#something to chew on while I work on my drafts. . .

[somegirlontheinternet135]

I didn't expect a post about a dating sim x click & point adventure game with The Beasts to be this popular but. . .

*random gestures*

So here you go, some thoughts & features that could be added to this weird fangame I conjured up!

(tw: long)

~General~

The world that the player teleported into heavily mirrors the land of beast yeast, complete with each of the landmarks which the beasts resign in. One exception however is at the center of this mysterious land is a forest of silver trees, which surround a strange alter of six stone standing pads, five little stones around a much larger stone in the middle (wonder what that's about?)

Somewhere amidst the silver woods is a mysterious grove, a grove filled with lilies. If adventurous enough, the player can explore the grove, but be warned, for not only do the scent of lilies cause drowsiness and the possibility of passing out, but lilies aren't the only thing that the land houses. The grove is peerless maze, so the player must enter with caution

The story length will be similar to how Obey Me is set up (divided into different chapters) with the first three to four chapters introducing the Beasts

There's no "canonical" choice of who'll you'll end up with, that's entirely up to the player. Another choice the player will have is whether the relationships can be platonic or romantic

Although many MCs are mostly left blank slates, I want the player in the sort of grey area between having an actual personality but leaving details vague enough to leave people guessing. Think the MC from "Obey Me" crossed with Yuu from "Twisted Wonderland" And you know many MCs are often nice and kind-hearted, well sorta throw that out the window bc we're doing something special(snarky, sarcastic, brutality honest, and filled with trust issues)

There's only snippets of what the player physically looks like(trust me, this'll be important later)

It's also important that the player has zero memory of entering the world they were basically isekaed into, something which the beasts learn one way or another. . .

The player will receive several petnames from the beasts, ranging from simple ones like "dear" or "sweetheart," to petnames relating to mice and other rodents(ie: "Little Mouse," "Pika," even "Pipsqueak")

In the game, the day-night cycle plays a big role in the gameplay. You'll be allowed to roam and explore as much as you want, but at night, you're given the choice of whether you should go to bed or keep exploring. If the player chooses to continue exploring, they'll be met with an energy meter, which increases when you sleep and decreases when you don't. With a full bar, the player can explore a total of five times, and once that meter runs out, they get too exhausted and fall asleep

Now would be a good time to mention the player's different bedrooms. They rotate based on the location, but they're meant to be a sort of safe space for the player, it's also the area where they pick up an important item: A journal

The journal functions very similarly to a scribble board and an actual notebook but serves one purpose, to allow the player to take notes on certain puzzles. Different puzzles are scattered across the landmarks, some are extremely difficult and require one to jot notes

I also like to think the player would receive a variety of tools during their journey and will each be essential. Which would lead the player to carry a bag to hold said items

For the purpose of the story, the player is able to respawn if they die. Remember the alter in the silver tree forest, they wake up there like nothing happened, although they do still retain the memories of said death

The player will engage in several minigames, the most common of them being a cooking style game where you prepare meals and ones where your using certain tools. Whilst the click & point portion consists of the player exploring the different areas & interacting with their surroundings

As a bonus, the player is gifted different outfits from the beasts, each one corresponding to the beast, their interests, and their theme

~Shadow Milk~

In the many eyes of Shadow Milk, the player is the only cookie he's seen in a while, so it's obvious he'd want them to be his audience, if you ever so chose to be. They get the option of asking more & trying to convince him on letting them have a turn in performing, which he'll have different reactions to

*You're reading the scripts of one of Shadow Milk's plays, in awe at the material. You compliment his work, making him all the more flattered*

"Oh I love acting! Your script is amazing, could I try acting some things out?"

*Hearing the question, Shadow Milk snatches the script from your hands. He almost snaps at you*

"What? No, of course not!"

"I'm sorry my dear, I adore your praise but. . . we've already established who the audience is! It's the key tool of any actor's career, and without that, we'd just be two actors with no one to entertain. . ."

"Besides, I think you'd have trouble trying to impress such a seasoned performer like myself~"

Despite his condescending comments, he slowly begins to let you act out small skits as their relationship with him becomes stronger, and he begins to cave

Shadow Milk has several references to acting, the stage, and plays, it would be a sin to not give this man a rhythm game. Similar to already existing rhythm games like "Rhythm Heaven" or the rhythm game portion in "Obey Me"

Every task, no matter how minimal or simple, becomes way more difficult with Shadow Milk. If you're just as much as a theater kid as he is, his need for literally everything to be a grand, exaggerated, obnoxious spectacle, especially around the player, is strong. Half the time, things don't go his way & he winds up making a mess, messes which the player is forced to clean up

Also, most everything he does requires a quick "costume change" thems the rules. He's cooking you breakfast? He's wearing a bright pink apron with frills and a heart-shaped pocket. You get hurt and scrape your knee? Here comes Dr. Shadow Milk in his doctor's uniform and stethoscope. The two of you are getting ready for bed? You'll be seeing him in striped pajamas, an extremely long nightrobe, fuzzy slippers and a sleep mask, including hair curlers

There will absolutely be no sneaking out on his domain, not on his watch! Shadow Milk, with his abilities, is a living security system, and reacts heavily to sound. So one snap of a twig or step on some creaking floorboards and it's over!

"*Ahem!*"

*A freakishly familiar voice is heard from behind you. Breaking into a sweat, you slowly turn around, the smallest part of you wished it wasn't who you thought it was. . . But as luck would have it, you didn't know any other crazy entertainers. . . Sure enough, it was exactly who'd you expected to see, Shadow Milk stood in front of you, arms crossed and everything*

"Just where do you think you're going?"

*You try playing it cool, although sweating a bit*

"Oh hey Shadow. . . I was just about to head out and-"

"Head out? At this time?!"

"I-I'm not gonna be gone for too long! I'll come right back after promise- *ah!*"

*Shadow Milk had already scooped you up, carrying you bridal style*

"That's quite enough! I can't have my only audience member getting drowsy during one of my shows, now can I?~"

*You were embarrassed beyond belief, even more once he started walking you to your room, and abruptly boops you on the nose*

"It's off to bed with you little mousey!~"

". . . ok(;w;). . ."

He takes much pride & joy in inconveniencing the player, purely for his own entertainment. What makes it worse is that he'll always find some sort of excuse, saying how it's "to punish them" and "to teach them how to do it right," just some of the lies they have to deal with

And that's not all, you think he started there? nope! He started lying to the player the second the two of them met. Seeing the player scared and alone in his domain, he didn't miss an opportunity to mess with the player's head. Fortunately, this does change as you begin to get closer with him, he starts being more open with the player

The outfit Shadow Milk gives the player is, although the tackiest thing on earthbread(if the player decides that it is), the most practical of the outfits they'll receive. It has a sort of German fairytale vibe to it, covered head to toe in ruffles, lace, bells, overly detailed designs, and of course, colored blue. It looks like, feels like, and is a costume, but despite its cheesy appearance, it's easy to run & move in

Out of all the beasts, Shadow Milk is the one who cares the most for the player's physical well-being. He's always making sure the player's eating enough, getting sleep, and most importantly, is happily entertained. It's been far too long since he was able to put on his plays, and he's gonna make sure they have the ability to sit through them

All and all, Shadow Milk is a well-meaning, all be it annoying, roommate

~Eternal Sugar~

She was always keen on learning most of the trickster's secrets, so finding out about the player, she became both upset yet understanding. Shadow Milk was the Cookie of Deceit after all

Regardless, Eternal Sugar found it quite unfair of him to keep them all to himself, and took it upon herself to steal the player away, via using one of her clouds

*While wandering by yourself within Shadow Milk's domain, you peer up at the unearthly, but normally blue sky, to see what seemed to be clouds suspiciously hovering over you*

Bewildered and curious, the player has the decision of either ignoring it or checking it out, but each will end in the clouds scooping up the player and taking them, all the way to Eternal Sugar Cookie

First meeting the player, she's admittingly unimpressed with what she sees, to think something so important to them would be reduced to such a simple creature. . ? But that mindset quickly changes as she discovers how adorable the player is, and just how naive they are. . .

She views the player as some sort of pet, spoiling them with all the goodies they can ever want, to a point where its almost overwhelming

*On a table, a large platter of sweets is set in front of you; you're almost tooken back by the sheer size of the dish, it was almost half the size of the table! Just sitting next to you was Eternal Sugar, smiling almost amusingly at your reaction*

"U-Uh. . . Is this all for me. . ?"

*She giggled*

"Of course it is dear! What sort of guest would you be if you didn't receive such delicacies?"

*Eternal Sugar picks up a sweet from the platter and holds it close to your mouth*

"Now, open wide~"

Unlike the other beasts, Eternal Sugar has the habit of babying the player, so like Shadow Milk, every simple task becomes way more difficult with her around. She'll make sure they won't be able to lift a finger!

Her associative minigame fits her sort of style, a memory game using cards, similar to the many games you can find on those "Kid-friendly Newgrounds" websites

Another thing worth noting is her clingy nature. Everywhere the player goes, Eternal Sugar has to follow, which does make things more difficult and affects progress. The prime definition of a space invader

It gets even worse during the night cycle, where she often insists on sleeping in the same bed as the player. Despite this, night is the only time the player will be able to get anything done. Just know that when they got back to bed and woke up the next morning, they'll have a sweet surprise waiting for them

*Morning light shines onto your face as it creeps into the rest of the room. You groan, awoken by your natural alarm clock, and begin to yawn & stretch, a part of you wished you slept in a bit longer. But as you try to get out of bed, you feel a weight on your right hand, better yet, you feel an entire section of the bed being weighed down by some unknown force. Turning around, you quickly discover why*

"E-Eternal Sugar Cookie! What are you-?!"

*There, covering a good half of the bed, Eternal Sugar Cookie was peacefully snoozing, clutching your hand. In your failed attempts at yelling at her & pulling your hand away were left to no avail, she had no intent on moving, nor letting go, making you all the more flustered*

"Ms. Eternal Sugar Cookie, please!- Let me go! I need-"

*She merely lifted one eye, only half awake and ready to sleep the rest of the day away*

"Awh~ but little mouse, it's so early!~ Can't you stay just a bit longer?~"

*She smiles at your flustered expression*

"But I have stuff to do! Please, you have to let me- *ah!-* h-hey!"

*Too busy trying to escape, you failed to notice her grip getting tighter, pulling you back down your now shared bed*

"Sleep a little more with me, won't you? There's no rush~"

"O-ok, fine then, but only for a couple more minutes, but that's it!"

*She giggled*

"Deal~"

Throughout their stay, the player only gets small snippets of Eternal Sugar's true personality. If the player chose to question her sickly sweet demeanor, she'd get defensive real fast, asking them why they would even question something like that. If angered, she becomes pushy, demanding, especially when the player doesn't do what she says

It becomes increasingly clear when Eternal Sugar gives you a new outfit, since the one you're wearing (aka the outfit Shadow Milk gave you) didn't fit her style, believing that you should wear something more flowy. She actually offers several different outfits for the player, and although nice, they're. . . let's just say not so family friendly; try as they might to reject her offers, she'll get upset and more persistent, nonetheless; this however does change as the story goes on, she becomes more understanding. Luckily, the two manage to make a compromise, Eternal Sugar offers the player a much simpler pink dress, with bows, lace, and ribbons. Despite being much to the player's liking(if that's what the player chooses), she begins to whine about it, saying how it could've been so much more; not to mention, both the ribbons and lace constantly get stuck on things if they aren't careful

The only time the player's able to really see Eternal Sugar's true colors is when Shadow Milk shows up, who's not all too happy about her basically kidnapping the player. Whilst they ventured alone, he made the mistake of taking his eyes off them for a second, last thing he knew they were snatched by some clouds and whisked away into the sky, which he immediately starts chasing after them. He knew exactly who was responsible. Unlike Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar does a much better job of keeping her composure, playing dumb and refraining from acting out of character around the player. But once Shadow Milk insults her fake personality, all hell breaks loose

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my dear friend. . .?~ Eternal Sugar Cookie. . !"

*Shadow Milk had snuck in through an open window. Before you could even do anything, Eternal Sugar had already pulled you to her side, forcing you to sit in the lavish and comfortable sofa she was lounging on. He made his way towards her, with his usual wide smile; from the corner of your eye, you could barely see an eye twitch and, was he gritting his teeth? It didn't look like it, but he was seething with rage*

"Oh, Shadow Milk Cookie!~ for what do I owe the pleasure?~"

"How lovely of you to ask!~ You see, you just so happen to have something that belongs to me!"

*Shadow Milk then stares back at you, startling you a bit with his crazed expression. Although Eternal Sugar seemed unfazed, her grip on you only became tighter as the trickster started speaking to you*

"Little mousey, there you are!~ Oh I was so worried, thank goodness you're safe!~"

"I am so, so, sorry to have kept you waiting~ believe me, it's a long story!~"

"*Ah!* And what happened to the little dress I gave you?! I mean you still look cute, but you'd look so much better before and- oh! almost got off track for a second!~ *haha!*"

"Alrighty, I think it's time for me and my little mousey to get go-"

"You're leaving with them? Now what would be the purpose in that?~"

*She quickly shifted from her lounging position to a sitting position, pulling you closer toward her, and flustering you more. You see the trickster's eye twitch more, noticing just a crack in his character*

"*hehe-* what did you say. . ?!"

"I've tooken quite the liking to 'your' little mouse!~ Besides, you keeping them all to your self. . ? Extremely unfair of you!~"

*She then draped her arms around you, your face was getting redder by the second*

"Surely they'll be much happier here, isn't that right little mouse?~"

"Well, *uhh-* actually. . ."

"Then it's settled!~ The little mouse will be staying with me!~"

*They proceeded to argue back and forth, Shadow Milk's played up character was falling apart at the seams, losing a drop of his patience with every word the "angel" said. Eternal Sugar found herself quite entertained with the trickster getting angrier and angrier. All the while, you didn't know what to do, clearly neither of them were going to let you leave, or you know, let you get a single word in. So you were placed in a very awkward situation, stuck between an angel cookie who wasn't keen on you leaving, and a jester who was trying to get you back through gritted teeth*

"Listen, I'm the one who saw them first, they were found in my domain, therefore, they're mine! So if you would be so kind as to return them to me. . !"

*She proceeded to hold you closer, practically cuddling you, was she trying to make him even angrier?!*

"Oh but we're having so much fun!~ They'd much prefer it here than that over-the-top spiral you call a tower. . !"

*Insulting his domain was the nail in the coffin. It looked like he'd finally snapped, any ounce of patience he had before was completely out the window. Using his magic, he wrapped up your hands in some mysterious string, pulling you forward and out of Eternal Sugar's reach, greatly shocking and scaring the heck out of you. Once you were back in his arms, Shadow Milk pushed you behind him, and looking back at Eternal Sugar, she'd gotten up from the sofa, it seemed like she was starting to crack as well*

"Oh!~ So that's how we're gonna play *huh?!* Then I'll lend you this: do you really think they'd want to stay with a tooth-rotting prick like yourself?!"

*She began to clutch her fists, her eyes widen in a mix of shock and anger*

". . ?! What did you just call me. . ?!"

"Oh don't you give me that! little miss 'sweet & innocent angel!' unlike myself, people can see your fake persona from a mile away!~"

"And with how long they had to stay with you. . . I'm surprised my poor little mousey hasn't gotten sick and vomited from the spoiling and smothering they had to withstand!"

*That was all it took for her, she broke faster than he did, the wings on her back got bigger, Eternal Sugar's eyes glowed with rage*

". . . how dare you. . !"

"HOW DARE YOU!!"

The player obviously gets the choice of trying to stop the fight or slipping away, the following events escalating faster or slower depending on which they choose. Things escalate to a point where Eternal Sugar just snatched them and attempted to fly away with the player, which led to Shadow Milk using his magical strings to pull them back, entering the two of them in an intense game of tug of war with the player. And the force of both sides was so strong. . . It ended up ripping the player in half

So, Eternal Sugar Cookie, kinda pushy at times and very clingy all the time, but a sweetheart nonetheless

~Mystic Flour~

Getting ripped in half by two powerful beings. . . not something you would easily forget. . . You'd expect this to be game over, right? well, wrong, cause upon miraculously waking up, not only do you find yourself on top a strange alter, but face to face with Mystic Flour Cookie

Seeing the clouds of Eternal Sugar Cookie's cloud soaring past her land, she immediately could tell that something was a mist, and strolling through the silver forest and finding the player laying on the strange alter, her suspicions were correct

At first, she couldn't believe it, a cookie, in their world?! But after a proper meeting with the player and asking how they ended up on the alter, she became a bit more pitiful, going on to invite them to her domain, such a clueless cookie shouldn't be left alone!

But talking about what was basically their death is pretty traumatizing, so the player is given the choice of whether to straight up lie, or give some part of the truth

"So, you have no memory of how you ended up on this alter. . ? Nothing at all?"

*Your voice was strained, you didn't want to tell her the full truth*

"N-no, not a lot. . ."

*Mystic Flour then proceeds to grasp both your cheeks, pulling you close to her face, much to your slight embarrassment*

"Oh, you poor thing! You must be so lost, so confused. . ."

*It was that moment when an idea sprung into her, an idea that may help the both of you. . .*

"How about you come with me?~ Surely you'll be much safer!~"

*Try as you might to decline her offer, she just becomes more insistent. She was giving decent points however, you were lost and confused, not to mention trapped in this witch-forsaken place, and the only two "cookies" you knew killed you, accidently or not, you couldn't decide. . . Eventually, after lots of convincing and growing tired, you finally cave, accepting her offer*

"Ok, fine, I'll go with you"

"Oh good! Well, come along then!~"

*Gently, Mystic Flour took your hand, pulling you off the alter, and guiding you through the silver woods*

Mystic Flour had already made herself sound quite trustworthy, but of course, this can't be without some sort of catch. . . Though she looks caring on the outside, she sees the player as a mere tool, a stepping stool for something much greater. Her methods of getting information is much more subtle

Both minigames mentioned before required some sort of skill, Mystic Flour's is no exception. Similar to classic video game "Snake," the player's goal is to fill the respected area using dragons instead of snakes (wonder why?)

Pretty much the minute the two of them enter her domain, she basically gives them free range to do whatever. She doesn't really care if the player wanders too far or gets into spaces they shouldn't. But she will let you know when it's time to head back

*As the sun starts to set, you continue to search about the area like a curious child, you hardly noticed Mystic Flour standing just behind you*

"Little pika, dear it's time to head back!~"

*Hearing her voice yelling out to you so suddenly just barely startled you, but you gained back your composure once you see her warm smile*

"Oh! Hi Mystic Flour Cookie! Just give me a second, I have to check a few more things!"

*It wasn't like you weren't going to listen to her orders, you just had a bit more to do. But watching you get farther & farther away from her; Mystic Flour saw it differently. Already making her way toward you, she proceeded to scoop you into her arms, startling you and plastering blush onto your face, as she started walking you back herself*

"*ah!*W-Wait! Mystic Flour Cookie, I wasn't done ye-!"

"I know, I know, dear, you have your little tasks!~ But you'll have so much time to do them tomorrow, so please, might we head back? I'm sure the food is getting cold!"

*With you being in her grasp and your legs being very much off the ground, there wasn't really a choice to keep going. You could've kicked and screamed, but there were doubts that'd even work. . . And so, with no other options, you let her take you away, which sucked, but hey, at least you have yummy food waiting for you!*

Mystic Flour has the sheer amount of enthusiasm as an overly supportive mother, she has not a clue of what the player is doing but they're doing great! But like some mothers, she tries a more "hands off" approach as a way to set rules, intentionally not telling the player helpful information just for the sake of them learning it themselves

She does, however, provide them with all the materials to do so: a bedtime routine, plenty of food, and a warm winter outfit. Speaking of which, due to the wintery background, Mystic Flour gives them an outfit most suitable to withstand the cold, something heavy, but also angelic, a nun like dress colored a soft yellow, complete with black counterparts. The only downside is that defending the player from the cold is its only purpose, for it is much too heavy anywhere else and unbearable in hotter areas

Unlike the other beasts mentioned, Mystic Flour has no interest in forming a genuine relationship with the player. To her, you only serve one purpose, finding her escape (whatever that means) and is more direct into reaching her goal. She creates a false sense of security between the two of them, then when the time is right, uses that bond to her advantage. Fortunately, this behavior does change as the story continues, and Mystic Flour becomes more interested, and attached, to the player, but for now, her methods remain neutral

This becomes more apparent as Mystic Flour tries getting information out of the player in a sort of therapeutic way, sitting them down and letting them speak about their troubles, starting with the obvious. . .

"And. . . that's pretty much what happen. . ."

*You laid atop the much larger cookie, your head resting on her lap as she lightly massaged your hair. You rub your hands uncomfortably, as if waiting for bad news, your throat felt strained. Sandwiched between two angry beings, getting pulled into the sky then ripped in two, these were memories you weren't ready to revisit, especially with someone you've met only a few moments ago. . . At the same time, was holding this deep inside healthy? You saw life flash before your eyes, seconds before being split in half. . . Besides, you were already holding onto so much. . . would it hurt to let go of some. . . You felt Mystic Flour let go of your hair as she began running her hand on your face*

"Oh you, poor, poor, dear. . ."

"I am so sorry you had to be apart of. . . that. . ."

*Although you couldn't see her face, she sounded genuinely sorry for you, which was quite refreshing considering everything you've been through so far*

"They can be rather selfish at times, only thinking about themselves. . . You're lucky you've ended up with me!~"

*You laughed at her remark, trying to brighten up the mood, despite still feeling, well, you didn't know what to feel at that point. . .*

"*Heh* Yeah. . . I guess you're right. . ."

*Unannounced to you, Mystic Flour smiled to herself, her plan was working swimmingly. . . Having brought you to a docile state, it was more than a better time to gather the information she'd been longing for. . .*

"If you would allow me to. . . may I ask you something else?"

*You think for a minute, it was only one question, what harm could it do. . .*

"*Uh* sure. . . what is it?"

"Well little pika, you see-"

*Before the words could fall out of her mouth, there was a sudden loud BANG noise from outside. Respectfully, this startles you, making you flinch, but Mystic Flour didn't seem to move. . . Looking back up, you were finally able to see her face, she seemed irritated, annoyed. Gently, she lifted your head off her lap, resting you onto your knees, confused, you turn to her and saw that she was already standing, looking down upon you. She mumbled something under her breath*

"*Ugh* At a time like this. . ?!"

"Just a moment pika. . . I have to handle something. . ."

Mystic Flour considers herself to be the mother figure of the beasts, and although uncompassionate at times, she plays her role well

~Burning Spice~

(Literally the most perfect segway!~)

All it took was Shadow Milk and Eternal Sugar fighting for Burning Spice Cookie to want a part of the action. Last where we left off with them, the two managed to split the player in half, insides and everything, and were now freaking out over their (very much dead) body, whilst arguing over whose fault it was. By sheer coincidence, did Burning Spice decide to check up on Eternal Sugar, and catches site of the two yelling at each other

Burning Spice hasn't met the player, doesn't know who they are nor what they look like, but he took immediate interest in them after seeing how they affected the two other beasts. If just their mutilated body was enough to cause them to start screaming and crying like little kids, who knows what else they could do. . .

Already, he was making assumptions of what kind of person they'd be, perhaps the player was someone strong and intimidating, someone perfect to be his sparring partner, and continues to deny any sort of actual description of them

Him, Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar had mostly worked together in their search for the player, but the millisecond they found out they were with Mystic Flour, the race was on. . . Which takes us to now, where Burning Spice appears first, causing a massive scene with his abilities in an attempt to lure her out

*Alerted by the sudden destruction just outside, Mystic Flour rushed to her outer balcony, irritated like this had happened before. . . She knew exactly who the culprit was, and sure enough, there he was, sitting casually atop the balcony's railing, Burning Spice greeted her with a sinister look on his face. She had already prepared herself, immediately knowing that something was about to go down*

"There she is, Misty! Long time no see!"

"Burning Spice Cookie. . . what brings you here. . ?"

"*Oh!* I think you know exactly why I'm here!"

*Getting off the railing, he walked toward his comrade, having no use in making a big deal out of it. Mystic Flour, although slightly surprised, saw it as a sort of threat, only further did she stand her ground*

"Ya see, a little birdie told me that you've been hiding a shiny new treasure from us. And I, of course, thought it'd be too good to be true. . . So I decided to drop by to take a look for myself. . !"

*He tried walking around her to reach the balcony's entrance, but before he could take another step, Mystic Flour stopped him, she wouldn't back down that easily. . .*

"There is no such thing. . . whatever is in my possession is none of your business. . !"

*In her defensive state, Burning Spice's persistence only grew, now patting her shoulder almost reassuringly*

"Hey, c'mon Misty!~ we're buddies, pals! Letting me get a tiny sneak peek shouldn't be a problem!"

"Say, how about this? You let me see what you're hiding, and I promise, I won't tell the others, I'll even let ya keep it! So what do ya say?~"

*Not even seconds after he said that, he immediately tried pushing past Mystic Flour as if she'd already answered his question. Of course, she shut that down almost instantly, even pushing him back, something which he doesn't really take well. His eyes widened, she set him off by just that push alone. She could bluntly tell he was lying, only using their relationship as an excuse, so she didn't let him any closer*

"Burning Spice Cookie, we've known each other for eons, do you really think I wouldn't be able to recognize one of your petty excuses. . . ?! "

"If you knew better, you'd be wise enough to leave, for this so-called treasure you're after, I know nothing about!"

*Pushing and telling him to leave. . . yep, that'll do it. . . Burning Spice broke into laughter as his hair began to glow warms shades of red, orange, and yellow, moving like a sea of flames*

"*HA HA HA HAHAHA!* *Oh!* Misty, ya might just make me angry!"

*His tone quickly shifts from trigger-happy to overall threatening once he'd opened his eyes, now just as bright as his hair, he marches towards Mystic Flour, who was all the more irritated and unfazed*

"And you. . . don't wanna make me angry. . !"

"Make you angry?! *Heh!* Didn't know it was so easy to mess with that small brain of yours!"

*It isn't long before the two engage in full on battle, both sides being equally matched in some way. While this was all happening, you were completely unaware; being inside exploring, you're none the wiser of the destruction going on outside*

Eventually, Burning Spice does manage to bust his way inside, and upon actually seeing the player in their simple state, he couldn't be more disappointed, to think Shadow Milk and Eternal Sugar's bickering would be caused by such a boring little cookie(but those two do fight over a lot of things, so-)

He'd almost considered leaving them, but Burning Spice would rather leave with something than nothing, so taking his losses he hoists up the player over his shoulder and makes, a not so quiet, escape. Much to Mystic Flour's dismay and the player's protests (or cries for help depending on what they choose)

Burning Spice sees the player like how a general sees a soldier. He thinks they're weak, bland, and more notably boring, and wants to, in his words, "spice them up." Because of this, he is unnecessarily harsh, working the player to the bone and expecting them to "get up" when they get too tired

*How long has it been. . ? An hour? Two hours? At that point you didn't know, but all you did know is that it felt like an eternity since Burning Spice started your so called "training." Back and forth, you were forced to run with heavy rocks on your back whilst following him, who was doing the same. All the while he'd yell at you to pick up the pace as encouragement. . .You huffed and panted*

"*Hah**hah. . .* Burning Spice Cookie, please, can't we stop for. . . just a minute. . ?"

*It was the only time he'd turn back at you, what a ridiculous ask!*

"What?! Definitely not! ya still got a lot to go, pipsqueak!"

