#mutual objectification

[i-am-a-fan]

*knocks on door*

do you ever think about Robots and their themes of perfectionism and cyborgs and the inherent idea that they usually can come to view themselves as flawed-?

you should really not open this can of wires…

[rawliverandgoronspice]

oh no I stopped working for five minutes and remembered I love he...................... ;;

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

HE'LL BE IN A LITTLE MAID COSTUME AND BOA?? HELLO ITS GOOD

POINTS WERE MADE

[broke-bruce-wayne]

I need to know if this actually tells you I am one of your mutuals. You can probably guess which mutual.

If you're talking about in notifications, this is how it shows up, so no

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)

⊱ Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair ⊰ || NSFW Alphabet (A-Z) Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化, Separate) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns, No Sex-Specific Genitalia is Mentioned but it was Written with an AFAB Reader in Mind) Warning(s): 18+ Content, Virgin Asexual Author, Cum Eating, Facials, Minor Objectification, Cuckoldry, Mutual Masturbation, Face-fucking, Sexual Fantasies, Tickling, Praise/Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink/Creampies, BDSM, Overstimulation, Orgasm Control/Denial, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Hair-pulling, Light Impact Play, Light Breathplay, Implied Cunnilingus/Blowjobs, Cock Warming, Mention/Discussion of Sex Toys… If I missed anything, please let me know! Genre: Headcanons, Smut (Minors Do Not Interact), Fluff Word Count: 7,200 words Request: “Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)” Author’s Note: I’m still very much working on getting better at writing spicier content, and I had no clue how to start writing these kinds of headcanons from scratch, so I went ahead and just filled out the NSFW Alphabet for both Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair as a jumping off point! It’s definitely interesting to think about how both of these characters would be in a sexually intimate setting, especially since – at least in my mind – they’d be quite different from each other in a variety of aspects even if they did have some overlap on a few of the points. I did my best to keep each of their headcanons at a similar word length (which was kind of hard to do with my Mr. Crawling bias, but I think I accomplished it haha). Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcanons! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

👣: Mr. Crawling is immensely clingy after having sex, holding onto you and pretty much refusing to let go as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. While he doesn’t want to get up from the bed or leave after the two of you have been intimate, if you’re hungry or thirsty or if you want to go take a bath, he’s happy to go fetch you something to restore your energy or help you to the bathroom to clean up. He’s quite good at aftercare, even if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing counts as it. Mr. Crawling just likes making you feel good, and he wants to keep you safe and happy! His favorite thing to do is help you bathe; he enjoys the way the warm water feels on his skin while he washes your back for you. 

💉: Mr. Silvair isn’t too affectionate after the two of you are intimate, but he’ll check up on you and ask if you need him to get you anything. If your wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints he had placed on you, he would make sure to carefully wrap gauze around your irritated skin. If you were thirsty or hungry, he would locate something safe for you to consume to get your strength back up. If you feel sticky or gross afterward, he’ll carefully wipe your body with a wet cloth to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He lets you sleep and typically goes about his own business. Sometimes, though, Mr. Silvair finds himself watching over you to make sure you’re breathing steadily, carefully combing his fingers through your hair. 

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t have a favorite part of your body since he honestly enjoys every aspect of you but, if he had to choose, he loves your hands. He knows that they can hurt people and cause a lot of pain, but he loves the way they feel when you cup his face to softly caress it or whenever you thread your fingers through his hair. For himself, Mr. Crawling loves his hair the most (I know it’s not technically a body part, but I think it makes the most sense for him); he pretty much melts whenever you play with it, and his head is quite sensitive, so he blue screens whenever you pull at his hair or rake your nails across his scalp. I also feel like Mr. Crawling would be proud of his arms since they’re fairly toned considering they’re his primary means of getting around. Because of his impressive strength, despite what his thinner frame may portray, he’s able to hold you up and move you around with relative ease (he 100% can manhandle you, but only will if you’re cool with it). 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds every aspect of your body fascinating, and he could probably explain why each part of you was interesting from a medical perspective or that everything was pleasant to look at in one way or another. If he had to pick a favorite part of your body, though, he would have to say it’s your head (I know, kind of weird, but he does appreciate your intelligence and, well… Ending 06 is my other piece of reasoning haha). Specifically, though, he likes your mouth. He enjoys being able to hold your head in place while your jaw hangs open, all while he just goes to town while you drool and choke around his cock. Don’t worry, though – he’ll find some remedy to lessen the soreness you feel in your throat afterward. For himself, he’s quite proud of his hands. Mr. Silvair is skilled at many things, and being able to make you come undone with his fingers alone makes him feel a sense of power (plus, you called them pretty once, and it made him feel good). 

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

👣: Mr. Crawling gets extremely flustered whenever he sees his cum on any part of your body, from your hair to your face to your stomach. The sight of it alone on your skin makes his brain short-circuit and body flare up – it only makes him want to touch you even more. He likes being able to clean you up, too, leaning forward before he runs his tongue along your body or face, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of his cum left on you (even if now it meant you were covered in saliva…). He doesn’t mind tasting himself, but it most certainly doesn’t compare to your flavor. 

💉: I probably need to ask you to stay with me on this one, but I think Mr. Silvair would probably keep your cum stored away in a sample tube or something along those lines, having a desire to run tests on it to see what he could create. Views your cum as a valuable resource in his research...yay? Maybe he could even use your release to invent some kind of lubricant since that’s not easily accessible in the other world and make having sex much more streamlined… or he just keeps it around to show you later and see your reaction to the fact he keeps your cum stored away in his laboratory to tease you. 

D: Dirty Secret

👣: The thought of taking you in public, in a space where no one but you could see him, makes his mind race and his body feel like it was on fire – this man can act like a feral dog sometimes. I mean, even you sometimes forgot he was there, unable to see his form unless you concentrated hard enough, so imagine if the two of you went out somewhere in public and he (with your consent, of course), just started touching you? Groping your ass, his face between your legs as he runs his hands along your inner thighs… no one can see that it’s him making your face flush and not the excuse of a fever you told the concerned stranger in the hopes they would leave you alone. When you half-heartedly glare at him to try and get him to lay off for a bit, he just laughs at your expression… how rude!

💉: Mr. Silvar wouldn’t be opposed to having a threesome with another resident of the other world. After all, he would be curious to see how differently you acted when another person was there with the two of you, or if your body reacted in an unlikely way if another were to touch you. While I will not write NSFW for Mr. Chopped (the power dynamic there isn’t my favorite thing in the world), he would be the one Mr. Silvair would feel most at ease sharing you with; Mr. Crawling or Mr. Hood would be his second and third choices respectively since he knows how deeply you trust them. He might not even partake in sex either, just sitting off to the side while he lets another use you like a toy. As long as you know your his, though, he doesn’t mind watching you enjoy yourself with another (he has to be there, though). 

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

👣: Mr. Crawling has absolutely zero experience with this kind of stuff, so he would need someone willing to walk him through the whole process, show him what you like, and teach him what and what not to do. What he lacks in experience, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm. It’s quite flattering how determined he is when it comes to making you feel good, even if it’s a bit sloppy and unpracticed. His thrusts are extremely unpredictable, never quite finding their rhythm… It’s alright, though; he’ll definitely get better with more time and the more he gets to understand what your body likes. You just have to give him the time to improve, and he’ll be certain to leave you breathless. 

💉: Mr. Silvair also has no experience when it comes to sex, or at least not any while he’s resided in the other world. He is a life-long learner through and through, though, and there’s nothing in the universe he’s not willing to learn about, especially if it has to do with humans and their anatomy. His thrusts are frighteningly accurate, being able to hit your most sensitive inner spots with ease to have you begging him to give you a moment to breathe. He’s an almost terrifyingly fast learner, too, being able to apply whatever new information he’s observed and gathered within moments. He can do it perfectly, too, and he does it in a way that has you questioning whether he was telling the truth when he said this was his first time doing anything like this. 

F: Favorite Position

👣: When it comes to favorite positions, Mr. Crawling loves being able to hold you close to him while also being able to see your face (he has to kiss you during sex – sorry, I don’t make the rules). He enjoys the rocking horse position since it allows him to be able to hold you close while still being able to maintain eye contact with you and easily have access to cover your face in kisses. While he prefers being the one making you feel good, Mr. Crawling would also enjoy the cowgirl position. He’s happy to let you use him to your heart's content while being able to look up and soak in the pleased look that’s plastered across your features while you slam your hips up and down on his cock. 

💉: Mr. Silvair personally enjoys the butterfly position, having you lay on your back atop his operation table all while he can watch and take mental notes on every single facial expression you make and every single twitch of your muscles while he drives you absolutely insane. He would also enjoy missionary, but he would spice it up a little bit by having your hands or wrists tied to something. After all, he doesn’t want you to touch him unless he says you can – just lay there quietly while he completely wrecks you with that annoyingly calm expression on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy when you touch him, though. Mr. Silvair simply prefers being the one in charge and determining when and where you’re able to feel his skin beneath your hands. 

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

👣: Acts goofy most of the time during sex, even if he doesn’t mean to. He likes being able to make you happy, and he finds your laughter to be music to his ears. Sometimes you two will be having sex, and he’ll suddenly start giggling completely unprovoked, just finding the experience with you so joyful. Being with you in any capacity makes his chest feel light and fluttery as a sense of giddiness flows through his veins. He’ll wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck, causing your body to spasm and tighten around him while his long hair drapes over you and tickles your skin. Overall, Mr. Crawling enjoys being more playful when the two of you are intimate since it adds to the overall experience for him. 

💉: Prefers to be serious while having sex. He treats the whole process of intercourse like one would treat a research project which, honestly, can make you feel a bit annoyed in some instances (Mr. Silvair still doesn’t quite understand why, though). He’s methodical in everything he does, and being light-hearted or purposefully humorous isn’t high on his list of things to do. He has no problem if you want to be silly, however. He finds it cute when you try to see if you can make him chuckle. It endears you to him more, and it makes him want to keep you around for even longer. The only goofy thing he does is gently run his fingers up and down your sides while thrusting into you, finding the way your body wriggles and writhes away from his touch to be adorable. 

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

👣: I think Mr. Crawling would have fairly long hair beneath the metaphorical belt. His pubic hair would be thick, curly, and a very dark shade of black. He doesn’t really keep himself groomed (kind of hard to do in his world, plus it was never a priority for him), but if you would prefer him to keep it trimmed, he’d be happy to! He doesn’t care one way or another. 

💉: Mr. Silvair comes off to me as someone who would enjoy keeping themselves groomed and their appearance well-maintained, and I mean every inch of his body. I think he would have either no pubic hair or pubic hair that was trimmed to be the perfect length. If he did have any hair below the belt, it would be a gray color, one that was a shade darker than his regular hair and wavy in texture. 

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

👣: One of the more human-like members of the cast when it comes to his affections; he’s as romantic as a non-human being can be. Mr. Crawling loves holding you close as he ruts into you like a wild dog, whispering praises against your skin. He even tries his best to learn phrases in your language so he can tell you how much you mean to him without you having to try and decipher it. He’s always so, so soft with you when you two are having sex. He’s honored that you’d let him have you in such a way, and finds your trust in him heartwarming – he trusts you, too, with his entire heart and soul. 

💉: Mr. Silvair canonically doesn’t comprehend the concept of “liking” or loving someone, so that also translates into sex with him. All he knows is that he finds you entertaining to be around and that he’s somewhat endeared to you at this point. He’s not romantic but, in between teasing you and making you cry (whether it be in frustration or overstimulation), he’s checking in on you to make sure that you’re still comfortable. He knows sex can be invasive, and he’s aware of how much regard the act is held in by some people in your world, so he does his best to respect that... Even if he does need to check himself every now and again. 

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them masturbates much because they simply don’t have a desire or time to do so. Mr. Crawling would rather wait for you to be there so you two can enjoy yourselves together, and Mr. Silvair simply has more important matters to attend to. That’s not to say they never masturbate, though, it’s just typically a rare occurrence. 

👣: Mr. Crawling typically masturbates by rutting up against something, like a pillow, rather than taking himself in his hand. His thoughts before meeting you were just focusing on the physical sensation of his cock sliding against the fabric of his clothing, but now he finds himself thinking of you – the way your voice sounds when you coo sweet words in his ear, the warmth of your body. Imagining your hands gently touching his chest and hips makes him cum right then and there, almost embarrassingly quickly… Yeah, he’s down bad. 

💉: Mr. Silvair treats masturbating as a chore. He’d much rather be doing something else than leaning against the wall of his operation room while his hand goes absolutely ham on his dick. He knows which areas on his body get the most reaction, so he purposefully presses all of his buttons just so he can be done with it quicker. This doesn’t change after meeting and getting to be intimate with you, though, he still sees it as a chore… Just now he imagines cumming on your face or inside you whenever he finally reaches his climax. 

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

👣: 

Mutual Masturbation: He likes spending time with you and doing things together, so why not spend some time watching each other explore yourselves? He likes observing you as you touch yourself, making mental notes of every spot on your body that have you biting your lip and furrowing your brows. While I wouldn’t say he’s into voyeurism since he does like being with you while you touch yourself instead of tucked away in the shadows just watching, he focuses more on the way your hands touch and caress your skin instead of focusing on the way he moves his hands across his body. Doesn’t last very long doing this, though, eventually pouncing on you and touching you himself.

Overstimulation (Giving): Mr. Crawling loves overstimulating you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it half of the time. He just enjoys seeing you become a blabbering mess all because of him; he takes great pride in being able to make you feel good. However, the first time you started crying because he was simply giving you too much, he felt so guilty – the poor man was on the verge of tears thinking he made you feel bad. 

Praise Kink: While praising you is a bit more difficult considering the language barrier and the limited amount of words and phrases he has to choose from, he still loves doing it. Muttering against your skin how you’re doing such a good job, how he loves you so much, how you make him so happy. Mr. Crawling definitely makes sure to reassure you both inside and outside of the bedroom. 

Hair Pulling (Receiving): He loves, loves, loves it whenever you take his hair in your hand and give it a firm tug. Mr. Crawling enjoys it whenever he’s going down on you and you take his hair into your hands and push him even closer, making him become fully immersed in your scent and taste. 

Sensation Play: While Mr. Crawling may not enjoy more painful experiences, he does like general sensation play quite a bit. He likes the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin while you pepper his flesh with gentle kisses and nips. He enjoys tickling you while his hips sensually thrust in and out, feeling the way you squeeze around him as breathless and airy giggles escape past your lips. He loves whispering into your ear while running his tongue along it before taking your lobe between his teeth and lightly tugging.  

💉: 

Breeding Kink/Creampie: Mr. Silvair, after learning more about human reproduction, has a deep-seated curiosity regarding whether or not the two of you would be able to have offspring. That’s kind of what starts this particular kink for him – he wants to know if you both are sexually compatible in that aspect, and he is curious what the resulting child would look and act like if they were born in the other world. If you’re unable to give birth or get pregnant, even if his initial interest in breeding is certainly from a more scientific aspect, he still finds the image of you full of his seed while it drips down the curve of your ass to be quite arousing. 

Bondage/Shibari (Giving): He enjoys tying you up and pinning you down, being able to have full control over you in the bedroom. He’s perfectly content if you agree to light bondage, like having your hands restrained, and would never ask you to do anything more than that. However, if you trust him enough and feel comfortable doing some more intense bondage, he’s not going to complain. Would definitely be interested in the art of shibari, finding the way the rope looks pressing into your skin tantalizing. 

Orgasm Control/Denial (Giving): Another kink that feeds into his desire for control. Mr. Silvair enjoys being the one in charge of your release, and he likes seeing how far he can push you until you finally break and plead for him to let you cum. He loves seeing how stupid and desperate he can make you, sometimes with just his fingers alone. 

Overstimulation (Giving): Much like orgasm control/denial, he likes pushing you to your breaking point. However, unlike the previous bullet, he likes seeing how much stimulation you can take until you’re crying for him to stop. He thinks it’s fascinating, seeing how quickly your desire for his touch can change – one moment you’re begging for him to touch you, and the next you’re weakly pushing his hand away. He does eventually relent, of course, but only after letting you cry for a bit. 

Dacryphilia: There’s something about seeing your tear-streaked face that makes it feel like he’s just been hit with an arrow in his chest. It’s endearing and oh-so cute the way you look while you sob all because he’s making you feel that good. It makes him feel proud, in a way, seeing you in such a pathetic state all because of him. 

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

👣: He enjoys having sex with you on a bed (boring, I know), but he likes the softness of the mattress and the many pillows and blankets that can be used to bring even more comfort by keeping the heat from your bodies trapped. He also likes taking you in small, enclosed spaces, like an empty locker or cabinet (sorry folks with claustrophobia). Much like the reasoning with the bed, he likes how the smaller space forces you both to be immensely close to each other. Plus, these spaces bring him comfort, so why not mix the two things that make him feel safe together? 

💉: Either in his laboratory/operation room or in one of the many different cages or prison cells that he has access to (bonus points if you allow him to chain you up hehe). Mr. Silvair doesn’t need a soft mattress or pillows to enjoy sex with you. He’s fine taking you on his operation table or the cold concrete floor of the small prison cell, even if your back moving up and down across the ground rubs your skin raw. He’ll patch you up after, no worries, but he doesn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to have an enjoyable time. 

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

👣: Sweet words and gentle touches. The other world is one full of violence and death, one where survival trumps all else. While there are entities like him who only resort to violence when either their safety or the safety of someone they’re fond of is in danger, it’s still not a happy or bright place to exist. Mr. Crawling does what he can to enjoy life, laughing in situations that probably aren’t even that funny just to try and make existing more enjoyable. Then you come along and make him feel cared for – loved – and safe, and he’s never been happier. Being able to lay with you, to feel you clench around his cock with your warmth while you pepper kisses across his face and let him know how good he is… Yeah, this is the life. 

💉: Power and control. He enjoys being able to restrict your movement, being able to dictate when and where you’re allowed to cum and, if you disobey him, he’ll punish you with a sadistic smile on his face. However, he would be lying if he said that was all. Mr. Silvair thinks the fact you trust him with your safety – your life, your heart, your existence – gets him going, whether he realizes it or not. Trusting another in the other world showcases how much two people believe in the fact the other would not do anything to purposefully harm them, and you feel that way toward him (and he feels the same toward you). Whenever you call out his “name,” the one you had given him, he finds his hips unconsciously moving even faster at the sound...

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

👣: Anything involving pain would be a hard no for Mr. Crawling, both giving and receiving. Even though his senses are dull and what would be extremely painful for a human wouldn’t be for him, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy being harmed. When it comes to hurting you in any way, that’s pretty much something he will never concede on. He doesn’t want to do a single thing to hurt you, even if it’s an enjoyable kind of pain. 

💉: Pretty much nothing is off the table for him – Mr. Silvair enjoys experimenting, and that’s no different for him in the bedroom. The only extremely hard no would be coprophilia since he just doesn’t see the appeal nor does he want to test to see if he would like it or not. I also feel like he wouldn’t necessarily want a bratty partner or a partner who is constantly trying to take control back in the bedroom. 

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

👣: Loves giving oral 101%, and he will give it to you anywhere – in public, in private, while you’re sleeping (with your consent, of course). Mr. Crawling adores having his mouth on you, being able to taste every single part of you while his tongue forces its way inside you, feeling your release dripping past his lips or dribbling down his chin… You taste good, too, better than anything he’s ever had before; he might get addicted to it, to be honest. He eats you out/blows you like a man starving, wanting a chance to have a taste and make you cry out his name while you pull harshly on his black locks and encourage him to keep going. He’s very enthusiastic about it, too, putting in so much effort and energy to get you cumming on his face or in his mouth. 

💉: Prefers giving oral over receiving it, but it’s not his favorite thing to do either way. It’s nothing personal, he just prefers using his hands, his cock, or a toy to get you off rather than his mouth. If he does allow you to give him a blowjob, he’ll place a collar around your neck and pull on the chain if you get cheeky – after all, he’s the one in charge here. Mr. Silvair enjoys making you kneel in front of him, watching you with a small smile as you take him into your hands and pump once or twice before taking him into your mouth. If the rare occurrence happens when he gives you head, you better thank the universe. He looks so hot, holding your thighs apart while he slowly runs his tongue along your length/slit and teases you until you’re asking him to touch you more. 

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)  

👣: Enjoys the slower and sensual side of things, but he typically can’t control himself as soon as he’s inside of you, so he ends up being somewhat fast and rough (not all the time, though... his thrusts remain immensely unpredictable no matter what, and he never seems to find a good rhythm to follow). Mr. Crawling enjoys the intimacy of sex, and he finds comfort in the closeness of your bodies while you two are connected at the hips. He loves being able to hold your hands and place kisses across your cheeks. Sometimes, he’s so caught up in the act of showering you with words of praise and sweet displays of affection that he forgets the fact he’s currently inside you and is supposed to be moving. He does see the appeal of rougher sex, though – it makes him feel almost animalistic whenever you two decide to set the pace for the night. 

💉: Mr. Silvair can quickly switch between the two, sometimes almost at a break-neck speed, to the point it feels like you got whiplash from the sudden change of deep and slow thrusts to fast and somehow even deeper ones (he’s very precise when it comes to hitting those sweet spots inside of you – it’s actually kind of terrifying how quickly he can locate them). He pretty much does whatever he thinks will get the most reaction out of your body and acts accordingly – nothing more, nothing less. He tends to prefer rougher and faster sex, enjoying the noises the quick snap of his hips can draw out of your mouth. However, sometimes, he finds himself preferring a slower and softer pace. This way, he’s able to focus on and truly soak in the expression on your face and appreciate the way your body feels under his palms (this sometimes just leads to you cock warming him). 

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down for anything at any time. Pretty much, if you ask him to have sex, he’ll happily do it for you. Need him to eat you out or give you a blowjob, he’ll gladly oblige! After all, he is always pretty much kneeling, so he’s not being made to go out of his way to do it (even if he would go out of his way to please you). Want something more than just his tongue? That’s perfectly fine, too! There’s a private room over there he’ll gladly take you in, or maybe you’d want to try doing it in the empty locker? He’ll try not to take too long, but it’s hard since he loves being able to enjoy you to the fullest. So, Mr. Crawling can do quickies for sure, but he likes being able to take his time with you.  

💉: While he’s not opposed to quickies, he prefers being able to have proper sex with you to get the most out of it. After all, he can’t exactly see how long it takes for you to break or how much time it takes for you to start crying and babbling if you only have a few minutes to enjoy one another. However, he does make it a little challenge for himself to see how quickly he can get you to climax. Mr. Silvair will even make educated guesses on how fast you’ll finish just by making note of your current expression, body language, etc. He likes seeing how flustered you get if you think someone is going to enter the room the two of you are in, begging him to go faster which only makes him want to slow down – how mean! 

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down to experiment but, as stated before, he doesn’t want to try anything that causes him or you harm, even if pain is something you enjoy. He just has no desire to hurt you in any way, something which is quite different from other members of the cast who are definitely more sadistic (cough, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Machete, cough). I feel like he would be down to partake in certain aspects of BDSM, specifically B/D (bondage and discipline) and D/S (dominance and submission). He just wants to have a good time and be close to you, both physically and emotionally. 

💉: 100% down to experiment with anything (except the previously mentioned coprophilia). If you wanted to try some breathplay or impact play or even blood play, he’d be down for it. I honestly think he would enjoy breathplay since it adds more to the differential in power that he enjoys so much (there’s also a stirring in his chest when he sees how much you trust him with your life, but shhh…). Mr. Silvair is a man hungry for information and new experiences, so yes, he’s willing to try a variety of different things even if they could potentially be dangerous – he’ll always make sure you return to your original form. 

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

👣 and 💉: Both of them are inhuman, which means that neither of them need any food, water, or rest to survive. Honestly, the two of them have unlimited amounts of stamina, and they can go for as long as you need them to (which could be two rounds or even eight – nothing is holding them back in the stamina department). 

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them owns any toys because, well… you can’t access them easily in the other world. If they do end up there, though, they’re probably dirty or damaged beyond repair (please do not use nasty sex toys, people – infections and diseases are no joke). 

👣: Mr. Crawling would be down to use toys on you! After all, why not? It’ll just make the experience more fun, right? You’ll probably have to explain what he’s supposed to do with them, though, since he’s not quite sure what some of them are for. If you want to use toys on him, he’s completely fine with that! Want to wear a strap and give him backshots? Go right ahead! Want to tape vibrators to him until he’s whining and writhing? He’d be happy to oblige! Overall, he’s pretty chill about it and is somewhat enthusiastic about adding toys into your sex life. 

💉: Mr. Silvair enjoys using sex toys on you, some of his favorites being cock rings/chastity belts, strangely-shaped dildos, and vibrators. He loves being able to secure the variety of different vibrators he owns to your body, making sure to cover every erogenous zone he’s noted. He doesn’t typically want toys used on him (but he’d probably try out a variety of different sex toys on himself after a while, though, curious about how each of them felt or what they did), however, and the only one he’d be willing to use consistently would be fleshlights. He’d make you watch him use it, never once allowing you to use them on him. 

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

👣: Mr. Crawling is very fair, and he always makes sure to give you exactly what you want in the bedroom. However, that’s not to say he never teases you, he just doesn’t do it very frequently. Sometimes when he’s going down on you, he’ll pause his minstrations to nip at or kiss the fat of your thighs, keeping your hips held down so you can’t buck up against his mouth. When you start getting antsy, he just giggles at your expression before returning his attention to that oh-so-needy part of you. 

💉: If the word unfair was personified, it would be Mr. Silvair. I’d argue teasing you and making you cry – either because you can’t cum or have cum ten times in a row – are the aspects of sex that he enjoys the most. Edging you is one of his favorite things, though, watching you whine and try to move your hips on your own when he stops moving… bad move, though, because now he’s just going to make you wait even longer for release. 

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

👣: He’s not loud, per se, but he does make quite a variety of different noises whenever the two of you are intimate. He whimpers and whines frequently while you’re having sex – they’re barely audible, high-pitched, and come out sounding as though he’s completely out of breath. Sometimes you wonder if he’s in pain with the noises he makes, but he’s not. He just really enjoys being able to feel you like this as he pants like a dog in heat. 

💉: Completely quiet most of the time. Really, the only noises you’ll probably get out of him are barely audible sighs or the sound of his breathing hitching when he feels you stretch/tighten around him. It’s not that Mr. Silvair doesn’t enjoy having sex with you, he just doesn’t express that feeling verbally. You can tell in the way his hand squeezes the fat of your thigh or the way his hips stutter when he moves in and out that he’s having a good time. 

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

👣: Mr. Crawling loves taking showers or baths with you, though he leans more towards baths since it’s less painful on his joints (I headcanon that Mr. Crawling can stand, but walking for extended periods of time is painful for him – ambulatory wheelchair user Mr. Crawling when?). While yes, he can technically sit in the shower, having water spray his face isn’t exactly pleasant… He doesn’t view bathing with you as sexual, he just finds it relaxing as he helps you wash your back or you help him make sure all the soap is out of his hair. His favorite scent would have to be lavender – it’s very calming for him. 

💉: He keeps a journal tucked away full of terms and gestures from your world. Mr. Silvair has a deep desire to understand humans and everything they have to offer, even if he believes it's from a stance of craving knowledge (really, he wants to be able to express his endearment of you in a manner you can understand). He has a page on kissing and different kinds of kisses, a page on gestures of endearment, another on hugging and cuddling… The fact that humans’ bodies release a hormone whenever they simply spend time to bond with another socially, a hormone that turns the dial on their brain for whatever emotion they’re currently experiencing, is fascinating to him. 

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

👣: Mr. Crawling is tall – and I mean extremely tall whenever he stands up (my man has got to at least be seven feet), so I can assume that he’s probably relatively proportionate under the belt. I feel like he would be big, almost concerningly so, clocking in at around 8 inches in length. Even though his size is impressive, his dick doesn’t have much girth to it and is on the thinner side, but it is thicker towards the base compared to the head (not that you can take all of him – you can certainly give it a try, though). It’s on the veinier side, too, with a very distinct and present one on the underside of his cock. 

💉: Much like pretty much the entire cast, Mr. Silvair is also on the taller half of the height spectrum. However, I feel as though he would have a more modest, yet of course still impressive dick size. I imagine him to be 6 ½ inches in length and relatively thick from the base to the head with very little change in girth. Whenever you see his cock, you’re kind of awestruck for a moment because how can a man have such a nice-looking dick?? It doesn’t make sense! There’s barely any hair, there’s no visible veins or bumps, and it’s long and thick enough to drive you wild… Plus, it’s just really nice to look at, honestly. 

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

👣 and 💉: Okay, so I know others probably will not agree with me here… but I honestly don’t think anyone in the cast has much of a sex drive, let alone a high one. I mean, they’re not human, so their cultural/social norms are different than ours, and I wouldn’t hold them to “typical” human desires on a biological/psychological level either. As I said before, I doubt any of them have been laid because sex just isn’t something the residents in the other world partake in – they’re too busy killing/fighting others, eating humans who find themselves lost in the other world, etc. Is this my asexual and world-building brain working? Probably haha. 

👣: Mr. Crawling really only wants sex whenever you want it, but he’s always enthusiastic and does get aroused whenever you ask if he wants to be intimate. While he does love feeling the warmth around his dick whenever you’re clamping down on him, almost like you were hugging him and not wanting to let him go, he enjoys the emotional connection during the moment more than anything else. I headcanon him (and all of the cast, to some degree) as existing somewhere on the aroace-spectrum. For Mr. Crawling, I see him as being reciproromantic/sexual with an average libido – he gets riled up whenever you’re riled up, though there are times he does get horny without you needing to do or say anything.  

