#this is following on from yesterday night's discussion

[batsandbirdbrains]

I have this idea bouncing around in my head where after Jason dies people come up with like shit ton of conspiracies and one of the biggest ones is that Dick had something to do with his death. Like Dick was just mysteriously gone with a flimsy alibi when everything went down. He missed the funeral. He was never adopted and was probably jealous of Jason. There’s lots of motive there.

Anyways, people start sending hate mail and death threats to Dick, because they’re convinced that he helped get Jason killed. Dick doesn��t say anything about it at first because he feels guilty about not being there for Jason, and he doesn’t want to create a huge fuss or anything. Eventually he gets used to it and forgets to bring it up to anyone. But then one day, when Jason has already been back in the fam for a few years, Dick lets it slip that he still gets hate mail for Jason’s death.

And Jason supremely loses his shit. He starts tracking these people down. Not as Red Hood, though, as buff-ghost-Jason Todd seeking revenge for people who hurt his brother. At first, Jason manages to keep it off the Batfam’s radar. But then more and more reports start popping up about Jason Todd’s hulk of a ghost beating up people who are mean to Dick. Now everyone is like “wtf??” and they’re trying to figure out if the best course of action is to announce Jason’s alive or if they keep pretending he’s dead.

Omg I could see it becoming a Gotham online conspiracy theory that doesn’t actually have all that many people who believe it, but it’s just enough who do for them to consistently harass Dick. And he’s had such a falling out with Bruce over the way everything with Jason was handled that he has no one who can help him with it, no one to turn to. Besides, maybe it was his fault. He should’ve done a better job protecting Jason. He should’ve been there. This is his penance for being a terrible brother.

Then the hallucinations start, and he has this ghostly version of his brother telling him he deserves it and his death is all his fault and he deserves every nasty word and threat that gets sent to him. And Dick believes. He believes all of it.

It doesn’t matter that Jason comes back a couple years later. It doesn’t matter that he and Jason become close again. It was still his fault. He still deserves it.

Then Jason is at Dick’s apartment one night, waiting for him to get back from patrol because he has a case he wants to discuss with him, and he stumbles across a box Dick left out. It’s overflowing with letters and flash drives, and when Jason opens it, he feels like he just opened Pandora’s Box.

Because it’s all hate mail. Death threats. Accusations. That Dick was responsible for his death. Some of them are dated back as far as the weeks following his funeral.

And Jason has since learned why Dick wasn’t at his funeral, he’s learned about the blowout fight Dick and Bruce had over it when Dick got back from space to find his little brother dead and buried.

There’s a letter at the top dated just yesterday. Dick got it in the mail today. He read it before he went on patrol.

And Jason breaks. Because his brother has been dealing with this for years, and no one ever told him. Jason has been back for years, unable to announce that he’s still alive to the general public (so Bruce says).

Jason gets together with Tim and Damian to come up with a plan. First, they scare the shit out of all these people trying to blame Dick for Jason’s death. Then they shut down all the Reddit threads and comment boards and discussion rooms on the internet that talk about it.

Then they convince Bruce to announce that Jason is still alive. They announce that the body had been difficult to identify, but it wasn’t actually Jason they found those years ago. Jason had been kidnapped and held hostage, they found him not long after he’d been pronounced dead, but they kept up the ruse because there had been death threats against him or something and it was a security thing idk.

And Jason publicly condemns everyone who ever accused his brother of killing him.

[bug-in-a-cage]

Occasionally the Culture and the Affini Compact bump into each other in deep space. For the most part, the Culture is...intrigued, albeit not repulsed, by the Affini Compact's whole deal, but prefers to maintain a delineation between the two societies.

Following a few misunderstandings (involving high-powered weaponry that would make most civilisations roll over and crawl back into the sea), the GCU Shameless Exhibitionist presided over the signing of an accord amounting to "It takes all sorts to make a universe, Kumbaya, and all that", with the solemn promise that neither civilisation would try to annex the other, provided the parties follow certain stipulations.

It turns out that a small, but significant percentage of Culture citizens rather like being kept as pets, and the Affini Compact is endeared by the novelty of a spacefaring society with a standing army and a commitment to doing right by people.

Bless their hearts.

[brattyspence]

sober thoughts | s.reid

summary: pining!reader makes a drunk call to spencer after going out with friends, and is aggressively trying to flirt with him. 

tags: reader is DRUNK! alcohol!! dont read if thats not okay!!, fluffy as fuck, spencer is the most gentle of gentlemen, pining!reader, reader wears makeup/dress/heels, spencer is lowkey bad at flirting but he shows affection in weird ways, one use of Y/N (sorry i know)

a/n: this has been bouncing around in my head for a while. sigh.

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

He was used to seeing you tipsy, if that was even the right word for it. 

You were friends, after all. Best friends, even. And the fact that he lived only a few doors down from the pub the team frequented made it stupid not to offer his couch to you after going out with the team. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. Every now and then on a Friday night, you’d head out with the team and have one, maybe two drinks if you were feeling particularly adventurous–but you still didn’t want to drive home, especially when he was offering his home to you. Truthfully, you just liked getting to hang out with him. You liked getting to exist in his orbit and discuss a random topic late into the night. It had become normal for you, an excuse to do something together that didn’t revolve around work. 

What was not normal was the fact that it was a Saturday at 11 PM and you were really drunk, calling him. 

Your contact photo filled his screen, illuminating the dark room. You weren’t one to call, preferring the convenience of a text. Especially this late, which worried him a bit. He picked up quickly, tucking the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hey, Spencer?” It wasn’t your voice. “This is Molly, Y/N’s friend. I’m sorry to call so late. We’re out with some friends from college celebrating someone’s birthday, and she got… like, drunk drunk, kinda sloppy… and she’s been blabbing about you for a while. She wanted me to call you.”

��Oh,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Can you put her on?”

“Yeah. Not sure you’ll get anything out of her, though. Here…”

He can hear the general chatter and chaos of the bar over the call. There’s some rustling sounds before you finally take the phone.

“Hi,” you say, your voice dripping with a certain kind of fondness. He can hear the smile through the screen. 

“Hey,” he replies. ”You having fun?”

“Oh, Spencer, I was… I haven’t heard your voice in so long. What’re you…” you trail off, lifting the phone from your ear to answer someone else. “Sorry. ‘S so loud in here.

He chuckles to himself. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, ‘nd that was… Oh, I can’t do math right now. A long time ago.”

“Are you okay?”

On the other side of town, you were sitting in a barstool, swiping your finger along the beads of condensation rolling down the glass of water in front of you. 

“Mhm. ‘M good. Fine. Drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he smiles. “Are you gonna be able to get home?”

“Uhh…” you pause. “I was gonna Uber… but then I thought that maybe… if you weren't busy… we could hang out…” 

He could vaguely make out dialog on the other end of the phone. Some kind of “Girl, this sounds really pathetic,” followed by a “Shhhh!” in two other drunken voices.

“But I could also make Molly order me an Uber,” you added. “‘S okay. Nevermind.”

“No, you're not getting in an Uber inebriated. That’s ridiculous.”

“‘M not inebriated.”

A background voice comes back. “Yeah, you are.”

Spencer sighs into the phone. “Just… send me your location, please? I’ll come get you.”

“O-kay. ‘M sending it right now, jus’ tell me when you-”

The call went dead before you could finish your thought, which he chalked up to some kind of drunken user error. A few seconds later a text came through 

You: dropped a pin

You: its molly again. let me know if you got this

He responded, relieved that you had someone looking after you, before getting ready and grabbing his keys. 

-

You were sitting on a bench outside the bar. The air was cool and crisp, but you were warm, your skin clammy from the alcohol. You had been mumbling something incoherent about Spencer, he’s just so good to me, Molly, and oh, god, I don’t know what to do with myself, and…

Molly, who had been trying to sober you up (unsuccessfully), was standing in front of you, arms crossed, listening to your incessant rambling.

“...’nd sometimes he talks to me, ‘nd I have no idea what he’s talking about but he’s so hot when he’s smart. You should hear, it, Mol’.”

Cars pass on the street behind you, filling the silence momentarily. Molly looks over her shoulder, scanning the street before turning back to you. “Alright. Be quiet. He’s here” 

“Don’t care.”

She puts her hand out to help you up, which you accept rising to your feet. You’re surprised by how unsteady you feel, but you focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’ll make fun of you for this tomorrow,” she says. 

You only have a few seconds to grumble in protest before Spencer reaches you. He scans you quickly, chuckling to himself.

“You are a mess,” he says, amused. 

You feel slightly infantilized watching Molly hand over all your personal effects to him. You weren’t even sure when you’d put down your wallet and keys, much less where, but you’re thankful she picked them up and not someone else.

“Good luck,” She tells him. She pats your arm before turning back to the bar, leaving you alone on the street with him. 

“You okay?” He asks. You watch him shuck off his jacket, which he helps you slide over your arms.

“‘M fine,” you reply. “Warm.”

“Because you’re drunk.” He keeps his eyes trained on the zipper of the jacket, or really anywhere that isn't you in that dress. “Alcohol is a vasodilator. So you feel warm. But it's forty degrees outside, and hypothermia doesn't care.”

You pout at him, watching as he pulls the zipper tab up enough to shield you from the cold. Only then does he really look at you. 

“I wanted you to see my pretty dress,” you pout. Your words come out slurred still. 

You meet his eyes for a split second. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to reply, but quickly decides against it. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought.

“Come on. We gotta get you home.” 

“You don't like it?” 

“I didn't say that.” He tucks a hand under your arm as you begin back down the street, keeping you steady. 

“So you do like it?” You look over at him, your face more excited than he was expecting. 

“It’s very pretty,” he replies.

Your shoulder bumps his as you walk, seemingly unable to maintain a straight path along the sidewalk. The click of your heels against the pavement is uneven, despite your efforts to maintain some kind of composure, and unfortunately for you, he’s right, and it's freezing outside. You make steady progress down the block, placing all your focus on not falling flat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn't live all that far.

“D’you think I look pretty, too?” You ask, approaching the steps to his apartment.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, looking down at you. He takes in the slight flush of your cheeks as the effects of the alcohol battle the chill in the air.

“I’m trying to flirt with you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, you're going to be difficult all night, aren't you?” He sighs, ignoring the question. He pauses outside the door, keys in hand, and unlocks the door before guiding you inside. 

“You don't ever want to flirt with me.”

The door falls shut behind you with a clunk. The room is dark, with only the distant light from a lamp somewhere across the room illuminating it. You squint when he turns on the big light.

“That’s not true,” he says, quietly. If you weren’t hanging on to his every word, you might have missed it. He carefully unzips the jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and setting it on the table.

“So why won’t you flirt with me right now?” 

“Because you’re drunk,” He guides you towards the couch, his touch still careful as ever. 

You flop down onto the cushions. The leather sticks to your legs as you sit. Being the gentleman he is, he has already left pajamas out, his pajamas, you’d since claimed as your own, with the blanket you steal every time you stay over. 

“So what?” You begin working at the clasp on your heels, fumbling with the leather straps to no avail. 

“So, you’re drunk.” He repeats, reappearing in front of you. He sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and hands you a pack of makeup wipes. “Do you need help with your shoes?” 

You nod. A soft breath of laughter escapes him as he leans in to help you take them off, setting them on the carpeted floor. 

“Spence,” you look at the pack of wipes. “Why do you have these?”

“Because every time you’re here you forget them,” he replies. 

“Oh.” You rip them open. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies, lowering your foot back to the ground. 

“You don't let other drunk girls sleep over?” You paw at your eyeliner, effectively smearing it around more than removing it. 

“I don't let anyone sleep over,” he says, taking the wipe from you. “Just you. Close your eyes.”

“Because you love me?” 

His fingers find the underside of your chin, gently tilting your face towards his so he can finish swiping away the last of your eyeliner. Maybe you’re blushing as a result of the alcohol warming your bloodstream, but the more likely answer is him, at this proximity. 

As soon as he’s done wiping your eyes, you open them again to look up at him. 

“You’re bold when you’re drunk,” he says, smiling. He sets the used wipe down on the table.

“Mhm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to,” He says. “Sorry. Go get changed.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” you say. You collect the clothes off the couch and slink across the apartment into the bathroom to change. You don’t bother shutting the bathroom door before slinking off the dress you were wearing and sliding on the pajamas he’d left for you. Once you finish, you collect your dress off the floor and make your way back towards the couch, settling right into the cushions as you frequently did on nights like this. 

You were formulating another complaint about his lack of reciprocation, but your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled the blanket on his couch over you. Your blanket, or at least one you’d claimed as your own during one of your nights spent here. He had already turned off the ceiling fan, which you’d always insisted off when you slept over. You followed him with your gaze as he turned the lights off, swapping them instead for a smaller, softer light somewhere in the kitchen, remembering the way you’d always insisted he leave a light on somewhere, just for you. Your phone was already charging on a side table, your heels sitting nicely by the door, your keys on his key holder, evidence of you, everywhere, details that were distinctly for your comfort. Maybe you had missed his signals. 

“I think you do love me…” 

He reappeared a moment later, crouching in front of you with that look. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“And I love you. And I called you because I wanted to tell you that.” 

“You really need to sleep it off. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean it,” you whined. “I swear. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he laughed. 

“But I will. I promise,” you replied. “No bedtime kiss?”

Of course, this time you did pick up the way he looked at you. 

“No, honey. Maybe tomorrow.”

[smutoperator]

Double Date

Ning Yizhuo (Ningning), Anatchaya Suputhipong (Natty) x Male Reader

Tags: ass-eating, best friends, big tits worship, (lots of) blowjob, clit-rubbing, cum on tits, date, dirty talk, facesitting, foreplay, full nelson, girlfriend, leg-shaking orgasms, pussy-to-pussy, riding, spanking, stacking, threesome, titfucking, unexpected cumshot

Word count: 6234

You had arranged a date at a restaurant with your girlfriend, Ningning. As you arrived, she surprised you by bringing her best friend along, much to your delight.

"Hi," Natty introduced herself as she sat at the table. What an incredible woman she is. The Thai bombshell stole your heart the moment you saw her, especially when she bent her body on the table and rested her huge tits on top of it.

Ningning had to bring you back to earth with a little pinch, as you had focused so hard on Natty you even forgot about your girlfriend. "She's so pretty, isn't she?" you asked Ningning, who ignored you as you gave Natty a greeting kiss on her cheek. You three ate and drank a lot in that restaurant, you enjoyed a double date with two of the most beautiful idols, both of them very sexy in different ways, Ningning as the porcelain Chinese cold beauty from the harsh Harbin winters, Natty as the beautiful Thai hottie like the weather of her home country.

You brought both of them to your apartment. While Natty sat in the living room, taking a little break, Ningning followed you to the same bed you had sex with her yesterday. You two kissed each other and talked a bit. "You made me feel a little jealous the way you looked at my friend," Ningning said, referring to your flirtations.

But Ningning was well aware of her best friend's hotness and was ready to take advantage of it. As the Chinese girl massaged your still-clothed cock with one hand, she picked up her phone with the other one, sending her best friend the signal the two had discussed with each other before you three arrived at the apartment.

Ningning kept kissing you and massaging your crotch while you run your hands over her face and ass, as you could feel another special night was about to come. But little did you know things were about to take an even spicier turn in a matter of seconds.

"That's so hot," Natty said, arriving at the room spotting both you and Ningning making out. The Thai hottie went straight to the point, unzipping her shirt and unveiling her massive tits in the process. "I saw you staring at them all night at the bar," she said.

"Are you ready for a special date, baby?" Ningning asks you as Natty climbs on top of your bed already completely naked. You're mesmerized by the Thai hottie, her wonderful body from top to bottom, from her thick legs to her big tits, as Ningning rubs them while she gives Natty some kisses.

"We're gonna have a good time tonight," Natty says as she looks at you with very naughty eyes. But Ningning isn't far behind. "We knew we had to fuck you together the moment I invited her for our date," Ningning tells you. "Tonight, you're going to give that big cock to us real fucking good," she continues. "Sure, you can count on it," you reply.

Ningning takes your shirt off while Natty touches your clothed cock for the first time. "Oh my God, look at this big fucking cock, it's been this hard for a long time I bet, ever since I arrived in that bar," she says.

"Holy shit, I can feel it throbbing for both of us," Ningning says as she touches it as well and takes your belt off next. "I want it so fucking bad," Natty follows suit as Ningning takes her clothes off to match her best friend's nudity.

You and Natty share kisses as Ningning spits on your pants and licks your clothed cock. "I can't wait to feel it in my pussy," she says. "Me too," Natty agrees. You quickly take a step further, reaching to massage her pussy while sucking her big tits already. "Oh fuck, that's so good," Natty moans as your tongue massages her nipple and sends her to the heavens.

"Yes, baby, bite that nipple, suck those big tits," Natty commands as you dive deeper and deeper against her massive milkers. Ningning watches you two have fun and wants a slice for herself, teaming up as both of you suck Natty's right both. "Oh yeah, share those tiddies," an excited Natty says, pushing both your head and Ningning's against it.

"Look at that body, Ningning is so lucky to have you," Natty says as she pays attention to your muscular frame. "She's just as lucky to have you as a best friend, your body is amazing too," you reply to her as you and Natty share more kisses while Ningning keeps her mouth glued to her friend's tits. "Baby, look at those fucking tits, they are so big," Ningning says as each of you has one of Natty's boobs in your mouths now.

"OHHHHHHHH FUCK" Natty moans as both you and Ningning worship her huge tits. She loves the feeling of your tongues running all over them and sucking them like two hungry babies as you and Ningning get more and more aggressive with the tonguing and then trade kisses with Natty.

"I want your tiddies in my face too," Natty tells Ningning. These two girls have worshipped each other's boobs countless times since becoming best friends and tonight it won't be different, as Natty quickly grabs Ningning's soft pair of boobs and puts it in her mouth. "This is how best friends do things, you worship my Nattys I worship your Ningnings" Natty says, calling their boobs by their names.

Natty is so hungry she sweeps across both of Ningning's boobs like a maniac, giving her best friend a little tap on her cute butt while you kiss your girlfriend. You reach from behind and touch Natty's pussy again. "OH FUCK, YOU'RE GONNA MAKE MY FUCKING CLIT THROB ALREADY," she suddenly screams right against Ningning's tits.

"Let me taste it," Ningning commands as you put your hand in her mouth and feed Natty's pussy juices to her. Natty ducks down and licks Ningning's midriff, before going back to suffocate herself on her tits. Both girls then take a quick turnaround and turn their attention to you.

"Take those pants off, we want to see that big cock," Natty and Ningning say almost at the same time. You follow their instructions as Natty quickly gets impressed. "Holy shit, it's even bigger without pants covering it," she says, a big smile coming out of her face.

Natty touches and admires your hard, throbbing shaft, but it's Ningning who makes the first move, ready to suck her boyfriend's big cock like always. "I can't wait for you to stretch our tight little pussies with it," she says as she licks your tip while Natty moves up and down your shaft.

"Oh my God, you suck it so good," you say to Ningning, always surprised by your girlfriend's amazing blowjob skills. Natty looks at you with her typical naughty eyes, ready to take her turn next as Ningning bobs her head on your cock without using her hands.

"You wanna taste it?" Ningning asks Natty as she lets her best friend suck her boyfriend's cock next. As soon as Natty dives her head on it, Ningning grabs it and pushes it aggressively against your crotch. "Choke on my boyfriend's dick, you big tit slut, take it, take it" she commands.

"How does her fucking throat feel?" Ningning asks you. "It feels amazing," you reply. "Hmmm, look how much good this big tit bitch is choking on this fucking cock," she replies, loving how sloppy Natty gets and how hard she gags every time she deepthroats your throbbing shaft.

"Spit on it," Ningning says to Natty, who follows. "Yes, let's make a big mess on that cock," Natty replies as Ningning takes her turn for another round of sucking it, going much faster than the first time. "Look how hot she is worshipping that big cock, the perfect slutty girlfriend," Natty says. "Oh yeah, I love stroking it hard with my hands and then shoving it down my throat," Ningning says.

Both girls keep taking turns sucking your cock for a few minutes as you love watching them bob their heads all over your shaft. "Yes, share that cock," you tell them. "Let's stroke it together, nice and slow," Ningning commands as both of you now grip their hands on your shaft.

"Don't you dare cum, don't you dare cum until I tell you to," Ningning commands as she strokes your cock even harder and can feel it throbbing further. Natty smiles as both girls spit on your cock, Natty then dives deep for your balls while Ningning deepthroats you. "I can feel there is a lot of milk for us on that big cock," Ningning says once she's done.

"Those balls fit so well in my mouth," Natty says as she engulfs them to the fullest. Both girls then lick your shaft from the side in perfect sync like the good whores they are, then kiss each other with their cock-tasting mouths. "Oh yeah, look at him fucking shake," Natty notices as their strokes get you closer and closer to cum.

"Let's make him beg for our pussies," Natty says as both girls keep stroking your cock. At this point, you can no longer contain yourself and blast a fountain of cum that hits Natty and Ningning's faces.

"Hmmm, bad boy, I told you not to cum early, how should we punish him, Natty? How about putting those big tits between that fucking cock?" Ningning asks. "Oh, good idea," Natty answers. "Let's punish that bad boy," Ningning says.

Natty opens your legs and lifts your body right at her big boobs. Ningning helps her, spitting right between her big tits, then grabbing both from the side and watching your cock go instantly hard as she squeezes Natty's milky melons between them. "Let's start nice and slow," Ningning says, moving her best friend's tits up and down your shaft.

"I love your boyfriend's big cock rubbing on my big tits, keep going," Natty tells Ningning as the Aespa girl gropes her bouncy boobs. "Look at those perfect tits bouncing up and down," Ningning says before grabbing your shaft and slapping it against Natty's boobs, which she loves.

"Yes, baby, let's fuck that monster cock with those big tits," Natty says as she takes the initiative, squeezing her boobs much harder than Ningning. You reach to grab some lube, handing it to Ningning as she helps Natty slide her tits between your cock easier. "Look at me going all the way down your boyfriend's cock with my big tits," Natty says to her.

Natty rubs your cock in her nipple while Ningning chimes in and licks your shaft and Natty's tits at the same time. "Spit all over it, nice and wet," Natty commands. "Put it between your tits again so I can lick it," Ningning says. as Natty follows, bouncing her tits up and down your shaft while Ningning sticks her tongue out and seizes every opportunity to lick the tip of it.

"I can feel it fucking throb," Ningning says as she takes your cock from Natty's tits and put it in her mouth. "Does it feel good?" Natty asks. "It feels amazing," you answer. More titfucking follows as Natty picks up the pace. "Fuck those tits, fuck those tits," Ningning tells you before Natty lets her deepthroat you while your cock is still between her tits.

"We are so thirsty to put that big fat cock in our pussies," Natty says. "So, who wants to go first?" Ningning asks. "I do, I'm going fucking first," Natty says, ready to take that big dick inside her for the first time. "Let me sit on that big cock," Natty commands as Ningning strokes it and slowly puts it in her best friend's pussy for a reverse cowgirl ride.

