#I would EASILY mistake this for print

[rin-may-1103]

Delilah's language (part two)

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"Tomorrow?" Danny repeated, glad he had set his cup down.

Mr. Wayne smiled, relieved Danny hadn't completely brushed him off. "yes, it's tomorrow. Damian, my son, is a huge conservationist. he gets it from his mother."

Danny blinked but before he could cut in, Mr. Wayne continued, "Oh! not that I don't care about the environment and stuff, it's just-"

"I get it," Danny reassured. he did not want to get stuck listening to Mr. Wayne try and fail to 'fix' his self-perceived mistake. "but I still don't really understand why you want me there..."

like sure, the kid's a fan of Danny or whatever (he was still trying to wrap his mind around that one.) but would the kid actually want Danny at his party? wouldn't that be like... he didn't know, weird? to just have this random guy from Illinois show up?

"Right!" Mr. Wayne coughed, scratching his face in embarrassment. "once Damian learned that the purple back gorillas would be in Gotham, I suggested we have his birthday party at the zoo. He told me he wanted to know everything he could about their species. so, I invited all the scientists working with the gorillas to the party so he could talk to them."

Danny nodded in understanding when Mr. Wayne glanced at him, even if Danny thought that that was the most fruitloop way he could have gone about it. then again, Danny's pretty sure all billionaires were fruit loops...

"He started digging into their history once he learned about them, and after some digging, he discovered that you basically saved their species. He has declared that he must meet you at all costs. something about needing to know their language?" Mr. Wayne trailed off, looking at Danny as if to see if he knew what his son meant.

If the kid was looking to Danny so he could learn the language then that meant he read the same paper Danny had. the scientists that had dedicated themselves to studying Delilah had printed one claiming that the purpleback Gorilla language was apparently hard to learn. (Even if Danny had been able to understand it pretty easily and told them so.)

they had listed Danny as the only person fluent in it so far, which now that Danny thought about it was kinda rude. they hadn't asked to put his name in there and now look at him! being visited by Fruitloops looking for him to be at their son's birthday parties.

anyways.

so, if the kid, Damian, read the same paper, he must have concluded it would be easier to learn the language from someone who was already 'fluent' than try and teach himself. (something Danny can't blame the kid for, but still.)

"KIDS!" Dad's voice bellowed from downstairs making Mr. Wayne startle and turn to glance down the hall. "IT WORKS! IT WORKS!"

...

"so, when do we need to leave?" Danny asked, all previous paranoia and reservations thrown out the window.

mr. Wayne slowly turned back, his brows furrowed in confusion. "we, uh, we'd have to leave in," he glanced down at his watch, his eyes widening a little, "an hour. I have to leave in an hour."

mr. Wayne then frowned as he looked back up at Danny, "I just need your parent's permission and you can come with me now, or I can arrange for another flight for you later tonight or early tomorrow?'

danny did not want to find out how they were going to test their new machine, so, he turned and cupped his hands around his mouth as he shouted, "HEY MA! CAN I GO WITH MR. WAYNE TO HIS KID'S BIRTHDAY PARTY?!"

it was silent for a second before she shouted back, "SURE! JUST BE BACK BEFORE WE LEAVE FOR OUR TRIP!"

oh, right. his parents had a trip planned for their anniversary. something about a huge ghost or demon trap in Wyoming they wanted to investigate.

"YOU'RE LEAVING TOMORROW THOUGH!" Danny shouted back, "DAMIAN'S BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW! I CAN'T GO IF I WANT TO BE BACK IN TIME!"

"OH! UH, THEN JUST BE SAFE! TAKE YOUR BLASTERS WITH YOU!"

Danny blinked, then shrugged. He could do that. turning back he found Mr. Wayne staring at the floor, his brows raised and furrowed in concerned confusion. Danny didn't know someone could make a face like that, but seeing as Mom had finally gotten Mr. Lancer to curse in front of him last year, it wasn't that surprising.

"let me pack my bag and then we can get going," Danny announced, standing up and grabbing his cup from the table, silently offering to take Mr. Wayne's as well. the man handed him his full cup and watched as Danny walked away.

well, at least Danny had already told the other ghosts to leave him alone for the rest of the week. they shouldn't get into too much trouble while he's gone. speaking of trouble, Mr. Wayne lived in Gotham, a place riddled with crime and violence.

dupping the cups into the sink, Danny turned and rushed up the stairs. unplugging his phone, Danny sent Sam and Tucker a text to let them know he wouldn't be in amity for the rest of today and tomorrow. he also let them know he'd keep them updated.

once done with that, Danny turned to his closet and rummaged around until he found his old backpack. pulling it out, he dumped the contents onto his desk and made quick work of packing his essentials. Clothes, phone chargers, and ectoplasm in case of emergencies. Mr. Wayne said he'd pay for the travel fair and hotel expenses, so Danny only needed to worry about food.

glancing in the mirror, Danny finally noticed he was still dressed in his pj's. he took a second to debate whether he really cared enough to get dressed properly or not before shrugging. Mr. Wayne's already seen him in them and they're comfy, no point in changing.

zipping up his bag, Danny tossed it over his shoulder and quickly ran downstairs. Mr. Wayne was walking around the room, studying a few of the leftover project pieces that his parents had left lying around. man, Jazz was going to be so annoyed once she learned they hadn't been picking up after themselves. again.

"Alright, Mr. Wayne. I'm ready when you are." Danny greeted, stepping into the room. the man turned to look at him, a strained smile on his face, "Just Bruce is fine."

"Alright, mr. bruce then." Danny agreed, gesturing for the man to start making his way to the door.

mr. Bruce heaved a sigh, shook his head in resignation, and turned to walk out the door. digging his keys out of his pocket, Danny turned to shout into the house one more time, "BYE MA, DAD! I'M LEAVING! HAVE FUN ON YOUR TRIP!"

not waiting for a response, he closed the door and locked it. turning around, he found Mr. Bruce studying him. lifting his brow in confusion, Danny started making his way down the steps and over to Mr. Bruce's fancy car. why the man had a fancy car when he said he'd be flying Danny didn't know, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with image or something.

Vlad did the same thing after all.

Next

[imsilay]

THIRST

NSFW mdni +18, cw: oral (f! receiving), inexperienced f!reader, forcing and threatening? (idk)

summary: he was so desperate for a taste.

art cr: @hallot

Icy-blue eyes pleaded up to you as he clung to your thighs. His massive frame between your legs made you feel small under his presence. You shook your head. “No.”

The pleading look turned into a threatening one. “What do you mean ‘no’, Maus?” he growled as his grip tightened around your thighs. “Come on, Schatz. Let me taste you. I promise it will feel good.” His tone was sweet again, it was best he could do to convince you. He was trying to hold back the urge to tear your panties down and dive into your pussy. The desperation was too much to bear. Your little cunt was so pretty that he had to have his mouth and tongue on it. He had to taste you himself.

“No. Can you please let go of me?” You mumbled as you tried to shake off his grip on your thighs. But he was much stronger than you. It was a mistake to try and fight back. His brows furrowed in irritation, and he tightened his grip even more. It was certain that the print of his hands would be left on your skin. “Are you gonna make me beg?” He pinned your body to the mattress, not giving you an inch of space to move. “What about i fuck you until you pass out? Would you rather that?” he hissed. It wasn’t a threat but it was true that he could do it. Your stomach tensed up. You knew he was trying to be gentle with you but he was a man that could kill people with his bare hands. And now his eyes behind his mask was filled with determination. He would taste that pretty pussy whether you want it or not. He was just trying to convince you and he wouldn’t give up.