*You couldn't go on any longer. A mess of sweat and sore bones, you plummet to the ground, numb to the rocks currently on your back, you wanted rest, at least for a minute. . . Burning Spice only reached a good distance away before noticing you were far, far behind. He ran back to you, but not because he was worried*

"Ay! Pipsqueak, what's the holdup?!"

*He crouched down, better viewing your shriveled up body, far too weak to keep going. Despite the obvious, Burning Spice still tried getting you to stand, poking, even attempting to pull you off the ground, but you won't budge. . .*

"C'mon! Quit acting like Eternal Sugar Cookie and get moving!"

"Please. . . let me rest. . ."

*Your sweat could've well stained the ground if it were cool enough. . . You were stubborn & refused to get up, becoming a puddle of flesh. Realizing that you weren't moving, he, grudgingly, decides to do what was best, but first he had to move you somewhere more suitable to your needs*

"*Ugh* Alright! Fine! I'll let you outta this, only once!"

*Swiftly brushing the rocks off your back, he scoops you up and onto his shoulder, no way would he let you die right then and there. You suddenly feel the biggest weight being literally lifted off your shoulders, thanking whatever was out there for this moment*

"I'll let you rest, but not here!"

"*Heh* Thank you. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!"

Everything Burning Spice does, he expects the player to do the same, no matter how difficult. But will give them the benefit of the doubt when the player gets too tired to keep going, much to his annoyance

He's active and moving 24/7, that's why Burning Spice's minigame is directly based on "Super Mario Bros" where the player runs about collecting items, attacking enemies, etc.

If the player is talking to him, he'll most entirely talk about himself, boosting his ego, even throwing insults at the other beasts, which is both annoying and ironic because he does the exact same things that they do. That being said, it's important to never get mad at him or give him attitude because it will work him up, for better or worse. . .

The player can easily get information from him due to his blunt honesty. When talking about the other beasts, he'll always give bits of helpful information about them, some that can be extremely helpful in the future

Similar to Mystic Flour, Burning Spice gives the player free range to do whatever, the only difference is that Burning Spice sets up these "training sessions" on random occasions without notifying the player firsthand, and expects them to drop everything to train with him. This exhausts the player, causing them to only be able to do things during the day, when they've required enough rest

*Stumbling into the room Burning Spice gave you, you flop onto the bed, nestling your head against your pillow, relived. You were finally able to rest your jelly legs, sore running around and doing tasks. But you turn to your side, something catches your eye. . . On the single window of your room, you noticed what looked to be a slip of paper. Despite being entirely drained, your curiosity got the better of you, and slipping from the bed, you make your way toward the windowsill, now realizing how out of place from the rest of the room, appearing more of a light lilac than any of the reds and oranges. You questioned if even came from the place, and upon proper examination, your suspicions seemed correct. . . This was no mere paper, but a letter! Curiosities only felt more rapid as you opened, revealing not only short message crafted in cursive, but a beautiful illustration of a rose*

"Small Rodent, have you been faring well within our world? Have you been eating, sleeping well? I hope the others hadn't been too cruel towards you. . . Word of mouth does not travel fast here, so I apologize if I arrive to you late. . . I wish to reach you soon. . ."

"From- Silent Salt Cookie"

"Small Rodent. . ?"

*Reading through the passage, you took a few seconds to process, hoping that whoever sent it wasn't suggesting what you thought they were suggesting, cause if you got kidnapped one more time. . .-*

"Aye! Pipsqueak!!"

*Burning Spice had, without warning, busted into the room, no time for internal dialogue now! With milliseconds to think, you swiftly hide the letter behind your back, not before confronting the brute for his sudden excursion of your privacy*

"B-Burning Spice Cookie?! What are you doing here?!-"

"What?~ I can't check on my little pipsqueak, can't I?~"

*Again with the nickname. .?! Blushing rapidly, you couldn't tell whether you were annoyed, angry, or just plain embarrassed. . . Burning Spice laughed boastingly, always amused by your expressions*

"*HAHAHAH!~* Ya never fail to entertain me, pipsqueak!~"

*Then he noticed the arms behind your back. . .*

"Say, whatcha got there? Ya hiding something from me?"

*Shoot! the letter was still in your hands! Only seeing this as more of a reason to keep it hidden, you play it cool for as much as possible*

"I-It's nothing! W-What are you talking about?!*hehe*"

*Burning Spice just saw your actions as even more suspicious, he might be a barbarian, but he isn't stupid. He attempted turning you around to see what exactly you were keeping from him, all the while you were trying to dodge him, cold sweat beginning to run down your forehead*

"Are ya sure? Cause *uh* ya starting to look pretty sweaty there. . ."

"Oh!- this?! *Uhh. . .* I'm just, tired! from all the training today *haha!*"

*You two do this dance a bit, with you becoming doubly irritated the more Burning Spice tried seeing what you're hiding, getting additionally irritated while Burning Spice looked completely willing to tear your front open, asking and reinsuring you, again and again to get a little looksee. And you thought Shadow Milk was nosy?! Annoying and driven to your breaking point, you practically yell at him-*

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, OK?!"

*Hearing those words fall out of your mouth, Burning Spice is beyond tooken aback, clearly, he didn't like being told what to do. You quickly gasp to yourself, slamming your mouth closed with a free hand upon realizing what you've just said, how could you be so stupid?! With the letter still in your other hand, you decide the best course of action was to crumble up the paper, that letter was the least of your worries now anyway. . .*

"Did. . .Did you just yell at me. . ?!"

*You gulped, your sweat becoming increasingly apparent as the brute looked seconds away from having steam shoot out his ears. He proceeds to get unnervingly close, practically towering over you. . .Didn't think it would end this way. . .*

"That. . . Is. . ."

"Great!!!"

"Ya getting spicier by the minute!"

*Burning Spice grabbed both your shoulders, and shook them with excitement, much to your bewilderment. The way his tone can just shift was both jarring and impressive. After a bit of violent shaking and surviving what would've been another death experience, he eventually lets go, not before giving you a hardy slap to the back whilst laughing, dang near knocking you off your feet and the letter out of your hand*

"*HA! HA!* Ya know what!? Take the rest of the day off! I wanna see my hard work!"

*He happily marches out of the room, leaving you in a rather messed up state*

"Be sure to get all the rest ya need! Ya gonna need it for tomorrow!"

*Burning Spice leaves the room, shutting the door, the second he was out of sight, you took the biggest sigh of relief. That was close, way too close! Like you practically dodged a bullet! You pull back out the crumbled-up letter and tried to fix it, somewhat regretting your decision of almost destroying it before. You had to be more careful next time*

During this entire scene, the player must be extra careful around Burning Spice, because despite how it's played, there's a route where he discovered the letter while they're asleep, and he's not too pleased with having Silent Salt trying to contact them, promptly getting so angry he burns the letter to ashes

That being said, Burning Spice, though seeming like a rage-filled brute who fights first and asks questions later, he's never threatening nor outright violent to the player, unless its a final resort. The player is a much-needed piece in a, all be it complex, puzzle, even if they don't even know it, and in order for them to work is through gaining their trust. But don't think that this is a good thing, there are many times where he could've hurt them yet actively chose not to

He immediately got to work constructing another outfit for the player cause in his own words, "there's no way ya staying here looking like that!" And the outfit he gives them perfectly reflects his ego, slick black clothing, paired with red barbaric accents, and brightly colored armor, making the player look like a mini version of himself. It's good enough for the endless training they have to do, but it's clear that some parts of the outfit were put together at the last second and were made from the minimal sewing Burning Spice learned. And if wanting to be honest, it's kinda ugly. . . Overall, it's the player's least favorite of the outfits given (if they decide it is)

Every hour, it feels like Burning Spice is always learning something new about the player, to him at least. Because of this, he celebrates every accomplishment they make with lavished (and very spicy) feasts, no matter how small they might be. Not exactly the best prize for basically being slaved away constantly to a point of exhaustion, but he doesn't need to know that. The only downside to this is that he's loud, like really loud, so loud in fact, he can't hear any other voices but his own, making him clearly oblivious to a certain someone stealing away the player(-again)

So Burning Spice, a not-so great roommate, but a pretty good personal trainer

~Silent Salt~

Ever since leaving Shadow Milk's site, someone else had been watching the player for some time, someone who wasn't too distant from the player, none other than the silent knight themself, Silent Salt Cookie

Once they found out about the player, there wasn't an ounce of disbelief nor hesitation that got into their head, they only had one goal in mind, and that was getting the player out of the other beasts' hands. But like a hungry wolf with its meal, they knew it wouldn't be easy. The other beasts always kept the player at arm's length, even with the leisure they receive, those four always made sure they were watched. And so they waited, and waited, and waited. . . In till they had the right moment to strike

Normally the beasts would be more direct when approaching the player, probably showing some pity towards them, not before whisking them away, Silent Salt on the other hand had a more different approach. They'd leave small letters for the player, all written in cursive and paired with a beautifully drawn illustration which they constructed themselves. Silent Salt essentially gives the player a bread crumb trail, preparing them for what was to come as to not spook them later

"Last one to get back to the base goes stale!"

"Burning Spice Cookie! Wait up!"

*You two were only trying to get back. . . nothing too special, yet of course, Burning Spice just had to turn it into a game of tag, didn't he?! Already tired from the day's activities, you struggled to move forward, and the barbarian is way ahead. Despite how unfair, annoying, and exhausting it was, you sighed, it wasn't the first time he did this. . . As you forced your body further, all you cared about was getting rest. You never understood why Burning Spice pushed your body to such lengths, but if there was one other reason to keep going it was to spite him. But as you were about halfway there, an unknown force suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side, you yelped, why does everyone here like grabbing you!?*

"*AH!* W-What the!?-"

*Pulled into an unnoticed corner, you practically swing yourself around, already having a good idea of just who decided to yank you out of the way, and you got what you wished for. . . Hovering over your tiny body, was the silent knight themself, quiet and unmoving, looking down at you. . . You jump back a bit startled, those training sessions are sounding a lot better right now. . . Although frozen with fear, it didn't take long to realize that something wasn't right. Sure, they appeared in front of you but that was merely it, just standing there, menacingly, almost like a statue. Your fear quickly dissolves into pure confusion as you stare back at them, the moment shifting into awkward silence. You already had a decent idea of who this fellow might be, and decided to use it as a way to break the barrier between you two*

"*Um. . .* Hi. . ."

"Y-You're Silent Salt Cookie, right. . ?"

*It took them a second to respond, and by "respond" they actually crouched down and got extremely close to your face, adding to your bewilderment, and barely managing to keep your composure*

"*ah!-* I'm gonna take that as a yes. . !"

*As a result of being thrown around so much, you practically knew what was next, but seeing the knight so still felt alien to you, and almost refreshing. . ? Like you were happy to just not be snatched for once, as morbid as that sounds. Oh but no, that's not right, who's to say that this fellow was to be trusted. You make the bold choice to ask them more questions, but before another word could fall out of your mouth. . .*

"Aye Pipsqueak! What's the hold up!?"

It's a no-brainer that Burning Spice finally noticed the player's absence, they have the rightful decision of running to him or yelling out, which Silent Salt covers their mouth and attempts to take them away(what a surprise!) The second route, however, the player's (4th) kidnapping is put on display for Burning Spice, who did not handle the situation well. He immediately rushes in to save them, but Silent Salt was much too swift for him. All the while, the player attempts to save themselves; trying to kick, scream, and squirm their way to freedom, but nothing works, they were a knight after all. Enraged, Burning Spice yells at Silent Salt that he'll get revenge, and he won't be alone. . !

(And before we go on any further, I personally like to hc that Silent Salt is both mute and deaf because 1. it matches with the new ancient heroes since Pure Vanilla is heavily implied to be blind; and 2. it'd make sense that the witches would want to make a disabled cookie. During their pre-corruption days, the five virtues also had to be role models for the cookies, thus they had to, at some extent, be relatable. So giving one of the virtues something that other cookies can relate to makes sense. Oh and as a bonus, Silent Salt is completely fluent in ASL and is fairly good at lip reading; Shadow Milk and Mystic Flour are also fluent in ASL and often act as their mouth pieces. Ok moving on!)

You'd think that the player wouldn't trust Silent Salt from the jump, given the circumstances & that this happened to them so many other times, and yet. . . Silent Salt was the only one to be considerate of the player's feelings before performing the act, they knew the player would be scared, if not terrified, of them, especially when you consider their appearance and quiet nature; thus they planted the letter to let them know. So although this doesn't mean the player fully trusts them, it is a step into the right path

How they view the player is a complete mystery, unlike the other beasts, it isn't just spelled out in ink. Instead, the player has to focus on their interactions and certain body language, since they can't speak

Similarly to Eternal Sugar, Silent Salt will often give the player gifts in an attempt to gain their trust. The main difference on the other hand was that those gifts were much smaller scale than what Eternal Sugar gave them, but still feel more thought out and genuine

*Lilac-colored curtain draped over large windows, comfortable sitting, and a bed that resembled a soft marshmallow, you had to admit, for living in a wasteland, they sure knew a thing or two about decor. But as you admired your new bedroom, you get a sudden knock on the door, and opening it a crack, you see Silent Salt, they appeared to be holding a few things*

"Oh! Silent Salt Cookie! What brings you-"

*Fully opening the door revealed what they were holding, a bouquet of beautifully made paper flowers in one hand, and a sliver tin, filled with salted chocolates in the other. Seeing the gifts, you were pleasantly surprised, not just by the tin of sweets but the paper flowers, so true to life and clearly made by them, you were amazed by the fact they were able to pull something like that off*

"Wow! are these for me?"

*The knight nodded their head, handing both gifts to you. Despite how small the gesture was, you still felt a tiny bit overwhelmed, the smallest hint of blush creeped onto your face*

"T-Thank you! They're lovely!"

Silent Salt was & still somewhat is known for their skills with a sword, thus the reason why their minigame is based on "Fruit Ninja." The player, instead of slicing fruit, is made to cut different pieces of paper according to a dotted line, in an attempt to mimic Silent Salt's paper flowers

While out exploring and doing tasks, Silent Salt will actually partner up with the player & help them, which is already a massive change from the player's other beast encounters. Either they'd find ways to stretch the task out even longer, or just not help at all, so having them there is a huge change of pace. They're always by the player's side, because of this, they can come off as clingy at times

They, like most of the beasts, give the player free range to do whatever, but is quick to set boundaries. The player isn't allowed to go into certain areas without their supervision, especially at night

*Lightly tracking your steps across cold floors, you carefully tiptoe through the Silent domain, moonlight streaking onto every nook and cranny acted as your only light source, which you tried to use to your advantage, the last thing you wanted was to be caught. But when you turned the corner, guess who you unceremoniously bumped into. . ? Pressed into their chest, you abruptly backed away startled & flustered realizing who it was, Silent Salt just looked at you, just like before*

"*Ah!-* Silent Salt Cookie. . ! It's not what you think. . !"

"I-I just have a few other things to do, that's all!-"

*The silent knight only stood there, arms crossed, making their stance all the more stern. You already had a good idea of what was going on in their head, no amount of convincing would change your fate. So with a sigh, you started heading back to your room, not before Silent Salt gently scoops you up, refusing to let you touch the floor, and carried you there themself. Blushing rapidly, you beg and plead for them to put you down, but failed miserably; why does everyone like carrying you so much. . ?*

Silent Salt treats the player like they're the most fragile thing on Earthbread, handling them with care and, with their position as a knight, more than happy to cater to their every need and desire

Due to their disability and limitations in lip reading, talking to them is difficult, creating this communication barrier between them and the player. This, however, doesn't stop the two of them from trying to fix the issue

That being said, Silent Salt most definitely wants to teach the player ASL so they can communicate easier. They made sure they'd take their time, teaching them all they need to know, starting with letters, to phrases, to full sentences. Even if the player struggles to learn at first, they're extremely patient with them, teaching things one step at a time

If it wasn't already obvious, Silent Salt is very delicate with their hands, due to their precise skills with a sword. Because of this, they picked up quite a few hobbies, like painting and drawing, clearly showed by the letter they made the player before, and surprisingly, braiding hair

*Slowly, the silent knight carefully overlapped strand after strand of hair from your head into beautiful braids. They put special care into each braid, constantly checking with you to make sure they were comfortable, even going the extra mile of creating more paper flowers to infuse into the braids. Sitting in front of the bedroom's vanity mirror, you were in awe at how perfect the braids were, your hair practically became an art project! Looking back at them, you couldn't see their face, but you could tell Silent Salt was genuinely enjoying themself, how they added flower after flower, even sometimes placing one directly onto your head; because well, why not? It was moments like this that made you think back to when you first met, back to when their silence felt alien to you, and how you were so unwilling to cooperate. . . Yes, you still didn't fully trust the knight, all of this just felt too perfect, almost too good to be true even, but it does. After placing the last flower, they were finally done, the braids were wrapped around your head and tied in the back with a purple ribbon*

If the hairstyle doesn't make them feel like royalty, then don't worry, Silent Salt had them covered. Cause not soon after doing their hair, they presented their outfit, which looked more like a gorgeous gown than any regular dress. Everything about it was perfect, the long white silk trin that partly touched the floor, the bow around the waste that matched your hair, the simple purple accents, its ruffled layers, everything. But possibly the most radiant part of the gown was these beautiful sewn in embroideries, each more beautiful than the last, all throughout. This was the straw that broke that camel's back, such actions of kindness couldn't go unrewarded; so through ASL, the player is able to sign phrases "thank you" and "sorry," to which Silent Salt immediately accepts. Quite a shame the player couldn't do more. . . The only two downside one could think of is that it strongly resembled a wedding dress, which can give the wrong ideas fast; also the gown length gives the possibility of tripping, but that's a simple price to pay

The relationship between the player and Silent Salt is mostly through action, and to some extent, physical touch. The player is always finding new and creative ways to repay them for everything they've done, often finding themselves cooking or cleaning for them, even gifting them drawings and paper creations they made themselves. Silent Salt does find this sweet and charming, but as a knight, they really have no desires. They crave the simpler things, like holding hands, learning ASL, or just being together in general. No amount of wasted paper would change that

Unfortunately, as stated before, not everything can be too blissful. . . Silent Salt is regularly shown to be extremely overprotective of the player, which does make sense considering their role; Silent Salt is a knight, keeping the innocent safe is their job, and the fact that the other beasts were also after them only made them double down on protecting them. Now, Silent Salt, before meeting the player, had no plans of escape, at least even they think of, in fact, became increasingly fond of their surroundings. . . Only when they learned the player did they start to reconsider. . . with a new opportunity, they couldn't simply pass it up. . .

Because of this, they've developed a 6th sense(or 5th or 4th) whenever they felt the player was in danger. Silent Salt can pick up signals of danger from miles away, and acts quickly ensure their safety, so imagine the player's surprise and confusion when being rushed somewhere else

*Everything was a blur. . . One second ago you and Silent Salt were spending time together per usual, before you knew it you were being pulled into your room, and Silent Salt was doing repeated checks on the door and windows, making sure they were locked. Confused, you try to stop them in their tracks, to get some sort of answer, but all they did was clutch both your hands tightly, looking you directly in the eyes; before abruptly letting go, telling you to never, for any reason, open the door or windows till they came back, then disappears, leaving you in a state of flustered shock. Even if completely unexpected on your end, it became increasingly clear why Silent Salt acted the way they did. . . with a battle axe, guess who was waiting just outside. . ?*

"Salty! right on time!~ It's been awhile, hasn't it?~"

*The knight merely stood there, sword in hand with a tight grip. They already knew what the brute was saying, him placing the axe's handle on the back of his neck as he began to walk towards them*

"Honestly, I'm pretty surprised Salty!~ Out of everybody here, it's you who'd be dumb enough to steal from me, me!"

"Cause when I think of stealing, I usually think of Shadow Milk Cookie, maybe Eternal Sugar Cookie if what we're after is really worth fighting for, but you?! *HA!* Didn't think of ya as the taking type!~"

"*Hmm. . .* I like it! You know I always love a good surprise?~"

*With every step he took, Silent Salt only further stood their ground, having already pulled their sword out from the dirt and getting into a battle stance. Upon reading their body language, his grin only got bigger, he knew exactly what was doing and actively stirred the pot. He put his hands up as he backed away in a condescending yet reassuring tone*

"*Woah!-* *Woah!-* Easy there buddy!~ Now I know what it looks like, but I promise, I didn't come here to cause trouble. . ."

"Instead, I'm looking for a little. . . exchange. . ."

*Burning Spice proceeded to hold his axe behind his back to make himself appear more innocent. All the while Silent Salt didn't once get out of their battle-ready mindset*

"Now I know I can be a little. . . hectic at times, but for this I'm willing to make one exception. . ."

"Say, I won't leave a scratch on your place, if you return what you've stole from me. . !"

"A simple deal, really!- You get out of this with no causalities, and I leave with that little cookie in tow!~ So what do ya say. . ?"

*Silent Salt was only getting parts of the Burning Spice's so called "deal," and already, they were not having it. . ! With just a blink of an eye, Silent Salt went from guarding their domain to holding the tip of their blade at Burning Spice's throat, as if they teleported, they were that fast. . ! Along with Shadow Milk's lies, none of the beasts were dumb enough to fall for one of his exchanges! The knight was clearly provoked; exactly what the brute wanted, so he kicked back far enough to pull his axe out from his back. Though the kick was strong, Silent Salt was still able to hold their ground, using their sword to keep their footing. There was a battle-hungry look in his eyes*

"*HA HA!* You just love surprising me, don't ya Salty?!"

*He then stretched his neck and shoulders, tense bones popped at the motion. Then proceeded to do his battle stance*

"Whatever! Wouldn't have worked anyway! Besides, no one gets dumber around here, right?! *HA!*"

"But one thing's for sure. . . Doesn't matter how tough you act. . . I'm not leaving without my pipsqueak. . !"

*His tone shifted to slight anger as his hair turned into bright flames. Having weapons drawn, it's clear as day as neither was willing to do what the other wanted, nor give in. Both had goals set in stone and willing to follow through with them; but just before they could actually strike at one and other. . .*

"*Yoo-hoo~* Up here!~"

"Apologizes for being so late you two, we've bumped into some. . . causalities. . ."

*In from above, flew in Eternal Sugar atop one of her clouds as Mystic Flour floated beside her, landing onto opposites of the brute and knight, creating this strange box. Burning Spice became all the happier, being the violence-obsessed cookie he was, this just maybe the fight more interesting for him. While Silent Salt was as stern as ever, despite being outnumbered*

"Misty! Sugar! Welcome to the party!! Just when things were starting to get interesting!~"

"*Ugh* Don't overexcite yourself Burning Spice Cookie, some of us only want this to be over with. . !"

*She has a quick glance at the beasts around her, just as annoyed of as before*

"So . . . I assume we all know about our new. . . 'inhabitant,' yes?"

*The silent knight nodded*

"*Pfft* *Uh Duh!-* What's was ya first clue?!"

"That's right! It's been far too long since I've seen another cookie, and when I finally find one, they're snatched from my hands!"

"Oh my poor little mouse!~ They must've been so lonely since they were taken away from me!"

"Being pushed and pulled by some brute and locked away by some scary knight?!~ What can be worse?!"

*Eternal Sugar whined and whined, nitpicking everything that she deemed "cruel treatment," and although most of the things said were true, Burning Spice couldn't help but take offense*

"Aye! What do ya mean by 'pushing and pulling around?!' I have you know I treat them with utmost respect and care!"

"*HA!* You call your so called 'training' of yours respect and care?! Don't make me laugh!"

"Unlike you, I provide my little mouse with everything they could ever need, everything they desire. . ! I make them happy! All your training does is ruin their perfect mind and body!"

*She looked over to her two other comrades*

"At least I can be assured that those two actually kept them safe, otherwise, I wouldn't know what I'd do. . ."

"Even Shadow Milk Cookie takes better care of my little mouse. . ."

*That's when most of the group realized a crucial detail, where the heck was Shadow Milk?! Unannounced to them, Mystic Flour already had a good idea of where he was, but waited to answer. . .*

"Oh yeah! Shadow Milk Cookie isn't here! Where is the guy anyway?!"

"When we found out the pika was being kept here, we came as soon as possible. But it wasn't long before Shadow Milk separated from us; we tried to pursue him but by then, he was already gone. . ."

"Perhaps we should wait for him. . .Knowing him, he likely has something planned. . !"

*With Shadow Milk being the smartest of their group, waiting for him seemed like the safest option, after all he was known for his tricks, who knows what he could be planning. Yet the brute and angel, who always had something to say, didn't have the patience for such. . .*

"And let him get another chance on stealing my little mouse away again?! Absolutely not!!"

"Yeah Misty, not having Shadow Milk Cookie around means less of us to get through, even if it is kinda boring! *HA HA!*"

"Wouldn't want his filth to rub off on my pipsqueak. . !"

*Eternal Sugar gasped in surprise and utter disgust*

"'Your' Pipsqueak?! are you delusional?! Clearly they're mine!!"

*Burning Spice cracked his knuckles, as he puffed his chest*

"Oh yeah?! Then why don't ya prove it?!"

*Mystic Flour groaned in irritation, if her eyes were open she would have definitely rolled them, this charade was going too far*

"*Ugh* You two are bickering like children! Could you at least not treat them like some object?! It's likely that the pika will return to me or Silent Salt Cookie, at least we don't see them as a mere pet. . !"

*Silent Salt nodded in agreement*

"And yet, I think we all know what we're really after. . . "

*With that sentence alone, it made Burning Spice and Eternal Sugar as quiet as Silent Salt was. . . The whole area was hushed, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. . .The four beasts side eyed each other, as if ready to duel; evidence was undeniably clear, they wanted to use you. . .for something? After keeping their running mouths shut for what felt like decades, Burning Spice finally breaks the silence, drawing his weapon, his patience was already dissolved. . .*

"Alright, that's it! We all want the cookie, and just sitting around isn't gonna help!"

"So, let's settle this. . . once and for all. . !"

"Agreed!"

"*Ugh* Suppose we should get this over with. . !"

*As Silent Salt drew their sword, the battle had began. The four played sides, the three of them trying to barge their way in, and Silent Salt trying to keep them out; and despite how unfair the fight seemed, not only were they evenly matched, but they all were fighting for themselves, for their own selfish goals, all of which surrounded getting to you. . . Speaking of that, you were once more left in the dark, spared from the situation. Not to say you aren't curious about what was going on either, in fact you were completely willing to open the windows to look outside if Silent Salt didn't tell you to keep them closed. Laying on top of the marshmallow bed, you stare up at the ceiling in boredom and something else. You received another to be alone with your thoughts, really rekindle and wonder. . . What the hell was going on?! First you were teleported to this strange place, then you were kidnapped five times, then you basically died and came back to life? Nothing about your situation was normal! Not to mention the cookies you're trapped with, if you can even call them "cookies" what even were they? You didn't know anything about them, what to feel about them, let alone if you could trust them or not. . . Questions were swimming in your head like fish upstream, feelings fighting for control in till. . .*

"*AH HAHAHAHA!~* no matter what, the story always stays the same!~"

*You hear a voice, a squeaky, arrogant, yet oh so voice. . . You look around in surprise, was that who you thought it was?!*

"That's right!~ The hero has arrived!~"

". . .To save his damsel in distress!~"

*CRASH!*

*Destroying one of the windows, bursts in the self-proclaimed trickster himself, Shadow Milk Cookie, the suddenness of the action making you fall off your bed startled and almost near giving you a heart attack. When hitting the ground, he did a quick barrel roll before landing on one knee in a sort of "ta-da!" position, acting like he didn't ruin a perfectly good glass plane, and much to your bewilderment. You quickly get up and stand towards him*

"S-Shadow Milk?! Are you ok?!"