"Such a big dick, I envy you so much, Ningning," Natty tells her friend. "Let me jerk that cock while it slides in that needy cunt," Ningning says as she keeps gripping her hands on your shaft while that anaconda slowly disappears under Natty's pussy. "Oh yeah," the Thai girl moans as she gets fuller and fuller of your cock.

"He fucking loves your pussy, already pushing up," Ningning says as you thrust against Natty's fuckhole. "OH FUCKKK," the Thai girl moans. "Keep going, thrust that fucking cock deep inside her pussy," Ningning commands. "YES, JERK THAT FUCKING COCK DEEP IN ME," Natty screams alongside her.

Ningning looks deep into Natty's eyes, both of them sharing sexy stares as the Chinese girl fingers the clit of her best friend while Natty takes a huge pounding that makes her big boobs bounce nonstop. "I love watching your tits move like that while my boyfriend's cock fucks you," she tells Natty.

"Oh wow, it's so fucking deep," Natty says as she slowly creams herself all over that big dick, your balls smashing her clit while you stretch your arms to grope her big tits. "Take it, take it, take it," Ningning demands of her best friend.

"That's perfect, that's fucking perfect, DON'T FUCKING STOP, POUND MY FUCKING PUSSY," Natty begs as the clapping sounds of your hips clashing only grow louder. Ningning just watches as Natty gets turned into nothing but a cocksleeve and her friend's tits turn into pinballs. "MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT, MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT," Natty begs.

"Take every inch of it," Ningning demands as she grabs Natty's waist and pushes her further down your body. "OHHHHHH," Natty screams as her cunt gets drilled at a frantic speed and she starts bouncing like crazy on your dick until she finally cums. "OH GOD," she screams as she squirts all over your dick.

"I wanna taste it, I wanna taste it," a needy Ningning quickly comes and grabs your cock, diving to lick the juices of Natty's pussy, before rubbing your shaft all over Natty's entrance and shoving it back inside. "She wants more, baby, give it to her," Ningning says.

"Destroy that pussy, destroy that slutty pussy," Ningning says. You follow your girlfriend's commands, pounding Natty even harder while Ningning sucks her friend's bouncy tits and enjoys them hitting her porcelain face at full speed. "I NEED THAT COCK, I NEED IT, FUCK ME HARDER," Natty begs as she gets drilled. "USE MY PUSSY, TAKE IT DEEP, PUT IT RIGHT WHERE IT FUCKING BELONGS," she keeps screaming.

You grab Natty's long legs and place her under a full Nelson. "Oh my God," Natty says. Life can't be more perfect for you than now, as Ningning sits on your face and makes you worship her pussy while you plow her best friend's hole.

"Eat that fucking pussy," Ningning commands as she watches Natty get destroyed from a privileged spot. "Oh fuck, that's right in my G-spot," Natty says as Ningning now spreads her legs. "Look at this slut, shaking all over that big fat cock," Ningning notices as Natty's legs start trembling and you can't stop fucking her pussy.

"IT'S PERFECT, IT'S SO PERFECT, I LOVE THAT COCK SO MUCH" Natty announces as Ningning massages her big tits, then climbs up to spit on Natty's cunt and fingers her clit. Despite you locking her legs and using her like a fucktoy, Natty still manages to cling to Ningning's boobs and suck them, Ningning then kisses her and massages her tits further. "Oh yes, I agree, my boyfriend's big cock is perfect, even more, when it fucks that slutty Thai pussy" Ningning says.

"Rub my clit, I wanna cum," Natty tells Ningning. "Hmmm I know you love it, look how wet that pussy is, truly enjoying getting stretched out by my boyfriend's big fat cock" Ningning answers. "Look at those big tits bouncing, so beautiful," she continues, enjoying Natty getting pounded nonstop.

"Make her cum, make her cum," Ningning tells you. "I'm so close, I'm so close," Natty answers, her legs shaking more than ever. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she screams as she's on the verge of cumming, just needs a couple of drillings and some clit massaging from Ningning to finally unleash it.

"Are you cumming?" Ningning asks Natty. "OHHHHH FUCKKKK," Natty says, it's all Ningning needs to know, as Natty cums all over your cock. "Rub that pussy with me," Ninging tells you as both of you finger Natty's clit until she's nothing but a trembling mess. "AHHHHHH," Natty screams as she gets drilled one last time, her cheeks getting clapped while her tits jiggle like crazy. "You look so hot getting fucked," Ningning says to her.

"Now it's my turn to ride that cock," Ningning says as she tastes Natty's pussy from your cock, before letting her best friend have it as Natty deepthroats your cock. Both girls spend a couple of minutes licking your shaft, making sure they get every single fluid in her mouth, before Ningning prepares to sit on your lap, but not before some teasing.

"Let's tease this tight little pussy," Natty says as both she and Ningning grab your shaft together and rub it against the chine girl's entrance. "Get it wet for me," Ningning tells Natty, who deepthroats you again to get it ready for Ningning's tight little pussy. "Now it can stretch me out," Ningning says.

Ningning slowly slides down your shaft. No matter how many times she takes it in her pussy, she always gets shocked at the sheer size of it. But she always takes it like a champion. "Look at me bouncing that tight pussy on that big dick," she tells Natty.

"How tight is she?" Natty asks you. "Incredibly tight," you answer as Ningning's walls squeeze your cock to the fullest, leaving no room for it to breathe, her pussy queefing at each bounce. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh," Ningning softly moans.

"I love this big fucking cock stretching me, OHHHHH FUCKKK," Ningning suddenly screams as you surprise her with thrusts up her pussy, your balls reaching as high as her winking asshole. "Just use that pussy," Natty tells you as she enjoys Ningning's cheeks getting clapped while sitting on your face for you to taste yourself in her pussy.

"YOU LIKE WATCHING ME TAKE THIS COCK?" Ningning asks Natty. "Yes, you look so good taking all that dick," the Thai girl answers. "Watch it, whore, watch my tight pussy grip it," Ningning says as Natty is now the one enjoying watching her friend getting pounded. Ningning suddenly fights your thrusts, bouncing on your cock perfectly as Natty enjoys you and your girlfriend's duel, all that while moaning softly as your tongue sweeps her pussy.

Natty bends just enough to make her tits bounce from the moves Ningning is making, landing them right on Ningning's back, before coming from behind and massaging Ningning's asshole. "This cock is too big for my tiny little pussy," Ningning claims. "But you're gonna take it like the good whore you are," Natty answers, spanking her friend's ass.

"Stretch me, stretch me," Ningning begs as you keep pounding her pussy, Natty takes your cock from Ningning's pussy to get it wet for another ride. "Put it back, put it back," Ningning begs as she can't go 10 seconds without your cock inside her. "You heard it, stretch her," Natty says, grabbing your shaft and stroking it while you fuck Ningning.

"Oh I love the way he fucks me," Ningning says. Natty gives her another naughty stare. "Tell me what you are, Ningning," Natty says. "I'm a dirty fucking slut who loves taking big fat cock in my pussy," the Aespa girl answers. "Take that whole fucking dick," Natty says to her. "YES, I'LL TAKE EVERY INCH OF IT," Ningning answers, screaming.

"You can't help but sit on this fucking cock all day, I know you already go to practice every day with that pussy filled with cum," Natty says to Ningning. "YES," Ningning says, who knows if answering her best friend or just screaming with your cock hitting her cervix.

"I love when you talk dirty like that, Natty, it's so fucking hot," Ningning says. "So you love being a whore?" Natty asks. "YES, YES, YES," Ningning enthusiastically answers, leaving no doubts this time.

"Fuck that whore," Natty tells you as she spanks Ningning's butt one more time and spits in her asshole. "That was hot, do it again," Ninging says and Natty follows, turning Ningning's butthole into a pond of spit while massaging your balls as you fuck Ningning.

"That dick is so perfect in your pussy," Natty tells Ningning as the Chinese girl bounces on it while you take a little break. "You're so good at riding cock," Natty says. "YES, BECAUSE I WANT TO CUM RIGHT NOW," Ningning screams, increasing her speed and tilting her body down as she smashes herself all over that cock.

"Cum all over that big fat cock, work on it," Natty says as Ningning gets closer. "I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," Ningning announces, and as soon as she does you go back to pound her. "FUCKING DESTROY THIS PUSSY, IT'S ALL YOURS, BABY, JUST FUCKING TAKE IT. HARDER. HARDER. HARDER, AHHHHHHH, KEEP GOING, RIGHT THERE" she begs as she cums all over your cock, while nasty Natty adds some extra stimulation by licking her butthole.

Just like Natty's, Ningning's short legs tremble as she reaches orgasm. "DON'T STOP, BABY," she moans as you keep drilling her pussy, Natty salivating as Ningning's juices slowly pour over your shaft and balls. "There you go," Natty says. "KEEP TALKING DIRTY LIKE THAT," Ningning tells Natty as she enjoys her friend getting plowed. "That's a good bitch, so needy for that big cock." you tell your girlfriend.

Ninging pulls out of your cock as Natty quickly jumps to taste her friend's juices. "That cock stretched that tight little pussy so good," she says as she bobs your head on your cock while you massage her big tits. "Choke on it, bitch," you tell her. Ningning soon joins as Natty dives into your balls that she loves so much. "Fuck, that's it, keep going" is all you can say as their mouths worship your cock.

"How do our pussies feel?" Ningning asks you. "Fucking amazing," you answer your girlfriend. Natty is ready for another ride, this time in cowgirl, as you grab her waist and tits while she sits on your dick, tilting sideways and spinning all over it. "Faster, bitch," you tell her, spanking her sexy ass. "YEAH, FUCK," she answers as Ningning just watches her best friend impale herself full of her boyfriend's cock.

"You like this shit?" you ask Natty. "YES, I LOVE IT," she answers. "Then bounce harder," you answer with another spank. "Smash that cock," Ningning says as she joins you in the ass-spanking, hitting Natty's wonderful, bouncy cheeks every time she reaches the bottom of your shaft.

"Such a dirty little slut taking this fucking cock," Ningning says. "Yes, I'm a dirty fucking whore," Natty agrees as Ningning grabs her big butt and makes it bounce on your dick. "Keep going baby, make her take every inch," you tell your girlfriend. "AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH," Natty moans. "I love watching that pussy being used, taking my boyfriend's big fucking cock like that, you want it harder?" Ningning then asks Natty.

"YES, I WANT IT HARDER," Natty begs as you push your cock up her pussy while Ningning spreads her ass. "Ohhh, baby, you heard it, she wants it fucking harder," Ningning says as you pump Natty like crazy, using her pussy like crazy while Ningning rubs her friend's asshole. "Yes, tease me," Natty begs as Ningning's long nails dig into her anus.

"You love the way we just play with you like that? Our sexy Thai fucktoy for me and my boyfriend to have fun with?" Ningning asks. "Yes, I love it," Natty answers, grinning her teeth as your cock reaches deep into her cervix. "YES, HIT IT, BABY, RIGHT WHERE IT BELONGS," Natty says as she feels it, while Ningning keeps entertaining herself with her friend's backside, now licking her asshole too.

"Use it, use it, use it, harder, harder, harder, take it, take it, take it, fuck her tight little pussy," Ningning continues to cheer on you as Natty rides your cock. "I'm gonna cum again," the Thai girl announces just as you spank her ass again. "Wanna fucking cum on it? Then show what a good whore you are and twerk on my boyfriend's dick," Ningning says.

"Let me fucking cum in that dick, please," Natty begs. "Not yet," Ningning says. "OHHHHH FUCKKK," Natty screams as the walls of her pussy start clenching. "I can feel that pussy smashing that big fat throbbing cock," Ningning says as she grabs your shaft, while you wrap your arms around Natty. "AHHHHH I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," Natty screams as she squirts all over your muscular body.

Ningning is right there to clean your cock. You take advantage of her and start fucking her throat. "Yes baby, pound that pretty throat," Natty says as she turns around and watches her friend's face getting stuffed full of your cock until Ningning gags. She spits on it and puts it back in Natty's pussy, letting the Thai slut ride it one more time. "Damn, it looks so fucking good deep inside you, I have to admit," Ningning says.

"FUCK THIS BITCH, SHE DESERVES, SHE'S SUCH A NASTY SLUT," Ningning screams as she grabs Natty's ass, pushing you to pump harder and harder into her friend's cunt. Natty can only agree. "I'M A DIRTY FUCKING WHORE, I WANT MY PUSSY FUCKING USED, TAKE IT ALL, I'M NOTHING BUT YOUR COCKSLEEVE, AHHHHH" she screams.

Natty cums all over your cock and tastes yourself shortly after, rolling her eyes as Ningning watches. "That's the taste of a dirty fucking whore," Ningning says to her, before taking it herself too. Both girls get on their knees and choke on your cock, but Natty is by far the neediest. "How does her throat feel?" Ningning asks as Natty bobs her head on your dick. "Incredible," you answer your girlfriend.

Ningning takes advantage of Natty being so thirsty for your cock and shoves her head against your crotch. "Fuck this bitch, yeah!" she says as your cock stuff Natty's throat. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," you can hear Natty say as your cock muffles her mouth.

"Look at this pretty tongue, so horny for cock" Ningning says as you now push your cock in and out of Natty's mouth while her tongue is fully popped out. Soon, Ningning sticks her tongue out and gets your cock stuffed in her mouth as well.

"You wanna go back and forth? Use those fucking slutty throats?" Ningning asks you as you fuck her face too. But she has tasted that cock countless times already and decides to be a bit unselfish and let Natty get it wet. "Get it ready for me," Ningning says.

Ningning gets herself on all fours as you stick your cock back in her pussy. "Look at that big fat cock stretching that tight little pussy," Natty says as she kisses you and stays right there, spreading her friend's ass. "Ahhhh, just like that" Ningning moans as you hit deep in her pussy under Natty's eyes.

"Use my fucking pussy, please, baby," Ningning begs as Natty whispers dirty words in your ear. "Destroy that fucking whore, make her little cunt sore, make sure she can't walk tomorrow for practice," Natty says to you while massaging and hitting Ningning's ass. "OH YEAH, JUST LIKE THAT," the little Chinese girl screams.

"Such a good bitch," you say to Ningning, hitting her ass. "Yes, I love it when you call me a good bitch while I take this big fat cock" she replies. Natty rubs her asshole while you drill Ningning's pussy. "Are you feeling it getting tighter for your baby? It's begging to get used like a fleshlight," Ningning says as you increase the pace of pounding her pussy.

Natty wraps her arms around your sweaty body, enjoying kissing you while Ningning gets drilled like a fucktoy, your midriff hitting Natty's tits as you thrust up and down Ningning's pussy. "Natty, spank my ass, please," she begs, and Natty obliges.

"HOLY SHIT, YEAH," Ningning moans as Natty now places her naughty tongue in her asshole. "That's the spot, right there, right there," Ningning moans. "Cum for us bitch," you tell her. "Yes, I will if you keep talking like that," Ningning answers. "Beg for it, bitch," you reply. "Please, baby, let me cum, ah," Ningning says in a very soft voice before Natty's tongue in her anus interrupts it and makes her moan.

"Be a good bitch and cum," you tell her. "AHHHHHHH," Ningning's legs start to tremble shortly after you hit her ass. "Yes, baby, cum," Natty says to her, looking at you with sexy eyes as Ningning's legs shake. "Oh my God I can take this cock all night long, I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow," Ningning says.

"We are all going to," Natty says as she spits on Ningning's ass and rubs my clit. "OH MY GOD, MY PUSSY IS SO FUCKING WET, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM," Ningning screams as the stimulation of your cock and Natty's hands is too much for her to handle. "Fuck me harder, I'm so fucking wet, please, can I cum?" she asks. "Yes, be a good bitch and cum right now," you say.

"AHHHHHH," Ningning screams as she covers the bedsheets with her juice. "Oh look at that creamy pussy," Natty says. "You better clean it tomorrow," you tell her as Ningning collapses and Natty instantly chokes on your dick.

Ningning masturbates watching you fuck Natty's face once again. "Look at this pussy so wet after that big fat cock stretched it out," she says. Now is Natty's turn to put herself on all fours and get stretched out. "Oh yeah," she says as your anaconda finds the depths of her cunt for the 100th time that night.

You give Natty a very fast-paced pounding, grabbing Natty's waist hard as Ningning spreads her legs to get her pussy eaten out by her best friend, her tits bouncing harder as you use Natty like crazy. "Make her cum," you tell Natty. "You like licking my pussy?" Ningning asks her. "YES, OH FUCK, IT'S SO DEEP, SO DEEP," Natty answers before you overwhelm her with your cock putting up the heat in her Thai pussy.

You feed your cock for Ningning to taste and put it back in Natty. "I'm gonna jerk that big fat cock into that tight little cunt," Ningning says as she lines up to the side of both of you. "OHHHH FUCK," Natty screams as your thrusts and Ningning make your cock throb and drive her to the edge. "Harder, harder, give her harder, show her how good of a slut she is" Nearly an hour into the sex session, Ningning continues to push your limits.

"I'm so close again," Natty says. "Oh my God she needs to cum all over that dick again, such a nasty bitch," Ningning says. "OHHHH I'M CUMMING," Natty announces as her legs shake again. "FUCK, DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP, PLEASE," she begs as you continue to move your cock up and down her cunt. You grab Natty's waist and pound her like a madman, making her tits jiggle like jelly. "USE THAT FUCKING HOLE, I'M YOUR COCKSLEEVE WHORE," Natty screams as she cums.

Ningning shoves her ass in your face as a reward. "Good boy, fucked the slut just like I told you to," she says. Natty keeps moving her pussy up and down your cock despite your mad thrusts ceasing. "Let me jerk that cock in my pussy," she says as Ningning enjoys getting her ass eaten while Natty comes from below and sucks her tits.

Ningning then stacks herself on top of Natty, fingering herself as she enjoys her best friend going back to being treated like a fleshlight. "Tell me baby how much you enjoy those fuckholes right in front of you," Ningning says.

"Holy fuck, that cock is ripping my pussy apart," Natty says as you switch your cock to Ningning. "Yes, baby, switch between those fucking pussies," Natty says as she lets Ningning fully stacks on top of her. "Give her that fucking cock," Natty says. "Oh yeah, baby, make my pussy juice fall all over her fat ass, cover that dirty little slut" Ningning answers.

The back and forth between Natty and Ningning's pussies go on for a few more minutes, with you even going a little acrobatic and grabbing your girlfriend's body to eat her pussy while you fuck Natty's for a bit. "Oh yeah," Natty cheers as she watches you fuck her and tongue Ningning at the same time. "Fucking use those pussies," she says.

Ningning opens her legs for a round of missionary fucking. Natty warms your cock and leads it back into your girlfriend's pussy, enjoying your massive cock bulge under her best friend while she lubes your shaft. "This slut is so tiny yet she takes your big fat cock like a champion," Natty says.

"I want to feel it against every single wall in my tight little pussy," Ningning begs as Natty spreads her cunt wide open for your cock. "Go nice and slow, I wanna feel every inch," Ningning begs. "I love how you fuck her pussy, it's so beautiful," Natty says.

"You like how my pussy just swallows this dick down?" Ningning asks you as Natty plays with her pussy lips. Your answer comes with a thrust that almost splits her in half. "AHHHHHH, SQUEEZE THAT FUCKING COCK IN MY PUSSY" your girlfriend screams as Natty spits on her pussy. "Such a tight whore," Natty says.

"You're fucking the shit out of me, AHHHHH," Ningning says as Natty fingers her clit. "Take this dick in your tight pink pussy," you tell her. "Yes, tell me to take it, call me a dirty little slut," Ningning commands. "Take this dick, dirty little slut," you soon say. "Look how wet she is, she loves it when you talk dirty to her," Natty says. "Yes, I love it when you talk dirty to me like that, it makes me fucking cum so hard," Ningning answers.

"Use my tight little pussy baby until you fucking explode, get those balls ready to cum all over us," Ningning says to you as her walls squeeze your cock further. "TAKE MY FUCKING PUSSY, HARDER, DEEPER," she begs as Natty kisses her.

"AHHHHHH," Ningning screams as she cums, shaking her legs for one final time as you get on top of me. "There it goes, Natty says as she rubs her best friend's pussy and kisses her tits and then her face. "Natty, kiss me, kiss me," Ningning begs. But today, you won't cum inside your girlfriend's perfect pink pussy, you have already done it multiple times. You already have a different target. But so does Ningning

"Should we let him cum now?" Ningning asks. "Sure, I think he has worked hard enough," Natty says. She opens her legs to take her turn, smashing them against her big tits as you pound her pussy and make them bounce.

"Oh my God yeah you're gonna stroke that cock inside of me," Natty commands as she grabs her big tits and you push harder." That's perfect, that's perfect," she says as you look right in her eyes, and then spit on her mouth while Ningning savors her big tits. "Such a good slut," Ningning says.

"Fuck, you treat my pussy so well," Natty says as you drill her nonstop. "OH FUCKKKK, THAT'S YOUR PUSSY, THAT'S YOUR PUSSY" she says as Ningning rubs her clit. "Yes, you're damn right, I own that Thai pussy," you say.

"HARDER, HARDER, MAKE THOSE BIG TITS BOUNCE," Natty begs as your balls clap against her skin louder and louder. Ningning just watches still fingering her friend's pussy, before Natty finally says the magic words.

"You wanna cum in my fucking tits?" Natty asks. You are never going to say no to that, pulling out of Natty's pussy and fucking her tits super hard, ready to cum at any second.

You fill Natty's huge tits full of your milk. "Oh my God, look at this big fucking load," she says, in disbelief as she grabs her tits to lick your cum out of her left side boos. Ningning clears your cock and sucks the other boob of Natty, before cleaning it all and swapping your cum with her best friend. "Taste it, dirty whore," she says.

"Damn, that was intense, I think we need a shower," Natty says. You stay in bed and fall asleep while they wash the sex fluids from their bodies and talk to each other about your big fat cock. But soon, you wake up with your shaft crushed between a pair of tits and a naughty tongue on your tip.

"Don't fall asleep, baby, we can do this all night," Ningning says. "So, Natty, what do you want to do next?" she asks

"First he should fill our pussies, and if he's a good boy, we let them fuck our asses," she answers.

"Perfect, let's begin," Ningning says.

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Prologue

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Next

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

"Shit!"

The curse slips out before you can stop it as you stumble against the narrow, overstuffed hallway leading to the backroom of your little shop.

The bulky cardboard box in your arms wobbles precariously, the scent of freshly delivered daffodils wafting up as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment, you fear disaster—flowers crushed, stems snapped, your pride bruised—but you manage to steady yourself just in time.

"Mama, that’s a bad word."

The reprimand is calm, almost casual, but the unimpressed side-eye that follows is devastating.

Seated by the shop’s wide front window, Megumi barely spares you a glance, his small frame bathed in the golden morning light. The sun catches in his dark lashes, making his ever-serious little face all the more heartbreakingly adorable.

You groan, already rubbing a hand down your face. "Damn—Yes, Megumi, I’m sorry." You cut yourself off before another curse can slip out, exhaling as you set the box down with a dull thud. Any more near-disasters like that, and you might actually break a hip.

