deeper as she bit her lip.

“Mhm… ‘M sorry…”

It truly divided Lyney’s heart in two, for he absolutely adored hearing every sound [F/N] would bless him with. Her voice already was pure melody for his ears, all the more when she would be moaning due to his administrations. However, the pure excitement of their ordeal, having a chance of being caught, it was enough to keep him going, to entice him to lick more, to lap around her clit again, to suckle on it whilst plunging one of his fingers deep inside. The way his beloved would instead jolt more often, writhe above him, attempt to suffocate him as her legs tried to close around him, all to not be as vocal, it all had him entranced. 

"You taste so good…" He groaned against her folds, his tongue practically spelling out his love for her as he ate her out with such passion. The groans and sighs that would escape him would only please her further, sending [F/N] closer and closer to her own release as she practically bit down her tongue to quiet out her own moans. Lyney simply couldn't have enough of her taste, lapping every last drop to his greedy tongue as he yearned for more, fingering and licking it out of her as he could feel her gummy walls throb against his fingers. "You're so wet, too… So dirty, my angel."

"L-Lyney…" She mumbled, her erotic whine finally pulling him out of his trance to look her way. By that point she'd already held her fingers around his hair, him not even noticing up until that very moment. 

His light eyes glanced up, for a moment the magician forgetting how to even breathe. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him, staring up to see his beloved gazing down at him with such a needy look. Her cheeks were flushed, the thin layer of sweat visible on her forehead as her grip on his hair tightened softly. Her teeth were by that point gritting tightly against the hem of her dress, it being her faint attempt at keeping her noises down to a minimum as he ate her out to his heart's content. The view was dirty, marvelous. The dress was lifted to such a way he could now see part of her tummy as well, her body lined with sweat as it reacted to every little touch he gave her. 

It drove Lyney over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. The breath finally left his mouth in a shaky notion, her thighs shaking like jello as it hit her bare pussy before he got up. 

"Gods, you're so gorgeous [F/N]." He outright moaned, his fingers carefully taking the fabric out of her mouth. He watched how she heaved deeply, her lips tempting him to latch onto them. And who was he to refuse, but a poor magician whose heart had been stolen by the woman before him?

He leaned in quickly, capturing her lips against his own as they both moaned against one another. Their hands couldn't let go of the other, fiddling with their clothes as they attempted to find the best position to finally get what they both wanted. [F/N] leaned herself to the edge of the table, her legs still apart for him as her fingers now fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it before finally freeing him of his leather shorts. Lyney could feel his cock throbbing already, eager to finally plunge inside of her spongy walls and ease the yearning he so deeply felt. He groaned against her lips as she finally freed his hard length, pumping it for him slowly as it was now her turn to suck on his tongue with her own lips. 

"I need you, Lyney…" [F/N] moaned, helping him to part her legs further as he kept his face closer to her own. 

"I know, baby, I know. It's only fair I indulge you after you've treated me so well, right?" He hummed with a smile, all the while his face indicating just how excited he was. 

He grunted quietly as he carefully rubbed his cock against her leaking folds, the two of them attempting to quiet their moans down to the best of their abilities. [F/N] could feel how the particularly protruding vein on the side of his cock rubbed against her pussy, sending tears to the corners of her eyes as she felt herself closer and closer to her release after being so well tended to by her lover. Lyney in turn kissed her tears away, his lips never leaving her face as he practically gulped down her moans to himself. After coating both her pussy with his pre and his cock with her bountiful juices he stopped, lining himself with her entrance before, with a glance shared, he carefully thrusted himself inside.

His hands gripped onto her knees, his lips shutting themselves tightly so as to not moan out as he often would. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to not voice much of the obvious pleasure he was feeling was a delightful view, [F/N]'s face blushing madly as she brought him closer. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she hid her face against his neck, her lips pressing against his skin as she quietly whimpered in pleasure. 

"Ah, Lyney!" She moaned quietly, her nails digging into his shoulders as his own sighs of pleasure hit her ear. 

"You're so tight, baby-" He in turn hissed gently, feeling how her spongy walls swallowed him whole as he finally bottomed out. His own hands were gripping harshly against her skin, the two of them sharing moans between one another even as his tip hit her deepest part. "Fuck, you're so wet. It feels so good."

"Please Lyney, give me more…" [F/N] pleaded to him, her eyes wide and glistening with pleasure as she leaned back for an instance. At that point she was once more leaning back against the rest of his vanity, granting him access to pound as deeply as his heart desired. The mere sight of her in such a way was enough for him to derail. 

"Archons, anything for you [F/N]." The magician grunted, his hands leaving her knees as his lips latched onto her own. 

By her own she was able to open her legs as widely as possible, the hem of her dress covering everything from the mid-thigh up as her hands were far too busy around his body. They wrapped around him tightly, effectively caging Lyney in between her much to his contentment. His own hands were busy holding her as close as possible, resting on her hips securely as to not knock her or anything else out, the items on his furniture tumbling slightly with every thrust he pounded into her needy core. With each time he bottomed out Lyney reached deeper, the tip of his cock effectively kissing her cervix as he molded her walls to his shape. He drank her every moan as if he worshiped all sounds she offered, his lips sucking on her tongue in such a lewd manner that he couldn't help but grin over how she squeezed him harder over it. 

"Hyaahhhh, Hinhey…" [F/N] attempted to moan his name out, her puffy lips parted as his own toyed with her tongue to his pleasure. 