"Awh~ Look at you!~ worrying for lil'ol me!~"

"I'm perfectly fine my little mousey!~ Absolutely splendid!~"

*You knew you should've expected a reaction like that from him of all cookies, but it didn't stop you from going dumbfounded*

"You just jumped in through a closed window!!"

*He then went on this long, overexaggerated, winded speech about how much he missed you, how you two had been separated for far too long, what lengths he had to go through just to get to you, but you were wise enough to know that he was partly spewing out lies. . . Mystic Flour knew he had a plan, and had a plan he did! whilst everyone else was occupied, he'd snuck in through a back window, unbelievable how such a cheap tactic was able to work. . . It wasn't long for Shadow Milk to notice the beautiful dress you were wearing, and lights up with glee, zipping toward you, and scaring you once more*

"And might I add, that is quite a marvelous gown you have on!~ *AH!* It makes you look so much more like a proper damsel!~ who made it?!"

"Well-. . ."

*He cuts you off before another word could come out of your mouth*

"-Oh, no, no, no, wait!- don't tell me, Silent Salt Cookie made this, didn't they?~"

"*AH!* It's such a no brainer!~ They make such amazing things, of course they'd make something this cute!~ I'm a little jealous!~ *hehehe!~*"

"*Whew!~* Okay, I think we had enough excitement for one day, hadn't we?~"

*He abruptly grabs your arm and pulls you close, startling you as blush begins to creep up your cheeks*

"Time to go home!~"

*It was the mention of "home" that threw you into a loop, what did he mean by "go home?!" Shocked, you pulled yourself away from the trickster, causing surprise and slight annoyance on his end*

"H-Home?! What are you talking about?!"

"Oh, you ask such silly questions, I'm taking you with me! Back to my humble abode!~"

Obviously, going back to the guy that had the player turned into two halves, is something that they aren't fully ready to do, thus are given the choice to go with him or not; to which both have different, yet very grim results. . . If they say yes, Shadow Milk Cookie will carry them out of Silent Salt's domain, not before being founded out by the other beasts, causing the player to be caught up within the drama, eventually getting stabbed through the chest from all the excitement. . ! On the other hand, if they say no, Shadow Milk with become more persuasive toward the player, reminding them of their time spent apart. If they deny him enough times, his patience begins to wane as his persona falls apart. Becoming more demanding till he snaps, forcing the player to leave with him; but it was already too late, as the other beasts had shown up, who aren't too happy about his late arrival, and chaos ensues, leading to the player getting decapitated. . !(Woooo-)

~Final~

The player ends up back at the top of the altar in the Silver Forest, completely passed out from the shock. All the beasts, after freaking out over their dead body, head there in a heartbeat, arguing over who'd be the one to take the player home, till Mystic Flour decides enough is enough, ending the argument and declaring the Shadow Milk should be the one to take in the player since he found them first, further saying that arguing wouldn't get them anywhere and wants to start a meeting before anyone else could argue back. . . Fast forward to Shadow Milk's base, the player is getting some well needed rest as the beasts are discussing what to do next, although it isn't entirely apparent that they remember how they got there, having them around could be beneficial to their much bigger goals. After a bit of talking, Shadow Milk conjures up a wonderfully, awful, idea. . . keeping the player as their hostage. . . Think about it! From the outside world, they already have reputations for being cold and cruel monsters, if they found out they had a cookie with them, they'd go nuts! Plus, who'd be more inclined to get involved? None other than the new Guardian Of The Seal, and Ancient Hero herself, White Lily Cookie. . . Long story short, they all agree with the plan, as it will guarantee their escape, and check on the player not long after, who was still passed out

*In your dormant state, you lay unconscious as all five beasts watched you, each of them claimed a corner of the bed. As they watched, Silent Salt noticed a slight twitching in your hand, and instinctively embraced theirs into yours, rubbing their thumb on your wrist. Not everybody took it well, cause Eternal Sugar shooed their hand away just a few seconds later*

"*Ugh* Get your hands away from them, you're ruining their slumber. . !"

*She turns back to you as her mood shifts from annoyance to gentle delight*

"Awh~ They look so precious!~"

*Burning Spice leaned forward on the bed to get a better look at you, he seemed upset*

"How long are they gonna be like this. . ? It's been awhile now. . ."

"Roughly a few hours, but I believe they will be awake by tomorrow. . . Poor thing, must have scared them quite a lot "

". . . I think it'd be wise to not tell the pika about our plan, after all, we did get this far with them"

"Right you are, my dear comrade!~"

"If it were to get out that we were keeping them for our own sake, it'd surely shatter any trust we might have, and we don't want them defying us, now do we?~"

*The other beasts agreed*

"*hehehehe!* So it's settled!~"

*Running a hand up your arm, the trickster looked back at you with his signature smile*

"*Hehehehe!*Oh be sure to get all the rest you need, my little mousey!~"

"Cause you'll be in for quite the performance!~"

And that's pretty much how the story begins, the player is their little doll for the time being, none the wiser about the beasts' plans for hostage type deal with The Guardian Of The Seal

(holy crap we're almost done, guess it's time to talk about some background and bonus info)

~Background~

You are playing as the new resident of the Faerie Kingdom, a half-faerie who grew up in Crispia. There, they are known for two things, having cookie genetics and being kinda an a*s, everything makes them unique compared to other faeries, especially the lack of wings on their back, and their personality isn't exactly a pocket of sunshine either. So throw that in a blender, and you got yourself unnecessary fame that many don't want. The player receives the full "little sibling treatment" with faeries being overbearing and constantly getting doted on. Which, of course, sucks, day by day, no matter where they go, they can't escape it! The only escape they have from it all is their day job, working as the librarian's assistant is when they could finally have some peace and quiet, alongside the librarian, who became the player's good friend

Ok! Bonus Stuff!

With the player's kidnapping and life within the Silver Kingdom, a few bonus relationships the player can have are with Silverbell, Mercury Knight, Pure Vanilla, and of course White Lily. SB and Mercury are like childhood friends/crushes, having met the player before the events of the main game, making the player more acquainted toward them. White Lily and Pure Vanilla on the other hand, take a parental role, acting as the player's protectors much later in the game. Both are relatively more alien to the player, especially White Lily, but the two quickly insert themselves, insisting that they only want to keep the player safe(which makes sense considering their mission is to protect Cookiekind, and the player certainly counts) Out of the two, it's White Lily we end up getting the closest with(a mother + child bond if you will), as Guardian Of The Seal, she was horrified to find out the player was being held hostage by the beasts, and wanted to do anything in her power to save them. She also took a liking to their personality (which's fine I guess???)

It may not look like it, but this game is all about choice. It's about the ideas and importance of choice, how decisions affect your life, how even bigger decisions are often made by selfish people, and (I'm probably gonna get publicly executed for this!-) how a democracy should be handled, because let's be honest, we need a better one. . . We'll see plenty examples of a bad democracy among the beasts, as Shadow Milk, the proclaimed "leader" constantly makes choices for others, in reality only thinking about himself; it's through the player he learns to give the others a say in the matter. Speaking of which, it's the player's choices that will have the most impact as the story continues, like how most games do, the only difference is that the game provides a much wider buffet of choices, making the opportunities endless!

.

.

.

If you're reading this then, Congratulations!

You Made It To The End!

Here's A Trophy!🏆(for both me and you cause omfg this took FOREVER! I'm happy with the final result but like- I never thought this would take like 5 weeks to make ;w;)

If I could go back in time, I would've definitely made this shorter. . !

If you any other ideas for this strange fangame, then feel free to let me know!~

Ok, bye!~^^

*decomposes into the soil*

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

-

“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance. 

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[treatmelikeasmut]

For Your Pleasure

This is going to be part of a series! Find the Master List HERE!

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Reader x Jayce

CW: P in V, oral (fem receiving), creampie, cuckolding, threesome (sort of?), pet names, praise, masturbation, hair pulling, fingering, smut, angst, Viktor being a sad boi, Jayce being voyeuristic, competitive, and a little jealous.

Synopsis: Viktor is concerned about his performance in the bedroom. He’s worried he isn’t leaving you satisfied enough. So he calls in a favor from Jayce.

Word Count: 12k

Author’s Note: This was written on a whim. I have also never written for Viktor or Jayce before. But I tried my best.

Edit 4/2/25 - I was not pleased with the quality of my work. So I wrote a second draft. I think the landing stuck better. It's a bit more angsty, and little more smutty. It went from 7k to 12k words, if that says anything.

Remember to like and reblog your favorite fics , and follow your favorite authors❤️

~*~*~

There was something wrong with Viktor. 

All week he’d been acting distant, almost agitated. Mumbling to himself when he thought you couldn’t hear. Giving you the saddest eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. Flinching away from your touch like it burned him. He insisted he was fine when you asked him about it. He picked at his food, laid rolled away from you - even sleeping in the lab twice. Which he hadn’t done in a long time. When he was home, he’d pace back and forth across your small apartment. Each clink of his crutch went right through your head. Before he left in the mornings, he’d press a chaste kiss to your mouth - if there hastily given contact could even be considered that. You couldn’t figure out just what had changed.

Viktor had even begun to talk in his sleep. The first night he muttered too low to understand. He restlessly tossed and turned, wincing sometimes. A hand going to paw at his bad leg. The second night was more fervent, his body shaking. In the faint light from the window, you caught tears rolling down his face. You could only wonder what happened when he slept away from you. One thing was certain - his voice whining out your name like a prayer over and over was never going to leave your head. 

You didn’t ask Viktor about his dreams. A hard lump forming every time you thought of his desperate cries. You just wished he would talk to you. Even when you went to see him in the lab, he would act strange - distracted. You had started going early in your relationship to ensure he actually took time for himself. Jayce had poked fun at him for a while, but you could tell he was just glad someone was finally looking out for him.

Where before Viktor would turn in his chair at the mere movement of the door, eyes eagerly seeking you out - now he wouldn’t look at you. His left foot tapped impatiently against the floor. He probably could’ve stared a hole right through his papers. He wouldn’t come on a small stroll with you like he would before. You were only met with murmurs that there was work to be done and that he couldn’t be taken from it.

Jayce was acting oddly too. Almost as avoidant as Viktor. There was no cheery greeting. No poke about how Viktor was just talking about you. Hell, they were hardly looking at each other. You wondered if they’d gotten into a fight again and were avoiding each other like an old married couple. But then that had nothing to do with you. So it wouldn’t explain why it was so tense and quiet from the moment you set foot through the threshold.

You decided you’d give it until the end of the week. As the days wore on, a heaviness crept into your mind, into your belly, squeezing your lungs until you could hardly breathe. There just wasn’t enough room for it. You’d chewed the inside of your lip nearly bloody worrying at it so much. Your paintings had gone largely ignored. You wondered if Viktor had noticed, he usually did. But it was difficult to tell in this altered state.

The final day of your self-appointed deadline, Viktor came home well after the sun had taken its leave. You waited up for him, though a nagging edge in your mind had said he’d spent another night at the lab. He looked exhausted as he stumbled in. Somehow the bags under his eyes were more pronounced. Usually he’d give you a light scolding about being up so late. Teasing that you forced him to care for himself, so you needed to not be a hypocrite and do the same. Now he only glanced at you silently in his beeline for your bedroom. The sadness in those amber eyes was heavier tonight.

A hot sting settled into your guts as you trailed after him. Carpet absorbing the sound of your footsteps, the hallway almost seemed to tilt in your peripheral. Viktor was going to leave you, wasn’t he? Despite his pleading in his sleep. That had to be why he was being so distant. He was pulling away, mentally prepping to be alone, and preparing to break your heart. Jayce knew, it would make sense why he was also dancing around your presence. 

You’d always held a doubt in the back of your mind. A fear that one day he’d grow tired of you. You were so sure that eventually he’d seek out a life partner on the same intellectual level as him. That he’d grow tired of coming home to the smell of oil paint, solvent, and thinning oil. It wasn’t your fault that your brain wasn’t wired for science. It was barely wired for color theory.

You found Viktor perched on the edge of the bed, gripping his crutch as he stared blankly at the wall. His features were still pinched in the same dower expression he’d worn all week. He hadn’t bother to try changing into the clothes you’d laid out for him. You wondered if he’d let you help him. He looked so bone tired. Quietly, you stood in the doorway shifting foot to foot.

“It is late,” Viktor uttered flatly.

You nodded. “It is.”

He readjusted his grip on his crutch. His skin stretched milky white over the bone of his knuckles. “You should rest. You look tired.”

“I could say the same about you, love.” You paused, drawing in a deep breath. “Vik -”

Viktor’s eyes flashed to yours, his brows sinking deeper over them. The warm topaz still sent butterflies through your stomach. Just how long had it been since you called him by his name? It was always my love or honey or handsome - whatever pet name came to mind. You hadn’t called him Vik or Viktor in a very long time.

You heard the slightest shake in his voice as he asked, “Yes?”

“I -” How to even approach the subject? How did you start a conversation you really didn’t want to have? You weren’t ready to let him go. You also didn’t want to be alone again. You licked your dry lips and tried again. “Viktor, my love…Will you tell me - are you going to leave me?”

Viktor jerked up right at your words. Then flinched and ran a hand over his back. Finally, that expression he was wearing cracked. There was your golden eyed boy again. The life came back to him. He shifted his body to face you, leaning forward. Like he was ready to launch himself.

“What are you talking about?” Viktor couldn’t seem to get the words out quick enough.

“I’m not stupid,” you insisted.

Viktor frowned. “I have never thought you were.”

You tried not to let that comment make your heart flutter, but you couldn’t help it. You started to pace. “I may not be breaking the limits of science as we know it - but I have eyes.”

“Yes. And they’re very lovely.”

“I saw the signs all week, Vik, and I can’t take it anymore. Just tell me if you’re finally tired of me.”

A heavy silence stretched between you. Viktor’s eyes wide , almost childlike, and following as you trailed back and forth. Finally he covered his face with his hands and sighed.

“This is ridiculous,” he scoffed. The words spoken so softly you didn’t think they were for you. Finally, he rubbed his eyes then looked up at you. He patted the bed beside him, muttering, “Sit.”

You did as he asked, lowering yourself to the soft mattress beside him. Viktor scooched so that your legs were touching. Connected from hip to knee. This close, you noticed the tips of his ears beginning to tinge pink. The same color creeped up from the collar of his shirt. He loosened his tie with one hand.

“Viktor,” you started.

“Please.” Viktor shook his head. “Don’t call me by my name.”

“Honey?”

“I like that much better.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth and then it was gone. He took a deep breath. “It’s time I finally told you…I’ve had a thought. It’s plagued me for longer than I would care to tell. It was fleeting at first. Just a seed. However, I find it’s been…present more than not of late.”

A heavy chill crept through your belly, lungs constricted painfully. You tried to keep a straight face, but your hands balled up tightly where they rested on your legs. Viktor noticed, scooping one into his and gripping it as firmly as possible. For once, his hands were warmer than yours.

“I’m not leaving you. - In fact…” Here, Viktor paused to draw in a breath. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. Like the words were too painful to speak into being. “It’s been me who’s afraid you will tire of me and leave.”

His voice pleading for you to stay flickered through your mind.

“Please,” Viktor cried softly. 

He had slept in the lab the night before and came home looking absolutely haggard. You hadn’t slept much either. Now that you’d had a taste of domestic bliss you hated sleeping by yourself, being able to wake up to him in the morning was the best part of the day. Viktor was facing you now, eyes shut but you could see them moving rapidly beneath the thin lids. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a grimace, a crease folded between his brows. He laid only a few inches from you, even when he’d started off on the other side of the bed. His body curled in on itself. Shoulders quaking so much it shook the bed. 

“Please,” he whined again. “Don’t go…it’s dark here. And cold. It hurts. - My crutch, I can’t, I can’t find it. - Wait, please - I don’t want to be alone again.”

A knot tied in your throat, listening to his pleas. Tears blurred your vision. You put a hand on his cheek, it was soaked. Gently, you wiped away the tears there and leaned over to kiss his forehead, muttering softly that you weren’t going anywhere and that you loved him. He quieted, his own hand coming up to cover yours and press it harder against his flesh. 

He sighed out your name one last time. “Please leave me.”

“Why are you crying, my love?” he asked softly.

You sniffled, a tear rolling down your cheek. Every time you thought of that night you teared up. Viktor wiped it away with his thumb, leaning his forehead against yours.

“You’ve been talking in your sleep, and the things you say…what do you dream about?”

He hesitated. “Have I said something that made you upset?”

“You…” You tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. “You cry a lot. Ask me not to leave. And I…you’re just so sad. It makes me sad.”

“They aren’t dreams - they’re nightmares. Terrible, awful things…” Viktor squeezed your hand while squeezing his eyes shut. “Where I’m back in the Undercity, and you walk with me in the dark alleys. Then I fall and cannot pull myself back up. My body hurts, the ground is colder than ice, my cane is gone, and you keep walking. I try to follow, to crawl until my hands and knees are bloody. But you’re so much faster, and I can no longer see you. I’m left behind…again.”

“I, I would never…” you told him, voice watery. “Why would you think…?”

“They are just bad dreams. But I know they spawn from that fear.” The bashfulness took over Viktor’s face again, skin flushing crimson. “Because I can’t - that is, I’m unable to -” he cleared his throat “- I fear I will bore you. My leg, it keeps me from, eh…performing as I want.”

Performing? Viktor avoided your eyes now. You caught his free hand pulling at his pant seam. His leg…? The realization hit you swiftly. Oh! Ooohh… Several emotions swept through you at once. Part of you wanted to laugh, it’d all been a misunderstanding in the end. All this over sex. It hadn’t even been something that crossed your mind. Other emotions you couldn’t name washed over you. Just mashing together is a muddled mass that made your head swim.

“I would never - that’s not even -” There were too many things you wanted to say, so you settled for, “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Viktor smiled gently, bringing his hand to caress your face as he kissed your forehead. But it quickly dropped away, his eyes downcast. “That’s why it is a fear that lives with me. Recently, when we tried something new and I couldn’t…This fear built shame inside of me, and it made me push you away. For that, I’m deeply sorry.”

Now that you thought about it, there was one thing that had happened before all this. A little thing in your mind. Obviously not in his. 

You and Viktor were having some sexy time. Mouths clashing in hot need, clothes thrown around the apartment, hands roaming, and bodies melding together. One of the rare times he really let himself go, showing you a rougher, more aggressive side. It only peeked its head out on rare occasions. If Viktor was really pent up from stressful days in the lab, or if you two were having make-up sex after a fight. But it was there. A fire burning brightly behind his calm, playful exterior.

Viktor had you bent over the couch. Fingers pulsing deftly in and out of your swollen, sensitive folds. His thumb pressing on your clit, rubbing maddening circles around it. He’d already gone down on you three times. He said he was going for a personal record - four and he’d finally give you what you really wanted. Not that he hadn’t been denying himself. His cock thick and heavy, twitching, aching to be touched, and already dripping with precum. But he wouldn’t let you touch him. He wouldn’t even touch himself.

Your mind was a hot, foggy mess anyway. You couldn’t form words any more. Every nerve ending was a pinprick of ecstasy. Everytime Viktor brushed a hand over your skin, you shivered and moaned. Nothing felt real anymore. This was a feeling you loved. Getting fucked absolutely stupid. There was nothing else in the world but you, Viktor, and the sinful squelching noises of your arousal. 

“Hon,” your voice shook. It sounded so very far from you. “I can’t - I don’t think I -”

“Just one more for me, my dove,” he cooed, he pressed his length to the back of your thigh. “Please.”

He pressed his thumb just a little bit harder to your clit and that was it. You were pretty sure the sound that came out of you only dogs could hear. Your spent walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. You were actually tearing up from just how good you felt.

Then there was a thud from behind you. You pushed yourself from the back of the couch and onto your shaking legs. Viktor was on the floor, glaring down at his bad leg. He’d taken his brace off when he took his pants off and never put it back on in his haste. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, crouching to his level.

He muttered something unintelligible. Then louder said, “I think I was standing for too long without the extra support.”

You started to stand, “I can go grab your brace -”

“No!” He stretched out an arm, reaching for you. “This is, I’ll be fine, please - help me to the couch.”

You supported his weight as you pulled him up, one arm slung over your shoulder with your hand around his waist. You lowered him to the cushion, double checking he was fine. Viktor assured you, rather snippily, that he was.

“As long as you're sure,” you muttered. 

“Come. Let us finish what we started, dove.” Viktor grabbed for your hips and pulled you to straddle him. You finished out your fun with you on top. You thought that been it. Just a small hiccup that was swiftly forgotten. It happened the day before he started acting weird.

“Love, that was really no big deal -” you insisted.

Despair soaked his voice. “It was to me.”

You put a finger under his chin, lifting his face to yours. But he still couldn’t bring his eyes to meet yours.

“I really don’t mind -” you started.

“I do. That’s why I decided to think of a way to please you. For you to be treated as you should, where you don’t have to do all the work.” Viktor turned his full attention to you as he announced, “I want you to have sex with Jayce.”

There was a rush of white noise that filled your ears. Followed by a high pitched ringing, like a bomb had exploded right next to you. Those words simply did not make sense to your mind. Viktor did not just say what you thought he did. You laughed and Viktor flinched, searching your face.

“Excuse me?” you chuckled. “Sure I didn’t hear you right.”

“I want you to have sex with Jayce,” Viktor repeated more firmly.

The laughter died in your throat. “That’s what I thought you said. You really must be sleep deprived -”

Viktor grasped both of your hands tightly between his, staring deep and sincerely into your eyes. “I cannot do for you all I wish. I want you to enjoy yourself. To be served and sated.”

You tried to put on a reassuring smile, but it felt wrong. “But I do, I am. I don’t mind that we have to do things differently.”

“It is more than ‘differently.’” Viktor spit the word out, voice dripping with frustration. “There are so many things I cannot do for you. Ways that I wish to pleasure you that I simply cannot. – That is why I have asked Jayce if he would help me fulfill these. He said he would, if that was something you would like.”

You sighed deeply. “Love -”

“Please tell me you will consider, it would mean a great deal.” Viktor brushed the knuckles of one of your hands against his lips. His eyes were large and sad and glossy. “Sleep on it, at the least?”

Your mouth pressed into a flat line. Those puppy dog eyes of his were so hard to resist. “Sure, yeah. I’ll sleep on it.”

But not with Jayce.

With the tension aired between the two of you, Viktor slept glued to your side. His body curled around yours, his nose in your hair. In the morning, he sat pressed against you on the couch. Then just about had you shoved into the entryway wall as you saw him off. Making up for the lost time, you supposed. He asked you to come visit the lab that afternoon, to see all the progress they’d made in their research. As if you didn’t visit nearly everyday anyway. This time, you had a feeling it was just a pretense and that Viktor had another agenda up his sleeve.

Once he was out the door, you slid down the wall. Sitting with your hands covering your face. What were you going to do? The morning ticked by slowly as you went back to working on your paintings. Your mind was still distracted, chewing over the proposition. Over and over again, you landed on one thing - you were not fucking Jayce. The very thought of someone’s else hands on your skin, exposing yourself to anyone new - you cringed away from it. It had taken long enough with Viktor. You didn’t want to have sex with anyone else, at his request or not.

Despite the warmth in the air, you dressed in long pants, tall boots, and a high collared sleeveless shirt when you went to the lab. It felt necessary to hide your skin away from prying eyes. Like a barrier. A way to show your vehement stance on the matter. 

This time when you made your entrance, Viktor immediately pushed out of his chair. Meeting you halfway across the room. A hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush to his side as he leaned his forehead against yours. He gave you a real kiss. A deep one. Like the mere hours of separation had been a lifetime.

“Come,” Viktor said breathlessly. “Observe what we have done.”

Viktor explained their progress with rampant enthusiasm. Most of it went over your head. So you ooh’d and aah’d along. You could physically see the progress in the machine they were making. So you assumed it was decent progress.

Jayce hadn’t been there when you arrived. But when he finally strode through the doors, he kept his distance. You could feel his eyes though. The way they watched you as Viktor led you in a slow circle around the room. It was as though you were an ant under a magnifying glass. You wondered what he’d thought of Viktor’s proposal. With the barely contained hunger in his face, you had to guess he was just as enthusiastic. There was an itch in the back of your mind, a voice planting a seed that made anger boil in your belly. What if it had all been Jayce’s idea in the first place?

You and Viktor were just about to walk to a nearby restaurant for lunch when someone poked their head in and asked for him. He excused himself and kissed your forehead with the promise of a quick return. Then you were alone with Jayce. Now he was pointedly turned away from you. Hunched over whatever device he was tinkering with. Picking up his screwdriver, but not seeming to actually use it before putting it back down. Then making a show of skimming over blueprints again.

“I know you know, Jayce,” you said, leaning against the far end of his work table. “Did you put him up to it?”

Jayce flinched and dropped the thing in hand, wide eyes shooting to you. He held up his hands in defense. “No! Why the hell would I do that?”

All traces of whatever beast laid hidden beneath the surface was gone now. You were left with regular ole Jayce. You narrowed your eyes at him, scrutinizing his face.

“I don’t know…”

He shook his head slightly. “I swear, I had nothing to do with it. It was all his idea.”

You hummed, staring at him for a long moment before you decided he was being genuine. “Then why the hell didn’t you tell him ‘no’? Or convince him that it was a bad idea?”

Jayce pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then grunted before meeting your gaze. “I tried, I did - I swear. By the end of it, though, I just couldn’t say ‘no’ anymore! He gave me a full presentation on the chalkboard. - I’ve known Viktor for a while. Believe me, he’s just scared you’ll leave him. A hell of a lot more than he probably told you.”

Finally, you relented, rolling your eyes. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “That’s not going to happen.”

“See, you and I both know that. But he just wants to make sure of it, so he’s giving you another option. Trust me, I was just as surprised as you are.” Jayce paused, turning his full body to you. “I think we should do it.”

Your head jerked towards him. “What?!”

He shrugged desperately. “Viktor never asks for anything!”

“I’m. Not. Fucking. You.” Each word was met with a sharp rap on the table with your nail.

“Ouch,” Jayce feigned, a hand to his chest. “You really know how to hurt a guy. - Look, just give it a thought. For him. Poor guy’s been beating himself up. He just wants to make it up to you. And it wouldn’t have to be a repeat experience. Just one time to make him happy and then we never have to speak of it again.”

You sighed deeply, scowling at nothing in particular. That was when Viktor returned. Almost giddy to see that you were by Jayce’s workstation.

“Are you ready to eat, my dove?” he asked, coming to you.

He put a finger under your chin, guiding your face up to look at him. He smoothed away the furrow in your brow. With one last glance at Jayce, you nodded. You went for lunch, carefully avoiding that one particular avenue of conversation. Instead, asking him a question you knew would send him down some scientific tangent you couldn’t follow. It ate up the rest of your conversation and the walk back to the lab.

That evening, Viktor returned home early. He changed out of his academy uniform and found where you were making dinner. He put a hand on your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. He murmured something that you didn’t quite catch.

“Want to try some?” you asked, but he shook his head. 

He pressed you tighter against his chest. You smiled to yourself. It was the little things like this, the little warmths in your life that you loved the most. You stood in a warm, comfortable silence while you finished up cooking. Then made light conversation as you ate dinner. 

The heavy topics didn’t come until you laid side by side in bed.

“You were speaking with Jayce today,” Viktor started lightly. “Have you considered my proposal?”

You turned your head to look into his painfully hopeful eyes. He gave you a nervous smile. You sat up, throwing a leg over his hips. He gasped lightly. His hands found your hips of their own volition. You leaned forward, caging his head with your hands.