Some mornings, you wake up feeling twice your age, your body aching from years of hauling flower crates, bending over counters, and chasing after an endlessly curious toddler. The weariness settles into your bones, a quiet reminder of just how much you juggle between running a business and raising a child on your own.

But then you glance at Megumi.

He sits by the shop window, his small fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the glass, bathed in the golden morning light. The soft glow highlights the curve of his cheeks, the thoughtful furrow of his brows as he watches the world outside. Your exhaustion melts just a little. You’d do it all over again—every sleepless night, every aching muscle—without hesitation.

Outside, the city hums with life. A gentle breeze rustles through the trees lining the sidewalk, carrying the scent of fresh flowers and warm pavement.

People stroll past, their neutral expressions softening into fond smiles when they catch sight of Megumi. A few wave through the window, but true to his nature, he merely blinks at them—stoic as ever—before returning to his quiet observations.

"Say, Megumi, what do you want for lunch today, hm?"

He pauses, tilting his head slightly in thought. His emerald-green eyes flick up to meet yours, considering, before he declares with certainty: "Dino nuggets."

You blink. "Dino nuggets? Again? But we just had them yesterday."

"Yeah," he says simply, as if that should be enough to end the discussion.

"Megumi, we can’t eat chicken nuggets every day. That’s not a balanced diet."

He frowns, tiny arms crossing. "I balanced it with fries."

You press your lips together, fighting back a snort. "That’s not how it works, honey. If you eat too many, a stomach bug might get you before bedtime."

He huffs, brows knitting together in frustration. "But dino nuggets make me feel good. And stomach bugs aren’t real."

That does it—you actually snort this time, biting down a laugh. Megumi’s sharp little side-eye nearly makes you lose it again.

"Okay, okay. How about this? We get pizza next door instead." You know it’s not the healthiest swap, but hey, at least it’s better than microwaved dino nuggets… right?

Megumi doesn’t look convinced at first, his small fingers still resting on the window as if debating whether or not this betrayal is worth arguing over. Then, his gaze flickers to you, studying your expression.

"Hmm." He makes a show of thinking before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Okay… but I want ice cream too."

You shake your head with a chuckle. 

With Megumi’s small hand tucked in yours, you push open the door to your store, the little bell above jingling softly as you step outside.

The late morning air greets you with a mix of warm sunshine and the faint scent of blooming flowers from your storefront display. The city hums around you—distant chatter, the occasional honk of a car horn, the rhythmic click of hurried footsteps on pavement.

Megumi stays close to your side as you walk the short distance next door, his tiny fingers gripping yours like second nature.

The pizzeria is a familiar comfort—Tano’s Pizza, a cozy little hole-in-the-wall with a chalkboard menu propped just outside.

The scent of fresh dough, bubbling cheese, and roasted garlic drifts through the slightly propped-open door, instantly making Megumi's stomach grumble.

You push inside, stepping onto worn wooden floors that creak softly underfoot. The walls are lined with framed newspaper clippings and faded photographs—snapshots of the restaurant through the decades.

At the front, a glass display case showcases bubbling slices fresh from the oven, the cheese still glistening under the heat lamps. Behind the counter stands a young employee, dressed in a slightly oversized apron and adjusting his cap as he notices the two of you walk in.

"Ah, it’s Megumi-kun!" the worker says, his voice light with familiarity. "Back again, huh? You’ve got good taste."

Megumi, naturally, doesn’t respond. He merely stares up at the man, then tilts his head ever so slightly.

The employee chuckles, undeterred. "Still not much of a talker, huh? No worries—let’s see if today’s pizza can win a word out of you."

You smile, ruffling Megumi’s hair. "He’s getting there. Slowly. Anyway, we’ll take two slices—one cheese, one pepperoni."

"And ice cream," Megumi adds, very seriously.

You sigh, shaking your head. "We’ll talk about that later."

The employee grins, already sliding two hot slices onto plates. You guide Megumi toward a corner booth by the window, the worn red leather seats creaking as you both settle in.

He swings his little legs beneath the table, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he watches the worker prepare the slices.

"Mama," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

"Hm?" You glance at him, mid-reach for a napkin.

"Pizza is better than dino nuggets."

You pause, blinking. Then, you huff a quiet laugh. "Oh? So all that fuss before was for nothing?"

Some days are exhausting. Some days, you wonder how you manage it all—balancing work, life, and motherhood like you’re walking a tightrope with no safety net.

But moments like this?

They make it all worth it.

The daytime sun streams through the wide windows, casting a soft glow over the checkered tile floor.

You take a sip of your drink, letting yourself relax, just for a moment.

Then the doorbell jingles.

It’s an unremarkable sound, the same chime that’s rung a dozen times since you sat down, but this time, when you naturally glance up, the air in your lungs turns to stone.

Two tall figures stroll in like they own the place. Crisp suits, easy smiles, and voices that haven’t changed a bit.

“God, Suguru, I’m starving,” the white-haired one groans, a hand resting lazily on his stomach as they walk toward the counter.

Satoru and Suguru.

Two ghosts from your past, standing just a few feet away, like time hadn’t torn a canyon between you.

It’s been five years. Five years since they dropped you as easily as an old habit. Five years since they picked a side that was never yours to begin with.

They were always Toji’s friends first, you knew that, but still—being discarded so effortlessly after your breakup stung in a way you’d never admit out loud.

Megumi notices the shift immediately.

“Mama? What’s wrong?” His voice is quiet, but his brows pinch, his little body instinctively leaning against yours. Then, as if sensing something deeper, he scoots closer, resting his head against your side. His small hand clutches your shirt.

You want to curse the gods for making Megumi such an incredibly perceptive child, but at the same time, you want to thank them for giving you the sweetest boy imaginable.

No, really—you could start crying at the way his tiny fingers grip your shirt, like he already knows you need the comfort more than he does.

You clear your throat, ducking your head as if looking away will make them disappear. “Nothing, honey,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Just thought I recognized someone.”

A white lie. A harmless one. But your pulse won’t settle, and your fingers curl against the tabletop.

Because you don’t just recognize them. You know them.

You remember the unanswered calls, the ignored texts—the way they never once gave you a way to reach Toji when you needed him most. They didn’t know you were pregnant, sure. But even now, after all these years, the resentment bubbles up like something toxic in your chest.

And worst of all? If they see Megumi, they’ll know.

It wouldn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

The kid is practically a carbon copy of his father—God, if you hadn’t been in the delivery room, you might’ve thought Toji had just spawned him into existence himself.

Your anxiety spikes as your mind races ahead, spiraling through every worst-case scenario.

Those striking emerald eyes you love so much? They’re just a smaller, rounder version of the ones you used to get lost in years ago.

And their smiles—though rare—mirror each other’s perfectly, down to the sharp curve of their lips.Maybe, just maybe, Megumi inherited your nose.

It’s a weak thought, flimsy and desperate. Because deep down, you know that in a few years, as he grows, his resemblance to Toji will only become more undeniable.

You swallow hard and exhale through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm.

You just have to get through this meal. Get Megumi home. And pray that today isn’t the day the past comes knocking.

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

To be continued, after the completion of Blooming Hearts !

[puckinghischier]

I can just imagine doing a “soft launch” with Nico and him not understanding the concept of it and posting just a picture that’s very much you and the teams gc blowing up giving him shit

when you opened the burst of notifications suddenly flooding your phone, you’re confused. sure, you had just posted a soft launch of nico on your account, but you didn’t expect this kind of reaction to it, most of your close friends and family already knowing about him.

when you open the instagram app, though, you see none other than a post from your oh so sweet boyfriend, your smiling face next to his looking right back at you. his comments are full of fans talking back and forth about who you are and where you came from. you noticed the sudden influx of followers to your account, quickly switching your profile to private before any more make their way through.

the two of you had discussed doing a soft launch last night, agreeing that now is the time to do it, seeing as you’re getting pretty serious. you thought nico understood the concept, but bless his heart, he didn’t.

he had posted one of the most recent pictures the two of you had taken together. you were standing nestled close to him in front of the large tree at rockefeller center just across the bridge, big, loving smiles on both of your faces. the icing on the cake, though? he tagged you in the picture.

you noticed a few of his teammates in the comments, cheering the new relationship on and congratulating him for making it social media official.

ones such as timo, jack, and jesper, however, were poking fun at him. the three of them were the first of nico’s teammates you ever met, so you feel a bit closer to them than some of the others. you had actually crashed their lunch yesterday, joining the four hockey players for a quick cafe meal in-between practices.

they were included in your conversation, asking them their opinion and if it was too soon. when they all gave you their approval you continued the conversation with nico later that night, setting the plan into motion.

jack’s comment read “wow cap, this launch was about as soft as a rock,” while timo’s was along the lines of “soft on the ice, but not on the launches.”

jesper’s was a bit more to the point, simply stating “you’re not supposed to tag her, dumbass.”

before you could read any further comments, your screen was taken over by an incoming call from none other than your new instagram official boyfriend.

“sweetheart, i fucked up. i’m so sorry. i should have asked what you meant last night, but i thought we were just posting about each other. i had no clue it was supposed to be secretive and clever. you should have just told me what to post, now-“

“nico, neeks, calm down. take a breath, it’s fine,” you laugh at his rambles, interrupting his spiral that started the second you answered the phone, not even getting to say hello.

“you’re…not mad?” he stops mid-sentence, confused at your lack of fury at his mistake.

“no, i’m not mad. even if it did cause my phone to nearly crash because of how many notifications were coming through, it was cute,” you smile through your sentence, even though he can’t see you.

“oh…well….i guess i didn’t need to leave practice early then, huh?” he tells you, right as you hear the door open to your apartment, nico standing there with the key you gave him in hand.

you hang up your phone, standing from your couch and walking over towards him.

“why in the world would you leave practice early for something as silly as this?” you stand with your hands on your hips, looking at him disapprovingly.

he doesn’t meet your eye, seeming bashful all of a sudden. “well…if you were going to yell at me i would rather have had you do it in person, that way i could kiss you and tell you i loved you in person instead of over the phone,” he tells you honestly, looking like a little boy getting scolded by his parents.

rolling your eyes at him, you walk over and run your hands through his hair, letting your hands stop at the nape of his neck, arms resting on his shoulders as he looks down at you.

“well i’m not mad, but you can still kiss me and tell me you love me, since the entire state of new jersey—well, the united states and most of switzerland, probably—knows now,” you poke fun at him, scratching the bottom of his scalp while his arms come to circle around your waist.

smirking down at you, he meets your lips in a sweet kiss, barely able to savor it before his phone starts buzzing like crazy in his pocket, distracting both of you.

“now listen, i know i don’t have that many followers to freak out about my new hockey star boyfriend, so who’s blowing your phone up?” you pull back from the kiss, looking down at where his phone rests in the pocket of his sweats.

he pulls the device out, bringing it over so both of you can look at it. you see the messages continue to come through, the same name being seen on all of them: “the handsome devils”.

“that’s your groupchat name? the handsome devils? how original” you laugh at the team’s lack of creativity.

“it was jack’s idea,” nico shrugs, the explanation making perfect sense.

you can hardly read the messages because they’re coming in so fast, but you catch a few.

“nico, do we need to host an instagram class in lieu of practice one day?” dougie offers his admin skills to his captain.

“cap, even i know that soft launch means partial, not a full face shot,” followed by “i didn’t mean that the way that sounded, jack, don’t laugh,” from curtis, and then a “HAHAHA” from jack.

“does this mean i have to start calling her mom?” from luke was the last one you saw before looking up at nico, his furrowed brow showing his annoyance with his teammates.

you reach up to smooth the wrinkle between his full brows, leading him to look up at you instead of his phone.

“nico, they’re just poking fun. they all mean well,” you assure him, taking the still buzzing phone from his hands.

he pouts at you anyways, huffing out a sigh. “i just…felt really bad about all of this and they were all laughing at me when i was rushing out of the locker room, worried you were about to break up with me.”

you can’t help but let out your own laugh, finding it comical he actually thinks you would break up with him. his pout deepens at your laugh, crossing his arms and tucking into himself, yet again looking like a child.

“nico, i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, it’s just funny you think i’d break up with you over being too excited to tell people we’re dating and posting one of my favorite pictures of us on your very public instagram,” you assure him, untucking his arms from themselves and placing them back around your waist.

he lets himself relax a bit, getting comfortable in his hold on you again. “it is a really good picture of us, isn’t it?” he asks, looking down at you.

you nod your head yes, humming out a “mhmmm” before standing on your tip toes and pressing a kiss to his nose.

“now, why don’t we go make ourselves comfortable on the couch, order food, and think of snarky comebacks to send to your teammates for making fun of you?” you suggest, causing his face to light up.

“i knew i loved you for a reason,” he says enthusiastically, taking your arm and dragging you over towards the couch.

[leonalovesalot]

Freaky on camera III

Brother’sBestFriend!ArtDonaldson x Camgirl!Reader

18+ MinorsDNI

wc: 3.8k

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Art didn't watch your live session on Friday, or the following Tuesday.

He couldn't.

He needed to force the image of your fingers penetrating your sopping pussy out of his mind. This was proving to be a challenge because every time he closed his eyes, that's all he saw.

This couldn't continue on like this because he was going back home on Wednesday, right after his last exam. Patrick cleared out the entire day and Art knew they'd hang out at his place. Patrick's house. Where you also lived, of course.

Usually when Art came home for a break, Patrick's parents would invite him over for dinner. Everyone sits around the table and shares anecdotes of their lives over the last few months. It was always a pleasant time for him.

The same thing was going to happen this time, except Art would be pressing down his raging boner. He knew that was a possibility and to take precaution, he was doing a "Y/N cleanse". No more tuning into your videos, no more jerking off to your memory. He couldn't just eliminate jerking off altogether because, well, he's not a robot! So he decided that every time his thoughts wandered to you while his hand was around his cock, he'd stop. This would force himself to think of someone else. Like, Kat Zimmerman - who was proving to be a somewhat satisfying substitute so far.

The days and nights went on this way and Art felt like a zombie. Unfeeling, exhausted, and dragging himself from one place to another with no emotion behind his eyes

He couldn't help but wonder if you noticed his absence. Did you miss him like you said you did? Or were you just saying that because you knew it's what he wanted to hear?

To Art's dismay, the dreaded Wednesday arrived and it was time to face his anxieties head on. He handed in his last exam and began his drive home. It was only a two hour journey and was usually enjoyable because he could roll down the windows and listen to his favourite songs. But this time? He didn't know what to listen to. Everyone was always singing about sex! And that's the one thing he was trying now to think of! He ended up clicking a random podcast which discussed the myths of menopause. No chance of getting a hard-on there.

Parking the car in his parent's driveway, he gets out and grabs his duffel bag and suitcase out of the backseat. Art's parents walk out of the front door and greet him with tight hugs and loud smooches on his cheek. He laughs shyly and his Dad takes his bags from him and carries them inside.

"How was your drive? I'm surprised, I thought it would take a little longer," Art's mom asks as she walks him up the driveway with her arm loosely around his waist.

"Yeah, there wasn't much traffic today. And I finished my exam early so," Art shrugs.

"Because it was easy or because you rushed it?" Art's dad chuckles as he walks into the house.

Art rolls his eyes, "the former."

Art's mom ruffles his hair, "my smart boy."

They all walk further into the house and Art plops down on the couch in the living room. His Dad drops his things off in his bedroom while his Mom brings him a glass of lemonade. Art takes it and mutters a 'thank you'.

His parents join him in the living room and they sit around asking him questions about how the semester went. Art missed his parents and he responded to each question with lengthy answers.

"Oh, speaking of tennis, Patrick is back from tour. They came by yesterday for dinner, actually." Art's Dad chimes in.

"Oh, really?" Art nods. Who was included in the 'they'?

"Yeah, his parents were pretty adamant that you go over to their's tonight too." Art's mom smiles. She always adored the boys' friendship. Patrick was the brother Art never had.

"I know, I told Patrick I'd be there at around like seven," Art takes a sip of his lemonade.

"Okay, I have a casserole dish his mother lent me a while ago. Remember to take it with you when you go." His Mom stands up and walks over to the kitchen to grab it.

Later that evening, Art stood in front of his bathroom mirror picking apart his appearance. He was never too self-conscious about his looks, but right now he was trying his best to appear… well, handsome. It wasn’t working—his curly blonde hair sprang in all directions, which was making him look boyish. He groans and runs his hands through his locks for the thousandth time only to give up. He wore a light salmon button up with jeans and sneakers. He felt like a middle-schooler dressing up for a first date.

Why was he thinking like this?

This was a dinner with Patrick and his family.

Not you, alone.

He was there for Patrick.

Not you.

He takes a deep breath, sprays on a couple spurts of perfume, and walks out of the house, casserole dish in hand.

Patrick's house was much bigger than Art's. It was just down the road, but the actual house sat far back from the street, down a long driveway. The entrance was gated and hidden by large bushes and trees, designed to spark curiosity in passersby about how luxuriously the family might be living—which was entirely intentional.

Art slipped in the smaller door next to the gate and walks up the driveway. He takes note of the two cars in the driveway. One for his Mom, one for his Dad. You and Patrick shared a car but he didn't see it in the driveway, or outside on the street. He hoped that maybe you weren't home but knew you probably just parked in the garage.

He walks up the porch stairs and is about to ring the doorbell, when the door flies open and Patrick jumps out to hug him. Art gasps in surprise.

"I'm gonna drop your mom's casserole dish, dude!"

"Fuck the casserole dish, I haven't seen you in months, Donaldson." Patrick had basically climbed into Art's arms, legs wrapped around his bottom and everything. They laughed and he eventually lets go and grabs the dish from Art.

"How've you been? How was the drive?" Patrick keeps an arm slung around Art's shoulder as he walks him into the kitchen, placing the dish on the counter.

"Good, yeah. I'm just kinda tired though." Art answers honestly while subtly surveying the house for any sight of you.

"Not too tired for a little," Patrick brings his index finger and thumb up to his puckered lips and blows a little air out, "I hope?"

Art smiles softly, "that goes without saying."

They catch up and Art found it surprisingly easy to talk to Patrick. He wasn't drowning in guilt like he thought he would. Every conversation with Patrick felt like no time had passed, which was a big help. He laughed for the first time in a long time and it felt so good. So fucking good. Something about the Zweig genes pulled him in like a magnet. He always felt right at home.

Patrick's mom calls out to tell the boys to come down for dinner. They walk into the dining room, pausing their conversation so Art can greet Patrick's parents. They exchange pleasantries and sit down to eat the dinner before it gets cold. Art noticed that there was still no sign of you, which filled him with relief and disappointment all at once.

Then, he hears soft footsteps descend down the stairs and Art closes his eyes knowing he got comfortable too soon.

"Y/N, your dinner is getting cold, come sit." Patrick's Dad looks past Art to you who was walking in behind him.

"Coming."

Art twitches at the sound of your voice. He didn't realize how much he missed it. He had heard it carry the dirtiest words and the thought of that makes him close his eyes praying that he thinks of something else.

Kat Zimmerman.

Kat Zimmerman.

Kat Zimm-

"Art, hey! How are you?" You walk to your spot at the dining table across from him but on the way there, you pat his shoulder. A cute and friendly gesture which catches him off guard.

His eyes follow you as you sit down and tuck your hair behind your ears. He realizes he hadn't responded to your question and clears his throat.

"Hey, yeah- uhm- good. I'm good." Art nods and stares down at the side salad and stuffs it in his mouth.

You don't bat an eye. Your greeting was just a formality, anyway. You turn your attention to the conversation your parents were having about the business trip they'd be taking soon. Meeting with a client in Toronto for a few days - nothing out of the ordinary.

Art continued shoving food in his mouth, trying to ignore you. Everything that he barely noticed before, was now more fascinating and inviting than ever. The way your hair fell so perfectly down to your shoulders; it looked so soft, he was itching to run his hands through it. Your eyes were so kind and full of interest in everyone around you. Your gaze seldom landed on him, which used to be normal—but now, it was infuriating. He had made you cum for fuck's sake! You said you wanted to taste him! And you sit there, eating, acting like nothing happened.

Art knew it was irrational because you didn't know it was him. But, still, you were a cam-girl. How were you being so normal about all this? Eating dinner with your family as if last night, you weren't fucking yourself for strangers on the internet.

He wanted to hint that he knew. He wanted you to figure it out. He wanted you to be scared. He didn't really know where this thought came from, suddenly. Maybe he just didn't want to be the only one at this dinner table who was facing this inner turmoil.

"- Oh, Art can help you with that," Art's ears perk up when he hears his name from Patrick's mouth. He pauses his face-stuffing and looks up with drops of salad dressing on the corner of his lips.

"Pardon?" Art asks. He swallows quickly and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"Y/N was saying that she doesn't know where to find textbooks for her courses. Weren't you also struggling with that before?" Patrick nudges him.

Art looks to Patrick and then to you, finally.

You notice he was acting a little weird tonight. Usually he was talkative, but right now he was silent. Not that you cared all that much. The way he was looking at you was also a little out of the ordinary. Like there was something he wanted to say...?

"Oh, yeah." Art nods, "there's this website I use that has all of them. I can show you later."

You nod and your lips formed a soft smile (which he was familiar with because you had that same smile when he was telling you that you deserved to be spoiled - it wasn't the exact same though because, you were flushed from an orgasm that time, of course), "Oh, okay. Yes, please."

Oh my God, you were actually talking to him. Art feels the urge to stir the pot a little.

"Yeah, of course. It's a big help, I mean I use it all the time. My friend Dan showed it to me." Art studied your expression closely, craving a reaction. Maybe a subtle brow raise? Or a twitch of your lips.

He got nothing.

You just nodded and smiled politely at him.

Ugh.

The conversations continued on without needing Art's contribution.

He was getting comfortable now and began taking small glimpses at you any chance he got. The few times you caught him looking, you'd just divert your gaze away from him.

It made him wonder if he made you nervous. He wanted to.

When dinner comes to an end, you help your parents pick up the dishes. Art is about to assist you, but Patrick pulls him away for a smoke.

They walk into Patrick's backyard and sit by the pool. Patrick excitedly pulls a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket and puts it between his lips. He lights it and takes a puff.

Art just stares out at the pool- the water calming him.

"So, you get a girlfriend yet?" Patrick exhales and hands Art the cigarette.

Art takes it and also takes a puff, "if I had, you'd know."

Patrick chuckles, "I'm just surprised, man. I mean I get busy on tour too but going even a week without getting laid like - I'd go feral. I don't know how you do it."

Art snickers and gives the cigarette back to Patrick. He wasn't ecstatic about the topic but didn't want to avoid it, incase it raised suspicion.

"I don't think I have time for a girlfriend, though." Art was just trying to say anything at this point.

"Me neither. But- like- when was the last time you had a good fuck? Like really good?"

Art's smile fades slightly. It had been a while.

He shakes his head. Patrick takes the hint and drops the topic.

"Maybe, you're like Y/N," Patrick says after a few quiet seconds.

Art snaps his head in his direction, "what?"

Patrick shrugs, "she doesn't have a boyfriend and she seems pretty," he takes a long drag, "content."

Art wonders if that's really true—not the part about your love life, or lack thereof, but whether you were actually happy. He decides that the attention you get from all those strangers—all that validation—well, that’s enough to make anyone feel good, right?