He could feel the way she was milking him dry, her juices thoroughly coating his cock generously as her pussy practically praised and outright worshiped him. Her walls throbbed deliriously, sending him closer and closer to his edge as he fucked her through what he very well knew was her approaching orgasm. 

"Is my baby- Close?" He leaned back to speak, humming quietly while licking his own lips eagerly. He watched as she nodded her head quickly, her fingers combing through his hair slowly, deeply. Just how he loved it. "Here, cum for me will you? You can take me like this as you do, right baby?"

[F/N] bit her lip, nodding her head again. She watched how one of his hands left her hips, holding it up for her to take it. His girlfriend took it without thinking twice, their fingers lacing together before Lyney held them against his mirror, his pace quickening up. Once more he glued his lips to hers, never quite truly satisfied with her kisses just as much as he never quite got enough of her pussy. Her breath against him grew ragged, her moans growing ever louder, all while trying to suppress them in what he could only find the cutest whines. He bent her more, held her tighter, he pounded deeper into her. He could feel her moans vibrate against his mouth before she finally gasped, a high pitched sob being all she could muster before her inner walls violently spasmed around him, creaming his cock bountifully as she rode her high. Even still, just as he'd asked her to, Lyney continued to thrust, still as deeply albeit slower, letting her savor her release just as he quickly followed with his closing one. 

"Gyah, L-Lyney-!" [F/N] moaned against him, he in turn shushed her in understanding. "Mmm, t-to much!"

"I'm so close baby, so close…" He whispered, his thrusts a little less rhythmic as he tried to focus. His eyes opened to gaze deeply into hers, the sight of her red cheeks and unfocused eyes only edging him further deep into the abyss of pleasure. "Can you please take it just a little more? Just like this…”

“Mhm…” She eagerly nodded her head, the tears of overstimulation streaming down her face sending a long shiver down his spine. His free hand came to rest upon the side of her face, thumb clearing the tears away as his grip on her other hand tightened. “I-Inside, please.”

He bit his tongue gently as he smiled, nodding his head before pulling her head closer for a deep kiss. “Anything for my lovely lady.”

Against him she moaned, him in unison as he felt the knot deep inside himself finally snap. Lyney felt his eyes shut, a deep low grunt leaving his throat before he finally felt his release wash over him. He thrusted deeper still, his pace finally slowing down as thick ropes of seed flooded over [F/N]’s inner walls. Her womb was eager to receive the abundant load, being painted white from inside out as it overflowed whilst he still remained sheathed inside. Whilst their fingers were still locked she brought him closer, holding him tightly as her body shivered with the overstimulation. Lyney could feel his breath finally begin to slow down, a few final slow thrusts of his hips following as he moaned quietly, ensuring he was milked for all he was worth. He held his [F/N] close, as close as possible, their bodies finally relaxing as they rested atop his vanity, her body welcoming him closer as his seed leaked down and dropped onto the ground.

Even as she still regulated her breath, lips puffy and red and mascara slightly smudged from the sweat and tears, Lyney lunged forward, capturing her lips for the millionth time. Never satiated, like the greedy man he was at heart, he smiled against her as he enveloped her closer, relishing a moment longer. The silence that followed felt comforting, the two of them sighing in bliss as he felt her arms around his figure. 

“Sorry… It must’ve been uncomfortable to sit like that, on such a surface.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing softly as his thumbs cleared her smudged makeup as much as he could. Lyney dared not move, still not even wanting to pull out. It wasn’t as though he could anyway, for the way [F/N]’s legs captured him definitely sent a message for him to stay a little longer.

“Mhm, it’s fine… I enjoyed it all the same.” She smiled sheepishly, relishing in his soft touches as she in turn rearranged his side swept bangs. 

“I’m glad.” He sighed in relief, the pair too engrossed into one another to even notice how some bottles had tumbled over amidst their frolicking. “Still, next time I’ll be sure to make up for it, for all of it.”

“Lyney, truly it’s fine!” [F/N] laughed softly, finally opening her legs for him to move more freely. She watched in amusement how her boyfriend coughed softly upon noticing how heavy she leaked, rummaging through the room to find a towel he could dampen to help clean up. “Sorry… We might’ve taken too long, no?”

“Hey, if anything it’s my fault… It’s what I get for being so greedy.” He reassured her with a sincere smile, carefully helping her to clean up before dressing her back up. [F/N] watched as he fanned his face with his hand, the blush on his face still evident as she helped him dress up as well, a snicker escaping her pretty lips at the sight. 

“Well… I still… Very much enjoyed it.” [F/N] reiterated, her voice low as she helped him button up his undershirt. His smile was difficult to ignore, especially so as she helped him retrace the tear he would always paint on his right cheek. 

“...I did, too.” He pulled her closer by the waist, smiling in a devilish, albeit inoffensive manner. He pulled her closer, stealing a deeper kiss as he relished on the taste of her lips, hoping to steal some of her chapstick for himself so he could taste it all throughout his performance. As he pulled away, he whispered quietly to her, fingers playing with the end of her hair. “...Maybe next time we do this, I can have you turned to my mirror. The faces you make are simply delicious, my dear.”

The way [F/N]’s face turned to utter surprise was enough of a reaction, the magician following with a sneaky laugh as he pinched her behind as the cherry on top. In turn, his girlfriend gently slapped his arm, huffing as her cheeks turned bright red, his laughter becoming louder as a result.