“What’s wrong with this?” you asked softly, rolling your hips against him. Viktor’s mouth fell open a bit, eyes fluttering. His hips weakly bucked back up at you. “With just doing what we can? I don’t mind that we have limits, or can’t do certain positions. All it means is that we have to get creative.”

Viktor’s hands tensed, then relaxed as his thumbs rubbed circles into the flesh of your hips. He looked away briefly, then found your eyes again. A hand came to your cheek, you leaned into it.

“I just want you to be happy,” Viktor replied weakly. “Satisfied. Even if it’s not with me.”

You leaned down to kiss him. “I am both of those things. You know if I had an issue I would say something.”

The puppy dog eyes returned. “Darling, please…”

Sitting back, you took care to support your weight on your heels. Always slightly afraid you’d hurt him. But it wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making it out to be. You knew his limits. 

His hands slid up under your night shirt, finger tips grazing your bare breast under the fabric. A low groan roiled in the back of your throat, your lip catching between your teeth. Beneath you, you could already feel his hardness pressing into you.

“All I ask is for once,” he said, voice set deep in his throat now.

You frowned. “That’s what Jayce said.”

“Because that is all we discussed. I was…thoroughly disappointed that I was not as able as I thought.”

Burning chewed at the back of your mind, clawing in your gut. A tinge of guilt. Viktor’s hand squeezed between your bodies to tease at your clit through the fabric of your underwear. His other fully massaging one of your breasts. Your head lolled back, lips parting. His hips rolled up to meet yours, pressing his erection to your core. You could feel his eyes watching your every move. 

“You already know how to satisfy me,” you muttered. “You know exactly how to drive me nuts.”

“I am a scientist, at the end of the day,” he stated nonchalantly, fingers never ceasing their work. “The powers of observation and knowledge of experimentation come into use in many of life’s avenues.”

“See?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. “It's me who should be worried.”

Viktor scoffed. “Oh please - your presence is all I require.”

Your hands gathered his shirt, pushing it up to expose his skin. You leaned down, kissing from sternum to waistband. Viktor’s breath fluttered beneath you. You shimmied to straddle his good leg, palming him through his pants. He groaned and arched into the touch.

“See? This is fine,” you whispered.

Viktor sat up, catching your wrist. He held your face in one hand, bringing you into a hard kiss. He nipped at your bottom lip, then ran his tongue across it as he guided your back into the mattress. He peppered kisses down your neck, where he found the one spot that sent shockwaves through your body. You whined and panted, winding your arms around him. Holding him close.

“I am just grateful to have you,” he whispered in your ear. “To kiss you, to come back here to you at the end of the day. - To fuck is you one of my few joys in life. I find home between your thighs. But you deserve more than my feeble abilities.”

You moaned at the words, pressing your body closer to his. They sunk deeper into you than they were probably meant to. Still, you couldn’t deny that they sent a thrill down your body as you replayed them in your head. You concentrated on the warmth coming from Viktor.

Moving from your neck, Viktor repeated your movements. Pushing your shirt up to expose you. A shiver snaking through your body. Nipples hardening in the cool air. Viktor took one into his mouth, fingers adeptly rolling the other one. As though this was the thing he’d spent his entire day working at. Warmth pooled in your core, your clit aching for friction already. He trailed soft kisses down your sternum and to your waistband.

“I want to give you so much more,” Viktor muttered, fingers slowly pulling down your underwear. 

“I’m happy with this,” you told him, though you weren’t sure if the words came out right.

Viktor chuckled, managing to work the panties off you. You weren’t sure where they went. But you had no doubt he’d manage to conjure them back into existence when you were done. He always did.

Two fingers found your entrance. Your back arching to the touch. You could feel your arousal already leaking out. Viktor lightly pressed his thumb against your clit. You groaned loudly, bottom lip quivering.

“If I was a religious man, you would be my goddess,” Viktor muttered, fingers working in tandem. His other hand rubbing circles deeply into the flesh of your thigh. “You are already my muse.”

His fingers pumped in and out at a maddening pace. The wet sound of your arousal filling the room. He curled his fingers to find a spot he knew sent you spiraling. A ripple of pleasure pulled a moan from your throat. You tried blubbering back a reply, but words wouldn’t form in your mind. It was a thick slurry of sin and hormones. 

Viktor smiled in that way he did only in times like this. Like this was his life’s purpose fulfilled. Like he’d been placed in this time and place just to bring you pleasure. And damn, was he good at it.

Finally, he lowered himself to the bed. Face hovering just above where his fingers were already working. You knew he’d make you cum with little effort. What he lacked in his physical ability, he made up for like this. Drinking you in and eating you out like a last meal to a dying man. 

His breath drifted across your sensitive skin. Eliciting another moan came from you, hips involuntarily bucking. Seeking the pleasure and the high you knew was coming. He kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh and chuckled.

“Come now, dove,” muttered Viktor. “Be patient.”

You groaned, throwing him a playful glare. Something about the way he was looking at you took your breath away. His cheeks pink and half-lidded eyes filled with life. He gazed at you like you were the world’s most gorgeous art piece. You felt like you were lit up from within, full with warmth and light.

A moan rumbled from deep in his chest as his tongue flicked out. Taking over where his thumb had been. His tongue swirled around your clit. A loud moan rolling from you. You sunk one hand into his curls, the other gripping the back of one thigh to keep your leg up. Offering more space for him to maneuver. 

Viktor obliged, pulling himself closer. Still working your wet pussy with his fingers. He slipped in another one. Which earned another groan and hip grind. He hummed, leaning into it. His hand gripped your other thigh like a lifeline, pressing it into his shoulder. The spring was already starting to compress in your stomach. The ripples of pleasure as he lapped at you pulling it tighter. 

“Hon - Vik -” You couldn’t form a full word. Focusing only on the overwhelming waves of pleasure that washed over you. They cleansed your mind of function. Your whole body was filled with heat. You couldn’t get your shirt the rest of the way off fast enough.

Each furious pulse of Viktor’s fingers, each curl of his tongue worked you tighter. The way he rocked back and forth as he worked. You clenched around his fingers, enjoying the extra sensation. It added to the heat in your body. You never knew how to describe it. But there was always one thing he did with his tongue, the way it wrapped around your clit as he sucked and nibbled, that sent you over. 

Every. Single. Time. 

The rubber band snapped as Viktor delivered one last little nip and applied pressure with his thumb again. Every nerve was on fire. Whiting out your mind. Arching your back as your mouth dropped open and your eyes rolling back into your skull. Zeroing in on the way his fingers felt inside you as you rode the pleasure out. The hand in his hair gripping, keeping him there, like your life depended on it.

As you released his locks, Viktor sat up. The satisfaction on his face was clear. He wiped at his chin, sucked the arousal off his fingers, and shook out his cramping hand. Another shiver shook you head to toe. Then again, you couldn’t even feel your toes. Your body and mind warm and numb in the afterglow.

Viktor slowly removed his night clothes, exposing himself as fully as you were. His erection throbbed, already weeping with precum. You remembered being taken aback by its size the first time, and still a little to this day. Viktor had a determined set to face, brows furrowed with concentration. He gripped your legs and positioned himself between your thighs.

“Honey, you don’t have to -” you started, cutting off when he thrust deeply into you. White hot pleasure shook your entire being. Your sensitive walls clenching around him as they stretched and the thought shot out of your brain. Eyes rolling once again back in your head, you gripped the mattress. “Fuck!”

Viktor propped himself on his hands. You could tell he was favoring his left leg as he tried to get momentum going. Though you knew he wouldn’t be able to do this long. Still, it was always such a treat when he tried. He dragged himself out of you, then plunged roughly back in. A gruff moan following. You could see the effort on his face as it mingled with a twinge of frustration.

Each slow pump brought a new wave of mind numbing pleasure. Your whole body was alight with ecstasy. It was, however, short lived. Viktor frowned, begrudgingly pulling himself out. He scowled down at his leg, rubbing at the muscle in his thigh. As though that would give him back some of his missing stamina.

“Damn this,” he muttered.

You sat up, muscles weak. A hand to his chest, you cooed, “Lay down, my love.”

Viktor sighed, doing as he was directed. Then you were on top, as you tended to be. Lowering yourself down on his length. Eliciting a shared moan.  The stretch every time was delicious. You ground your hips down into his in the way you knew he liked. Making sure he was all the way in, right down to the base. His hands went to your thigh, rocking you with every motion.

But the disappointment in his face didn’t fully leave. It was a continuous crease in his brow. Even as you rode him. Bucking and rolling your hips. You didn’t mind this, being on top. It was worth it to watch him. The way he’d get totally lost in it all, hair splayed across the pillow, eyes fluttering, mouth parted as he released small pants.

Gripping the headboard for more stability, you raised your hips higher and grinded down a little harder. Viktor’s hips rose to meet yours as a moan boiled from his chest. One hand released you, pulling you down so he could claim one of your nipples in his mouth. He grunted against your skin, his tongue swirling about the bud.

It wasn’t long until you worked him up to his tipping point. His entire body went rigid. He was panting and shuddering, trying to get any grip he could with his good leg. Trying to fuck up into you with messy thrusts.

“P-Please,” Viktor panted, pawing bonelessly at your leg. “I’m begging - I can’t - I need to -”

You chuckled to yourself. “Do you feel good, baby?”

“So, so - please…” Viktor hummed, giving weak, rapid nods. “So close, don’t tease me, dove - please…”

You clenched yourself around him and sunk down onto his cock one last time until he was moaning loudly and pressing your hips into his. You let him ride out his high. Chasing it with shallow, rapid thrusts. Until he finally blinked up at you with clear eyes, breath coming out in deep huffs. His hands remained on your hips, holding you in place. The aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body, causing him to spasm inside you. 

You leaned down and kissed him hard. Viktor sighed as you pulled away. The expression was back, the frustration. He just looked so defeated gazing up at you.

“I wish you weren’t so hard on yourself, lovey,” you muttered, reaching out to play with his hair. He caught your hand, holding your palm to his face.

“The things I wish I could do to you,” he muttered. “It simply isn’t fair.”

A rush of hot embarrassment flooded you. Despite that, you could tell nothing you said was going to make it better. It didn’t matter to him that he could so quickly work your orgasm into being. Or that it was earth shattering and mind numbing every time. It didn’t matter that you were willing to try everything until you found positions that work for both of you. He wanted to be able to fuck you like a man who didn’t need a leg or back brace. You could see the heaviness in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the crease of his forehead.

You sighed, sliding off him. A knot tied itself in your chest. You settled, laying on your side to face him. “If I…if I have sex with Jayce, will that make you happy?”

“It would mean more to me than I can say,” Viktor muttered. In the back of your mind, you worried that he would regret it if you said yes. As if he sensed your thoughts, he rolled to match your position. He met your gaze, continuing, “It would just be sex - simple pleasure. Satisfaction. Nothing more.”

You picked at the fray in your pillow case. “If it means that much to you…”

Viktor’s eyebrows raised, eyes lighting up with evident eagerness. Your mouth suddenly felt tacky. You swallowed trying to get some moisture back in your mouth. He nodded.

Glancing between him and the spot you were worrying at, you said, “Then I guess once would be fine.”

___

A week later, Jayce stood at your door. Hesitating. He’d brought flowers. Why had he brought flowers? This was a one time thing. Still - he had to wonder if it was considered rude to show up at your best friend’s apartment with an agreement to fuck his partner empty handed? He couldn’t exactly ask at the flower shop he’d gone to, though they’d probably heard worse. Still, he didn’t need that kind of news getting around.

Jayce had been thinking about this whole thing for two weeks - in two very different headspaces.

When Viktor had approached him at first, he didn’t know what to think. He’d never thought about how Viktor’s disability would affect that part of his life. He had to admit, he admired how hard Viktor tried. There were some…very detailed diagrams Viktor had drawn as examples for his presentation. Jayce was grateful you were patient with him. However, the hotter under the collar Viktor got as he described how and what exactly you two often got up to during sexy time. – The more Jayce’s mind began to wander.

He tried not to think about you that way. He’d been glad when Viktor had introduced you that first time. Happy that his friend had finally found someone. You two now considered each other friends. That was under threat of being tainted now that Jayce paid closer attention when you came into the lab. He always thought you were attractive. But he couldn’t stop how his mind was tilting to thoughts about what would happen if you said yes. He couldn’t keep from tracing your curves with his eyes, watching you walk, seeing the way Viktor allowed you in his space and how easily he touched you. It awakened something inside him.

He pushed the thoughts into a box, trying not to dwell on them too much. He had to be careful to conceal any part of them when you were around. So he kept his distance to keep from saying anything unseemly. And then Viktor told him you’d agreed and the dam in his mind broke.

Dark fantasies plagued him in the night. Jayce found himself wondering what you tasted like. How it would feel to do the things that Viktor described. He wanted you to sit on his face and moan his name like it was the only word you knew. He wanted to make you cum more in a day than Viktor ever had. 

The thought of being watched thrilled him. Being allowed to fuck someone else’s partner? It got him harder than he’d ever been. Getting to see the way he was able to bring you pleasure in ways Viktor couldn’t - a real boost to his ego. Jayce wanted to see the displeased look on Viktor’s face as he folded you over and fucked you deep.

In the end, he had to remind himself this was a one time thing. And he had to make the most of it. There was a small, misguided voice in the back of his mind that suggested that if this went well, it would happen again. He just had to not make a big deal out of it.

Viktor opened the door when Jayce finally knocked. Raising an eyebrow at the bouquet. Jayce shrugged. You were just coming out of the bedroom at the back. A robe hugged your form tightly, and he swore he could see a peek of lace beneath it.

“You brought flowers?” you asked, laughing.

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Seemed rude not to, given the circumstances.”

Taking the bouquet from his hand, you held it to your face, and breathed in deeply. Your eyes fluttered closed softly at the pleasant smell. A light smile on your face. Jayce already felt himself growing stiff. If this was how you reacted to flowers, then how the hell was he going to last?

“They’re beautiful, Jayce. Thank you,” you said. Then turned to Viktor. Jayce knew it was wrong, but he felt a little put out by the shift in attention. “Honey, is the vase still in the cabinet?”

Viktor nodded and watch you wander into the other room. Then his amused eyes went back to Jayce. His glance flicked down to Jayce’s pants and back. A smile danced in Viktor’s voice as he said, “You certainly came prepared.”

 Jayce grunted. “Shut up.”

They listened to you moving around the kitchen. Jayce felt a little dizzy, standing there with his dick hard and his hands sweating. This was really happening. It wasn’t just some perverted vision in his mind anymore. A soft thud came from the kitchen followed by a muttered curse.

Viktor laughed softly. “She’s nervous.”

“Not the only one. Are you sure about this?” Jayce asked. A piece of him knew he’d be devastated if he was asked to leave. But Viktor nodded, eyes trailing back to the door you’d gone through. Jayce followed his gaze. There was a pregnant pause between them, then he finally asked, “Is she wearing -“

“Lingerie? Yes.”

Jayce cleared his throat. “And that was -“

“My idea.” Viktor sighed. “I thought it would make it less awkward that way.”

“You ever done anything like this before?”

“The number of people I’ve had sex with can be counted on one hand. - So no. Surely you must have -“

Jayce shook his head. “No.”

“Ah.” Viktor’s eyebrows rose momentarily, like he didn’t believe him. “Well, I suppose we may then use this as a learning experience.”

You finally emerged from the kitchen, your robe half hanging off. Which exposed the pale pink lace of the lingerie you wore. Nipples peeking through the thin fabric. The sight sent heat right down below Jayce’s waist band. He was getting painfully hard now.

You cleared your throat. “So - how should we…proceed, gentlemen?”

You fidgeted, nibbling on your lip. Viktor went to you first. Allowed to be so close to you. He put a hand on your waist, pulling you flush to his side. Gazing at you so lovingly it hurt to behold. Jayce found a touch of unfounded jealousy burning in him; he wanted to be allowed into your space so freely.

“I thought I would do what I can,” Viktor started. His voice was deeper, smoother - a tone Jayce had never heard. You chuckled in that flirtatious way he was familiar with, your thighs already clenching together. Jayce suddenly understood the tone. “And then Jayce will step in. Is that alright with you, my dove?”

Your eyes flickered to him like you’d forgotten he was there. You gave a little nod. Viktor leaned in and kissed you deeply, his hand slipping under the robe. You let out something between a gasp and moan, Viktor smiled a bit as his eyes went to Jayce. If Jayce didn’t know better, he’d almost think that he was trying to show off.

“Before I forget,” you started suddenly, breaking the kiss. Jayce watched Viktor’s tongue leave your mouth. “Safeword is ‘hextech.’”

Viktor chuckled. Jayce laughed at the ridiculousness but agreed. Viktor nodded towards the hall as he turned you towards it. Jayce followed the pair of you back to your shared room, he couldn’t take his eyes off the sway of your hips.  He found a chair had been placed by the bed.

“My dove has said it’s okay if you want to watch, Jayce,” Viktor said, not looking at him. Just absorbed in you, with caressing your cheek with his thumb. “But it is ultimately your decision.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jayce muttered, mouth suddenly dry. He wasn’t expecting to get a show. “I’ll stay.”

Viktor cast him a fleeting glance. “Do what you need to.”

Jayce removed all the clothes on his bottom half, finally freeing his aching cock. Then he lowered himself into the plush chair. You sat on the bed, Viktor following next to you. Jayce noted that all of Viktor’s nervous energy was gone now. All of his movements confident as he laid you down against the pillows and kissed you, whispering to you. His left knee shoved between your thighs. He untied your robe as he worked from your mouth to your neck and down your body. You responded indulgently to every touch. 

Jayce realized that pleasing you wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Not like he’d originally thought. Viktor had had over two years to learn the ways of your body. And if he hadn’t performed, at least somewhat, competently , then you probably wouldn’t have stayed so long. Competition burned in the back of Jayce’s mind, in his chest. It wasn’t a competition, of course. He had to keep reminding himself this was just a favor for a friend. 

Jayce was sure he’d never seen anyone come to such a fulfilling climax so quickly before. Viktor had pulled off your panties and comfortably settled between your thighs. So practiced. So sure in his abilities. The way he had spoken to Jayce about your sex life, he had made it seem like he had never made you cum before. But right now he worshipped your body like a devoted servant. Eager to please, eager to give. Even if he wasn’t receiving this time.

Jayce couldn’t help himself. He gripped his throbbing dick, and a rush of pleasure came. He groaned, leaning his head on the back of the chair as he started to stroke himself. Slowly at first, hips rocking as he fucked his hand.

You held your legs up with your hands, and Viktor eagerly ate up the extra space. He pushed himself closer to you, reaching to play with one of your nipples. Your back arched at the touch, a moan coming from your lips. That almost had Jayce undone right there.

Jayce got a good view as Viktor pushed one finger into your folds. Then two. Then three. You gasped as he slipped in a fourth. He suddenly wondered just how big Viktor’s dick was that you required that much stretching. He watched, entranced, as Viktor worked his fingers in and out of you. Each pump coating them in slick more than the last.

Gods, Jayce wanted to be doing that himself. His thicker fingers covered in your fluids, your walls clenching around them. He wanted to taste you. For now, all he could do was watch as Viktor coaxed out mewls. As you released one leg and gripped his hair. Arousal already wetting the bed sheet. Viktor hadn’t even had a chance to put his mouth to work yet. You must’ve been anticipating something. Maybe Viktor was the one who liked to be watched and had anticipated this. Jayce’s humiliation as he discovered just what Viktor could do for you.

Waves of pleasure shook through Jayce as he listened to your pants. They grew into moans as Viktor began to work your sensitive spots with his tongue. He came to the conclusion that little shit had lied about just how much pleasure you were getting in the bedroom. He subconsciously matched his pace with Viktor’s fingers. Imagining what it would feel for you to be wrapped around his cock instead.

 He couldn’t wait to find out.

Jayce had to focus so he didn’t go over the edge too fast. It wasn’t long until you did. Your hips bucking, legs shaking. Mouth pulled into an O as the filthiest moans Jayce had ever heard fell from your lips. He watched on, fascinated. Your entire body quaked.

Just how had Viktor done that to you?

When your hand left Viktor’s hair, he sat back. He was just as out of breath as you were. The heels of your hands pressed into your eyes. Your pussy glistened enticingly. If this is what Viktor had been treated to, it was no wonder he didn’t want to lose it.

Viktor looked at Jayce over his shoulder, sucking your juices off his fingers. Before he wiped at the wetness on his face. He seemed awfully self satisfied.

“Jayce,” Viktor said hoarsely. “I believe this is where you may step in.”

___

You watched as Viktor stood from the bed, pulling himself up with his crutch. The last waves of your orgasm were still quaking through you. You swore you saw stars. Your head still light and spinning with pleasure.

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Viktor muttered, turning to the door. 

You sat up, head clearing. “You’re not staying?”

Viktor half turned back to you. “I thought it would be strange if I did.”

“It would be weirder if you didn’t.” You frowned, reaching for his hand. He took a step forward and held it firmly. The contact was almost too warm. “Please stay - for me.”

Jayce stood and you tried to avoid looking at his thick cock. It was already dribbling precum, veins bulging. “You’ve already got the chair.”

“I -” Viktor started. “Are you sure? I was going to give you some privacy.”

“Privacy?” Jayce’s voice was almost a laugh. “I just watched you eat out your ‘little dove.’ I think we’re way past privacy.”

Viktor nodded, releasing your hand. He hesitated before settling in the chair Jayce had occupied. Awkwardly, Jayce kneeled on the bed in front of you. You both glanced at Viktor. He was red faced, shifting uncomfortably.

“Remember,” you started. “‘Hextech.’”

Viktor nodded. “I remember.”

It was weird to have someone else touching your body. Jayce had your back in the mattress, hands trailing up your thighs. His hands were bigger and warmer than Viktor’s. He was overall a larger person. Though you were sure Viktor had Jayce beat by an inch or two in terms of dick size. You weren’t used to being dwarfed like this. The way he hovered over you, trapping you with his arms, was almost intimidating.

“Are you sure you’re fine with this?” Jayce asked one final time.

You glanced at Viktor and then up at Jayce before nodding. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward, whispering in your ear, “Let’s give him a show.”

You moaned as he plunged two fingers into you. They were thicker than Viktor’s, filling you up in a different way. Your overly sensitive walls fluttered around them. Jayce chuckled, removed his fingers, and stuck them in his mouth.

“Fuck - Viktor does have good taste after all.”

You burned with embarrassment. Then looked past Jayce to see Viktor’s face, he was gripping hard onto his crutch. Watching as Jayce held your hips and pulled you into his lap. His hard cock nudged at your entrance, you both groaned at the contact. His thumb danced lightly over your swollen clit. A shudder ran from the crown of your head to your toes. Then he thrust deeply in you.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried, hands grasping at his thick arms. 

Jayce grunted, nose wrinkling. “Holy - Fuck - Viktor you were holding out on me.”

You caught Viktor sit up a little straighter in his chair. Like he was about to pull you off of Jayce. You weren’t used to so much force being put behind the thrusts. It caught you off guard.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Jayce told you, his voice settled deeper into his chest.

“Go easy on me, please,” was all you could manage.

Jayce pulled out then thrusted into you again. A sharp moan ripped from your throat. You didn’t have to fake or put on any kind of show. You were still so sensitive from your orgasm. You immediately clamped down tightly. 

Jayce’s fingers dug deeply into your flesh. “Oh, fuck…so tight..”

He picked up his pace, pulling you onto him over and over again. His lips pulled back over his teeth, grunting with each snap of his hips. You weren’t used to being fucked like this. It was entirely different, you’d forgotten how much so. Jayce lifted your legs over his shoulders. Where he found a spot that had your mind turning into goo. Each thrust pushed you farther up the bed. You caught him occasionally checking Viktor’s reactions.

“Oh - fuck - Jay - I, fuck -“ you sputtered out incoherently, over and over. Your voice jumping octaves.

One of his hands caught both your wrists, pinning them above your head. He shifted to press your hips into the mattress, pushing your knees closer to your chest. You couldn’t remember the last time you were bent like this. Jayce’s cock reached deep inside you, each thrust seemed to push deeper into your core until you were seeing stars.

There was the wild sound of his skin slapping against yours. The groan of the bedframe and tap of the headboard against the wall. Your legs shook, feebly trying to keep their purchase over Jayce’s shoulder. Each rough thrust was a new ripple of sensation. You wanted to pull your hands away, dig your nails into his skin. But he kept you right where he wanted.

Then Jayce pulled out suddenly, releasing your wrists. You whined at the sudden emptiness. You were taken aback to find just how sweaty you were. Along with just how wet you were. Your entire body shook.

Jayce gently but firmly guided a position change. At some point, he’d unhooked your bra and it fell to the floor. Now you were on all fours, facing Viktor this time. Jayce delivered a short, hard smack to one of your ass cheeks. You cried out with the pain and pleasure of it. Viktor was red faced and very obviously straining in his pants.

There was no warning as Jayce thrust into you again. You almost face planted at the force. Viktor moved like he was going to catch you. But Jayce quickly pulled you back by your hips. Laying another slap to your ass. It stung, it felt good, it hurt in the most delicious way possible.

Jayce held you firmly as he rammed into you roughly, over and over. Your head dropped, squeezing your eyes shut. You could hardly catch your breath. He gripped a handful of hair, yanking your head back. You yelped.

“I want Viktor to see your face as I fuck you,” he said.

You moaned and whined, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t read the expression on Viktor’s face. His eyes locked onto yours, sending new heat through your body. You were almost surprised that he still had his clothes on. That he hadn’t followed as Jayce had.

Jayce took his hands from your hair and forced your chest down to the mattress. Making your back arch, ass high in the air now. You clawed at the edge of the bed, crying and groaning into the mattress.

Suddenly, Jayce scooped his arms up under your body. One hand coming up to squeeze your throat. The other pressing your back to his chest. He grunted and cursed softly in your ear, fucking up into you desperately.

“What did I say?” he panted. “About wanting him to watch?”

Viktor’s eyes raked over your body. You were hot with embarrassment. Being held exposed like this. Boobs bouncing as Jayce pummeled into you. Viktor’s eyes were glued to them, fingers flexing against his knees.

“Why don’t you touch her, Viktor?” Jayce asked, voice slurred with his lust. “She’s been such a good girl.”

A whine curled in the back of your throat. You couldn’t help but shiver and clench at the nickname. Jayce chuckled. A warm, dark sound in your ear. 

“Oh? You like the praise?” Jayce inquired. “Vik, don’t you ever tell her how good she is to you? How good she feels? How warm and tight her little pussy is? I know I would. - I’ll praise you all you want, pretty girl, make up for Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes were over your shoulder. You wondered what sort of look Jayce was giving him. Viktor was frowning a touch. Jayce began rutting into you, sending shivers down your spine. You rested your head back against his shoulder.

“Such. A.” Each word punctuated with a sharp snap of the hips. You sputtered out moans and mewls, the utter ecstasy flowing through your body getting too much to bare. “Good. Fucking. Girl. - Gods, I don’t know how you ever stop fucking her.”

“If I didn’t have this leg…nothing could stop me,” Viktor replied. It sent a new wave of heat and pleasure pulsing over you. 

“You enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Jayce asked  you. You nodded weakly. “Good. - Do you like getting fucked like this? You’re taking my dick so fucking well. Do you like having Viktor watch when I fuck you?”

You blubbered out something incoherent. Jayce chuckled. It sent another shiver down your spine.

 “You don’t look like you do, Viktor. I’m honestly surprised you can keep it in your pants when you have such a perfect view. You are allowed to have a little fun.” Jayce’s lust-drunk tone held a challenge in it. “I thought you wanted me to fuck her for you? You said she likes getting fucked stupid. I doubt she even knows her name right now.”

“I told you, this was for her satisfaction,” Viktor challenged. “Not mine.”