“O-okay but-” your body quivered as a squeak escaped your mouth when he licked your lips through the thin fabric of your panties. The sensation made your mouth fall open but he didn’t stop. Besides you felt him smirk against your panties. As he teased your cunt with his moist tongue increasing the wetness between your legs. “F-Fuck.” you whimpered when his tongue found your clit. His tongue swirled around it and made you squirm with need. The way his hands squeezed your thighs made it worse.

His tongue stopped when he decided you were wet enough for him to finally devour you. His teeth grazed on your panties teasingly making you squirm. After feeling your hips twitch and seeing your fingers claw at the sheets he decided it was enough teasing. He pulled your panties aside with his teeth while looking into your eyes. His mask hid his face and what he was doing between your legs. Yet you felt everything even more intensely.

His flat tongue gave you a full lick, from your tight hole to your throbbing clit. It made your hips shudder. He groaned when finally he get to taste you. His tongue working on you like a starved man as his hands spread your legs further. You desperately tried to close them but he growled and bit your thigh. You yelped but could even focused on the pain when he get back to work. He made noises, as if enjoying some sort of five-star meal. It was enough to make your face flush a bright red. He was so shameless. He wasn’t holding back to let you know how good you tasted. He had been spending days in order to convince you. When he first saw your pussy he wanted to make you cum on his tongue but you were against the idea. Having his mouth between your legs was something that would be so embarrassing for you. But you wish to have allowed him because it was feeling so good. The way it was making you feel was too much to bear. His tongue had found the exact spots to make you squirm. He was taking his time to explore you. Letting you to adjust to the feeling. He could easily force you but he made sure you were comfortable with everything.

When his tongue entered your dripping hole your eyes rolled back. The sensation was too much for you. You were inexperienced but his tongue was moving expertly. It was clear that he had some experience beforehand. It wasn’t long when you cum on his tongue with a cry. He lapped and sucked your hole. Making sure he didn’t miss anything and tasted everything. When your moans came to a stop he smirked and lifted his mask, licking his lips as he looked into your eyes. “I know you’d taste as sweet as you looked.” he purred. It made your heart skip a beat then race. His lips and chin was wet with your slick. He didn’t seemed to mind. He was relishing in the taste he finally got.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :*

i started writing this at 7:47 PM and finished at 9:36 :’)

also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

[sunny-milla]

togame jo with a soft and feminine s/o headcannons

Shishitoren’s second in command was brutal, he had a black and white vision of things. Mistakes were not tolerated by Togame, so much as softness easily defined as weakness. So, everyone in Shishitoren was shocked when a sweet thing like you came up to the lion’s den in a cute white dress with pink floral prints, Mary Jane shoes with white socks.

You trodded beside him like a bright light that lit the shadows. You looked like a lone daisy in a field of barren land. Togame had his arm around your waist every time you were in their lair, he made sure no one stared a little funky at you or had a glint of mischief towards you.

Now, one may ask, how did such a sweet girl like you meet him? Togame Jo was a man of his values and customs, sure he ruled with an iron fist by following his leader’s ideals but it does not mean that he’s lost his morals.

You were getting disturbed by a some local thugs who were forcing you to give their numbers and go out on a date with one of the guys who seemed to be the leader. Your wrist was firmly held by the leader every time you attempted to walk out of the situation. Then, your knight in shining armour came swooping in by slamming the guy’s face down to the ground.

After the altercation, you had thanked him profusely in which he simply brushed off. You had insisted on buying him something like a coffee or dinner perhaps but he said he didn’t need something back. So, you had given him some bandaids which you rushed to buy at the convenience store for him.

Ever since that day, you bumped into each other more and more. By the time he knew it, he had taken you out on a date in front of your house, a bouquet of tulips in hand and a rabbit plush on the other.

Togame Jo always found things like plushies or any soft toys silly, he thought they were childish and unnecessary especially when someone’s reaching adulthood.

However, when he noticed your penchant for such adorable things his feet can’t help but wander into Miniso or KENJI. He also can’t help but grab a few plushies here and there, matching ones of course. He can’t help but tap his card when he sees a cute dress on a mannequin that you gawked at the day before.

When Togame Jo first entered your bedroom, he was shocked by the sheer amount of pastel pink on your room. He had never seen that much pink in his entire life. He found it cute— no, he found you cute.

Togame Jo would find his head laying on top of your lap, a pink fluffy headband pushing his hair back, a sheet mask on his face to help moisturise his skin as you said.

Togame Jo enjoyed having you in his lap, not in a sexual way or anything, he liked the close proximity and the warmth shared between your skin. He loved fiddling with the ruffles of your skirt whilst he has you on his lap and draw circles on your back.

Togame Jo would find himself sat in front of your dressing table, foundation on his skin, pink eyeshadow on his eye lids, his cheeks strawberry, his supple lips in a reddish lip gloss. You’d be sat on his lap whilst he held your hips as you put your makeup on him.

Togame Jo would find himself going on cute café dates with you followed by a photo booth where you had put bear ears headband on his head while you had a rabbit one. He’d find himself in the printed photos with a gentle smile which he unknowingly made, his cheeks slightly painted pink.

Togame Jo whose s/o loves to be in short skirts and dresses would be more than ready to pummel anyone down when they made fun of your or made any inappropriate comments. He’s the type of boyfriend who says, “Wear what you want, I can fight.” And he does.

Togame Jo whose phone case is clear, a picture of you in the back-- clearly boasting about his cute girlfriend. Togame Jo's brown leather wallet had a picture of you and him in the amusement park, which he showed off to Sako and Choji.

Dating Togame Jo also meant that you and Choi were familiars, close buddies which he enjoyed but found it annoying when every single date was bombarded by Choji's presence.

Togame Jo who was nervous about what to buy for their first anniversary, everyone in Shishitoren noticed how Togame Jo became more and more irritable like his nerves were laid bare. He was seen mumbling to himself and getting thrown off by every little mistakes his gang mates made. He threw a fistful punch to opponents that carried more aggravation than usual.

Togame Jo who’s walking back home after Shishitoren’s meeting and saw a small shop dedicated for gifts. Togame Jo who saw a cute pair of keychain clearly designed for couples, they were two fuzzy bear keychain with pastel pink and pastel blue ribbons around its neck. His first thought that came to mind was, ‘She’d love this.’ It was like his instinct, knowing what you loved.

On your first anniversary, you got him a new wallet to replace his slightly worn out one. It’s safe to say that even when his white threads has sown its way in his scalp, it will still be found in his back pocket. When Togame had handed you his gift, you leapt at him in joy and he carried you in his arms with ease. There was something about your eyes and excitement that made his heart erratic, he wanted to keep seeing your smile.

[greensagephase]

For Better Or Worse - Part Three

Pairings: CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: After two weeks of no employment, you finally land a job, but it has a catch... Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: use of y/n and y/l/n; family nickname introduced for reader; still no name for your sister (I need to decide on a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; some Spanish, but translations are provided in text; suggestive content, so MDNI; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all? A/N: pls let me know if you'd like to continue to be tagged, or be added to the taglist! Masterlist | Spotify

Two weeks.