“Lyney!” She groaned, nearly turning around from him in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby! Mostly.” He chuckled, embracing her before kissing her cheek with the usual level of endearment that was solely reserved for her. 

“Hmph…” She pouted, though both knew it wasn’t something to last long. “...Good luck on your show, honey.”

“After this? It’ll be the best show yet…” He in turn whispered, his forehead resting against her head as they quieted down. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” [F/N] smiled softly, them embracing one another before finally deciding to part.

Well, Lyney had always been energetic in his performances, yet there seemed to be an improvement on that particular one. True to his word, that performance definitely did do amazingly well, becoming the talk of the following weeks.

All thanks to his lucky charm.

[zaczenemiji]

Beach, Please

Tabito Karasu x Reader

Part 2 of Just Keep Swimming

Synopsis: Karasu finds himself enjoying the beach trip more than he expected.

Word Count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST

True to form, Karasu looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his arms crossed and his eyes scanning the area with barely concealed disdain.

“This place is a mess,” he muttered. “Sand everywhere, kids screaming. Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

“Like I said, you love me,” you replied with a grin, tugging on his wrist as you led him deeper into the beach. “And you’re secretly looking forward to seeing what I’d wear.”

He scoffed, but the faint twitch of his lips gave him away, “Debatable.”

You found a spot near the water but far enough from the crowd to satisfy Karasu’s need for “acceptable personal space.” Even then, he wasn’t satisfied.

“That family’s umbrella is blocking the breeze,” he pointed out, gesturing to the bright blue monstrosity a few feet away. “And look at that guy. He’s setting up his towel crooked. How hard is it to align it with the shore?”

You plopped your bag down and shot him an amused look, “Tabito, it’s a beach, not a lab. Not everything has to be perfect.”

“That’s the problem with society,” he grumbled, setting down the cooler he insisted on carrying. “People accept mediocrity.”

After setting up, you shed your cover-up, revealing the bathing suit you’d carefully picked for the day.

Karasu’s sharp gaze flicked to you immediately, his usual calm veneer slipping. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but then he snapped it shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed hard.

He wasn’t sure where to look—his gaze darted briefly to your legs, then to your shoulders, before locking onto your face with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

Karasu’s mind raced. He’d seen you dressed up before—in gym clothes, casual outfits, even formal attire—but this? It’s different in a way that made him momentarily forget how to string a coherent thought together.

“Something wrong?” you teased, clearly noticing the way his eyes lingered despite his attempts to play it cool.

Karasu’s pride kicked in like second nature, masking his flustered thoughts as he turned away.

“No,” he said, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “Just wondering if this is another one of your tricks to make me look like a fool.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the heat creeping up his neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting, his mind betraying him with thoughts he’d never admit aloud.

You stepped closer, brushing a speck of sand from his shoulder, and he caught a faint whiff of your sunscreen. His pulse quickened, and he cursed internally at how effortlessly you got under his skin.

He didn’t know whether to feel annoyed, impressed, or something else entirely.

One thing was certain, though: if anyone else so much as looked at you the wrong way today, they’d have to deal with him.

You leaned close to give him a peck on his warm cheek as you linked your arm with his, pulling him towards the water. He followed reluctantly, muttering complaints under his breath

“This water better not be freezing,” he said, dipping a toe in like it might bite him.

“It’s perfect,” you reassured him, stepping in without hesitation. “Come on, you survived swimming lessons. This is no different.”

Karasu scoffed, “It’s completely different. There are waves. Unpredictable variables.”

“Tabito,” you said, smirking over your shoulder. “If you spent half as much energy relaxing as you do complaining, you’d probably be enjoying yourself by now.”

He gave you a flat look but followed you in, stopping when the water reached his waist, “This is as far as I’m going.”

“Suit yourself,” you said with a shrug, diving into an oncoming wave. When you resurfaced, your hair slicked back and droplets glistening on your skin, you caught Karasu watching you.

You swam back to him, splashing water lightly in his direction, “You know, for someone great at everything, you’re kind of a chicken about waves.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not a chicken. I just don’t see the point in—”

Another splash cut him off as you grinned mischievously, “Oops. My hand slipped.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. Before you could react, he scooped up a handful of water and sent it your way.

The splash war that ensued was chaotic and loud, with Karasu eventually catching you and pulling you under in retaliation.

“Here comes the fun part,” you said, your excitement evident as you gestured toward the larger waves rolling in from the deeper part of the ocean.

“Your version of ‘fun’ always seems to involve me risking my life.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand to pull him forward, “Come on, you big baby.”

He sighed, allowing himself to be led. Karasu glanced back at the shore, his usual sharp confidence faltering just slightly.

“So what am I supposed to do when this thing comes for me?” he asked, eyeing the incoming wave like it owed him money.

“Simple,” you said, grinning up at him. “When the wave gets close, you jump. The water will lift you, and then you just land back on your feet.”

The first wave rolled toward you, small but steady, and you turned to him with an encouraging smile.

“Ready? Jump!”

You both leaped as the wave reached you. The water lifted you off your feet for a brief moment before setting you back down gently. You turned to see Karasu with a faintly surprised look on his face.

“That… wasn’t terrible,” he admitted begrudgingly, shaking his hair out like a wet crow.

The next few waves grew larger, and with each one, Karasu’s movements became more natural. His initial hesitation faded as he began to anticipate the timing of the waves.

Wave after wave, the two of you jumped and laughed, the salty air filling with your playful splashes. Despite his earlier protests, Karasu was clearly enjoying himself.