Art tries his best to sound casual when he responds, "really? No boyfriend?"

Patrick nods, "yeah. I mean not that I know of." He laughs and coughs out, "Or, who knows? Maybe she bats for the same team."

Art knows that's not true.

It was almost midnight and Art and Patrick were all talked out. The pair reach the end of their shared cigarette and wipe their hands on themselves. The strong smell was still present, but they were too zen to care.

"You're staying the night, right?" Patrick asks as he begins walking towards the house.

"Am I?" Art follows after slowly, with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Yes, you have no choice," Patrick turns and shoots him a smile.

They make a beeline for Patrick's bedroom and flop onto his bed, turning on the TV right away. Putting on a rerun of American Dad, Patrick gets up to toss Art a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for him to sleep in.

"Thanks," Art mutters, staring at the TV.

"Uh huh," Patrick plops back down. He was already wearing shorts and takes off his shirt to get comfortable.

Art's eyes flicker to him and then back to the TV.

After a few minutes he gets up with a sigh and leaves his room to go change in the bathroom. On his walk, down the hall, he passes your room and stops in his tracks.

He wasn't thinking clearly. Feelings of anger—because of that great act you had put on at dinner—and confusion—because, well, you were definitely not just Patrick’s sister to him anymore—swirled inside him.

His hand is reaching up to knock on your door before his mind can stop him and push him away toward the bathroom.

Inside, you were laying on your bed, reading your first book of the summer with the music of your 'cigarettes after sex' vinyl filling the silence of the night. The window was wide open and the ceiling fan was on at the lowest setting. You wore loose pyjama shorts and an off-shoulder baby pink tee.

You flinch when you hear a knock. Your brows furrow and you get off your bed, confused. You thought everyone was asleep.

You reach the door and before you can open it, it pushes open on its own. You step back as Art comes into view. Art?

"Oh, hey. What's up?" You smile softly at him.

Art felt like this was the moment the past two-ish weeks of his life was leading up to. You stood before him in all your beauty; in all your shapeliness. He tried his best to keep his eyes away from your bare legs as he knew it would drive him over the edge. Your exposed shoulder was already making him feel hot. God, he was freaking out over your fucking shoulder? What an absolute loser.

"Art? Did you need something?" You tilt your head, wondering why he wasn't saying anything.

Art snaps out of his thoughts and clears his throat, "oh- yeah. I- uhm - you wanted me to show you where to get the textbooks?"

You nod in realization, "oh! Of course, come in." You turn and walk over to your desk and open your laptop. His lack of self control had his eyes wandering down your back, then your ass, and your legs. Oh my God.

He watches you open your laptop and nods to himself that it was probably what you used to film yourself. He looks around the room, it felt like he was on a film set. He was a total creep.

"Here," You swivel your laptop on the desk with a new tab open. He places his change of clothes down on your bed and walks towards the desk. He was so close to you now. You stood next to him- so calm- if only you knew.

Art types in the URL and shows you how to navigate the site. You leaned in closely, paying attention to the screen and nodding at every thing he was saying. He could smell you—could tell you’d taken a shower not too long ago, all soapy and clean.

But that strange mixture of emotions he was feeling began bubbling up again. A flip switches inside him and he decides to test the waters. He wanted to see how long you'd go putting on this innocent fucking act. It was sickening now. He didn't want to be the only one feeling like he was doing a bad deed. You should've been more shamefaced than him- you were the cam-girl after all!

"So, do you wanna make an account?" He turns to you and asks.

Your eyes flick up to him and you nod, "yes, please."

Art accidentally glances down at your lips and then back to the screen and clicks on the 'Sign up' button.

The website asks him to create a username, he feels a rush of adrenaline inside.

"What do you want your username to be?" Before you get the chance to respond, he adds, "it doesn't have to be your name. Could be anything—like, uh, SchoolSucks—"

You smile, amused.

"—uh, TeamJacob—"

You tilt your head and giggle softly.

"—or something more simple, like Roxy."

Your smile instantly drops. You're not stupid. Your mind flashes back to that dinner table conversation—when he mentioned his friend Dan. It sounded unnatural, and yes, your thoughts did jump to your most generous viewer. But you shrugged it off, thinking it was nothing. But this? This was too specific.

After a few seconds you hesitantly speak up, "I think just my name is fine."

He had you right where he wanted. "You sure? Come on, that's no fun," he sounded so fucking smug.

"I'm sure," your whole demeanour changed. You felt a knot in your stomach. You wanted him out.

He shrugs and types in your name and adds a '96' behind it. He smirked to himself feeling proud of that.

That pretty much confirmed your suspicion. You stared at the screen, taking shallow breaths, as you chewed up the inside of your lip.

He faces the laptop towards you, "password."

You bring your trembling hands to the keyboard and type in quickly. You knew he was watching, but him knowing your password was the last of your worries.

Art noticed the tremor in your hands which only made him feel more powerful.

When you finish typing, he takes the laptop again and clicks a few things to finish up your account. You didn't say anything, just stared down at your desk, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Art shuts the laptop making you flinch. He had his fun and was about to leave when you spoke up.

"You know," you say quietly, feeling small and weak—an unfamiliar feeling.

Art stops and turns back to look at you, "I know."

You felt your face getting hot, "how?"

Art chuckles and shakes his head, "doesn't matter."

You were shocked to your core. You knew him for years and he'd never once acted this way. It freaked you out. It was a contrast from his sweet and bright appearance. It made you nauseous.

"What do you want, then?" You wet your lips noticing how dry they'd gotten.

Art pauses and wonders. What did he want? He never even thought of that. He suddenly felt unprepared for this conversation. He didn't know what he wanted. Where could this go? All he knew was that he wanted you to be a part of his life. He didn't want to be an acquaintance anymore. He wanted to be more to you. And he'd take it in any form he could. Even if he had to blackmail it out of you.

But how? How would he keep you around? Maybe he could use this information to make you do things for him. Every time he comes home for the break, you could be there please him. Going an entire semester without getting his rocks off would be so fucking worth it, if he knew he could use you.

Fuck, when did he begin thinking like this? You weren't a toy. You were a person; a woman who deserved his respect. He couldn't whore you out for himself!

He decided on another, more tame, idea. It would be a placeholder, until he figured out what it is he really wanted.

"Split your earnings with me. Seventy-thirty." Art studies you closely, now shamelessly looking you up and down. He had the upper hand, after all.

Your eyes widen as you gasp out, "excuse me?"

"You should be thankful that I'm not demanding half," he bites back.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. What a pig. What a greedy pig. Your shock now accompanied by pure rage. Your throat felt tight and your eyes sting as they fill with hot tears.

"I'm not scared of you." You were basically shaking now.

Art stares back, not backing down at the sight of your tears. If anything, he was getting a little turned on.

"You should be, Y/N."

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

This is now the longest thing I've written.

Basically no smut but heavy on the plot because I. Love. Dialogue.

Thank you for reading!!

Tags <3: @won-every-lottery @improbablynotpoppy @challenger-fan-club @x0teric @theynothem @bigsattirn @coolgirlsyndrome

[whisperedmeg]

SYNODIC CURVE ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part iv

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: under the stars, spencer lets her in. what follows is not a leap, but a quiet circling toward something steady.

genre: fluff, smut, a bit of hurt/comfort I guess?

w/c: 5.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, talk of prison and intimacy issues, brief maeve mention, discussion of past relationship trauma, spencer being an adorable nerd, lots of astronomy talk, just two cuties on their first official date, glasses reid YUM, fingering, handjob, oral (both f/m receiving), 18+ MDNI

a/n: this is my favorite part thus far 🥹. as always, I appreciate anyone who reads this little story of mine so, so much 🫶🏼. part 5 is mostly written already, so it’ll be up later this week, and in the meantime, I might post a one shot unrelated to this series if I can find the time to finish it

series masterlist

synodic (adj.) — describing the period between successive conjunctions of celestial bodies; the cycle of return, when two objects moving through space appear to realign.

—

Spencer’s door was already unlocked when I arrived, as if he’d been checking the hallway every five minutes. His hair was slightly damp from a recent shower, and he’d changed into a t-shirt I hadn’t seen before — navy with a faded print of Saturn and a little ring of stars around it. I couldn’t tell if it was old or just designed to look that way, but either way, it suited him.

“Hope you’re in the mood for popcorn and 1950s melodrama,” he said by way of greeting, holding up the DVD case like it was a peace offering. I grinned and set my things down, padding over to him and greeting him with a quick kiss.

The night started easy. Comfortable. A rhythm we’d already half-settled into. He let me rummage through his kitchen for the popcorn while he dug around for the remote, and soon the apartment was filled with the scent of butter as black-and-white images flickered across the screen. We sat on the couch with the bowl between us, our shoulders brushing, knees nudging.

Halfway through the movie — somewhere between a dramatic monologue and a string-heavy score — I turned to him, catching him already watching me instead of the screen.

“We should probably talk,” I said softly.

He didn’t flinch, just nodded once. “About yesterday.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

We didn’t pause the movie. Just let it play in the background as we navigated the parts we hadn’t gotten to over the phone — the strange, lingering discomfort tied to my job, the way it felt like Millburn would always be a third presence in the room. He was honest about how he didn’t like thinking about that place, about the way it’s wired into him now like a faulty line in a circuit he can’t replace. I told him I understood — really understood — and that I never wanted to be one more thing he had to brace himself around. “But I don’t want to avoid it either,” I admitted. “Or you.”

“I know,” he said. “I know you being there probably made it survivable for me. But sometimes, it’s hard to hold that truth next to the version of you I’m still trying to believe I get to have outside of all that.”

That quieted me. I nodded and turned back to the movie, feeling his eyes still lingering on me.

The second half of the movie passed in fragments, but I don’t think either of us really followed it. His hand stayed on my knee most of the time, fingers idly tracing circles, the popcorn bucket long since moved to the coffee table so more of us could touch. When the credits rolled, we didn’t get up.

Eventually, I turned toward him, leaned in a little. He met me halfway.

The kiss started slow, familiar, but deepened fast — the kind of shift that felt like dropping into a current I hadn’t realized I was swimming alongside. His hands found my waist, then under the hem of my shirt, palms warm and steady. Mine were already tugging at the back of his neck, threading into his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him over me.

I felt him start to ease me down onto the couch, his body pressing into mine, and I didn’t stop him. His hips rolled against mine, his mouth on my neck. God, I didn’t want him to stop.

But then — he did.

Abruptly.

It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t bolt upright or say anything cutting. He just stilled, every muscle in him going tense beneath my hands. I opened my eyes and found him already up, running both hands through his hair as he stood.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pacing once toward the window and back again. “I’m— I thought I could.”

I sat up slowly, pulling my shirt back into place. The air between us had gone from warm to thin, and I hated how much of that change I immediately blamed on myself. Like I’d misread something. Like I’d offered too much.

“It’s totally fine,” I said, and the words came out more insecure-sounding than I meant them to.

He paused, analyzing my expression. “No, it’s not,” he said, sitting back down beside me, but this time with a little space between us. “I want to. It’s not you. Not at all. I want you, I— God, I want you so much sometimes it scares me.”

That didn’t help as much as he probably thought it would.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth like the words might line up better if he kept pushing.

“It’s just… that place rewired everything. I used to know how to be in my body. How to feel desire without it twisting. But now…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, jaw tight. “Now I get close to you like that, and something inside me just short-circuits.” He looked at me like he was half expecting me to up and leave.

My chest ached — not from rejection, not even really from disappointment, but from how much I suddenly wanted to stay.

Because there was something about the way he spoke to me that stripped everything bare — no performance, no pretense. Just this raw, unfiltered honesty that somehow made me feel steadier, not smaller. I felt the weight of what it meant to be trusted with the part of him that still didn’t feel safe in its own skin.

And maybe that’s what shifted — realizing that whatever this was, it wasn’t about chasing a moment. It was about showing up. Again and again, even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.

So, I didn’t leave. I just reached over and took his hand. He looked down at our intertwined fingers, then back at me like he couldn’t believe I was still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, knowing he needed to hear it. “And I’m not going to push you. I’m completely okay with us taking our time with the physical stuff, going as slow as we need. But… I can’t keep guessing where the line is.” I paused, sighing softly. “I’m not asking you to be okay right now. I’m not asking you to give me more than you can,” I added. “But if you pull back and shut me out… I’ll start wondering if I did something wrong. Or if I made you feel cornered or coerced. I just need a little clarity. I need to know it’s not always going to feel like I’m walking a tightrope.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low. “None of this is your fault. I think part of me thought that when I got out, I’d just… snap back into who I was before. That everything I shut down to survive in there would just flip back on like a switch.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “But it doesn’t work like that. So until I can get my body and mind to realign on that stuff, I’ll tell you when it’s too much. I don’t want you to be second-guessing yourself.”

I nodded, squeezing his hand. That was enough for me right now — just the promise that he’d try.

We didn’t talk much more after that. The rest of the night was quiet, just two people still learning how to navigate each other’s gravity. Eventually, he stood and reached a hand out to me without a word, guiding me into his bedroom like it was muscle memory now. He pulled out a fresh t-shirt from his drawer and handed it over without comment, just a small, almost sheepish smile. I took it, changed in the bathroom, and when I came back, he was already under the blanket, waiting.

He didn’t make a move toward me when I slipped in beside him, just let me come to him. I turned into his chest, and he curled his arm around my waist, breath warm against my forehead.

And even though the ache inside me didn’t leave entirely, it settled. Enough to let me sleep. Enough to stay.

—

The next week and a half blurred in that strange, elastic way time does when you’re learning someone new — stretching and snapping back, full of moments that didn’t feel like milestones until they’d already passed. I worked five shifts at Millburn and left sore and exhausted each time, but never alone. Spencer was waiting for me after every one — sometimes in person, sometimes just a text saying, Door’s open if you want it to be.

He kept busy, too. Chipping away at the mountain of paperwork it would take to get his badge back, fielding calls from the Bureau and his union rep, scheduling psych evals and meetings that sounded endless and exhausting. But he never made me feel like I was intruding on all that. Somehow, without either of us trying, we’d fallen into a rhythm.

We slept in the same bed almost every night now, though sleep wasn’t always the first thing on the agenda. There was more touching — more learning the boundaries, more of him reaching for me. His hands began to linger longer at my waist, his mouth began to pause just a beat more against my collarbone, sucking and licking and tasting. Some nights we talked until the room went dark around us. Others we barely said a word, content to just exist in the same quiet air, our legs tangled under the sheets.

Before I knew it and without even trying, I had memorized the way he made coffee and he had started keeping my brand of toothpaste in his bathroom drawer.

—

“I booked it,” he said one morning, voice soft but unmistakably pleased as he leaned against the kitchen counter in his flannel pajama pants and NASA tee. “The planetarium show. Thursday.”

I smiled, padding up to him and looping my arms around his waist. “Really?”

He grinned. “Seven o’clock. Stars and music. Pie afterward, if you’re still up for it.”

Something about the smile he gave me then made my heart pull in my chest — not the sharp kind, but the warm, stretching kind that always took a few extra seconds to settle.

Later that night, we lay facing each other, his fingers brushing absently over the inside of my wrist. He’d been quiet for a while, lost in thought, and when he finally spoke, it was with that same cadence he used when telling me facts I didn’t ask for but always wanted to hear.

“I haven’t dated much,” he said. “Not before the BAU, and only sporadically since I joined. Maeve was…different.”

I nodded gently, giving him space. I knew bits and pieces about Maeve already, little fragments of his past he’d laid bare inside the infirmary.

“She made me feel like I wasn’t too much. Even when I talked too fast or spiraled out with a thousand thoughts at once, she stayed on the phone with me. Answered every one of my letters. And then she was just…gone. And I couldn’t save her.”

His hand moved from my wrist to my jaw, brushing lightly as if grounding himself.

“Since then, I think some part of me has never fully let go of the idea that loving someone automatically means losing them. Or hurting them. Or both.”

My chest ached for him — not with pity, but with understanding. “I know that feeling,” I said. “I mean, not exactly. I can never relate to the pain you were in after what happened to her, but I know how it feels to conflate love with loss. My last relationship… It wasn't good for me. He constantly told me I was too much. Too emotional, too reactive, too needy. Everything about me was just a little too inconvenient.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharper now.

“I spent a long time trying to turn it off. Trying to be easier. Softer. Less. And when I couldn’t be what he wanted emotionally, I just…tried to be what he wanted physically.” I didn’t look away. “Sex became the only way I could feel close to him. Or useful.”

He exhaled, slow and low. “He sounds like an idiot.”

That made me laugh a little. “He was. But he was also just… human. And so was I. And I stayed too long. Started feeling like love always came at a cost, both to me and to them. But I’ve done a lot of work since then to be full again. To let go of that feeling, and to get back to myself.”

“You are,” Spencer said, fingers sliding carefully beneath the hem of my shirt. “You’re so full of life, I don’t know how I ever functioned before I met you.”

His kiss came gently, but it deepened quickly — hands finding each other, breath catching in the dark. For a while we didn’t speak, just moved together under the covers, slow and attentive. His mouth trailed along my throat like a map he wanted to memorize, and I let my hands explore the slope of his back, the curve of his waist, the sharp lines softened by sleep and stillness.

When his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, I held still — not in fear, but in awe of the quiet question he asked with just the brush of his fingertips. He traced the edge of me like he was waiting for my breath to steady, like he was listening for the yes in the way my hips tilted toward him.

When I gasped, soft, and involuntary, he didn’t freeze like he had in the times before. He stayed with me. Kept moving gently, slowly, two fingers slipping through slick heat as his eyes searched mine. Steady and careful. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted like he’d forgotten to breathe, chest rising and falling as if trying to keep pace with something invisible between us. His thumb brushed over my clit deliberately, once, then again, and the sound I made curled his lips into the tiniest smile, like he was learning something sacred.

I was unraveling. I could feel it in every nerve ending, the coiled tension winding tighter, the heat in my belly flaring under his touch. He watched me fall apart with that same patient awe, like each flick of his fingers was another word in a language he was still studying but somehow already fluent in. He wasn’t just memorizing what made me shake — he was trying to understand why. Watching the way I arched, the way I bit my lip to keep quiet, the way I clung to his shoulder like I was trying not to drown. I tried to keep from being too much too fast, but it didn’t matter. He saw all of it.

And when I came, trembling around his hand, his eyes never left mine. He leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard, and kissed me — my cheek, my temple, my brow, my lips. He looked at me as if witnessing me let go was as much a gift for him as it was for me.

When I rolled towards him after, still catching my breath, I reached for the hem of his shirt and felt him stiffen — not from discomfort, but something more fragile. Vulnerability, maybe. Or hesitation edged with want. I moved slowly, pressing a hand to his chest, and he let me, nodding.

My fingers drifted lower, across the trail of soft hair down his stomach, past the waistband of his boxers. He sucked in a breath, loud in the hush of the room, and buried his face in my neck when I wrapped my hand around him.

It wasn’t the way he groaned that undid me — it was the way he tried not to, like even now he was afraid to take up too much space in the room. I cupped his face with my free hand and whispered, “You can let go,” and he did — with a broken, quiet sound that made my chest tighten. He came with his forehead pressed to mine, whispering my name like it was the only tether he had to the present. Like he needed me more than air.

After, he collapsed into me, breath still ragged, hands trembling just slightly as they found my waist. I pressed my face into his neck and let my fingers trace over the long scar on his palm — the one I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask about yet. He let me touch it, didn’t flinch, and let out a breath that felt like surrender.

He changed into clean boxers and then came back to bed, wrapping me up in his arms with a kiss to my forehead. We stayed tangled up like that for a long time, neither of us talking, just sharing warmth, skin, silence. A kind of quiet I hadn’t known I needed until I had it. The kind that said, this is safe. This is yours.

And when we finally stilled beneath the covers, his arms tightened around me as he let his eyes close. It felt like he was holding onto more than just my body — we were carving out space for each other between fear and trust, between what he’d survived and what we were building now. And maybe he hadn’t remembered how to feel this kind of intimacy before — but here, in the hush of the dark, it felt like he was trying.

—

He picked me up at 6:30pm sharp on Thursday in a dusty old Volvo that looked like it had survived multiple timelines and maybe a few natural disasters. I loved it instantly.

I was locking my apartment door when I saw it idle at the curb through the window, a boxy relic with dull blue paint and mismatched hubcaps. Of course this was his car. Of course it smelled faintly like books and peppermint and had a crumpled copy of Scientific American wedged between the passenger seat and the center console.

“You ready?” he asked through the open window, smiling. I sucked in a sharp breath when I noticed he was wearing glasses I hadn’t seen him in before. God, did that man look good in glasses.

I nodded and climbed in. “This thing still runs?”

He scoffed, mock-offended. “Runs brilliantly. It’s a classic.”

“It’s a heap, Spence.” Spence. I’d never called him that before. It just slipped out, and it tasted good when it did.

“It’s a heap with soul,” he countered, pulling into traffic. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the nickname, but I noticed his cheeks blush a little bit. He settled his right palm against the warm skin of my thigh, filling the space above my knee but below the hem of my skirt.

The Smithsonian Planetarium was quiet by the time we got there — just a handful of couples and tourists milling around the lobby, murmuring over ticket stubs and constellation maps. Spencer whispered trivia in my ear while we waited for the doors to open, soft things like, “The light we’re seeing tonight left those stars before Shakespeare was born,” and “That one’s called the Winter Hexagon — six stars, all tied together.”

He was giddy in that understated, Spencer way — rambling facts under his breath and pushing his glasses up his nose with two fingers every time they slipped. I couldn’t stop smiling.

Once the doors opened and we settled in our seats inside, a comfortable silence fell between us. The lights dimmed so slowly I barely noticed it happening — first the dome above us went navy, then charcoal, then a black so deep it made me feel like I was floating. And then the stars came.

Thousands of them, blooming across the ceiling like a slow explosion — faint pinpricks at first, then constellations, galaxies, supernovas flaring to life as the narrator began to speak.

Soft music hummed in the background — a playlist full of Max Richter, Ólafur Arnalds, one movement of Spiegel im Spiegel sliding into a mournful cello piece that made the back of my eyes sting.

He leaned over, his breath warm against my ear. “That one,” he whispered, pointing up as a spiral galaxy rotated above us, “is Messier 51 — the Whirlpool Galaxy. It’s interacting with a smaller galaxy, which is slowly being absorbed. It’s been happening for millions of years.”

“So they’re crashing into each other?”

“Kind of. More like merging. It’s violent, but also… inevitable. They’ll become one galaxy eventually.”

“You’re making this sound romantic.”

He glanced at me, his crooked smile just barely visible in the dark. “A little destruction is romantic, sometimes.”

I swallowed hard and looked back up at the dome. The narrator was talking about stardust now — about how every element in our bodies was forged in the cores of long-dead stars, scattered by ancient explosions. “The calcium in your teeth,” she said, “the iron in your blood — all of it began in the heart of a dying star.”

“That always gets me,” Spencer whispered. “Stardust. It sounds cheesy, but it’s real. Every single atom in your body came from something ancient and violent.”