💉: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair will have sex if you ask him to – he’ll make you beg for it, though, so he’s not as nice as the former. He prefers the control/power he gets from having sex rather than the sole act of intercourse (not to say he doesn’t enjoy the feeling, though). Plus, he finds the activity interesting since he knows it’s something most humans partake in with one another for a variety of reasons, from procreation to recreation. If you ask him to have sex and he isn’t in the mood, he’ll just use his hands or some toys and play around with you until you’re satisfied. I headcanon Mr. Silvair as being quoiromantic and eegosexual with a low libido. 

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t need to sleep (you know… being non-human and all), but he’ll curl up next to you on the bed and hold your body close to his while pretending to sleep alongside you. It’s kind of adorable, the way his head is nuzzled under your neck while his legs and arms are wrapped around your body, holding you close to him like you were a bodypillow or large stuffed animal. While you sleep, though, he’ll eventually place his head against your chest, listening intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath. Moments like this, laying there with you in silence, make his mind wander to scenarios with you he’ll never be able to fully experience. 

💉: Does not rest often, finding it a waste of time that could be spent doing something else. He understands you need your sleep, though, so he lets you do it in peace after you both have had sex. Mr. Silvair always manages to somehow make sure you have enough pillows to keep you comfortable or blankets to keep you from getting cold (you can’t help but wonder where he finds clean linens in such a grimy place…). Occasionally, however, he finds himself sitting next to you on the bed, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair before he pulls his hand back as though you had burnt him – he doesn’t understand it, and he’s desperate to figure out an answer. 

[tfisathoughtfulnickelbakeryfire]

Just another day of being endlessly pissed off at how female video game characters are designed.

It's snowing outside. Why is she wearing a crop top. Why is it made of metal. Why are her shorts shaped like that. Why does every female character have to be a stereotypical sex symbol. I have so many questions.

[ssa-dado]

30 Seconds

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: SMUT, pre-relationship mutual pining and just a touch of ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: You text the hot swim dad for legal help. He shows up in khakis. You try to behave. You fail. He's accidentally jealous of your date, you accidentally grind on his lap, he finishes in his pants, and somehow it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. Warnings: SMUT MDNI (heavy makeout, dry humping and *sighs* Aaron creams his pants for just that... the title is descriptive enough), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, objectification of the Hotchner body Word Count: 4.9k (damn gurl) Dado's Corner: Based on this request! And... um... full disclosure... I added the glasses part solely because of the cat pic sent by @hotchology, who said this ginger furball is how they imagine Hotch in glasses (LOOK HOW CUUUTE)

masterlist(s)

Everything showers.

A sacred rite of modern womanhood.

Takes minimum two geological eras to complete, consumes half the planet’s fresh water, and must be repeated often to remain an eligible mating partner.

Because that’s the whole point of being a woman, isn’t it? To be clean, hairless, glowing, and vaguely vanilla-scented - just fuckable enough for men who think 3-in-1 shampoo counts as skincare.

The concept of an everything shower is… layered. Part hygiene. Part penance. Part psychological rebirth. A full-body cleanse for the sins you haven’t committed yet.

You’ve done them before first dates. Before almost-dates. Before parties, dick appointments, emotional breakdowns, and that one Tuesday when you just needed to check in on her-

(Her. Down there.)

Once, you even did one before visiting your mother. (Unclear whether that was for survival or atonement. Maybe both.)

But never - not even in your darkest, most masochistic imagination - did you think you’d be doing one because of an eviction notice.

Not until today.

Because Aaron Hotchner - a man who should be both physically and emotionally unavailable due to his very, very, veeeery important job saving the world - is apparently not unavailable.

Not when it matters.

Not when it’s least convenient for your nervous system.

…The irony.

All it took was one stupid text. A momentary lapse in dignity. Something he’d probably refer to as “compromised judgment.”

do you happen to know a very cheap lawyer asking for a friend

And instead of his usual three-to-five-business-days reply time, he hits you with:

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): Are you at home now? – A.H.

And now you’re just a bit overthinking… because how does he know that?

Did the FBI install a secret camera in your pothos plant? Does he have access to some satellite heat map of your apartment? Has he been watching your window? A camera in the air vent?

(Has he seen you trying out that new clear dildo in front of the mirror for “science”?)

(The one time you tried doing yoga and got stuck in child's pose for 40 minutes?)

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

All you do know is that you are currently fully naked, shaving for a man who:

Has no idea he’s being shaved for, while you’re on speakerphone with him, as he gets closer and closer to your building block because he invited himself into your private space and-

Would absolutely turn around and disappear if he ever caught even a hint of cucumber-scented shaving cream (you borrowed from your roommate) and realized you'd… prepared for him.

Because your “just in case” implies premeditation. And premeditation implies intention. And intention? Intention is basically foreplay.

And foreplay is strictly prohibited outside the sanctity of marriage, a psychological clearance form, and at least three signed affidavits from HR.

He would enter WITSEC on the spot. Change his name. Grow a beard.

(Hot.)

“What’s happening? Are you alright?”

He concernedly asks over the phone - totally unaware (definitely unaware) that every time he checks in on you, he’s poking your very well-buried, very latent daddy issues with a stick.

(Or maybe he keeps asking because he’s the one with daddy issues. Very obvious ones. That classic parented-child energy. Raised himself on black coffee, moral obligation and emotional regret.)

What a match, really. You get off on being cared for, and he gets off on taking care of people he’ll never emotionally open up to.

Soulmates.

Anyway-

“So… my landlord is an asshole and I really hope he gets some very painful hemor-”

Mr. FBI has the audacity to call you by your full legal name before cutting you off with, “This call is being recorded. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making…” he even pauses, searching for the most delicate phrasing. Because God forbid he doesn’t sound like a morally burdened Disney princess. “explicit threats.”

Oh, you’d appreciate a few things too. Like having his actual number and not the one issued by the United States Government - so you wouldn’t have to worry about scandalizing some poor technical analyst who’ll be forced to transcribe this call word-for-word the second they find his body in a ditch and trace it back to you.

(“Exhibit B: She said, quote, ‘I hope he gets some very painful hemor.’”)

…But you’re not as childish as him to complain about that.

“My bad.”

“It’s alright.” (Can he please stop talking like this?)

“Yeah… I-” Your voice trips. Your face is hot. Your entire body is hotter. “The thing is-”

“I’m listening.” Oh, fuck him. (Please.)

“In short: the building’s falling apart. We’ve been emailing the guy for weeks, complaining, begging, threatening – nicely - and either he forgets to reply or says he’ll fix it and then doesn’t. It’s been an eternity and he still hasn’t done a single fuc-”

Recorded line. Recorded line. God forbid the man has a seizure because of you. “-thing.”

You hear a chuckle on the other end.

You hate phone calls.

You’d choke him if he weren’t safely boxed inside a moving vehicle.

“I said threats. You can curse. I’m not ten.” Oh, he’s smiling. You can hear it. The smug bastard.

“Oh, that I noticed.”

You love phone calls.

If he were here, he would've already hit you with one of those signature stares - intended to intimidate, but really just making you want to lick the corner of his mouth out of pure spite.

But look at you. Free. Untouchable. Doing amazing.

“The thing is, I didn’t pay rent this month. Because they’re still ignoring the repairs. And now they’re threatening to evict me if I don’t pay.”

“That’s retaliatory. It’s illegal.”

“Wait… you’re telling me I’m not screwed?”

“No, they are. You withheld payment due to unaddressed health and safety violations. That’s protected under landlord-tenant statutes,” he says, suddenly shifting into full legalese, something-something code 572, subsection blah-blah, tenant rights, lease clauses-

You don’t hear any of it. Actually, the very second he started speaking fluent Law Daddy, , your brain slammed the emergency brake to focus on the real crisis:

What the fuck are you going to wear.

“Document everything-“

Lace? Bold choice, but post-shave? Masochism. Granny cotton briefs? He’ll never look at you again.

“Photos.”

Tight top, no bra? Risky.

What if he hugs you and feels how obnoxiously hard your nipples are?

(He’s not a hugger. He doesn’t seem like a hugger. Right?)

(Right??)

(But what if he is today?)

(What if he walks in, sees you - top clinging, no heating - and suddenly decides: You know what? Now’s the time. Now’s the moment I become a hugger. Just for her. Just this once. Just to pull her in close, pretend it’s chaste, press his palm between her shoulder blades and - oh fuck - realize it’s not.)

(What if he hugs you and feels it?)

(What if he hugs you and keeps hugging you?)

(What if he grips tighter, his hand slides just a little lower, and his voice does too, right by your ear - “You’re not wearing a bra.”)

(“Neither are you, sir.”)

(And what if that hug turns into a grind, into his thigh between your legs, into lift me onto the kitchen counter and show me what else you know about tenancy law.)

“Emails.”

Loose top, skimpy bottoms? Slutty. Strategic. Respectable slutty. He’d stare at your legs all night.

(He wouldn’t. But you’d know. Which is worse.)

You should lather in coconut oil, just in case.

You should lather in coconut oil anyway – hydration is important to avoid ingrowns (and yes, to smell edible too.)

“Timestamps.”

Tight top, no bra, skimpy bottoms? Too much? Too “I can’t pay the plumber, but maybe I can offer something else...”

(Not that you’ve watched those. Obviously. You’re just… aware of the trope.)

(Not because you spent 30 minutes the other night trying to find the perfect one. And then another 10 skipping the plot because it was too unrealistic, there’s no way the plumber just happens to have lube.)

(Not that you wouldn’t do it for him. But you’re also not going to lower yourself to being a badly lit, lazily scripted fantasy for the male gaze.)

“…If you haven’t already, I’d recommend drafting a written complaint.”

“…Aaron, I don’t even know where to start,” you mutter. “That’s why I asked if you knew a very cheap lawyer.”

“I’m the very cheap lawyer.” For some reason he chuckles, probably it’s because of his own joke, “Don’t worry, we’ll do it together, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He is not there in fifteen.

He’s “there” after fourty-eight minutes - flustered, apologizing, muttering something about I-395 and a jackknifed delivery truck, which is just adorable, really, coming from a man who’s clearly never taken the bus in heels while bleeding through his jeans, juggling three leaking Trader Joe’s bags, and re-evaluating every life decision since birth.

He’s grumbling about “infrastructure,” all furrowed brows and moral outrage. How sweet.

You, meanwhile, are Frenching the entire Department of Transportation.

You are giving gridlock the kind of wet, eye-contact blowjob that wins awards - because, for once in your adult life, the universe delayed a man just long enough for you to become a person.

Thirty-eight glorious minutes to shave, moisturize, hide the evidence of your emotional instability, light a candle, panic about the candle (too much?), blow it out, light it again (fuck it), rearrange your throw pillows, Febreze your loveseat, and clean your floors so well you briefly consider serving dinner off them - or yourself.

(Also enough time to change outfits four times, reject each one violently, and land on something that screams “Oh, this? Just threw it on,” while whispering: “I shaved everything.”)

You’ve never been more grateful for civic failure.

You look good. Your apartment looks good. You know it smells amazing in here. You know it. You can feel the Pine-Sol particles sparkling off the hardwood.

Any second now, he’s going to say something about it.

He’s going to inhale – deeply - and ask what detergent you use. Compliment your lavender baseboards.

You can feel it coming. You’re ready. You smile. You bask.

Aaron sets down his bag. Unclips it. Opens it. Looks up.

“I printed out the tenancy statutes,” he says, already pulling out an aggressively highlighted stack of documents from the briefcase.

And this would be impressive - should be impressive - if he weren’t wearing a plain black T-shirt that is doing things to his arms. And the khakis. Fucking khakis.

The most indecently decent pants in the entire male wardrobe.

They whisper "suburban dad," but scream "accidental bulge in soft daylight."

Speaking of which, unfortunately, your apartment lighting has never worked harder - midday golden-hour haze bouncing off every freshly scrubbed surface, casting soft shadows and sensual gleam until finally it settles on The Situation.

…Shit.

(Do not look at it.)

(Do not acknowledge it.)

(Do not mentally calculate whether that’s just the way his pants fold or if that’s his dick pressed against the zipper like it also has a clause to deliver.)

(Do notice, however, that he still hasn’t said a single word about how nice your apartment looks. Rude.)

“I flagged the key violations and I added notes on a recent amendment that strengthens your case - you can reference it in your response letter.” His eyes scan the room clearing it for hostiles - except all he really sees is your loveseat. Small. Soft. Close.

And you, in a tank top.

He clears his throat. Adjusts the folder. His gaze flicks back to you – quick, sharp, and immediately redirected to something safer, like the floor.

“Where… should we get set up?” he asks, like he hasn’t already mentally measured the loveseat twice, logged its exact dimensions in his brain, and is currently laser-eyeing the very cushion he’s dying – dreading - to sit on.

“Oh, I don’t know… wherever you’re comfortable.”

He nods - just a touch too seriously - then hesitates. Again. Checks one more time, with those painfully polite eyes: Can I...? Is it alright if...?

(…As if you might suddenly revoke loveseat privileges.)

Then, slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion. Perches. Occupies the absolute minimum amount of space humanly possible.

If he still had the joint mobility of his youth, you’re convinced he’d just origami himself into a respectful little one-inch cube and tuck into the far corner.

You glance at his shoulders - very broad, deliciously broad, yes - tense, but more at how hard he’s trying not to brush them against yours. What a funny man.

Especially funny because while he's typing up your official letter - like a good little lawyer - he's also letting the conversation drift into a completely unrelated side street.

Unrelated except for the fact that it's all about you.

Like how he “casually” mentions he hasn’t seen you at the pool lately.

The one where he trains and you sit in a cracked plastic cafeteria chair pretending to wait for your friend’s aquatic therapy - when really, you’re mourning every second you’re not legally tethered to the hot dad at swim practice. The hot dad who doesn’t even know he’s the hot dad. (Him. Obviously.)

You go for your friend. Technically.

Spoiler: she’s got two weeks left.

Which means once her sessions are over, you and Aaron will have absolutely no logical reason to ever speak again. No built-in excuse. No default setting.

And now there’s a looming, mutual thing neither of you are acknowledging.

You’re sure there’s a term for this. Something about large mammals afraid of mice and metaphor.

“Yeah, I was in the lane next to your friend’s the other day…” he starts.

“Really?” You pretend you didn’t get fourteen missed calls from said friend, who - when you finally called her back - didn’t even say hi. Just launched straight into: “Burgundy swim cap guy looked up at your seat three times. Three. He looked so sad you weren’t there I had to explain where you were so he wouldn’t drown in longing.”

“Yes… we talked for a bit. She seems very nice…”

Ah.

Interesting choice of words, considering she told you – verbatim - “I can’t believe someone built like a brick shithouse could be that pathetic.”

(She has yet to understand that that is the whole appeal. Him. And that exact contradiction. Him and that-)

“So… how did… your date go?” he asks, pretending to be casual. He’s polishing his glasses against the hem of his shirt, even though they’re already spotless. (You weren’t even aware he needed glasses. Probably neither is the rest of the planet.)

He keeps at it. Rubs one lens. Then the other. Then back again.

You wonder if he’s trying to distract himself. From the question. From the answer.

Your date.

The one that made you miss your friend's call. The one you actually went on. The one that-

“It went well, actually.” It did. Way too well. And that’s the problem.

Because you keep chasing Aaron.

Despite the very obvious fact that nothing will ever happen between you. Because he’s… well, him. And you’re…

A little too young. A little too broke. A little too you.

(And technically if you do the math, you’re closer to his son’s age than his. Just by a few years, sure, but still. Still enough to justify it to yourself out loud, then say it again. And again. Until it starts sounding like a fact.)

It’s just a harmless crush. A stupid little thing. A flicker. A fantasy. A hobby, really.

You have so many of those - men. Smart, emotionally unavailable, vaguely haunted. You collect them like parking tickets: Useless. Repetitive. Always showing up when you least need them. But you keep them. Stack them in a drawer somewhere in your head.

Just in case.

Still, there’s something about this one.

About him.

Aaron.

Aaron in wireframe glasses, almost making you believe in the higher powers he believes in too. (Hopefully not the United States government.)

Aaron with that voice, that jaw, that posture.

Aaron, who says things like “landlord-tenant statute” and somehow makes it sound better than the poetry in those overpriced, niche little books you only buy for the cover, the ones where the author hits enter every four words so it tricks you into thinking they mean something.

And maybe – deep, deep down – it’s because you want to be proven wrong. That someone like him could find goodness in parts of you you’ve already declared a lost cause. That he could look at all the rot and still see something worth saving. Or maybe it’s just easier. Easier to chase something you’ll never catch than turn around and face the things already standing still, arms open, waiting to love you back.

“I’m glad to hear that,” says Deliciously Four-Eyed Aaron, just a little too tight. Tighter than his khakis, which shift and pull every time he readjusts to keep from getting a flat ass on your loveseat.

(What’s wrong, Agent Hotchner? Not expecting it to actually go well? God, you hope that’s why his jaw looks like it’s about to file for divorce from the rest of his face.)

“I don’t know him well,” he adds, clinically. “But… he seems like a nice guy. He’s good at his job.”

Right. Which is rich, coming from the man who literally handed you the guy’s number. And now he’s playing coy?

So what was that, then? A random act of kindness? A stroke of pity? Was it projection? Was it a fever dream?

Did he just reach into the FBI rolodex and go: “Hmm. You’re not under disciplinary review, you own slacks, and your blood pressure is normal. Here, date this emotionally volatile woman I know and I think you might like - she has opinions and abandonment issues, enjoy!

Because Aaron doesn’t do spontaneous. Aaron does strategic. Aaron does 48-hour surveillance and triple-signed documents.

He’s not the guy who improvises. He’s the guy who rehearses his improvisation.

So forgive you if you’re just a little confused by Mr. Times New Roman over here, trying to mentally trace the logic that gets you from “I barely know him” to “you should definitely let him finger you. Only after marriage, though.”

It’s weird. And yet, somehow, that’s not even the most annoying part.

“Good at his job?” you echo, with a laugh that sounds way too close to a cry for help. (Of course. Of course that’s Special Supervising Whatever-the-Fuck Hotchner’s metric for male compatibility. Not empathy. Not emotional availability. Not even basic social literacy. No, job performance. What a catch.) “What are you going to say next, that he’s a good person because he clocks in early and doesn’t steal breakroom coffee?”

“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses that did not need adjusting, “I can’t vouch for the coffee. But I do see him arrive on time. From my office. If that’s what’s concerning you.”

…Oh. So that’s what this is. We’re flexing now.

Mr. I Have A Window. Mr. I Oversee The Peasants. Mr. Private Office While Everyone Else Plays Hot-Desk Musical Chairs. Mr. Title, Tenure, and a Chair That Supports Both His Spine and His Reluctance to Feel. Mr. I Deserve This Square Footage Because I Ruined My Marriage for the Federal Government.

(You could go on. And on. And on. You won’t. But you could.)

And it’s not even clear who he’s trying to one-up here. The guy he set you up with? Or… you? Both?

Like, “Yes, he’s punctual. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s good at his job. But I define what good is. I’m his boss. Be impressed by me instead. Please. I beg you.”

Okay. Breathe. Relax.

No one invited him to a pissing contest and yet here he is, unzipping his intellectual fly right in the middle of your living room. (Not the fly you wanted unzipped, unfortunately.)

You squint at him. “So what, you show up before everyone else just to watch your little ducklings waddle in behind you? Mother Goose clocking in before sunrise to lead by example and assert dominance?”

He turns toward you. Tilts his head. Makes that face. The one you’ve been craving since the second he walked in.

Eyebrows drawn, mouth slightly open - just enough to spot that one crooked tooth, bless it - an expression that says concerned, confused, and disappointed in your tone, all in one.

“It’s none of that,” he’s dead serious, even if he’s visibly smiling… marvelous. “It’s just respectful to be on time.”

Sure, Agent Hotchner. Tell yourself that while polishing your Employee of the Decade plaque.

“I barely even see my boss at the café. Twice a week, tops. And only after we open.”

Aaron lifts his eyebrows. Shrugs. “I’m not an asshole.”

Then he goes back to typing, pretending he’s not biting the inside of his cheek like the whole thing didn’t get to him.

Like he’s completely unbothered by the idea of some man buying you coffee and making you laugh for two full hours.

Like his knuckles aren’t just a little too tight around that trackpad.

“You know, for someone who just said he’s not an asshole, you sure spend a lot of time trying to prove how much better you are than other men.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he says, softly. Too softly. Like he knows volume would give him away.

And fuck, those eyes.

You can’t look at them too long. You bounce between his face and anything else - your coffee table, the printout, his lap (unfortunately) - because those glasses are giving him four eyes now, and all of them are aimed at your skull, dissecting every micro-expression.

He's a bit suffocating.

“I think what really bothers you,” he says, measured, "is that you’re used to being misread."

You scoff. “Excuse me?” (Bitch.)

"You act like you want to be chased, but only if it feels reluctant. If it's earned. You push people to see if they’ll push back. You turn it into a game because it’s safer that way. If it’s a game, you can pretend you were never serious when they walk away."

Well. Okay. First of all: Rude.

Second of all: Accurate. Horribly accurate.

But also: How dare he.

"And if they don't... if they try to meet you where you are... you push them away first. Just to prove you were right to be afraid" he says - and the bastard even smiles. (Fuck his dimples. Really. Pretentious as hell.) "You punish them for it… and you punish the ones who don’t play, too. Because deep down, you still don’t know which would hurt more."

"Wow," you never thought you'd actually be speechless, and yet - here you are, scrambling for a comeback. Great. "Good thing you said you weren’t trying to prove anything. Otherwise I might’ve gotten confused and assumed you were just showing off." (Good enough. You’ll take it.)

Smarty-pants chuckles under his breath then leans back against your very professional, very structurally unsound loveseat. His knee brushes yours.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends he doesn’t notice you noticing.

"Not showing off, just telling you what you already know."

"Oh, right, because you’re such an expert on me."

"I’m just observant."

"And arrogant." And a fucking hypocrite too.

"And you still looked at my mouth twice." What a who-

Somewhere between your brain screaming full bitch slap, full bitch slap and your hand almost twitching to deliver it… you miscalculate.

You lean in. And instead of bruising his cheekbone, you crash your mouth against his.

Pride - and the stack of feminist books judging you from the bookshelf - insist it’s you who moves first. You believe them. You have to.

Even though his hands are already there - rough and steady, drowning your face in their grip - before you even finish breathing in your half-ounce of courage. Before you really even choose anything at all.

(But sure. Go ahead. Call it empowerment. You’re totally running the show. Girlboss shit.)

You want to bite him. Sink your teeth into that smug, diagnosing mouth. Split his lip. Make him bleed all over the living room he still hasn’t bothered to compliment the smell of. (You’re not petty about it… it’s just an observation.)

But it’s slower instead.

You taste his nerve first, his fear right after.

He’s already halfway to pulling back even as he keeps kissing you - trying to have it both ways - and for a second, you do break apart.

Both pretending you could still undo this. (And also undo all the bullshit he said earlier, profiling you so hard he didn’t even realize he was accidentally outing himself too.)

It doesn’t last.

You crash back into him, sloppier, mouths dragging, missing, gasping, half-kissing, half-clawing at each other as you’re both a little too desperate to land properly.

For a split second, the kiss turns... almost sweet. Tender. Romantic, even.

You could say he’s a good kisser.

You could say he’s a great kisser.

You could say he’s the only man alive who could kiss you stupid and still find a way to remind you to breathe through your nose.

(Like when he notices you getting lightheaded and somehow fixes it without even pulling away... which, not gonna lie, is a little humbling.)

But there’s no time for critical analysis. You’re already shoving him flat onto the loveseat, pinning him down, while he blinks up at you - wide-eyed, flushed, so beautiful it makes your chest hurt.

(And he looks so... concerned. As if he’s realizing just now that there’s absolutely no dignified way to get out of this alive.)

(Good. He shouldn’t.)

There’s tongue.

There’s teeth.

There’s his hands – everywhere - gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, squeezing the backs of your thighs, pushing your leg higher over him until you can feel - Oh. Oh, he’s hard. He’s so fucking hard.

There’s a muffled noise from the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like please and you are not thinking about that right now.

And it’s-

God.

It’s filthy. It’s great.

You grind down hard, whimpering shamelessly into his mouth, and he bucks up into you, meeting you halfway with both hands locked around your ass, squeezing so rough you’ll be wearing fingerprints by tomorrow.

(You hope so.)

(You really fucking hope so.)

He helps you move –

Up.

Down.

Slower.

Harder.

Guiding your hips with just enough pressure to make it feel like it’s your idea, finding the rhythm you didn’t know you needed until he gives it to you, forcing you to ride the thick, hard shape straining against his pants-

Just the right angle. Just the right friction.

So perfect it catches your clit every single time, knocks a gasp right out of your throat, straight into his mouth.

You’re soaking through your panties. You’re shaking with it. And it clearly gets to him - God, it wrecks him.

You can feel it - the way he tenses under you, the way his hands clutch harder at your ass, the way his cock throbs against you through the fabric like he’s just barely holding on.

He bites down on your bottom lip, rougher than you expect. Too rough for a man who apologizes when he says fuck.

He holds it between his teeth, sucks it – hard - humming low and filthy against your mouth, so obscene it makes your hips stutter.

Drop.

Just enough to let your soaked cunt drag across the swollen head of his cock.

And when you grind back, slower, tracing right along the thick ridge straining against his zipper, he chokes on a breath.

“God, fuck-”

It tears out of him, raw, as if he’s almost embarrassed by how much pleasure is tangled in it, by how stupidly sincere it comes out of his mouth.

(Also, thank God he didn’t reverse it. If he’d said “fuck, God,” instead, you’re pretty sure he would’ve stopped everything, dropped to his knees, and asked you to drive him to a confessional. Not even a metaphor - actual church. Actual guilt. Actual “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”)

He tilts his head back, groaning, neck arching against the pillow - exposed, gorgeous - and you completely lose it.

Your tongue drags over his throat, chasing the pulse hammering under his skin, tracing your way back up to his mouth.

He’s so hot. He’s so good. He’s-

…terrified.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes, suddenly sitting up on his elbows. “I-” 

He fumbles. He panics. He stands. Backs away from the couch. From you. Visibly blushing. Visibly mortified.

“I didn’t mean-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence...

…Because he finished in his pants instead.

Poor thing.

You should be a little cruel about it - he was an asshole earlier, after all - but you’re not quite mean enough to kick a wounded 6’2” puppy when he’s already limping. (No pun intended… or maybe-)

"Hey," you murmur, reaching out, curling your fingers around his wrist so he can’t backpedal any further. He flinches. (Not much. Just enough to make you want to kiss him again. Harder this time. Until he flinches worse.)

"It’s okay. It’s-" You almost say sweet - catch yourself just in time, because you’re not trying to get murdered tonight.

"It’s normal," you settle on instead. "It’s flattering. Honestly.” (Also kind of hot. But you’ll take that particular confession to your grave.) “You didn’t... ruin anything."

He still doesn’t look convinced. At all. In fact, he looks like he might apologize again, maybe even draft a formal statement and notarize it.

You scramble. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Who cares if it was-” (You hesitate for half a second, fatal mistake.) "-like, 30 seconds? Could've been 29, right?!”

…Right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

(I might've missed someone this time, pls tell me in the comments if your name got lost AAAA sorry in advance)

Little reminder that the requests for fleabag!reader are open!! Ok.. I'll go now. Bye.

[chilling-seavey]

The Patriarchy (gr63)

↳ A/N So @sadiethekoala encouraged my curiosity of dabbling in writing/posting my 'darker' kink content so...here you go 🫣

↳ Summary: Of course George is a feminist; but who is he to deny you when sometimes you just want him to treat you like his property.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.5k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, light drinking, patriarchy kink (major fetishization of traditional gender roles), arguably free use kink, breeding kink, heavy degradation and dumbification and objectification (name calling like 'slut', 'whore', and 'bitch'), spanking, spitting, hair pulling, restraining, dirty talk, choking, rough unprotected sex, aftercare is NOT written in this fic but take it that it will be IMPLIED (aftercare is a MUST after intense and degrading scenes like this!!!).

George had been proud of you for as long as he had known you. You were a hardworking and determined woman and he loved seeing you pursue your career so strongly and passionately. It was honestly one of the things George admired you most for. You weren’t someone to take anyone’s shit and certainly not when it came at the expense of your beliefs, passions, or those you cared for the most.

In a man’s world, you pushed the boundaries of what a woman was capable of and George, of course, backed you every step of the way. Especially while so invested in a vastly male-dominate sport such as Formula 1, George only grew more and more aware of the prejudices and disparities that were hidden between the lines. And, in such, he always made himself publicly viable as someone who believed in equality without bounds.

Behind closed doors, that very same belief lingered. In your Monaco apartment, you equally divided up household chores and tasks, shared the responsibility of cooking, and came to mutually agreeable terms that made your life together that much more enjoyable and refreshing. A relationship built on trust and equality, it was the balance of give and take that left you both as strong as ever. 

What came with the ease of your relationship was open communication and, with that, a bit of a pre-disclosed agreement from months before that George had figured you had forgotten about. It was something said haphazardly one night when the two of you were wine drunk and cuddled up on the living room floor; a little secret you had been harbouring, whispering to him plainly about your deepest desires. Your smiling confession was something so unlike your natural persona that for a moment he had thought you were entirely joking. But you were serious, pleading with him that if he ever saw you donning that vintage blue gingham dress, that he had your unspoken consent to push the hazy boundaries into a roleplay vastly different from what you were familiar with sharing together. George agreed to your terms and thought it wouldn’t ever really come to fruition. 