“Then satisfy her, dumbass.”

Viktor got to his feet. Coming to stand before the two of you. He glared up at Jayce, but his expression softened as he turned to you. Seeing the pleasure evident on your features. He brought the hand not leaning on his cane up, fingers deftly finding your clit.

You yelped in surprise, flinching and pressing down into Jayce. He groaned, putting more weight into his movements. Viktor traced circles and figure-eights around your clit. Your walls clenched, satisfied to find themselves full. 

Your breath came in shallow pants. You felt amazingly. Like you were floating, surrounded by pure euphoria. Every nerve ending was tuned into Jayce’s quick, hard thrusts and the way Viktor’s fingers played with you. Warmth pooled in your abdomen. 

“I wan - cum…” you whined. Your voice higher than usual. “So bad.”

“You heard the lady, Viktor, she’s begging for it. What do you say?” asked Jayce. “Why don’t you show me how you made her cum so fast before? Gotta make sure it wasn’t just a fluke.”

“Unlike some people,” Viktor started. “I know how to serve pleasure to others before my own. I never said I couldn’t do that. Very egotistical of you to presume.”

Viktor pulled the chair to the edge of the bed. You were thankful the frame was fairly low to the ground. He was able to sit while Jayce shimmied you closer to the edge of the mattress. Viktor leaned forward, tongue darting out over your sensitive bud.

“Fuucckkkkk,” you whined. You weren’t sure where to put your hands. Your body was nothing but warm tingles.

Viktor worked himself free of his pants, one hand pumping himself furiously. Finally allowing himself the pleasure. The other braced him against the bed so he could lap at you. He lapped at your folds like he’d never tasted you a day in his life.

It all felt wrong but right at the same time. There was just something about seeing Viktor’s face pressed against you. Feeling his tongue do its sinful dance. Watching as he fucked his hand. Trying desperately to relieve the erection he’d kept contained. How had he managed such control?  Feeling as he grunted and panted against your skin.

Meanwhile Jayce kept up his pace with startling stamina. Arms still wrapped around you, clamping you to him and his blazing skin. He was now nibbling at your neck, planting hot, wet kisses to it. He found the same spot Viktor had that flooded your body and sucked at it.

There was sensation everywhere. It was all too much. The coil in the pit of your stomach twisted tighter and tighter. How Jayce’s grip on your throat tightened a touch. The hand holding you to him now fondling one of your nipples. The more you clamped down on his cock, the more boldly Viktor lapped at you like it was the first time. 

Your orgasm was like nothing you had ever felt. It ripped through you like lightning. You had never heard yourself make that kind noise before. A thousand suns exploded through your body. One hand threading through Viktor’s hair, the other reaching behind you for any grip you could get on Jayce.

“Holy shit,” Jayce exclaimed, then he was out of you. Pumping himself as he shot streams of hot cum on your ass. You rode your orgasm against Viktor’s furiously flicking tongue until your knees were weak and you were left breathless.

“Your turn,” you slurred as Viktor pulled away. 

You barely thought then you were in his lap. He hardly had time to catch you. You groaned at the extra girth to him as you sank down on his cock. The surprise on his face was quickly taken over as he cursed. You whined out moans as you rode him. Up and down, rocking back and forth with the chair groaning under you. With how sensitive you were, you just couldn’t get enough. He tried to move his hips to your pace, gripping your flesh.

“I - I can’t,” Viktor muttered, lips quivering. “You’re too -“ 

He hid his face in your neck, a moan ripping from his throat. He used his purchase on your hips to ride out his orgasm. Moving you to milk him until he came down. His breath came out in a stuttering rush, you could feel his heart racing in his chest. Finally he let you go, leaning his head back to reveal his absolutely pussydrunk face.

“My goddess,” Viktor muttered, running a finger from your temple to your chin. “My beauty.”

You kissed him, not caring that your fluids still coated his chin. Viktor wove his hands weakly into your hair, pulling you closer. Jayce cleared his throat. You turned to him. He leaned against your headboard, head tilted back and eyes closed.

“Thank you for this, Jayce,” Viktor said. He also had his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Jayce waved him off. “What’re friends for? - Besides, you didn’t need as much help as you made it seem, you dick.”

You lifted yourself off Viktor. Pulling one last groan from you both. All of the fluids began to drip out of you, so you excused yourself to the restroom. You took a change of clothes with you. The men were dressed again when you returned.

“So - not as bad as you thought?” Jayce teased, from his spot on your couch.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You rolled your eyes. 

Jayce smirked at you. “Oh, c’mon, admit it - you liked it.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Night had fallen over the city by then. You were starving. Viktor was still floating around. He didn’t seem to have a worry in the world. 

“Well,” Jayce started as he stood near the door. “Let me know you’ll be needing my…services again.”

“In your dreams,” you said.

Jayce shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

When he was gone, you made dinner. Viktor shadowed you. Just watching you now. You had just started dishing it up when he came to stand near you.

“Hextech,” he said suddenly.

You turned to him. “Hextech?”

“Our safe word.”

You nodded. “What about it?”

“I’m using it.”

“Why…? Exactly…?” You searched his face. 

Viktor came to you then, pushing your back against the counter. Leaning his full weight into your body. He pushed his good knee between your thighs. Somehow, your clit still ached for the friction. Viktor’s amber eyes were dark, boring into yours feverishly.

“I did not like Jayce’s hands on you.”

A sinking feeling hit your stomach. He was regretting it already, wasn’t he? “Then why didn’t you use it earlier?”

“Because you were enjoying yourself. And I…” Viktor cleared his throat, his fingers twisting a lock of your hair. The tips of his ears were pink again. “...liked watching you. But he wasn’t handling you with care. And I cannot abide that. - Look at that, he even marked you.” Vitkor clicked his tongue and ran a finger the skin on your neck. “However, that I believe is my own fault.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Eeh,” Viktor started, a smile forming. You could hear a guilty, playful edge to his voice. “I may have undersold my abilities to Jayce. That way I could put on a little show today. - That man needs to be humbled sometimes.”

You laughed. “Well, we don’t have to do that again. - One and done, like you said.”

Viktor paused. “That is - I just…I think I may enjoy a repeat of the day’s events.”

You met his gaze. Heat pooling in your belly again. You still hadn’t made up your mind about whether or not you wanted a repeat. “You liked…watching Jayce fuck me?”

“I enjoyed watching you enjoy yourself. The faces you make - I have never heard such sweet sounds.” Viktor pressed a kiss to your lips. His hand gently wrapped around your throat, squeezing it lightly. You whimpered softly at the touch. “But it’s your decision. Anything I can do for your pleasure. Anything to keep you here with me.”

“You’re never going to lose me. Not because of that or anything,” you insisted. “I’d rather throw myself off Piltover’s tallest building than live without you.”

“That’s awfully dramatic. I do not think it will ever come to that.” Viktor ran a thumb over your bottom lip. There was a long pause, but his mouth was opened like he had a thought that wouldn’t materialize. He avoided your eyes as he spoke. “Do you know what the hardest thing was, when we first were dating?”

You shook your head the slightest bit. He didn’t speak much of your first six months together. He rarely spoke of what drew him to you in the first place. Those first fragile months were so far away in your mind. They were full of a strange chaos between the two of you. Eventually, things settled into this warm place you found.

“I had many fears that I never spoke of. Firstly, that you would leave me once you discovered who I truly was. I worried a man of science would bore you compared to all of your artistic colleagues. I was often jealous.” Viktor sneered at the thought. 

“You were jealous?” you scoffed.

“It is not so far fetched a thought. I did not understand what you do, just as you do not understand what I do. The only difference is that you tried, and I…was not a very partner. - Here I was with this beautiful creature in my life, and an overwhelming fear that I would taint her. Drive her away. I suppose that put a barrier between us, for a time.”

You shrugged. “I’m still here, aren’t I?

“Amazing so,” Viktor chuckled. “When I finally put that worry to bed. Another then came to being that you were a dream. Just a cruel invention of my mind. Falling asleep at the lab began to be a gamble with fate. Were I to wake up one day and discover our life together had been a terrible lie of my subconscious - I would be a broken man. How could I live on knowing that I had dreamed of such a dear thing only for you then to not exist?

“Last week when I stayed in the lab, those fears came back. You cannot know how scared I was that if I slept, I would wake to find none of it real. That I would leave the lab and go back two years to the man I was. Or even farther. To a small, lonely dorm room grading papers for Heimerdinger. – I love you, and all the light you brought with you. I used to shy from that light, but now I can’t imagine returning to the dark. That’s why your presence in my life is enough for me. Why I asked Jayce for this. No matter what, I want to stay here with you, in this lovely dream of ours.”

“I’m here,” you swore, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tightly. “I’m real. I love you most of all.”

~

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Four (4/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. A glimpse into a therapy session. Mentions of racing accidents. A tiny bit of angst, and then lots of fluffiness.

Notes — Yes. It happens. It finally happens. Our babies MEET. Also: I’m spoiling you all with these updates, but I’m writing like a mad woman atm. I wrote 3/4 of this chapter after work today.

Oscar’s face filled her screen, his hair mussed, white t-shirt hanging loose around his neck. The hotel lamp behind him cast a soft golden glow, and his voice was low and tired when he said, “Hey.”

Francesca smiled without meaning to, her laptop perched on her thighs and a mug balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. “Hey. You sound half-asleep.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not. Just tired. Long day.”

She hummed, shifting her laptop slightly. “You didn’t have to call me tonight. I know you’ve got another early start tomorrow.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question. 

They fell into a lull, not uncomfortable. Oscar reached for something offscreen — probably a bottle of water — while Francesca scrolled back through the rough notes she’d been making for her book. Her screen glowed faintly, a scattered mess of plot threads, character traits, and one lonely bullet point that just said: Let them kiss, eventually.

“What are you working on?” Oscar asked, his voice soft, easy. His thumb rested against his cheek as he watched her like she was the most interesting thing on screen—not whatever was playing on Netflix in the background.

Francesca laughed quietly, the sound half-nervous, half-flattered. Her neck flushed warm. “The outline. For the book.”

“Ah, yes. The very-big-deal-but-trying-to-play-it-cool publisher thing.” His grin was lopsided and teasing, but his eyes were full of something else — something that made her stomach flutter. She’d told him about it the second Katie had left, unable to keep it to herself. That had been two weeks ago.

“Have you figured out the, uh, plot yet?” he asked, genuine curiosity softening the teasing.

“Sort of,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “It’s messy right now. But I keep thinking about how to write two people who don’t make sense on paper. Like — different lives, different worlds. But they find this… perfect little space where things make sense. With each other.”

Oscar’s eyes held hers for a moment, steady. “That sounds good. Familiar.” 

She blushed, immediately looked back at her screen. “It’s just a first draft. I probably won’t like it by next week.”

He grinned. “Can I be the first to read it?”

“You don’t even read.” She shot back.

“I’d read anything if you were the one to write it.”

Francesca tried to hide the way her breath caught, but it was pointless — the screen was too intimate. Too real.

Oscar must have noticed. Instead of pushing, he leaned back against the headboard, stretching out those long limbs. “You’ve got your book. I’ve got my races. We’re both booked and busy for the next few months, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “But… it feels a little less overwhelming when I’m talking to you.”

His brows lifted — like he hadn’t expected her to say that out loud.

She bit her lip. “Too much?” She was always second-guessing what she should and shouldn’t say to him. This whole getting to know each other while also maybe-flirting thing was still very new to her.

“No,” he said, his voice low, warm, and firmer than usual. “Not even a little.”

The screen flickered slightly as he shifted beneath the covers, yawning into his shoulder. “You keep working. I’m just gonna close my eyes and listen to you type. Don’t mind me.”

Utterly ridiculous.

She watched him through the screen, his face half-shadowed in the low hotel light, eyes still closed. For a minute, she just listened to the sound of his breathing, even and slow.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she asked — quietly, like the question was delicate in her mouth, “If we’re both this busy… how are we going to make it work? The — uh — us meeting thing…”

Oscar’s eyes opened, slow and steady. He looked right at her — really looked. All the sleepiness disappeared in an instant.

“When you’re ready,” he said, voice steady and certain. “When you say the word — I’ll make it happen, Francesca.”

Francesca swallowed. “Even if it’s… months from now?”

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Next week, six months. Next year.” He stressed the words. “When you’re ready, I’ll find the time. I’ll show up. I’ll be there.”

She blinked, unsure what to say, a warmth blooming somewhere deep in her chest. No one had ever spoken to her like that — like effort was the bare minimum, like she was worth rearranging a life for.

He smiled then, softer now. “You’re not something I’m just squeezing in whenever I have a spare five minutes, Francesca.”

She lowered her gaze to her laptop screen, biting back a ridiculous smile. “You really know how to mess with a girl’s focus, Piastri.”

His laugh was quiet, happy. “Good.”

—

Francesca sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop propped up on a stack of pillows. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, painting soft, warm streaks across her duvet. Dr. Kapoor’s face filled the screen, serene and steady as always.

“You mentioned last time that you were ready to try something new,” she said gently, “something uncomfortable.”

Francesca nodded, fingers toying with the edge of the pillow she was hugging to her stomach. “Yeah,” she said. “I went for this, uh, stupid little walk. Literally just to the postbox at the end of my street and then straight back.”

Dr. Kapoor smiled. “A walk isn’t stupid.”

“No,” Francesca agreed with a small huff, “but it was hard. That’s what’s stupid.” She paused, then added, “I was out of the flat for ten minutes, maybe. No headphones. I looked at people.” Her voice dropped slightly, like saying it too loudly might unravel the fragile progress she’d made. “I didn’t turn around early. I wasn’t sick in my neighbours bush.”

Dr. Kapoor’s expression softened. “That’s a big deal, Francesca. How did you feel afterwards, once you got home?”

“Proud,” she admitted, wringing her hands together. “Also like I might never do it again.”

She laughed lightly. “You’ll do it again. Pride is a very strong motivator.”

Francesca hummed. “I journaled after. Like we talked about.”

“And what did you write?”

“That I was scared,” she said, looking down. “And I didn’t die. And I didn’t need anyone to come get me. I did it alone. It felt… weird. Good weird. Kind of.”

There was a long pause as Dr. Kapoor took that in. “That’s a great self-reflection. Honest.”

Francesca stared at a little chip in her nail polish. “I have spent years waiting for things to just magically get easier,” she said eventually. “Like one day, I���d wake up and it just wouldn’t be hard anymore. But that’s not going to happen, is it? Not even when I’m taking medication.”

“No,” Dr. Kapoor said, not unkindly. “It won’t. Not like that.”

The lump in Francesca’s throat tightened, but she nodded. She didn’t cry. That was something.

“Do you want to try something bigger this week?” Dr. Kapoor asked.

Francesca’s eyes flicked to the corner of the screen, to her own pale reflection. “Define bigger.”

“How would you feel about a short café visit? Ten minutes. Order something. Sit alone.”

Francesca blanched. “Oh god.”

“Trying is the goal,” Dr. Kapoor said warmly. “Not perfection. Not comfort. Just the attempt. You can always walk to the cafe and then go straight home. You could get a to-go drink. Or you could sit inside and just let yourself take up the space that you’re entitled to.”

Francesca gave a little shrug. “Would it be cheating if I wore my headphones and took a book with me?”

“Not cheating,” her therapist assured her. “That’s a very common coping mechanism. Just don’t let yourself  disappear into it. Try to take notice of the world around you, too.”

She managed a smile. It was small, but real. “Okay. Ten minutes. Book optional.”

Dr. Kapoor’s voice gentled again. “Is there anything else that you’d like to talk about?”

Francesca hesitated. Her thumb ran over the stitching on the pillow in slow, nervous circles. “I said yes to doing something,” she said finally. “To… meet someone new. Not soon, but eventually. I want to be braver by then.”

There was a quiet moment between them.

“Why?” Dr. Kapoor asked gently. “What is making you think that you need to be braver than you already are?”

Francesca blinked, her breath leaving her in a soft exhale. “I don’t know.”

“We’ve already talked about the book deal.” Dr. Kapoor recalled. “Taking on a project like that has taken a lot of bravery. Going for your walk? That took a lot of bravery too.” She pointed out. “I think, perhaps, you’re underestimating how much better you’re doing recently, Francesca. Six months ago, you couldn’t walk out of your front-door.”

Francesca stared at a small smudge on the screen. “I don’t notice it, when I’m doing well.” 

“Well,” Dr. Kapoor said, with an encouraging nod. “I’ve noticed it. I’m telling you. You are doing well.” 

Francesca smiled. 

— 

Francesca was curled up on her sofa, half-watching the podium interviews and half-scrolling through messages when Oscar’s name lit up her phone screen.

She found that she was smiling before she even answered.

He looked exhausted, glowing with sweat — post-race adrenaline still clinging to him. His cap was backwards, damp curls sticking out at the edges. “Hey,” he said, eyes bright. “Did you see that overtake?”

Francesca laughed. “Crofty lost his mind, Osc.” She stared at him, feeling ridiculously fond. “Yeah. I saw.”

Oscar beamed. “Felt pretty good. Not gonna lie.”

“You looked like you were flying out there,” she told him, her voice light. “Literally, at some points. I don’t understand how you can go around corners so fast and not just, like… tip over or something.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, only amateurs tip their cars on the apex.”

Francesca flushed. “Oh, shut up.”

There was a beat of silence, then his expression softened, dimples barely visible beneath the shadow of his cap. “Thanks for watching.”

She looked down, fingers tightening around her phone. “You don’t have to thank me. I like watching you.” She hesitated, then added with a small smile, “I might need to send a scathing email to Sky Sports, though. They don’t show you nearly enough on the main broadcast. I can’t deal with the onboard — makes me nauseous.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound curling around her ribs. “Yeah, I’d rather you didn’t ride onboard with me, honestly. If something happened—” He broke off suddenly, jaw tightening. His eyes flicked away like he’d said too much.

The air between them shifted.

Her stomach dropped. It was too easy to forget what he did. To pretend, for her own comfort, that it was safe. Controlled. Not dangerous.

She sucked in a slow breath, already feeling the panic creeping in at the edges. “I’ll call you later,” she said quickly, before he could say anything else. Before she could spiral.

Then she ended the call—like a coward.

— 

The paddock buzzed with celebration after Ferrari’s victory, but Oscar barely noticed. He moved quickly, head down, nodding absently at a few crew members as he passed. Lando’s driver’s room door was half-shut, muffled music playing from inside.

Oscar knocked once, then let himself in.

Lando looked up from where he was sprawled on the small couch, a half-finished protein shake in hand. “Alright, mate,” he said. “Don’t you have some post-race debrief to be at?”

Oscar shut the door behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

Lando sat up, brows lifting. “Francesca?”

Oscar nodded once. He didn’t sit — just crossed the room and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “She hung up on me. We were talking after the race. I said something—about my onboard camera, how I didn’t want her watching it, just in case something ever happened. She went quiet. Said goodbye. Ended the call.”

Lando frowned. “You think you freaked her out?”

“I know I did.” Oscar dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s so easy to forget how not-normal this sport is to normal people.”

Lando set his drink down. “Right. I get that. She’ll probably get used to it though, yeah? I’ve had girlfriends freak out about it too, but once they realise how rare the big crashes are—”

“This isn’t like that,” Oscar cut in, quieter now. “She’s not just someone I met last weekend.” He hesitated, then added, “She’s got her stuff. Anxiety — a lot of it. She doesn’t really leave her flat much. But she’s trying. She’s been pushing herself and… I think I went too far with it.”

Lando was quiet, thoughtful for once. “Okay. Give her space. Let her process. But don’t vanish on her. Send her a message. Let her know you’re still here. Let her decide when to come back in.”

Oscar let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. “It’d be so much easier if she liked F1.”

“She doesn’t need to like F1,” Lando said with a small, knowing smirk. “She likes you.”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned toward the door, hand on the handle, then paused. “You ever think this job makes it impossible to have a normal relationship?”

“All the time,” Lando said, not even pretending otherwise. “But look at Max. Lewis. Charles. They’ve all figured it out. Doesn’t mean it’s easy. Just means it’s possible.”

Oscar nodded once, not quite smiling, but something close. “Yeah. Alright.”

Then he left — already reaching for his phone.

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca 

Oscar: 

I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t even mean to say it. I’m so used to the people I care about being used to this stuff. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. 

Francesca:

pls don’t say sorry. im the one who should be sorry. i shouldn’t have hung up. i just felt myself getting worked up and that’s embarrassing, lol. i felt silly for it 

Oscar: 

You’re not silly. I promise. 

Francesca: 

um. quick question. when is your next bit of time off? 

Oscar: 

?

Francesca: 

i want you to come to london, osc

i need this to be real. 

Oscar: 

Wednesday?

Francesca: 

which wednesday? 

Oscar:

As in three days from now 

That Wednesday 

Francesca: 

Oscar.

Oscar: 

You said the words. No taking them back now. 

Send me your address. Don’t overthink this. 

I’ll call you in an hour, yeah? Just got a few more things to do before going back to the hotel

Francesca: 

okay <3

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca: SOS actual sos mayday mayday girl down

Katie: …what happened did henry throw up on your laptop again

Francesca: OSCAR IS COMING TO LONDON TO MY FLAT ON WEDNESDAY AS IN. WEDNESDAY. IN THREE (3) DAYS. TO MY HOME. WHERE I LIVE.

Katie: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I AM CALMLY SCREAMING

Francesca: i said the words like an idiot “i want you to come to london, osc” WHO EVEN AM I

Katie: i’m so proud of you

Francesca: i just stood there staring at my mirror for 11 minutes trying to decide if i should buy new sheets WHAT IF HE THINKS MY PILLOWS ARE WEIRD or what if henry bites him or what if i bite him

Katie: … fran.

Francesca: not in like a weird way i just i’m spiraling

Katie: you’re going to be FINE you like him he likes you he’s coming because he wants to not because your pillowcases are perfectly crisp

Francesca: but they’re not though they’re old and faded and they have little stars on them

Katie: which is exactly the kind of thing a soft boy in love would find charming now breathe make your outline order yourself some new teabags clean the bathroom and maybe light a candle

Francesca: i am lighting twelve candles. 

Katie: do not set your flat on fire before wednesday. he’s gonna fall in love with you, fran. just wait.

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Hattie

Oscar: Can I ask you something without you being annoying about it

Hattie: no promises x

Oscar: How do you know when something is real Like Not a fling Not a distraction But like. A real thing

Hattie: oh boy do i need to sit down for this

Oscar: I’m being serious There’s this girl Francesca I think I’ve mentioned her?

Hattie: only every time we talk lol go on

Oscar: She asked me to come to London To see her Like, properly Not just texting or FaceTiming anymore And I said yes. I am going. Wednesday

Hattie: wait THIS Wednesday?? as in three days??

Oscar: That’s the one We’ve both been busy. And now suddenly it’s happening. And I’m… I don’t know Excited. Nervous. Like I want to be good for her I want to make it easy

Hattie: Oof You’ve got it bad huh

Oscar: I think so She doesn’t have an easy time with people Or places She struggles with stuff But she’s let me in. Slowly And I just keep thinking If she’s brave enough to try I don’t want her to ever regret it 

Hattie: Wow Mum’s gonna lose her mind

Oscar: If you tell Mum before I do, I swear

Hattie: cross my heart but seriously you’re doing good and it is real because you care enough to ask all this just be gentle with her be yourself and don’t forget she has a cat

Oscar: I bought cat treats earlier Just in case

Hattie: I love that for you Let me know how it goes And if you panic and need someone to scream-text at, I’ll be on standby

Oscar: You’re a legend Thanks Hatt x

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Lando

Oscar: So I’m going to London on Wednesday

Lando: ok? for what? media? sim?

Oscar: To see Francesca

Lando: ??? WAIT LIKE SEE HER IN PERSON??

Oscar: Yes Lando In person With my eyes

Lando: bro it’s SUNDAY how did we go from “she hung up on me” to “I’m flying to a whole other country” in less than 2 hours

Oscar: She asked me to Said she wants this to feel real I told her to send her address and I’d be there

Lando: who are you and what have you done with my emotionally constipated teammate

Oscar: Growth x

Lando: ngl i’m kind of proud but also slightly terrified like you know you’re in deep, right?

Oscar: I’m aware Does it show

Lando: mate you just casually dropped that you’re making international travel plans because a girl said “I need this to be real” yes. it shows.

Oscar: I don’t want to mess it up

Lando: just be yourself and try not to talk about tyres during dinner or whatever

Oscar: Copy that

Lando: also tell her i can’t wait to meet her bring her to a race. eventually. when she’s ready

Oscar: One step at a time But yeah We’d have to work something out for her. To make it possible 

Lando: zac would sort something if u asked. i can always help out. she seems nice. worth it

Oscar: Thanks mate. She is 

—

Francesca stood in the middle of her living room, clutching a half-damp cloth and staring blankly at the coffee table she’d already wiped down three times. Henry was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, unimpressed by the chemical smell in the air. She’d cracked one of the windows open for him.

“Okay,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Cool. This is better.”

The apartment smelled like fresh linen and lavender. She’d lit one of her aromatherapy candles — not a cheap supermarket one, but the fancy soy one she usually saved for special occasions or very bad days. The couch cushions had been fluffed. She’d washed her bedsheets, then panicked and washed them again. Just in case.

But now… now she didn’t know.

How was this supposed to go? 

Was he going to… stay in her apartment? Or was he just coming for the afternoon? She hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t said, and now it felt too late to bring it up without it being weird.

Would he eve want to stay with her?

Would that be too much? Too soon?

Francesca looked around her flat, and all she saw was a space that had, for a long time, been her sanctuary. Her bubble. Her little island of calm in a world that was too loud and too fast.

Letting someone into it — him, of all people — felt both right and utterly terrifying.

She moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and immediately closed it again. She didn’t even know what he liked. Was he a tea or coffee person? Did F1 drivers eat carbs? She only ate carbs.

“Get a grip,” she muttered, pressing her palms against her face. “It’s just Oscar.”

Still, her heart rattled against her ribs like it wanted to make a run for it.

She tried to shake it off — the nerves, the overthinking — but it clung to her like static. Taking a breath, she reminded herself of Katie’s advice from their last FaceTime: “Be more open. Talk to him when you start freaking out. He’ll appreciate it, and you’ll feel so much better for it.”

So, she reached for her phone. Hovered. Then typed — quickly, before she could spiral.

Francesca: hey, quick question. are you getting a hotel or do you want to stay with me? i totally don’t mind either way! just figuring out things out 

Her phone buzzed twenty minutes later — just as she was elbow-deep in laundry, holding a long-sleeved shirt like it had personally wronged her.

She wiped her hands on her joggers and grabbed the phone, pulse jumping.

Oscar: Hey, just boarding now — sorry for the delay. I’ve got a hotel booked, don’t worry. You don't need to worry about anything, actually. I never want you to feel pressured. We can do whatever feels right, okay? I’m just happy I get to see you.

Francesca stared at the screen, a strange pressure building behind her eyes. Relief, affection, nerves — all of it bundled up into one messy emotion that made her want to both laugh and cry.

She sat down on the couch, Henry immediately hopping up beside her and kneading at her thigh with his murder mittens.

Francesca: okay. thank you for being so normal about this (normal in a good way, not like, boring) also i am definitely spiralling a bit but trying to be chill about it. so you might be on your way to meet a full-blown anxious ghost x

Oscar: Lol You could be an actual ghost and I’d still like you I’ll text when I land x

She set her phone down again — more gently this time — and pushed down a girlish squeal. 

— 

Her phone rang again not long after Oscar’s message. She almost didn’t check it before answering — assuming it was Katie, maybe — but when she glanced at the screen and saw “Izzy (ugh)", her stomach sank.