It has been two weeks…

Since Gabriel and your sister married.

Since Miguel and you were forced to take pictures together as the groom’s best man and bride’s maid of honor.

Since he found you in the wedding venue’s garden and stood beneath the garden lights alone.

Since Miguel questioned if your bad mood was due to the unsolicited comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard between Miguel and the wedding guest, who encouraged him to continue on with his bachelor life.

Most importantly, it has been two weeks since you nearly kissed and you later drove off into the night, leaving Miguel in the parking lot, irritated and confused.

Miguel takes a swig from a beer bottle, staring at everything except you. He swallows the liquid, his fingers tightly gripping the cold bottle while everyone chit-chats around him, completely unaware of his thoughts.

He scowls to himself as he takes another drink. These damn thoughts.

Damn you.

You drove off without a care.

It was a mistake, you said.

Mistakes do happen when under the influence, that is possible, but if it was a near mistake, then why does Miguel keep thinking about it? Why has the thought plagued his mind every single day since that night?

Miguel doesn’t know and that’s what pisses him off. “Mierda [shit],” Miguel mutters under his breath, his gaze flicking to you unwillingly. He spots you about thirty feet from him, sitting with your sister. Ever since you arrived to the small family gathering both sets of parents arranged for the newly married couple, who are back from their honeymoon, you’ve kept your distance and avoided him, but then again, that’s not new, is it? The thing is, you haven’t even spared him a glance. It’s as if he’s invisible to you alone. Realizing he’s still staring, Miguel finally tears his gaze away from you, upset with himself.

Miguel hasn’t seen you since the wedding night, but he’d be lying if he said that you haven’t crossed his mind over the last two weeks. Maybe a little too much, to his dismay. He’s been busy with work, as always, trying to find an assistant, a task that has proven to be rather a nightmare. You’d think that Nueva York would have a plethora of individuals more than qualified for the job, but it turns out that that task is much harder than he thought. It’s been bad candidate after bad candidate. Despite his busy schedule, Miguel has found himself thinking about you at random times, such as in the small pockets of free time at work and late at night when he should be sleeping.

Your face pops up in his mind, staring back at him with so much defiance. He sees your eyes with your defiance in them, framed by lovely eyelashes. There’s your lips, the type a man could easily lose himself in every night. He’s even recalled your scent, as if it’s printed into his very mind like a memory. Can he be blamed, though? You have the type of scent that will mess with a man’s head.

Miguel wills those thoughts away now, much like he has every time you’ve walked into his mind as if you own the space. You’re a vision; a seed that demands to take root and make a home in his head, but Miguel refuses to give you that satisfaction, even if you’re not aware of what you’ve done.

Taking another drink, Miguel’s cheeks flush when he recalls a specific moment on the wedding night. His grip on the bottle tightens as he remembers your defiant and bratty attitude, how it led to the thought of bending you over his knee and spanking you to tame that fiery attitude. He wondered then, would you continue with your attitude, or would you give another reaction?

Stupid alcohol, Miguel thinks to himself. Maybe he did drink too much that night, and maybe he’s not doing himself a favor by thinking about such things while drinking yet again, and especially not when you’re sitting thirty feet away from him with your respective families in the perimeter.

Unable to stop himself, Miguel gazes at you again. A drink is now in your hand and you’re still talking to your sister quietly, probably catching up.

“Hermano [brother].”

Miguel tears his eyes away from you once more as soon as he hears his younger brother’s voice, not wanting to be caught staring at a person he dislikes. Apparently.

“You seem distracted,” Gabriel comments, taking a seat next to Miguel. “You alright?”

“Yeah… Yeah,” Miguel starts with a sigh, the grip on his beer bottle loosening. “Just work, that’s all.” Miguel reassures his brother, obviously not willing to say anything else. Besides, it’s partly true.

“It’s the weekend, hermano [brother]. Work should be left at work,” Gabriel responds with a grin, placing a hand on his older brother’s broad shoulder. “Try to relax and enjoy your free time — time with family and friends, yes?”

“I’m trying, really.”

“Does this have to do with the fact that you haven’t found a personal assistant yet?”

Miguel nods, using that as an excuse. “Yeah, that’s part of it. It’s been tough,” Miguel replies, leaning back. “Every single candidate that’s been interviewed hasn’t met the requirements. You’d think that in such a big city I would’ve already found someone,” he continues with a roll of his eyes, that being true. HR and himself have interviewed candidate after candidate and yet, he remains without a personal assistant. At this rate, Miguel feels like he’ll be without one for another month, or so until the right person finds the job post. Unwillingly, he lifts his gaze towards you, only allowing himself to stare at you for a second or two before giving his attention to Gabriel again.

“I swear, you and Nena are so alike,” Gabriel says with a grin [translates to baby/babe; feminine noun].

“Nena?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow with confusion.

“Y/N. That’s her family nickname. Her parents and my wife call her that, and well, now that I’m part of their family, she’s allowed me to call her that, too,” Gabriel happily replies, pleased that he’s been given this privilege, and of course, taking the opportunity to state that he has a wife now, something Miguel very much lacks.

“I see. Nena…” Miguel trails off, thinking about your nickname and the fact that his brother is allowed to call you that. He pushes the thought aside, remembering Gabriel’s words. “I doubt we have anything in common, by the way.”

With a snort, Gabriel grins before it slowly fades. “According to my wife, la Nena has been very busy lately and seems stressed out [the baby]. We think it’s about work,” he continues, referring to himself and your sister.

At that, Miguel’s mind turns back to two weeks ago, but unfortunately, he’s briefly distracted by clips of that night at the garden. He recalls perfectly the way you gazed at him with such boldness, the tone of your voice, lips — it’s like a short movie. Slightly shaking his head, Miguel focuses on the conversation.

You’re stressed out and busy. He recalls, successfully pushing past what his mind wishes to focus on so badly, that you were in a bad mood when he joined you at the garden. He initially assumed that you were upset because of your aunts’ comments and the remarks and suggestion that had been made to him about enjoying his bachelor life and having ‘fun’.

Miguel remembers your words; you didn’t care, you weren’t mad for the reasons he was assuming. With this new information, Miguel silently wonders if you were upset because of work. Staring at you, he questions if it’s just work being work, or if there’s a far more delicate situation that has been unresolved even two weeks later. He tries to remember where you work at, but then again, he’s never been interested to know that information. What for? He dislikes you anyway.

Miguel grunts quietly, turning his attention back to his brother. “Perhaps it’s just work. You know how it gets sometimes,” Miguel finally says, deciding that it’s not his business. He silently wishes you luck with whatever is going on at work, though. “How did you like the hotel? Was everything alright?” Miguel asks, changing the subject to the honeymoon accommodations as an attempt to stop talking about you. He’s thought about you plenty, he doesn’t need to be talking about you now, too.

“Oof, nena, you should’ve seen how beautiful the resort was. The ocean…” your sister continues, eagerly sharing details of her honeymoon, and while it may seem like you’re fully paying attention to her, your thoughts are elsewhere.

Specifically, on that man sitting on the other side of the room. You sigh softly, your sister still going on about her honeymoon, bless her, while you’re distracted thinking about her now brother-in-law, who’s now something to you, too, and not in the way people would assume with your respective siblings’ union.