It was a joke, he was sure of it. No fiercely independent woman such as yourself ever wanted to be treated under such taboo, out-dated, and almost cruel mid-century gender roles. Right? 

Until on Thursday night when George came home from media duties just about the time you had finished making dinner, finding you donning that sweet 1950s gingham dress and matching white kitten heels. It was the last thing he had expected to come home to, falling to a surprised stop as he entered the apartment to the smell of a delicious meal waiting for him. 

You smiled over at him in the foyer and hurried over to take his jacket off of him, “Welcome home, love.” 

“Hello.” George said slowly, letting his arms slip out of his collared jacket as you carefully pulled it from his shoulders. His suspicions were simmering as you leaned in to kiss him once before hanging up his jacket in the front closet. He asked a tentative, “What’s all this for?”

You tucked your hand in the crook of his arm and led him over to the table that was neatly made up with two place settings, “I figured you had a long day at work and wanted dinner as soon as you got home.”

“Yeah...that’s nice.” George said, testing the waters a little. 

He sat down and watched you walk over to the bar cart to pour him a drink, topping it with a few ice cubes before bringing it back over to him. You set the short glass in his hand and left a kiss to his cheek and headed into the kitchen again, your heels clicking over the hardwood floors. George watched you silently, sipping his drink and leaning back in his chair with his left hand drumming a slow quiet pattern on the mahogany table top as you bustled around the kitchen to finish up. 

“You look pretty today, love.” he tried. 

You smiled to yourself as you plated the food, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t far out of George’s mind that he wanted to marry you one day - although he always told himself that was for years in the future - but there was something about the stereotypical domesticity of it all that seemed to...enlist a change in him. At first hesitant about carrying through with your agreement, he suddenly felt a flutter of something curious deep within him, wanting to try this out for himself. And if you wanted it? Who was he to deny you that? 

“Was work alright?” you asked sweetly as you brought over two filled plates and set them on the table. 

“Yeah, it was hectic.” George set his half finished drink down on the table and pushed his chair back a little to lead you onto his lap. You obeyed, perching yourself on his thighs, staring at him quietly as he eyed you up. His blue eyed gaze traced the side of your dress up to the clothed curves of your breasts and then across your collarbones, your neck, and jaw, finishing at your rouge painted lips. He swiped the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and pulled it down gently to watch it fall back into place, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” you replied, your voice a sweet drawling purr as your arm draped around his shoulders, manicured fingers toying with the seam of his Mercedes team shirt. 

Your soft words made a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth and he set his hand down on your thighs right at the hem of your dress, patting your lap gently before he gave a gentle squeeze to your flesh. 

He pressed you on with a cheeky, “How much?” 

“Way too much,” you answered, an angelic smile on your lips, knowing exactly what you were doing when you punctuated your reply with a, “sir.”

That word always snapped something in him, digging right down to his raw desire to just have you at that exact moment the three letters fell from your sweet lips. 

The sudden speed at which he moved made you gasp, forced off his lap as he stood. He pushed you right up against the edge of the table until the edge was pressing right against your pelvis and your hands fell flat against the wood surface. The filled plate rested, steaming, between the frame of your hands. 

“Is that so?”

He was right behind you, his body pressed up close and his breath right against your ear. His hands slid down your straight arms before resting right on top of yours, holding them down on the table. 

“Is that why you wore this pretty little dress for me?” 

“Yessir.” you breathed shakily, your heart already racing with anticipation. Your home cooked meal sat warm on the plates in front of you but any appetite for real food was gone; you were too busy craving him instead. 

“Yeah?” George growled against your ear as he pulled up the bottom of your dress, having to take a few handfuls to successfully bunch up the dress and the voluminous petticoat underneath. When he had enough of the fabric in one large hand, he used his other to slap down hard against your ass.

The sharp spank echoed through the apartment and you gasped forward at the impact. It wasn’t often that George got rough with you - he was more the sweet and gentle type within his passion - so the rare times the more dominant side of him came to the surface, you capitalized on it. Especially now, when something much more intense seemed to have come over him, like he was really ready to go all out to give you exactly what you had confessed to him that you wanted. 

You withered as he pushed his hand around your waist and under the bunched up fabric of your dress to slide over the front of your panties, pressing his whole hand down on your pussy, the heel of his palm right over your clothed clit. His lips met your neck in sloppy kisses, moaning lowly as he felt how warm you were under his touch while he sucked hickeys into your skin and breathed you in completely.

“Baby…” you whispered, “What about dinner?”

“I don’t want it.” he reached around you and shoved both plates to the side and out of the way, clattering the cutlery and a fork fell to the floor in his bit of an aggressive rush. He then bent you forward over the table and spanked you hard again, “I want my pretty little housewife to take my whole fucking dick while I fuck her like my own personal little whore.” 

You could have sworn you could have dripped down your thighs at his demand, biting back your eager grin as he held your head down against the table by a tight grip at the back of your neck. He spanked you again with his other hand, once, twice, a third time. A pink handprint was undoubtedly appearing on the curve of your bum where he hit you. Unperturbed, George just linked his finger in the thin fabric of your panties to pull the waistband higher, giving him a full canvas of your perfect ass for him to slap his palm down harder. 

“Please.” you squeaked out. 

“Please what, my love?” George pressed, groping your ass before spanking you hard again. “I hope you’re not trying to tell me what to do right now. You know who’s in charge here.”

You let out a little whimper in silent submission, your cheek still pressed to the table top from where he held you down. George then linked his finger around the lace of your underwear and followed the fabric right down between your legs where you were already soaking through the material. 

“Really missed me, huh, sweetheart?” George taunted, gently pinching your clit to pull a sharp gasp from your throat. Then, without warning, he grabbed the thin material of your panties in his fist and tore it right off you. 

The slight sting of the ripping fabric over your hips and the rough grunt that left his chest with his strength had your teeth sinking tightly into your bottom lip through a small whimper, hands still pressed flatly to the table top on either side of your head. 

“Fucking hell,” George chuckled darkly, lifting up the puffed skirt of your knee length dress again to keep it bunched up around your middle, “you look so fucking pretty like this.”

“Please, sir.” you breathed, pushing your hips back on him until the front of his slacks were pressed up snugly between your legs. 

You could feel the bulge in his pants and how it was pulling the fabric taut. It made your mouth water, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip again with a small hum, desperately grinding back on him to somehow get him right where you needed him most. 

“God, you’re such a pathetic little slut, my love.” George tisked, slapping his hand down on your ass one more time before shoving you forward again, trapping you entirely between his body and the edge of the table. He kept you there firmly while he worked to unpin his belt, the faint clinks of the metal buckle and what it implied had your pussy fluttering in anticipation. With his belt undone and slacks unzipped, his large hands groped your hips and followed your desperate motions back against him, grinding against you a little more with your feet planted securely on the floor in your kitten heels. 

George didn’t even strip completely, he just pushed his pants and boxers down to the tops of his thighs just enough to pull his dick out and then he was shuffling up close behind you. 

“Please, fuck me. I need you so bad, sir.” you whined. 

“Listen to you, sweetheart; calling me ‘sir’ like a submissive little bitch.” his voice was low and gravely, full of lust. 

He took his hand from the back of your neck to, instead, wrap around your throat to pull your chest off the table. This way, he could lean forward and brush his lips over the shell of your ear while his dick pressed teasingly up against your entrance, feeling the way your body shivered at his words. 

“Yeah, you like me calling you my little bitch?” George purred right into your ear, his hot breath falling against your neck and raising the hairs on your arms while his fingers squeezed the sides of your throat, “Wearing this pretty little dress...making a shitty little meal to get my attention...just asking for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Yeah.” was all you could whine out, lashes fluttering. 

“Yeah?” he mocked you tauntingly, barely giving you a moment's warning as he pushed inside you strongly. 

Your mouth fell open in silence as he stretched you out, letting out a soft little squeak at the pressure he spread across your hips. Your hand squeaked across the wood table as you tried to find something to hold onto, ending up reaching up to grasp his wrist.

“Fuck.” George huffed stiffly, his hips flexing against yours, tightening his hand around your throat. “Love this tight fucking cunt.” 

He started rocking into you slowly at first, savouring each stroke as if to feel you all, to give you every inch, and his slow breaths fell against the side of your face warmly. 

“So good.” you whimpered, pushing back on him in steady time, “You’re so big, sir.”

“Yeah, you love my cock, don’t you, sweetheart?” he spoke lowly, “Been waiting for this all day, huh? Wanting me to come home from work and fuck you full?”

“Yeah. Please.” you cried, pressing your palms down harder on the table top as he sped up. 

He shoved into you a bit harder, grunting hard against your ear until all you could focus on was him; the stretch he pushed through your body, the smell of the light alcohol on his breath and his familiar cologne that still dotted his shirt from that mornings application, and his hand around your throat. 

“Oohh, God.” you squeaked out, mouth falling open as he took you over the side of the dining room table. 

“Good girl.” George said lowly against your ear, his salacious words a lustful chant, “My good little housewife...good little fucking whore. So pretty and submissive for me. Gonna let me fuck you how I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir, please, please, please-” you begged shakily. 

“Yeah?” George pulled your head back by your throat, finger and thumb pressed right up under your jaw to hold you tightly. 

Your head was almost bent entirely back to look at him upside down, your mouth agape as a flurry of pleasured sounds tumbled from your lips uncontrollably. He fucked the sounds from your throat with practiced ease, the dishes on the table rattling with every firm ram into your body as he took you how he pleased. 

You squealed loudly, hands rolling into fists on the table top as tears pricked your eyes through the painful pleasure he expertly pushed through your whole body. He held you in place with one hand fisting your dress and petticoat over the small of your back and the other squeezing your throat until your mouth was falling open through little gasps. 

“That’s it.” George groaned, pulling your head back towards his shoulder before he was pinching your cheeks between thumb and forefinger to spit loudly in your mouth. “Want me to put a fucking baby in you, sweetheart?” 

The words were unexpected but the way your body clenched so hard around him that he almost lost it right then and there was his answer enough. He shoved two fingers in your mouth and picked up speed a little more, groaning hungrily against your cheek

“Yeah, you do. Gonna get you nice and full and pregnant. My pretty little wife’s gonna look so good knocked up.” 

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, please-” you mumbled through his fingers, words barely sensible as you drooled down his palm involuntarily as he kept you gagged. 

“Oh my God, baby.” George gripped you tighter, fucking you harder and faster until the table was nearly scraping across the hardwood floor with every thrust. “Gonna make a fucking mess of you...cum so fucking deep inside you. Gonna knock you up like my good little bitch.” 

“I need it! Fill me up, baby, please!” you cried messily, clawing at the table as your pussy pulsed strongly around him. 

“You need it?” he cooed, “You need me to cum inside you? To make you a mommy? Hm?”

All you could do was stumble out a chant of, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-” 

In one swift movement, George pulled his fingers from your mouth and tangled his hand in your hair to shove you down against the table again. You caught yourself on your forearms with a squealing gasp, sliding forward under his controlling hand until your chest was flat to the table and your fingers could wrap around the opposite edge of the table. The slick lewd sound of your skin colliding filled your modest apartment as he ravished you from behind, harmonized so prettily with your shared breaths and moans. 

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” George spoke through his teeth as he held you face down on the table, “Show me how good I can make my pretty little wife feel while I pump her full of cum.” 

His other hand slipped around your waist under the plethora of fabric from your dress without faltering the firm thrusts he gave you. His fingers were easily coated in your slick wetness as they blindly found their way between your legs, making it almost effortless for him to rub easy circles over your clit. You fell perfectly silent at his added touch, gripping onto the edge of the table even tighter as you felt that indescribable warmth coiling strongly within you. In seconds, your eyes were nearly rolling back and your toes were curling in your heels as you came around him, gasping and panting and moaning as your body clutched right down on him like a vice. 

“That’s it!” George groaned loudly, shoving into you faster and more desperately to help you draw out your orgasm, “That’s fucking it, baby. I’m gonna put so many babies in you…show off that you’re mine. My perfect little cockslut housewife. Begging to be fucking knocked up. Shit-” 

Oversensitive from your orgasm, his aggression had you whining loudly, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. He wasn’t letting up, taking exactly what he wanted from you, just how you had begged him to all those weeks ago in your tipsy confession. Your eyes were screwed shut with pleasure that bordered on the precipice of pain, unable to control the way you cried out until your voice echoed through the apartment. George slapped his hand over your mouth.

“Take it.” he ordered through his teeth against your ear, “You’re gonna take my whole fucking load until you’re dripping like a pathetic little bitch.” 

You whined into his warm palm and felt him twitch inside you as your muscles pulsed around his thick length. 

“Fucking...take it.” 

George came hard, bucking into you sloppily through loud moans and grunts. His eyes scrunched closed through it, fingers pressing you harder into the tabletop as he shot thick warm spurts deep inside you. You could only grab onto his arm as he filled you up, withering behind the erotic feeling of him claiming you completely. His moans were heavenly and you nearly came a second time at the overwhelm of it all and his hand that was wrapped around the back of your neck only tightened as he finished. 

He let you go after a second and you pushed yourself up from the table, your arms straight and hands flat as you glanced back at him over your shoulder. George’s lips grazed your jaw and he left a few lazy kisses over your skin as you both took a moment to catch your breaths, lingering in the post-orgam bliss together for a moment longer. His hands ran down your sides warmly and you let out a shaky sigh. 

George then reached a hand up to gently tilt your chin towards him with a soft, “Come here.”

You kissed him sweetly, sharing lingering kisses with his dick still pressed up nice and deep inside you. After a few moments, he leaned back to look at your face and he gave your hand a squeeze before shifting back from you and pulled out slowly. Your body ached as he left you empty but his fingers pressed themselves between your legs instead. 

He could feel your heartbeat right there, not to mention how soaked you were, dripping his cum out and onto his fingers, hidden under the skirt of your dress as it fell back down around your thighs. George left a little kiss to your shoulder when he finally pulled back and he gave your bum a little pat before he was zipping up his pants again, 

“Order us a pizza, sweetheart. Dinner got cold.” 

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[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 5

one || two || three || four

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ suna, aran, kita ]

warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, atsumu slander/bulling (mostly from suna lol), mentions of soft dom/brat-taming, breeding-kink kita supremacy, not proofread so there may be some errors here and there, and I think that's it :]

notes: NO ONE LOOK AT ME THIS TOOK SO FREAKING LONG THAT WE'RE IN A WHOLE NEW YEAR SINCE THE LAST ONE WAS POSTED LOL But, I wanted to make sure I portrayed the characters as accurately as possible, and I've once again been hit with the burnout stick :'))) so thank you so so so so much for your patience, hope you enjoy!

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen, @tsukiran

SUNA's messy as hell, you bet your ass he knows about the list.

Most definitely clowned Atsumu when the whole mix-up between him and Osamu went down a couple weeks ago. He'd poke that dead horse out of pure boredom or just to document his reactions for a laugh later, resulting in some of the most unflattering, yet entertaining footage of your mutual friend that you were certain he'd keep for blackmail.

“You didn’t need the poor guy’s misery in every possible angle you could think of.” You shook your head at him, fighting the grin on your face. Sitting across from him at a booth in the canteen, you pass the time in between classes by letting him show you photo after photo, video after video of Atsumu’s latest performance.

How his storage managed to survive was beyond you.

Suna shrugged, taking a sip from his drink. “Sure I did. Need to have variety for when I make merch and sell it at his games. ‘m thinking tshirts, buttons, stickers, y’know. The whole nine yards.”

“You’re terrible.” You shook your head again as you sifted through blurry photo after blurry photo.

“Terribly smart.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

“Tsk,” he reached over to flick your forehead, “keep hating and you won’t get a cut of the profit.” Despite him softly glaring at you, he grinned at the giggle you graced him with in response, flicking his forehead back. “Anyway, wanna see the one of him throwing a chair at ‘samu for calling him the mid-twin?”

You paused, eyes widening. “He did not.” 

Suna lifted his arm to give you room to lean against his side. Despite your better judgment, and a smidge of pity for the blonde, you couldn’t deny he had some pretty priceless reactions that never failed to get a laugh out of you. Plus, it was all in good fun at the end of the day—No harm, no foul, right?

Immediately snuggling up to his side, he took the phone back to scroll right to said video, angling it so you could watch it together. You chortled at the sound of your boyfriend behind the camera, panting and laughing as he attempted to hold the camera steady while sprinting away from Atsumu before inevitably getting caught right before the recording abruptly stopped. You blinked in shock, mouth agape as you slowly connected the dots with the last few milliseconds you had. “Did he..Did he tackle you??” 

“Yep. Like a big, blonde buffalo. Life flashed before my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” you replied, hand coming over your mouth as you fought back your giggles. Suna squinted at you, arm that was curled over your shoulder coming down so he could lightly pinch your ear.

“You’re ‘posed to laugh at his expense, not mine.”

This only made giggling harder to contain, eventually morphing into cackles as the last few moments of the video replayed in your mind over and over. Suna pursed his lips, placing the phone on the table to free his other hand as it came to pinch your other ear. He tugged on them, not so hard to hurt but enough to get his point across as he pouted at you. “Quit it.”

More laughs bubbled out of you, now at his ridiculous retaliation as he pulled your ears far enough to resemble a monkey’s. You raised a brow, reaching up to grab at his wrists. “You quit it.”

“No, you.”

You squinted. “No, you.”

“You.”

“Rin-Ow! Stop it, you ass!”

This little back and forth went on for a few minutes, up until it eventually ends with you in a small headlock, biting his forearm in retaliation. It didn’t hurt at all, except maybe your pride, especially when you heard the familiar sound of his phone snapping pictures—When did he even grab it? You pulled back in shock, looking up and meeting your own gaze on the screen as he rapidly snapped away, even having the nerve to give a peace sign in some of them with the very arm you were latched onto.

You gaped in horror, “No you didn't! Delete those!”

He hummed in feigned thought, keeping his phone just out of reach as you struggled to snatch it from him. Rin smirked, “No way, now we both can laugh, babe. We'll call it even.”

With a glare, you opened your mouth to retort but he immediately shut you up by leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, lazily so, and swallowing any protest you tried to voice until you eventually melted into it. You could just feel his smug grin, and you were tempted to bite his bottom lip, but he pulled away before you could commit. He snorted as you still glared at him, although it softened more and more with every kiss he placed on your face to placate your sourness toward him.

Gradually, the kisses started to grow wet, making you squirm away with an annoyed whine, but he merely tightened his hold on you keeping you from getting far. Despite your struggle you couldn't help but laugh, "Ew! Ugh! You're so fucking gross!"

"Mm, gross for you." He placed another to your lips before releasing you. You gently pinched him in retaliation, muttering a small threat to his kneecaps if those photos of you ever saw the light of day.

After the two of you settled back down in a comfortable silence, your mind started to wander back to the discussion from earlier. With the abundance of guys who've been placed on said list so far, Atsumu of all people one of them, you couldn't help but wonder... Looking over at him as he played with his straw, you asked, "Hey...do you think you're on the list?"

Rin paused, then gave a small shrug, "Dunno. Never checked."

You scoffed, "I find that hard to believe. You weren't ever curious?"

"Not really, always thought it was kinda dumb. I only grew mildly interested after 'tsumu threw a tantrum about it, saw it as another way to get on his nerves. Other than that, it's never crossed my mind. Besides, as if I'd give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm on it, too." He blinked, then looked at you. "On second thought, yeah, check and see so I can dox whoever posted it before that knucklehead catches wind."

"Rin." You slapped his arm, knowing he was half-serious. "We can just report it."

He merely shrugged again, internally debating, but didn't say anything as you did some digging on the account to see if anything came up. It helped that the admins of the account started alphabetizing after posting so many entries, it made it easier to navigate through the endless sea of thirst and shameless threads. When you finally made it to the 'R's and noticed how short the section was, you had high hopes. Until, right there plain on your screen, paired with an off-guard photo of him you posted once on your story in past, was his entry.

‘Rintarō Suna. 6’1ft of malicious intent. A straight up walking red flag, but it’s okay—Red’s a sexy color. Definitely the kind of guy who’d call you “Bro” as a term of endearment, then make out with you while using your ass as a stress ball. He can’t keep his hands to himself to save his LIFE yet swears on it that he’s not clingy lol. But don’t let the cuddly side of him distract from the fact that he can be such a little SHIT ♡. He’d edge you for hours, rearrange your insides like furniture, then have the NERVE to tease you for walking funny. You’ll let it slide though…his mouth’s good at other things than just being smart. MASTER at giving head, treats it like an art form, would rather eat a pair of jeans that ever go a day without you on his tongue. 8.5/10. And he for sure takes pictures/videos of you for his viewing pleasure later. Say cheese!’

As you both stared blankly at your screen, him with furrowed brows and you struggling to hold down a smile. Rin eventually kissed his teeth. "Can't even be mad, read me like a damn book. Was this weirdo in the room with us taking notes, or something?"

You chortled, "Don't even joke like that."

"I'm just saying, tweak a few things here and there, you'd think I ghost-wrote this."

"Sooo, I take it you're no longer worried about Atsumu seeing this?"

Suna smirked, "Hell no, at least mine's accurate. Send him the link."

“Your bitch-ass ex is about to piss me off, bro.”

Upon your unannounced arrival into his dorm, courteous of the spar key he gave you for emergencies, you figured now was a good time to exercise that privilege because this was a borderline catastrophe. Granted, you could’ve approached it more delicately, but you were already upset from the nonsense you witnessed on your timeline during your doom-scrolling session.

ARAN gave you a look of disapproval, but decided to address one issue at a time. “First of all, we’ve kissed. Many times. I am well aways from being a ‘bro’. Second, language. Thirdly, when ain’t they pissin’ ya off?”

“Whatever, you better get’em before I do. You know I’m not above drastic solutions, I’ll steal their dog and hold him for ransom, I’m being so forreal.”

He snorted, shaking his head. Closing his laptop to give you his full attention, nodding at the chair across from him for you to take. “How ‘bout we talk first before riskin’ jail.”

You sat down and handed him your phone, “Read that and I bet you’ll be on board in seconds.”

Aran squinted at the screen in confusion, scanning over the contents before his eyes widened to the size of volleyballs and jaw dropping to the table. You nodded in triumph having predicted this reaction, smugly crossing your arms as you said, “Uh-huh. Bet dog-napping sounds pretty good right about now.”

“No.” He deadpanned, but still overtly shook. “What even is this?”

“It’s called ‘The Fu—” a small glare from Aran. You rolled your eyes, correcting yourself, “The Eff-It List’.”

“Ok, I can see that. But, what is it?”

You scoffed, “Basically a perverted forum that talks about strangers and their kinks or whatever. Purely speculative for the most part, but recently they started letting people send in their own entries. And yours came straight from the horse’s mouth.” You reached over to point at an all too familiar username, well aware of it being his ex’s burner account in their hopes to remain anonymous.

'Aran Ojiro. 6’0ft of tall, dark, and handsome. If you’re searching for a Service Dom with a heart of gold, then you’ve come to the right man. When it comes down to the dirty and flirty, this hunk would be an Olympic level threat to the bums in your timeline. Not only plowing a hole straight into your vertebrae but cooking you a bomb-ass meal afterwards that will have you wanting his pants around his ankles for a round who-knows-what. Truly a gentleman, won’t finish until you do at least twice. And aftercare of a God, we’re talking rose petal baths, oil massages, honeyed affirmations, and finishing off with warm cuddles in those beefy arms of his. Yum. Aran’s big on communication; tell him what you like, what you don’t like, whatever you say, goes. Will make you feel like royalty but rearrange your insides like a common concubine. This absolute King gets a 100/10 from us.'

The way his face was scrunched up, you would think he ate something sour. You’ve only ever seen him make such a stank face at the twins whenever their bickering escalated to physical violence. He was silent for a long moment as he analyzed the post, re-reading it again and again only to grow more perturbed. He exhaled deeply through his nose before handing you back the phone, reaching into his pocket to grab his own. Aran began to type while you were in the midst of conjuring up your revenge plan.

“So, I was thinking, they normally walk their dog in the morning before class, like ass-crack of dawn early-“

“Language.”

“-and they’ll most likely have their guard down, right? So I’m thinking you’ll hide in the bushes, ready to release the squirrel we’ll use as bait, and while they’re distracted I’ll sneak from behind with a shovel and-“

“There. It’s been taken care of.”

The words died in your throat, stunned to silence. You blinked a few times in bewilderment, and watching as Aran set his phone down to open his laptop back up and resume working on his assignment. Mentally floundering, you leaned forward with raised eyebrows, “Come again?”

“They’re gonna get the post deleted.”

“Wha—Who?” You squawked.

“My ex. I sent a DM statin’ that we know they’re involved and that I’m not comfortable with this being spread, so unless they want student affairs involved for sexual harassment, they better work on gettin’ that post taken down. Give it a minute, bet it’ll be gone.”

You blinked once more. Then, after a few minutes later of more stunned silence, you refreshed the page. Sure enough…his post wasn’t there anymore. Not a trace of it anywhere, as if it never existed. With a disbelieved chortle, you dropped your phone on the table and slumped back in your chair, staring into space. Aran grinned, eyes trained on his laptop screen as he cheekily said, “Ya did say get’em before you do.”

With a playful huff, you crossed your arms. “Damn killjoy.”

“Language.”

You slowly grinned, mischievously. “…Shit.”

“Oi.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, relenting as you giggled. Aran shook his head at your antics, resuming his work. However, you leaned forward to push his laptop screen down a little so that his attention was on you once more, pausing his typing fingers. He raised an expectant brow, waiting for you to speak. You gave him a pointed look, “You blocked them after sending that DM, right?”

He snorted, reaching over to gently pat your head. “And reported their account.”

You beamed with satisfaction, leaning back in your chair. “Good. Fuck ‘em—Oop!Waitwait, hang on, it was a slip of the tongue, I forgot, I’m sorry!”

Aran immediately closed his laptop and began to stand, rounding the table to approach you menacingly, although fear wouldn’t be the emotion you’d describe as he closed in on you like prey. You didn’t even attempt to make an escape as he scooped you up in his aforementioned beefy arms, squeals following after your giggles as he carried you into the next room, ready to give you what he deemed a suitable punishment for your potty-mouth.

The king hath spoken.

You fought to contain your laughter at the sight of your boyfriend’s gears visibly turning in his head as he stared at your phone screen, brows furrowed and hands on his hips like a dad judging someone’s front lawn. KITA was at a loss for words, to say the least. Like Aran, it merely confused him upon the first read, and re-reading it over and over aided nothing. You could no longer hold it in when Kita eventually looked at you with a blank face and said, “Not true.”

Tickled, you decided to tease him by feigning ignorance. “Hm? You think so? It sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Kita frowned, leaning over your shoulder to re-read it again, just in case he was missing something you were seeing.

'Shinsuke Kita. 5’9ft of calm before the storm. At first, we chalked Kita up as a boring vanilla, someone that doesn’t like to step outside of the norm, and blends in with the mundane. However, what would appear to be a dreary missionary nightmare can easily be disputed when you take a deeper look into those carmel hues of his. As we’ve mentioned in a previous post, it’s always the quiet ones you need to be cautious of. Sure, he’ll invite you over to show off his beautiful garden, innocent enough. Well…needless to say, his garden won’t be the only place he plants his seed. With the right person, and the right amount of pressure, we believe Kita to be a closeted pervert with a RAGING breeding kink. Whether you can or cannot conceive, it doesn’t matter to him–Mating press, full nelson, prone-bone, you name it, he’s doing it. Then, he’ll tell you about what produce is in season as if you aren’t fighting for your life right after, continuing his day like he didn’t take his time molding your insides to the shape of him. Scary. 10/10'

He shook his head, opinion standing firm. “’s too vulgar. Have I ever been vulgar to ya?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging coyly. “Well…there have been a couple times.”

Kita blinked, then took a minute to think about it. And he thought hard. Slowly, he started to become concerned, contemplating the last time you were intimate in case this were a possibility. Surely you would’ve told him if he was acting out of line…

The act doesn’t last long, especially when he looked back at you and plainly said, “Yer teasin’ me.”

With a small chuckle, you gave up. “Fine, you got me. You have been nothing but a gentleman during sex, I won’t argue that. But, you have to admit, there were a few things in here that were spot on.”

“Like what?” He crouched down, continuing his task.

You gestured around, “Well…you did invite me over to look at your garden.”

Kita paused his pruning, looking around at your pointed observation. He hummed, then gave a small shrug. “Not to jus’ sleep with ya afterward. My intentions were strictly pure.”

“Ok, fair. But, you do want a family.”

“‘s a normal goal to have, and in due time, we’ll accomplish it. Once I’ve married ya, of course. That don’t make me a ‘closeted pervert’.”

You grinned, crossing your arms. “You didn’t deny the ‘raging breeding kink’ part-”

“Look at how well yer favorite sprout’s doin’, love.” He was quick to change the subject, beckoning you to come see for yourself. You humored him, crouching down next to him in the dirt, and happily gazing over his shoulder to watch him delicately handle your leafy little guy.

But, if you squint, you could see a little tinge of pink in Kita’s ears.