She hesitated, thumb hovering. Then, stupidly, she answered.

“Francesca,” came the clipped voice, already laced with tension. “Mum wants to know if you’re going to bother coming in August, or if we should just stop asking.”

“I— I already told you that I probably won’t be able to make it,” Francesca said, already shrinking into herself.

Izzy sighed like she was exhausted. “It’s just rude, you know? You can’t keep isolating yourself and expecting everyone else to keep reaching out. I feel like we’re making all of the effort.”

Francesca said nothing.

“And honestly,” her sister continued, “you've turned yourself into some kind of influencer, and you post videos of yourself and pictures to thousands of people, but you can’t even make the effort to get over yourself and come to see us. Mum thinks you hate her.”

She felt the old heat behind her eyes, the way it always came — fast and uninvited. “What? No. Of course I don’t hate her. I’m just… I’m doing my best here, Izzy.”

“That’s not good enough forever, you know.”

The call ended five minutes later. It might as well have been one long exhale of shame.

Francesca sat for a while on the floor by the laundry basket, arms curled around her knees, trying not to cry. But Henry came to her again, head-butting her shin softly. And then she remembered: Oscar. On a plane, coming to see her. Choosing her. Wanting this.

She got up.

She wiped her face.

She washed her hands and re-tied her hair and changed into clean joggers. Then she took a deep breath and said to the empty flat, “he doesn’t get to meet that version of me today.”

Because maybe she couldn’t make her family understand her. But maybe she didn’t need to, not when someone else already seemed to — and liked her despite it all.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: Hey, just checking in. How’s the heart rate? Has he landed yet??

Francesca: no idea. i think so? maybe? i’ve stress-cleaned everything. henry thinks i’m possessed or smth. also my sister called. so that was fun! but i’m… okay. i think. maybe.

Katie: Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to say mean things about Izzy until you smile?

Francesca: i think i just needed to say it out loud to someone who gets it. i don’t want him to walk in and think i’m this emotional swamp of a person.

Katie: First of all, he won’t. Second of all, you’re allowed to be a little bit of a swamp. He likes you anyway. Third… you’re doing great. I’m so proud of you. Really.

Francesca: thank you okay. i’m gonna go stare at the door like a weirdo now

Katie: You got this ❤️ Call me later and tell me everything, okay? Even the awkward stuff.

Francesca: of course

— 

She heard the lift *ding* before she heard the knock.

The soft sound that made her stomach lurch.

Henry, traitorous and uninterested, didn’t even lift his head from the sunspot on the carpet.

Francesca stood in the middle of the living room, palms damp, jumper slightly too warm, and heart beating hard enough to echo.

Three gentle knocks. Measured. Like he wasn’t sure how loud to be.

She walked to the door before she could psych herself out.

And there he was.

Oscar, in a hoodie and a pair of loose sweatpants, hair slightly flattened and one hand gripping the handle of a duffle bag. He looked a little tired, a little travel-worn, and entirely too good.

He smiled, soft and a little unsure. “Hi, beautiful girl.”

She opened the door wider. “Hi.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer than necessary, until Oscar let out a breath and stepped inside. He didn’t touch her right away — just looked at her with that same warm focus she’d seen through every FaceTime screen.

“I didn’t know if I should hug you or—”

She stepped into him before he could finish, arms winding around his middle. He didn’t hesitate then — his duffle bag hit the floor and his strong arms encircled around her, sturdy and steady and real. She could feel his heart through his hoodie, fast like hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she mumbled, her voice catching.

He smiled into her hair, his hold on her tightening, and for a brief moment, she wondered how inappropriate it would be to ask him to never, ever let her go. “Thanks for letting me in.” He mumbled. 

They stayed there, tangled in the doorway, until Henry finally meowed in protest — as if to say shut the door, it’s cold — and Francesca laughed softly against his shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE

[delusional-day-dreamer]

New Year's Kiss - p.b

‣ paige bueckers x reader

‣ wc: 3567

‣‣ synopsis: you were known as one of the calmest, most well-tempered players on the ucon wbb roster. so what happens if you lose your cool for the first time in a game? takes place at the uconn vs notre dame game on dec 31, 2022: based off this post/req from my nonnie 🫶, and lowk inspired by paige's bloody nose at the uconn vs seton hall game!

‣‣‣ a/n: hey guys.... i'm so sorry for being so inactive but the writer's block hit me HARD. I have a few more drafts in progress I hope to release this week, thank y'all SO MUCH for the support and patience! Also, for the opponent in this game i refer to her solely as the, "marquette girl", as i don't know their players that well and don't want to use an irl girl!

Up until the second half of the game, everything had been going decent for you. Sure, this game was one of the most aggressive of the season, but you were right in the peak of your season, so it made sense that emotions were running high with the pressure to do well.

But that didn't excuse the fact that the Marquette girl that had been assigned to defend you had been playing dirty the entire night. After the fucking hellish week you had just gotten through, this girl was about to be the straw that broke the camel's. your, back.

After Paige's acl tear in August and the work and energy you had been endlessly pouring into your game from the past two and a half years till now, you had basically solidified your place as one of the main starters on the team, which meant you were receiving a lot more consistent playing time. The thought of being a more prominent player on the team didn't panic you the way it might others, as you you were known for always being a very level-headed, reliable player under pressure, as you had been dubbed by the media as the "Silent Assassin". But tonight was proving to test your limits to the max.

Any time you were on the court for the first two quarters, the Marquette girl had been glued to you, illegally all up in your space, pushing and shoving at you, taunting you over and over again, and even tripping you once when you lunged for the ball. All of which she had done without receiving a single foul, which not only pissed you off, but also your teammates on the court, the players on your bench, and your coach.

And of course, the one time you had defended yourself against her in the second quarter was the only time the ref called a foul on both of you. She had nearly pressed herself up against you the second your hands came in contact with the ball, leaving you with no choice but to pass to your teammate Aaliyah to sink a layup, when she hooked her arm through yours and pulled just as the ball left your hands.

Her unnecessary aggression caused something to snap inside of you, as the second you felt her yank on your arm, you turned around to push her off of you, hard. She stumbled backwards a little bit, not tripping or hitting the ground in any way, but the damage had been done in the, very biased, eyes of the refs.

The two of you rapidly reacted, approaching each other as you were yelling out meaningless threats and a long string of curses. Thankfully, your teammates holding the two of you back firmly, preventing any further physical altercations.

The two of you both received technical fouls for the unnecessary physical contact and unsportsmanlike behaviour. However, the foul you received only irked you more. Why were the only fouls called on her when it involved you pushing back? Could they not see the way she was treating you the entire game?

And of course, Geno wasn't thrilled about one of his starters getting a tech in the first half of the game. While benched, he had chewed you out for losing your temper at her, especially for cursing, which was something refs never let slide. But his reprimands didn't hold the usual level of anger or frustration, as he internally agreed that the Marquette girl had it coming for her, but, he had to remain professional.

Of course basketball was a physical sport, and with aggression came some conflicts with other players, but her behaviour tonight was unprovoked and incredibly aggravating to you. Which only worsened in the third quarter.

After your tech, you had been trying your best to ignore the incredibly annoying actions of the Marquette girl, but you simply couldn't anymore after she had purposely elbowed you in the nose to make her shot.

You immediately stumbled backwards, folding over at the waist as your hands came up in an attempt to alleviate the intense throbbing your nose felt. You could feel the blood begin to dribble down to your lip as you walked over to the bench with Lou escorting you, awaiting the ref's call.

The refs decided to not call a foul on the other girl, claiming that she hadn't reached backwards on purpose, it was simply the angle of her basket and granted UConn two free throws. The call enraged you, and something inside you snapped. You very quickly forgot about the tissue you were firmly holding at your nostrils as you approached him, insisting with him that the call was blind and blatantly biased.

You hadn't noticed the blood resumed to flow down your face while arguing until it hit your mouth, but you paid no mind to the taste of iron that filled your mouth as you persisted angrily speaking to the ref.

"Paige, go get her before she gets another tech," Geno whispered into Paige's ears over by the bench.

She nodded at him, making her way over to you to pull you away from the ref who was now threatening to eject you from the game.

"Okay enough, you need to get checked out by the team medic," Paige wrapped her arm around your waist to pull you away from your heated conversation, despite your struggle against her. She wasn't that much taller than you, but the extra two ish inches she had on you were proving useful right now.

She dragged you over to the bench, ignoring your many protests. She pried the used, bloody tissue out of your fingers to toss to the medic waste bag, grabbing new ones from her hand to help your bloody nose. It was apparent to everyone on your team, even the fans watching, that your stubbornness wouldn't allow you to accept the call that easily and allow the medic to clean you up. So, Paige would just have to do it herself.

Since your first day on the Uconn campus, you and Paige had become extremely close. With the two of you being assigned roommates your freshman year, the COVID year, it would've been impossible to not become best friends, considering the fact that you spent all of your time together.

If not at practice or hanging out with the team, the two of you were trapped inside your dorm, forced to find company within each other for the entire year. And with Paige's injury her sophomore year, you were one of the only people she was able to open up to, other than Azzi, and you had become her comfort during her rehab time, both then and now. Despite no longer being roommates, you two still always hung out at each other's respective dorm, even having frequent sleepovers.

Your incredibly close relationship wasn't left unnoticed by the media either, especially social media platforms like tiktok. When Paige and Azzi denied the relationship allegations at the same time you made it clear that you liked girls, the internet quickly refocused their attention onto you and Paige, and neither of you had the heart to deny any rumors circulating. Considering that after Azzi, you were the least active on your social media when it came to anything other than basketball, it wasn't too hard to ignore the internet's speculation.

All of which to say, Paige had made it incredibly easy for you to catch feelings for her. Until her, you had never known what it was like to be completely head over heels for someone. The way your heart skipped any time the two of you made eye contact, the way your cheeks flushed when she brushed against you, and the chemistry the two of you shared on and off the court was undeniable.

Unbeknownst to you, she felt the exact same way, and for the last two years, everyone but you two could see the feelings you harbored for each other.

If only you could feel the way her heart was beating as she held your face in one hand, using the other to apply pressure to your nose and wipe away at the blood on your face, neck, and jersey as she listened to you rant about the refs and how they were cheating you guys out of fouls the entire game. Although, she wasn't able to focus on the words coming out of your mouth, only the plumpness of your lips as they moved, something you noticed as your verbal attack slowed down so you could take a breath in between your sentences.

"She's literally fucking stuck up my ass and the refs ignore her which is actual bullshit, the amount of times this girl has literally made unnecessary contact or-, Paige are you even listening to me?"

Her lingering gaze on your mouth quickly snapped up to your eyes, a sheepish smile settling onto her now flushed cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah sorry."

She wiped the remaining blood from around your nose before calling over the medic to check your nose. A small bruise had formed near the bridge, but thankfully it wasn't broken. While she was checking your nose, Paige did her best to avoid meeting your curious stares.

Of course the two of you had small moments where you could envision that Paige felt the same for you. But never one that was so blatantly obvious as her staring at your lips, especially so publicly.

Nonetheless, you barely had time to analyze the interaction before the medic was clearing you to return to the game, Paige patting your butt (this) as you jogged by her to sub back into the game, which, until the handshake line, went without any further incidents, despite your team beating them by 13 points (HVL VS TEXAS Y'ALL).

When passing by you, you heard her mutter under her breath, "fucking bitch," in response to your half-hearted, "good game". It was safe to say you didn't take that well, responding to her with, "you wanna come say that to my fucking face? Pussy ass bitch." For both of your sakes, Dorka and one of her teammates were able to keep pushing the two of you down the line and out to the lockers before the post-game conference with Lou, Nika, and Dorka, which Geno insisted you attend to apologize for your behaviour.

***Small Time Skip***

"So Y/N, the multiple incidents that occured tonight with you and (BLANK) from Georgetown, do you have anything to say about them? I mean, you're known for being a very calm and collected player, but tonight we saw a very different side of you," a reporter questioned you. The questions for you from tonight's post-game conference mostly avoided the fight, treading the waters carefully as it was unlike anything you had ever been involved in.

"I'm not gonna try and cover for myself or anything, it was unprofessional and unacceptable for me to lose my temper on the court like that. Like you said, I've always tried to place an emphasis on just basketball when playing and avoid any other personal feelings or problems, but I guess tonight I didn't do as good of a job on that as I could of. This is something that I will keep in mind for all of our upcoming games as that's not the kind of image or reputation I want to set for myself or the team I represent. I would never want this kind of behaviour to be defining moments from our games because my teammates really put their all into every single one of their games, especially tonight's, and I don't want to create any personal animosity with the girls on the Marquette team, as I have a lot of respect for them."

Your diplomatic and cordial answer had appeased majority of the reporters, along with Geno and the team publicist in the back corner of the room. Except for one nosy reporter who seemed unhappy with your tactful response and was practically feining for drama.

“This one is for y/n, but with the events of today, you mentioned that you try to keep all personal feelings off the court. Is that an implication of some external underlying tension or problems between you and number (BLANK), as the two of you got quite physical today?”

What the fuck? Now they really were trying to start something between the two of you that never existed in the first place.

“No not at all. I have no connection with number (BLANK) off the court and don’t even personally know her. As I mentioned before, I have nothing but respect for the girls at Marquette and there are no hard feelings on my end. You know, basketball is a physical contact game and that just means that there a few rough moments here and there, it’s just part of the game.”

If they ask any more stupid questions about you and the Marquette girl you were actually gonna lose your mind. Especially if they somehow tie in the fact that you like girls with the fight.

Which, thankfully, they ended up dropping the fight for the rest of the interview, and you and the others were finally allowed to go out and celebrate New Year's Eve the way they had originally planned to.

The whole team, and Kayla of course, was prepared to celebrate at your favorite local bar, Ted's. All of the girls who were taken were bringing their partners along and those of you who were single were all ready to hunt someone down for a drunken kiss at midnight. Except you.

You were far too down bad for Paige to even fathom kissing someone else at the moment, especially not while going out with her and the rest of the team, who all knew about your ginormous crush on Paige.

Nonetheless, you still did your best to get ready quickly, wearing your baggiest pair of low-rise cargo pants and a very cropped white halter tank top in an attempt to cheer yourself up from the fact you wouldn't have a New Year's kiss this year, again.

But by the time you were throwing back shots at the bar like they were water, you couldn't find it in you to care about how single you were. It was common knowledge that you weren't the best at holding your liquor, as the team often made fun of your ability to get drunk off of two to three shots, which is exactly the position you found yourself in.

Until, of course, "guardian angel Paige" decided she needed to intervene in your drinkfest, walking up to your barstool and effectively cutting you off by having the bartender replace your drink with a regular shirley temple just before midnight so that she, or any of your other friends, wouldn't have to deal with you throwing up at four in the morning.

"You gotta go easy on the shots y/n/n, you're gonna hate yourself in the morning if you keep drowning your liver in alcohol."

"Funny, coming from Storrs's resident party girl, Miss Madison," you teased. There were only about twenty minutes left until bar's tv would depict the ball dropping in New York, and the disparity of your situation had begun to sink in.

Not only would you be suffering through another New Year's with no midnight kiss, but you had no relationships since last year or even a single talking stage, no potential relationship prospects for the future, and worst of all, no Paige.

"Yeah well, at least I can hold my drinks. You, on the other hand, are the most lightweight out of all of us. Besides, what happened to your little New Years tradition, the whole eating the grapes thing to find the love of your life or whatever?"

You went off on a little drunken tangent at this, complaining that it was completely ineffective, but also, the fact that it made you look stupid in front of the entire team when absolutely nothing came out of it.

"I mean it's so dumb. I don't get why my love life is so barren, like actually non-existent, it's not like I'm super unattractive or anything like that. Right? But like, I don't even have a midnight kiss this year, again," you grumbled to Paige, unaware of the way she was staring at your lips for the second time today, mesmerized by their movements.

"You are most definitely not unattractive. You're like one of the most attractive people I know. Besides, it's not like I'm kissing anyone this year," Paige reassured you, and somehow, your drunk brain simply did not process the way she had flusteredly complimented you.

"Yeah but you're Paige Bueckers," you emphasized, "you could kiss anyone in this bar if you wanted. Men and women, single and taken, would literally form a line two blocks down if you even mentioned wanting to kiss someone," you gazed up at Paige from your leaned position against the bartop, watching as the gears turned behind her eyes.

"Anyone in the bar? Like, anyone at all?" She asked you curiously, a small smirk graced her features as she peered down at you.

"Yeah probably, but there's only like two minutes left or something, so you should pick someone soon."

"Oh I already have someone picked out, I just don't know if they would kiss me back."

"Oh?" You felt your stomach drop at her statement, and you couldn't stop the jealousy from coursing through your veins if your life had depended on it. But Paige's unwavering gaze never left your face, and you could feel your cheeks flush at the way she was intently looking at you.

"Quite the staring problem tonight P?"

"Well it's pretty hard to not stare at the prettiest girl in the room," she flirted, scooting closer to you, effectively closing some of the distance between you two.

"I-, what?" You stuttered, taken back by Paige's actions.

"How many hints does I have to drop before you finally start picking up on them? I want to kiss you y/n, I want you."

The ten-second countdown had begun as Paige confessed to you, and you were left gawking at Paige's face, your heart threatening to give out from how fast it was beating.

"FIVE, FOUR,"

You yanked on Paige's belt loop, pulling her flush against your body as your eyes focused in on her lips.

"THREE, TWO, ONE, HAPPY NEW YEAR'S!""

Your right hand reached up to grab Paige's jaw at the end of the countdown, pulling her lips firmly down onto yours. The bar's loud chants barely registered to you as you lost yourself in the intoxication of Paige's lips. Your tongue glided across her lip as your mouths moved in unison, causing her to groan into you. You took it as an invitation to slip your tongue into her mouth, the kiss deepening with unrestrained passion.

Your built-up need for each other was apparent as you made out, sending shivers down your spine at the pressure of her mouth against yours. It felt as if she was the oxygen you needed to breathe, and now that you had her, there was no way you could let her go now.

***The next morning: New Year's Day***

Your eyes fluttered open with a pounding headache, yet, the utterly familiar weight of a certain pairs of hands around your waist provided a sense of comfort you knew only she could provide.

Paige's soft snores rung out throughout the room, and as you gently reached forward to her nightstand to grab your phone off charging, you realize it was still extremely early in the morning, not even eight a.m.

And yet, your phone was blowing up with notifications from all social media platforms, even your text messages had over a hundred notifications.

Confused, you click on the apps to check what all the fuss was about, quickly realizing what had happened.

The entire interaction between you and Paige at the game was recorded by the cameramen and had instantaneously made it's way all over the internet, only fueling the dating rumors about the two of you.

The comments and posts were going feral at the way Paige was the only one who could calm you down, the way she wrapped her arms around your waist to pull you back, her holding your face ever so delicately, her smacking your butt as you ran back onto the court, and of course, her transparent staring at your lips the entire time you were an inch apart from her.

"What are you looking at baby," Paige sleepily mumbled into your neck, tightening her grip around your waist to pull you further into her, slinging her right leg over your waist.

You put your phone down and turned in her hold, wrapping your arms around her body as you peered down at Paige's sleepy face, admiring how beautiful she always looked.

"Your fans are going crazy about how obviously down bad you are for me P," you teased, running your foot up and down her calf as Paige pressed her face into your chest to absorb your body heat.

"Let them, just go back to sleep with me for a little bit longer."

And of course, how could you ever say no when your girlfriend was asking you so sweetly?

a/n: thank you for reading all the way through, and i'm so sorry if the ending is kinda rushed, i just wanted to finally get another fic out 🤗

[kxsagi]

Here is my "hear me out" for today because i have been having a brainrot after sth i have read about him ;

Isagi is the embodiment of the song 24/7 by Celina Sharma and Harris J. That song captures EVERYTHING i wanna say to him , maybe even less.

What would your thoughts be on this ?

(It's not a request , just a little hot take. Luv you and your works. Take careee...🩵🩷)

“𝟐𝟒/𝟕 𝐢’𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: I LIKE THIS SONG OMG??? this is the first time i listened to it and i fell in love immediately (it’s giving me niki vibes)

also haven’t written a oneshot in a while and i feel the same way about isagi + had a similar idea in my drafts so 🌚

“can we talk?” 

you don’t mean for it to come out so quiet, so unsure. but isagi’s halfway into his second protein bar of the night and you’re not sure if he’ll even register it. 

but he does. of course he does. 

his eyes flicker up, a little wide with surprise, and then soften immediately. “yeah. ‘course.” 

he sets the bar aside without finishing it. turns off the TV. shifts to face you fully on the couch like it’s something serious. and suddenly your heart does this dumb little backflip. because of course he takes you seriously. even when you don’t take yourself seriously. 

you suck in a breath. “i’ve been… thinking.” 

“uh-oh,” he grins. “dangerous.” 

you throw a pillow at him. he catches it, laughing, and hugs it to his chest. you don’t even know how he makes that look endearing. 

“i’m serious.” 

“okay, okay.” he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. his voice gentles. “what’s going on?” 

you look at your hands, then at him, and then somewhere in the middle because eye contact feels like standing on a ledge. “i just… wanna talk. about us.” 

“us?” 

you nod. 

he straightens, alert now, all traces of teasing gone. “is something wrong?” 

“no– i mean– kind of.” you chew your lip. “not bad wrong. just… weird wrong. like, confusing.” 

isagi waits, patient and still, like he's determined to give you all the time in the world. 

you groan. “ugh, okay, this is going to sound so sappy and maybe a little unhinged, but you know how we started casual, right?” 

“yeah.” 

“well. i don’t think i’m good at that.” 

he tilts his head. “at casual?” 

“at pretending it’s casual when it’s clearly not.” you finally look him in the eye. “i miss you even when you’re just in the other room. i wait for your texts like i’m twelve. and i keep telling myself, ‘don’t be clingy, don’t be needy,’ but i’m not even mad about it anymore.” 

“you’re not?” 

“no! i’m just– ugh, i like you. too much. and i don’t think it’s casual anymore. not for me.” 

your face is burning. you want to crawl into a hole. but isagi doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. like he’s stunned. 

and then, in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him, he says: “good.” 

your eyebrows furrow. “good?” 

“yeah,” he exhales, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “because i’ve been going insane trying to act normal about you. and i’m so bad at acting.” 

you blink. “wait. you too?” 

“you think i haven’t noticed every time you laugh and cover your mouth with your sleeve like it’s illegal to be that cute? or how i check my phone way too much even when i know you’re at work and won’t answer right away? or how i play back your voice in my head like it’s a freaking playlist?” 

you’re… stunned. 

isagi continues, now pacing himself like he’s catching up to a confession he’s been dying to say out loud. 

“every time i walk you home and you wave at me from your window, it’s like– i don’t know, like the sun came back out. i go back and lie in bed smiling like an idiot. you got me all in my head.” 

you press a hand over your face. “we’re so down bad.” 

he laughs, sweet and sheepish. “i know.” 

“and you’re okay with that?” 

he scoots closer. “i’m more than okay with it. i wanna be yours. not kinda, not technically, not maybe if it works out. just yours.” 

your heart clenches. you whisper, “you mean that?” 

“yeah,” he says, brushing his fingers against yours. “24/7, it’s just you. you, you, you, you–” 

“okay,” you groan, cutting him off with a flustered smack to his arm, “don’t quote the song, you loser.” 

“you started it!” he laughs, catching your hand and holding it. 

you let him. 

“so, what now?” you murmur. 

he intertwines your fingers and leans his forehead against yours. “now we stop pretending.” 

you nod, breath catching. “okay.” 

“now you tell me all the things you were too afraid to say before.” 

“okay.” 

“and now we order food and make out during the delivery wait time.” 

you laugh. “okay.” 

“and i get to post that blurry photo of you from last weekend and caption it ‘mine.’” 

you blink. “no.” 

“please?” 

“not until i approve it!” 

“so you're saying there's a chance?” 

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling so hard it’s embarrassing. 

isagi yoichi is grinning at you like he just won the world cup again. and in a way, maybe he has. 

because you’re not just a secret anymore. not just a maybe. 

you’re his. 

and 24/7, he’s thinking about you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[demie90s]

ᴅɪᴀɴᴀ ᴛᴀᴜʀᴀꜱɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Say Less

MASTERLIST | MORE | Pt.2

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You weren’t born a prodigy. You were overlooked, counted out, told to try another sport before you even had a chance to believe in yourself. But when you came back, you came back different.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Sports drama, hurt/comfort, slow-burn trust, silent intimacy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Childhood emotional trauma, mental burnout, emotional numbness, disordered relationship with food/performance

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~4k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: You don’t talk—but your game does. And Diana hears it loud.

I wasn’t supposed to make it. That’s what they told me when I was ten years old, scrawny and wide-eyed, dribbling a ball way too big for my hands. “Not your sport.” “Try soccer.” “You’re fast, but not smart with the ball.” One trainer even shook his head and said, “No.” Just that—no. Like my dream was a request and he was the authority to deny it. And I believed him. For years, I did. I sat on benches, cheered for girls who weren’t better than me—just louder, just more wanted. I stopped playing. Stopped hoping. Until one day I didn’t. Until I looked in the mirror at age fifteen and thought, “Fuck it. I’ve already lost everything. Might as well lose while trying.”

And that’s when everything changed.

I trained in silence. Cried in silence. Lifted in silence. While other girls were going to parties and prom dress fittings, I was lacing up my beat-up trainers, sprinting at midnight, rewatching film until my eyes bled. I clawed my way to the top, record by record. Number one recruit. Drafted first. ROTY. POTY. Headline after headline. And still… they said I wasn’t enough. “She don’t work hard.” “Five months, max, she’s out the league.” “Pretty face. Not real game.” They didn’t see me repping till my shoulders cracked. They didn’t see me fall on the weight room floor and crawl to the wall just to keep going. They didn’t see me replay the same clip ten times—ten!—wondering why the fuck I didn’t pivot, or why my elbow dropped on the release.

My life became a loop. Not a routine. A cycle. Wake up. Train. Shower. Watch my games. Eat half a meal while studying my flaws. Run. Like something’s behind me. Not jogging. Running like hell’s got my name. Lift heavy like my past is strapped to the bar. Eat again, not out of hunger but necessity, chewing while staring at my phone playing footage of what could’ve been done better. Smile at kids. Hype them up. Post for pics. “You’ll be better than me,” I tell them. And I mean it. Don’t idolize me. I’m not your blueprint. You are. Be you, but fearless. Be what I’m trying to become.

And yet… I’m quiet. They drafted me to Phoenix. I barely speak. Not because I don’t want to—but because I don’t know how anymore. My game talks. My stats talk. So I don’t.

And then there’s Diana.

She doesn’t say much. Doesn’t have to. She’s everything I studied. Everything I molded my game around. Cold, poised, calculated. Her legacy is cement. I’m barely carving mine. But she looks at me sometimes like she knows. Like she sees the exhaustion in my shoulders, the twitch in my fingers when I pretend to be still. I feel it when we sit across the locker room—her calm, my chaos.

She doesn’t call me out. Doesn’t ask questions. And that’s worse somehow. I don’t want to talk, but I want her to know. I want her to get it. I want someone to see me unraveling and not look away.

There was one night, post-practice, I sat in the shower long after the water turned cold. My body hurt. My mind was louder than the spray against the tile. I thought about staying there. Just sitting until I disappeared. When I came out, Diana was still there. Everyone else had gone. She was lacing up her shoes, slow and casual, but her eyes flicked up once—right at me. My hair was still dripping. I hadn’t changed. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Not a greeting. A knowing.

That did more than any pep talk ever could.