The waves had calmed to a gentle rhythm as the two of you drifted in the shallows. Both of you were breathing hard from the constant jumping and splashing, your laughter still lingering in the salty air.

“Okay,” you said, leaning your head back to catch your breath. “I think I need a break.”

Karasu smirked, running a hand through his soaked hair to push it back from his face, “Tapping out already? I was just getting started.”

You rolled your eyes, wading toward him, “Oh, please. I saw you gasping for air after that last wave.”

“Did not,” he shot back, though the slight huff in his voice betrayed him.

“You did,” you teased, poking his chest lightly.

Instead of firing back, he reached out and tugged you closer, his arms slipping around your waist. The sound of the waves seemed to fade as you felt his grip tighten slightly, his body warm against yours even in the cool water.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, swaying gently in the water as the ocean whispered around you as you rested your head against his shoulder.

“As much as I’d love to stay like this, I’m starving,” you said after a while.

The cool water slid off your skin as you emerged from the waves, your hair clinging damply to your shoulders. You squinted against the sun, brushing stray droplets from your arms while making your way to the picnic blanket you’d set up earlier.

Karasu was still behind you, wading slowly out of the water. He wasn’t in any hurry, enjoying the lull of the waves, until he noticed a group of guys lounging nearby, their eyes glued to you as you walked.

His sharp blue gaze narrowed.

The boys weren’t even subtle about it. One nudged his friend, who muttered something with a smirk, his eyes trailing after you.

Karasu’s jaw clenched.

You, oblivious to their attention, were busy setting out the food. Karasu, on the other hand, was striding purposefully toward the shore now, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and water dripping from his toned frame.

The guys didn’t notice him at first, too busy gawking at you. But when Karasu reached you, his arm looped firmly around your waist before you could even react.

“Babe,” you said, startled as he pulled you against him. “What—”

He didn’t answer right away, his attention locked on the group of boys. His sharp, territorial glare cut straight through them, making it abundantly clear that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Take a picture,” Karasu said coldly, his voice calm but laced with venom. “It’ll last longer.”

The boys froze, clearly caught off guard by his presence. One of them muttered something under his breath, and another laughed nervously, but none of them dared to meet Karasu’s piercing stare for long.

Satisfied that his message had been received, Karasu finally turned his attention to you.

“Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion.

“Fine,” he said, his tone softer now as he released you, though his hand still lingered on your waist. “Just making sure no one gets any ideas.”

You followed his gaze, realizing for the first time what had happened. “Oh,” you said, biting back a smile. “Were they…?”

Karasu scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair, “Idiots. Acting like they’ve never seen a girl before.”

“Well,” you said playfully, leaning closer to him, “Cab you blame them? I am wearing a very cute swimsuit.”

His eyes flicked to you briefly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk, “Yeah, you are. Can’t have anyone thinking you’re up for grabs.”

After finishing your meal, you and Karasu decided to grab some ice pops from a nearby beachside vendor.

Maybe it was the heat, or maybe you were just distracted by the way Karasu’s tongue flicked over his ice pop but you didn’t notice the melted droplets running down the stick of yours until it was too late.

A cold trickle slid down your chest, making you gasp. “Ah—” you exclaimed, looking down to see a streak of bright red liquid trailing down your chest and another drop landing on your thigh.

Karasu’s sharp gaze darted to you immediately. He sighed, setting his own popsicle aside to grab the napkin he’d tucked into the cooler earlier.

Before you could protest, he crouched beside you, dabbing gently at the sticky streak on your chest. The heat in your cheeks rose as his fingers brushed against your skin.

He finished wiping your chest, then turned his attention to your thigh. His hand rested lightly on your knee as he used the napkin to clean the stray droplet there.

You froze slightly at the contact, and he noticed, pausing to glance up at you. “Relax. I’m just cleaning up,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

When he was satisfied with his work, he straightened up, tossing the napkin into the trash bag.

For the rest of the day, the two of you spent the time enjoying the water together. Despite his earlier complaints, Karasu loosened up as the day went on. By the time you returned to the shore, both of you were sun-kissed.

As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you and Karasu walked hand in hand along the shoreline.

Every so often, he’d pull you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head or resting his chin on your shoulder.

The once-crowded beach had thinned out, leaving behind a peaceful quiet interrupted only by the soft crash of waves and the occasional call of seagulls.

“Today wasn’t so bad, was it?” you asked softly, your eyes fixed on the endless stretch of ocean before you.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m going to be scrubbing sand out of my shoes for days.”

You laughed, leaning into him as the two of you strolled along the water’s edge, “Admit it. You had fun.”

Karasu stopped walking, tugging you gently toward him. His free hand came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his blue eyes softly meeting yours.

“You looked happy today,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down to your cheek. “I liked seeing that.”

“You’re the reason why,” you replied honestly, your heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze softened further.

He slid his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His touch was warm and grounding, a stark contrast to the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

The two of you stood there for a while, swaying gently as the waves rolled in and out around your ankles.

As the sky shifted to twilight, he finally broke the comfortable silence. “Thanks for dragging me here,” he said softly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

Karasu turned to face you fully. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You make all of this worth it.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Karasu works

@anglefish3008 @sundaestuffy @oreopoodle @tsukiiis-stuff

[jokeringcutio]

Jealousy - Stepdad William Afton x Male Reader (SMUT)

Summary: When Stepdad William Afton comes home and sees you with a friend, he grows jealous. Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content (SMUT), Stepdad William Afton x Stepson Reader, not beta-read AN: I literally just wrote this now, hope you enjoy anon:

You tapped your pen against the notebook, eyes flitting between the scribbled equations and the clock. Your friend leaned over the table, his voice a hushed whisper laden with urgency.