“Explains a lot about me,” I murmured.

He laughed softly. “You’re made of much better star stuff than you give yourself credit for.”

The stars kept moving. We drifted past Orion, past the Pleiades. Spencer leaned close again. “You know the story behind Andromeda?”

I shook my head.

“She was chained to a rock as a sacrifice, because her mother bragged she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. So the gods demanded a punishment. But Perseus shows up, slays the sea monster, and saves her.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “And also… kind of hot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Slaying a monster to save someone?”

“No,” I smirked. “The part where she’s chained to a rock,” I deadpanned, joking.

He choked on his own muted laughter and quickly looked around, half-convinced someone had overheard.

“I’m kidding,” I whispered, nudging his thigh with mine.

His hand found mine again in the dark, fingers interlacing gently but with that same thread of electricity running through it. Something sparking between us that no supernova could outshine.

Afterward, we walked slowly back to his car, and he didn’t let go. Not even when we passed a group of teenagers huddled around the fountain, or when I made a joke about him being the only man alive who would get teary-eyed over a projected simulation of Saturn’s rings.

“It’s the Cassini Division,” he said, feigning indignance. “It’s iconic.”

“Your brain is iconic,” I teased, bumping his shoulder.

He blushed down to his collar.

We ended up at the diner he’d mentioned in the infirmary — the one with chipped mugs and a neon clock on the wall, the kind of place that smelled like coffee creamer and buttered toast and hadn’t changed its menu since 1977. We each ordered pie: I got cherry; he got apple.

“You’ve got some whipped cream on your lip,” I giggled after a few bites.

He licked the wrong side.

“No, other side—” I leaned forward across the table and wiped it with my thumb. “You’re a disaster.”

“A disaster with excellent taste in desserts,” he corrected.

“Debatable.”

“Please. I did research. I picked this place based on data.”

“Oh my god, you ran an analysis on pie, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said, completely serious. “And this one scored highest in texture, balance of sweetness, and mouthfeel.”

I cringed. “You just said mouthfeel in public. I hope you know I can never un-hear that.”

He laughed, full and genuine, and I thought to myself: god, I’m so screwed. Because somewhere between the stars and the whipped cream and the hand-holding in the dark, I realized I was falling. Not crashing. Not spiraling. Not in the violent way two galaxies merge. Just… falling. Falling for every part of him, every side he’d given me the privilege of seeing.

His palm found my thigh again on the drive home. Something about the energy in his car felt charged, and at one point, I caught him staring at me when he hadn’t realized the traffic light had turned green and a BMW behind us honked.

Once we got back to his apartment, the air shifted the second the door closed behind us. I’m not sure if his hands were on me first or the other way around, but however it happened, I was grateful.

We barely made it to the couch without stumbling into something. His hands found my hips and I pulled him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him with a low, smoldering urgency I’d been sitting on since his lips brushed my ear in the planetarium. He responded just as hungrily — no hesitation, no nerves, just Spencer, warm and wanting, mouth on mine like he was starving for it. It felt like I could see his walls crumbling before my eyes.

I straddled him, settling into his lap on the couch like I belonged there, and he moaned low in his throat like he agreed. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me down harder against him, and I could feel him already through his pants — hard, insistent, twitching under me every time I rolled my hips.

“Fuck—”

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked, pausing my movements.

“No” he breathed. “God, no, I don’t want you to stop.”

We kissed deeper, rougher. I untucked his crisp buttoned shirt and let my hands slide up his skin underneath it, mapping his ribs, the slope of his chest. He gasped when I pinched his nipple playfully. “Sensitive, huh?”

“Apparently,” he chuckled.

His hands weren’t idle either — one sliding up my spine under my shirt and over my bra, the other gripping my ass with real purpose. I let him touch me like that — unselfconsciously, eagerly — because I wanted to be wanted like this. By him.

I rocked against him again, slower this time, and his head fell back against the cushions. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, eyes fluttering closed.

I kissed the side of his neck. “Not yet.”

He opened his eyes again, dazed but focused, as his fingers drifted under the lace covering my breasts. “Can I?” he whispered, already thumbing lightly at the fabric.

I nodded an immediate yes, and he tugged my shirt up over my head and then the bra down just enough to bare me to the room. He looked at me for a moment — really looked, like I was the most beautiful, bewildering thing he’d ever seen. I felt that look low in my belly and behind my ribs for hours after the fact.

His hands on my breasts were warm, gentle, reverent. Then his mouth followed.

He licked, kissed, sucked — slow and focused — like he was solving a riddle, unlocking pieces of a puzzle one by one. I was panting by the time he switched sides, tugging his hair, grinding down on him because I couldn’t help it.

When I reached between us and undid his belt, unzipping him, he didn’t stop me. Just let his head fall back again and hissed through his teeth when I palmed him through his briefs.

“You’re so hard,” I whispered. “Is this all from the stars, or me?”

He looked at me with a half-smile, eyes blown wide. “You.”

“Good answer,” I giggled.

I tugged at the waistband just enough to slip my hand inside. He was warm, heavy, and twitching under my palm as I started to stroke him properly. He bucked up against my palm, one hand clutching my hip now, the other digging into the couch cushion like he was trying desperately to hold onto something real.

When he slipped a hand down the front of my panties under my skirt, I gasped — not from surprise, but from how confident he was about it. It felt like he’d been imagining this for weeks. Practicing it in his mind, going over it in his head frame by frame.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, fingers sliding between my folds.

He lifted me off his lap and laid me down on the couch, settling between my thighs as he pressed soft kisses down my body. The second his tongue touched me over my panties, I arched. He locked his fingers around the waistband and pulled the fabric down, kissing my inner thighs as he did, and once they were off, he looked up at me. I tangled a hand in his hair and took a steadying breath, offering silent permission for him to continue.

His mouth met my center without hesitation, and he licked with the kind of precision I should’ve expected from him — methodical, slow strokes that built pressure, then faster ones that made my thighs tremble. His hands gripped my hips hard, keeping me right where he wanted me.

“Fuck, Spencer,” I whined, tugging on his hair, breath catching, thighs tightening around his shoulders.

He moaned into me like he liked the way I sounded, like he wanted me loud. It only made it better — vibration deep and indulgent as he worked me harder, faster, then slowed again just to tease me. The kind of rhythm that bordered on cruelty. By the third time he worked me up, I was writhing.

“I’m close,” I warned, voice tight.

“Come for me,” he murmured against me, voice ruined. “Please.”

He wrapped is lips around my clit and I came with a cry that I couldn’t stifle, hips jerking, thighs clamped tight around his face as he worked me through it — greedy and gentle, like he didn’t want to stop, like he was still starved for my taste. One of his hands left my hip to tangle his fingers with mine as if to say I’m here, I’ve got you.

I was still catching my breath when I pulled him up to kiss me. He hesitated for a second, maybe out of courtesy, but I didn’t care. I wanted to taste myself on his lips. I needed tangible evidence that I hadn’t just imagined that entire experience.

“You’re perfect,” I murmured against his mouth. I didn’t give him a chance to answer — just shoved his boxers down the rest of the way and dropped to my knees on the carpet in front of him.

I looked up at him, asking with my eyes if I could keep going, and he took a shaky breath, nodding. He made a strangled sound the second I wrapped my hand around him, and a louder one when my mouth followed. His hands immediately gathered my hair out of my face and held it against the back of my head.

“Oh, fuck, baby—”

Baby. He’d never used any nickname or pet name for me before, let alone something as intimate as baby. I hummed around him in response.

I took him in slow at first, then deeper — flattening my tongue, hollowing my cheeks, working my hand where my mouth couldn’t reach. He was already so hard, leaking, twitching against my tongue. I moaned around him just to feel him pulse in response, and continued my ministrations with enthusiasm.

“You’re gonna make me—” One of his hands left my hair and hit the back of the couch, grasping blindly. “Jesus, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Good,” I whispered, pulling off just enough to meet his eyes, stroking him with my fingers. “I want to feel you.”

He grabbed my hair again, not rough — just holding on like he needed something to ground him — and I took him back into my mouth, fast and focused. I let his cock hit the back of my throat, eliciting a soft gag, and he groaned, deep and rumbly.

He came with a shudder and a broken gasp of my name, hips stuttering, fingers tightening in my hair as he spilled down my throat. I didn’t release him until he was gasping for breath, the sharp edge of his orgasm dissolving into something loose and messy and soft.

When I crawled back up to sit beside him, we didn’t talk right away. He pulled me close, kissed the side of my face, my shoulder, my temple. Eventually, I tucked my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, still dazed.

I smiled into his skin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hand slid slowly up my spine, fingertips trailing along my neck like he never wanted to stop touching me.

We just stayed like that for a while — tangled, flushed, quiet — the air thick with everything we weren’t saying, and everything we already knew:

That this was becoming something. That the flirtation that started in the prison infirmary wasn’t just flirtation. That we fit together, both in the way my body curled into his and in the way our lives had started to intersect and weave into one.

He looked at me like I was already his, and it scared the hell out of me — not because I didn’t want to be, but because I really, really did. I just hadn’t actually voiced that desire yet, and neither had he. It felt too big, too important, too fragile. He was still trying to re-enter society without breaking, and I was still finding my footing beside him.

Eventually, we made it to his bed, and he helped me dress in yet another one of his soft, worn t-shirts. We brushed our teeth side by side, and when he pulled me into him under the covers, I could’ve sworn my heart literally skipped a beat.

I was halfway asleep when I felt his lips brush my shoulder.

“I’m really glad you came with me tonight,” he said softly.

I turned my head back to look at him and smiled. “I’m really glad you asked. Best first date I’ve ever had,” I murmured back. His hand found mine beneath the blanket.

And as we drifted off together, the stars we’d watched earlier — the ones that had burned for centuries before humans ever noticed them — somehow felt a little less far away.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part v

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Date Night

Summary: When Tim didn't pick you up for a date night he planned, you knew that you would find him back at his office. Intending to make him beg for your forgiveness you take yourself in your slutty outfit to the station to find out what Tim will do to make up for forgetting about you.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, smut (oral f receiving; unprotected sex), a whole lot of making out, semi public sex, food, surprise at the end

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You knew he would have a good reason, he always has. 

The passion he has for his job is one of the reason you love him so much. 

That did not mean that it didn’t hurt when 7 pm turned to 8 and to 9 pm without a single text or call. 

You had been looking forward to today. 

Pretending to work from home while you took an everything shower and shaved every inch of your body. You scrubbed and moisturised your skin with the lotion you knew Tim loved the smell of. 

You put the slutty black mesh body on, needing almost ten minutes to have all the straps in place, rolling the silky stockings up your equally silky thighs, connecting them to the suspenders of the flimsy body you were wearing. 

You looked fucking hot, thighs pressing together at the thought of what Tim would do to you once he finally got you home and naked. 

You reached for the deep green velvet dress you loved, running your fingers over the soft fabric that reached just above your knees before you searched for some heels. 

You didn’t wear them often, but you loved the way your ass looked when you wore them, so you would suffer the couple steps to and from the car.

Tim had made reservations for dinner at the restaurant you had your first date at.

This date night was actually his idea and you, silly little you thought that maybe, maybe he’d pop the big question tonight. 

You had been dating for four years, living together for three. 

Marriage was not something you really discussed, but you both wanted to get married eventually. And with the effort he had put into tonight you got enough signals to actually gotten your nails done yesterday after work. 

But now, at 9:05 pm without Tim having picked you up or having reacted to any message or call you placed on his work and mobile phone you were mad. 

Because you knew, as one of his colleagues who actually picked up his phone told you, that he was in the station. In his office. 

You weren’t someone who made a big deal of when he stayed too long at work. You knew he was a workaholic, though it had gotten a lot better since you moved in. 

But tonight you had the fuck me heels on, and fuck you wanted to spend the night with your hunk of a boyfriend. 

So, after another twenty more minutes of waiting and brooding over feelings like a stupid neglected girlfriend, you got up and grabbed your keys. 

You made sure the red lipstick you had put on was still perfect on your lips before you went to your car to pay a visit to Tim. 

There were only a few cars left in the parking lot as you parked your car next to Tim’s. You made sure your boobs looked good before you exited the car and made your way towards the police station. 

You knew the people who worked here, having spend countless barbecues and birthdays with them, so when you opened the door to walked in you made sure to say Hello to everyone. 

„Damn, you look hot,“ one of Tim’s female colleagues whistled and you grinned. 

„I know,“ you said with a wink, „He in?“ You gestured in the direction of Tim’s office. She nodded. 

„Yeah. He’s been in there since lunch. Got some new evidence in,“ she explained. 

„That might explain why he forgot he was taking me out to dinner tonight,“ you said and she made a face. 

„Idiot,“ she rolled her eyes and you shrugged with pursed lips. 

„Any of the other detectives still in?“

„Nah. They went home. Got the end of the floor all to yourselves,“ she winked and you gave her a bashful smile before you made your way towards his office. 

You could see the light on behind one single door at the end of the floor and you opened it without knocking, finding Tim sitting behind his desk, dress shirt halfway unbuttoned, tied loosened, still wearing his shoulder holsters. 

Various emotions flickered over his face as he looked up to find you standing in his door. 

Surprise, clearly.

Hunger, as his eyes wandered over your form.

Love, always. 

And then there it was, his eyes widening as regret set in. 

He looked away from you for a second, his eyes finding the clock on the wall. 

„Oh fuck,“ he shook his head, looking at you, getting up from behind his desk. 

„I totally forgot the time, I’m so fucking sorry,“ he said, walking towards you but you just crossed your arms in front of your chest which pushed your tits up and you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered towards your cleavage before he came to stand in front of you, hands on your elbows. 

„We got new evidence in and I forgot the time and I’m a shitty fucking boyfriend,“ he said, his big brown eyes big as he looked at you, hands now on your upper arms. 

„You look beautiful baby,“ his fingers slipped over the soft fabric of your dress. 

„I know,“ you said, now pouting and his lips twitched into a small smile as he stepped forward. 

„Let me make it up to you,“ he said with pleading eyes, before he pulled you against his body, your hand coming to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. 

„And how do you plan on doing that Detective?“ You asked and he hummed, his head tilting to the side as if in deep thought while both of his hands slowly slid down your back before grabbing a handful of your ass.

„I can think of a few ways,“ he hummed before he kissed you. You sighed against his lips, your arms wrapping around him, one of your hands running through his soft hair as he deepened the kiss. He walked you back, caging you against his door and you heard the soft click of him locking his door and you smiled against his lips. 

His hands slowly slipped the soft fabric of your dress up, his fingers leaving goosebumps as they moved over your skin, all while his tongue played with yours. 

He groaned when he felt the lace of your stocking. 

„Fuck baby. Can I see you?“ He mumbled, one of his fingers hooking through the straps of the garter belt you were wearing and you hummed thoughtfully. 

„I don’t know Detective, you think you already earned that?“ You looked at him, challenging him. 

Instead of answering you he slowly sank down on his knees, while now both of his hands held up the fabric of your dress. He groaned a low fuck me when he saw what you were wearing, his face leaning in, nuzzling against your lace covered panties as he inhaled deeply. 

„She already wet for me?“ He asked, his breath warm against your skin. Not giving you a chance to answer his tongue slipped over your flimsy panties and you gasped as he hummed. 

One of his hands grabbed one of your legs, hooking it over one of his shoulders and you let your back fall against the door, one of your hand reaching down, fingers gliding through his hair. 

„I’m sorry,“ he whispered before he pushed your panties to the side. 

„I’m sorry I forgot about our date,“ he kissed you just above your clit. 

„Again,“ he murmured before his fingers parted your folds and he moaned when he saw just how wet you already were.  

„You’re so wet for me baby,“ he licked through your folds and you sighed, head falling against the door with a soft thump.

„I’m sorry I’m such a shitty boyfriend,“ he murmured as his tongue played with you, the way his facial hair scratched over your sensitive skin as he ate you out leaving you shuddering. 

One of his arms was wrapped around your thigh, holding you in place as his other hand held you open for him. 

„I’m close,“ you moaned, fingers gripping his hair and he groaned, his tongue fucking you as deeply as he was able to, humming as he tasted you. 

„Already?“ He teased and you pulled his hair, making him moan. 

He chuckled to himself before his tongue focused all its attention on your clit. Flicking it at first before he sucked it between his lips, knowing exactly what to do to make you cum. 

And within seconds you did, flooding his mouth with your slick as you moaned his name quietly. He continued to lick into you until you pushed him away and he slowly let your leg down before he sat back on his heels, looking very smug as he looked up at you. 

„Am I forgiven yet?“ He asked and you rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his hands away as you walked over to his desk. Your eyes softened when you saw the photo the two of you took on your last vacation on his desk as you leaned with both palms down over his desk, wiggling your ass. 

„I think I need some more grovelling,“ you smirked over your shoulder and Tim got back up on his feet. He pressed into you from behind and you could feel how hard he was. His hands were on your hip as he leaned down, finding your lips in a soft kiss. 

„Can’t do that kind of grovelling on my knees though,“ he grinned and you chuckled. 

„Just fuck me, Tim,“ you pushed against him and he huffed a laugh. You turned your head back forward as you heard his belt buckle, followed from a zipper. 

He pushed your dress up, before he reached for your panties, slowly slipping them down your legs until you could step out of them. You didn’t know he put them into the pocket of the shirt he was wearing, intending to keep them. 

You jumped in surprise when he licked through your folds again, humming in satisfaction. 

„Could taste you all day,“ he said, before he slapped your ass, making you jump again.

„You should do that some time,“ you teased and felt his hands squeeze your hips. 

„Oh I will,“ he said, feeling the tip of his cock slowly enter you. 

„Gonna spend all day with you in bed, fucking you in every way possible,“ he groaned, sinking into you fully. 

„Promises, promises,“ you teased looking over your shoulder just when his hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap. 

„Brat,“ he shook his head in amusement. 

„I thought you were grovelling?“ You asked and he bottomed out before snapping his hips back against your ass, his cock filling you completely, air rushing out of your lungs in a low moan as he began to fuck you. 

One of his hands was massaging one of your ass cheeks as he kept a steady pace. 

„Always so warm and wet for me,“ he hummed, hips snapping against yours. Your lips were parted as you panted, low moans escaping you as you tried to keep quiet. 

„Wanna cum in this little pussy,“ he moaned and you began to meet his thrusts. 

„You gonna let me?“ He hummed and you pushed yourself up, feeling his arm wrap around your middle as he pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you as he held you. 

„Only if you gonna clean me up once we’re home,“ you whispered and he groaned as his lips found yours in a sloppy kiss. His hand slipped down your body, under your dress, finding your clit, playing with it. 

„Cum for me,“ he mumbled against your lips, his cock filling you in the perfect angle and it wasn’t long before you came, squeezing his cock while he fucked your through your orgasm, his lips still on yours before he followed you shortly after, painting your walls with his cum. 

You stayed like that for a moment, him holding you against his chest as you kissed. 

„I am really really fucking sorry I forgot about dinner,“ he whispered against your lips and your eyes softened. 

„It’s okay. I know how important your work is for you,“ you murmured, before you kissed him again. 

He slowly pulled out of you, grabbing some tissues from his desk to clean you up before he tucked his cock back into his pants. You jumped on his desk and he smiled as he came to stand between your legs, one of his hands tilting your face up towards him. 

„You will always be more important baby. It’s why I planned his fucking dinner,“ he sighed, clearly still disappointed in himself. 

You wrapped both of your arms around his back and he stepped closer as you rested your head against his. 

„You can still take me out to dinner. The Taco Truck down our street is still open,“ you smiled and felt his shoulder relax. 

And that’s how you ended up completely overdressed at almost 11pm a the Taco Truck down your street. Soft music was paying on the radio as you ate. 

„You know there was a reason I wanted to take you out tonight,“ he said and you hummed, happily biting into your Taco. You were sitting on a bench, leaning against Tim’s chest as he watched you eat. 

„Yeah?“ You asked, feeling him nod.

He waited until you were finished eating before you felt him move behind you. Sitting yourself up you reached for a napkin to clean your fingers when you saw him set something down on the table next to you. 

A small turquoise box. 

You frowned for a moment before you looked at him with wide eyes. 

„I wanted this night to be perfect, and I can’t believe I let my job get in the way of that again,“ he shook his head before he got up only to get down on one knee in front of you, taking your hand while his other reached for the small box, flipping it open to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. 

„But maybe asking you to marry me in front of a Taco Truck instead of a fancy dinner should have been my plan along.“

[4linos]

after the storm

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis/request: when jisung lashes out in frustration, the hurt you feel cuts deep. the following morning, he’s full of regret and apologies, but the damage is done. will the two of you be able to find a way to heal together, or has this moment created a rift too large to fix?

wc: 1695

That day had been a storm, a silent, simmering chaos that erupted unexpectedly. It had begun with something small, something you both should have been able to discuss easily: a miscommunication about plans. You had asked Jisung to pick up groceries after work, an easy task that you had agreed upon the night before. But when you called him later to check in, he said he hadn't gone.

The reason?

"I just didn't have the energy, okay?"

It wasn’t the reason that stung; it was the tone. The dismissiveness. The way his voice had hardened, like you were the last person he wanted to talk to. You could hear it in his voice the fatigue, sure but there was something else, too. Something more dismissive, more impatient.

You tried to keep your calm. You asked him why he hadn’t mentioned this earlier, and that’s when it escalated. Jisung snapped at you.

“Why do you always have to make everything a bigger deal? I told you I was tired, and you just can’t let it go, can you?” His voice was sharp now, piercing through the calmness you’d tried to maintain. “You think I don’t have things to do? That I don’t have my own problems? Stop acting like everything’s always about you!”

The words hit you like a slap. It was not just what he said, but how he said it. The unexpected cold. The anger. It wasn't Jisung as you knew him. It wasn't the loving, caring lover who constantly looked to console you when things were tough. You had never seen this side of him before, it was raw, cruel, and unlike the person you loved. You tried to react, defend yourself, and explain that it wasn't about being selfish, but about knowing one another. But Jisung would not hear it. His irritation had gotten out of hand, and before you knew it, you were both screaming at one other, the argument growing into a conflict of hurt feelings. In the end, it was one of those exhausting arguments that left you feeling drained, defeated, like something inside had been broken.

Jisung disappeared off to the bedroom, and you had cuddled up on the couch, letting your tears fall. You were upset. You were hurt. You were mostly confused, though. You weren't expecting this venom, this hardness. You didn't expect him to lash out like that, to treat you as if you were the problem when you were just trying to keep things together.

And now it was the morning after. The house was strangely quiet. You awoke with the impression that yesterday's weight was still bearing down on you. The argument had not been settled, and there was a noticeable gap between you and Jisung, an emotional coldness that neither of you had been able to overcome just yet.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your body still feeling heavy with the aftermath of the fight. The coffee machine hummed in the background, filling the silence with the comforting sound of routine. You tried to go through the motions, hoping that the normalcy of it would ease the tightness in your chest. But the hurt from the night before was still there, lingering in every corner of your mind.

You needed space. You needed time to think.