© 2025-2026 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[rinius-lin]

one thing that is a constant from the deceit and illusion smilk has done is his possessiveness of pv.at first i just thought he was referring to the soul jam like in episode 2 but reading this dialogues gives off a completely different vibe.

even in this supposed "truth" smilk showed to pv has him referring him as "my cookie" which is just so????? baffling with how condescending he is.

and i just went to the conclusion is that he wants the soul jam AND pv. but not in the relationship type of want, but in the type of want where a person would have with an object.

there's a something i learned in philosophy, which is the "I-It" & "I-Thou" relationship. now in a nutshell, I-It is where a person treats and views another person as an object, not forming a reciprocal and mutual understanding and connection. While in I-Thou is where both person are the subject, no objectification happens in this relationship, making a form of connection and bond between them.

now that's how i interpret smilk in his possessiveness with pv. and it's also established that smilk knows pv's whole life and secret to the point he can manipulate pv's memories that ultimately lead to pv's "fall". and the fact with the whole 'you're following in my footsteps' and 'you'll become me' thing is just smilk wanting to see pv crash out and use him as an asset. SMILK JUST WANTS TO WATCH AND ENJOY SEEING PV BE A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COOKIE!!!!

i want to see what smilk has in mind with truthless recluse. he's probably going to use him as a weapon against the other ancients (as pv is the one uniting the group together tbh) but at the same time, i wonder how pv would break free from his corruption.... I NEED THE NEXT EPISODE DEVS YOU CAN'T CLIFFHANGER ME LIKE THIS WTF

[pa1nrema1ns]

In a Sea of Fire || Sung Jin-woo (Part 3 of 3)

  Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!omega!reader

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so excited to finally bring you the conclusion to the siren AU trilogy. This is my first full-fledged fic, and it was a true labor of love. To mark this milestone, I commissioned this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous artwork of Jin-woo's siren form from the amazing @ekkurea. She is super kind and an incredible artist. I highly recommend checking out all her beautiful art and commissioning her.

I have been overwhelmed by the positive reception to this series and I am so grateful for all of you. I also want to personally thank my good friend and dedicated beta-reader @forbidden-sunlight for supporting me in the creation of this story. I could not have done it without her 🖤 As always, please pay heed to the content warnings listed below.

╰┈➤ Previous Chapters

🐚Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🐬Part 1: Master and Apprentice 🧜🏻‍♀️Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, mutual pining, afab!reader, implied smut, a/b/o dynamics, heat cycles, mating bites, courting rituals, objectification of reader, obsessive thoughts, angst, possessiveness, violence, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo, mentions of corruption, derogatory & misogynistic language used by a side-character towards the reader, ooc!Jin-woo, mildly ambiguous ending.

Word count: 12k

Summary - Autumn approaches Jindo Island and with it flourishes new love. But lingering doubts and conflicting desires threaten to cast shadows over your romance with Jin-woo. Just what terrible secret was he hiding from you?

Header artwork created by @ekkurea exclusively for this series. Please do not repost, edit, or use for your own fics, headcanons, or drabbles.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @anitalenia

At the heart of the shopping district on Jindo Island…

For the first time in his life Sung Jin-woo found himself at a loss as to what to do.

The siren nervously runs a hand through his hair as he studies his appearance in the full-length mirror. His reflection looks back at him clothed in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up at the forearms and a pair of tapered trousers. It was a polished look that drew attention to his athletic frame and emphasized his stormy grey eyes.

Jin-woo chuckles when he notices Iron giving him a small thumbs up from the reservoir in his shadow. His soldiers were doing an excellent job of boosting his morale but the same could not be said for him. Jin-woo couldn’t help but remain somewhat self-critical.

The siren tended to gravitate towards darker clothing while disguised as a human. This was partly due to their resemblance to his actual color scheme. Of course, this meant the only options that interested Jin-woo were those in differing shades of black. While this allowed him to retain some semblance of his true self, he worried that black may be too drab of a color for your liking. He was also starting to feel very out of his element in this stuffy little fitting room.

To make matters more complicated the sales associate at this posh boutique was quite the chatterbox, an incompatible match for the introverted siren. The older man had been particularly insistent on helping Jin-woo find an outfit that would ‘knock his little lady’s socks off’ after he mentioned needing clothes for a date. His very first date to be precise.

With you.

Jin-woo was determined to make this a memorable experience for the both of you, and the first step involved picking out the appropriate attire.

Unfortunately shopping proved to be a far more tedious task than he thought. At least dungeon raids had the benefit of being relatively straightforward.

As he idles in front of the mirror a contemptuous voice lingers in his head jeering at him.   

“How much longer do you intend on playing human, Sung Jin-woo? This reckless relationship has consisted of nothing but lies and deceit on your part. Have you ever considered how your beloved omega might feel after discovering you’ve been misleading her? It’s only a matter of time before your house of cards comes tumbling down.”

It was like listening to a crude mockery of himself, tone, inflection, and delivery of speech the exact same as his.  

“In the end this farce will result in nothing more than heartache and tragedy and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

The malicious words hang heavy in the air like an omen. An unwanted reminder that beneath that thick veneer of invulnerability Jin-woo was indeed malleable.

“Just because Ashborn was accepted by his human lover doesn’t mean Y/N will do the same for you. That woman has no obligation to love a monster who preys upon her own kind.”

He grits his teeth at the intrusive thoughts bidding them to disappear. To grant him a moment’s respite from the terrifying possibilities of all that could go wrong.

It’s to no avail.

“Would she look at you the same way if she knew you weren’t human? If she knew a siren wanted to fuck her like some insatiable animal? You still have the taste of her in your mouth, don’t you? So soft, sweet, and willing for her alpha. Yet you refused to claim her right when she was in the palm of your hand. You pathetic coward.”  

A preternatural violet hue alights Jin-woo’s body, and his muscles draw taut. A sign that he is well and truly pissed. The entire room threatens to crumble under the suffocating pressure.

“Tell me, just how many times have you woken up in the middle of the night? Hard, desperate, and starving for her touch. You must’ve lost count by now.”

A low growl emits from his throat. “Shut up! Shut the hell up!”  He silently screams at the voice as it exposes his repressed sexual urges.

“What if she lashes out at you in anger? Do you really expect her to stay civil and calm after she finds out you’ve been lying to her this entire time?”

It was for her own good! I had to lie to protect her! Jin-woo finds himself mentally pleading with his internal monologue. Begging for it to understand the reasoning behind his deceptive actions.

This only incites it to twist the knife further.

“Why not just take her then? After all that’s what you’ve always done with every obstacle in your path, every thorn in your side. You destroy and take from it until there’s nothing left. And that woman will be no different, but this time it will be a triumph greater than any other once she’s yours to possess.”

Jin-woo couldn’t form a rebuttal at this point. He was livid and positively shaking with rage.

For months he had been struggling with conflicting feelings for you. Every single aspect and idiosyncrasy about you resonated with his being. From your feistiness and fierce independence to your infectious smile and compassionate nature, Jin-woo was wholly and unconditionally in love with you.

He knew from the moment you took him into your arms on that desolate beach that you were a genuinely kind person with a good heart. Someone he’d want by his side for an eternity.

Perhaps one day you could even find it in yourself to love him the same way he loves you.

But another side of him, a primal side of him, sought nothing more than to devour you.

To corrupt you.

To desecrate you.

To free you from those worthless shackles of human morality…

And shape you into a wanton goddess capable of handling his brand of darkness.

Not even sleep would grace him with the mercy of a reprieve; Jin-woo was often plagued by vivid dreams of you. Explicit images and sensations of fleshly pleasures that elicited the worst of his bestial nature. On more than one occasion he’d awaken to his knot swelling with need and a deep-seated longing for your warmth.

He knows he should be ashamed for fantasizing about such depravity, for perverting the friendship that had gradually cultivated between the two of you.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

Jin-woo would give just about anything if he could have you in the same way as his dreams.

And he can envision you perfectly.

Your shapely thighs wrapped around his narrow waist, urging him deeper inside you. A dazed expression on your pretty face as he thrusts into you with sheer, masculine drive. Honeyed moans spilling from your lips as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and over your collarbones. Your supple breasts heaving with exertion when you finally topple over the edge with him. And your sated form pressed against the firm ridges of his body as he soothes you in the wake of your earth-shattering climax.

Jin-woo hisses and bites back a groan as he feels himself growing hard against the inseam of his trousers. Shit. He’s never wanted someone so badly in his entire life.

It was terrifying how easily you had him wrapped around your finger. You tempted him, left him on the brink of insanity, and you weren’t even aware of it.

How? Just how did it come to this? Meeting his comeuppance at the hands of a beautiful woman.

The siren was supposed to be a hardened warrior. An indomitable force born from the outcome of hundreds of harrowing battles. Time and time again Jin-woo overcame insurmountable odds and arose from the ashes. Ever stronger, ever colder. With Ashborn’s guidance he had rebuilt himself from the ground up and molded himself into a successor worthy of the title Shadow Monarch.

Jin-woo was not some naïve boy who believed he could woo you with flowery language and saccharine declarations of love. Nor was he some unruly beast whose restless soul could only be placated by carnal satisfaction. He was better than that, more disciplined and pragmatic…

At least he believed himself to be –

“Hey, kid! Are you alright in there? You’ve been awfully quiet for a while now.”

The sound of the sales associate’s voice instantly breaks his train of thought.

“I’m fine, I was just mulling over all my options,” he responds evenly hoping to not draw attention to himself.

“No worries kid. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Once the man’s footsteps fade Jin-woo slumps into one of the chairs in the cramped room. He then lowers his face into his hands, too disgusted to look at himself any longer.

The minutes tick by but Jin-woo doesn’t budge from his spot.

“My liege! Please, I beg of you, stop tormenting yourself!” Beru, the newest of his shadow soldiers and the only one capable of speech attempts to talk some sense into his king.

“…” the siren doesn’t provide him with a response.

Beru continues, “My liege, I cannot bear to see you so despondent. My lady is not so cruel or callous that she would cast you aside merely for being a siren.”

“I am a monster Beru. Nothing will convince her otherwise once she knows the truth.” Jinwoo replies flatly.

“My liege please forgive my impertinence, but do you truly believe she thinks so little of you? I’ve seen the way she looks at you and there is nothing but adoration in her eyes. My lady will not forsake you regardless of who or what you are.”

Jin-woo gasps at the sincerity of Beru’s words. The shadow had been more perceptive than he initially thought. He feels the beginnings of a smile form on his lips.

“You’ve been acting surprisingly obstinate today Beru. What’s gotten into you?”

The ant almost immediately bursts into a fit of tears causing Jin-woo to regret his choice of words. The weeping shadow then prostrates himself before his king.

“My liege I am so sorry! I only meant to –”

“Thank you Beru. I really needed your pep talk. My mind feels much clearer now.” Jin-woo interrupts before the ant can misinterpret him. Beru sheepishly raises his head, feelings of shame now overtaken by pride.

“I won’t falter again. You have my word, all of you do.” He addresses his entire army this time.

 A collective sigh of relief spreads throughout his soldiers. Because their souls were inextricably tied to their king’s every emotion Jin-woo experienced was shared firsthand with his shadows. They felt his happiness, his sadness, his anger.

And his desire for you.

It must’ve pained them greatly to see him in such a distressed state prompting Beru to act. His loyal soldiers needed a strong and centered king to guide them.

He would not submit so easily to despair again.

Jin-woo glances at his wristwatch; it was a quarter past one o’clock. He had three more hours to spare until your agreed meeting time at four. The siren really needed to get a move on if he had any hope of being prepared for the date. And to think that he had balked at human decorum before you stepped into his life…

He changes back into his street clothes and folds his chosen outfit into a neat pile. Before stepping out Jin-woo reaches into his inventory to examine his final courtship gift to you, a lustrous necklace composed of teardrop shaped mana crystals and pearls he harvested from his latest dungeon raid.

He spent hours meticulously crafting the jewelry by hand, working feverishly to ensure it was flawless. A one-of-a-kind item that no one else could hope to replicate or exceed. Still as he thumbed the necklace in his hand, he couldn’t help but replay those twisted words spoken by the disembodied voice.

Why not just take her then?

He tightens his grip on the necklace before hurriedly stowing it away in his hidden inventory. Next to it the Holy Water of Life lay untouched, burning a hole in his pocket.

The ball may have been in his court, but you would have the final say.

He'd make sure of it.

A sense of anticipation pervades the air as glowing neon lights come into view. You stop just shy of the entrance to a large commercial building, the chosen location for your date with Jin-woo.

A quick glance at your phone tells you that it’s a quarter till four. You still had another fifteen minutes to go. Ever the punctual one you always sought to arrive well ahead of schedule. This applied to your personal life as well.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see a deliberate movement in your shadow, one that does not match your own. You blink. Once, then twice. When you stare at the sidewalk again your shadow is as it should be, nothing but an intangible effigy bound to the push and pull of your own will. Weird, you think, had it been a trick of light? Your eyes then wander back to the front of the establishment.

Despite being the middle of the day, the bookstore’s sign remained lit by garish hues of yellow. You recall how many of the locals disapproved of the business when it first opened. To those who spent much of their lives in this quaint region of the Korean archipelago it was yet another ploy of gentrification from the mainland. To you, this bookstore served as a haven during your formative years. You spent countless hours getting lost in the worlds of your favorite authors here.

From the provocative narratives of Anne Rice to the gritty prose of Stephen King, your love for reading was fostered here. It only made sense to share this special part of yourself with Jin-woo, the beguiling alpha who was starting to consume your every waking thought.

As time draws nearer to your date you ponder over your last few months on the island.

The filming of ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’ wrapped up earlier this week and your colleagues were clamoring for a congratulatory celebration, something you wanted no part of. From personal experience you knew a constantly flowing stream of alcohol did not pair well with a room full of self-serving narcissists. You also hadn’t forgotten how rude the other make-up artists and stagehands had been to you on set. The fact that your date fell on the same day as the party was just the cherry on top.

Which brings you back to your dilemma, figuring out where you stand in your relationship with Jin-woo.

Throughout the entire twelve weeks of filming, you were both meeting in secrecy. Devoting this time to strengthening your bond tête-à-tête.

You learned much about Jin-woo and he about you, but you could tell he was harboring some kind of secret. Every time the topic of his personal background came up, he would steer the conversation in a different direction. In addition to this there was an ever-piling list of excuses for why he couldn’t divulge more about himself. This had you second guessing everything he was willing to share.

You really liked Jin-woo and you had no doubt he returned your feelings but you were also becoming highly suspicious of him. If you could wear your heart on your sleeve around him then why couldn’t he do the same for you?

Guilt was eating away at your conscience for even entertaining these thoughts. It’s through this haze of turmoil that your mind wanders to the more lighthearted moments between the two of you.

You think of the all the times he joined you on your early morning treks along the beach. Both as a companion and a protector. You had teased Jin-woo about it initially asking if he intended to use his ‘scary dog privilege’ to ward off other alphas. He scoffed at this suggestion clearly nonplussed by the comparison.

Yet despite your cheeky attitude you had readily taken up his offer. Your friends’ schedules often conflicted with yours, which meant they were usually working on the days you had off. What began as a nice change of pace from walking alone transformed into a cherished part of your routine. His warm, calloused fingers interlaced with yours as dusk bled into dawn.

There was also Jin-woo’s determination to communicate with you. Unsatisfied with written words alone, he had taken it upon himself to learn sign language. Jin-woo showed up one day with a step-by-step instruction manual containing illustrations. A cute shade of vermillion dusted his cheeks when he showed the book to you. You grinned from ear-to-ear and readily agreed to teach him.

He ended up being more adept at sign language than Cha and Jinho. By the end of your first session, Jin-woo was able to grasp several simple terms and phrases, a feat that greatly impressed you. Now he was bordering on being fluent. It was astonishing just how quickly he progressed.

And then there were his many gifts to you.

First a glory-of-the-seas cone in sumptuous tones of burnt ochre and golden brown. Then a bluefin tuna, a much sought-after and rare delicacy, captured fresh from the brine. And most recently, a natural South Sea pearl that appeared almost otherworldly in its splendor. Each offering a unique and thoughtful portrayal of his devotion.

The ritualism and intimacy of these gestures was not lost on you, and it left your heart racing. No one, save for director Jinchul, was ever this attentive towards you. And the latter had only done so on a professional basis. But Jin-woo treated you with a tender affection usually reserved for lovers. A title that was not either of yours to take. Not yet at least.

But both of you were well on the way to getting there.

Everything came to a turning point three days ago when your enigmatic friend finally worked up the courage to ask you out. You remember the bashful look on his face and the endearing image of his rosy cheeks. No sooner had Jin-woo finished signing his question than you found yourself excitedly leaping into his arms. At last, at long last you were both taking the next step in your relationship. So overcome with joy you completely overlooked all your unanswered questions and concerns about him. Nothing else had mattered at that moment.

Jin-woo effortlessly caught you and brought you into a twirling hug. You felt laughter bubble up from within you. It was as if a massive weight had been taken off your shoulders.

Just a few months ago you had been virtual strangers completely inconsequential to one other. Now you embraced as two intertwining melodies coalescing into one song.

When Jin-woo placed you back on your feet he had one more favor to ask. You watched intently as he brought both hands towards his face and formed them into half circles. He then placed the tips of his fingers together before puckering his lips. It was the sign for kissing. He wanted to kiss you.

You froze stunned by the unexpected request.

Apprehension painted Jin-woo’s handsome face. He was waiting, imploring you for an answer. Without missing a beat, you brought yourself closer to him. You didn’t stop until you were in such proximity your breath intermingled with his. You lifted your head and locked eyes with Jin-woo before lowering your gaze to admire his parted lips. After a flicker of hesitation, Jin-woo closed the gap between you and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Gentle. It had been such a gentle kiss at the beginning; petal soft and languid. However, there was a palpable shift in mood the instant Jin-woo ceased his rhythmical movements to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He slid it across your teeth, coaxing you to open more of yourself to him. And you willingly surrendered, moaning into his mouth and allowing him to stroke his tongue against yours.

Jin-woo’s kiss soon devolved into a scorching clash of teeth and tongue that left you breathless. The last of his restraints snapped and he was not holding back. He fisted a hand in your hair and tilted your face at a better angle so he could deepen the kiss. He then circled your waist with his other arm pulling your pliant figure flush against him. This prompted you to grasp onto the front of Jin-woo’s shirt for purchase, pressing your breasts into his chest. You were so close to Jin-woo that you could feel the vitality of his rapidly beating heart. He nipped at your lips before parting from them to mouth at your jaw, the curve of your neck, and the cleavage exposed by your tank top.

You shivered though from fear or want you did not know. This was an animalistic side of him you had never seen or experienced before. It was electrifying.

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt one of Jin-woo’s incisors graze over the junction of your neck and shoulder, threatening to break skin.

And then, just as quickly as this act of madness had started, it came to an abrupt and sudden end. Jin-woo’s eyes regained their focus and his ministrations stopped at once. He slowly raised his head from the crook of your neck and turned to look at you. A heart wrenching expression of guilt distorted his face.

He had lost control of himself and succumbed to his baser instincts.

And if he had bitten down on you back there, he would’ve marked you as his mate for life. Because that area on your neck contained some of your scent glands.

An alpha will bite an omega’s scent glands while mating with them to stake their claim. This also mixes the alpha’s and omega’s scents together securing their bond. It was an irreversible process and Jin-woo came within an inch of forcing it upon you.

He released you from his grip and took several steps back, placing him some distance from you. Wisps of ebony hair obscured his eyes, making his face difficult to read.

You ran towards Jin-woo attempting to grab his hand, yet he pulled his arm away from your touch. But your resolve was strong, and you refused to give up. After a few more tries, Jin-woo finally acquiesced and let you come near him.

As soon as the two of you were face to face, you leant forward and cradled his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. The guilt was gone but now it had been replaced by fear. Fear of what he had almost done to you.

You were having none of it. Nothing about Sung Jin-woo scared you, not in the past and most certainly not now.

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the side before raising them again. Then you began signing to Jin-woo, doing everything in your power to reassure him. You let him know that you were alright, you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest, and that both of you would be okay. What happened earlier was purely instinctual and would not draw a wedge between you. And most importantly you told him that you had absolutely no regrets about the kiss.

‘I wanted to kiss you,’ you signed, ‘I’ve been thinking about you as more than just a friend for a while now.’

‘So please, Jin-woo,’ you pleaded with him as your hands shook ‘let’s give this a shot. I want to be with you.’

He exhaled sharply before taking your smaller hands into his own. You really were his greatest weakness. He couldn’t resist you even if he tried.

You eventually managed to convince him to move forward with the date. The time and location were arranged shortly thereafter, although on slightly awkward terms given the circumstance.

Later that night while you were tucked away in the privacy of your bedroom, there was an unrelenting heat building between your thighs. The type of heat that set your nerves on fire and left you aching for release.

You hadn’t taken your heat suppressants in a while, and your body was paying a heavy price for it. You should’ve known better than to let yourself fall by the wayside, but you no longer cared about taking your medication anymore. It was like you were daring your heat to come, to wash over you and rid you of your inhibitions.

When the flames of your desire became unbearable, you slipped a hand underneath the waistband of your pajamas hoping it would slake your lust. However, as you stroked yourself to completion you couldn’t help but imagine it was Jin-woo’s deft fingers that were caressing your slick folds instead.

In the corner of your room an unknown presence watched you with rapt interest. It greedily drank in your sinful actions, the dips and curves of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest. And as you reached your peak tendrils of shadow danced across your skin like silk.

After you fell asleep a lone hand emerged from the darkness and gently ran its knuckles over your cheek…

“ – !?”

You’re startled from daydreaming when the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood perfumes the air. It was the tell-tale sign that Jin-woo had just arrived. You check your phone again and are shocked to see it’s already a minute past four. You totally lost track of time while standing outside the bookstore! Embarrassed, you turn and are greeted by the sight of your alpha.

He looked incredible, like a god amongst men. You loved the color black on Jin-woo, it brought out his sharp features and contrasted wonderfully with his fair complexion. The outfit he was wearing for your date exemplified this. His dark trousers and dress shirt were perfectly molded to his body creating a sleek and streamlined appearance. You slowly dragged your eyes across the hard planes of muscle bulging underneath the tight fabric. When you reach Jin-woo’s face there’s an amused glint in his eyes. Oh crap! He noticed you were ogling him. Heat blossoms across your cheeks and you self-consciously tug at the hemline of your cable knit sweater.  

Unbeknownst to you Jin-woo had also been eyeing you up albeit in a far more discrete manner. The leggings you wore clung lovingly to curves like a second skin and your high heeled ankle boots completed the look giving it a touch of elegance. You were strikingly lovely, like a flower coming into bloom.

After several seconds of silence, Jin-woo break is the one who breaks the ice.

 ‘You look great, Y/N,’ he signs to you, ‘I’m so happy to see you again. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.’

Jin-woo must’ve had known you’d been embarrassed about being caught red-handed, so he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he complimented you. God, how could he be so smug yet so charming at the same time?

Precious boy, you muse.

You greet the raven-haired man back with a smile before pulling him into a hug. Jin-woo returns the embrace and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. All the tension and uncertainty from the past few days had dissipated allowing you to relax and enjoy each other’s company. It signaled a return to normalcy, to better days ahead for both of you.

‘Ready to head in?’ Jin-woo signs to you with a grin on his face that matches yours.

‘Let’s go,’ you respond with a jaunty spring in your movements.

You grab his hand and lead the way, threading your fingers through his.

The next two hours are spent perusing the bookstore’s massive collection. It was one of the largest retail booksellers in Asia boasting over 100,000 different titles on its shelves. Jin-woo’s eyes widened when he walked in. He’d never seen so many books in one place before.

‘Overwhelmed?’ you ask him, nervous that you made the wrong decision on choosing this bookstore for your first date. The size of it alone could be daunting to newcomers.

‘It’s amazing,’ he answers, excitement evident in the fast motions of hands. Your chest fills with warmth at his display of enthusiasm.

You share your interests and favorite genres with Jin-woo, showing him the many novels you read over the years. Jin-woo seemed particularly drawn to the paper- and hardback books in the ‘Classics’ section. He picked up a copy of The Odyssey and leafed through its contents making you curious about his tastes.

One of your hands was clutching onto a large special edition hardback so you typed your question on your phone this time.

[“Do you like Greek mythology?”]

‘I’ve read a few stories here and there,’ he signs back after glancing at your screen.

[“I remember being assigned this book in AP literature when I was a second year. I found it rather interesting, but I loathed Odysseus. I thought he was a complete asshole for cheating on his wife. She remained faithful during his 10-year journey from Ithaca despite having over 100 suitors. But he gets a free pass for sleeping with goddesses and other women. Ugh😒”]

You huff after airing your grievances about Odysseus and his infidelity in your text message. It was silly but you’ve held a personal vendetta against the fictional man ever since you finished reading the epic poem.

Jin-woo snorts in amusement at your reaction. Looks like you both held a distaste for Odysseus although his reason for disliking him differed greatly from yours. Sirens only became weak to humanity after the epic hero found a means of circumnavigating their deadly voices. It felt good to share a common enemy with you.

‘You’re even prettier when you’re angry,’ Jin-woo smirks as he signs this to you.

Now it was your turn to snort. Really? That was a new one.

[“Flattery will get you everywhere with me! Now state your price handsome. 😉”]

He inhales before signing, ‘Will you watch the stars with me tonight?’

The tips of his ears and nape of his neck were bright red as he asked you this. It was adorable.

You answer with a fleeting kiss to his mouth, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. Of course you’d watch the stars with him tonight! You’d be willing to watch them every single night by his side if he’d let you.

The two of you continue floating through the different aisles, a copy of The Odyssey tucked underneath Jin-woo’s arm. He also picked out another book, a science fiction novel titled, The Ants, by Bernard Werber. Jin-woo had read the novel once before and he wanted to revisit it for old time’s sake.

As your book tour concludes Jin-woo comes to a halt after catching sight of an ornate hardcover. Intrigued, you scan the title. It was Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid.

‘This story always makes me so sad,’ you sign to Jin-woo with a melancholy look in your eyes.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ Jin-woo asks, his interest piqued.

You find yourself hesitating.

‘Are you sure you want me to spoil it for you?’

‘I don’t mind.’ he responds.

You decide to use your phone to relay the plot since the fairy tale is a lengthy one.

[“There once lived a beautiful and kindhearted mermaid. Having spent most of her life at sea she longed to explore the world above and learn more about humanity. When she becomes old enough to swim to the surface she falls in love at first sight with a handsome prince. After a violent storm sinks his ship, the mermaid rescues him and brings him back to land before he regains consciousness.”]

Jin-woo’s gaze is intense as he studies your phone screen. You’ve never seen someone be so invested in your storytelling. It was flattering.

You continue typing away intent on finishing what you started.

[“The mermaid’s infatuation with the prince drives her to strike up a deal with a powerful sea witch. The witch offers her a potion that can transform her into a human, but it comes at a high cost. The mermaid would never be able to return to the sea once she drank it. What’s more the potion also robs her of her voice and causes her excruciating pain whenever she walks. Despite knowing the toll it will take on her body the mermaid moves forward, blinded by love.”]

Jin-woo’s eyes narrowed after reading this passage and he signs, ‘She’s being manipulated by the witch?’ You confirm his question with a nod of your head.

Your final text ends the story on a low note.

[“The mermaid finally meets and befriends the prince but everything she sacrifices is for nothing. He falls in love with a princess from another kingdom instead and this breaks her heart. The sea witch appears once more to give an ultimatum to the mermaid: she must kill the prince and allow his blood to drip onto her feet. Only by having her revenge could she return to the sea and live as a mermaid again. But she refused. Her love for the prince prevented her from stabbing him. In the final scene the mermaid tosses herself into the sea and as daybreak approaches, she dissolves into foam.”]

You sigh once you’re done. It’s more akin to a tragedy than a fairy tale, you think.

Your next message asks:

[“So, what’s your opinion on it? Pretty sad stuff huh?”]

When you turn to Jin-woo to gauge his reaction you’re taken aback by how pale he looks. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down his face and his countenance had turned grim, a far cry from his relaxed expression at the start of your date. The ending must have disturbed him way more than you anticipated.

Crap. You should have never offered to explain the plot to Jin-woo. This version of, The Little Mermaid, made you bawl like a baby the first time you read it and you usually remained dry-eyed while reading most tearjerkers. Why did you think it was a bright idea to discuss it on a date of all things? It was time to shift into damage control mode, stat!

You struggle for words while coming up with an apology to Jin-woo. You try to keep the text casual and concise to reduce any tension between you.

[“Jin-woo, are you okay? Do you need to sit down and rest? I’m so sorry! I’ve gone and dampened the mood.😭”]

He shakes his head after looking at your message and retrieves a pen and a small notepad from his pocket, an indication that he wanted to hold a longer conversation with you. Although Jin-woo’s grasp of sign language was excellent he found written words to be suitable when the circumstance called for it. Like now for instance.

When he’s done writing with his stationery he hands the notepad to you.

[“Please don’t feel the need apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. You tried to warn me about how sad the story was, but I insisted on you telling me it anyway. I was just surprised was all. I can relate a bit to the mermaid because I’ve also made great sacrifices for the ones I love. In the mermaid’s case her love for the prince destroyed her. She gave up everything for him only for it to be in vain. It’s sobering to see love portrayed so tragically.”]

Jin-woo worries at his lower lip. He mentioned making sacrifices for his loved ones to you before but what exactly did he mean by it?

[“What sacrifices did you make if you don’t mind me asking? I’m here if you need a shoulder to lean on y’know.”]

You play coy with your response to glean more information from him. Maybe now that you’re officially dating, Jin-woo will open up to you.

Your hopes are dashed when the notepad is back in your possession.

[“Nothing I haven’t said before. Long hours, being away from home, missing my mother and sister while I’m away. Those kinds of sacrifices. Fishing at sea can be deadly if you’re not careful. I’ve had to dirty my hands on more than a few occasions while on the job.”]