"Come on, man, think. What's the next step in solving this?" he urged, tapping the paper where a complex algebra problem taunted you both.

"Isolate the variable," you murmured, but your concentration broke when the front door slammed shut with a resonance that seemed to ripple through the house.

"Damn it," you muttered under your breath, feeling the familiar knot of apprehension twist in your gut.

William Afton, your stepdad, loomed in the doorway like a dark omen. His shadow stretched long and ominous across the kitchen tiles, a harbinger of the mood that followed him home from whatever hellish workday he'd endured.

"Evening," he grunted, his voice gravelly, unused. He shrugged off his coat, movements stiff and deliberate, the fabric whispering threats as it slid down his arms.

Your friend's eyes darted toward the man, then back to you, an unspoken question hanging between you. But you knew better than to acknowledge the tension. You kept your focus on your homework, pretending the atmosphere hadn't shifted, pretending the air wasn't now thick with the sour tang of his displeasure.

"Long day at work?" you ventured, a feeble attempt at normalcy. Your stepdad was usually gruff when he got home – had never been soft since your mother’s passing a few years ago. But today his mood was exceptionally sour.

"Every damn day's a long day," William snarled, the sound of his work boots heavy against the floorboards as he trudged closer, his presence filling the room with a pressure that seemed to squeeze your chest.

You watched, heart pounding erratically, as William's eyes narrowed on you, the ghost of a scowl etched deep into his weathered face. He was a relic of a life before, a reminder of things best forgotten, things that lurked in the corner of your mind, clawing for attention.

"Focus on the problem," your friend said, but his voice wavered, betraying his calm facade.

"Already am," you replied, though your gaze never left William. You were caught in his gravitational pull, a moth too close to the flame, anticipation curling hotly in your belly.

His eyes, steel traps snapping shut, fixed on you. William's gaze burned, a silent blaze scorching through the room.

"Studying hard?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, each word a laden weight in the charged air.

"Trying to," you replied, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

Your friend shuffled papers, a nervous rustle amidst the growing storm. He must have sensed it – the electric crackle of William's mood, the kind that precedes lightning, dangerous and unpredictable.

"Think I'll head out," he muttered, scooping books into his arms with trembling hands. He was a pretty boy, one of the prettiest in your class. With a youthful blush on his cheeks, long black lashes and plump lips to die for. His chair scraped back, a desperate plea for escape etched into the sound.

"See you," you murmured, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. Your friend nodded and offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. And then he was gone. His footsteps retreated, a fading echo against the tense silence left in his wake.

The front door closed softly, a definitive click sealing your fate. Alone now, with him, the air seemed to shift, became thicker, laced with something unspoken but palpably present.

William moved, a shadow stretched across the floor, reaching for you with dark tendrils. You sat, still as stone, yet every muscle screamed to flee.

"Good riddance," You heard your stepdad say. There was a smile in his voice – but it was the kind that has teeth, sharp and unforgiving. The smile of a predator who has cornered his prey, and you, frozen in place, could only wait to see what form the pounce will take.

You tilted your chin up, eyes narrowing as you met his glare. Your spine straightened, an act of silent defiance. You knew what was coming; the unspoken challenge hung heavy between you. "Anything wrong, William?"

The title of 'stepdad' was stuck in your throat, a deliberate omission that does not go unnoticed. You did it on purpose, of course. Relieved to see your stepdad hadn’t been ogling your classmate. Relieved that envy radiated from his pores, a thick jealousy drenched with desire.

A desire for you.

Just as you wanted.

Just as you had allowed yourself to indulge in ever since you’d become of age. To tease him, to challenge him, to draw out that desire.

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking in his cheek. "Don't push me, boy," he warned, the words low, the threat clear and pointed.

"Didn't think I was," you replied, the edge to your voice was like a razor. Sharp, dangerous. You locked your gaze with his, unflinching, daring him to make the next move.

He moved swiftly, his large hand clamping around your arm with bruising intent. Roughly, he dragged you from the chair, your body a mere object to his force. "I've had enough of that clever mouth of yours."

"I could put it to good use, sir…” But your clever protest was crushed under his grip as he bent you over the table, punching the breath from your lungs. His other hand stroked past your shoulders, finding the back of your neck, pressing down hard, a vice of control.

"Time you learned some respect," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. Fear spiked through you, chased by a forbidden thrill. You were trapped, caught in the snare of his power, your body enjoying the struggle until your cock twitched tightly against the inside of your jeans.

"William..." It was a gasp, your voice strained. You were at the mercy of whatever was to come next. As expected, you didn’t have to wait long for your stepfather’s hands to leave your neck and pull your jeans down.

Leather bit into your ass, the sound of the belt cutting through the air amplified in the silent room. You cried out, the pain white-hot and searing, leaving you trembling. Your cock was heavy and leaking pre-cum against the table’s surface. You were grateful you had the table in front of you to rest upon since your legs threatened to give out.

"Teaching... you... a lesson," William grunted between each strike.

You gasped. The pain coiled in your stomach, roiling, insistent, and, to your disbelief, there was an answering heat. It was wrong, you knew it is, but the adrenaline, the edge of danger, sparked something deep within you.