The coffee began to brew, and as you stood there waiting, your thoughts wandered back to the argument. The way Jisung had raised his voice. The hurt in his eyes when you didn’t immediately understand his frustration. The words he had thrown at you, accusing you of being self-centered, of not caring about how he felt. You knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to hurt you. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Before you could even try to clear your mind, you heard footsteps behind you, and your heart sank.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to approach you after everything that had happened. He was there, standing right behind you, but there was a distance in his tone. The same distance that had grown between the two of you since yesterday.

You didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Your body still felt heavy with the weight of the argument, and you didn’t know how to process the emotions that were swirling inside you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you focused on the sound of the coffee machine, the clinking of the cup, anything to avoid the rawness of the situation.

Then, without warning, you felt Jisung wrap his arms around you. He was trying to be delicate, to ease the distance between you, but his touch felt strange now. His warmth should have been reassuring, but it merely emphasized the coldness between you. You froze, your body becoming rigid at the contact. He did not seem to notice. Maybe deep down, he did. Maybe that's why he hesitated for a time, his arms tightening around you in an almost desperate cry for forgiveness, connection, and a chance to feel him as he felt you. But you couldn't move. You couldn't respond.

So you turned away from him. You swept past him as if he were not there. You didn't try to hurt him, but it was easier to stay away and protect yourself. The raw vulnerability of being hurt by someone you care about made everything feel overwhelming. You wandered to the living room and sunk onto the couch without saying anything. You didn't want to confront this. You didn't know how to handle it. The argument from yesterday was still vivid in your mind, and despite hearing guilt in his footsteps as he followed you, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

He stood there for a moment, hesitant, before calmly sitting next to you. He took the coffee cup from your hands, his fingers brushing across yours, and then lied down with his head on your lap. It seemed as if he was trying to get closer, to close the emotional gap, but it felt too soon. Too raw. You stared straight ahead, the TV on in the background, but you weren't watching it. The silence between you was suffocating. Your fingers were curled in your lap, but Jisung's presence in your space was undeniable, even if you didn't acknowledge it. His body was close to yours, his chest rising and falling with quiet breaths, but there was no comfort in it.

And then, in the softest voice, Jisung spoke. “I’m sorry… for yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I didn’t mean what I said. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been so stressed, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words hung in the air. You wanted to say something. You wanted to reassure him, but you couldn’t quite shake the sting of what had been said. You didn’t know how to respond to his apology because, even though you knew he was sorry, it didn’t change how his words had made you feel. It didn’t change the hurt that was still fresh in your heart.

Jisung waited, his eyes closed, his hand resting on your knee, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin as if he was asking for your forgiveness without saying a word. The guilt radiated from him, and it made your chest tighten even more. He was sorry. You knew he was. But could you forgive him this easily?

You were silent at first. Instead, you let the tips of your fingers slide through his messy hair. The move was natural, something you would do any other day when the two of you were at ease. However, it felt like a truce, a period of peaceful connection in the midst of everything that just happened. Jisung let out a gentle sigh, his body softening under your touch, as if he had finally relieved some of the tension that had been building up. He nuzzled onto your lap, instinctively seeking the comfort he knew you could give him.

You gently scratched his head, without looking at him, but using your fingers in calm, controlled movements. It wasn't that you didn't care; instead, everything felt so raw. You needed time. You needed him to understand that the apology was only the first step. That rebuilding trust needed more than just words. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "I was hurt, Jisung. What you said really stung. You can't just snap at me like that, no matter what's going through your mind. I don't deserve that. I understand you didn't mean it, but it still hurt."

You could feel him flinch slightly beneath your touch, his hand tightening around your leg, but he did not say anything. He did not try to interrupt. He just listened, which was all you needed right now. "But," you said softly, "I accept your apologies. I do. As long as you promise me this will not happen again. We can't keep doing it, Jisung. I can't keep feeling this way every time we fight. We need to figure out a better way to communicate. We need to respect each other, even when times are difficult."

Jisung nodded slowly, his forehead pressing lightly against your leg, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breath, the two of you suspended in this quiet, fragile moment of vulnerability. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let your fingers continue to massage his scalp, letting the weight of his apology settle between you.

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make sure this never happens again. I love you too much to hurt you like that.”

And, for the first time since yesterday, you were able to relax and breathe a bit easier, knowing that, while the road to recovery would take time, you were both willing to try. You didn't know how things would turn out in the future, but for the time being, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be okay.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

💡masterlist request list 💡

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[9:16 am]

(cw: course language)

Dating Jeno was like a dream. You knew it was early, 2 months to be exact, but you were fairly certain he was the best man ever. He was sweet, thoughtful, he listened, he was funny, and he was handsome. He took you on dates that you could tell he put effort into, he gave you gifts just because he was “thinking about you,” and got you flowers weekly. What wasn’t to like about him?

You had just seen him the night before, he had invited you over to his so he could cook for you. His excuse was that he’d been wanting to try out a recipe, but it was too much for one person. He’d listened to you talk all night about your annoying boss and how she went on and on about anything under the sun. She made it impossible to make or take calls with her roaming the floor and talking. She tried too hard to be friends with her employees.

He had had glimpses of her before when he came by to pick you up for lunch or picked you up from work. She was always the first one to the door, twirling her hair and batting her lashes. She tried flirting and didn’t even try to hide her frown when he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“And I saw that little boy toy of yours yesterday! He was out and about during lunch yesterday and we had lunch together! You’re not mad right? According to what I’ve heard he’s not your boyfriend yet…” you heard her annoying voice, but she wasn’t talking to you, right?

You turned in your desk chair, “are you talking to me?”

“Yes! Jeno, your little boy toy! He’s a real cutie, a real gentleman. I can totally see what’s so attractive about him. We sat and talked together and got carried away. I was almost late,” she laughs.

You give her a fake laugh, claiming you have work to get back to while turning to face the computer screen. Instead of working, you mull over her words. On one hand yes, you and Jeno weren’t official or exclusive in the fact that you hadn’t discussed it, but you had assumed you were. There was also the fact that when you asked him about his lunch he had been very short and moved on as if it were nothing.

Had there been signs that you missed before? Were there moments that they shared when you weren’t around? Were there hidden moments? God, this was putting you in a downward spiral.

She was still stood near you when you heard an unfamiliar male voice. “Uhhhh, flowers from Jeno?” He asked.

As you moved to identify yourself, your boss squealed, reaching for the flowers. She pulled the card from bouquet and began to read out loud, “I had the greatest time seeing you yesterday. I can’t wait to spend more time with you. Love, Jeno. He’s so sweet! So sorry you had to find out this way, but I need to go put these in some light. Get back to work.”

The rest of your day was awful. Maybe he had sent those to her. Maybe he liked her more than you. Maybe he was two-timing you.

From there your anger grew and grew. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. His texts made your anger boil and bubble inside you to the point where once you saw him standing alone in the lobby of your workplace you walked right past him.

“Hey! Wait- hey, where are you going?” You heard Jeno’s voice as he followed after you.

You turned, your voice cold while your emotions were heated, “if you liked my boss you could have just said that instead of stringing me along. I know we never talked about being closed off, but at the very least I deserved to know you were seeing another person inside my office!”

He held his hands up, as if in surrender, “I don’t- I’m not seeing anyone but you. Can we talk about this?”

You groaned, running a had over your hair in frustration. You exhaled, calming your feelings, “my boss came in this morning and told me that you guys had lunch together. That you were such a gentleman and she totally gets what I see in you and that you spent the whole lunch talking and getting to know each other.” Your voice breaks as you keep explaining, “and then flowers were delivered that said you enjoyed your time with her yesterday. It’s just- I wish you had just told me.” You loon away from him as your eyes fill with tears and you desperately try to blink them back.

Jeno gives you your time to breathe and cool off before he speaks. “Babe, I didn’t get lunch with your boss. I happened to be at the same spot for lunch to pick up my order and while I was leaving she walked in. We did that whole awkward stepping the same way over and over again, and I greeted her just to be polite. I asked her how she was, but I didn’t have lunch with her. I don’t like her, she makes me feel weird and gross when she talks to me and I think she’s the same age as my mom, that or she has really bad work done.” You laugh at that and he smiles explaining even more, “the flowers were for you, babe. I have the receipt, it has your name on it as the recipient. They were supposed to be your weekly bouquet and that’s why the note says what it said. I don’t want to spend time getting to know anyone but you.”

“God, I hate that bitch. I’m sorry I assumed,” you exhale deeply, feeling an immense weight off your shoulders.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “it was an unfortunate mess of coincidences mixed with delusion from your crazy ass boss. It’s the last time I’ll use a delivery service too, all your flowers are coming right from me.”

“You still want me after I made that horrible assumption?” You ask with a playful tone, but the nerves in your stomach have yet to calm down.

Jeno smirks, tsking nonchalantly, “if anything, I want you more. Something about you getting jealous, a little possessive, that’s hot.”

You shove him lightly, leaving him behind as you begin walking home again. You can hear him laughing and his steps as he runs to catch up to you. His arm wraps around your shoulders and he presses a kiss to your temple while you both dodge the other people trying to get home. He takes your bag off your shoulder and smiles at you warmly, “I didn’t think we really had to talk about it, but in all seriousness I do like you a lot. I don’t want to see anyone but you.”

“I like you a lot too,” you smile back, “so what? You’re like my boyfriend now?”

“Nothing would make me happier, and you should report your boss to HR. She’s a total bitch.”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

hi! i just finished watching ‘night has come’ yesterday and i’ve been obsessed with go kyung-jun (he’s evil but he’s fine) 🥲 could i request him x fem!reader wherein the numbers had tied during the voting so they both attempt to convince the others that they’re not the mafia, and they have so much tension with each other? thank you so much!

Title: The Tie Pairing: Go Kyung-jun x fem!reader Word Count: ~4.3k Genre: Suspense, Enemies to Lovers, Psychological Thriller, Slow Burn Tension Warnings: Suspicion, high-stakes tension, intense eye contact, one bed trope (brief), a hint of blood, mutual manipulation, morally grey behavior, Go Kyung-jun being hot and evil.

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

The Tie

“Looks like it’s a tie,” the AI’s voice echoed with mechanical cheer. Go Kyung-jun: 5 votes Y/N L/N: 5 votes

You didn’t flinch.

Not even as your classmates gasped, not even when someone muttered, “Shit,” under their breath.

The only person you looked at—the only person who mattered—was already staring straight at you.

Go Kyung-jun tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk dancing at the edge of his lips.

“You and me, huh?” he said quietly. “What a coincidence.”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

You knew it. He knew it.

This game had twisted far past logic. People voted based on fear now—fear of intelligence, of silence, of who locked eyes with whom for half a second too long. And both of you had made yourselves too dangerous, too untouchable.

Which made you perfect targets.

The AI buzzed again. “Thirty minutes until tiebreaker discussion concludes. Defend your innocence.”

You didn’t sit. Neither did he. You both stood at opposite ends of the room, like chess pieces left in a final endgame.

Someone whispered, “Let them talk.” Another added, “We’ll vote after we hear them out.”

You cleared your throat, stepping forward. “I’m not the mafia,” you began, voice level. “I’ve been calling patterns since the start. Jiho’s death? I warned you all about that pairing. Kyung-jun said nothing. In fact—he agreed with the vote that killed her.”

“She voted against me,” Kyung-jun cut in smoothly, arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t I agree?”

You shot him a look. “You’re smarter than that. You let her die because it benefited you.”

“And you didn’t?” His voice turned low. Dangerous. “Don’t pretend you didn’t let people die, Y/N. We all have blood on our hands.”

The room went still. Someone shifted uncomfortably.

You took a breath. He was trying to pull you down with him—into the mud, into his pace. That sharp-edged charm, the same one that let him whisper his way out of accusations for days.

But you weren’t the kind of girl who melted at a pretty face and a sharper tongue.

…Not entirely.

“I think,” you said calmly, “that Kyung-jun’s been playing the long game. Keeping his hands clean. Letting others do the dirty work. But look closely—he’s never voted first. He waits. He watches. And he always follows the safest vote.”

“Of course I do,” he said with a scoff. “I’m not an idiot. Neither are you. That’s why we’re both still alive.”

He turned his gaze to the others. “If I’m mafia, why would I let it get to a tie? Why not vote her out, keep it clean, and end the game faster?”

“Because you want her around,” Jae-min muttered from the corner. “You’re obsessed with her.”

That drew a few stares.

Kyung-jun didn’t look away from you. If anything, his smile deepened.

“…And if I am,” he murmured, “is that a crime?”

Your breath caught in your throat—but you didn’t let it show.

“You’re trying to distract them,” you said, glaring.

“Maybe.” He took a slow step toward you. “Or maybe I just think it’s interesting. That in this game, the only person who sees through me… is you.”

His words landed too close. Too sharp.

You knew he was dangerous. Manipulative. Possibly evil.

But there was a sliver of truth in there, somewhere, and that was what made him lethal.

Because you did see him. You saw the way he observed everyone, the way he kept one hand on the pulse of the room and the other behind his back, knife ready.

But you also saw the cracks. The microexpressions he thought he hid. The flicker of restraint when someone accused you. The twitch of his jaw when someone voted your name.

Maybe he didn’t want you dead. Not yet.

Maybe that was even worse.

Later: The Holding Room

Since the vote would come down to one final round, you were both sent to wait.

Alone.

Together.

In the storage room next to the AV closet.

Of course there was only one chair. Of course it was dark. And of course, Kyung-jun was already sitting, legs spread like he owned the place.

You stood near the wall, arms crossed.

“Comfortable?” you asked dryly.

“I’d offer you the seat,” he said, “but I’m afraid you’d stab me in the back.”

“Only if you make the first move.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, Y/N. Always so honest. And yet…”

He leaned forward slightly, dark eyes gleaming.

“…you lie with your mouth shut.”

You didn’t respond.

“You think you’re better than me,” he said, voice quieter now. “Because you still pretend you’re not playing the game.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “Then what do you call staying quiet when Sunhee begged for someone to save her?”

You flinched.

He saw it.

“I saw your face that night,” he continued. “You wanted her gone. Not because she was mafia. Because she knew too much.”

Your mouth tightened. “She was dangerous.”

“So am I.”

He stood, and suddenly the room felt ten degrees smaller.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmured, walking slowly until he was right in front of you. “I think you want me to be mafia.”

You scoffed. “Why the hell would I want that?”

“Because if I’m evil… then you don’t have to feel guilty about wanting me.”

Your breath stilled.

He was so close now. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You don’t have to lie,” he said. “Not to me.”

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

He didn’t kiss you.

Didn’t touch you.

Just waited.

“…You’re messed up,” you whispered.

He smiled. “Takes one to know one.”

Minutes Later

The AI’s voice called you both back.

Final vote. Time to decide.

As you stepped back into the main room, Kyung-jun leaned in, so only you could hear:

“Whatever happens,” he said, voice silky, “don’t forget who had the chance to kill you… and didn’t.”

You hated how that stayed with you.

Even after the votes. Even after they spared you.

Even when he was dragged away, smiling at you with that unreadable expression—like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he’d planned it.

Like he wanted you to win.

Epilogue

Two nights later, they found another body.

The game wasn’t over.

And neither was Kyung-jun.

You woke up to a note slipped under your door.

"Told you I wasn’t the mafia. You still owe me that seat. – KJ"

Your hands trembled slightly.

Not with fear.

With anticipation.

[dominantslasherking]

Armand With Dominant Male S/o pt 2

Backstory: Louis and Armand talk to Daniel about you. Armands, strange feelings and possessiveness of you is revealed. The obsession that Armand reveals for you is unsettling, Daniel can't help but wonder, what happened to you.

Authors note: heres part 2. click here for part 1. Tell me if you want a final part 3, which would be, sex.

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

The following evening, the soft hum of the dark outside was muted by the tension inside Louis and Armand’s apartment. Daniel Molloy, with his usual casual demeanor, entered the dimly lit space, clutching his laptop and a leather folder. The previous night's revelations had stirred something in him, a hunger for more information about the enigmatic [Your Name], the vampire whose existence seemed to linger between Louis and Armand like a forgotten melody. Louis, dressed in his usual understated elegance, stood by the window, his back to Daniel while muttering a soft tune to the volin playing through the speakers.

Armand, seated at the dining table, his caramel-toned skin glowing softly under the elegant light bulb, observed Daniel with an unreadable expression. The sharp angles of Armand’s face, framed by his dark, wavy hair, gave him an ethereal presence—his deep brown eyes tinted with orange, so often intense and calculating, betrayed nothing.

Daniel set down his recorder and laptop on the table before opening the folder and placing it next to the recorder. He smiled awkwardly, clearing his throat as he took a seat. “I’ve had some time to think about what we discussed yesterday. About [Your Name].” He let the words hang in the air, watching the way Louis’ posture stiffened slightly. Daniel slightly fixed his glasses as he stared at his computer.

Louis finally turned from the window, his dark eyes meeting Daniel’s. “Yes. I imagine you’ve found more to ask about him.” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of unease that Armand noticed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Louis took his seat beside Armand, placing Claudia’s diary on the table—a relic from a time long past, its pages filled with the ramblings, insights, and sometimes unsettling thoughts of a vampire trapped in a body far too young for the horrors she’d witnessed.

Daniel glanced at the diary, flipping it open to where he had last left off. He furrowed his brow as he noticed something strange. “This wasn’t like this when I saw it last,” Daniel remarked, his voice cautious. He thumbed through the pages, stopping at a few that had clearly been repaired, the tears mended with meticulous care.

“You repaired the pages?” Daniel asked, glancing up at Louis.

Louis sighed, his fingers trailing over the table’s surface. “I did,” he admitted quietly. “There were things… things I couldn’t bear to read again.”

Armand’s gaze never left Louis, though his expression remained impassive. His voice, smooth and steady, cut through the silence. “The pages Louis tore out pertained to [Your Name],” he revealed. His words were calm, but the tension between him and Louis was palpable.

Daniel, ever the journalist, leaned in, intrigued. “Why rip them out? What was so important that you couldn’t stand to see it?”

Louis hesitated, his eyes flickering with something Daniel couldn’t quite place. He looked to Armand for a moment before speaking, his voice soft but firm. “Because they were Claudia’s thoughts. Her observations about me, about Armand… and about [Your Name].”

Armand’s fingers twitched slightly under the table, but he said nothing. Louis took a deep breath, his hand moving to rest gently on Armand’s. “She was… perceptive,” Louis continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “She knew things about our lives that I refused to acknowledge.”

Daniel’s curiosity deepened. He thumbed through a few more pages, stopping when something caught his eye. He began to read aloud, his voice filling the room with the words written by a vampire long gone.

“‘Armand is unfaithful to Louis,’” Daniel read, his tone almost cautious, testing the waters. ‘He thinks Louis doesn’t see it, but I do. I see everything. Armand’s heart may belong to Louis, but his soul (If he even has one) belongs to another. To [Your Name].’”

The room grew still, the weight of Claudia’s words settling like a heavy fog. Louis remained motionless, his hand still resting on Armand’s, but his grip tightened slightly.

“Claudia knew,” Daniel said softly, glancing between them. “She saw what was happening between Armand and [Your Name], but you… you didn’t?”

Louis’ eyes flickered, a mix of pain and resignation. “I saw it,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I chose not to believe it. I didn’t want to.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair, processing this new revelation. “So, you were blissfully unaware. Or rather, you wanted to be.”

Armand finally spoke, his voice calm, yet with a certain edge that made Daniel’s skin prickle. “Louis’ love for [Your Name] was always there, but he never acted on it. He feared losing what little he had left—losing me, losing Claudia. He couldn’t bear the thought of ruining it.”

Louis’ jaw clenched, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on the table.

“And you?” Daniel asked, turning his attention fully to Armand. “You were with Louis, but it seems [Your Name] was more than just a passing attraction for you.” Daniel said, typing away at his computer carefully.

Armand’s gaze darkened, but his voice remained steady. “I loved [Your Name]. Perhaps more deeply than I’ve ever loved anyone. He was... extraordinary. The way he saw the world, the way he moved through it. I couldn’t help myself.” He glanced at Louis, his expression softening ever so slightly. “But my love for [Your Name] didn’t erase what I felt for Louis. It’s not as simple as choosing one over the other.”

Daniel hummed thoughtfully, piecing it all together. “So, Claudia knew, Louis knew, and yet you all carried on. Why? Why not confront it?”

Armand let out a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Because we’re vampires, Daniel. We live with our sins, with our lies, because sometimes, they’re easier to bear than the truth.”

Louis finally broke his silence, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t lose them. Either of them. Not after Lestat, not after everything we’d been through.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air.

Louis sat stiffly, his gaze unfocused as he absentmindedly rubbed his temple, his discomfort palpable. Armand’s expression was cool, his features serene, but there was a tension beneath it all—something simmering just beneath the surface.

Daniel, never one to let a moment of discomfort pass without prodding, leaned forward, tapping his notebook urgently. “Something doesn’t add up,” he said, his voice cutting through the thick silence. “Louis, you’ve been hurt before. Hell, you’ve been hurt over and over again. Lestat, Claudia...much more-- and now this? You’re telling me you’d just stay with another lover who ends up cheating? No, there’s more to this story.”

Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand pressing harder against his aching forehead. His dark eyes flicked to Armand, but he said nothing. Armand’s face remained impassive, though a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed him.

“There’s nothing else to it,” Armand said, his voice smooth but sharp, as if daring Daniel to push further. His deep brown eyes locked onto Daniel, his control over the situation tightening like a noose. Louis, under Armand’s thrall, said nothing, though his discomfort was clear in the lines of his body. The manipulation, subtle but strong, lingered in the air like a poisonous fog.

Daniel narrowed his eyes, sensing the unspoken tension between them but deciding to drop it, at least for now. He knew better than to push too hard when the truth was this fragile. “Fine,” he said, leaning back in his chair, though his pen still danced across the pages of his notebook. “But how about we delve into something else? Another story, maybe?”

Armand’s gaze flickered for a moment, but he nodded, leaning back in his chair as he spoke.

---

Armand sat with Louis on the velvet couch, his arm casually draped over Louis’ shoulder, their bond at the time seemingly unshakable. Claudia was off somewhere in the apartment, her presence as always felt but unseen.

The door opened softly, and [Your Name] walked in, his presence commanding without needing to say a word. He carried with him a drawing, carefully folded in his hands. His smoky red eyes scanned the room, as if making sure everything was as it should be.

“Claudia,” [Your Name] called softly, his voice melodic and rich.

Claudia appeared, her curls framing her face as she walked over with cautious curiosity. “What is it?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion, as it often was with gifts. But her suspicion melted away as [Your Name] handed her the portrait.

It was an abstract piece, hauntingly beautiful in its strange shapes and shadows, capturing the essence of Claudia’s form without exaggerating her youthful body. It was something more than a reflection—it was a tribute. Despite her usual aversion to seeing herself represented in any way, Claudia nearly jumped with joy, her eyes wide as she looked at the drawing, her face lighting up in a way it rarely did.

“It's... beautiful,” Claudia whispered, holding the drawing with a reverence that was almost foreign to her. She rushed over to Armand and Louis, showing it to them like a prize she had won. “Look! Look what he made!” Louis haden't seen her this happy in a while.