Dirty his hands? Now this was something he hadn’t discussed with you before. Was Jin-woo involved in something illegal? Commercial fishing and maritime hunting were mercilessly cutthroat. A big profit can be made from harvesting seafood, fish, and other resources from the ocean. Some companies go as far as committing murder to weed out the competition.

Could this be what he meant by ‘dirtying his hands?’ That would explain why he was so flighty about his past with you. What if he was in trouble? If he was then why didn’t he ask you for help? Did he not trust you or did he not want to drag you into a mess of his own making? 

Your mind’s going a mile a minute you’re so worried about Jin-woo. If he ended up injured or even dead because you decided to believe his lies and look the other way you would never forgive yourself. It was time to address the elephant in the room once and for all.

You type so fast; it’s a miracle you can come up with a message that was even coherent. Your face is hot, and you can already feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

[“Jin-woo, you need stop lying to me. I know there’s something you’re hiding, and it hurts that you can’t trust me enough to say it. If you’re in trouble just tell me. Say the words and I’ll try to help you to the best of my ability. I really like you Jin-woo but honesty should be mutual between us. I’ve spilled my guts to you, told you all about my life, my friends, and my job. Why can’t you do the same for me? I feel like I’m only falling in love with your reflection, not the real you. I just can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to lose you, but I refuse to be part of a relationship that lacks any kind of integrity!”]

Jin-woo takes on the pallor of a corpse as soon as he scans the contents of your text.

Fuck, you had done it now. There was no going back.

When he can bring himself to gaze at you there’s a devastation in his face that makes you instantly hate yourself for lambasting him. Yet you had to stand firm and conquer this hill if you had any chance of a future with him.

His little notepad is staring you in the face before you know it. Jin-woo’s handwriting looked frenzied and frayed. When you glance at him, his head is bowed, and his eyes are cloaked in shadow. He was utterly ashamed of himself. You can’t even begin to imagine what thoughts must be going running through his mind. He had to be as distraught as you were if not worse.

[“Tonight,” the scrawl reads, “I am going to tell you everything tonight. No more lies, no more excuses, I promise you. Even if you despise me for it, even if you never want to see me again, I’ll give you the truth no matter what. So please just this once trust me. I don’t want to lose you either. You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’m sorry for not being truthful to you, I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’ve only ever lied to protect you.”]

The desperation in his words makes your heart plummet. Just how terrible was this secret that it made Jin-woo think you would hate him for it? And he was scared you would be harmed if you knew? There was no doubt about it, Jin-woo absolutely was in danger. Why else would he be so disturbed about telling you?

Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely keep your phone from falling out of your grip. Jin-woo notices and steadies them by taking your hands in his own. Even at his lowest point you were his priority.

Did he ever once consider his own well-being?

How could he be so considerate of you at a time like this? You wanted to scream; to demand he be angry at you, to curse at you. Anything to justify your self-loathing. You berated Jin-woo without considering why he may be lying in the first place. For all you know his life could be on the line. Yet you only thought of your frustrations like a petulant child.

Stupid. You were so goddamn stupid!

A bookstore associate sees your distress and heads in your direction. Although your argument with Jin-woo was silent your panicked demeanor was starting to cause a scene. You really don’t want anyone to see you like this right now. Especially since you were on the brink of having a breakdown.

Jin-woo quickly acts as your shield, his protectiveness of you second nature. He pulls you to his chest, hiding your face from prying eyes. He’s warm, his heartbeat is steady, and you can feel his palms running up and down your back, consoling you. Jin-woo held you with the tenderness of a lover.

It’s in the comfort of his embrace that you let go and allow yourself to weep for him.

“Hello, ma’am is everything alri–”

“You can direct your questions to me. Can’t you tell she’s upset right now?” Jin-woo interrupts the man with clipped tone before he can finish. There’s a particularly nasty scowl on his face and the aura resonating from him is menacing at best. Did this moron not know how to read the room or was he lacking in common sense? You were vulnerable and in no position to be approached by a stranger let alone some random man.

The store associate pales and falters at Jin-woo’s display of aggression. He glances at the dark-haired alpha then back to you before his eyes widen. He had connected the dots.

“I… I… Sir, please try to understand. I didn’t mean to intrude on you and your mate, there were just some concerns from the staff and other patrons because of how scared she looked.”

Jin-woo’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly, and he levels a sneer at the frightened associate. The fucking gall of this man, of these humans, thinking they had a right to invade your own personal matters!

If you hadn’t been there with him he wouldn’t think twice about murdering every single person in this building. He’d flay the flesh from their bones, reap their misbegotten souls, and resurrect them into mindless pawns; just cogs in a machine for his army of the undead.

Jin-woo reluctantly quells his rage and spits out, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. What happens between her, and I is of no concern to you. Now go.”

His commanding baritone brooks no argument, and the man flees with all the grace of a wounded animal.

For the next few minutes, you remain in Jin-woo’s arms until your tears run dry. When you’re feeling stable enough to walk Jin-woo softly takes your hand and leads you out of the building. Your books lie forgotten and haphazardly stacked on top of one another on a random shelf.

You both walk aimlessly with no set destination in mind. Your eyes were still swollen and puffy from earlier, so you avert your gaze from Jin-woo. He merely squeezes your hand in response, a gesture of reassurance.

An unoccupied back alley with a dead end eventually comes into view. It’s here in this inconspicuous passageway that Jin-woo decides to explain the full extent of his powers.

Once you’re seated on a nearby windowsill, he activates his inventory in front of you for the first time. Jin-woo said he would show you the truth and he was a man of his word. He withdraws Kasaka’s Venom Fang, the oldest dagger in his collection, and gracefully twirls it in his hand before holding it out to you.

As expected, you’re awestruck by the sight of the weapon. However, what Jin-woo doesn’t anticipate is for you to suddenly extend a hand towards the blade, your index finger almost touching its venom-tinged edge. He snatches your wrist so nimbly you barely register what happens. Only the warmth from his body alerts you of his hold.

You gasp.

Despite the incredible velocity of his movements Jin-woo was able to rein in the force behind them, preventing you from being hurt by his grip. Even the most elite athletes struggled to find the perfect balance between speed and strength. His control of his body was beyond human capabilities.

He shoots you an apologetic look and releases your wrist.

‘That dagger can paralyze and drain your life if it cuts you,’ Jin-woo warns after returning it to storage, ‘I should have told you sooner. I’m sorr –

‘It’s beautiful.’

He raises his eyebrows. Of all the words you could use to describe such a deadly weapon ‘beautiful’ wasn’t what he had in mind. His lips quirk into a small smile.

‘You think so? It doesn’t frighten you?’ he queries, pleasantly surprised by your nonchalance.

You nod and peer at him with a soft expression.

‘I do.’ There’s a long pause before you add, ‘You’ve used that knife before, haven’t you?’

You bite your lip and clasp your hands together after you’re done signing. You knew you were backing Jin-woo into a corner with a loaded question, but he wouldn’t be lugging around such a dangerous item without having a very good reason for it.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by grimace. You hit the nail on the head. Jin-woo readies himself for his answer.

‘Yes, I have. I’ve used that dagger to hurt and even kill people in the past. I know I’ve told you many lies and half-truths, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I dirtied my hands.’

He expels a shaky breath before delving into all the gritty details of who he really is. Unraveling and stripping himself down to his barest form.

Through a combination of sign language, a visual demonstration of his abilities, and written words Jin-woo reveals that he is a hunter, a warrior who fights life and limb against otherworldly beasts; day in and day out.

He exposes his many skills including stealth, the power he used to manifest outside of the bookstore.

Next came his accelerated healing and immense physical prowess. Jin-woo spots a discarded cinderblock on the ground, grabs it, and shatters the hard object with his bare hands. This causes his palms to scrape and bleed. You gasp and rise to your feet, alarmed by Jin-woo’s injuries. But he lifts his arm, an unspoken order for you to stay exactly where you are.

Suddenly light eclipses the abrasions and his skin starts to mend itself. You watch in disbelief as Jin-woo splays his opened and visibly undamaged palms in the air. You had just witnessed Kandiaru’s Blessing in the flesh.

And then he unveils one of his greatest assets to you.

The shadows pooling at his feet rapidly proliferate until the entire alley is submerged in darkness. Within seconds a lone obsidian knight emerges from the void. He cuts a formidable figure on his own standing well over 240 cm with vibrant hues of amethyst accenting his heavy armor. A single red plume hangs atop his helmet and sways with every stride he takes. When he gets within five feet of you and Jin-woo he kneels in reverence.

You learn the knight’s name is Igris and that he’s one of hundreds of soldiers who serve under Jin-woo. This was only a taste of the Shadow Monarch’s full dominion.

Once finished Jin-woo issues an order for Igris to return. The knight stands tall and nods his assent to his king and much to your shock, to you as well, before he disappears into the receding shadows. Moments later the alleyway is as it always appears with nothing to indicate what transpired.

It’s at this stage that you present one more hard-hitting question to Jin-woo. A question he’d been dreading.

‘You aren’t human, are you Jin-woo?’

He clenches his fists.

‘No, I’m not.’

You study his face closely trying to scope out any signs of deception, but there are none. He was being completely honest with you. But then what else could he possibly be?

Before the weight of his answer can fully sink in the revolting stench of congealed blood assaults your senses. It reeks of decay and viscera, the potent odor violating the air like a malignancy.

This was the unmistakable scent of an alpha, one that you were unfortunately all too familiar with.

It was Kang Taeshik’s nauseating musk.

You internally panic, horrified that your assailant from months ago was somehow back in the picture. Your thoughts become a frantic mess.

No…no…no! It can’t be! Director Jinchul fired him! He should’ve been long gone by now, so what the hell was he doing back on this island!?!

You feel like the air’s been punched from your lungs. Your legs shake uncontrollably and threaten to crumble. Jin-woo quickly catches you by the waist before you can slump to the ground. He then maneuvers your body so that you’re facing him, not the unseen nightmare that was approaching. He strokes your hair, and his pheromones are released in full force to calm your nerves. The aroma of lavender and sandalwood slowly begins to supersede the miasma of death.

“Show yourself already. The bloodlust from your filthy stench’s enough of a giveaway, alpha.”

Jin-woo’s eyes narrow into a frosty glare as the sound of obnoxious clapping echoes throughout the alleyway. Taeshik had finally announced his arrival.

“Well, color me impressed! It’s not often I come across someone who isn’t intimidated by my scent. Looks like you’ve got some balls on you! I like it! You’d make a great brawler in our fighting circuit.” An unknown voice commends Jin-woo with a condescending undertone.

You begin to whimper as the odor increases in intensity. Jin-woo gently tucks your head into the crook of his neck granting you access to his scent glands. Right now, his instincts were kicking into overdrive. He was solely focused on protecting and cherishing you. Fighting could be put on the back burner. For now.

 A man with a wild mane of purple hair arrogantly saunters into view. He’s accompanied by a large group of men, around ten in total and all of them alphas. Judging by the murderous intent in their eyes they were on the prowl for prey.

Taeshik’s mouth spreads into a smirk reminiscent of a Chelsea grin when notices you. He openly leers at your body; an action that causes Jin-woo to snarl and bare his fangs.

The purple haired man raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey now there’s no need for that. I was just appreciating the view, that’s all. Besides, your omega and I have a bit of a history together. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Jin-woo’s eyes go wide. How did he know your name?

His reaction seems to delight Taeshik who continues his spiel.

“Why the shock? She must’ve not told you about me. Y’see we used to be coworkers up until she got me fired. And after I was just trying to help by doing a little favor for her. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” He breaks into a fit of disconcerting laughter at the end of his speech.

“A favor?” Jin-woo asks, no, demands Taeshik to answer. Just what had he done to you?

One of the gang members, a burly man with several scars, spiky black hair, and a five o’ clock shadow snickers and interjects.

“Isn’t it obvious, brat? That little slut went into heat right in front him. She was practically begging for it too! Taeshik here was gonna bring her to us so we could all get a piece of that fine ass. Too bad that fuckin’ director had to go and ruin our plans. But your boss isn’t here to save you this time, huh sweetheart?”

“She can’t hear or speak to you, Dongsuk. She’s deaf. I don’t know how many times I have to keep reminding you.” Taeshik drawls, annoyance lacing his voice.

“Heh, so what? A hole’s a hole. It ain’t like she’s gonna be able to talk with a mouthful of cock anywa –”

Slash!

In the blink of an eye Dongsuk’s head rolls off his shoulders leaving nothing but a bloodied stump in its wake. His body slumps to its knees like a marionette with its strings cut before flopping onto the ground.

“Wha – what the hell just happened!?!”

“Holy shit!”

“D…Dongsuk!? No!”

Confusion and panic overtake the men within seconds. Even Taeshik looks ill at ease. None of them had been able to pinpoint the exact cause or reason for the man’s untimely demise.

When the purple haired alpha redirects his attention to Jin-woo, he’s mortified by what he sees. Black eclipses the end of the alleyway submerging everything in darkness except for Jin-woo’s piercing gaze.

In that moment, Taeshik learns what pure, unadulterated terror feels like. He was staring death in the face, a face that bore nothing but apoplectic rage.

A crimson and black dagger, the Knight Killer, was wielded in one of Jin-woo’s hands. The weapon’s jagged edges were ensanguined up to the hilt; evidence of the life it had so effortlessly taken. Jin-woo’s other arm remained wrapped around you although now you were facing Taeshik, the remainder of his men, and the decapitated corpse of Hwang Dongsuk.

You tear your gaze away, unable to bear the gruesome sight any longer. Jin-woo looks at you sympathetically before hardening his expression.

He knew he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he was infuriated by these vulgar bottom feeders and the disgusting remarks they made about you. Jin-woo really couldn’t give a fuck about killing these wastes of space, but he wouldn’t let you be a spectator to the slaughter he was about to commit. You’ve been traumatized enough.

An insect-like specter suddenly manifests from the shadows and bows before you and his king.

“Beru, take her somewhere safe and far away from here. I don’t want her to see this.” Jin-woo orders, his voice dropping an octave lower.

“At once my liege.” The ant diligently obeys his master and offers a clawed hand to you.

“My lady?”

You pause at the gesture, unsure of whether you should accept it or stay by Jin-woo’s side. The dark-haired man notices your hesitation and makes the choice for you. He clasps onto your shoulder and squeezes it urging you to escape with Beru.

You reluctantly allow the ant to hoist you into his arms. As Beru prepares to launch himself into flight you turn and cast a final glance at Jin-woo.

He looks nothing at all like himself. He’s cold, menacing, inhuman.

That’s right, Jin-woo wasn’t human. He admitted as much to you. But it hadn’t changed your feelings for him in any shape or form. Your heart still yearned and bled for him all the same.

Your lids grow heavy once Beru takes to the skies, a likely side-effect of overexposure to Jin-woo’s pheromones. As you start to succumb to slumber, your last waking thoughts are filled with nothing but him.

The moon hangs high in the sky when you wake up. After gaining your bearings you perform a cursory scan of your surroundings. A vast sea cavern greets you, its atmosphere dank and foreboding. Stalactites rain down from the ceiling like arrows frozen in time, weathered rocks line the walls, and the air is so humid you struggle to breathe. The only source of light is from moonbeams drifting through a crevice at the top of the cave.

You soon realize that you’re lying on top of a sandbank in the middle of a large body of water. There didn’t appear to be any means of escape other than swimming, but you were mentally and physically exhausted. Your phone was also nowhere in sight, making it impossible to text for help. You were effectively stuck.

An undulating motion in the water’s surface catches your attention. You weren’t alone, something was in here with you and it was getting closer. However, you’re not afraid. In fact, there’s something oddly familiar about this presence...

The movements abruptly ceases, and all is still for several heart pounding seconds. Then out of nowhere a large figure surges from underneath the briny waves.

It’s a male siren, and he’s utterly magnificent. His appearance more akin to a work of art than a living, breathing being. He looks at you with a serene expression. Was this who you thought it was?

You drink him in, appreciating his beauty in its entirety.

The siren’s eyes consist of blackened sclerae with amethyst irises. A smooth layer of ebony skin partially coats his jaw, shoulders, and back. It contrasts wonderfully with the ivory coloring on his chest and face. He bore the same pattern as a killer whale; an apt comparison given that sirens were also apex predators. Webbed ear fins protrude from the sides of his head, the scales on them aglow under the faint moonlight. And luscious locks of black hair frame the siren’s stunning face.

He's simply not of this world. Words could never accurately describe his ethereal visage.

The siren is sprawled out on the edge of the sandbank. Upon closer inspection you notice that he’s highly anxious. You see his dichromatic throat bobbing, and he makes a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with you. You’d seen these nervous tics before.

‘Is that you, Jin-woo?’ You sign to the siren although you’re certain you already know the answer. You just needed his confirmation for peace of mind.

He shuts his eyes and nods, a somber admission of the truth.

You take a deep breath before exhaling. Then you present him with another question.

‘Did you kill all of them?’

The siren remains still this time. His lack of a definite response was an answer in itself.

You wet your lips. So, you were right. Jin-woo said he’s killed before to survive, but this time he did it for you. To punish those men who sought to use you for their own perverse interests. And Taeshik… his fate must’ve been worse than death for what he put you through.

Jin-woo signs to you.

‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way… this was supposed to be a special day for you, but everything went wrong. I know you’ll want no part of me in your life after this, but I’m glad I met you. I’ll have Beru take you home.’

Jin-woo turns his back to you and prepares to make his departure. So, that was it? He was going to vanish from your life just like that. You hadn’t even gotten a word in; he just assumed you didn’t want anything to do with him. That idiot!

You had to stop Jin-woo before it was too late! But what could you possibly do to prevent him from leaving…?

You have an epiphany then; what if you gave all of yourself to Jin-woo, body and soul? Only an intimate act, the consummation of your relationship, could fully bind you to Jin-woo.

A mating bite is irreversible. Once you are bonded there’s no going back on it. But you’ve wanted Jin-woo for so long. In fact, you wish he had bitten your scent glands when he first kissed you. Him being a siren, a killer of mankind and monsters, did not deter you. He was your chosen mate. You would never refuse him.

The sound of rustling of clothes stops Jin-woo in his tracks. He inhales shakily, not quite believing what was happening just feet from him.

You were disrobing yourself. You wanted to mate with him!

As you peel off each article of clothing, the sweet scent of your pheromones and slick become more pronounced. Jin-woo groans as his knot starts to swell. God, you smelt incredible! If only he could see your nude form. The things he’d make you feel, the sounds he’d drive from you…

Why was he still stopping himself? Your actions just now said all that needed to be said! You wanted him, and you were more than ready for his knot. As an alpha he’d be remiss not to tend to the needs of his omega.

His mouth curls into a wolfish grin. You really had no idea what you’d just gotten yourself into.

You feel heat pooling between your thighs at the sight of Jin-woo’s broad shoulders. The muscles of his back flex deliciously when he finally turns to relish you in all your naked glory. The smoldering gaze he sends you as his eyes sweep over every inch of your bare body looks like it’s carved in sin. You delight in his attention and crave more of it.

Unable to endure another second apart from your alpha, you rush to the edge of the sandbank fully prepared to swim to him if necessary. But you’re beaten to the punch as Jin-woo emerges from the water and pins you to the ground at a speed that’s downright demonic.

He holds both of your wrists above your head in one large hand while he rests his other arm on his elbow beside your head, trapping you beneath him.

Jin-woo looks into your eyes one last time for any sign of resistance. There’s none; you were not backing down from this. You wanted him to claim you.

Your explicit consent is all he needs to unleash himself upon you. He molds his lips against yours in a searing kiss that burns with passion. Your eyes slip shut as you lose yourself to it. Jin-woo was kissing you with abandon this time, and it was sublime. There was a clear intent and purpose in every stroke and caress of his mouth. He kissed you as if nothing else mattered.

He abruptly parts from your lips to press his forehead to yours. At last, both of you could indulge and get lost in one another. You bask in Jin-woo’s warmth and spread your legs apart allowing him to slant between them. He releases your wrists and cradles your face in his hands.

Your breath hitches when you feel his length prodding against your stomach. This was really happening! You shiver in spite of yourself. Would you be able to withstand Jin-woo’s brute strength?

The siren presses featherlight kisses to your lips, cheeks, and eyelids to quell your nerves. When he pulls back you notice his mouth is moving. You focus on his lips, carefully deciphering each word.

“Raise your head and close your eyes. I have a surprise”

You do as he asks, and something cold prickles against your décolleté and the back of your neck. You’re curious about what Jin-woo’s placed on you but you keep your head raised and your lids remain firmly shut. Moments later two taps of his fingertips on your cheek signal that you can open your eyes.

When you glance down, you’re amazed by the jewelry dangling from your neck. It’s gorgeous. Incandescent shards of crystal and delicate alabaster pearls pour from your nape down to the swell of your breasts.

Jin-woo in turn finds himself mesmerized by the image of the gemstones splayed across your dewy skin. Your complexion glows in the moonlight, making you all the more alluring.

He decides to take you right then and there.

As you wrap your arms around Jin-woo’s shoulders, he captures your lips with his and slides into your tight heat. You keen and arch into Jin-woo, baring your throat to him. His fangs lengthen, and he sinks them into the tender flesh of your neck, staking his claim.

Stars adorn the night sky as the two of you intertwine and become one.

Five days later…

Woo Jinchul was beside himself with worry.

He wearily rubs at his bloodshot eyes. A quick glance at his phone tells him it's just past three o’ clock in the morning. Yet another sleepless night had come to pass. The man contemplates grabbing more coffee but decides not to. He was already five cups deep and the caffeine was doing nothing for his exhaustion.

Jinchul knows he isn’t at his best when he’s sleep deprived but he couldn’t afford to waste another minute, not while you were still nowhere to be found. And now, based on recent developments in your case, you were classified as an endangered missing person. Sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

He looks down at his desk to examine your case file for what must’ve been the tenth time in the last hour. These classified documents contained sensitive information. Jinchul had to resort to pulling strings to obtain a copy of your records. He hated throwing his weight around to get what he wanted but bringing you back home safe and alive was far more important to him.

Lead detectives Baek Yoonho and Choi Jong-In hadn’t been too thrilled about sharing the particulars of an open investigation with some ‘big wig’ film director. It took some major convincing on Jinchul’s part for them to relent and provide him with such crucial details.

So far, it’s been almost a full week since your disappearance. During that time, an exhaustive search of the island had been performed. However, there was no sight or sound of you. And as fate would have it, another misfortune occurred on the very night you vanished. This time it was a massacre.

Kang Taeshik, a name Jinchul wishes he could just forget. The man had a propensity for violence as well as a lengthy rap sheet that was conveniently scrubbed from public records. He knew Taeshik engaged in some unsavory pastimes, namely hosting unsanctioned brawls in the underground fighting circuit. But this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Racketeering, drug trade, and much to Jinchul’s horror, human trafficking, had been just a handful of the crimes the sick bastard had gotten away with.

If only he had known sooner, then you would’ve never been in this situation. He should’ve trusted his gut and chosen another actor for Taeshik’s role. Jinchul always despised the way that man looked at you, like you were a slab of meat. It was disgusting.

Imagine his shock when he discovered Taeshik had fallen victim to a mass murderer. Body parts and mutilated remains barely recognizable as human were found littered in an alleyway like trash. The scene had been so grizzly that dental records were required to identify the deceased. Only four out of the eleven decedents could be positively ID’d, with Taeshik being one of them.

There were no eyewitnesses, no biological evidence, no suspects. Nothing. The murders would be exceptionally difficult to solve.

And they didn’t stop there.

A large bookstore was set on fire two days after the gruesome discovery. Widespread flames and hundreds of thousands of books were a recipe for disaster. Despite the best efforts of the fire department and emergency services, over seventy people lost their lives. It was initially presumed to be an accident, likely faulty wiring or inadequate maintenance.

This theory was thrown out the window when the autopsy results of one of the store’s associates revealed some truly unsettling details.

To put it lightly the man had been decimated. Every bone in his body was shattered, his spinal cord was severed, and both his legs were torn off. The associate had undergone an excruciating death, with any one of his injuries being fatal. He’d been tortured extensively before expiring from blood loss. Whoever committed this murder must’ve wanted him to suffer. The damage to the man’s body also bore striking similarities to the injuries sustained by victims of the massacre.

When his surviving co-workers were asked by detectives if the man had any known enemies, an older woman spoke up. Apparently, there was a tall dark-haired alpha having a falling-out with his girlfriend in the store a few days prior. The associate attempted to intervene and stop the lover’s tiff, but the boyfriend had been greatly angered by this.

“It was as if he’d seen a ghost,” the woman stated, “He was absolutely spooked by the confrontation and refused to talk to us about it. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t dropped the topic so easily. That boy was such a hard worker, always so eager to help those in need… it’s awful what happened to him. I don’t know how his family is coping.”

But if a grudge was only held against the associate then why did the killer go so far as to destroy the entire building? Did he also harbor resentment towards the business? Was he trying to make an example out of them?

Unfortunately, all the surveillance cameras in the bookstore had been destroyed in the fire. Staff members were able to provide a detailed description of the alpha and his girlfriend. When Jinchul first saw the composite sketches he nearly fell out of his chair.

The girlfriend had been a dead ringer for you.

If that wasn’t enough of a smoking gun, the day the man and woman were seen together coincided with the day you went missing.

Evidence in your case was mounting but none of it made sense. How did you get involved with this man? As far as Jinchul knew you weren’t dating anyone during filming. Cha and Jinho were also certain you were single. But that didn’t exclude the possibility of you being in a secret relationship… 

At this point in the investigation, all Baek and Choi had to run on was the assumption you’d been kidnapped by a highly dangerous individual. A man who just so happened to be linked to almost one hundred deaths within the last week. The resolution to your missing person’s case was becoming bleaker by the day.

Jinchul rubbed at his temples. Going days without a proper night’s rest was taking its toll on him. His head was throbbing with a killer headache. Everything’s gone to shit since you’ve been gone.

Due to the tragic events surrounding the island and the unsolved disappearance of one of their own, executive producer Go made the difficult decision of suspending production on ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ indefinitely. The movie was most likely going to be shelved.

Jinchul sighs and reaches for his phone again. He skims through his photo gallery until he comes across a picture taken on the first day of filming. You, Cha, and Jinho persuaded him to join in on a group selfie to commemorate the special occasion. The hopeful look in your eyes and the mirth in your smile causes Jinchul’s chest to feel heavy. He longs to return to happier times like this.

But those days were past and gone.

A monster came to Jindo Island, salted the earth with its rage, unleashed a burning inferno to incinerate all in its path.

And you disappeared with it in a sea of fire.

Tag list: @soft-dots @joannthebish @rokuxx6 @augurythirteen @princeizuku @vee-love @imaginarydreams @iamapotatoe @phisen @rai-xxx @ayam99920 @asylrd

[whispersofascorpiomoon]

Toxic side of Mars in the Houses 🏡

First House

overly dominant or aggressive in sex,using as a way to validate the ego.

A tendency to rush or demand sex without fully considering partner’s needs. Reducing intimacy to a conquest rather than a connection. Using sex solely based on appearance or looks. Sexual Addiction (Hypersexuality) NPD Traits

Second House

Possessiveness

Equates sex with ownership, wanting to control or possess someone. jealousy, materialism, or using sex to keep a partner around, rather than forming a deeper emotional bond. Sexual Coercion or Possessiveness, often tied to Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD) Sexual Sadism Disorder

Third House

Manipulation through words.

Using sexual banter to control or confuse their partner, employing mind games or using words as weapons. always craving new mental stimulation, often at the expense of emotional depth. Sexual Masochism Disorder. Sexual gaslighting

Fourth House

overly attached or emotionally manipulative.

Uses sex to emotionally bind their partner or create a sense of security, leading to possessiveness or controlling behaviors.

Insecurities cause sex to be used as a tool to reclaim emotional dominance. Sexual Manipulation or Emotional Dependency

Fifth House

Narcissism or sexual recklessness.

Sees sex as a game or a conquest, seeking novelty for the thrill of it rather than true intimacy. If Mars is harshly aspecting other planets, one may struggle with commitment, bouncing between partners and never truly connecting on a deeper level. Sexual Addiction or Reckless Sexual Behavior

Sixth House

Treats sex like a job or responsibility rather than a passion. Can become overly focused on perfection or overthinking their sexual performance, creating a sense of obligation rather than enjoyment. If Mars is afflicted, sexual frustration can also arise, leading to dissatisfaction or detachment. Sexual Frustration or Compulsive Sexual Behavior. Erectile Dysfunction (ED) or Sexual Aversion Disorder if anxiety is present.

Seventh House

Power struggles or competitiveness.