And still—I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

They say I’m “disciplined.” They don’t know I’m punishing myself. They say I’m “humble.” They don’t know I don’t believe in myself. They say I’m “next up.” I say I’m a fraud. I post on socials so they think I’m thriving. But inside? I’m cold. Tired. Burned out. I have no siblings. No parents. Just a godmother and her daughter in another state. My teammates feel like sisters—but they won’t be here forever. None of them will. When the noise dies down, who will still care? Who will stay?

Diana’s the only one who lingers after everyone else is gone. She doesn’t hover. Doesn’t press. She’ll walk past me in the facility, brush her knuckles against mine. A glance. A touch. That’s it. But it makes the ache dull for a second.

I tell myself I don’t need help. That I’m strong. But the truth is, I don’t ask because I’m scared of what I’ll say if I start talking. I’m scared the little girl in me will scream. I’m scared Diana will look at me differently.

So I stay quiet.Train harder. Sleep less. Smile for the cameras, then cry in the car.

And Diana? She keeps watching. Like she’s waiting. Like she knows one day I’ll break. And maybe when I do… she’ll be the one who stays.

She started her morning like always.

Alarm at 5:30. No snoozing. No hesitating. Straight to the gym. The weight room lights still buzzed when she walked in, hoodie up, eyes half-lidded but focused. It wasn’t discipline. It was obsession. She’d carved a routine into her bones—wake up, train, run, analyze, break herself down so no one else had to.

And today was no different.

The treadmill belt groaned beneath her feet as she ran. Not jogged. Not a casual warm-up. Ran. Like she was trying to outrun the younger version of herself, the ten-year-old kid who got laughed at by a trainer. Told to try something else. “You’re not built for this.” “Try soccer, at least you’re fast.” “Not your sport.” That voice still whispered in her ears, even now, with a pro jersey folded in her locker. Even now, after the draft. After the awards.

Her phone sat propped in front of the screen—old game film on loop. Clips of herself, every missed pass, every turnover, every slow rotation. Over. And over. She didn’t even realize three hours passed until her trainer came by, eyes wide.

“You good?”

She blinked. The screen was still playing. She’d restarted it without thinking. Sweat soaked through her tank. Her fingers trembled when she stepped off the treadmill. Her body was screaming for food—but she couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t afford to be full when she still felt empty.

She skipped breakfast. Again. Went straight to practice.

Didn’t talk. Didn’t look anyone in the eye. During breaks, when the others joked around or played music, she sat against the wall, headphones in, eyes glued to film on her phone. Studying. Critiquing. Dismissing praise in her head before anyone could offer it. And then—after the break—she was off. Bad passes. Hesitation. Missing shots she always made.

And then it happened. Mid-drill, she froze.

Just stood there, the ball loose in her hands, staring at the hardwood like it had answers. She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Her teammates called out to her, confused. Coach called her name. Nothing.

She finally moved, slow, like gravity had thickened around her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to the coach. “I—I’ll stay. I’ll make the shot.”

Everyone else left. She didn’t.

She stayed on the court until she made the shot that haunted her. Again. And again. Until her wrist went sore. Until the echo of the ball hitting the rim stopped making her flinch. Until it fell clean through the net.

She still didn’t eat.

Skipped dinner. Ignored the questions. Avoided the looks. She dragged herself to the team common room with a notebook, earbuds, and more game footage. The lights were low, most of the building asleep, but she sat up—3AM, eyes red, fingers scribbling notes to herself in the margins of an old scouting report.

She watched herself mess up. Rewound. Watched again. Rewound. Her face was blank. Just a slow shake of her head. Muttering under her breath. “I’m so stupid. That was easy. You hesitated.” Her pen dug into the page. “Get lower. React faster. You were open. Why didn’t you shoot?”

To her teammates, she was a beast. The hardest worker on the floor. Disciplined. Relentless. Serious. They respected her, praised her grind. But they didn’t see what she saw. They didn’t hear the voices.

She didn’t feel strong. She felt like a fraud.

She felt like she was one mistake away from being exposed. That all it would take was one bad game. One injury. One moment of failure for everyone to say what she’d feared since she was ten: “We knew it. She’s not good. She just worked hard.”

And maybe they’d be right.

That’s why she trained until her legs shook. Lifted for the kid who never believed in herself. Ran like her past was chasing her with a knife to her back. Watched game tape until her eyes blurred because she didn’t know how to rest. Rest felt like laziness. Like failure. Like letting everyone down.

Especially herself.

And when she saw little kids in the stands, waving signs with her name, she smiled. Waved. Gave them everything. Hype, love, encouragement. She wanted them to be great. Better than her. Because she wasn’t someone to look up to. She knew that deep down.

“Don’t be like me,” she thought as she gave them a high five. “Be better.”

“Don’t watch my highlights,” she whispered in her head. “Write your own.”

No one had seen her cry since she was a kid. But that night? In the common room? With nothing but silence and self-doubt keeping her company? Her eyes welled up, just barely, and her breath hitched.

But even then—She didn’t let the tears fall.

She had plays to watch. Mistakes to fix. The next game was coming. And she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

The locker room had cleared an hour ago.

Practice had ended rough—your shot was off, your reads late, and your energy drained like it got siphoned out before warmups even started. You apologized to Coach, stuck around to clean up your mess, then hit the treadmill like it owed you something. Like it was the only place you still had control.

And then the footage started.

Your old game—your worst game. Playing on loop. From your phone, balanced on the treadmill panel. You didn’t notice the hours ticking by. Didn’t feel the hunger creep in or the soreness set into your knees. You ran like you were being hunted. Like that one mistake could kill your entire career.

By the time your trainer found you, you’d been at it for nearly three hours. No water. No meal. Just footage and footwork and the same self-punishing words echoing in your head: not good enough, not again, not again.

You skipped dinner.

Skipped the team hangout.

Made your way into the Mercury’s common area—empty now, just dim lighting and the hum of the screen. You dropped your stuff and sat down in front of the projector. Cross-legged. Silent. And you started writing.

Your notebook, the same one you always carried, filled with phrases scribbled over and over:

Not good enough.

Why’d you hesitate.

Be better.

This isn’t for you.

You should’ve listened.

You rewound the footage. Again. Again. Again. Your hands shaking but steady enough to press play. Then rewind. Then play again. You stared like you were trying to see through yourself.

And eventually…

You passed out.

Right there. Cross-legged. Head dropped, neck limp, hoodie sliding halfway off your shoulder. The screen still played your worst moments. The notebook open in your lap, pages worn and messy. You didn’t even twitch. Your body had gone into shutdown.

The next morning came fast.

Some of the younger players walked in first, still groggy from sleep. They froze at the door, staring like they’d just walked in on a ghost. You, out cold, face slack and empty. The screen flashing every missed shot. Every fumble. Every frame you couldn’t stop obsessing over.

One of them backed out to go get staff.

Another one stayed. Quiet.

Diana showed up before anyone else important. Said she forgot her charger. She didn’t expect this.

You, curled in on yourself like a damn kid, notebook wide open, a tear-streak dried across your cheek, screen still running like a punishment reel. Her whole face changed.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t wake you.

She just sat across from you on the floor, elbows on her knees, and watched the same tape you’d been punishing yourself with. Quiet. Focused.

Then she picked up your notebook. Didn’t flinch at the words.

Didn’t sigh or scoff or say some cliché. She flipped through three pages. Four. Five. Her jaw clenched.

Because she knew.

This wasn’t about proving people wrong. This was about a ten-year-old version of you who never healed. The kid who got told she wasn’t good enough, and just kept trying to outrun it. Who turned it into a schedule:

Wake up.

Run.

Lift.

Watch film.

Study every mistake like it’s life or death.

Skip meals.

Skip rest.

Skip joy.

Repeat.

It wasn’t just drive. It was damage. And Diana saw it.

When the staff showed up and tried to speak, she raised her hand without looking at them.

“She needs rest. Not noise.” Her voice was low, firm.

Then, after a moment, she stood, leaned over, and brushed the hair out of your face. You didn’t wake up. Not yet. But she lingered. Let her hand rest at your jaw.

“You’re already good,” she murmured. “You just don’t believe it yet.”

And when you did wake—somewhere between now and noon—she’d be right there. Sitting beside you. Watching with you. Not judging. Not lecturing. Just there.

Like someone who understood. Like someone who once was you.

You woke up when her voice hit the silence like a brick.

“Get up.”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

You blinked hard, eyes barely adjusting. “What time is it?”

“You’re done,” she said. “That’s the time. You’re done.”

You sat up, slow and stiff. “D… what?”

She walked over, grabbed your notebook. Flipped through it.

“You think this is what makes you great? Being your own executioner every night? Watching your mistakes on loop until you convince yourself you’re worthless?”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m just—” You looked away. “Trying to fix it.”

“No, you’re feeding it,” she snapped. “You know it’s killing you, and you keep doing it. You know it’s not helping.”

You didn’t argue. Because she was right.

You admitted it. Quietly. “Yeah… I know.”

And that’s what scared her the most. The way you knew it. The way you didn’t even flinch admitting it.

“I can’t stop,” you said finally, barely audible. “It feels like if I don’t stay sharp, I’ll lose everything. I’ll go back to being that kid who wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re not that kid anymore.”

“Then why do I feel like her every time I breathe?”

Diana didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she reached down and snatched your phone. You lunged for it, but she stepped back.

“Hey—!”

“No,” she cut you off. “No film. No notes. No treadmill. No drills. You’re gonna eat, you’re gonna shower, and you’re gonna sleep. You’re not allowed to touch a ball for 48 hours.”

You froze like she slapped you.

“Diana—”

“I’m serious.”

“This is all I have.”

She stepped closer, eyes burning into yours. “Then start building more. Because you’re not surviving like this.”

You looked at her like she was asking you to stop breathing.

“I don’t know how to be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “So I’ll teach you.”

She dragged you—literally—to her apartment. Made you sit on her couch with a bowl of food she microwaved herself. You didn’t touch it for a minute. But she stared until you did.

You took a bite. One. Then another. And suddenly, you were starving.

You ate. In silence. Then fell asleep, unplanned, on her couch. Still in your hoodie. Legs curled under you. The first full sleep in… weeks? Months? You didn’t know.

But Diana covered you with a blanket and shut off the lights.

Then whispered, like she was talking to the scared little version of you that never left:

“You don’t have to earn rest. Not with me.”

You woke up disoriented.

Not just tired—off. Like your body knew it had slept, but your mind didn’t believe it. Like your muscles didn’t trust the stillness. You sat up slow, hoodie bunched at your waist, blanket half off your legs. The room was dim, blinds drawn, and Diana’s living room smelled like strong coffee and quiet.

And silence had never felt louder.

You looked at the microwave clock. 11:52 AM. You blinked. You’d slept over twelve hours.

Panic tightened in your chest.

Practice. Film. Recovery. Lifting. You were off schedule. You reached for your phone—wasn’t on the table. Not in your hoodie pocket. You stood up too fast, heart already racing, eyes scanning.

“Looking for this?”

You turned.

Diana stood in the doorway, arms crossed, holding your phone with that same unreadable expression she wore during press conferences.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off with a raised brow. “You’ve got twenty missed calls. None from the team. All alarms.”

You didn’t speak.

“Sit,” she said.

You didn’t move.

“Sit.”

So you did.

Like a scolded dog. But not because you were scared of her. It was worse than that. It was because she knew. She knew how to speak in a way that bypassed the noise in your head and cut straight to the part of you you kept buried.

“I should’ve been up,” you said quietly. “I messed it up.”

“You fixed it,” she snapped, tossing the phone onto the couch beside you. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re still breathing?”

You looked away.

She sat across from you again, same way she had that first night at team dinner. But her energy was different now. Less curious. More concerned.

“You wanna know what I saw last night?”

You didn’t answer. She kept going anyway.

“I saw a twenty-year-old kid who’s already one of the most disciplined players I’ve ever met. Who trains like she’s got something chasing her. Who hasn’t tasted her own win in years because she’s too busy outrunning ghosts.”

Your eyes stung.

“You think I didn’t see it? The hours? The exhaustion? The fake smiles when cameras are around, and the way you sit just outside the team circle like you don’t belong?”

“I don’t belong,” you whispered. “I was never supposed to be here. I wasn’t the prodigy. I wasn’t the chosen one. I was the ‘maybe she’s good at soccer’ kid. I just worked harder. That’s it.”

“And that’s everything,” she said.

“No, it’s not. They still talk. They still say I’m just a phase. That I’ll break. That I’m a fluke.”

“Then stop trying to prove them wrong,” she said, leaning forward. “Start proving yourself right.”

That stopped you cold. You sat with it. And for the first time—you felt it. The ache.Not from training.

But from being twenty years old and carrying the weight of every ‘no’ you ever got like it was your only fuel source. From starving yourself of joy because you thought pain was the only way to earn greatness. From the fact that deep down, no matter what the cameras showed, no matter what the stats said—you still didn’t think you were enough.

“I’ve tried to fix it,” you whispered. “I know I’m not okay. I know. But when I stop moving… everything catches up. The voices. The doubt. The little girl in me who still hears them say ‘this isn’t your sport.’ She doesn’t shut up. Not unless I run. Not unless I train. She only goes quiet when I drown her in motion.”

Diana looked at you like she’d known that girl, too. She didn’t reach for you this time. She didn’t have to.

“I can’t promise it goes away,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to fight her alone.”

You bit your lip. Hard. “But what if I don’t know how to be anything else? What if I need it?”

Diana leaned back.

Then said, “Then I’ll show you how to need something better.”

That afternoon, you didn’t touch the gym.

Diana made you eat again—this time, a real meal. Chicken, rice, and roasted vegetables. You only hesitated once.

Then, she took you to the beach. Not a workout. Not a drill. Just sun, salt, and sand. You walked barefoot. Diana didn’t say much. But she was there, quiet but present, like a steady heartbeat in your chaos.

And for the first time in weeks… you breathed. Not because you earned it. Not because you broke yourself to deserve it. Just because you could.

The notebook stayed closed that night. The phone didn’t charge.

And when you curled up under Diana’s extra throw blanket again, she said nothing.

But she left the hallway light on.

Just in case that little girl in you still needed someone to run to.

[ecc-poetry]

Find a Google doc version of this poem here.

For a plain text version (no footnotes), see below the cut.

WHAT YOU NEED TO BE WARNED (OR: INVENTORY AND APPRAISEMENT OF NEIL GAIMAN, HEREAFTER "DECEDENT")

prepared by Elisa Chavez 

I.  Do you know how much beauty there is in the world that you didn't create?

II.  The whole time, I wanted to put my hands to the screen to stop you coming through. In 2007 while you squirreled away another victim, I met you in San Diego. Asked a question. She and I were both 18 that year,  our hair and skin the same shade and more in common with each other than we'd ever have with you. But of course, I didn't know that. Then.

III.  I have read your poems.

Yikes.

If you understand you have failed, and if you pretend not to understand you have also failed. Eating is not sacrifice. Even birds know how to mimic. For years I wished I'd never seen those poems of yours, but I couldn't forget what they taught me: your hollow. Your knowinglessness.

IV.  Some of us are starting to feel like all these stories that gleamed stardust were really bits of ground-up glass you tricked us into swallowing. This is complicated by knowing that watching us swallow ground-up glass would probably get you off. When I cut myself on something in my house, the blood is scarlet. Once I stepped on a pin, saw an inch of it vanish in the meat of my big toe, and all I thought was, That's got to come out.

V.  Other men got to me, of course, which I think is my point: Even at your worst, you are replaceable.

VI.  In the forest, just past the thorned-over castle where the princess sleeps, there is a woman. Do not rape her. Turn left, where there is another woman. Do not rape her either.

Do not trust the you that breaks the wishbone of no between his fingers and spells success with it. Do not trust the little chorus you raised up from radishes.

Sometimes the act of handing out instructions demonstrates why they will not work.

VII.  Don't worry. Most of us will outlive you, and then we'll get to tell the story. I'm drafting your eulogy as we speak: It's an anthology  of tricks women learned to survive you,  how they chewed through your paper cages to hold each other, how they are putting out new leaves.

VIII.  I get my mushrooms from the supermarket  or the farmer's stand. I am not a myth about creation. Just like you are a master of holding the truth underwater until it stops moving. You ghost. You could strip a thousand women and you still wouldn't have anything.

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself ���"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[dixons-sunshine]

Mouth To Mouth | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: The moment seemed all too perfect. You and Daryl had just confessed to each other and were sharing your first kiss with each other. It was too bad that your mom had terrible timing, and walked in at the wrong moment.

Genre: Fluff

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sexual innuendos.

A/n: Here's the long awaited (wanted by, like, two people) fic about what happened when the mom walked in. I hope y'all enjoy! I really hoped to have my ex!celebrity fic with Daryl ready, but my draft never saved and I lost 2000 words, and that really discouraged me, so I worked on this little fic instead. Also, if anyone would want it, I have so many personal headcannons for this universe, so if anyone wants to see them, let me know.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, as well as Scud Frohmeyer requests.

—

“Mom, please don't freak out. I can explain.”

Your mom raised her eyebrows at you, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at the position you were in and nodded sarcastically, an amused smirk creeping onto her face.

“I'm sure you can,” she mused, her eyes flickering between you and Daryl. “This totally doesn't look like the two of you were just making out. You were just giving him mouth to mouth, right? Teaching him how to do CPR? Or you just slipped and happened to slam your lips against his.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl duck his head in embarrassment, his face flushed with a blush. You could feel heat creeping onto your cheeks as well, your mom's knowing stare penetrating into your soul. You knew that your mom probably didn't care that you and Daryl were kissing, but that didn't mean that she wasn't going to pretend to go into "protective mom" mode. She loved doing it to embarrass you a little bit.

“Mom,” you drawled in embarrassment, sending her a pleading look. “Please don't.”

“What, I walk in to find my daughter and her friend chewing on each other's faces, which will probably scar me for life, but I can't lay down some guesses for what your explanation would've been? How's that fair?”

“Fine, yes, we were kissing, but you don't have to make such a big deal out of it. It's not like I haven't walked in on you getting busy with Mr Prescott,” you retorted defensively, sneaking glances at Daryl who remained silent, his eyes nervously flickering between you and the floor.

Your mom let out a small laugh and shook her head. “Touche, sweetheart,” she nodded, shifting her attention to Daryl. “Daryl, I'm not gonna bite your head off if you look at me.”

Daryl reluctantly rose his head, a nervous glint in his eyes. He was fidgeting with his hands, picking at the loose skin on his thumb and you had to resist the urge to take his hand in yours to stop the nervous gesture. You didn't want to give your mom more ammo to tease you with.

“There, that's better,” your mom mused, taking a step closer. “Now I can see those blue eyes of yours that my daughter wouldn't stop raving about. I'm honestly surprised that it took her this long to make a move. She's liked you for quite a while now. She would never shut up about you when you left.”

“Mom!” you complained, sending her an exasperated look. “Can we not?!”

Your mom simply let out another laugh. “What? It's adorable!”

“Mom, please,” you pleaded, sneaking another look at Daryl. His gaze had returned to the floor, but you didn't miss the small smirk that was on his face.

“Alright, alright. I'll lighten up,” she reluctantly agreed, turning around to grab something from the table. “Sorry to have interrupted your "totally not making out" session. I need to get back to work anyway. I forgot a folder my boss needed. But after today, I'm suspecting that this will become a regular thing, so I won't ever be forgetting folders or anything ever again. My eyes won't ever recover.”

“Goodbye, Mom!” you exclaimed in embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands.

“Remember to use protection, kids! I'm not ready to be a grandma just yet,” your mom chuckled and left, leaving you and Daryl alone.

The air was charged with an awkward silence. You dared a look at him and saw him nervously fiddling with his hands, but the small smile from earlier still remained. He turned his head and locked eyes with you, his gaze holding a certain amount of mischief to it.

“So, ya have been ravin' 'bout me to yer mom?” he said with a hint of playfulness, finally breaking the silence between you. “Wha' have ya been sayin'? Ya been talkin' 'bout my rugged good looks? Dun' worry, by the way. I won't tell nobody tha' ya have a secret crush on me.”

You took one of the pillows from the couch and threw it at him. Daryl effortlessly caught it and laughed—not chuckled, but actually laughed—and dropped it down next to him. Before you could retort with a sarcastic remark, Daryl leaned forward and captured your lips with his, silencing any and all thoughts you had.

You returned the kiss easily. However, you pulled away after a few moments, lightly shoving him back with a playful smile on your face. You stood up and extended a hand to him, which he took without any hesitation. You pulled him up and lead him to your room, closing the door behind you. You gently urged him backwards and pushed him onto your bed, watching him comply easily.

A nervous look flitted across Daryl's eyes. You instantly caught it and gave him a reassuring smile, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek.

“Relax, pretty boy. We're not doing anything like that tonight,” you reassured him, stepping closer in between his legs. “My mom just caught us kissing. Do you really think I want to risk her walking in on something like that in the same night?”

Daryl exhaled a sigh of relief, looking up at you. “Then wha' are ya doin'?”

You smiled at him and gently urged him down, letting his body fully lay down and his head rest on the pillow. You got in on the other side and rested your head on his chest, getting comfortable against him. You felt him stiffen slightly, feeling his hand hover over your waist uncertainly.

“Relax, Daryl. We've cuddled before.”

“Yeah, but s'different now,” he whispered, his hand still hovering over your waist. “This ain't friend cuddlin' no more. S'couple cuddlin' now. I dun' wanna do anythin' to make ya uncomfortable.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss against his clothed chest, nuzzling your face deeper into it. “I'll tell you if you do, but you can touch me. I won't bite,” you assured him, feeling his hand finally rest on your waist before adding in a teasing manner. “Not unless you want me to.”

Daryl inhaled sharply, his grip on your waist momentarily tightening before relaxing again. “This gon' be a regular thing now? Ya teasin' the shit outta me?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Yer gon' be the death of me, girl,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But I guess I'll allow it.”

“Good, because I'm not stopping. I love seeing you blush like that, handsome.”

“Stop,” he groaned, burying his face into your hair.

“Stop making you get all flustered like this?” you asked, shaking your head. “Not when it's this adorable.”

Before Daryl could say anything else, you rolled away from him, flicking off the lamp before settling into your side of the bed. You got comfortable, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, handsome.”

A few moments of silence passed, before you felt him shuffle behind you. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, spooning you from the back. He pulled you closer to him, breathing in your clean scent before finally whispering something back.

“Night, beautiful.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[saltydoesstuff]

Love bites (Raph, Donnie, Leo, Mikey x Reader HCS)

((All characters are depicted as 18+ unless stated otherwise)) I FINALLY got this done! This has been in my drafts for a w h i l e and I'm so glad to be able to share it! technically suggestive??, biting, jealousy, love bites/marks, cuddling ------------------------------------------------ Raph: - He is an alligator snapping turtle, biting is what his species is known for! - He has chew toys hidden around his room so he can have something to bite into whenever he gets the urge, or when he gets frustrated so he doesn't grind his teeth together fighting the urge to bite. He has a very strong bite force and he doesn't want to hurt anyone. - But with you, as soon as you gave the okay for him to bite you he was a little hesitant. You wanted him to bite you? You were okay with it? He could take out your whole shoulder if he really wanted to! - It'd take a little for him to get used to the fact that you were okay with being bitten, but soon he is more than happy to do so. Biting is one of his love languages, and to be able to do it to you without worry of you getting upset really soothed him. - He is extra careful when biting you, starting off with gentle nips and nibbles along your shoulders when you two are cuddling in his room. Every time he thinks he may have gotten a bit hard on a particular nip he will kiss the spot and ask if you are alright, looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes. - The only time he would be less gentle in his biting is if he's jealous. Raph is not one to get jealous super easily, nor let it show. He trusts you completely, but sometimes when the person trying to hit on you is just not getting the hint that you are not only not interested but taken- he could only feel the steam coming from his nostrils as he huffs and glared at the person. Afterwards, when you are both are alone- Raph will suddenly pull you by the waist back into his plastron, he head leaning down and snout nuzzled against the side of your neck. "Uh.. Raph?" You ask, glancing at him through the corner of your eye, "Are you okay big guy?" There's a brief moment of hesitation, before there is a sharp pain searing into the spot between your neck and shoulder; making you inhale sharply and wince. - Yeah.. you needed a bit of bandages after that. His teeth had broken skin and had you bleeding. The poor guy felt so bad, apologizing frantically as he patched you up. You had to constantly reassure him that was alright, despite his many protests that no it was not alright. He clung onto you for the rest of the night, mumbling apologies and kissing the bandages every chance he could. - Yet despite his immense guilt for hurting you, he couldn't help the sense of pride he got whenever he saw the mark once the bandages came off. It was a physical sign that you were his, and now everyone could see it. - And if you ever bite back? Oh you will have a very flustered and smitten turtle on your hands. Donnie: - He isn't much of a biter. At least.. at first. - Donnie has a bit of difficulty showing physical affection at times, even more so verbally expressing it. Which is why his main go to of showing love is gift giving. - When you both started dating, there was a long adjustment period of getting comfortable with getting physically affectionate past platonic gestures. It started small, linking each other's pinkies together when you thought no one was paying attention and holding hands when you slept together in place of cuddling. Times in the morning where a very sleepy soft shell will come up beside you as you prepared coffee for you both and gently bunt his head against yours as a greeting as he picked up his mug and headed towards his lab.

- It had progressed steadily and soon you often found yourself being the stress toy for your purple clad lover. He had found it actually much easier to work while you were on his lap, so that's where you stayed most of the time when he had projects to work on but also wanted to spend time with you. You would face him, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist and arms hugging his middle as he had his head rested on your shoulder to peer down at whatever he was tinkering with that day. His claws would gently run up and down your spine in a mindless manner, and when he got frustrated his hands would come up to your love handles and squeeze while he tried to find a work around. - One of these times, he had gotten a bit too frustrated. He had been working on a new upgrade for Shelldon, but nothing he did seemed to turn out the way he wanted. You were half asleep on his lap at this point, having been there quite a while at this rate. That's when you felt his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder. - He didn't break skin, but his canines dug into your shoulder just enough to leave a little bruising mark. The feeling was enough to make you jolt slightly with a little yelp, startling Donnie in turn. - He pulled away and looked at you quizzically, not seeming to grasp what exactly had happened at first. Then he takes notice of the mark forming on your shoulder and the man short circuits. - Is quick to apologize and offer to get you an icepack to help the bruising through his own flustered state, stammering and tripping over his words. Yet, his grip is firm- keeping you in place on his lap, like he was afraid you would try to get off after he bit you. - He had chalked it up to simply being apart of his more animalistic instincts, a side he is normally the best at repressing compared to his brothers (at least he tells himself that). Still, he tries to take precautions to avoid making the same error. Unless you encourage the behavior, then he is more lenient towards allowing the action to repeat. Just more gently from now on. - His bites are rare, but when they do come they are gentle and almost teasing depending on the situation. His favorite places to nibble is along your collarbone and sometimes the lobe of your ear. - The only time he will deliberately leave lasting marks is out of jealousy, and as we all know the soft shell is very quick to get jealous. Expect to be covered in marks for the next two weeks.