While your sister was off in her honeymoon, you spent every day looking and applying for jobs. It felt like you were in about a hundred interviews and applied for jobs twice the amount, but to no avail. You ran into obstacles, like a job no longer being available, or actually reaching the interview phase, only to be told that you weren’t what the company was looking for. Your prospects began to feel bleak as the days went on and on. Late at night, you laid on your bed thinking of ways to make your resume more appealing and improve your interview skills, wondering if you were simply rusty, or if your former boss’s promise was true.

He made the promise to make it hard for you to get a job, for every door to close in your face and even though you didn’t want to think about it, his promise seemed to hold truth as the days went on.

On the second week of being unemployed and with your former boss’s promise hanging over your head, you finally decided to consider other jobs, just in case.

“And then — oh my goodness — Gabriel and I went to a museum, and we were able to see…” your sister goes on, oblivious to the turmoil in your mind, to the entire situation of you becoming unemployed just before her wedding.

It was your decision to consider other careers on Tuesday night, just a few days ago, that led to your new and current employment status: employed.

After making a list of jobs to consider, you went down a rabbit hole in obnoxious job boards, filled with both real and fake job posts. It was nearly three in the morning when you decided to search for the last job position you had written on your notepad, that being a personal assistant.

Hours later after falling asleep, you reworded your resume so it would be catered to each position you were applying for. Of course, you got a few rejections right off the bat, but you did your best to remain positive.

It was finally on Wednesday evening that you received an email from a recruiter working in one of the largest companies in the country offering you an interview for the next day if possible. Of course, you accepted and the next day showed up for it.

The great news? You got the job, which you’ll start on Monday, as a personal assistant for some department head.

It was after you accepted the job, however, that you got an itch. Something prompted you to do further research about the company; to learn more than what you had already from the job’s post about the company and its background. To say that you experienced one of the biggest shocks in your life when you read the CEO’s name, which wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the three paragraphs of information in the job post, and saw their picture show up within the results, is an understatement.

You didn’t know there was a catch to your new job, but there is.

The man sitting on the other side of the room with your now brother-in-law — the same man you left standing alone in the wedding venue’s parking lot two weeks ago — is the CEO of said company.

Miguel freaking O’Hara.

After reading his name only about a hundred times to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you and playing a sick, diabolical, and twisted joke on you, you laughed in disbelief and at the irony of it all.

Miguel O’Hara is the CEO of Alchemax and in over forty-eight hours, you’ll be stepping foot in his building to work as a personal assistant to one of his department heads.

How wonderful!

You almost laugh again in disbelief in front of your sister as she continues to talk about her honeymoon, but you hold yourself back.

The thought of withdrawing your acceptance letter crossed your mind once Miguel’s eyes met yours through your laptop’s screen. You’d be lying if you said otherwise, but of course, rationality kicked in and you asked yourself if you’re truly that prideful — prideful enough to decline a job when you’re in no position to do so.

The answer was and continues to be no.

Besides, as you pondered the situation later that night, you realized that the probability of Miguel finding out is low. As CEO, you doubt Miguel even leaves his floor to check on other departments. It’s likely that those directing each department within the company go to him to report, like they’re visiting some tyrannical king demanding tithe from the people in his kingdom.

Okay, maybe that was too dramatic, but you were upset at the turn of events — at your luck.

After convincing yourself that Miguel will never discover your employment at Alchemax because you’ll likely won’t run into him, you came up with a game plan: you’ll work as a personal assistant for a few months before you begin applying for other jobs within your own field.

You figure that in a few months, if your boss’s promise is truly real, the whole thing might blow over by then.

At least, you hope so.

In the meantime, you’ll work at Alchemax and keep a low profile to support yourself until everything is back to normal.

Your plan, however, doesn’t include telling your family any time soon about your work changes. There were plenty of opportunities for you to share the situation with your parents over the last two weeks, but you were unable to do so. Even now, staring at your younger sister, you find the idea difficult. Just thinking about sharing the situation with them, or anyone, really, brings you feelings of discomfort and even shame.

You know your family cares for and loves you, but those feelings still come to you and take you to a negative mindset: What if your family has a seed of doubt regarding your actions, thinking you may have given your former boss a reason for his behavior? You know that’s not possible, but still. Your body freezes at the idea of telling them, or anyone for that matter, about what you experienced. So, for now, you’ll keep that information close to your heart until you’re ready to speak about it.

“That all sounds so lovely,” you answer when your sister finishes talking and stares at you expectantly. You realize you’ve been too distracted, so you refocus on your sister and the conversation, trying to push away everything that’s happened since the wedding. “I’m glad Gabriel and you had a great time.”

“Thank you, nena,” your sister responds with a smile, her eyes watching you with careful attention. “Talk to me?” she asks suddenly. “Something is bothering you.”

“I’ve told you. I’m alright. Just… Tired,” you answer with a sigh, which is not a lie. You’re mentally exhausted from this entire ordeal. “I just need to rest,” you assure your sister to maintain the strong image, as always.

You turn towards Gabriel and Miguel, finding them looking at the two of you. Gabriel gives you a cheeky grin, gesturing with his head towards his now wife before you quickly and subtly glance at Miguel. Your gazes lock for several seconds before you look away and back at your sister. “I think your husband is trying to get your attention,” you point out, which makes your sister giggle like a school girl.

“I don’t think I’ll get used to that any time soon. My husband,” your sister says with a sigh of contentment. With Gabriel in mind, she puts her thoughts and worries about you aside. Thankfully. She pats your arm before standing up. “I’ll be back.”

With a nod, you watch her walk away and meet Gabriel halfway to have a moment straight out of a romcom. You look away to give the couple privacy, but you end up locking gazes with Miguel again, which makes you cuss internally.

Miguel feels the same way. All he was trying to do was look away from the telenovela-worthy moment between the couple, but he ended up meeting your gaze. For some damn reason.

You scowl softly, not at Miguel, but at yourself before standing up and exiting the space in need of a moment to yourself, away from the man who’s now your boss.

Meanwhile, Miguel watches you leave, struggling with the fact that his legs moved by instinct, as if they have a mind of their own and wish to follow you. For what? Miguel doesn’t know. It’s not like he’s going to talk to you about what almost happened two weeks ago. You clearly wanted nothing to do with that. So, Miguel supposes… There’s nothing to talk about. It was alcohol. Period.

Miguel should focus on family and work, and not on that moment during the wedding. Or, about you being stressed out. It’s none of his business.

Still… Miguel watches you leave and silently wonders what’s happening in your life. Is what’s causing you problems now, the same thing that was bothering you two weeks ago? Is it the same thing that was affecting your mood that night, when you told him your world didn’t revolved around him.

It’s the truth, but God, did Miguel wish it did that night.

“¿Hermano [brother]?” Gabriel says.

Mierda [shit]. “¿Que paso [what happened?/what’s up?]?” Miguel answers abruptly, feeling as if his thoughts were on displayed somewhere and he’s been caught.

“Uh… You okay?” Gabriel asks with your sister at his side, both staring at him like he’s grown three heads.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all,” Miguel grumbles, standing up. “I’m sorry. I think I need some fresh air. Excuse me.” With that, Miguel walks out. “Fuck,” he mutters once outside, rubbing his eyes. What has gotten into him?

You.

You have defiantly pushed your way into his head and taken residence without his permission. Worst of all… Miguel can’t seem to evict you.

“Focus, Miguel,” he tells himself quietly. “Get a grip, por Dios [for God].” With a heavy sigh, he looks around, still trying to calm himself when his eyes find you in your family’s garden.