Sex may turn into a battle for control or dominance, with a focus on winning rather than enjoying the experience. They may also have difficulty with commitment, using sex as a way to keep the upper hand or avoid true emotional vulnerability. Coercion or Sexual Manipulation

Eighth House

Control, obsession, or sexual manipulation. May use sex to assert dominance or trigger emotional power plays. There can also be a tendency toward sexual addiction, jealousy, and destructive behaviors that hinder true intimacy and connection. Sexual Obsession or Addiction. voyeurism, exhibitionism, or fetishes

Ninth House

Recklessness, using sex as a way to escape from emotional depth or intimacy. There can be a fear of commitment, and they may treat sex as a tool for adventure or personal growth rather than a meaningful connection. May constantly seek new thrills, avoiding deeper emotional bonds in the process. Sexual Compulsion & Escapism

Tenth House

Uses sex as a tool for control, dominance, or career advancement. There may be a tendency to exploit others sexually to climb the social ladder or to gain attention.

sexual relationships might feel transactional, focusing on status and control rather than mutual intimacy. Sexual Exploitation Disorder

Eleventh House

Fear of commitment and a tendency to treat sex as an act of rebellion or escape. They may struggle with emotional intimacy, always seeking new sexual experiences or distractions rather than grounding themselves in a relationship. This can lead to an unhealthy cycle of detachment and sexual exploration that doesn’t fulfill their deeper emotional needs. Sexual Objectification Disorder

Twelfth House

Sexual repression or escapism. may struggle with sexual shame, guilt, or fantasies that feel taboo or out of reach. There may be a tendency to hide desires, keep them secret, or even self-sabotage their sexual experiences out of fear of vulnerability. Sexual Repression or Dissociation

[genderqueerdykes]

trans men and women learn a lot from each other when we get close and it's a wonderful thing. it's okay to be dysphoric about manhood. it's okay to be dysphoric about womanhood. it's okay to not like he/him pronouns, to not like she/her pronouns. it's okay to not like how strangers gender you. it's okay to talk about these things with each other, to share mutual disgust, to see how it affects one another and how it shapes our identities and experiences.

it's okay to talk about the things that make you uncomfortable together. it's not invalidating each other's experiences to have conversations like saying "i'm so tired of being seen as a man no matter what, and being around people who treat me like a man" to a trans man and having the trans man respond by saying "i feel the same way about people who treat me like a woman" and agree to not project one's trauma on to the other

it's okay to be vulnerable. it's okay to admit when we don't understand certain parts of each others experiences, too. we do NOT have to act like experts and like we've "read the book" on what another person's gender is. even if we think we know a lot about that gender, we don't know everything, because we don't know everyone. literally. it's okay to go "i don't understand, but I'll call you whatever you identify as." and be receptive without knowing exactly what they mean.

we don't understand many things in life. that's fine. it's okay to just listen and not talk for once. you don't have to try to speak as though you've lived as a trans man when you're a trans women, and you don't have to speak for trans women if you're a trans man. we are allowed to advocate for our own experiences and simultaneously listen to other queer experiences and respect their boundaries, spaces, and needs.

there is a lot to learn about the challenges that trans women face, the unique struggles that come with some being raised as boys and the troubles that come with that, being seen as a feminine boy, being subjected to homophobia- getting called faggots and other slurs. some were raised as girls, some are intersex, and some are afab or other birth sexes, and the mixing of masculinity and femininity and cause a lot of issues when it comes to how society treats that person

there are lots of conversations that have to be listened to when it comes to the transmasculine experience and how nobody but transmasc people can articulate what it's like to live as a transmasculine person. no one can speculate on it, because it is such a unique experience. it is a complicated matter of several different types of prejudice that no one else can quite understand where it comes from and how it feels unless they've been there

it is so deeply rooted in misogyny, where people treat us like "stupid, confused women," like we're "destroying children" that we're 'destroying our bodies', that our hormones make us "unstable, irritable and emotional," and that we are unreliable narrators. we get called hysterical. we get told we're "ruining a pretty girl" or wasting our "pretty" features. we get lectured about how we need to be attractive and how testosterone will ruin that by our own parents. we get told we can't dress masc because it will make us "ugly" or "butch" or "dykes".

people hate it when we bind our breasts, cut our hair, hide our curves, change our gait, and stop wearing makeup. they lose a "girl" to ogle and become enraged, upset or uncomfortable. while the transmasc person is trying to navigate life in a way where they don't feel objectified, it becomes a matter of even worse objectification because now antimasculism is introduced into the mix and the experience becomes transandrophobia.

people are so hateful and bitter toward manhood and masculinity. people ask us "why would you EVER want to be a man? NOBODY wants to be a man." they tell us "men are ugly, violent, and mean." people tell us that men are sexual predators, that they're inherently abusive. people tell us that testosterone makes people ugly. they tell us that men aren't or can't be queer. they tell us we can't be a feminine man. they tell us we can't be men at all, that transmasculinity isn't even a thing, that transmanhood isn't a thing. we even get told that the only way to be trans is to be transfeminine, and what we are experiencing is a delusion, hysteria, or a result of us being hormonal from being on our periods and/or HRT.

when we listen to each others' experiences we realize how people who are othered by society are treated. we learn that not only we experiencing this, but so is everyone around us. we do not have to try to make one side's experience more important than another's. we can hold each other up by having conversations and being vulnerable about what's going on, how we're being treated, how we want to be treated, and how the community is failing us and how we can do better.

we deserve to have conversations. there's a lot to learn, a lot to laugh about, a lot to relate to, and a lot to be curious about. these conversations are good to have. it's good to admit when you know nothing about transmasculinity or transfemininity or any other identity. it's okay to ask respectful questions. it's okay to tell people when you appreciate their identities, and them explaining it to you. it's okay to just listen. it really is. we have to learn to listen it's not something that can be avoided perpetually for life. listening to someone else's conversation does not erase yours, it does not take it away from the equation. they exist together.

[velvetsserenity]

a servant’s privilege

ambessa medarda x servant!reader

✎ word count: 1k

꩜ content warnings: mutually consensual free use, slow dominance, rough use, light degradation, strap, deep control, power imbalance, explicit sexual content, light choking, objectification, strap-on sex, mouth use, possessive dynamics

The first time she used you, you didn’t even realize it was happening.

Not until hours later, when you stood in the scullery scrubbing blood from her uniform and realized you could still feel her fingers inside you. Gloved. Precise. Unbothered.

She hadn’t looked at you once while doing it.

Just kept her eyes on the map of Noxian territory, murmuring to a general in the corner, until you came so hard you almost collapsed against the carved table leg.

Now, it’s normal.

Expected.

She doesn’t need to say a word anymore.

If you're not carrying something, cleaning something, or otherwise indisposed, your body is hers. To use. To ignore. To dress or undress. To fuck or not fuck. It doesn't matter.

You agreed, once. Quietly. Kneeling between her thighs in the low candlelight of her quarters.

She had asked if you understood what it meant to be hers.

You said yes.

And now you live with that answer.

Tonight, she returns from the war room late.

Boots heavy, gloves still on, eyes sharp from whatever small battle she just won without lifting a weapon.

You’re already waiting in her quarters. Kneeling beside the hearth, half-dressed in your servant uniform. Thin slip. Bare thighs. Collarbones visible. She likes when you look available, even when she doesn’t touch you.

She passes you by.

Doesn’t glance down. Doesn’t say hello.

Just removes her coat with one arm and tosses it toward the rack, missing it entirely. It lands in a heap near your knees.

You crawl—quietly—and pick it up. You fold it across your arms, pressing your nose to the inner lining before rising to hang it properly.

Behind you, the sound of leather gloves being pulled off.

Then the thud of her sitting.

You don’t turn around unless summoned.

But you feel her eyes on you now.

Still, she says nothing.

The quiet stretches until it aches.

Then: “Come here.”

You do.

Kneel between her legs, palms flat on your thighs. She’s seated in the high-backed chair near the window, legs spread, half a cigar burning between two fingers. Her gaze drops to your lips.

But she doesn’t offer it to you.

Doesn’t give you the satisfaction.

Instead, she leans forward. Slides the cigar between your lips herself. You hold it steady as she watches the smoke curl from your mouth.

“Don’t swallow.”

You don’t.

She leans back again. Takes the cigar back. Watches you exhale slowly through your nose, eyes watering slightly.

"Good girl."

No reward. No touch. Just that.

She shifts in the chair and opens a leather-bound report folder on the side table. Pages turn. She reads while you kneel in silence, pulse thrumming at the thought of being so near, so visible, and still untouched.

You ache. But you don’t move.

Not until she raises a hand and crooks her finger.

That’s all it takes.

You rise.

Walk silently behind her.

She’s still reading when you undo the buttons of her vest. Her blouse beneath it. Peel both off slowly, exposing the line of muscle along her arms, the curve of her shoulder. You run your fingers over each inch as if it's part of your job.

Maybe it is.

You’ve never been told otherwise.

When she leans back again, you know to step around.

She pulls your wrist without looking and guides your hand between her legs.

Her trousers are still on.

You unbutton them. Slide them down just enough. She’s not wearing anything underneath.

Of course she’s not.

She spreads her legs wider, not to offer herself—no, she doesn’t offer.

She expects.

You sink to your knees.

Your mouth replaces your hand.

She continues reading.

For ten minutes, maybe twenty. You lick and suck and stay quiet, drinking down every twitch of her hips, every breath she allows you to feel.

Her thigh presses to your cheek.

You moan against her slit when her hand tightens in your hair.

“Finish it,” she mutters.

You do.

You lick her through it, suck her through the trembling, sharp waves of her climax, your face soaked and your fingers curled into the rug as she holds you there.

When she finally lets go, you sit back, face flushed, lips swollen.

She closes the folder.

“Desk.”

One word, spoken with no heat.

You move.

You don’t hesitate. You know which way to bend, how far to part your thighs, how to arch until your ass is just high enough to be tempting without looking desperate.

The drawer opens behind you.

Her strap is black leather. Thick. Smooth. She doesn’t use it every night.

Only when she’s in a mood.

And tonight, apparently, she is.

You hear her spit in her hand. Rub it along the length of it. No lube otherwise. Just that, and you.

She lines up.

Pushes in slow. All the way.

You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Still so tight,” she growls. One hand wraps around your throat from behind as her hips slam forward again, dragging a noise out of your chest that doesn’t sound real.

Her hips find rhythm. Brutal. Unchanging.

She fucks you like it’s punishment.

Like she wants to make you forget your own name.

The desk creaks.

You hold on, cheek pressed to the wood, one hand reaching back to spread yourself wider for her.

She likes that.

“Whose cunt is this?” she asks, tone casual, bored.

“Y-Yours,” you gasp.

“Say it again.”

“Yours, General—yours—”

She grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, forcing your back to arch.

“I could take you in front of anyone,” she hisses in your ear. “They wouldn’t dare look.”

You whine.

She’s right.

She’s always right.

This is what you agreed to complete access. Complete surrender. The privilege of being used.

Your thighs tremble as her thrusts get deeper.

You’re close.

So close.

But you don’t come until she tells you to.

When she finally says now, you fall apart so hard your knees buckle. You sob through it, her name tangled in your mouth.

She doesn’t stop until she’s done.

And when she’s done, she leaves you there.

Used. Gasping. Slick dripping down your legs onto the floor.

Eventually, you clean the desk.

Fold her trousers. Polish her boots.

And when she lies back in bed, arms behind her head, she lifts one finger.

You crawl into her sheets and settle between her thighs.

Because tomorrow, she might not touch you at all.

But tonight, you’re hers.

Over and over again.

★ plagarism not authorized ★

[ssa-dado]

what if fleabag reader has to get a new vibrator 'cause her old one died on her or she's just getting one for her friend as a gag gift, and she runs into hotch in the process ? also i didn't know you could get them at pharmacies, but i guess that's a more realistic place for hotch to be (old back and everything).

For a Friend

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: 21st-century-feminist-meltdown-over-an-old-man and pre-relationship mutual pining Summary: You just wanted a new vibrator. Instead, you bump into Aaron Hotchner at 2 a.m., holding six modes of clitoral suction technology and a G-spot stimulator in a paper bag. Now he’s offering you a ride, a jacket, and possibly his number. You’re doing great. Warnings: Sexual themes & imagery (non-explicit but VERY suggestive), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch* with *pearl clutch pt.2* sex toys, objectification of the Hotchner body, reader calls Hotch out for not having an ass, grief (your last vibrator died) Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: Thanks for the request, dearest!! Sorry it took me forever, I hope you enjoy itttt!!! Special thanks to @hotchology for the free psychological counseling

masterlist(s)

Experts say it’s healthy to walk at least seven minutes a day, so here you are - taking your medically-recommended stroll at 2:06 a.m., in the direction of a 24-hour pharmacy, because you care about your health.

Deeply.

You really care about your health especially now that your vibrator has officially died in your hand right in the middle of what was shaping up to be a perfectly respectable late-night fantasy involving you, a locked door, and the tall, emotionally unavailable federal agent with zero small talk skills you’ve been mentally undressing since the first time you saw him do a butterfly stroke at the Y.

…It’s not like you always picture Aaron Hotchner.

You’re not that far gone.

You do have range.

You’ve gotten off to strangers.

To that chief of trauma doctor from Chicago Hope.

To the hot background guy from the Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas who had two lines and really great hair.

You are complex. You contain multitudes.

It’s just that Aaron Hotchner is… convenient. Reliable.

He’s easy.

Not easy-easy.

Cognitively easy. Low effort. High reward.

You don’t have to invent a man from scratch. Don’t have to mentally composite three mediocre exes and C-list celebrity actors into a half-decent fuck-doll when he already exists fully formed and fully clothed (barely.)

You don’t even have to think.

He’s basically a mental shortcut to climax, muscle memory with forearms, a comfort fantasy - like soup for the soul, if soup were six feet tall and weekly served wet at your local pool.

…And also dripping, practically naked.

All yours, at least visually.

You’ve memorized the way his thighs flex when he pushes off the wall, that split second of coiled power, the twitch of his calves, the ripple up to his glutes as he launches forward.

Perfect form. Perfect technique. Perfect… well.

Not a lot of meat back there.

Not exactly the kind of ass you’d grab with both hands and sink your teeth into.

No jiggle. No fluff.

Just… deeply respectable glutes.

Taut. Efficient. Compact.

An ass with more function than fat.

An ass that clocks in at the crack of dawn, files a huge pile of case reports, tackles a serial killer or two, then goes home and makes dinner for his kid.

An ass that probably says “thank you” when it finishes and then folds the towel neatly afterward.

Toned, athletic. Not juicy.

You wouldn’t bite it. (Lie.) You wouldn’t slap it.  (Another lie.)

(Because you’d absolutely slap it. If he walked past you up a flight of stairs in those tight trousers he insists on wearing - pleated, no less - you’d black out and wake up with a stinging palm, your handprint on him and a federal restraining order in the mail.)

You wouldn’t grope it. You’d shake its hand. A gentleman’s ass. Very in-character kind of ass.

…You’d still let it rail you against a doorframe, obviously.

You’re not an idiot. You have eyes.

And that’s how you know the way his back arches (yes, arches) when he does a lazy freestyle turn. That smooth, arrogant curve of his spine as he rotates, like the water exists solely to show him off.

You’d say he looks graceful, but that feels too innocent.

He’s obscene.

You know everything about his body. Everything except for one crucial part.

The only piece he hasn’t offered up for public consumption.

The mystery.

And yet… is it really?

Because thanks to the tight speedos he wears you’ve done more visual math in that pool cafeteria than you ever did in school.

Circumference. Vein definition. Drop. Girth. Angle. Hinge theory. Left or right lean.

You’ve factored in mass, blood flow, gravitational pull, and fabric stretch.

At this point, it’s not even fantasy, it’s field research. All you have to do is mentally rotate, enlarge by 37%, adjust for arousal, and boom - there it is.

You’ve seen that dick. You know that dick.

If it ever revealed itself in real life, you’d probably just nod.

Like, yes. Correct. That’s the dick I’ve been using. Thank you for confirming.

Your brain barely breaks a sweat.

Which is more than can be said for you, as you’re currently trying to act normal in front of a just-graduated baby pharmacist who definitely still gets ID’d at bars, while heading for the forbidden shelf.

The one that doesn’t technically exist, but everyone knows does.

You make the turn casually.

Like you’re browsing.

Like you’re not here to buy a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday only because for some reason, buying it here - in a pharmacy - makes it feel... medical.

Like a wellness thing. Like vitamins, floss, or calcium chews.

Like a very modern, battery-operated form of hormone regulation.

Not pleasure. No, no, no, God forbid.

This is for health, for stress relief. This is for preventing female rage and preserving the social fabric of your household.

Also, it’s very, very late - which is strategic.

No lines. No witnesses.

No grandmas behind you buying Werther’s Originals and silently judging your rotating G-spot stimulator with ergonomic grip.

You tell yourself that’s why you’re here at this hour.

Not because, despite all the feminist essays and body-positive podcasts, you still get flustered at the thought of being seen in public holding a brightly colored orgasm machine.

No. Absolutely not.

You’re here because you swore - never again.

Never again would you endure the trauma of your vibrator dying mid-session and having to switch to manual mode like it was the Middle Ages just to finish.

(And worst of all, it didn’t even work. You dried up. Mood ruined. You just laid there, staring at the ceiling for fifteen full minutes before sighing, getting dressed, and deciding - once again, ironically - to take matters into your own hands.)

You’re a modern woman.

Sexually free modern woman living in a free country that still accounts for death penalty for some of their states. Nothing is more free than this freedom.

You can vote.

You can buy a dual-stimulation, six-mode, energy-efficient G-spot massager - (at least according to the box, which proudly claims it uses fewer batteries than your last one. And you believe it. You trust boxes. You’re loyal like that.)

Right next to the hemorrhoid cream. In the middle of the night.

And you can replace a fallen comrade - RIP to the last one. Gone, but not forgotten - and now, here you are, holding its shiny successor the way you’ve seen people hold babies in movie posters. (Tender. Hopeful. A little overwhelmed.)

Nothing says freedom like that.

Stars. Stripes. Clitoral suction technology.

God bless America.

…Maybe not.

Because just as you take a step back, you collide – directly -with someone you didn’t even hear approach.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, right as a much deeper, much more male voice says the exact same thing.

A voice your brain knows very well.

Because not even an hour ago it was busy fabricating that same voice whispering “You’re taking me so well,” and - though you'd never admit this part - also: “Sweetheart.”

(Ew.)

Aaron Hotchner is now standing right there in front of you - real, breathing, and terrifyingly three-dimensional in a full three-piece suit – and is trying so hard not to look at the aggressively pink vibrator box clenched in your hand.

But he saw it. Oh, he saw it.

He’s a profiler. He’s trained to notice things.

(Or at least that’s what your late-night Google search said back when you first typed: “aaron hotchner fbi real???”)

(Which quickly devolved into a behavioral analysis rabbit hole run by people with usernames like @wifeofunitchief69 and @peter-rhea. All of them openly thirsting after him.)

(Especially this Peter guy - who you’re 85% sure is real, 15% convinced was a hallucination - kept posting photos a few years ago that looked… suspiciously intimate. Like “taken through the blinds” intimate. You don’t know how he got them. You don’t want to know. He hasn’t posted since.)

(Guess it was just a phase.)

Aaron’s locking eyes with you. Terrifying. Unfairly hazel, thanks to the pharmacy’s aggressive overhead lighting.

He’s focused on your face. Just your face.

(You are maybe a little flustered by this.)

(You bet all the serial killers he interrogates fall in love with him, too. You bet they get weird about it. Understandable, this man definitely knows how to hold eye contact.)

But you don’t buy it.

There is no way he didn’t read the full headline: “CLITORAL SUCTION + G-SPOT STIMULATION - NOW QUIETER!” (Ironically printed in all caps. For maximum discretion. Obviously.)

You are so incredibly fucked.

Unfortunately, only metaphorically.

Also, the silence is not helping. Not even a little.

…This feels like a crime.

(It’s not. Not technically. You can’t terminate a pregnancy in half the country, but you can buy a dual-motor vibrator next to the Tylenol. It’s somewhere in the Declaration of Independence - just after “life, liberty,” and right before “All men are created equal,” [*except slaves and women].”)

Still.

You are now committing an obscene act of self-service capitalism directly in front of a federal agent.

And some small, awful corner of your brain - the one with leftover shame and badly wired internalized misogyny, inherited from a cocktail of bad parenting and several seasons of Law & Order – fully believes this is the part where he arrests you.

Pushes you against the KY shelf.

Pins you with his full body weight.

Snaps cold real handcuffs around your wrists and whispers, “You have the right to remain silent…”

Which you clearly don’t.

Because your mouth opens before your brain can file an objection.

“…It’s for a gift.” WHY. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT. “…For my friend,” you add… as if that helps. (It doesn’t.)

He nods. Polite. Awkward.

…Too bad his ears are starting to match the exact pink of the vibrator.

Goddammit, he’s a prude.

One of those soft-spoken, morally burdened types who probably says “intercourse” and excuses himself when a condom commercial comes on.

Oh no.

What if this is his first time seeing one up close?

What if you just popped his sex toy cherry?

What if he goes home, locks the door, and has a slow, shameful jerk thinking about you in CVS with a 6-mode clitoral suction wand?

(…You wish.)

No. Worse. Because now he’s staring at you like he wants to ask, “What kind of friend buys a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday?”

But won’t.

And since you are a mature, well-educated, emotionally intelligent woman - and not, say, a liar desperately trying to salvage a crumbling cover story – you say:

“Her birthday’s tomorrow.”

(It’s not. It’s in three days. But the product needs testing. Obviously. You’re not going to spend that much money again unless you know it delivers. That’s not selfishness. That’s friendship. That’s quality control.)

“Well… technically today. Midnight and all,” you add, even smiling. So bright. So natural. So deeply suspicious.

“It’s alr-” he starts, finally working up the courage to glance down-

…Only to be slapped – hard - right between the shoulder blades by very enthusiastic, very just-graduated-and-finally-making-big-boy-money night-shift pharmacist who materializes out of nowhere behind him.

Ouch.

Now - to be fair - the pharmacist doesn’t see it. (You do. Unfortunately. In high-definition, too.)

Because Aaron Hotchner is currently holding a box of ThermaCare HeatWraps and naproxen sodium - both of which are for his back.

He jolts forward on impact, barely, and then freezes.

Just enough to make you worry that’s it, that’s the final blow. That he’s going to stay like that forever, just slightly curved, permanently bent.

Italic Hotchner.

“My man,” the pharmacist beams. “Everything alright?”

By the look on Aaron’s face, you can tell he has never seen this person before in his life. Never. Not once.

But Aaron nods - tight, polite, already calculating the minimum number of words required to exit the conversation without triggering a background check or losing his license to carry a firearm.

“Just wanted to say, I really admire you.” The pharmacist grins, still holding Aaron’s shoulder, “Not every guy’s open-minded enough to use toys in the bedroom with their girl.”

…Oh. Oh, fuck.

You should say something. Anything. Correct him. Laugh, even.

But you’re too distracted by the fact that Aaron isn’t saying a word either.

He’s just… frowning. Not full frown, just pulling his eyebrows closer together.

Which, in Hotchner language, could mean anything from “I’m flattered” or “You could’ve handled it differently” to “I’m about to shoot you.”

It’s impossible to tell. You’re not fluent yet. (You need more fieldwork. Preferably hands-on.)

“Damn, look at that,” the pharmacist chuckles, nodding at Aaron’s little arthritis starter pack.

Then turns. To you.

“Is this your fault?”

Ha.

Ha ha.

How adorable.

You wish. God, you wish.

You’d rail him into a herniated disc so bad he’d have to wear a brace for three months and think of you every time he reached for the cereal shelf.

But no.

“Um…” you manage, shaking your head. “We’re not-”

Fucking. Sexually intimate.

Connected in any capacity beyond weekly pool glances and intrusive masturbation thoughts.

(And it’s not like he seems like the type to just have a casual “friend.” No, he seems like the kind of man who'd call a hookup a regrettable lapse in judgment and then spend six months punishing himself for it.)

And so, in doubt? You flee.

A timeless tactic.

You did the same thing when your therapist asked, “Why do you think you’re so attracted to older men?” and you suddenly remembered - oh no! You didn’t lock the café.

“I think I’m just gonna…” you gesture - vague, noncommittal, something in the direction of the register - and after a short, awkwardly graceful round of people-pleasing Olympics with the vibrator-pink-faced pharmacist-

(something between “Sorry if I misunderstood, I’ve been here since 6 p.m. and I’m on my third energy drink,” and “It’s okay, no really, it’s my fault” [for what? unclear])-

You’re outside.

Alive.

Vibrator in a paper bag and…

…It’s pouring.

Not only do you not have a significant other to kiss in the rain like a scene from one of those movies you only watch when you’re actively trying to remember how alone you truly are, but your car is enjoying an extended, all-inclusive, paid-for-by-you vacation at the mechanic.

Great.

“Miss.”

You physically jolt. Because:

1. That voice.

And

2. Miss?! Hello???

Aaron is standing just behind you, yet again.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Oh, yes.” You are soaked. And flustered. And holding a fucking vibrator in a paper bag while the hottest man in federal law enforcement addresses you like a schoolgirl who dropped her books in a rainstorm. “Yes. Alright.”

He looks at you with that stupidly concerned face - the one where his brows pull just slightly together.

It lasts a second.

Feels like a week.

“You’ve been standing here for a few minutes…”

…Apparently, the old man’s been watching you contemplate your entire existence under the sad little pharmacy awning while he casually stocked up on meds for his fucked-up joints.

How romantic.

“Oh… I was-” Nope. Nope, you were not anything. You have no explanation.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

Oh. Fuck. “Don’t worry,” you blurt. “I live close by.”

Feminism is a beautiful thing.

Except right now.

Right now, feminism is cockblocking you.

Aaron hums - hums?! - already pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and it’s… it’s the smallest iPhone you’ve ever seen.

Probably an iPhone 4, but in his hand - his massive hand - it looks like he’s stolen it from a dollhouse.

He swipes the screen (with his very thick thumb), squints just enough to tell you he’s absolutely in denial about needing reading glasses, then turns the phone toward you:

“99% chance of hard rain until 7 a.m.”

…Unfortunately, you’re far too distracted by his hands to verify the evidence. Especially that thumb, still hovering near the screen like it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve seen all week.

(And speaking of data - there is a study. Something about men with very large hands also having very large-)

Without hesitation, Aaron just shrugs off his suit jacket. “Put it over your head,” then he hands it to you. “Don’t want you to get wet...”

Too late.

Not only because you're touching his very warm, very expensive, very tailored, very smells-so-much-like-him jacket, but because he didn’t even flinch.

Not at the acid rain.

Not at the dry-cleaning bill.

Not at the fact that he doesn’t have an umbrella for himself.

Not even at the fact that he’s now just standing there in a white shirt.

A white shirt. In the rain.

(You pray that he’s not wearing an undershirt.)

(You pray this turns into an unofficial Aaron Hotchner Wet T-Shirt Contest…Wet shirt. Wet dress shirt.)

“…You’re the one holding the electronics,” he adds, tilting his head toward the bag.

Ah. There it is. Thank you, Aaron, for making it weird. Again.

He sort of redeems himself by opening the door of his very shiny, very hot-dad black car like it’s the 1950s. (You hate how much you love it.)

…He even closes the door for you.

There are a few immediate observations that need to be made about Aaron Hotchner’s car:

•           It smells divine. Like clean leather, big paycheck, small emotional availability and a touch of lavender, too.

•           It’s spotless. Not a crumb. Not a fingerprint. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere.

•           There are superhero comics tucked into the seat pocket. Jack’s, obviously. Unless… they’re his. Which would be - God. A brooding man with a soft spot for two-dimensional justice and emotionally stunted men in capes. Fatherhood and projection, hand in hand. Amazing.

But what really grabs your attention is the seating.

Full black leather.

Sleek. Cold enough to sting if your thighs were bare. Soft enough to leave marks if you were sitting on his lap instead.

Easy to wipe down. Easy to grip.

A car designed to be fucked in.

The hottest thing inside it, though? Probably the fact that it takes a few soft Are you alrights and Do you need anythings before Aaron finally starts the engine.

And it’s… quiet. Disturbingly quiet. No coughing. No sputtering. No “please God start” noises.

Just… starts.

“It’s such a cool car,” you blurt.

Fifty percent because you mean it.

Fifty percent because the silence is killing you and that’s literally the first thing your brain offered up as a conversation starter. You’re not even sure what you’re complimenting. Just that it has… technology.

You’re genuinely impressed. There’s literally a screen. A touchscreen. With sensors. A built-in navigator.

Meanwhile, your car still has a cassette slot, three loose aux cables, a suspicious stain that doesn’t want to come off, and a radio that only plays static unless you hit it twice.

“It’s a good car,” he replies, completely unbothered. Literally just a man stating a fact. About his vehicle. And yet, your brain shuts off.

You’re hot under the collar because Aaron Hotchner said something true… in a nice voice.

That’s it. That’s the bar.

And to make it worse, he doesn’t follow it up. No “Do you drive much?” No “What year is yours?”

Nothing. Just those three words and then silence.

He's the worst small talker you've ever met and now you have no idea how to keep this going.

You consider asking him about… tires. Or gas mileage. Or how long it took him to sell his soul to become this repressed.

Pathetic.

You’re even more pathetic when he does that thing. The hot thing. The driving thing.

Where he turns around to check behind him - one hand on the back of your seat, other on the wheel - torso twisting, shirt clinging, full neck exposure.

Basically porn.

You try so hard not to spontaneously combust.

Not just because you’re pressed into his personal space, or because his white dress shirt is completely see-through now after all that rain and you can see where his spine ends, or because he’s absolutely not wearing an undershirt and is one unexpected pothole away from full nipple contact.

No. It’s the tongue.

The tiny flick. Just a flash. Quick. Absent. Almost innocent.

His tongue darts out - just a little - as he focuses, like it helps him steer straighter. Nothing but a reflex. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

You, however, are acutely aware-

Just as aware as you are of the fact that the two of you are sitting in near silence. Almost comfortable.

If not for the small detail that you’re horny and holding a vibrator in a paper bag. The only sound is the rain-

And the soft, awkward half-comment he lets slip when you tell him your address:

“Oh. You were right. It is really… close.”

No shit, Sherlock.

If you had even an ounce of courage, this would be the most satisfying “told you so” of your life - because not even four minutes in, he’s already pulling into the cracked little square that overlooks your apartment complex.