“Think you can just date other boys?” You knew it wasn’t really a question. It was just William showing you what was on his mind, how he’d gotten worked up. His jealousy.

The belt stilled – your ass given a short reprieve. You moaned, suppressing a shiver when a cold liquid was dribbled generously into your hole, your muscles quivering. Goosebumps formed on your skin, you could see them on your bare forearms.

Suddenly, the belt dropped, clattering to the floor. A zipper could be heard as it lowered, and before you could process it, your stepfather’s hard length pressed against your entrance, seeking entry.

"No, William, we can't – "

"Oh, we can," he whispered, and then he was inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. You bit your lip, tasting blood as the sensation overwhelms your senses.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he thrust, brutal in his intensity. Each time he bottomed out left you gasping, your vision blurring.

"Feel that, boy? This is what happens when you disobey me." Panting, harsh.

You couldn’t form words, reduced to moans and whimpers as your body betrayed you, your cock rubbing painfully tight against the wooden surface of the table. It felt so, so good.

To feel your stepdad deep inside, the head of his cock battering that sweet spot deep inside. He knew just how to stimulate your prostate, drove into you like a pro – as if he hadn’t always had wives before you. As if he was used to making love to young men.

It must have been why you stayed, why you remained in his home after your mom died and you grew old enough to go to campus.

Faster and faster he pushes into you, his breathing labored in your ear, the smell of sweat and leather mixing, intoxicating. "You like it, don't you? You like being under my control."

"No," you breathed, but your voice was unsteady, a fractured denial. You sure as hell did.

Faster Daddy, deeper. But all that escaped you was another sinful moan. Sopping-wet sounds of the lubricant around your stepfather’s cock filled the room, betraying how easily he could slide into your tight hole. Your muscles spasmed, your fingers clawed at the wooden surface of the table – grasping nothing.

With a grunt, he picked up the pace. "Liar," he hissed, his grip on your hips bruising. "Gonna make you come, boy, and you're going to beg for it."

And that was the last straw; the humiliation, the pain, the pleasure, all of it crashed over you like a tidal wave. Just as you were about to come undone, he pulled out, and with a devilish smirk, jerked you off, milking your release onto your stomach and all over the kitchen table.

Gasping, spent, you collapsed onto the table, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching. You didn’t care having slumped down upon your own cum. All your mind repeated was the feel of your stepdad’s strong fingers around your own shaft as he pushed and pulled, the way his veined hands had worked the veined flesh, the way his thumb had brushed past the slit of your cock the moment you’d started to orgasm, how cum now coated his hand.

"Next time, think twice before you defy me," you heard his low voice like a growl behind you. You heard the wet sopping sounds of his hand on his cock, jerking himself off at a rapid pace before you heard the low grunt and felt the warm release hit your back.

You gasped for air, your body pulsing with every heartbeat, consumed by a heady mix of shame and satisfaction. The lingering ache between your legs was a reminder of how you crave more. So much more of him.

“No other man,” William started, his husky voice cracked, “or boy, may ever be inside of you. Got it? Just me. Only me.”

You lay sprawled across the cold surface of the kitchen table, every heaving breath a testament to the turmoil within. The aftermath clung to your skin – a mixture of sweat and something far more primal. His satisfaction filled the air, thick and suffocating like the summer humidity that sticks to everything it touches.

"Only you," you whispered, the vow etched deep into the marrow of your bones. It was a promise to yourself, a line drawn in the sand of your own will. You would not let anyone else breach your walls, seek solace inside your body. Your clenched fists were symbols of your newfound understanding, knuckles white as the fierce determination took root within you.

You turned to look at your stepdad, who was immaculately dressed once more. The trace of his spent dripped from your inner legs. His pants showed no stain. Everything was on you. You looked debauched, while he looked fatherly. Put together. In full control.

William straightened his tie with slow, deliberate motions, an air of ownership radiating from him. His eyes, dark and fathomless pits, reflected a twisted sense of achievement. They bore into you, heavy with unspoken words. Words that screamed of dominance and possession. He had exerted his control, marked you like you had silently begged for.

"Look at me," his voice commanded, low and gravelly. You resisted, but only momentarily. When your eyes finally met his, you saw the smug curl of his lips, the shadow of a man who reveled in the power he wielded.

"Good boy," he sneered, the condescension in those two words cutting deeper than any physical touch could. Each syllable was a brand upon your spirit, marking you as his in a way society would never condone.

He turned away then, leaving you alone with the echoes of what had transpired. But his departure did nothing to alleviate the weight of his influence. It lingered, a specter haunting the corners of the room, a reminder that he could – and would – return to claim what he considered rightfully his.

And boy… you couldn’t wait.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

wait omg what abt a love quinn x reader where reader walks in on her murdering someone??

I love this idea! I hope I did it justice <3

Love Knows Best (Love Quinn x fem reader)

Warnings: murder, panic attack, manipulation/gaslighting, Love is kind of toxic here tbh (but we love her anyway)

You weren't supposed to be there.

Love had counted on you not returning home for another hour or so, which would've given her the perfect amount of time to kill Milo and dispose of his body before you arrive. Unfortunately for her, that's not what happened.

You'd mentioned the day before how you were feeling uncomfortable with him hanging around still when he should've left for Bali already, and she happened to agree with you. So what did she decide to do about it? Make him disappear, of course.