Garden.

He swallows, watching you observe the greenery, and wonders why God is testing him by making the two of you run into yet another garden. Yes, he went out the same door you did, but he wasn’t expecting a damn garden out here. Or, rather, he didn’t give himself enough time to think about what would be out here. Miguel steps back, ready to head back inside to avoid any awkwardness and other unwelcome feelings.

Sighing quietly yet again, Miguel shakes his head. He tells himself that now that the wedding is over and that the newlyweds are back from their honeymoon, it’s likely you and him won’t see much of each other. He’ll probably see you in about three months for some dinner, or something of the sorts and by then, Miguel reassures himself, you’ll be out of his mind and he won’t even remember you exist until then.

As the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind.

Right?

With that thought, Miguel quietly steps back inside, unaware of the fact that you’re now working at Alchemax.

_♡_

Typing away at your desk, you glance at the digital clock. It’s nearly lunch time and soon, you’ll be heading out to collect food for your boss.

It’s now Wednesday, meaning you’ve survived at least half of your first week at this new job. You didn’t think it would be too, too hard, but it’s certainly been a bit stressful at times with your boss asking you to bring things to him from establishments and running back. You sigh. At least, Mr. Parker is nice. From what you’ve learned, he’s a happily married man and a father of one, which he showed you photos of on Monday. Tuesday. And earlier, too… When he showed you photos of his daughter’s ‘thinking’ and ‘when she’s about to burp’ faces.

As you gazed at the photos of Mayday, Mr. Parker’s daughter, making the same face, you were reminded of your sister and Gabriel. For some reason, Mr. Parker’s energy for his child seems like something that would match them, too.

The sound of a notification tears your thoughts away from Mr. Parker and his enthusiasm about being a father to a reminder you made earlier. It’s time to go pick up his lunch from a nearby establishment, one of Mr. Parker’s favorites apparently.

You quickly head out without notifying Mr. Parker. He informed you on the first day that you can head out to retrieve what’s needed without notifying him since it’ll simply be a disruption for him. As long as you go to where you need to go and head straight back to the building, you’re good in his eyes.

The walk to the establishment is short, really. It probably takes you longer to reach the building’s lobby from the floor you work on than the walk from the lobby to the restaurant. It’s only your third day, but you’ve already learned that you hate elevator rides in this building, especially during lunch time, when the elevators are stuffed with people heading out to or coming back from lunch, on top of the people who are still clocked in traveling between floors.

It’s not so much the fact that there’s so many people, but more that some people seem to not be aware of the simple concept that is deodorant. That’s when it sucks.

You soon find yourself back in an elevator with Mr. Parker’s food, ready to have your own lunch while he has his. Unlike him, though, you’ve bought your own from home.

You’re not tight on money, but the significant less pay as an assistant means you need to be more careful about your money and besides, you’ve always preferred to bring your own lunch. Less time is wasted walking or driving around to food establishments and of course, in a city this large, there’s always the risk of long waiting times or things of the sort during lunch hour.

As the elevator ascends, you patiently wait, watching other people get on and off every time it stops. It’s all fine until you hear a voice during a stop, but not just any voice.

Miguel’s voice.

Your eyes widen when you take a peek and spot Miguel walking towards the elevator with another man, talking to each other. That’s all you manage to see before you move quickly.

“Sorry — Excuse me,” you awkwardly apologize to a man who’s been on the elevator from God knows what floor before hiding behind him because of his height.

Only a second later, Miguel’s voice reaches your ears, signaling that he’s inside the elevator now.

“The meeting is in an hour,” a man says, who you assume was walking with him just seconds ago.

“I know, I know,” Miguel answers quietly before he sighs, standing in the front. Or, at least you assume so since you’re hiding behind the man. “I truly need an assistant.”

“You still haven’t found one, even after the interviews from yesterday?” the man asks, earning himself a scoff from Miguel.

“No,” Miguel answers. “Still no assistant.”

“No pierdas la esperanza [don’t lose [the] faith]. I’m sure the perfect assistant will soon find their way to you,” the man answers with amusement. “I have a feeling… By the end of the week, there will be a candidate, who’s perfect for the role.”

“Ay, que Dios te escuche [ay, may God hear you],” Miguel replies with a hint of exhaustion. “Porque no puedo continuar así [because I can’t continue like this]. I nearly missed a video conference yesterday. Thankfully, I remembered it, but I definitely need someone to help me with my schedule. Hopefully, someone will occupy the position soon.”

“I’m certain someone will, don’t stress about it,” the man responds.

It’s a bad decision, but you dare take a peek after their short exchange. For a brief second, you gaze at the back of Miguel’s head before he begins to look over his shoulder, as if he senses someone’s gaze.

Of course, you quickly hide again behind the poor man, who’s not even aware of your shenanigans, and barely avoid being caught. With that, you play it safe and stick behind the man, deciding you’ll stay there until you reach your floor, but then…

You look up at the digital screen announcing the floor numbers and remember. Miguel has to be on the top floor of this building, meaning he’ll be the last person to get off the elevator.

The problem is, you need to get off before him and in order to do that, you must walk past him first.

Cursing internally, you look around both subtly and frantically as you try to think of a way to handle this. Here you were, thinking you’d make it through your first week without running into Miguel at all, but you seem to have overlooked the possibility of ending up on the same elevator ride.

The elevator stops, reminding you that you’re halfway to your designated floor and still without a solution. You note some people get off and only two get on. On the next floor, the man in front of you steps forward, making his exit. You immediately move behind a woman, lowering your face as best as possible just in case Miguel decides to glance back again.

The elevator continues to go past floors, heading for yours faster than you’d like. You silently hope that Miguel has business in one of the next few floors and that he’ll get off the elevator, but of course, your luck is not that great because Miguel stays put.

Your nerves increase as the elevator continues to ascend. This is it. You either get off in the next three floors where you’ll meet Mr. Parker with his lunch, or stay on the elevator until it’s just Miguel and you.

Your grip on the lunch bag tightens as the sound of the elevator rings in your ears once more. You straighten your shoulders, ready to walk out when it’s your turn and let whatever needs to happen, happen.

However… Your hope rises again when a delivery man enters the elevator, carrying a large gift basket and bouquet of flowers. He politely states what floor he needs to stop on, that being the next floor and one before yours.

Moving swiftly, you slide next to the delivery man, but on the opposite side of Miguel so you avoid walking directly past him. As soon as the delivery man begins to move when the elevator doors open on his floor, you move in sync with him, using the packages he’s carrying to hide yourself.

As soon as you’re out of the elevator, you dart to the side and walk down a hallway to distance yourself from the elevator. You only stop when you hear the elevator’s doors close and finally glance back, thankfully finding no one else in the lobby.

“Dios [God],” you whisper, sighing in relief. “Too close, too close.” Shaking your head, you head for the stairs to reach your floor, no longer wanting to be in an elevator after that. You silently wonder what’s the probability of that happening again during the few months you plan on working here and realize, it’s too high for your liking.

After successfully delivering lunch to Mr. Parker and having your own lunch, you continue to work. The day continues on with you performing your duties consisting of answering the phone, making and taking coffee to Mr. Parker, replying to emails, and so on.