Armand, always composed, looked at the drawing and was struck by the raw, unsettling beauty of it. But what truly shocked him was the man who stood before him, the artist who had created such a masterpiece. [Your Name]. His smoky red eyes were focused, his sharp jaw moving slightly as he waited for their reactions.

For a brief moment, Armand was speechless, his deep brown eyes locked onto [Your Name]. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Louis and Claudia to be acquainted with him, let alone so close to him. The intensity of Armand’s gaze was not lost on Louis, who noticed but chose to ignore it, as he often did when it came to things he wasn’t ready to confront.

“Beautiful work,” Armand finally said, his voice steady but laden with something deeper. Something obsessive.

The drawing was passed between them, admired for its haunting quality, but the true exchange of power in the room went unnoticed. Claudia’s joy, Louis’ quiet acknowledgment, and Armand’s growing fascination with [Your Name] were now intertwined, even if none of them realized it at the time.

---

The flashback faded, and the dim light of the apartment settled once again. Daniel, now intrigued more than ever, reached into his folder and pulled out something worn and faded. He gently placed it on the table, his fingers brushing against the fragile edges.

It was a drawing—Claudia’s portrait, old and worn with time but still visible, the haunting beauty still intact despite the years. Daniel’s eyes were sharp as he looked from the drawing to Armand and Louis. “Is this the one?” he asked, his voice low but intense.

Armand’s eyes widened slightly, his carefully composed facade cracking ever so slightly. Louis, too, looked genuinely shocked, his fingers tracing the edges of the worn paper. They had never expected to see it again—certainly not after all this time.

“I thought it had been destroyed,” Louis murmured, his voice filled with disbelief. Armand said nothing, his gaze locked onto the drawing as if seeing a ghost from his past.

Daniel, sensing their astonishment, leaned forward. “I picked it up at a pricey bargain,” he said with a slight smile, tapping the paper gently. “But I’d say it was worth it.”

Armand’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to the worn-out signature at the bottom of the page. It was faint, nearly burnt out, but it was unmistakable. The signature of [Your Name].

Once it had seemed like a good more hour of talking, Daniel closed his laptop and called it a night.

After Daniel left the apartment, the door closing with a quiet click, the tension that had filled the room seemed to dissolve. Louis remained seated at the table, his thoughts lost in the past, when he felt a gentle brush of lips against his cheek. Armand stood over him, his touch tender, his expression soft but unreadable.

"I’ll return soon," Armand murmured, his voice low and comforting. Louis smiled faintly, his gaze following Armand as he made his way out of the room. He trusted Armand, as he always had, but there was a part of him that couldn’t shake the feeling of something... unsaid.

Armand’s steps were silent as he glided down the hallway, his destination clear in his mind. He passed through the grand archways of the apartment until he reached the library, where one of the blood donors—an obedient mortal, carefully chosen—waited silently. With a simple motion of his hand, Armand beckoned the man to follow him.

The two entered the library, the scent of old books and polished wood lingering in the air. Armand walked with purpose, his fingers grazing the spines of the countless volumes that lined the shelves. He spoke softly to the donor, his tone gentle yet commanding. "Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated," he said, his deep brown eyes not once meeting the man’s gaze. "Your family will receive the funds after this transaction, as promised."

The donor nodded, wordless but obedient, as Armand’s hand stopped on a particular book. He didn’t pull it out as one might expect. Instead, the book shifted slightly, triggering the mechanism of a hidden passageway. The library wall creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled downwards into the shadows.

Armand descended the steps, the air growing cooler as they went deeper. The donor followed closely behind, his breath quickening with fear and anticipation. As they reached the bottom, the dim light illuminated a grand architectural room. The space was unlike anything else in the apartment, filled with the artistry of centuries. Paintings adorned the walls, handmade poems scattered across a nearby table, their words haunting and timeless. Sculptures, each more breathtaking than the last, were placed with precision and care. Vines hung from the columns, giving the space a Greek and Roman aesthetic—a temple for a forgotten god.

At the center of the room, bound in silver cuffs that attached to long, heavily restricted chains, was [Your Name]. His presence filled the room as much as the artwork surrounding him. Armand's steps slowed as he approached, a soft smile pulling at his lips. His voice, as smooth as silk, echoed gently through the space.

“Hello, my love,” Armand cooed, his dark eyes never leaving [Your Name]’s form. “I wouldn’t have needed to do this if you hadn’t tried to escape.” His smile was sweet, but there was a sinister undertone to his words. The chains clinked softly as [Your Name] shifted, his hands still busy working on a sculpture. He didn’t look at Armand immediately, his focus still on the statue he had been creating, the marble coming to life beneath his skilled hands.

But when [Your Name] finally turned his head to meet Armand’s gaze, the room seemed to still. Armand, with the speed of a striking serpent, vamp-sped toward him, his lips brushing against [Your Name]’s in a kiss that was both possessive and tender. There was a softness in Armand’s touch, but also the undeniable reminder of who held the power.

“I’ve brought you food,” Armand whispered against [Your Name]’s lips, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulled back slightly. His eyes flicked toward the donor, who stood silently by the doorway, his fate already sealed. “It’s been too long since you’ve fed properly.”

The donor’s heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he realized what he was. Not a sacrifice for his family, but a meal.

[Your Name] looked at the donor briefly, but his focus returned to Armand, their connection fraught with tension. The chains that bound him were a constant reminder of the twisted love that had brought them to this moment. Armand’s obsession was more than simple infatuation—it was possession, a need that consumed him as much as the hunger he had for blood.

Armand brushed a hand across [Your Name]’s face, his thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. “You won’t try to escape again, will you?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the threat behind the question.

"I don't think fondly of being starved again, escaping sounds tempting, but I...doubt I could ever escape you." Your voiced hummed out, putting your sculpture tools down, as your lips connected with Armands, this time you taking the lead.

"I"m famished."

[erwinsvow]

YOU LOOK SO SWEET — RC.

“i can’t believe you made out with sarah’s brother,” your friend comments. you choke on your water. 

it had been an hour or so since your friends had dragged you out of the bar, bringing you home with them for the pre-planned sleepover that you had been ready to ditch for rafe. in that time you and your friends had taken off your makeup and changed into pajamas, munching on pizza on the floor of your bedroom while discussing the night’s events like you always did. you wipe your mouth, looking up at them incredulously. 

“what?” 

“you didn’t know that was rafe cameron? shut up.”

“he’s a psycho, that’s what she always says-”

“he was really nice to me,” you defend, not liking the way your friends sound right now. the rest of the night goes like that—you trying to counter and justify everything rafe did for you last night with your friends telling you it’s a good thing they dragged you away. 

they fall asleep shortly after, but you lie awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what time your friends will leave in the morning. you’re making plans to go to tannyhill. 

normally breakfast the morning after going out is a sacred ritual between you and your friends, which is why they’re extra surprised when you usher them out without any real reason. you hurry back to the kitchen after their car drives away, getting everything ready to make cookies and wondering which kind rafe likes best.

rafe sees it from inside tannyhill—the white bike with the wicker basket pulling up the driveway, the tiny figure dressed in pink parking it next to his truck. you climb off your bike and even from up here he can appreciate how short your dress is, how you almost gave the gardeners a show. he's gotta teach you to be more careful.

you reach into the basket to pull out a matching pink container, walking up to the front door. he’s down the stairs and opening the door before you’ve even had a chance to ring the doorbell. 

you beam at rafe, hoping he remembers you and wasn’t drunk during that entire encounter. you smile brightly, offering the pink box of cookies to him.

“sorry to just drop by like this. i made cookies for you. um, to say thank you.”

“yeah, kid? that’s real cute.”

“oh. thank you.” he looks down at you, leaning against the door frame.

your chest is heaving, material of your tight dress moving up and down while you keep your gaze fixed on him, eyes big and blinking fast. you don’t even realize how you look right now, trusting and innocent and staring up at rafe like you’d do whatever he asked. if you looked like prey yesterday night, you’re the definition of an offering today, walking straight into the predator’s den.

“i didn’t know what kind you liked, so i made a whole bunch.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you stare back at rafe for another few seconds, then tear your eyes away. you think he wants you to go, and as much as you like him, as much as you feel a little brainless around him, you’re not stupid—you can tell when you’re not wanted. “well, i should go. thanks again for last night.”

“stop thankin’ me. it was nothin’.” rafe steps out of the house, just a foot from you on the porch now. his hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you nearly jump at the touch. “come inside. can’t eat all these myself.”

your pretty smile comes rushing back, following him inside just like you had followed him to the dance floor yesterday, looking around at the walls of tannyhill. you’d been once before, years ago for a party for sarah’s birthday that the entire class had been invited to,  but you hadn’t admired it then. nor did you realize what other treasures laid inside.

“want milk?” rafe questions, opening up the fridge while you rest your hands on the marble island in the kitchen. you nod your head, still looking around and taking in the new environment. rafe comes back to you with the jug of milk and two glasses, pouring you a cup first.

“how was the rest of your night?” you ask tentatively, breaking an oatmeal raisin cookie in half and offering rafe the other piece. he accepts it with a grin. you’re nervous—scared of the answer, wondering if another girl took your place after you left.

“boring. i left after you did.” he bites into the cookie, and then takes a sip of milk. if he thought you were beaming earlier, you’re radiant now—looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for you. your laugh—and even that’s pretty—fills the room.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, rafe,” you giggle, dipping your own cookie into the milk first to demonstrate. “see?”

it’s quick. rafe takes your wrist into his hand, guiding it up to your mouth, making you take a bite. he doesn’t let go while he speaks, either.

“now it’s soggy. see?” you nod, watching where he’s touching you with big eyes. if you’re this reactive to a little skin contact, he’s dying to see what you’ll be like naked in his bed. he reminds himself to be patient.

“i didn’t realize i was doing it wrong,” you comment, picking up another cookie, this time snickerdoodle, to break in half. he’s half surprised at your compliance, half wondering what else he could convince you of with a little manhandling and kissing.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll teach you right and wrong.”

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!james x fem!reader 2

wc: 1587

cw: nowhere near as horny as the first one (my period ended), still mentions of sexual feelings, swearing

you went back to the pool the next day. was it for james? no. was it not for james? you weren't answering that. but there he was when you and the girls walked in just after lunchtime, sunglasses on to avoid the reflection from the water. you had to admit you were glad he was working, you'd forgotten your book at home and needed something fun to look at when you were tanning.

you were allowed to observe him shamelessly for a minute and a half whilst he was preoccupied explaining something to hilda, one of the old ladies who possibly spent every day of summer at the public pool (she was big on aqua aerobics). it was even better when he did see you all, though, his face breaking out into a boyish grin as he waved. the girls all waved back and you pulled your sunglasses down past your eyes with one hand, raising one eyebrow with a smile. he responded with a silly exaggeration of his heart beating against his chest with his hands, drawing an unwilling giggle out of you. he looked pleased with the reaction.

james left you all alone for a little, actually doing his job while you soaked up the sun, discussing your summer readings with lily. marlene and mary were filling out magazine quizzes next to you, occasionally asking for opinions. about a half hour later james approached you with an excited "ladies! it's good to see you back again!" mary laughed with a polite greeting in return, twisting in her beach chair to face him. you all followed, and you couldn't resist teasing him.

"hope you don't think it's because of you, baywatch." james shook his head sagely.

"i would never dare. i mean, clearly, this is the place to be." he gestured around the facility, obviously referring to the fact that you and your friends were the only people there aged between 15 and 30. lily laughed then, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair to look at him properly.

"is this your way of asking where people actually hang out?" james shrugged. "to be completely honest, most of our age group sleep through the day to do dumb shit at night, it's the best way to escape the heat," she explained.

"the few that are awake usually hang around the arcade," marlene added, "or the village -- that's the shopping centre. usually our group hang out there if it's horrid weather, there's a decent cinema and a music shop, passable food as well." james nodded, looking genuinely interested in what marlene had to say about it.

"maybe you'll all have to show me around it one time," he said cheekily, and you all made entertained noises at his forwardness.

"desperate for our company, are you?" you teased, but james just shrugged easily.

"i told you yesterday, i literally have zero friends here." there was something charming in his openness about being a complete loser, and you could tell the others felt similarly.

"don't be silly, james, we'll be your friends," lily said kindly, using the same tone she did when talking to the kids she tutored.

"yeah," marlene agreed, "you can't be any worse than the other tossers we're friends with." you all laughed at that, thinking of the boys who refused to accompany you to the pool.

"and they've not come with you?" james asked, catching onto the unsaid easier than he probably should as a relative stranger.

"they wouldn't be caught dead. sirius cares about his hair too much to even be around all these germs, and remus tries not to be in the sun if he can avoid it. poor peter refuses to be the only guy hanging out with us, I think we still scare him a little after all these years," mary joked, and james looked utterly delighted to be hearing about your lives.

he excused himself not long after to get back to the job he should've been doing the whole time, and you admired the way his arse looked in the swim shorts as he left.

"he seems nice," you muttered, and the others agreed. lily raised one perfect red eyebrow.

"are we talking about his personality or the body you can't stop staring at?" you gasped, not offended at her statement but more than willing to pretend.

"are you calling me a whore?" you asked with a hand over your chest.

"you said it," marlene quipped and you cried out in protest, lines of mock outrage spilling from your lips.

you got bored of bickering quickly, the heat taking most of the fight out of you. you sat in relative silence for a while until lily declared it time for more water, taking marlene to go buy you all bottles from the corner shop down the street. the ones at the tragic pool bar were never cold and she wanted ones from the fridge. that left you and a sleeping mary on either side of your line of chairs. you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, leaning over to grab the magazine lying on marlene's towel.

you flipped through it lazily, but couldn't stop your eyes from drifting up to where james sat in his lifeguard's chair, wiping sweat from his brow. there was something about him that interested you (aside from the god-like body). he had an easy openness that you scarcely found in guys your age; he wasn't afraid to be lame or honest and didn't seem to be interested in making himself sound any better than he was to a group of four hot girls -- if you did say so yourself. he was refreshing, and not just visually.

as if he could read your mind james started approaching, and you quickly busied yourself in an article you couldn't care less about.

"hi," he said, standing in front of your chair. you looked up, feigning slight surprise, as if you hadn't been listening to his flip-flops grow closer.

"couldn't stay away?" you asked, closing the magazine in a way you hoped didn't look eager.

"you caught me," he sighed, smile making its way onto his face.

"shouldn't you be working?"

"i'm taking my break. thought i'd come keep you company."

"how generous," you mused, "would've thought you'd gotten enough of a view of me during your shift from up on that seat of yours." james had the decency to look mildly embarrassed for a moment, but it passed quickly and he took it in stride, sitting on the edge of your deck chair, careful not to drip water on your belongings.

"i'm only appreciating the natural beauty of this town. besides, someone's gotta do it if your boyfriend won't bother coming here with you, wouldn't want such a nice bikini to go to waste." you felt hot at the compliment and you knew it wasn't just the sun. you tried to play it off.

"are you asking if i'm single?" james paused for a moment, possibly thinking through his options, then nodded, unashamed. "you don't even know my name."

"you won't tell me."

"touché." you let yourself smile a little, loving the way james' eyes crinkled when he returned it. "done anything to earn it yet?" you could see him genuinely thinking and wondered whether he'd make up a miraculous story about an epic save he made just before you arrived at the pool.

"no, guess not." he settled on, disarming you again. the near-constant earnestness in his way of speaking hadn't stopped catching you by surprise yet, and you wouldn't be shocked if it never did.

"and what, no girlfriend up north to scold you for staring at my tits?" you teased as james' eyes flew back up to yours, only relaxing when he saw you weren't upset.

"free as a bird," he confirmed quietly, "though I'm sure it's of no interest to you." the air felt electric between you, had he always been this close? you were face to face, only a few inches between you. you could feel butterflies erupting not just in your stomach.

"obviously," you answered, similarly quiet. the moment felt inappropriately intimate despite the people around you. you were equal parts glad and furious when lily and marlene returned, unsure of what you might have succumbed to right there on the deck chair if you hadn't been interrupted. james looked equally worked up, hazy look in his eyes making him appear already fucked out. he stood with a start, excusing himself to get back to work.

"see you around, baywatch," you said, strategically reapplying some lipgloss. you didn't miss his glance at your lips.

"hope so, dollface." you were glad james was leaving because the nickname made you falter, going straight to your ovaries. you'd done it to yourself yet were no more prepared, staring dumbly after him.

you tried to play it off quickly, picking the magazine up where you left off and flipping through noncommittally. you could feel your friends' eyes on you and pointedly ignored it, eyes trained down at some 'best-dressed' list you'd found.

"just your luck that you get first dibs on the hot new guy," mary complained, but you could tell she wasn't all that bothered.

"you are going to eat him alive," marlene laughed and lily nodded, the two of them already sharing condolences for james. you didn't say anything, but judging from the coil still wound tight in your lower belly, maybe it wasn't james they had to be worried about.

i need him fr

next

[lura-valentine]

Choose Your Own Adventure!

MHA / BNHA Writing event

Part 5: The Bartender

This will be an interactive writing event where you decide what happens next!

How does it work❓️

🐵 Character choice - completed 📖 First part of the story Post - concluded 🗳️ At the end of the story there is a survey on how it should continue 🌐 The majority decides what happens next 🔄 The cycle repeats itself until the story ends

–> To Kaji's Profile #kaji black character profil

Overview

Vote start

Part 1 ● Part 2 ● Part 3 ● Part 4 ● Part 5 ● Part 6

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️

Alcohol consumption by a minor (Kaji is 16 and legally allowed to drink low-alcohol beverages under EU law)

Stalking

Psychological manipulation through fear

Death threats

Evening had settled over the streets like a heavy, gray cloak, the diffuse light of the street lamps trembling dully, as if even the city had long since had enough of the day. Dabi shuffled ahead with his hands in the pockets of his coat, his shoulders slightly hunched, his gaze vague, as if he were more caught up in the rhythm of his own thoughts than in the here and now. Kaji followed him, two steps behind, his breath visible in the night air, which smelled of asphalt and exhaust fumes, mingled with the distant scent of roasted meat from some cheap snack bar.

"Are you trying to tell me what's going on?" The irritation in Kaji's voice was unmistakable, piercing the silence like a stone through water. "And why do I even have to come along?"

Dabi didn't stop, but his gaze briefly shifted to the side, a mocking glint in it that immediately made Kaji suspicious.

"Remember yesterday? When Shigaraki and I discussed this little mission?"

Kaji grimaced and raised an eyebrow. "You mean the moment you kicked me and Haru out of the living room? Because it's supposedly not for our ears?"

Dabi grinned crookedly, the scars on his cheek deepening slightly. "Exactly."

A brief gust of wind swept through the narrow alleys between the buildings, tugging at Kaji's coat and blowing his hair across his forehead. He paused briefly, his gaze alert.

"And what exactly is so damn important that I have to come along?"

Dabi finally stopped, just a few meters from the drab neon sign of a chipped bar with the ironic name Noir Lune, its neon light flickering as if trying to attract attention with an epileptic seizure.

"You'll figure it out." His voice was calmer now, serious. "Someone who works at this bar knows more than they should. But before we even talk to them, we need to know when they work. How they move. Who they talk to."

Kaji frowned, his wings fluttering briefly behind him, as if his body too were rebelling against the prospect of eternal observation.

"You're seriously telling me we're stalking someone? In a bar?"

"Welcome to the subtle part of our profession." Dabi's voice sounded dry as he put a cigarette between his lips but didn't light it.

"This could drag on for days. Or weeks." Kaji snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "Because of a bartender?"

"Not just any bartender." Dabi was looking directly at him now. "Someone with loose lips and a tendency to flirt with the wrong crowd. We need to know the best time to catch them without it being noticed."

"Great." Kaji kicked a small stone against the curb with the toe of his shoe. "So now we sit in this run-down dive every night, drinking bad beer and hoping he shows up?"

"Correct." Dabi grinned again, this time wider. "Sounds almost like a family outing."

Kaji rolled his eyes as Dabi pushed open the bar door, and a blast of warm, stale air rushed out, laced with the sweet smell of alcohol, old smoke, and a hint of cheap perfume.

"If this is your idea of ​​father-son-time, I desperately need therapy."

"Come in before you catch something, Princess Icewing."

Kaji mumbled something unintelligible before following him. The door closed behind them, swallowing them both in a glow of reddish flickering bulbs and the languid melancholy of a jazz song from the jukebox.

A scent of spilled beer, cold smoke, and the bittersweet note of cheap air freshener hung in the air like a heavy veil. Kaji pulled the hood of his coat a little further over his face as his gaze swept around the room. At the small, round tables sat a few figures who were either too busy with their glasses or lost in silent thought.

Two bartenders worked behind the bar: an older man with a weather-beaten face and hair already graying at the temples, polishing a glass with stoic calm, and a young girl, perhaps just eighteen, whose blond, slightly wavy hair was tied back in a messy braid. Her movements were quick but not hasty, her gaze alert, almost too attentive for the place where she worked.

Kaji gave Dabi a skeptical look. "Looks like any other bar in this city."

"And that's it. At least at first glance," Dabi muttered, pushing his way between two tables.

In a darker corner, half in shadow, half in the flickering light of a lamp, a man sat at one of the tables. The hood of the hoodie was pulled deep into his face, only the white of his hair flashing out, and his red eyes, narrow and alert, had long since caught her as soon as the door had slammed shut.

"Great," Kaji murmured quietly, more to himself, as they approached the table.

Dabi plopped down onto the bench without a word, the leather creaking under his weight. Kaji followed hesitantly, folding his arms across his chest as he sat down opposite his father.

"You're late," Shigaraki growled, without much greeting.

Dabi raised an eyebrow, leaned back, and casually rested one arm on the armrest. "Look at the clock, Tomura. We're on time to the minute. You were here much too early."

Shigaraki grimaced, an annoyed twitch appearing on his cheek. "You always have to have the last word, don't you?"

"Otherwise, I wouldn't be me." Dabi grinned crookedly.

Shigaraki looked at him, and for a moment, silence spread, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft creak of a barstool as someone stood up.

And then Shigaraki turned slightly to the side. "Have you told him?"

Dabi shrugged. "He knows the worst of it. That we're supposed to be watching someone here."

Kaji grimaced and glared at them both. "I'm still here, by the way. Maybe you want to talk to me about me instead of pretending I'm not a thing."

Shigaraki looked at him with a mixture of tiredness and amusement. "Don't get all sensitive, kid."

Kaji growled softly, but before he could reply, Shigaraki continued, this time more calmly, almost thoughtfully. "Do you see the girl behind the bar?"

Kaji glanced toward the bar, where the girl was filling a glass with a strikingly routine gesture, never taking her eyes off the customer. Her eyes were watchful, almost calculating.

"She secretly recruits people, always when no one is looking. She approaches certain customers, young guys with a lot of anger in their stomachs. She says she works for the League."

"For the League?" Kaji frowned.

Shigaraki shook his head, his gaze narrowing. "That's the point, because no one hired her. She has no connection to me, Kurogiri, Spinner, or anyone else. She's using our name, and that's a problem."

Dabi exhaled softly through his nose. "If she were just a groupie, it wouldn't matter. But whoever's behind her is using our name, and that can be dangerous."