“Where’s the entrance?” he asks, squinting at the very charming, definitely-not-a-fire-hazard 1970s architecture. “It’s barely lit here.”

He’s right, though.

There’s a little pedestrian alley that leads to your stairwell, and it’s lit by what is essentially half a lightbulb and probably one moth if you’re lucky.

“I can’t leave you here,” he says, already switching off the engine.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve done it alone a thousand times.”

You get The Look™.

The full Dad Look™.

Eyebrows lowered. Mouth set. Silent moral judgment loading. Which, naturally, makes you blurt out something helpful:

“I swear. Even at 3 a.m. When I was blackout drunk.”

He looks horrified.

Which is… great. Exactly the vibe you were going for on this totally unromantic, emotionally neutral, post-pharmacy ride home.

“Well, you’re not walking alone all the way there today,” then he proceeds to open the driver’s door before you can even object.

“Wait- really, you don’t have to-”

“Stay here,” he cuts in, already halfway out before you can finish.

Then suddenly, he’s at your door. Umbrella overhead.

Like some man from a black-and-white movie who has no idea you’re holding a vibrator in your bag and have a sink full of crusted risotto waiting at home.

Chivalry.

That’s what it should be called. But that word feels too… medieval. Too knight-in-shining-armor. Too “written by robed men who thought ankles were sinful and menstruation was the devil’s piss.”

No.

From him, this isn’t chivalry. It’s something else.

Not performance. Not politeness.

Just… kindness.

Offensively tender, nonverbal, soak-himself-in-the-rain kind of kindness.

And so the two of you walk under the same umbrella together, arms brushing every other step.

You try to create distance. He scoots closer.

Adjusts the umbrella to keep you dry.

Prioritizes your dry head over his own sopping suit.

Kind of romantic.

You could kiss him here.

Right now.

Under this umbrella. In the rain. In front of your depressing 70s concrete box of an apartment.

You could just… do it.

Lean in. Shut him up. See what that mouth actually feels like.

If it weren’t for the very inconvenient fact that you are juuuuuust a bit terrified of rejection.

Terrified in the “ha-ha I’ll never date again if someone even slightly hesitates when I flirt” way.

In the “I’ll replay the rejection in the shower for the next ten years, write five alternate endings, and mentally workshop comebacks well into menopause” kind of way.

In the “what if he says no and then I have to move to Vermont” way.

Also, you are currently holding a vibrator in a paper bag. So. There’s that.

Still, Temptation is real.

Even because Aaron is still mid-monologue about street lighting standards. Turning his head every few steps. Gesturing with one hand like a man who has read far too many municipal codes for someone this hot.

The idea of shutting him up for good with a kiss is honestly starting to sound like a public service.

“It’s barely visible here,” he mutters, scanning the alley. “No signage. No reflective paint. Anyone could-”

“Trip?” you offer.

“Worse.” He deadpans, then turns toward you, “Are you humoring me?”

“A little,” you shrug (he’s pathetic.)

He stops. Looks at you. “I’m being serious.”

…Ah, the dad voice. Firm. Slightly patronizing. Delicious.

“I know,” you smile. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

By the time he’s done glaring, you’re already at your building entrance, heart stupidly tight.

Saved. Almost.

“Well… this is me.” You pull out your keys to prove to him you’ve got your shit together. “Um… thanks for the ride. And the walk, of course.” (What is this, Pride & Prejudice?) “I think I’m good from here.”

You say it lightly, casual, because if you don’t end it now, you’re 100% sure he’ll keep going.

He’ll follow you to your door.

To your kitchen. To your hallway. Maybe even your bedroom.

Not for sex. God, no.

Just to make sure you’re safely tucked in.

That your bedroom window locks properly.

That the shadow outside was just a tree and not a threat (more likely, the stray cat you and two old ladies keep over-feeding.)

He’d stand there - in the doorway, quiet, stiff, arms crossed - and wait until you hit REM sleep before silently excusing himself.

The worst part? He’d make it feel horribly sweet.

And the much, much worse part? To do that, he’d have to walk through the disaster zone you call home.

The crusty risotto bowls still soaking in the sink. Three wine glasses, none of which match. A fork in a mug.

He’d pass your roommate mid-makeout with a “friend” who’s definitely not wearing pants and is probably sitting on your throw blanket.

He’d see the takeout containers on the counter.

The mystery stain on the wall you keep forgetting to Google.

The chair you keep meaning to fix but now just refer to as “decorative.”

He’d see you. As you are.

And you can’t be the reason this man actively re-dyes his greys by Wednesday. You’d love to be. You really would.

But not like this.

Also, you’re just really tired and you’ve got… things to test.

And, if you’re honest, some things are better when they stay in your head. Untouched. Untried. Safely fantasized.

So you smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

He nods. Doesn’t argue.

But doesn’t leave, either.

Instead, he pulls something from his coat pocket.

His business card.

“Text me when you’re inside,” he says, dead serious.

You blink at it.

The paper is thick. Embossed.

Feels like you’re holding a warrant.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, trying not to smile. “This is the smoothest way I’ve ever gotten someone’s number.”

He straightens slightly. “It’s my work phone.” Still serious, but fumbling.

(He’s so bad at this. It’s almost adorable.)

You nod, suppressing the second smile in a row. “Of course.”

He looks at you for a moment - too long, maybe, or maybe it’s just your perception that’s a bit fucked up - and says, “Goodnight, miss.”

You pause.

“It’s-” You tell him your name.

He nods. Revises. And repeats it. A little too careful. A little too gentle.

You might actually pass out.

Not just from the emotional whiplash, but also because your apartment has too many goddamn stairs and your legs were not built for this level of cardio or romantic tension.

You stumble inside, safe. Unmurdered. Emotionally unstable. Immediately grab your phone and text the number printed in the most intimidating Arial you’ve ever seen.

made it still alive didn’t get murdered not even a little bit

He replies almost instantly.

(Almost, because he’s an old man with disproportionately large thumbs and the texting accuracy of someone whose phone autocorrects “fine” to “filing.”)

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): This is a work number. Please be mindful. – A.H.

…He signs his own texts. Oh fucking hell.

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): But I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, miss. – A.H.

You type back:

goodnight... agent??

Three dots appear. Pause. Then-

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): 👍 – A.H.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

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DEAR DIARY… ⋆✦⋆ hisagi shuuhei

synopsis ➸ shuuhei’s never been that defensive about anything—not until your fingers brushed against that journal. he avoided your questions, avoided you, like distance would make you forget. but you didn’t forget, and now he knows curiosity was always going to win.

tags ➸ friends to lovers, strong sexual tension, mutual pining, objectification, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of alcohol, teeny tiny smidge of angst, fingering, mention of masturbation, praise kink, degradation, name-calling, unprotected sex, creampie, desk sex, teasing, orgasm denial, hair-pulling

wc ➸ 10.7k

The rhythmic thud of your sandals echoed down the empty corridor as you made your way towards Hisagi's quarters within the Ninth Division barracks. Despite the late hour, you couldn't quite smother the eager grin tugging at the corners of your mouth in anticipation of your weekly ritual.

Your friendship with the ruggedly handsome lieutenant stretched back centuries to those earliest, scrappiest days when you'd both entered the academy as idealistic youths. Joining the ranks of the Gotei 13 should have driven wedges and rivalries between you - dividing loyalties towards captains, codes, and duties. But against all odds, Hisagi remained your closest confidante and most steadfast companion regardless of divisions or responsibilities.

Which was likely why your secretive tradition of hitting one of the remote hole-in-the-wall sake dens every seventh night felt so sacrosanct - a simple indulgence you guarded with almost zealous reverence. Those dimly lit tavern corners became sanctuaries where the two of you could shed your personas as esteemed lieutenants, trade bawdy jokes and raucous laughter without prying eyes judging. Just two more weathered souls peeling back the facades for a few blessed hours each week before dusting off and rejoining the fray once more.

Your sandals finally slowed to a halt before the unassuming wooden paneling of Hisagi's personal quarters. Rapping out the signature pattern of knuckle-raps that had become your calling card, you fought not to start bouncing on the balls of your feet like an overeager child. It had been far too long since your last rendezvous and the familiar anticipation already sang in your blood like a fine whiskey's burn.

"Open up, slacker!" You hollered without preamble, half-turning to eye the shadows rippling along the corridor behind you. "Unless you're hoping to stand me up for drinks for the second week in a row?"

There was no immediate answer save for the subtlest shifting of floorboards beyond the door's threshold. You arched one brow skyward, senses instantly attuned for any subtle tells of Hisagi's whereabouts. Surely your oldest friend wouldn't attempt anything so brazen as avoiding you on purpose?

Before you could voice any further half-jeering inquiries, the heavy paneling slid aside with an abrupt groan. Hisagi's silhouette filled the dim aperture - features stoic yet clearly rumpled in a way that suggested he'd been unexpectedly roused from slumber.

"You've got a hell of a sense of timing tonight," he muttered by way of greeting, voice still gravelly and thick from restless sleep. You allowed your gaze to unapologetically rake over him with a snort.

"And you look even rougher than usual, tough guy," you fired back without missing a beat. "Didn't anyone ever teach you polite society demands putting on something besides those god-awful pajamas before welcoming company?"

He glanced down at his ratty yukata with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, already seeming to wake and bristle into your familiar back-and-forth with each acerbic volley. "Piss off, you nosy little gnat. Just be grateful I let you in at all instead of keeping this 'polite company' waiting out in the hall all night."

"You always were terrible at bluffing," you quipped, already angling your shoulder past his half-hearted block to barge your way inside with your usual brand of familiarity. "Ten seconds in that viper pit of a barrack's hall and you'd be whipped into a state over worrying about me getting 'ravaged by scoundrels' again, remember?"

Hisagi simply grunted in dry amusement as you beelined straight for his desk - the only section of his otherwise spartan living quarters that showed any semblance of life or disarray beyond the unmade bed. Bottle caps, crumpled parchment and various odds and ends were scattered amongst other jetsam in a clear display of the organized chaos his creative tendencies tended to foster.

Picking your way amidst the clutter, you were already reaching to snatch up one of the more promising sheafs of parchment when Hisagi's larger hand suddenly clamped down over your wrist with surprising force. Your brows shot upward at the abrupt movement and you glanced up to find him regarding you with clear, purposeful intent.

"Don't start rifling through my desk again uninvited," he said in the type of low, grave cadence most soldiers reserved only for discussing kill counts or battlefield triage with fresh recruits. "It's rude as hell, and you aren't a child anymore able to use that excuse of 'curiosity'."

Raising your free hand in a dramatic flourish, you rolled your eyes right back at him in an exaggerated display of nonchalance. "Relax, I'm not about to go messing around with the reports or personnel files I know you're hiding in there somewhere."

Hisagi's grip slackened fractionally but he still maintained the watchful stare, clearly not fully placated. So you opted to double down with that signature mischievous grin you knew drove him particularly nuts whenever displayed.

"It's just impossible to resist getting a sneak-peek at you attempting creative writing again." You let one shoulder rise and fall in a deliberately lackadaisical shrug. "Honestly, am I not allowed to at least cringe over your latest overly sappy sermons you've inflicted on your division already?"

Rather than rising to your playful ribbing, however, Hisagi's expression seemed to tighten incrementally into a strained mask that immediately set your instincts buzzing. Your grin wavered as he slowly withdrew his hand and pivoted back towards the cluttered desk in question - movements heavy and weighted as he seemed to stalk towards one particular drawer along the bottom row.

Only when you glimpsed what specific sheaf of parchment sat upon the distressed wood surface nearest did the first flickers of trepidation truly take root. There, wrapped in leather binding and accompanied by a scattered assortment of well-worn quills, sat a thick journal of some sort. Larger and more cumbersome than any log or typical report manifest you'd witnessed Hisagi toting around in the past.

Something about the innocuous-seeming artifact seemed to catalyze a shift in the very atmosphere as Hisagi carefully palmed its cover and drew it flush against his midsection with slow, deliberate protectiveness. Your gaze tracked the subtle motion with a mounting sense of unease thrilling along your nerves.

"Uh...Hisagi, what's with the stuffy bodyguard routine all of a sudden?" You asked in what you hoped came across as a blasé, unaffected tone. "Pretty sure that sad little journal is about the least scandalous-looking thing on this entire disaster of a desk."

Rather than immediately responding, Hisagi simply turned that inscrutable, heavy-lidded stare onto you once more. You squared your shoulders reflexively beneath the scrutiny's weight, suddenly feeling oddly pinned by the sheer sobriety in his eyes.

When at last he spoke, the words emerged in a low, sonorous rumble laced with subtle tension. "It's personal, that's all. Writing that I'd consider...private."

Your snort rebounded before you could think better of it, instantly cracking the fragile tension like a whip through glass. "Oh come on, don't tell me you're STILL too embarrassed to share any of your poetry with me all these centuries later?"

Before you could properly react or continue poking fun, Hisagi abruptly pivoted and made to slide the thick journal back into its drawer home. You instinctively surged forward, hand darting out to try snatching the tome before he could sequester it away.

"Seriously? After all these years you're still going to keep me in the dark about your little scribbles?" You half-whined, frustration burning at his reticence over something you'd always shared so freely between each other.

Unfortunately, your lunge was a fraction too slow—Hisagi smoothly withdrawing and securing the journal's weight back against his chest in one deft motion. His larger frame eclipsed your comparatively smaller one as you suddenly found yourself trapped against the press of his torso, effectively pinning you in place.

"Enough, brat," he growled down at you, though there was more frustrated affection than true heat behind the gruff words. "This is one aspect of my life I'm not discussing or having you pry into. Period."

You opened your mouth to fire off another retort, only to find the barb shriveling on your tongue as Hisagi's arms came up to bracket you more fully against the unforgiving wooden desk. His piercing slate gaze locked with yours from such intimate proximity—steady and laced with a gravelly undercurrent you couldn't quite parse in that breathless instant.

"I'm serious," Hisagi rumbled, words emerging slightly thicker and deeper than before. "Drop the subject and quit trying to always unravel every single facet about me. Have some respect for boundaries this once, will you?"

Despite the clear note of warning thrumming through his timbre, you were far too distracted by the sudden shift in dynamics to properly process it. Your senses had abruptly kicked into hyperdrive—each inhale painted in exquisite detail as you became hyper-aware of Hisagi's clean, masculine scent enveloping you completely. The maddening warmth radiating from his battle-honed physique where it pressed flush against your ribcage in a solid, unyielding barricade.

You swallowed hard on a reflex you couldn't quite quantify beyond your pulse points suddenly kicking into a steadily mounting gallop against the unforgiving compression of your mutual position. Just as you felt the first flush of heat threatening to creep up the back of your neck in a visible blush, Hisagi seemed to register the same charged undercurrents stewing between your seized breaths.

With a low exhalation, the hard lines of tension gripping his features gradually softened into something more rueful. His palms suddenly rested against the desk's edge on either side of your hips, easing back just enough to restore an infinitesimal ribbon of space between your bodies.

"Look, I...didn't mean to manhandle you quite so roughly there," he muttered, suddenly seeming unable to meet your stare directly. His jaw clenched with clear consternation as one hand raked through the sleep-tousled locks framing his forehead. "Jumped straight to combat mode being territorial over something that has no real business coming between us, did I?"

You exhaled a shaky breath of your own, clawing your way back from the thrall of whatever blazing undercurrents had nearly sparked between you. Managing a jerky shake of your head, you forced a wry smirk to take the sting out of whatever lingering awkwardness remained.

"Since when have you ever stopped yourself from manhandling this annoying pest whenever I started pushing your buttons?" You shot back, going for a breezy tone of normalcy. "I clearly touched a serious nerve bringing up whatever that journal is about. Just say the word and I'll back off, promise."

Hisagi's stare returned to yours - steady and assessing for a prolonged beat. Then finally, some of the residual tension bled from his shoulders, and he offered his own lopsided quirk of amusement in kind.

"What would be the point? We both know you'll just keep poking and prodding no matter what until I finally give you a proper ration of bullshit to shut you up."

You feigned a theatrical gasp of outrage. "Why Shuuhei, I'm deeply wounded you think I have such little restraint and maturity after all these years!"

His answering snort was both eloquent and richly laced with fond sarcasm as you both finally began separating on a mutual unspoken accord. Squaring his shoulders, Hisagi slid the full brunt of his focus towards getting ready for your evening out - hands already smoothing down the sleep-tousled yukata and fishing out his uniform from a nearby chest.

"Yeah, yeah...just give me a few minutes to make myself look decent enough for showing up on your arm in public, at least," he said distractedly, already disrobing without preamble. "Then we can finally get to drowning our respective bullheaded sorrows in far too much mediocre booze like we always do."

You felt your resulting laugh bubbling up from deep in your chest - full-bodied and welcome in the wake of whatever charged frisson had nearly sparked between you. It was a balm against the lingering uncertainties suddenly swirling like smoky eddies thanks to that unexpected exchange. A comforting reminder that no matter how much either of you continued evolving as individuals, your orbit would always intersect and realign on this eternal constant course between kindred souls.

"You know the rules, slacker," you tossed over your shoulder as you turned towards the exit to afford him some modicum of privacy while changing. "First one finished buying the first round has to make sure the other's cup stays filled all evening without complaining!"

Hisagi's derisive snort chased after you halfway down the hallway, already returning to steadier, more familiar ground despite the recent tremors between you.

-

The raucous din of the crowded izakaya enveloped you both like a living force the second you stepped through the entrance. Rambunctious shouts and laughter echoed off the low wooden ceilings, hazy with pipesmoke and the thick, cloying aromas of sizzling meats and fermented spirits.

Within minutes you'd managed to secure one of the more secluded alcove booths tucked against the shadowy rear - as per your longstanding tradition. Obscured from prying eyes by the artful arrangement of hanging scrolls, you two could finally shed the aura of esteemed leadership you'd worn throughout the day.

"Need you to start pouring before I resort to simply upending one of these bottles down my throat," Hisagi groused from across the small table, already shucking off his outer robes to reveal the plain undershirt beneath.

You snorted indelicately, automatically reaching for the nearest ceramic decanter and glasses to begin filling them to the brim. "Believe me, you aren't the only one already pondering simply swimming face-first into the sauce tonight."

Hisagi grunted in acknowledgment, gratefully accepting the overflowing cup and downing nearly half in one protracted pull. Already you could feel the subtle shift beginning - his shoulders gradually rounding out as the rigid tension bled away incrementally with each hit of alcohol.

Matching him pull for steadying pull, you allowed your own persona to slough off layer by grumbling layer until the only aspects remaining were your most unguarded selves. The two of you who had served as dearest confidantes to a raw, unvarnished authenticity never permitted anywhere beyond these four walls.

"I saw the updated patrol schedules today," you offered up after refilling Hisagi's cup for the third time. His brows perked with faint interest. "Looks like division six and eleven are getting paired up for scouting rotations in Rukongai again next quarter."

"Of course they would stick those sorry assholes with the furthest, most miserable reaches imaginable," Hisagi grumbled before taking another steadying draught. Already, you could detect the faintest slur beginning to tinge his consonants. "My money's on Ichiro defecting and trying to overthrow the whole charade within ten days tops."

"Pfft, you're far too kind with those odds," you shot back around a mouthful of sake. "Give me five and I'll put serious funds behind at least three separate attempts on that prick's life before they all finally kill each other off."

The barrage of snarky diatribes and mutual bitching continued flowing without pause - each of you indulging in an escalating cascade of gossip and embellished truths about mutual acquaintances. With each sip and uncomplimentary lambasting shared, the weights of rank and propriety fell further away in tatters.

Before long, you were both thoroughly ensconced in a warm, liquor-soaked bliss of levity and affection reserved solely for the sacred confines of your private ritual. Hisagi's arm slung over the backrest so his knuckles brushed the nape of your neck, calluses skating deliciously along your sensitized skin. Meanwhile, you slumped further and further into his orbit until your flushed sides practically melded into one long line of contact as the night burned on.

By the time you drained yet another bottle and took stock of your increasingly muddled surrounds, the tavern's ambient chaos seemed to have lulled into a soothing murmur. Hisagi leaned back with a contented groan, swiping his wrist across his mouth before bestowing you with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"Made it this far without you peppering me with personal invasions or interrogations," he remarked with a teasing glint in his hooded gaze. "Almost impressed at how well-behaved you've remained tonight, brat."

You mustered up an affected gasp alongside a mock swat at his sculpted bicep that missed by a mile. "The night's still young, ruffian! And I absolutely reserve my rights to harass you with endless chatter until last call if I so desire."

Rather than rise to your playful bait, however, Hisagi simply hummed and let his gaze drift lower - taking in your rumpled state with those piercing smolders that always made something flutter traitorously low in your core. His full lips curved higher in an indulgent smirk as he seemed to lean fractionally nearer across the narrow table's divide.

"Be my guest, pest," he murmured in a voice gone deliciously low and rumbly. The whiskey notes of his warm breath ghosting across your cheek kindled fresh embers along your veins. "Just don't say I failed to warn you when those nosing instincts lead you down paths best left untouched..."

Your pulse immediately kicked up several notches at the subtle shiver of foreboding laced through his words. Squaring your shoulders and mouth setting into a petulant moue, you quickly decided chasing away the heaviness via a more lighthearted approach.

"Sounds like someone's deflecting being called out by pre-emptively playing the cryptic brooding card," you countered with a dramatic roll of your eyes. "Real mature, Hisagi. Almost makes me want to revisit that old journal back at your quarters after all..."

Hisagi's entire demeanor shifted on a dime back into that granite solemnity from earlier - eyes briefly flashing as molten iron flooded their depths. Then, just as swiftly, it seemed to bank down into smoky embers as he slung one heavy forearm across the table's surface and leveraged nearer until you could practically taste his intoxicating, masculine aura.

"You really want to go there?" he growled, voice rendered into something carnal and edged with a sinful promise you couldn't quite trace the origins of. "Want me to confess all the ugly skeletons I've got rattling around in those private scribbles of mine? Because I can tell you right now they involve enough wretched truths that you'd instantly start looking at me differently, pest..."

The raw timbre underpinning each provocative word seemed to lance straight through your rattled defenses and scorch across your insides in tingling licks. You found yourself utterly transfixed - instincts caught in a limbo of fascination and wariness you couldn't properly navigate.

So you did the only thing you could think of in that suspended heartbeat and lurched forward to slap a palm across Hisagi's lap in a defiant feint aimed at redirecting the conversation back on steadier ground.

"Alright, alright! I yield for now on prying into your tortured creative process, slacker," you blustered with affected swagger, punctuating your words with a series of insistent pats against his solid thigh. "But only if you can promise to lighten the hell up and just enjoy the rest of this blessed evening I so painstakingly planned!"

Hisagi stared at you for one heated, loaded beat before his entire frame seemed to slacken incrementally—that familiar leonine aura of shameless charisma bleeding back into place as he reclined with a gravelly chuckle. One broad palm dropped to squeeze your knee in a grounding caress that instantly set your world back onto a more stable axis.

"Fine, but only because your petulant nagging gives me high blood pressure otherwise," he rumbled in a tone dripping pure fond indulgence. "Happy now that you've managed to unravel the surly beast once more, little brat?"

You felt the answering tug of your lips stretching into an unabashed grin. "More than you could possibly handle right now, tough guy. Now how about we call this dive's lazy attendants back over and get a fresh round going? These cups look far too empty for my tastes still..."

"As long as you're the one putting coin towards the next cask," Hisagi shot back, already jostling you with his solid weight in clear needling. "My coin purse is strictly off-limits after the damage you did to my finances last time!"

And just like that, the cadence of casual barbs, banter and deepening camaraderie resumed unchecked as you both settled into the unspoken ritual's familiar rhythms once more. No probing subject unturned, no judgements left unchallenged or dared spoken between souls so bonded that a lifetime could be lived in a single evening's descent.

At least until well past the izakaya's final call and looming trek home, that was...

-

The cool night breeze ghosted across your flushed skin as you finally stumbled out of the stifling izakaya's confines and into the narrow back alleys winding towards your quarters. Hisagi's solid weight bracketed you from behind - one muscular arm looped around your waist to keep you upright while his chest radiated delicious furnace-warmth against your back.

"Easy there, heavy-pour," he rumbled into your hairline, breath stirring the sweaty wisps along your nape. "You're doing a better job keeping your bearings than usual, but let's not get cocky just yet."

You couldn't quite bite back the snort of indignation that bubbled up at his teasing condescension. Craning your head back, you leveled him with as imperious a stare as you could muster through the pleasant sake-haze swimming behind your vision.

"Watch it, smart mouth," you shot back while digging your elbow lightly into his rock-solid abdominals. "Or else someone might think you've got yourself all protective just to get me alone in the dark for other purposes..."

Hisagi's deep, thrumming laughter vibrated through your conjoined frames in a way that somehow set your already over-sensitized nerves alight. "Bold of you to assume I've got any intentions beyond escorting your drunk ass home safely like every other time."

You huffed in feigned indignation, rounding the next dimly lit corner and shaking off his stabilizing support. "Excuses, excuses. Face it Shuuhei — for once your agenda tonight involves walking a pretty, slightly sloshed girl all the way back to her doorstep. Clearly you're gunning for at least a casual fling out of this whole gentlemanly charade!"

Hisagi arched one brow in a show of mock seriousness, hooking his thumbs through his sashes as you both slowed to a halt before your front entrance. You made a dramatic twirl to face him full-on, utterly ignoring the way your head spun slightly with the abrupt pivot.

"Is that so?" he asked in a rumbling baritone gone sinfully lower than before. "And here I thought all the liquid courage sloshing through your veins had just addled your faculties for propriety at last."

You grinned back at him through your sake-flushed haze, utterly unrepentant. "Don't play coy with me tonight, tough guy. I see that heated little glimmer you've been trying so hard to repress every time you think I'm not looking."

Bracing your palms against his solid chest, you leaned up on your tiptoes to bring your faces into intimate proximity deliberately. The crisp clean scent of his shampoo and sword oil shampoo enveloped your senses, kindling fresh tendrils of molten heat low in your core as you drank him in at this range.

"You've had the hots for this hot little body of mine for centuries now," you breathed in a lower, throatier cadence designed to roll directly along his nerves in a sensual caress. "So why not man up and make tonight the one where you finally get a taste?"

A loud clatter from the nearby courtyard punctuated your words, shattering through the thickening undercurrents like physical percussion. You watched with a sense of vertigo intensifying as Hisagi's throat bobbed convulsively on a thick swallow. When his piercing gun-steel regard locked onto yours once more, you felt your breath stall in your lungs.

"Someone's feeling adventurous after tipping back a few too many cups," he growled, though the deep resonance carried none of the usual dismissive edge you'd steeled yourself for. "But even if I were tempted to satisfy those filthy little cravings clouding your hazy mind tonight…what makes you think you could handle the hunger raging inside me?"

Your fingertips skated lower along the ridges and crests of musculature flexing beneath his robed until they skirted the waistband digging into taut obliques. Feeling positively incandescent with bravado, you allowed your thumbs to slip beneath its warm confines in a delicious implication.

"Because maybe I've been hungrily eyeing this big, strapping soldier myself whenever your back was turned," you husked in a whisper meant only for Hisagi's burning ears to consume. "Checking out the absolutely sinful size and shape you've been packing beneath these boring robes all this time..."

Hisagi exhaled a low, shuddering rasp at the bald-faced provocation laced through your words. His strong palms suddenly clamped down on the curves of your hips, utterly halting your teasing exploration southward with bruising insistence.

"Mind where those naughty little fingers start wandering if you can't back up that cocky mouth of yours," he rumbled in a cadence gone guttural and loaded with enough gravelly promise to make your knees wobble dangerously. "This hard-on's been begging to get broken loose and properly used for over an hour now after watching your lips run all evening..."

You felt a tremor rack your limbs as your arousal spiked into dizzying new altitudes. Every breath you sucked down seemed to scorch straight through your lungs - body thrumming like a live wire ready to detonate into blissful detonation at any second.

Somehow you found the wherewithal to tip your chin higher in defiance, determined to meet Hisagi's lascivious challenge head-on rather than buckling beneath its intensity. "If that's your game then ante up, tough guy, because this thirsty little mouth has been starving to—"

The words shriveled and died on your tongue as Hisagi suddenly banded one thick forearm around your lower back and wrenched your bodies fully together into a scorching, unyielding crush. Your core spasmed against the searing bulwark of his arousal pinning you open and utterly claimed, mouth falling open on a shuddering inhale.

"Last chance to walk away before I utterly demolish that self-control you're barely clinging to," Hisagi growled against the fevered pulse at your throat. "Because once I've had my fill of those sweet lips, my conquest won't end until I've buried this cock balls-deep and left you a ruined, sobbing wreck in your wake..."

Any lingering traces of playful, alcohol-fueled bravado threatening to spill over into full-blown reckless abandon rapidly iced over as you watched an unreadable expression shutter over Hisagi's features.

It was as if a switch had been flipped - the electric, magnetic charge rapidly leaching from the atmosphere as he seemed to withdraw within himself. You stood there frozen, lips parted and breath coming in shallow pants from the searing proximity you'd allowed yourselves to drift into.

Then Hisagi recoiled with a muttered curse, putting a careful span of distance between your tangled frames with a none-too-gentle shove against your midsection. The action rang out like a gunshot's concussive force in the static-charged silence. You staggered back a half-step, utterly poleaxed and off-kilter with visceral whiplash from how swiftly the undercurrents had changed.

"Get inside and sleep it off," Hisagi bit out in a low, gruff tone devoid of any previous heated edge or familiarity. His hooded gaze remained carefully averted, almost as if he couldn't quite bring himself to meet your blatantly confused stare head-on anymore.