It's four in the afternoon when you notice Parker step out of his office, adjusting his tie. “Hey, I have a meeting in ten minutes. Can you please make fresh coffee for two?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Of course, I'll have it ready, sir,” you reply, already knowing about the meeting since you have access to the schedule. You just don’t know who it’s with since there’s no such details listed.

“Thank you! I'll be back,” he answers, heading for the restrooms.

You answer one more email before you head to the break room to make the coffee, pondering life as you wait for it to be ready. Once it's done, you pour the coffee into two mugs and gather some napkins, sugar, and cream just in case the other person needs some.

At last, you head to Parker's office, carrying the mugs on a small tray you found laying around the break room. You'll be honest, you didn't expect to be doing this kind of work at this point in your career, but well, here you are. It's not that it's bad or beneath you, but it does bring you some anger. You worked so hard to reach your previous position and all for it to be taken away from you by a disgusting human who can't be faithful to his wife nor keep his hands to himself.

With a sigh, you tell yourself to stop thinking about it, to not let that man ruin your mood. At least, this job seems safe in that you won’t see yourself jobless due to a similar situation. Mr. Parker seems like a good man overall, deeply in love and happy with his family. You also haven’t heard a single negative comment about him from the other employees in this department, unlike your previous job where you had heard negative rumors, so that gives you hope.

When you finally reach Parker's office, you knock quietly to announce yourself before stepping inside. You make yourself as invisible as possible while your boss talks to the other person, who you briefly notice is a man. Still, you maintain your gaze focused on the task at hand, keeping to yourself and not being nosy about who the other person is.

“So, any fun plans for the weekend?” Parker asks the man, whose face is hidden behind some documents.

Once you reach the table, you place the first mug in front of the visitor and proceed to do the same for Mr. Parker. After gathering the thin packets of sugar and little tubs of creamer from the tray, you place them on the desk along with the napkins just as your boss looks up at you to acknowledge you.

“That will be all for now. Thank you, Y/N,” Parker states, politely dismissing you.

“Of course, Mr. Parker,” you answer, picking up the tray to take back with you. As you do so, you lift your gaze unwillingly and feel your heart sink when you meet a pair of all too familiar brown eyes.

Miguel’s.

You stare back, noting a mixture of recognition and bafflement in his eyes before you break out of whatever trance the two of you have fallen into.

“Excuse me,” you state quietly before you hurriedly walk away from the desk, hearing the scrape of a chair behind you.

“Is something wrong, Miguel?” Mr. Parker asks as you exit the office and quickly but quietly closing the door after you.

You lean back on the door, your heart pounding. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself. You didn't make it through the first week without being discovered by Miguel after all. Sighing heavily, you stay there for a few more seconds before pushing yourself off the door and reaching your desk. You attempt to shake off the emotions running through you while checking the digital calendar to see how long this meeting has been scheduled for.

“Thirty minutes,” you mumble, knowing that the meeting can either be cut short or go over by a few minutes. Huffing, you decide to pay extra attention. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to hear their voices grow closer as Parker and Miguel approach the door when the meeting is over. If you do, you can make a quick run for the restroom or the break room and avoid Miguel completely. At least, for today.

So, you keep track of time while doing your job, determined to avoid Miguel for today. As the thirty minutes come close to an end, you decide to go ahead and head to the break room and wait there. About three minutes later, you deem it safe to return to your station, especially when you don’t hear any talking or footsteps. Feeling safe, you walk out of the break room with confidence only to run into something hard, or rather someone.

“Woah! Are you okay?” you hear Parker’s voice, but it’s not him you've ran into.

“I’m sor-” you start, suddenly feeling large and warm hands taking hold of your arms to steady you. Looking up, you continue. ”-rry, I didn’t see you-” you continue, but pause when you realize who you’ve ran into.

Of course. It just had to be him. Miguel. The one person you were trying to avoid.

Meanwhile, Miguel gazes back at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to hold you.

Coming to your senses, you gently pull away and straighten yourself.

“You alright?” Parker asks again.

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you answer, avoiding looking at the imposing CEO who’s sending daggers your way.

“You almost missed him,” Parker eagerly says when he hears you’re alright, not knowing that that’s precisely what you were trying to do. “This is our CEO. Meet Miguel O’Hara,” he says with a smile.

“We know ea -” Miguel starts at the same time you give him the most fake smile Miguel has ever seen before you offer a handshake.

“Oh! It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara,” you quickly interject with a smile before you introduce yourself — making it seem like you don’t know Miguel at all.

With a subtle frown, Miguel accepts and shakes your hand. He may not show it, but he’s filled with disbelief and something else he can’t pinpoint right now at the fact that you’re pretending not to know him. He can’t help but ask himself if you truly dislike him this much that you’re going so far as to pretend not to know him. “Nice to meet you,” Miguel answers a few seconds later, forcing himself to say those words when in reality, he wants to make it clear that you two are no strangers. He doesn’t, however. Miguel respects your decision, even if it upsets him, for now.

“She’s my new assistant,” Parker announces as Miguel feels you trying to withdraw your hand, which Miguel reluctantly allows. “Only three days on the job and already doing wonderfully!”

“That’s great,” Miguel answers, staring at you with a now blank expression despite everything. He forces himself not to say anything else, or he’ll end up pulling you away with him to his office to get answers. Inhaling sharply, he tears his gaze away from you to face Peter, knowing that if he sticks around for too long, it’ll raise Peter’s suspicions. He already had to make some weird explanation for his reaction from earlier when Miguel realized it was you dropping the coffee off. Peter, rightfully so, questioned once more if everything was alright once you exited the office because it was impossible to miss the way Miguel abruptly stood up, so fast and suddenly his chair scraped the floor.

Miguel ended up composing himself, even though it took everything in him to not follow you, and explained to Peter that he suddenly wondered if he had forgotten about a meeting. Thankfully, his current lack of assistant made his excuse believable and Peter brushed off the incident after that. Now, Miguel clears his throat. “I must get going. I have a call to make. We’ll stay in touch.”

“You got it, boss!” Peter says, totally unaware of the tension between Miguel and you.

Standing silently with your hands clasped in front of you, Miguel turns his gaze to you again. When your eyes meet, you see it clearly. A promise. Miguel will find out what’s happening, one way or another. Today, or tomorrow.

“Good afternoon, miss,” Miguel addresses you, still giving you a blank expression.

“Afternoon, sir,” you answer, causing a muscle in Miguel’s jawline to twitch.

Sir.

You’ve never addressed Miguel as such, and for some damn reason, hearing you call him that stirs something in him, something he quickly pushes aside. He gives you a curt nod before walking away, his steps determined.

“Well, work calls. We still have about half an hour,” Peter says, turning on his heel and heading back to his office.

You follow after Parker, returning to your own desk. However, you dare steal a glance, only to find Miguel at the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. He watches you from a far, a hint of a glare now present on his beautifully sculpted face. Despite your position, you stare back with a blank expression, holding eye contact until the elevator’s doors open.

Almost reluctantly, Miguel enters the surprisingly empty elevator from where he continues to stare at you, standing right in the middle.

Aware of his glare and stance, you’re tempted to wave goodbye out of spite, but quickly remember you can’t afford to be petty or anything of the sort, so you refrain. At last, the doors close with Miguel staring at you until the very last second.

It’s until then, that your figure relaxes and you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

As the elevator ascends to Miguel’s floor, a million thoughts run through his mind.

Mierda [shit].

What the hell is happening? Why are you here?