Her plan was to get rid of him and then act sad and heartbroken about him "leaving" without telling her goodbye. Not only would the excuse make perfect sense, but with him out of the picture she could focus more on her relationship with you. Not to mention you'd certainly be a good shoulder for her to cry on as she pretended to be upset over his sudden departure.

That was the plan, anyway. But it didn't work, because she left out an important variable to her little "what if" scenario- you. She hadn't expected you to get home so early.

She couldn't hear the door unlock or your footsteps coming down the hall over the sound of her own heart beating in her chest, the knife in her hand quickly darting out to slice open his throat as he stood there in front of her.

"Love?"

Your voice made her freeze, and she slowly turned to face you with an almost frantic look. "Baby..." she murmured out the pet name, her gaze full of affection, though you were too focused on the dead body to notice.

"Wh- What did you do to him?" Your voice sounded incredibly panicked, and she couldn't really say she blamed you. "W- Why did you kill him?"

"It was self defense," she blurted out as the first thing that popped into her mind, remaining surprisingly calm given the fact she just killed someone while you were desperately trying not to start spiraling at the graphic scene. "I told him that I didn't want to see him anymore, and he got angry with me. I had to stop him before he did something bad."

Despite trying her best to sound sincere, you didn't look as though you believe her words in the slightest. "N- No, I- I saw you. He was just standing there, and then- then you killed him-" You let out a choked sob as you tried not to panic, your vision growing blurry as a sudden wave of lightheadedness overtook you.

"You don't know what you saw," came out her reply in a sharper tone than you were used to, one that she only used when she was frustrated. Her gaze softened, however, when she saw you on the verge of a panic attack. "Baby... Baby, hey, look at me," she gently coaxed while reaching out to take your face in her hands, trying to get you to focus on her and not the dead body on the floor.

"You killed him!" You wailed hysterically as you tried to pull away from her, something that made her eyes narrow in irritation.

"I did it to protect myself, and I did it to protect you," she snapped in a much harsher tone than you were used to. "I did it for us. I did it to help keep us safe. Don't act like you wouldn't do the same for me."

"N- No... I wouldn't kill anyone..." You insisted, your breathing shallow and quick as you really began to panic at her words.

"You would to protect me," she insisted as she moved her hands from your face down to your shoulders, her fingers digging into the skin there as she spoke. "People think that he already left for Bali, so that's what we're going to say happened. If anyone asks, we haven't seen or heard from him since yesterday, understood?"

It was hard to respond giving the fact that you were currently hyperventilating, but you did your best to nod regardless, not in full control of your actions. She was getting you to be an accomplice to her crime, and you were just letting her do it.

"Good. Now, I'm going to clean up the body, and later tonight we're going to go dump it where no one can find him." She leaned in and pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. "I won't let anything happen to us, okay? I promise."

All you could do was stand there, frozen with fear and shock as you watched her begin to get rid of the mess she made. She wasn't at all who you thought she was, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

You trusted her. You used to, at least, before all of this. You wanted to believe that she was telling you the truth, that it was self defense, an accident, whatever kind of lie that could be used to cover up your girlfriend being a killer.

Besides, there was no way you could leave even if you wanted to. The Quinn family practically owned the LA police department, and there was no way they'd open an investigation into Milo's murder with their daughter as the prime suspect. You were stuck.

But maybe it wouldn't be all bad. After all, she said she did it to protect you. Maybe she really did love and care about you, in her own way.

And just like the saying went, love could conquer all. You supposed in a situation like this, it meant that love knew best, too. Your Love did, anyway, and she wasn't going to let you think otherwise.

End notes: I feel like the ending might've been a little wonky but I hope you liked it regardless <3

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[rinixo]

variables

Tech/Reader | 1.5k | Rated E | smut, afab!reader, oral sex, Tech pov (mainly), Tech internal thoughts, slight possessive!Tech

He had never been one for flowery words, but as he closed his eyes he realized he understood now what the poets meant about devouring one another.

a/n: originally started out as a follow-up to auxilium, but ended up just being better as a stand-alone.

read on ao3

Tech’s sat on your floor, surrounded by communicator parts. He had offered to repair it for you when you mentioned it was malfunctioning. You had agreed, knowing that even if you said it was fine, you'd find it missing one day and returned, good as new, the next.

He comes over to your place more often, now. The first few times you had hovered anxiously, unsure of if you should find some way to entertain him, worried that you were boring him.

"I enjoy being in your company," Tech had stated matter-of-factly, halting your nervous fussing. Since then, you’d relaxed, going about your own activities while he worked on various projects.

He had built you some clever devices, intended to make your life easier. A tea kettle that would ping to your wrist comm, letting you know when it was at the perfect brewing temperature. A sensor on your door that actually worked, so you didn’t have to risk opening it up just to find some drunk passed out on your step.

Tech struggled to give voice to his feelings. He sometimes lacked the nuance that came easily to others regarding certain topics. It was easier for him to simply do. Every time he soldered a wire or tightened a bolt, it was a little testament to his affection towards you.

The sound of the bathroom door caught his attention. He watched as you emerged, toweling your damp hair, dressed only in underwear, content to let the rest of your body air dry.

He appreciated that you felt comfortable enough to share some of your quirks around him. In fact, Tech appreciated many of the small habits he observed in you - this one included, and not just because you were bare. Sometimes, he found himself musing about them while waiting for data to compile or during hyperspace journeys.

The way you flip your tools in your hands idly. There was a callus on one of your fingers, from the friction, and he could sometimes feel it when you touched him in certain sensitive places.