"But...Shuuhei, what—" you stammered out around the knot of bewilderment clogging your windpipe. "We were just—I mean, I thought you wanted—"

"Yeah well, clearly we let things go too far down a road best not traveled tonight," he cut you off, tone clipped and borderline harsh in its inflectionless finality. "My judgment was skewed earlier is all. I shouldn't have indulged toeing those types of boundaries, however indirectly. Not with you."

The last few words landed with all the weight and blunt impact of gravel clattering against the planks beneath your sandals. Before you could formulate any further queries or reactions beyond sheer stupefied hurt, Hisagi had already turned on his heel and set off down the street at a brisk, ground-eating stride.

"Get some rest," he tossed over his shoulder without glancing back even once. "And don't worry, there's no need to overthink things here. I've got enough control for us both to avoid making the same mistake again any time soon..."

You watched his steadily retreating silhouette until it disappeared around the next corner, numbness settling icy cold in your limbs and gut in equal measure. The night seemed to stretch out before you in an endless, lonely expanse as the solitude rapidly enveloped.

When you finally gathered enough wherewithal to fumble your way back inside and collapse into the sheets, it felt as if much more than physical exhaustion had simply leached straight from your marrow over those last few excruciating moments. Drained and hollow, you let the blackness swallow you down with nary a protest.

-

True to his parting vow, Hisagi remained conspicuously absent in the following days and nights—apparently keeping his distance with rigid, almost obsessive determination.

You tried not to read too deeply into the sting of his intentional avoidance, telling yourself it was likely his way of simply allowing things to smoothe over after your heated encounter at your door. But the more the hurt festered like an open wound picking up subtle toxins, the harder it became to ignore.

Attempts at checking up inevitably went unanswered with increasing finality. Any random paths you crossed only led to Hisagi retreating before you could so much as exchange stilted greetings—that hooded, opaque look from before firmly in place.

Unable to quell the nagging, sour frustration bubbling higher each time he ducked your presence and company so successfully, you finally reached the end of your patience by week's end. Determined for some sort of resolution, you marched directly towards Hisagi's personal quarters with fists clenched and a slew of choice grievances fully prepared on your tongue.

However, when you rounded the final dim hallway bent, you found his door hanging slightly ajar and his alcove suspiciously empty. No sounds or indications of recent activity resonating from within the hollow gloom beyond his empty threshold. Steeling your jaw, you pressed forward and slipped inside his personal sanctum to find it as deserted as you'd initially feared.

Wherever Hisagi was currently avoiding you, it apparently wasn't his own standard haunt within these walls. A spark of petulant ire ignited along your nerves, refusing to be stymied by this latest turn.

You fumed silently as you paced back and forth across Hisagi's cramped personal quarters, trying to decide your next move. The anger burned hotter with each passing minute he remained absent and evasive. Part of you entertained the notion of simply waiting right here until he inevitably returned so you could finally force a confrontation. But an even bigger part itched to take a more proactive approach - to actively hunt him down and corner him so this childish cold shoulder act couldn't continue any longer.

As you whirled towards the exit with renewed determination, your gaze fell upon the leather-bound journal sitting in clear view atop Hisagi's chaotic desk. The same personal, off-limits journal he'd been so adamant about keeping private just the other night. Now it laid open before you as if inviting you to finally unravel its heavily-guarded secrets.

You paused mid-stride, chewing your lower lip as you wrestled with the desire to respect his privacy despite his current bullheaded antics. But the longer you stared at that innocuous-looking tome, the more your curiosity gnawed at your restraint. With a huff of annoyance at Hisagi for putting you in this position, you finally stalked over and snatched up the journal with shaky hands.

The first few entries were utterly mundane - detailing tedious duty rosters, patrol rotations, and other numbing bureaucratic responsibilities you'd have expected to fill its pages. A small part of you relaxed slightly, thinking perhaps you'd get bored enough to simply close the journal and honor Hisagi's boundaries after all.

That is until you flipped a bit further and the subject matter took an abrupt, distinctly personal turn.

Hisagi's usually pristine handwriting became looser, more languid as he described individual moments and small observations in an almost...poetic manner. You furrowed your brow as you read paragraph after paragraph filled with flowery, vivid descriptions and intimate personal anecdotes. And at the very heart of each impassioned entry - you.

Sentence after sentence detailed your most mundane gestures, smallest habits, and casual daily interactions through Hisagi's utterly adoring lens. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners whenever you smiled at him over drinks. How your hair cascaded around your face when the wind caught it just perfectly. The cadence of your laugh and how it always seized his breath straight from his lungs whenever aimed in his direction. He committed it all to the page in loving, almost obsessive detail.

Your cheeks burned hotter and hotter the more you read and the clearer it became about Hisagi's true depth of feeling toward you. These weren't mere observations of a close friend, but the enraptured musings of a man utterly entranced, even worshipful, of your every last detail.

Then you reached a new section of the journal, and the bottom dropped out entirely.

These final pages didn't contain Hisagi's usual eloquent prose and delicate turn-of-phrase. Instead, they read like hastily scrawled admissions straight from the darkest recesses of his mind - utterly unvarnished stream of consciousness poured out in erratic but legible scrawl.

Hisagi didn't bother masking the primal lust and molten-hot hunger that laced these particular entries, all totally and completely focused on you in the most visceral, filthy, and undeniably erotic ways imaginable.

'Don't know how much longer I can keep holding back from simply bending my good friend over and rutting into that sweet cunt like a feral beast until we're both ruined...'

Swallowing hard, you rifled feverishly forward in mounting disbelief - page after page revealing more and more of Hisagi's naked, utterly unrestrained fixation upon you and his uncontrollable need to worship every molecule of your being in the most visceral manner imaginable.

'I dreamed about fucking her again last night, absolutely brutalizing her throat and cunt until she was hollow and hollow and crying on my cock, begging for more. No one's ever driven me to the same level of delirious madness and insatiable hunger...'

'Hid in the shower and stroked myself imagining pinning her against the floor, biting and sucking hickies down her arched throat as I speared into those honeyed depths raw over and over. She'd break and spill everything for me in that state.'

On and on the uncensored depravity continued in a raw, utterly desperate outpouring seemingly ripped from the deepest, most spaces of Hisagi's psyche. Each lurid fantasy and secret desire consummated in blunt, pornographic poetry rendered on the page in excruciating detail without a single boundary left standing.

'Her tongue would be velvet rapture itself - made for worshipping every ridge and vein pulsing across my aching cock with slow, reverent strokes until I'm weeping for mercy...'

'There are nights I wake up already fisting my cock in my pants, furiously chasing the images of reaming that perfect pussy in new sick angles while she bucks like a wild thing beneath me. Always leaves me coming so hard when I imagine stuffing her to bursting with my seed at last...'

You lost track of how many times you choked out a garbled, incredulous sound - both scandalized and increasingly swamped by visceral shudders of arousal the more you consumed Hisagi's utterly perverted, obsessive outpourings about hungering to defile you from every conceivable angle.

By the last few entries, you were outright squirming in your chair while reading - eyes glazing over from the uncensored erotic imagery and sheer delirious heat steaming off the inked admissions:

'Spent nearly an hour having to muffle myself, jerking off just fucking imagining her sweetness soaking my tongue. Stroking over that pretty little cunt while feeding her my load...breaking her with pleasure until she's useless and glassy from orgasms. No idea how much longer I can resist making that my reality.'

'What if I just took her by surprise one day - bent her over a table and mounted her from behind like a dog? There'd be no half-hearted struggles or refusal once she felt my girth spearing into her tight cunt. Just acceptance that I own every sinful inch of her flesh now.'

That final entry seemed to consume your entire consciousness and leave an echoing void in its wake as you unconsciously mouthed the words over and over. Hisagi's eloquence seemed to have fully shattered into a visceral, feral outpouring of debased lust and ravening possession towards the idea of utterly defiling you without mercy.

Only when you hazily glanced up from the pages did you register your own hand frozen with fingers idly caressing and teasing your clothed, swollen sex with unconscious ardor. A strangled whimper finally wrenched free from your parched throat - body suddenly feverish and fevered from the primal, unholy bacchanalia now seared permanently across your psyche.

Sweet merciful heavens, you'd barely even glimpsed the full fever dreams of Hisagi's depravity by forcing his tragic manifesto wide open like this...and already felt utterly stripped down and reshaped from the exposure alone. How the hell were you going to endure in any recognizable form if he ever indulged unleashing those full, starving appetites upon your joined raptures without holding back?

The journal slipped from your trembling hands to clatter loudly against the desk's surface as you slumped in a dazed heap - soaked thighs clenching fitfully while your mind swam in a crimson haze of sin and maddening arousal. Whatever this metamorphosis Hisagi's unchecked obsession had catalyzed within you, there could be no sane way to emerge from the other side unscathed and unbroken.

You hungrily turned the next page, rapidly abandoning all pretext of restraint as the primal allure of Hisagi's darkest, most twisted fantasies continued unraveling before you. Each successive entry seemed even more lurid and depraved than the last - ever graphic scenario and perverse craving splayed out in granular, unapologetic detail.

Part of you recoiled in scandalized disbelief at the sheer extent of the man's utterly depraved fixations upon worshipping your body in the most carnal, unholy manner imaginable. But another part - a deeper, lurking essence you could no longer deny - felt something bright and predatory inside you awakening in rabid answer.

'I need to mark every inch of that pretty skin until she's been utterly remade as my possession. Sucking hickeys and bites down her beautiful throat, those perfect tits getting slapped and manhandled until she sobs for mercy...'

Your breath punched out in ragged pants, greedy gaze consuming each delirious word as explosive heat licked along your sensitized nerve endings. In your electrified state, it almost felt like Hisagi's rich, graveled voice was husking out the erotic sacrilege directly against your pounding pulse rather than on paper before you.

'She'd be so obedient and break for me. After the first few devastatingly deep, punishing thrusts stretching her cunt apart I can picture those gorgeous eye rolling back as I shove inside balls-deep and take what's mine...'

One slick hand strayed beneath your robes without conscious thought, caressing and stoking along your drenched, swollen folds in frantic rhythm with your senses now utterly enthralled by the uncensored depravity spooling out upon the page. A strangled moan punched free from your convulsing chest as you circled your slippery clit, back arching involuntarily against the phantom sensation of being speared wide open by Hisagi's cock just like the depraved text described.

'Should just bend her over and eat that tight pussy out, spread her thighs nice and wide to really work my tongue inside and taste every forbidden inch of—'

The next searing monologue choked off as someone’s large, calloused palm suddenly slammed down atop the tome's binding, making you jolt. You whirled around in your chair - mouth already falling open on a flurry of breathless excuses and apologies for the intrusion you'd committed in invading his privacy so utterly.

The words rapidly calcified on your tongue as you drank in the utter tableau before you. There stood Hisagi himself, midnight hair in disarray and looking utterly winded as if he'd run the entire way back. His powerful, stone-carved features were locked in an inscrutable, unreadable mask.

But his body...God, his body betrayed the extent of what holding himself in check was currently costing the man. Every muscle visibly clenched and ticking with the kind of rapacious energy usually reserved for berserker rages on the battlefield. Sweat glistened along every carved ridge, forearms bulging with strain as Hisagi's hands twitched with the clear effort of not simply seizing and taking what he so ravenously craved right then and there.

When your gazes finally locked and snared, you felt your mouth go utterly dry at the unadulterated molten heat blazing behind Hisagi's piercing stare. There was no judgment or anger present — just a naked, primal intensity burning brighter and hotter than a forge's heart focused solely upon you. The man's veneer of civility was finally cracked to its foundations, you realized with a belated thrill of rapture.

He drank in your disheveled, panting state completely unchecked - slate irises darkening further as he clearly scented the tang of your arousal perfuming the air around where you sat on flagrant display. Just as a flush began creeping up the back of your neck towards your cheeks, Hisagi's gravel-edged growl emerged from somewhere basal and elemental deep within.

"So you finally decided to go snooping through my private shit, huh?" His tone was more heated desire than true anger as he took a step closer, eyes roving over your flushed face and parted lips. "Had to go prying into the sick, twisted things I've been craving to do to that gorgeous body of yours?"

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the smoldering embers burning in his stare. Despite your embarrassment at being caught, you felt no shame - only a delirious longing steadily unfurling within your core at his blatant appraisal.

"I...I couldn't resist after you made it sound so scandalous," you managed, surprising yourself with the husky rasp coating your words. "Wanted to see what had you wound so tight you couldn't even let me get a peek."

Hisagi's nostrils flared slightly, clearly catching the undercurrent of arousal now thickening the air between you both. Rather than rebuke you further, however, his expression melted into something more conflicted and grave.

"So now you know," he murmured, suddenly sounding more subdued as he sank down to kneel before you. One of his rough palms cradled the side of your jaw with surprising tenderness. "Seen all my darkest, sickest desires where you're concerned laid bare for you to recoil in horror."

You automatically leaned into his touch, compelled by the molten sincerity now flickering in his piercing gaze as it roamed your features slowly.

"Does it disgust you?" he asked lowly - words emerging from a deeper well of vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. "Knowing the depths of this depraved obsession I've developed over you? How unhinged I become just from fantasies about wrecking you properly on my cock until you're a ruined, sobbing mess?"

Rather than answer verbally, you surged forward to capture Hisagi's mouth in a searing, messy clash of lips and tongues. He groaned against the sudden onslaught, big palms automatically spanning your waist to haul you flush against his solid bulk as the kiss spiraled into frenzied indulgence.

When you finally tore away, you were both flushed and breathing harshly - foreheads pressed together as you gazed into his slightly dazed eyes.

"Stop being such an idiot," you rasped, draping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your next words emerged in a breathless rush, unable to filter any longer. "I want it, Shuhei. Want you to give me everything described in those filthy pages and then some. Been driving myself crazy thinking about you splitting me open and making me scream your name too."

A shudder rippled through Hisagi's powerful frame at your brazen admission. His large hands roamed over the curves of your body with rough possessiveness as dark wonder crept into his expression.

"God...you really are just as sick a little freak as me, aren't you?" The growl had returned to his voice, but layered with undisguised reverence now as his grip tightened almost painfully.

"Because I really did mean every soaked, perverted word written about the ways I intend to violate and claim this gorgeous body, kitten. Gonna make sure you're utterly reshaped and remade as my personal set of holes to use and ruin over and over..."

You shivered against him, hissing softly through your teeth as arousal spiked electric through your blood in answer to his crude, unrestrained promise.

"Then what are you waiting for?" You ground out breathlessly. "I'm done teasing or hesitating — just take me already, Shuuhei. Make me your personal fucktoy like we both clearly want so badly..."

A low, hungry noise slipped from him as his mouth crashed over yours in a devouring, searing kiss once more. One hand gripped your thigh to haul your leg up and around his waist as the other clutched and kneaded the soft mounds of your ass through your robes shamelessly.

"You're gonna regret giving me that kind of permission, gorgeous," he husked into the kiss with visceral sincerity. "Because I really won't be able to stop myself from breaking that body of yours into the prettiest, strung-out mess imaginable until you're addicted to being my insatiable little cumdump..."

Already, you were whimpering and writhing against the delicious friction of his burgeoning length grinding against your clothed heat through thin layers. Any further protests or hesitation shattered against the raw lust coursing molten-hot through your veins, rendering you utterly incandescent and unhinged for the first time in ages.

Hisagi seemed to be consumed by the same feverish, ravenous energy - all traces of the stoic, reticent man gone as his fingers fumbled at the fastenings of your robes. His movements were hurried and desperate, but his gaze remained fixed on you with single-minded intensity.

"Need you naked and on your back," he growled, voice rough and guttural. "Wanna see that pretty pussy gushing and dripping down my balls the first time I fill you up with my seed."

The command sent a fresh shudder through you, making your fingers dig into the sculpted ridges of his back through his own crumpled garments. With a frustrated grunt, Hisagi tore himself away from the embrace and reached down to untiethe sash knotted around his waist.

You watched, entranced, as the man's powerful muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin with each movement. Even his face was a study in unguarded rapture, completely undone by the lust and desire raging in his veins. The sight had your sex pulsing fitfully in answer, practically salivating over the promise of how his raw physical power would feel pinning you down and overwhelming you in the most primal way imaginable.

Once he'd stripped off his robes and kicked away his sandals, you could see his cock had swollen to a thick, proud arc that strained towards his chiseled abdomen. You swallowed hard, mind flashing back to the vivid fantasies of what his girth would feel like plunging into your needy depths over and over without mercy.

Hisagi's heated gaze flicked to your face, noting the way your eyes had gone glassy and distant with the image still etched across your brain. His cock twitched noticeably at the sight of you drinking him in with such blatant hunger, but his expression remained unflinching. You barely registered him moving before his large, calloused palms were suddenly grasping and hoisting you up from the chair.

Your thighs locked instinctively around his hips as he carried you over to his desk, where the journal still sat wide open in brazen testimony to the debauched act about to occur. A fresh pulse of arousal shuddered through you as you imagined being used and claimed upon the very site of his secret, sinful lusts.

The second he'd laid you out atop the desk, he was descending over you - his weight a thrilling pressure as your bodies melded flush. You couldn't resist arching up into him, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours and the velvet-over-steel sensation of his straining cock pressed flush to your belly.

Hisagi's mouth was already seeking out yours once more, tongue stroking over yours with urgent hunger. Every inch of his powerful body seemed to be vibrating with restraint as he rocked and ground his hips against you - making your toes curl as pleasure crackled through your nerves like wildfire.

"Can't believe how lucky I am," he murmured roughly, punctuating the words with a string of kisses down your jawline. "Finally have the woman I've been aching to worship for so long spread out before me, ready and willing to accept every sick fantasy and depraved desire I've been craving..."

You couldn't help the soft keen that escaped your throat as his words sent a fresh flood of wetness slicking your folds. The sheer primal intensity with which he'd uttered the words had you trembling and aching to be filled already. A fact Hisagi didn't fail to pick up on, given the way his lips twitched with amusement.

"Oh, did you like that?" His deep voice rumbled with dark intent, the edge of his teeth nipping sharply at the juncture of your throat. "My sweet, gorgeous kitten is an absolute whore for dirty talk, huh?"

You gasped as he suddenly sucked hard on the tender skin, his hands busy tugging the final bits of clothing from your form. The sensation of his tongue laving the abused flesh in rough swipes had fresh need coiling tightly in your core, making you writhe and pant beneath him.

"Y-yes, fuck..." You keened, the last syllable pitching into a moan as Hisagi's fingers began stroking along your folds, gathering the wetness pooling at the apex and spreading it liberally. "Please, I...I want your cock inside me so bad, Shuhei..."

He huffed out a soft noise of approval, lifting his head from your throat to capture your mouth in another devouring, dizzying kiss. The entire time, his fingers worked and teased your slick cunt - spreading the gathered honey across the swollen folds and circling the pulsing entrance teasingly.

"What my girl wants, my girl gets," he growled against your lips, the gravel-edge to his tone sending another shiver of delight through you. "Because no one can take care of this gorgeous little pussy like I can, right?"

With that, he plunged two thick fingers into your depths. A strangled cry punched from your chest at the sensation of being so deliciously stretched and filled after days of deprivation. Your walls clenched and fluttered around the penetration, trying to suck him deeper as your nails bit crescents into his broad shoulders.

Hisagi let out a ragged groan, the sound seeming to come from the bottom of his chest as he felt your slick, molten passage convulsing around his digits. You couldn't hold back the delirious whimpers and moans that poured free as he began fingerfucking your drenched cunt in a punishing rhythm.

"Fuck...you're tighter than I imagined," he husked, pressing a line of rough, heated kisses along the column of your throat. "Can't wait to see how this perfect little cunt squeezes around my cock once I'm balls-deep in those molten depths."

A whimper was the only coherent sound you could manage at the moment, too swept up in the raw ecstasy of being pounded into delirium by his thrusting fingers. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were hurtling towards the precipice of release, the pressure and friction building with each pump.

"G-god, Shuhei, I'm going to come," you keened, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowing as pleasure crested within you. "Feels s-so good...gonna make me come so hard on your fingers—"

Your next words were abruptly choked off as Hisagi's fingers withdrew from your dripping heat with a slick, obscene sound. You whined, opening your eyes and fixing him with a pleading, desperate stare.

"But...but I was so close," you protested, a petulant pout tugging at your lips.

He smirked in response, reaching over to snag the discarded journal. You watched in a daze as he flipped the pages back until he reached the beginning of the entries. He held up the page before you, eyes burning and molten with unbridled hunger.

"You will read the rest of the filthy, perverted thoughts I've written about you," he ordered, the commanding gravel of his tone making a new flood of wetness seep between your thighs. "And you're not allowed to come until you’ve read the rest of the page aloud and I'm balls-deep in that tight cunt of yours."

To ease the strain, Hisagi flipped you onto your belly - the cool, smooth wood a welcome shock against the heat blazing along every inch of your flesh. You arched and moaned softly as his hands slid up the curve of your spine, pausing at the back of your neck to gather the hair falling over your shoulders and tugging it roughly.

"Now start reading," he commanded, the fat tip of his cock slowly nudging its way between your drenched, swollen folds.

You smoothed your fingers over the page, the ink now smeared slightly from the earlier encounter. Despite the lust haze still clouding your senses, you somehow managed to begin reciting the first sentence in a wavering, unsteady voice.

"S-Sometimes I imagine tying her up, gag in her mouth, legs spread wide, just so I can take my time and really learn what each twitch and tremble means. How far I can go before she’s crying, shaking, and begging me to either stop or never stop. I’d choose the latter."

"Mmm...just like that, gorgeous." Hisagi's voice was a low, rasping growl - the vibration of his tone making goosebumps break out across your flesh.

A moan escaped your lips as the blunt tip of his cock pressed into the pulsing, molten entrance to your depths. A fraction more, and he'd finally be sheathed within your cunt — filling the aching void inside with his thick, hot shaft.

You forced your attention back to the page, fighting the urge to grind back against him as you began reciting the next paragraph.

"I should’ve kissed her. Should’ve dragged her into my lap and let her grind on my thigh while I drank the moans straight from her mouth. She was soft and flushed and laughing like sin itself, and I stopped it. Fucking coward. She would’ve let me devour her. I know it. And I went home instead—hard, aching, losing my fucking mind while her taste haunted my lips."

Hisagi's fingers dug into your waist as you read, his breath punching out in harsh pants. His hips snapped forward, driving the full, straining length of his cock into your cunt without warning.

You cried out, head dropping back as the stretch and burn of being speared open made your toes curl. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but the deliciously full sensation of having him sheathed in your molten core soon overwhelmed any pain.

"Fuck...that's it, kitten." He groaned, pulling out a few inches before slamming back inside again. "Took me in so well, didn't you? Look at you, all split open on my cock and leaking all over the place..."

A ragged whimper fell from your lips, the words dissolving into incoherence as he repeated the movement — slowly dragging his thick, pulsing length out to the tip and then driving it home in one harsh thrust. Hisagi set a steady, relentless pace, fucking you onto his shaft in a brutal, claiming rhythm.

You couldn't help the wanton noises and babbling falling freely from your mouth, the sensation of his girth filling and stretching your inner walls to the limit leaving you utterly delirious. Your hips bucked and ground against him, instinctively trying to meet each of his powerful strokes as they drove his shaft into the deepest recesses of your core.

Hisagi's own groans and grunts were equally unrestrained, the grip on your hips bordering on bruising as he hammered his cock into your molten cunt with abandon. Every plunge of his shaft sent a fresh pulse of heat crackling through your nerves, your climax building once more despite the denied release earlier.

"Keep reading, beautiful," he commanded, his voice roughened by lust.

"C-Can't..." You moaned, the rest of the words dying on your tongue as the delicious friction of his shaft plowing your cunt sent you hurtling towards the edge.

Hisagi leaned over, bracing his arms on either side of your torso. The shift in angle allowed him to grind his hips against the curve of your ass, driving the head of his cock directly into the spongy, hypersensitive patch inside. You couldn't bite back the keening wail that escaped, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk and thighs shaking.

"Read," he snarled, punctuating the word with a sharp, punishing slap to your ass.

The sudden spike of pain made you cry out, the sound morphing into a delirious moan as he kept thrusting relentlessly into your clenching, convulsing channel. Somehow, the sensation of his cock spearing you open even further with each pump was enough to pull you back from the edge.

Trembling, you forced yourself to focus once more on the words etched across the page.

"I keep thinking about how her eyes glazed over when we were close, how her breath hitched right before she leaned in. She wanted it. Wanted me. And all I could think about was how good she’d sound if I threw her onto my bed and bred her until she couldn’t speak. I could’ve had her tonight—drunk and sweet and willing. And I walked away."

The sound of Hisagi's panting breaths and the slick, obscene noises of your cunt being split open filled the silence between you. He remained buried in the molten depths, his shaft throbbing and twitching fitfully within. Your own ragged breathing mingled with the lewd sounds, head spinning with the raw sensations flooding through your body.

"Keep reading," he growled again, the gravel-edge to his tone making another fresh wave of wetness slicken your walls.

It took every ounce of willpower to continue, his cock still buried deep in your cunt and stretching you open so perfectly.

"Even now, after all this time, I’d still get on my knees for her. Not just to eat her like a man possessed—though I would, for hours—but to worship. To bury my face between her thighs and show her with every groan, every kiss, just how many years I’ve dreamed of hearing her fall apart on my tongue. She’s not just a fantasy. She’s the only softness I’ve ever craved with this much violence."

As you finished reading the final word, a sob escaped your throat. You were beyond desperate to come now, every muscle and nerve ending screaming with the need to unravel. Hisagi's movements had slowed, but still pumped his shaft into your molten, grasping cunt with a controlled, measured precision.

"Fucking hell, you're such a good girl." He rasped, the hand not clutching your hip reaching forward to stroke the sweat-dampened strands of hair away from your cheek. "Listened and followed my instructions so well for me."

The praise made you whimper, turning to nuzzle the side of your face against his calloused palm. Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feel of his cock filling and stretching you to the limit, but refusing to move.

"I...I did, Shuuhei. So please...please make me come." The last part emerged in a pleading, breathless whine, all shame long since forgotten. "I've been such a good girl and listened to you, so please fuck me properly and make me come."

"God, the mouth on you," he growled, sounding torn between arousal and incredulity. His hips shifted, cock twitching against your walls and making a shudder wrack through your frame. "I'm going to be hearing that filthy little voice of yours in my head on repeat for the rest of eternity."

You couldn't find the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the way the pressure and friction was steadily mounting again. Before you could process the movement, Hisagi had pulled free from your soaked, swollen cunt. A pitiful, whining noise escaped you, hips arching up in instinctive search for his touch.

"H-hey! Why did you—"

Your protest was cut short as he flipped you onto your back once more. Your breath caught at the sight of him, the planes and contours of his body bathed in a wash of moonlight spilling through the window. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his hair was tousled and messy — his usual stoic expression replaced by something raw, unbridled, and feral.

He didn't give you any time to recover, simply hooked both of your legs over his broad shoulders and speared his thick, pulsing length back into the molten, clenching depths of your pussy. Your nails bit into his forearms, the position allowing him to drive into the deepest reaches of your cunt - each pump striking the hypersensitive bundle of nerves inside with pinpoint accuracy.

"Shuuhei, oh god...!"

You couldn't form any coherent thought as he resumed the frantic, claiming rhythm - hips pistoning in and out as his cock plunged into your slick, tight passage over and over. It was as though every other sense had fallen away, leaving only the sensation of his girth filling you up and spreading your walls wide with each plunge.

"That's it, kitten. I wanna hear those pretty noises while I'm fucking this cunt senseless." Hisagi's voice had lowered to a husky rasp, his hands gripping your thighs and holding you open for him as he drove his hips forward relentlessly.

Each thrust had the swollen, straining length of his cock grinding against the slick, dripping entrance to your cunt. You could feel your climax building, the pressure and friction spiraling tighter and tighter with each stroke. The only sound you could manage at this point were high, breathy gasps and moans - utterly incapable of coherent thought.

"Come on, beautiful. Come all over my cock like a good girl."

Hisagi's order seemed to be the trigger. Your vision whited out as pleasure crashed through you, every muscle and nerve-ending seizing with the intensity of the release. Distantly, you could hear yourself crying out - babbling incoherently as the waves of ecstasy wracked your body.

Hisagi's movements didn't slow, fucking you through the entire release until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The sensation of your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his shaft sent him hurling towards the edge himself. Within seconds, his rhythm faltered and he slammed home one last time.

You could feel the first pulses of his orgasm spilling inside you, his cock twitching and throbbing as he pumped thick ropes of his seed into your core. His lips found yours once more, the kiss hot and hungry, the two of you devouring each other's pleasure.

After a moment, the frenzied passion gave way to a slow, languid heat - the two of you melting into each other. You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped your throat as Hisagi pulled his softening length free, a trickle of his seed and your wetness seeping from your folds and pooling on the surface of the desk.

He immediately reached over and cupped your cheeks with both hands, tilting your face up for a slow, deep kiss. The tender gesture made your heart squeeze, and you returned it in equal measure - savoring the gentle exploration of tongues and lips.

After a long, dizzying moment, he finally broke the contact, his dark gaze burning with unguarded affection. He stroked the backs of his fingers along your cheek, brushing the tangled strands of hair back and tucking them behind your ear.

"That was even better than I'd imagined," he murmured, voice rough and still a little breathless. "I'll have to write an entry in the journal tomorrow, won't I?"

"Hmmm...only if I can read it," you retorted, giving him a saucy smile.

He smirked, leaning down to claim your mouth in another searing kiss. "You know I can't say no when you look at me like that."