Miguel runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Several seconds later, his head snaps up when he truly notes the elevator’s noise that announces each floor, suddenly reminded of something.

He leans back on an elevator wall, almost out of breath when he realizes. You were in the elevator when Fernando, his colleague, and him got on the elevator earlier today after they stopped at one of the other floors when they came back from lunch. He knows that because earlier, he thought himself a fool for thinking you were here in the building. Why?

Because as soon as he entered the elevator and the doors closed, Miguel caught whiff of your perfume. He recognized it, for some reason, and immediately thought of you, of that lovely scent. It nearly made his knees buckle to think you were there, but the rational side of him immediately reminded him that that was impossible — for you to be in the building.

Even after telling himself that, Miguel eventually glanced back. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find; you, standing there with a look of indifference towards him, or one of rebellion. Of course, he didn’t find you and chastised himself for being a fool for thinking you’d be there when you had no business in the Alchemax building, or so he believed.

Now, Miguel connects the dots. You were in the elevator at the same time as him, just feet from him. He recalls a tall gentleman behind Fernando and him, tall enough for someone of your height to hide behind.

“You brat,” Miguel mutters, as he realizes you were the woman that rushed out of the elevator with the delivery man. He found it odd earlier when he noticed that, but he dismissed it as an employee simply being in a rush from their lunch break. It’s clear to him now that you saw him and hid throughout the entire elevator ride until you found an escape, using the delivery man to successfully do so.

You had no plans of letting him discover you, that’s for certain, except you didn’t count on him having a meeting with Peter in his office and not Miguel’s.

Stepping out of the elevator and walking to his office, Miguel reflects on the moment he realized it was you who was dropping the coffee of. His attention was fully on the documents in front of him, but that changed as soon as he heard your name uttered by Peter’s mouth. Unwillingly, he lowered the documents to satisfy his curiosity. Miguel huffs as he enters his office. Yes, his curiosity because he needed to know if it was you, even if a part of his brain was telling him that that was impossible yet again. It had to be someone else with the same name. At least, that’s what Miguel told himself as he lowered the documents to satisfy his need to know.

And then, there you were, standing next to Peter’s desk and holding some tray.

It wasn’t in Miguel’s head and he wasn’t a fool after all.

You were actually there, as if you had left his head to manifest yourself in front of him. When you finally lifted your gaze to his and locked eyes, that only made the moment even more real.

In his office, Miguel paces back and forth out of frustration.

Does your family know? Miguel immediately realizes it’s likely that they don’t. If they did, your sister would’ve told Gabriel, and Gabriel would’ve surely mentioned it to him. Running a hand over his face, Miguel remembers Gabriel mentioned you were busy and stressed out because of work. The thing is, Miguel also recalls Peter’s words from earlier.

He mentioned you were only three days into your job and doing well, which means you were in between jobs at some point over the last week, but if Miguel thinks back to the wedding night and your behavior…

“¿Qué paso [what happened]?” Miguel asks himself, staring out from one of his windows now. “What happened that you’re now here?”

He doesn’t voice it out loud, but he also wonders, heavily, why you pretended not to know him.

That moment floods his mind, inciting that strange feeling he felt when you pretended not to know him again. It’s a bad feeling.

Hurt?

Rejection?

Both?

Miguel shakes his mind. It can’t be any of that because if it were, then that would mean that Miguel was bothered by your actions, and that would mean he cares, or something like that, which he doesn’t.

He doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care about you. It’s whatever.

And yet…

“Focus,” Miguel mumbles, forcing himself to return to his desk to work, however, he can’t do so successfully. He needs to know what’s going on and he plans on finding out sooner than later. With that in mind, he finally finds a shred of concentration to complete his tasks.

At five o’clock, Miguel shuts everything down and heads down to the first floor. He patiently waits in the lobby, his gaze glued to the elevators to avoid missing you. As he waits, he can’t help but wonder about your previous job. Did something happen? He doesn’t know much, but he does know that your previous job wasn’t that of an assistant and while the job is an honest one, it’s still a drastic change of career, at least in his eyes. The fact that your family doesn’t seem to know either, raises alarms in his head.

Miguel’s thoughts come to a halt when he finally spots you exit an elevator, carrying your purse. He wastes no time and approaches, intercepting your path, which earns himself a glare from you.

“You,” you state simply, forgetting in the moment that Miguel is essentially your boss.

“Me,” Miguel grumbles. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Nothing is happening. Goodbye now,” you reply, trying to walk past Miguel, but he has other plans because he takes hold of your arm, firmly yet gently to avoid hurting you. “Hey — let go.”

“Not until you answer my questions,” Miguel continues, holding you. “What are you doing here working at Alchemax, as Peter’s assistant?”

“That’s not your concern,” you answer curtly. “Now, please let go… Sir.”

Sir.

There it is again. That stirring in Miguel. He pushes it away, however, and forces himself to focus on the important fact, which is that you’re working here. He also finds himself unsettled by your tone of respect. It’s not like you’ve ever been blatantly disrespectful towards him, but there’s certainly a shift in your attitude. In seconds, Miguel realizes that you’re aware of your position. You’re holding back with your defiance, keeping yourself respectful because of your positions — his position being one of power and yours of little to none. Miguel swallows at that, his grip loosening. “What happened?” Miguel asks again, less harshly. “Why are you working here?”

“That’s none of your concern,” you answer, giving the same response.

“Please, don’t give me that shit,” Miguel replies, truly trying to get answers.

Staring at him, you sense a far more gentle tone from Miguel, but still, you’re not about to tell him anything. You haven’t even told your family about it. “You’re my employer,” you respond, more collected. “You have no right to ask me those questions. That’s personal.”

Miguel sighs in disappointed when you hit him with that, knowing he can’t push too much. “Personal…”

“Yes, personal. And also, you have no right to mention this to my family,“ you remind him, looking straight at him.

“I see,” Miguel responds, humming. Your statement simply confirms his suspicions; your family doesn’t know.

“Have a great evening… Sir,” you mumble, pulling your arm free from his grip. This time, Miguel releases you.

For the second time, Miguel watches you leave him behind.

_♡_

The next day, you manage your way through the workload. Despite what happened yesterday, you do your best to focus on the duties since you don’t want to lose your job for being distracted. It all goes smoothly until after lunch when Mr. Parker calls you into his office. You walk in, expecting Parker to ask for a coffee or even a tea, however, he shocks you with his words.

“I was just notified that Mr. O’Hara would like to see you,” he says, tapping a finger on his desk.

“I — Yes, sir,” you answer, faltering for a second. With a heavy heart, you return to your desk with a single thought echoing in your head; you’ve been fired.

With that thought in mind, you pick up your purse and grab your few belongings. Certain you’ve been fired, you ride the elevator to Miguel’s floor.

The elevator ride is weird. On one side, it feels like the longest elevator ride and yet, it also feels short because you step out onto the lobby all too soon. With a sigh, you look around to locate Miguel’s office, but you don’t spot it right away since there’s various doors. And to be honest, you’re a bit distracted by the current situation. You’re going to be fired.

A few seconds later, a man comes out of from an office and approaches you with a smile. “Hey, you must be Miss Y/L/N. Mr. O’Hara is waiting for you,” he informs you. “Follow me.”