Leo: - Leo would actually be revealed to be a bit of a biter early on in the relationship, a split moment while you both were play wrestling that he had turned his head suddenly and sunk his teeth into the skin of your wrist while you had him pinned. It had caught you off guard, long enough for the slider to get the advantage and over power you. The next second you found yourself on your back with a very smug turtle straddling your waist. - It didn't seem to click for him at first just what he had done, only as he opened his mouth to tease did he notice the flabbergasted expression on your face did it sink in that he had actually bit you. - His eyes darted from the faint mark forming on your wrist to your face a couple times, looking equally as shocked- only his face definitely felt ten times warmer. - He would try to play it off at first, saying that you two never agreed not to bite, so it was still fair game. "All is fair in love and war, mi vida.~" - The biting would not happen again for a while after that, and Leo would get slightly embarrassed every time you try to bring it up in a teasing manner. Bringing it up in a playful tone that you wouldn't mind being bitten, this only served to make the slider more flustered. - Next time he bites you however, is during a sleepover at your apartment. You both had decided to have a cozy night in, cuddled up on your bed and watching movies through whatever streaming services you have. - You were staring blankly at the screen, trying to fight the effect that gravity was having on your eye lids. Leo was behind you, holding you against his plastron- his snout nuzzled into the crook between your neck and shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing against your skin; not quite enough to lead you to believe that he was asleep, but still gentle. - Slowly, his snout trailed upwards- grazing the corner of your jaw as he moved. You didn't think much of it, assuming he may be simply adjusting slightly to get in a more comfortable position- that was until you felt the tips of his canines catch onto the lobe of your ear, tugging and biting gently. - The squeal that left your mouth is still something Leo laughs about to this day. Your flustered and embarrassed reaction to such an innocent test was hilarious, or so he would say. You would heavily beg to differ on multiple of those points. - Once establishing your comfort with his biting, Leo will bite regularly. Not nearly as much as Raph or Mikey per say, but close. More often than not it's more just to get a reaction out of you, he just loves how red your face gets to the simple actions. Other times to have a physical marker that you were his, even if the bites were only in places that he could see. The action still mattered. Oh don't worry, he would never bite you in public. Only behind closed doors when you both are alone. - If he ever bit you out of jealousy, much like Donnie those marks would be e v e r y w h e r e- and not going away anytime soon. He trusts you completely, but apparently other people won't take the hint that you were his unless they saw you covered in his marks. He takes satisfaction in their reactions and defeat. Only he was your champion, no one else.

Mikey: - Biting is also what Box turtles are known for! It's a form of a courting/mating gesture for his species. - I'd say he'd bite you early on into the relationship in the form of soft nibbles, more playful than anything. Say he has you in his arms and he buried his snout into the crook of your neck, he'll gently nibble at your flesh in-between kisses to fluster you. He thinks your adorable flustered! - It's hard to say if he would ever say why he bites you. He would only answer if you asked him directly about it, as to then he would sheepishly admit what it means to him. If you're uncomfortable with it he will gladly stop though! - If you encourage the behavior however, or even go as far as to bite him back at some point? Oh, he just fell even harder! - His favorite spots are your shoulders, thighs and the tips of your ears, you make the cutest squeaks when his canines nip at your earlobe and he just can't get enough! - His bites will become more frequent during cuddle sessions or play fighting to gain the upper hand, you can't tell me this man would not use tricks to catch you off guard- - Despite it all however, he would be rather gentle with his bites. He knows his teeth are sharp, and he doesn't want to accidentally hurt you. But from time to time he will get a bit rougher and leave marks. He will make sure to apologize if it starts bleeding, immediately offering to patch it up. He isn't as panicked as Raph is, but still worries. - Jealousy is a whole different matter. Mikey trusts you, he really does! But those flirting with you just don't seem to understand that you are taken sometimes.. perhaps a few lasting marks will fix that! - This sneaky bastard will make sure some of his bites are hard to cover up, wanting people to see them. To see who you belong to. - But overall he is very sweet and caring with his affections towards you, no matter what form they take.

[pedriache]

HI! I saw you write for Criminal Minds and I was wondering if you could write for Emily Prentiss where she and reader work alongside one another like majority of the times, and maybe one of them (doesn’t matter who) is particularly irritable where it makes the other want nothing more than to just comfort them and it’s slight angst to comfort? (They’re each others work crush!) 💚

Please be rude — Emily Prentiss.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Summary: This case was getting to Emily. You could see it throughout the day, she was growing more and more agitated. So you take her aside and try to get her to relax.

Word count: 500

Disclaimer/s: Mentions of potential murder , abduction , all the average criminal minds stuff , light angst , comfort !

A/N: clearing out my drafts before my trip yipee !

Emily paced back and forth across the white tiles that lined the mall. A young girl had gone missing, potentially an abduction, and for some reason it was really getting to her. You stood a few feet away, leaning against one of the miscellaneous tables as you watched her with concern.

“Em..” You sigh out, pushing off the table. “Do you need a break?”

“No. No, i’m fine.” She snaps, her eyes widening as she realizes. “Sorry. That was rude. Something just feels off.” The raven haired woman shakes her head, running a hand over the back of her hair until she grasps the back of her neck to rub it lightly.

You nod in understanding, chewing on your bottom lip. “How about we go make coffee and you tell me about it? Hmm?”

Emily reluctantly agrees, dropping her hands to her side. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

Leading the way, you find the cafeteria. One of the workers agrees to make you two a coffee free of charge. While you wait, the two of you stand back. “So, what’s bugging you?”

“I just…” She glances up at you, “I just have this gut feeling, and it won’t go away.” She shrugs it off, shaking her head. “It could be nothing.”

Frowning, you reach out to the woman, squeezing her shoulder. “Hey, if you feel something, there’s a reason why. Don’t ignore it.”

Emily smiles at the small act of affection. She lifts her hand to cover yours, “okay, okay. Once we get our coffee, i’ll find Hotch.”

You give her a quick smile, trying to ignore the lurch in your stomach at her touch. “Perfect. How are you adjusting to the team, by the way?” You ask as you reach for the coffee’s the barista handed you. “Thank you.” You nod at her before turning back to Emily and hand her one.

Emily blows at the hole in the lid to cool it down. “Good, this is very different from my last job, but still, i’m adjusting well.” She smiles up at you for a moment, “you’ve been a major help, of course.”

Chuckling, you take a small sip. “Glad to be of service.” You’d been watching her intently since she had started talking, noticing what made her relax. “Okay, let’s go find Hotch, and you tell me about this hunch of yours, yeah?”

Emily swallows, “yeah.”

“Come on newbie.” You grin, nudging your shoulder against hers as the two of you make your way to where you knew your boss would be.

“Oh, before we go in,” Emily stops you with a hand on your arm. You turn to her with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “Thank you, for that. I know you were trying to calm me down. I appreciate that, I appreciate you.”

A warm feeling grows in your chest. “Of course, Em. Any time, any place, i’m here to help.”

Emily’s eyes flickered across your face, a small smile on her lips. “Right back at you.”

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[feveredvisions]

Arms

(Harry Da Souza x Jan Da Souza) | Contains Spoilers

Summary: After a long day spent buried in secrets and war plans, Harry Da Souza crawls into bed beside the woman he’s hurt more times than he can count and still calls home. As the threat of gang warfare between the Stevensons and the Harrigans looms, a rare moment of vulnerability cracks through his walls. Haunted by a violent past and a love he never thought he deserved, Harry finds himself clinging to the only thing that ever made him feel real: Jan’s quiet, unrelenting arms. Author's Note: Spent the entire week at work writing this. Squeezes my heart everytime. I like to think that Harry and Jan gets to have this moment together somehow. Main inspo for this was the song "Arms" by Christina Perri and a dash of "Dancing Away With My Heart" by Lady A. Go play them in a separate tab/your streaming app while reading this for the feels. Aaand do let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist for future Harry Da Souza fics and other characters Tom has played. I'm also open for requests! I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading my work xx

The devil prowls after hours.

Harry Da Souza sits with it while he eats a cold cucumber sandwich at the kitchen counter. After thoroughly washing and scrubbing his hands clean,  of course. Staring through the marble as he chews, swallows, washes it down with a glass of full-cream milk. The word rattles around his skull like a bullet in a tin can. The Harrigans and the Stevensons, circling each other like starving dogs. Harry? He’s smack in the middle—lieutenant, fixer, commander-in-chief, ready to command fire if this thing really blows.

Upstairs, Jan is asleep. Or pretending to be. These days, it’s hard to tell.

He washes the plate, leaves it to dry in the drying rack. He knows she hates waking up to dirty dishes.

He pads upstairs quietly, toeing off his shoes at the door and quietly entering their bedroom and closing the door, shrugging out of his jacket and the rest of his clothes. Changing into his nice comfy silk pajama blouse and house shorts. Keeping his Rollex, his wedding ring, and his necklace he rarely takes off unless it's to be cleaned. Their bedroom is dim and illuminated by the soft moonlight and the soft warm light coming from the lamp beside the bed which he flicked off. The faint silver moonlight remains. His wife’s back turned to him, her silhouette a soft curve under the duvet.

Harry slides in beside his wife with the careful precision of a man used to moving without being heard. Every movement and apology.

For a moment, he just lies there. Then, gingerly, he reaches for her. His arm slips around Jan’s waist, pulling her back against his chest. She doesn’t stir, not at first. Harry exhales, his nose brushing the nape of her neck, breathing in the faint trace of her perfume. Something floral, expensive. The kind of thing he buys her because nothing but the best, even if she barely wears it for him anymore.  

He squeezes his eyes shut as his mind sprinted. The war, the family, Bella bloody Harrigan. His daughter’s schooling. Jan’s solicitor waging some sort of psychological war with him by sending drafts of a separation agreement.

He refuses to surrender to the practicality of it. Well, it wasn't at all practical for his ego. He doesn't quit. He either resolves. Or shoots the problem right in the face and leave no traces of its existence. That's not their marriage. Divorce absolutely was not a solution. Especially not now when everything is so easily within reach and could easily be taken away from him. The rest can go to shit. He’s keeping his family close where he can monitor them and keep them safe.

Then Jan stirs. A slow shift of weight, a quiet inhale. Harry stills, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she turns in his arms, facing him now in the dark.

For a long moment, they just look at each other.  Jan’s eyes are half-lidded with sleep, but there’s something sharp in them, too. She always sees through him before he gives her an answer.

“You’ll keep us safe, right, Harry?” Her voice is thick from sleep, but the edge is there. The one she’s honed over years of biting her tongue. There was no point arguing with him. He's like a wall that had gotten tougher to get through as the years passed.

The question hangs between them, unspoken. He answers it anyway.  

“Yeah, babe,” he murmurs, thumb brushing her hip. “Course I will. Always.” It’s a lie. Or maybe it’s not. He doesn’t fucking know anymore.  

Jan watches him, her gaze tracing the lines of his face like she’s searching for something. Then, quietly she speaks again. “I can practically hear the gears shifting in your head. Running in sports mode.”  

Harry huffs a weak laugh, nuzzles her shoulder. "Been running since I was a kid, sweetheart. Never found the brakes."

“Mm.” She doesn’t push. Doesn’t question further. Just lets the silence sit between them, thick with everything they don’t say.

Then Jan shifts closer. Her hand finds his chest, fingers curling into the silk fabric his pajama blouse. Not pulling him in, not pushing him away. Just there.

Slowly and carefully, Harry lifts his arm. An invitation. Jan hesitates. Then she moves into him, tucking her head under his chin, her body slotting against his like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have. Maybe they’ve just forgotten how.

✦•················•✦•··················•✦

Juvenile Detention Centre – 1998

Harry Da Souza was seventeen the first time he learned that silence could be a weapon. But before that, he always puts up a fight. Never bowing down to anyone especially not to a copper.

The guard, Bastard, Harry called him in his head, because names had power and he refused to give him one—had a habit of lingering too long during headcount. His fingers dug into Harry’s shoulder like he was testing the give of his bones, his breath sour with cheap whiskey.  

The bastard's rules were: You don't look at me unless I tell you to; You don't speak unless I ask you to; You don't fucking breathe unless I let you. But rules didn't stop the Bastard from cornering Harry in the showers; from slamming him into the tiles hard enough to crack rib; from grinning when Harry choked on his own blood.

And Harry, fifteen and already sharp as a shiv with one eye swollen shut, lip split, had looked the bastard dead in the eye and said, "Piss off, you fat cunt” and disdainfully spat at the officer's smug face. Fuck the silence. 

"You're a nasty little rat, Da Souza. But l'II teach you some manners.”

That earned him two more weeks in solitary and by the third month, he had stopped fighting back.

The day Harry got out, Jan was waiting for him at the gates. The sky was blue and blinding. Quite a harsh welcome back to the civility. His duffel bag slung over one shoulder, limping slightly. Still too lean. Bruises blooming along his cheekbone, a cut across his lip healing ugly. He hadn’t slept the night before nor in the last three months. Not properly. You don’t sleep in a place like that where the guards have keys and inhumane sadistic grudges.

They gave him back his clothes, a plastic bag with a shirt that didn’t fit anymore as he’d managed to work up on his strength and build with the others; trainers with the soles curling, and his dignity left rotting somewhere in the back wing of juvenile lock-up.

And waiting just outside the gate, like a fucking mirage was Jan. Prim in her stupid little blazer and pleated skirt, leaning against the hood of her father's Jag like she hadn't just skipped a class to be here. Like she hadn't spent the last six months writing him letters he had read but never answered. Like she doesn't care picking up her…wayward friend or…whatever the fuck Harry was.

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Jan didn't flinch. Just tilted her head studying him like he was a particularly difficult maths problem. "You look like shit.”

“Cheers, babe. Knew I could count on you for a warm welcome.”

Her eyes swept over his hunched shoulders, the way he held his ribs, his guarded stance like he expected another blow from behind.

And then hesitantly, gently, she stepped forward and opened her arms. Not demanding. Just open.

"The fuck-” Harry flinched. He hadn’t been touched with kindness in months. Maybe ever. But she didn’t press, didn’t tug, just waited. He stepped into her. Slowly. Like a beaten dog walking into safety. And when her arms wrapped around him, something in him cracked.

His throat tightened up and blinked his stinging unshed tears away. He didn’t cry. Couldn’t. But for a second, the world and the pains in his body muted. No guards, no cold floors, no muffled screams in the night. Just Jan. Her clean perfume. The steady rhythm of her breath. Her soft hand brushing up and down his back in the most careful manner, like she didn’t want to scare the wolf she'd just coaxed into her lap.

"Shut up," Jan muttered into his shoulder. Her arms were tight around him, her grip almost painful. He smelled a lot like antiseptic and fucking bleach. What had they done to him? "Just shut up, Harry."

He should've pushed her away. Should've laughed in her face. Instead, he kept silent and moved his hands to hold her waist.

♡

Jan drove a stupidly nice car for a seventeen-year-old. Leather seats. Heated. His muscles unclench without permission as he sank into the passenger side. His bag in his lap.

“Didn’t have much to say.”

“You were in for six months, not six years.”

“Felt longer.”

She glances at him. Her hands clench the wheel. “Did they…was it bad?”

A pause. He shrugs. “You don’t wanna know, Jan.”

He turns to look at her, smiling faintly and cruelly. “How’s the car, then? You drove it with any boys while I was gone?”

Jan scoffs. “Piss off.”

Just as she hits a bump, Harry lets out a low chuckle and groans, clutching his ribs. “Christ. Watch it. I’m delicate.”

She shoots him a look. “You’re not delicate. You’re dramatic.”

“You've changed so much, babe.”

"Don't fucking ‘babe’ me."

"Alright, sweetheart.”

♡

Jan’s house was empty and smelled like lemons and money. Her parents off on some cruise in Saint Tropez, staff given the week off. Just the two of them in a Kensington townhouse. She ushered him into the lounge and knelt in front of him with a first-aid kit in her hands like she’d been waiting for this moment to tend to an wounded patient.

“I got certified in First Aid last week,” she said brightly, trying too hard to sound normal. Like it's no biggie.

"Do I look like a quiz to you?"

She ignores him, dabbing antiseptic onto the bruises blooming like oil slicks across his ribs. She tries to be gentle but her hands tremble. She couldn't ignore the darker, meaner bruises with deep, sick purple colour wrapping around his ribs. He watches her face go pale.

“Christ, Harry.”

“Don’t take me to a hospital. I mean it.”

“My uncle’s private clinic then. Discreet. They won’t ask questions—”

He kissed her just to shut her up. Just to stop the worry in her voice because it made something in his chest ache worse than the bruises.

Then her hand slapped him before she could think. Not hard. Just instinct. Shock.

"What the hell, Harry?!"

"Thought you’d be used to boys all over you by now. Uni and that. Don’t tell me no one’s snogged you behind a vending machine."

"What’s it to you? It’s not like we’re a thing."

"Right. Not a thing. Just you chauffeuring an ex-con like I’m your wounded puppy."

Jan doesn’t answer. Instead, she grabs the front of his shirt, pushes him back into the chair, and straddles him. Her legs tremble but her eyes don’t. She kisses him clumsily, hungrily. Clambering into his lap like she was a girl with bleeding pride and aching hands, desperate for something real. For someone she realised she's always wanted.

Harry smirked against her mouth. “Which do you prefer, posh girl? One boy or a pack of ‘em?”

Jan pulled back, red-faced. Her voice shook. “I missed you.”

Harry stopped. Everything slowed.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like a rabid animal?”

She looked down, suddenly shy.

“…I watched the girls at uni. Some of them. With boys. Behind the arts building. I don’t know. Shut up.”

He stared at her. Jan. His Jan. And he was in awe. “You’re not like them,” he told her softly. “You don’t throw yourself at blokes. You see things.”

Pause. “You like me?”

She nodded.

Harry’s voice dropped. Warm. Real. “Then, when you kiss someone you like,” he says softly, careful to brush her cheek with the unscabbed part of the back of his hand, “they should be savoured.”

Their lips meet again in a slow, gentle kiss. Harry kisses Jan like he means it. Like she’s the only softness he’s ever known. Jan melted into him. And for the first time in his miserable, fucked-up life, Harry Da Souza felt clean.

And for once, he isn’t the damaged boy with a record and a scarred ribcage. He’s just a boy. Kissing a girl. One who waited. One who saw the truth he never let anyone in to see.

✦•················•✦•··················•✦

"You remember that day? When I got out of juvie?" he asks.

Jan nods. "You kissed me like you meant it," she says.

“Nah, you did,” Harry lightly teased her, earning a chuckle from her. He lets it last for a moment. Fleeting. Fades fast.

"How do we fix things then, Harry?"

He doesn’t answer. Because his solution isn’t a solution at all. It’s keeping her close by any means necessary. It's grabbing onto the version of Jan who used to hold his face like he was something soft.

"You shouldn’t’ve kissed me that day," he says suddenly. “You kissed me like I was worth saving. I believed it. I still fucking believe it when I’m near you.”

Her face softens for the first time in weeks. "Then come back to me, Harry."

He swallows hard. "I never left."

Jan’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in. Letting her arms wrap around him like she did back then. Like she’s still that girl and he’s still that boy, scared and battered. "You matter to me, Harry. You always have." Then she leans in. Slow and unsure, pressing her lips to his like she’s searching for something still buried beneath the wreckage.

And Harry lets her kiss him like it’s still that night. Like they’re seventeen again. Like the city isn’t about to go to war. And maybe, just maybe, their love can survive all this shit.

[chocolatepot]

(This has been in my drafts for over a month [<- written in the summer of 2022 lol], let's just finish chewing this thing ...)

Part of the reason I'm obsessed with Our Flag Means Death is the magic of hyperfixation, but there's also something about it that just ... certain scenes, certain gifs, I see them and I absolutely melt. And I'm no stranger to romantic media, especially historical romance, so I had to ask myself why this, so much?

And I think the thing that really gets me about the romance in OFMD is that it's so entirely different from mainstream het romance (and again, especially historical romance) and that mainstream het romance is so often lazily written.

How often do you go to read/watch something where the protagonist and love interest immediately have a positive rapport, understand each other, smile at each other, admire each other, have fun together? And in contrast, how often is the love interest marked out by having immediate hostility with the protagonist, sniping, irrational disagreement, disapproval?

I watch Sanditon and Bridgerton mainly just to be aware of what's going on in them, because like it or not I'm kind of a Regency historian of sorts, but I can't really stand them. In the first season of Sanditon, the heroine, Charlotte was presented with two potential love interests, Sidney Parker and James Stringer. The former was the classic "we act like we hate each other because of our sexual tension," the latter was really adorable and full of smiles and care for each other. And ... Charlotte barely seemed to realize that Stringer was a real possibility, all narrative heft was given to her plotline with Sidney and of course they turned out to be in love. Then the second season rolled this back and brought in two new love interests, again with one having a positive relationship with her and the other constantly arguing and criticizing; the apparently positive one turns out to be a creepy Wickham while the one she initially dislikes turns out to be a good Darcy with manpain to deal with. (Same thing with her sister's love triangle.)

And there are loads of other examples where a potential love interest who is immediately pleasant turns out to be deceptive/meh while a potential love interest who spurs fights is endgame. Basically, this is because you need some kind of obstacle to stop the characters from getting together immediately. In historical romance written in the present day, social class and money aren't acceptable obstacles unless there's a pressing need for them written in (hence the prevalence of "father gambled away our fortune and you must marry well, my dear, to save us from the poorhouse" plots), and "we met in an awkward way and will not get over it" works, narratively, as an obstacle.

In contrast, what goes on in OFMD s1 is so much more complex - the characters liking each other but having internal reasons not to recognize their feelings or act on them gives more room for showing why they actually are good together.

[tojivu]

# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

[camp-mithril-lake]

So my ideas inspired by the Ponyo Apocalypse Outlier Gang (by @keferon) since this has been a fun AU to chew on and I love the Outlier Gang + Fish Dad specifically.

Part I, because I'll do the others in a bit and don't want to lose this to Tumblr drafts.

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave, former Senator of the Iaconus Shoal, in the sea close to Iacon the human city, is currently taking a break before for the upcoming election cycle after losing his seat to a rival due to a scandal he was exonerated for. He is actually biding his time and pretending to have gone away in disgrace, while some friends investigate rumors and leads for him and he plans to undermine his opponent.

It has however given him time to investigate the recent unnaturally accelerated changes in sea level and worries about changes in sea monster population and evolution and rapid fluctuations in weather and sea currents that Thunderwing has been writing him about.

He is going to pick up some data he'd collected and witnesses a human island be subsumed and what's more notices the strange readings and behaviors and creatures popping up. He goes to investigate and finds a bunch of human pups surviving there. They end up being violent in that way everyone assumes humans are but assist him. He in turn decides to help protect them and find a proper human caretaker for them.

Shockwave has always been a bit more curious and open about humans because he was good friends with one who he considered a teacher name Jhiaxus, who eventually vanished. He collects human devices to explore the make of and information on some of their inventions and cultures as a hobby. This is considered an eccentricity by many and I am picturing full Ariel but it is just part of his "oh handsome Senator Shockwave" persona that makes people underestimate him and is about 35% played up deliberately as a non-threatening joke while being fully serious and incorporating bits he finds useful.

Due to the language barrier the more Transformer-esque names or ones Shockwave nicknames the kids and they eventually adopt, enjoying them. Skids's is a more direct translation since he picks up the merfolk language the easiest.

TERRY BRAUM (16->17) - TRAILBREAKER

The oldest of them and has some pretty intense trauma.

He was drunk with a friend two years ago and they wrecked killing a family that was pulling out and the friend, the one who was driving, being the only one conscious when the cops came. The friend blamed him and Terry was the one who took the fall and got arrested. His life was ruined and he was devastated by the death, injuries, betrayal, and arrest back to back.

He had a single mother with a heart condition who had a heart attack and died due to the stress of his trial and subsequent sentencing. He was eventually exonerated due to the video of the crash surfacing and proof his friend was the one driving the whole time. His mother was gone by this point and he was sent into the foster system.

He has issues with confined spaces and trusting people keeping a proverbial shield around himself now. He kept drinking and broke into his foster’s liquor cabinets and got in trouble this way which got him referred to the Academy.

"SKIDS" (16) - SKIDS

He speaks a lot but not about his past and insists his name is Skids. He has a pretty gnarly scar across the back of his head covered by hair. He also doesn't talk about this and has a lot of strange skills he's built up over time.

Skids had a seemingly good life with a very attentive mother, but knew there was something off. He was homeschooled because his mother moved a lot for work and it was both seemingly normal things like literature, math, basic science, history, but also stranger topics: weapons safety and shooting, coding, lock picking, parkour, gymnastics, poisons, hotwiring cars, driving, emergency wound treatment focusing on gunshot wounds, how to stay calm during an emergency, etc. He travelled most of Cybertron.

By the time he was ten realized it was not normal for them to be constantly changing their names, hair, story, and location. It started as a fun "game" when he was younger where his mother would ask who they'll be next and he didn't know his real original name. Or his mother's who was just Mother.

The most frequent name was her nickname for him which was Skids because the first time he drove a car for her during a getaway while she was treating her own gunshot wound in the back he was constantly skidding everywhere on the road. He was eight.

It was also not normal to have a collection of wigs, IDs, weapons, etc. with them as "go bags". Or to have a meet up and escape plan if the cops come while "Mother is out.". Skids, being Skids, started investigating and found a long trail of bodies everywhere they had been, including people he had met or his mother had used him to lure in.

The worst is a kid his age he thought of as a friend because they'd moved next to him and his mother started to befriend his father. His mother was both a serial killer and a hitwoman.

He couldn't handle the guilt and eventually called in a tip and ran and kept running. He suppressed a lot of memory to avoid his own guilt over “assisting” with the damage. He got moved around because he kept running away.

SKY WARD (15) - SKYWARP & T.C. WARD (11) - THUNDERCRACKER

Sky grew up in a pretty rough household with her older sister Star being her main, slightly resentful but very protective, caretaker. They had older siblings who'd moved out and cut contact with their mother as soon as they kid and most of them were half-siblings. Star and Sky were the only full siblings amongst them. When she was about eight her mother brought home a seemingly random child who was T.C. She was also their sister, but had lived with their father who her mother would disappear to visit.

When Star turned eighteen she planned to do something more and escape as well and go to college on a scholarship and never speak to her mother again, but then her mother disappeared for months and Star stayed with them, refusing to call for help and taking care of them. But everything blows up when their mother shows up finally and this time with a new baby (Sunny) and it develops into a screaming match.

The cops get called and everything comes out forcing them to be taken in by CPS. Star is furious and angry and seething but slowly starts planning. She can't go with them because she turns eighteen while they are in custody and they won't let her take them because their landlord evicted them and she is couch surfing until college opens. She gets her scholarship and a job while keeping in contact with them and the foster family that took them in.

Sky and T.C. are waiting for her and when she gets an apartment she files to try and get custody, showing that she can keep a roof over their head and provide, etc. Her mother even signs over custody willingly relinquishing her rights. Star takes Sky and T.C., but one of their older sister's who is married and doesn't have room for all of them but can take one, takes the new baby.

It all goes to hell though when Star is accused of stealing from her college and identity fraud. She denies it but loses her sisters and goes to jail due to a terrible lawyer and being pushed to take a plea deal for the chance of getting them back later.

Sky has her sister's temper and acts out with more and more vicious pranks, becoming one of those TikTok Prank Channels of horror and bullying which ends up getting her and T.C. who follows her lead moved when she turns them on her foster parents for refusing to let her visit Star or contact her.

This got her moved home which caused T.C. to be involved as well to go with her. She stole T.C.’s dog, Buster, for her from their original foster home after they'd moved to Jhiaxus. T.C. cried because she never thought she'd see her again. They were moved their first at the recommendation of their caseworker who is genuinely trying to help them and keep them together.

T.C. is the quieter and younger of the two, but can be just as reckless. She crashed her former foster parents’ car in order to get moved with Sky. She wants to be a writer, keeps a notebook of her ideas, and reads often. She dealt with everything by turning inward while Sky was more like Star and struck out.

They have really only ever been able to rely on each other and Star and keep themselves to themselves.