The lines between your eyes, when you frown. The subtle asymmetry of your brows, one rising higher than the other.

He likes that you don’t roll your eyes when he rambles, sitting through many impromptu lectures in good grace. The way that you’ll remember where he last left off, ask genuine questions, and invite him to continue.

He appreciated how he could sense when you wanted him to kiss you: your eyes darting to his lips, hands tensing and relaxing.

He cherished the tremble of your skin under his touch, whether his palm was spread over your abdomen or between your shoulder blades.

You sat on the edge of your bed, towel draped over your arm, looking humorously at the parts spread out on the ground.

“You’re going through a lot of trouble for me,” you joke. “I’d still like you even if you didn’t fix everything I own.”

“It’s no trouble,” Tech replies softly. Your knee is next to his head, droplets of water evaporating into the dry air. He can see the goose prickles on your skin.

A soft smile on your lips. “Don’t you have to go soon?”

Tech hums thoughtfully. His squamates were becoming suspicious of his increased absences. It was Echo who had approached the topic most directly, weeks ago on a long hyperspace transit back to Ord Mantell.

Tech didn’t know exactly why it bothered him or why he felt somewhat possessive over the knowledge. Over you. He had kept his tone neutral in response, hoping Echo would get the hint that it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. The former ARC trooper didn’t look convinced but had dropped the subject.

It didn’t stop him from paying you a visit the very next day, however. And the day after that. And most days since then.

“Yes,” Tech decides. “But I want to be here.” Placing his hands on your knees, he pushes himself up and over you. You eye him, leaning back to keep his face in view.

He slots himself over your body, pressing his nose just above your belly button. Your skin, still slightly damp, smells wonderful.

“Tech," you mewl halfheartedly. “I just washed…”

He trails his nose down to the apex of your thighs. “You can wash again,” he breathes, kissing the fabric of your panties over your mound.

You must realize it’s a lost cause because you lean back with a sigh and throw an arm over your tired eyes.

He kisses you through the fabric, suckling softly, The fabric grows wetter between his tongue and your slick. He can see the color of your skin through the translucency, swollen and waiting for him. But he has the time, and the patience, and the desire to make this last.

Pulling the fabric to the side, he flicks his tongue over your clit, making you squirm. Your thighs twitch, and he knows you want to prop them up. He obliges you in this way, letting one of them lift over his shoulder. The other he pats, enjoying the plush way they mold under his hand.

More than one previous lover had made remarks about ‘using his mouth for other things’, insinuating that his clever tongue could be used for more than wit. It had never really sat well with him before, the suggestion that he was too much, too talkative, that his mouth would be more useful to them elsewhere.

Tech didn’t feel that way about you. He could spend hours between your legs, memorizing you through touch and taste alone. He took great offense at leaving any job half-done, and this was no exception. He wasn’t satisfied until you were satisfied, and even then he would be so hyper-focused at times that it wasn’t until you’d pry him away with shaking hands that he’d realize you were moments away from passing out from pleasured exhaustion.

Tech moves the hand on your thigh down to ease two long fingers into you. Glancing up, he can see those lines between your brows, eyes screwed shut. He feels you tense and then relax, caught between adjusting to the new sensation and giving in to the continued assault from his mouth.

He’s careful, delicate almost. His tongue curls around your clit, his teeth just barely creating pressure. You pulse with it and he releases, wanting to draw this out further. He likes when you’re desperate for it, writhing and rambling nonsense. It won’t be until you’ve begged, pleaded, bargained that he’ll let you come. Tech likes to be awash in your praise - it makes his cock throb to hear how good he does it, how good he makes you feel.

It’s more than just physical pleasure, too. Tech supposes he could have stopped himself from falling in love with you. Love was powerful and dangerous. It wasn’t predictable and defied attempts at pathology. It required one to give up control and give in to vulnerability. It wasn’t logical, and it wasn’t something he had ever prioritized before. Lust was much simpler in comparison.

You threw unknown variables into the carefully charted graph of his mind, his perception of who he was, and his place in the galaxy.

It was overwhelming, at times. Something that would need to be parsed out eventually, tallied, and taken inventory of. But for now, he channeled it into attending to your body, focusing solely not on what he thought but on what he could feel, on the lust coursing through him.

The shadows on the wall change and the dimmed lights click on before Tech’s finished with you, pulling back to see you panting. This was some of his best work so far, he thinks, wiping his chin absently. His cock, pressing against his blacks, is achingly hard. He lets it pulse as he watches you, enjoying the edging sensation. He’ll let you decide, once you’ve gathered yourself, if you’d like to go any further. And if you decide that you’re tapped out, that’s all right - just as much as he likes to feel your mouth on him or be buried in your cunt, he likes to sit back and have you watch him stroke himself until he’s coming hard over his hands or spraying over your stomach.

You’ll attempt to apologize later, but he’ll quiet you with his lips. Why should you apologize, when you’ve given him as much as you have? When he desires you so intensely? When you sate the monstrous appetite he didn’t know he possessed? He’d have to find the time, the courage, to figure out what it all meant. What he wanted, what you wanted, and what - realistically - was possible.

But now was not that time, he knows, as you push yourself up and pull him closer. Tech holds your head as your trembling hands pull down his blacks, breath leaving him shakily through his nose as you take him into your mouth.

He had never been one for flowery words, but as he closed his eyes he realized he understood now what the poets meant about devouring one another.