Shigaraki looked at Kaji seriously, his voice darker now, closer to the surface of things he usually preferred to keep buried deep. "We observe her. Learn her patterns. Figure out when she speaks, to whom, and most importantly, why."

Kaji nodded slowly, his eyes moving back to the girl. For a moment, their gaze met, fleeting, but long enough for something like a vague smile to cross her lips.

"Well, wonderful," he murmured. "So we're really stalking a bartender now."

Dabi grinned again and pulled his hood further over his face. "Welcome to your first mission for the League, son."

For a moment, it was as if someone had sucked the air out of Kaji's lungs. He blinked, looking at his father as if he'd just said something completely absurd. "My first...?" The word lingered halfway on the tip of his tongue as his gaze darted between Dabi and Shigaraki, as if he could detect in one of them the joke they'd obviously concocted.

The old bartender approached their table and placed a glass in front of Shigaraki. He calmly pushed it closer – it was half full of something clear that smelled suspiciously of disinfectant.

"This mission will take time," Tomura murmured, his gaze fixed on the bar, but his voice sounded sharper, more focused. "Days, maybe weeks. She's clever. Not easy to pin down. If we want to keep track of everything – every movement, every conversation, every damn piece of paper passed in the corners – then we need many eyes. Even those of a mercenary, if necessary."

Kaji flinched slightly as the last word was spoken. He turned slightly to the side, just enough so that the dim light of the jukebox didn't completely betray his expression. A mercenary. Not as a derogatory term, not as a detached description – but as a clear, deliberately chosen label.

He had rarely said it out loud that this was his goal. Independent, precise, not bound to the philosophy or ideology of any group or the mold of heroes.

"You remembered that...?" It came quietly, almost breathlessly from his lips, more a thought than a real question.

Shigaraki didn't answer immediately. Only his finger tapped slowly against the glass, in an inaudible rhythm. Maybe it was confirmation enough.

But even so, skepticism crept into Kaji's expression. He knew them both too well. Dabi, who enjoyed pushing him to his limits, as if trying to find out with every little challenge how much of himself his son contained. And Shigaraki, whose patience could be as treacherous as the glow of the lightbulbs above them – flickering, unreliable, and never quite clear when it would finally go out.

"Is this another test, or a trap from you?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, but the tension in it couldn't be hidden – it was in the way he raised his shoulders slightly, the way his fingertips twitched slightly.

Dabi glanced at him sideways. "Of course it's a test."

Shigaraki snorted. "Every mission is. But if you fail, it's not just about you. It's about all of us. So you better be prepared."

Kaji leaned back, letting his gaze sweep around the room one last time. The jukebox changed songs, now a quieter piece, almost dreamy, as if the evening were trying to cast a melancholy veil over everything that had been set in motion.

His gaze lingered on the bartender. The girl who was just picking up another tray and moving through the tables. He took a slow, deep breath, as if he needed to bring himself back to reality. "All right," he finally said quietly. "Then let's find out what she's really up to."

His chair scraped softly across the old wooden floor as he straightened up. Slowly, almost deliberately, he reached for his hood and pulled it back, letting the flickering light catch the silky, black strands that fell lightly across his forehead. With a casual movement, he ran his fingers through his hair and brushed the white strand out of his face. And then he set off, calmly, purposefully, as if he were about to start a dance, the steps of which he had already mastered in his sleep.

Dabi immediately raised his head, his eyes flashing from beneath his hood. "What the hell are you doing, kid?"

Kaji only half-turned, his voice calm, almost bored, as if he'd just decided what to order for dinner. "I'm using Mom's strategy to speed things up a bit."

That was enough. Shigaraki, who had barely moved until then, suddenly raised his head, his red eyes widening as if bracing himself for an inevitable disaster. "What?! No. No. Dabi, stop him. Right now." His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, laced with a nervousness that flared up so rarely that even in that moment it seemed almost unreal.

But Dabi didn't move. His gaze was glued to Kaji, who was already moving elegantly between the tables, his every movement fluid and precise, almost like a shadow that only occasionally chose to be visible. The blonde bartender had already noticed him – how could she not? With his long, open coat, the midnight-black wings that adorned his back like shadowy promises, and the cold, half-bored gaze that was in truth so much more focused than it appeared.

"If I bring him back now," Dabi muttered, not looking at Shigaraki, "I'll just draw all the attention to us. Besides…" A faint grin twitched at his lips. "Maybe he really did inherit something from her. Back then, Rain always managed to make men lay the world at her feet. Kaji might have what it takes."

Shigaraki grimaced, his displeasure literally spilled over. "He's sixteen. This isn't a playground, damn it!"

"He's Rain's son. And he's my son." Dabi's voice became deeper, more serious. "Trust him. If he is really similar to Rain in this respect, she will start telling him secrets she doesn't even know are secrets in ten minutes at the latest."

Meanwhile, Kaji had already arrived at the counter, where the bartender was polishing two glasses. Her movements faltered for a split second before she put on a smile that seemed as friendly as it was businesslike – her eyes, a light, restless gray, regarded him with interest.

"What would you like?" she asked and reached for the beer pull with a routine gesture.

"A beer," Kaji said calmly, his voice cool as usual, with that slightly raspy timbre that brushed against rough wood like a breeze.

She raised her eyebrow slightly. "You look pretty young. How old are you, anyway?"

He allowed a slight smirk, as his gaze casually slid over the bar and then back to her. "Older than I look. But you don't exactly seem like a woman who's been behind this bar for years."

A quiet laugh, surprised, genuine. She neatly discarded the foam and pushed the glass toward him. "Just eighteen, if you want to know. Officially employed here for four weeks."

"Brave..." Kaji leaned an elbow on the bar, leaning forward a little, just enough to close the distance without being intrusive. "For someone like you. This neighborhood isn't exactly known for its warmth."

"Maybe I like danger." Her smile sharpened, like a knife playfully gliding against skin without pressing. "And you? What brings you to a bar like this?"

He sipped his glass, his gaze lingering on her face, a hint of casualness in his posture, but his eyes – they were alert, checking, as if they were examining every nuance, every reaction.

"Maybe the same as you. I'm looking for something interesting."

She leaned closer, her gaze flickering over his face, searching for clues, an expression that would betray itself. "And have you found it yet?"

A brief twitch of his lips. Not a smile, more an echo of it. "Not yet. But I still have the evening ahead of me."

Behind him, in the dimness of the seating area, Shigaraki leaned forward slightly. "If he keeps this up, she'll end up recruiting him," he hissed between his teeth.

Dabi grinned, leaned back, and lit a cigarette with lazy fingers. The first drag moved slowly through his lungs, as if absorbing not only nicotine but also patience. "Then at least we know she's serious."

At the bar, the bartender lowered her gaze slightly, chuckling to herself as she tucked a stray strand behind her ear with one hand. Her braid swayed slightly as she turned back to Kaji. "You're right," she said quietly, placing both hands on the bar and leaning forward slightly. "Who knows what this evening will bring... maybe surprises, maybe just a few empty glasses."

"A few empty glasses, for sure," Kaji replied in a velvety voice, the tone somewhere between indifference and playful provocation. His fingers gripped the glass with casual confidence as he took another sip.

She giggled, softly and pleasantly melodic, not fake, but genuine, which surprised Kaji a little. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his wings, the dark, majestically resting contours that seemed almost like shadows from another world in the twilight of this bar.

Then her eyes slid back to his face and met his – turquoise blue, deep as a clear lake under a winter sky, cold yet alluring.

"You look strong..." she said finally, her voice a little quieter, as if she'd just decided to leave the country and venture into the water a little. "...but what's a guy like you doing here all alone in a bar? Drinking a few beers, just like that?"

He snorted softly, a sound half mockery, half weariness. His fingers slid through his hair, deliberately making it look a bit disheveled, and then his head tilted slightly, as if he were weighing how much truth she deserved. But his answer came quickly, casually, and with a spark of genuineness deep down.

"My 'friends'..." he left the word audibly in quotation marks, "...are just annoying me at the moment. Work here, work there, everything's so busy. Everyone always has something to do, but no one takes the time for the fun things in life anymore."

"Mhm," she said, almost dreamily, leaning one arm against the counter so that her face was closer to his. The distance between them continued to shrink. "It sounds like you're looking for someone to... distract you a bit."

A slight grin crossed Kaji's lips, not fake, but genuine. "Maybe," he said, holding her gaze, "or simply finding someone who understands that there's more to life than... work and plans."

"That almost sounds like a dark promise coming from you," she whispered, picking up a clean glass and beginning to polish it mindlessly. The cloth glided over the smooth surface, long since free of stains – A purely mechanical gesture, as if she had to ground herself to something, that is not his gaze

Kaji didn't respond immediately. Instead, he slowly rested his chin on the back of his hand, his elbow resting loosely on the counter, his shoulders relaxed, as if this weren't a game, but simply part of his nature. His gaze remained fixed on her – cool, penetrating, but with that gentle, barely tangible glimmer of something deeper.

"Maybe it is," Kaji murmured, his voice barely more than a husky whisper. A grin crept onto his lips, flattering yet with a hint of arrogance that betrayed that he knew exactly what effect he was having.

She breathed in sharply, her movements faltered, and the glass almost fell out of her hand. Her gaze flickered briefly to his lips, then to the fine, dark lashes that fringed the edges of his eyes, before she blushed slightly and her voice fell quieter – rough yet soft, a whisper almost lost in the room.

"In half an hour... I'll have finished my shift," she said, her words hesitant, but with a flickering spark of courage in her voice. "If you want... you can take me home. The roads are not safe late at night, you know?"

Kaji's grin deepened almost imperceptibly. He sat up a little, his wings spread slightly, and a gentle, pulsating twitch ran through his feathers. To all the other guests, it looked like an involuntary reaction of quiet anticipation. But to the two men in the shadows of the bar, it was a clear sign.

Dabi noticed, took a drag on his cigarette, let the smoke slowly escape between his lips, and turned to Shigaraki.

"He's got her," he murmured, almost with a hint of pride, before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.

Shigaraki crossed his arms, his hood hanging low over his face. "Then it's time."

Without further words, both men stood up and slowly moved toward the door. Dabi took a last look over his shoulder at Kaji, who folded his wings neatly behind him again.

Then the door closed, quietly, with a final click that ended the scene like a period after a sentence.

The hour that followed passed like sluggishly flowing resin. The jazz from the jukebox had long since faded away, replaced by the muffled sounds of tidying up. Glasses clinked softly together, were dried, and put away in the cupboards, a familiar, calming ritual.

The young bartender casually ran a hand down the back of her neck, feeling the fine strands of hair that had come loose under the pressure of her constant movement. With a tug, she pulled her braid tighter, looked around one last time – the bar was clean, the chairs on the tables, the floor swept. All silent. The old bartender had already said goodbye to the last guests thirty minutes ago with a charming smile and energetic tone.

"I'm off then, Maik!" she called toward the back room.

A grunted "Mhm, good night." came back, followed by the sound of a coffee maker emptying for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

She slipped on her jacket, absentmindedly dusting her sleeve as she stepped through the door – and had to pause for a moment.

He stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, one leg slightly bent, with a patience that was neither urgent nor boring. The glow from a streetlamp cut a silver edge into his hair, making his eyes briefly light up in the gloom as their gazes met.

"You kept your word," she said, with a small, almost shy smile as she walked over to him.

"I'm not the type to break promises," Kaji murmured, pushing himself slowly away from the wall.

They started walking, side by side, their footsteps echoing softly on the damp pavement. The night was mild, and the smell of rain still hung in the air.

"My name is Sora, by the way," she finally said as she slowed down at an intersection, her hands tucked deep into her pockets as if she needed to hide her own nervousness there. "And you? Or will you remain a silent shadow with pretty eyes?"

Kaji smiled, a gentle twitch at the corners of his mouth as he silently gazed out into the night – then back at her.

"Kaji," he said simply. No further explanation. No last name. Just that one name that contained everything – a fiery whisper, shaped by the past and the masquerade.

Sora nodded slowly. "Kaji," she repeated softly. "Suits you." The sound of his name lay between them, vibrating in the cool air like a faint echo, while their footsteps faded dully on the wet asphalt.

She seemed satisfied with his brief answer, smiling to herself as if she'd just opened a mysterious book whose pages she knew would require patience to reveal.

After a few more wordless steps, as the streetlights grew more infrequent and their shadows cast only occasional shadows, Sora turned his head slightly toward him without fully stopping. "What's your Quirk called?" she finally asked, her voice hinting with curiosity. "What does it do exactly?"

Kaji glanced at her, raising an eyebrow slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard, but more than that – as if it had touched a door not meant for everyone. His voice was calm, almost casual, but the coldness in it was unmistakable. "Is it important?"

Sora stopped, shrugging, as if she didn't fully understand the gravity of his reaction. "No," she said gently, almost apologetically, "It's not. I'm just curious."

She carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and started walking again.

"I don't have a Quirk. Not even a small, useless one." She said this with a strange mixture of regret and pride, as if she'd long since resigned herself to being an outsider but didn't want to let it define her.

"The job at the bar is just a side job," she continued, a little more quietly, as she looked ahead. "I'm actually studying life sciences, majoring in Quirk genetics."

Kaji said nothing, his shoulders remaining calm, but a hint of attentiveness was palpable in his posture.

"My goal is to eventually understand how Quirks are passed on from parent to child. Whether there are patterns. Constants. Breaks. Whether certain combinations are dangerous or stable. I want to crack the mystery of inheritance." Her voice had taken on a different tone now – matter-of-fact, but with a faint passion, like someone who had been silent for a long time and now finally found words that had been slumbering heavily within her.

Kaji stopped – so abruptly that Sora took two steps forward before she noticed and slowly turned to him.

His eyes, which had just been friendly, had narrowed. No more flirtation in his gaze, no hint of a smile on his lips. Only quiet, scrutinizing vigilance.

"That's interesting," he said, quietly and slowly, "because that doesn't fit with what I've been told about you."

Sora blinked, looking at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If you really want to be a Quirk Researcher..." he began calmly, almost dangerously quietly, "...why the hell are you recruiting people for the League of Villains?"

Silence.

Sora stood there frozen, speechless for the first time. Her breathing went a little faster, her gaze searching, groping his face.

"What..." She swallowed, her voice barely audible. "What are you talking about...?"

Kaji remained calm, his eyes boring into hers, looking not for excuses, but for the break in the mask.

"I mean, I know what you're doing in the bar. You're talking to people, secretly. And you say you're recruiting on behalf of the League of Villains. But I know you're not one of them. So I ask again: Why?"

Sora stood rooted to the spot. Her lips moved, but no words escaped her. A soft, trembling "I..." echoed in the narrow alley, lost in the cold that now seemed to breathe between the walls.

Then a voice sounded. Scratchy, deep, like the scratching of claws on rusted iron.

"Why are you doing this, yes... that's a really good question."

The words peeled out of the darkness like smoke, forming a figure that emerged from the shadows of the alley beside her slowly, silently, like a predator hunting its prey.

Sora took a sharp breath, the voice still burning in her ears, as the figure before her slowly took shape.

The pale light of a broken streetlight danced over snow-white, messy hair. Red, slightly glowing eyes sparkled from deep sockets, awake too long, lurking too long. Pale skin stretched across his cheekbones, his fingers moved restlessly, as if they were just waiting to grab her.

Her eyes widened, she took a step back, then another, until her back hit something hard and warm.

Startled, she whirled around, only to lose herself in a look that hit her like a blow – turquoise blue and ice-cold. A face that was familiar to her from the news.

"D-Dabi...?"

The man before her wasn't smiling. His lips were just a shadow in the darkness, while his gaze rested on her wordlessly.

Her gaze slid back to Kaji, who stood motionless, his hands loosely in his pockets, his wings slightly spread, as if he were trying to block her escape. He looked at her, but not coldly, not mockingly, not threateningly – only a quiet, somber clarity lay in them.

And she understood, saw the connection between them, but before she could speak to Kaji, she was torn from her thoughts.

"So, Sora," Shigaraki approached her, his voice a croaking whisper that caught between the bricks of the alley. "Who are you really?"

Her breath fluttered in her chest like a wounded bird, each breath a trembling attempt to escape the paralyzing fear that was slowly settling over her like a cold veil. She wanted to answer, she really did, but the words tangled in her throat, too dry, too heavy. Only a faint whimper escaped her as her lips moved silently.

Shigaraki took another step closer, his shadow creeping across the pavement, stretching long and dark against her silhouette. His face was now directly in front of hers, too close, much too close.

"Didn't you hear me?" A growl vibrated between his teeth, low and threatening. "I asked who you really are."

"I... I don't work for anyone..." she managed to say, her voice little more than a tremor in the wind. "I'm a student... I... just work at the bar... nothing more... I... I swear..."

Her gaze twitched back and forth between the faces – Dabi, leaning against the wall without a word, his arms loosely crossed, with his typical piercing eyes, and Kaji, who didn't move, but watched every gesture, no matter how small, every nervous flicker in their pupils with a quiet sharpness

Shigaraki, however, remained motionless... for a moment. Then he slowly raised a hand.

Sora's eyes widened, tears welling up, glistening in the darkness.

"N-no... please don't..." she whispered as his fingers approached, slowly, almost in slow motion.

He touched her cheek, using only four fingers, as gently as if he were stroking a porcelain doll. The fifth –the little finger– remained rigid, slightly bent, just millimeters from her skin.

"Do you know..." he murmured, his breath fanning over her skin like cold mist, "what happens if I put this hand all over you?"

Sora's voice was choked with pure panic, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, her tears now running silently, like rain on a cold windowpane.

"It would be a shame," he whispered, his lips barely moving, "if that happened... just because you don't want to talk."

The coldness emanating from Shigaraki's proximity crept through her marrow and mind, as if his mere presence were gnawing at her lifespan.

"I... I... I can't say anymore..." she stammered, between her trembling lips and the sobs that could barely be suppressed. "That's the truth..."

But Shigaraki remained impassive. No mercy. No flicker in his ruby-red eyes, only the icy mask of a man who had heard too many lies to believe a single one.

His fingers moved barely perceptibly, but it was enough – the tension in the air thickened like a heavy fog from which a monster might emerge at any moment.

"If that's the truth," he said quietly, but his voice had a bite like cold steel, "then why did you claim to be recruiting for us?"

Sora's eyes closed for a moment, as if she had to dig deep within herself to find the courage that was slipping between her fingers like sand. Then it burst out of her – not screaming, not loudly, but honestly, so raw that her words almost seemed to burn.

"I did it... only once..." she whispered, her gaze lowered, the tears now flowing freely. "There was this guy... his quirk was so special... I just wanted to... understand... I'll do research later... I'm studying... Quirks..."

She slowly raised her eyes, looked at Kaji, who stood there like a shadow, silent and unmoving, yet with that piercing presence that said more than words ever could.

"It wasn't... it wasn't a plan, not an assignment... I just wanted to know how his Quirk worked... and people talk more when they think they can belong somewhere..."

Her gaze flickered to Dabi, then back to Shigaraki. "I never saw him again. It was pure... pure curiosity. I swear to you."

The seconds stretched, long and relentless, as his red eyes rested motionlessly on Sora, as if carefully weighing every tremor in her body, every tear, and every whispered word, with the precision of a man who had learned to strip truth from deception as one cleaves flesh from bone.

Then – an almost imperceptible nod. He let go of her, only a slight jerk of his body and a twitch in his coat were audible as he turned. His footsteps were almost silent on the damp asphalt, yet each one receded like a thunderclap in Sora's chest.

Her legs gave way. The pressure eased too quickly, causing her to slump like a fragile doll, her fingers clutching the ground as her shoulders shook with loud sobs.

Shigaraki stopped at the threshold of the shadows, his profile a mere silhouette in the gloom. "Someone will come tomorrow morning," he said quietly, almost casually, as if he were delivering a package. "Don't try to escape. Don't try to hide. You belong to the League now."

The brief silence that followed felt like half an eternity, as Sora slowly became aware of her situation.

"Kaji will take you home."

Then he melted into the blackness of the alley, silently, like a curse lost in the night.

Dabi slowly pushed himself away from the wall, where he had been watching all this with a calm, almost bored expression. He stepped into a slanted light that only made his features seem more ghostly – the burned skin with the staples and his icy gaze that can make your blood run cold.

"You're damn lucky, you know that?" His voice was rough, brittle like cut glass. "You're useful to him. Otherwise, you'd have been nothing but dust, scattered between the cobblestones."

He walked past her without looking at her, only his shadow passing over her like a fleeting thought of what might have been.

"I'm leaving, Kaji. Don't take too long." And then he too disappeared, with a soft clack of boots in the night.

Kaji said nothing. Not a word fell from his lips, not a sound disturbed the thick silence that had settled over the alley like a veil. He simply stood there – motionless, his arms loosely at his sides, his gaze fixed on her.

Her tears flowed inexorably, forming shimmering trails on her flushed skin. The breathing was shallow, almost fleeting, as if she had to learn how to live again. Her shoulders, just a moment ago stiff, gripped by panic, gradually began to sag, sinking heavily and wearily, as if under the weight of a nightmare that wouldn't quite let go.

Kaji waited, watched, and let her. He knew that words would now just bounce off – like balls on a wall.

Only when her trembling subsided and her gaze slowly, carefully, left the ground did he take a step closer, without haste, without pressure. From the inside pocket of his coat, he pulled a plain white handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to her without a word, sitting down in front of her, eye level but not too close.

"We have to go," he said finally, quietly, almost tonelessly. There was no harshness in his voice, but no compassion either, just a simple statement, like the ticking of a clock. "I don't feel like standing here forever."

Sora looked at him, her fingers trembling, as she took the handkerchief, cautiously, almost like an animal that doesn't know whether it is about to be stroked or beaten. She dabbed her face, her eyes still moist, but the storm within them had subsided – leaving something exhausted, fragile.

"Thank you," she whispered, more a breath than a word.

He nodded barely perceptibly, stood up, and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then took it. Her fingers were cold, far too cold, and he felt her clinging lightly to him, as if he were the only thing keeping her connected to reality.

As they left the alley side by side, the distance between them was barely more than a breath.

"What happens now?" she finally asked, without looking at him, her voice still brittle but no longer quite broken.

Kaji looked ahead, into the darkness, filled only with the faint echo of her footsteps. "Now I'll take you home. And tomorrow..." His words trailed off, like fog lost in the light. "Tomorrow you will begin to understand what your curiosity has done."

Last Part <– | –> Next Part

My moral supporters

@tiny-roki-todoroki | @alexandhisstuff | @doumadono | @unhinged-bratty-boy | @within-eyesight | @hiding-inner-dabi | @kittenl4

@feral-kittykat @brokenheart-brokenmind6 @leven-and-ashley @imabeliever @andrea-tries-to-write @indignant-alpaca @pranses-oradea @vakoss @isabeauwolf @tykorclint @vegemania @the-fallen-moonknight @haseki-huricihan @call-me-copycat @irkedpomeranian @strawberryswirl4321 @grossograsso @oc-shipper

I mention accounts that my works ❤️ and 🔄. If anyone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please let me know.