Following the man, you’re led down a long hallway that screams ‘CEO floor’ before a desk comes into view. It’s placed to the side, just outside a pair of mahogany doors. You note it’s empty, no sign of someone working there, but you quickly clear your thoughts of that. You have far more important things to worry about, like the fact that you’ve been fired and that Miguel has requested you to see you sign some kind of termination paper and rub it on your face.

The man finally opens one of the doors and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, the door closes and you find yourself in one of the most luxurious offices you’ve ever been in. Natural light seeps into the office from ceiling to floor windows. A comfortable-looking couch sits on one side of the room with a coffee table in front of it. Plants, whether artificial or real, decorate and bring life to the space. Bookcases filled with books and some photographs line one wall. In the middle, there’s a large mahogany desk, long enough for an individual to comfortably lay on. A set of chairs are in front of it, for visitors.

Most importantly, the most powerful man in the building sits behind the desk on his throne.

Watching you, Miguel lowers his hand from his face, looking every bit the part of a powerful CEO. “Take a seat.”

Previous Part ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next Part

A/N: Hiii... so it's been *checks last chapter and grimaces* five months since the last update. 😬 I was supposed to update this sooner, but ✨life✨ happens and I also have another Miguel fic that takes much of my writing time bc I be writing 12k--20k-ish word chapters for it (🙂‍↕️iykyk), so I kinda left this fic in the back burner. I also, long story short, took a break from social media for the entirety of January because I felt mentally low.

So... We're here now and I'm glad to have updated this fic, even after months! I'm trying to arrange a writing schedule, so I can rotate between fics successfully and that way I don't leave this fic without updates for so long, so we'll see how that goes!

Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it!

So... what did you guys think about Miguel? 🤭What about la Nena working at Alchemax now? lmk! Ok, another thing... Can you guys drop a nickname idea for Nena's sister? It's chapter 3 and I'm still using 'your sister' 'his wife' sjdkfjkdfjd I was going to call her Lily, but then, there's the issue of a reader potentially coming along and their name being exactly that, so it would ruin the experience for said reader(s). It doesn't have to be in Spanish, so drop any recs below, pls.

p.s. my pooks, @lauraolar14 , has drawn fanart from p1 and some sketches inspired by this current chapter from a two paragraph snippet I share a few days ago (she's always feeding us so well fr). Go check them out and show support to my lovely friend!

Thank you again for reading and for supporting my writing!

Alondra❤️

Quick note about reader's nickname: As stated in the in-text translations, 'nena' translates to 'baby' or 'babe' and can be used as an affectionate nickname without any romance involved (this is literally what my family has been calling me since I was born; my real name is used when I'm in trouble). It's like Baby from Dirty Dancing (the movie; and one of my favs; Patrick Swayze 😩) where she's called that by her family. In Spanish, I'll be using 'la Nena' sometimes because the language calls for me to use 'la' (the), which I know doesn't really make sense in English because in English you wouldn't say, "the Baby is in the office", unlike how in Spanish you'd say, "La Nena esta en la oficina". It would be, "Baby is in the office", but languages! So, I hope no one (non-Spanish speakers) is confused by that.

taglist: @scaleniusrm @sukunash0e @seeeuspaceecowboyyy

@smyfmj @prozacgooble @t4naiis @deputy-videogamer

@nina-from-317

[dragoncopper]

Nutmeg Chapter One

TITLE: Nutmeg

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Reader (dom/sub)

SUMMARY: Due to really bad anxiety, you sign up at an agency that matches you with a dominant partner. 

WARNINGS: 18+ DOM/SUB. No sex in this chapter. Anxiety, meeting each other, rule discussion. (Let me know if I need to add something)

WORD COUNT: 2814

Nutmeg MASTERPOST | Chapter 2

@chey-h

You follow the instructions printed on a red piece of cardboard down halls and up stairs.  The twisting feeling inside your gut makes you feel nauseous and shaky and while your whole brain is telling you, without uncertainty, that this was a stupid idea, you keep walking.

You reach the door with the black number 36 painted on it and take a deep breath, before you take the key you were given and unlock it. 

You place the key on the small table right by the door as per instructions.

Before you step fully into the room, you look around.  The room is surprisingly normal, in fact there was not a single indication of the room’s intent.  It could be mistaken for a boring old hotel room, easily.  You take a few steps while taking stock of your surroundings further.  There was a large bed with white sheets and red accent colours present in the decorative cushions and extra blanket placed at the end of the bed.  The curtains were a deep red and seemed to be made of a heavy, thick material.  The carpet was thick and lush, a cream colour.

You take off your shoes.  It was one of the instructions.  It also would have made you uncomfortable walking on a carpet that colour with shoes on.

There is one door, you walk over to confirm that it is a bathroom.  Also red and white. 

 You shake the cardboard still in your hand in nervousness, then read the instructions further. 

The blanket at the end of the bed had to be thrown open across the carpet in the open space in the room.  After that you remove your jacket and jeans.  The only items of clothing you were allowed were panties, a bra and a plain black vest.  You untie your hair.  You put your clothes in the bag you brought along and leave it near the door.

After that, you had to find a blindfold that was left on one of the white pillows.  A simple mask that covered your eyes and went around your head with an elastic, almost like a sleeping mask. 

You were to sit on the middle of the red blanket on the floor with the blindfold in place.

Once you are seated, it only takes a few minutes for the shakiness to come back.  If you had something to do, you were distracted.  But now you were just sitting.  Alone.  Waiting.

You can feel your heart beating and there was a sense of tightness and dread that was filling your chest.  This was a mistake.  A crazy mistake.  Yet, you did not get up to leave.  You were free to.  But you stayed right where you were.

While you wait, you think of the extensive process you had to go through to get to this point.  An enormous rabbit hole led you to the agency that pairs you up with an ideal ‘partner’. 

First there was a lot of privacy paperwork – no photos, no digging, no posts on the internet – any violation will end the contract you signed immediately, and if it was taken too far could result in legal action.  You were happy with this; you valued your privacy also.

Secondly, all-embracing forms filled in about your personality, preferences, limits, experience.  All of this to the point where just filling in the forms felt too personal.  But you submitted these forms anyway.

Photos were taken of you (strictly for office use).  You had to pass a medical exam.  You had to hand in a shirt you have slept in for three nights. 

After weeks of waiting, you received an envelope via courier.  Inside were two profiles for you to review.  The agency matched you with candidates based on all your information, someone they are sure you would have the most success with.  Out of the matches, candidates then may choose for themselves.  The two profiles you received were of two people who chose you – now you had to pick. 

This was a very attractive feature to you.  Everyone was willing, everyone had a choice, everyone knew what they were walking into.  Everyone had the option to terminate the agreement at any time for any reason.  This was why the first meeting had to take place at the agency itself.  To ensure both parties’ safety, for neutrality and to make termination, should someone choose it, easy and controlled.

You were confident in your choice.  So why were you finding it so difficult to inhale?

You hold your breath when you hear the door open.  You hear nothing but the door, how it clicks closed and then the key in the lock.  The key being placed back on the table.

Soft footsteps coming closer, the rustling of someone’s weight on the bed.  Oh shit.

You felt scared, exposed and nervous.

‘You followed the instructions well.’ 

You let out the breath when you hear the deep voice, the words spoken very softly and calmly.  You decide not to respond. 

‘You are nervous.’  It’s not a question.  ‘I can see your hands shake.’

You fold your hands together, trying to stop the shaking.

‘It’s alright to be nervous,’ he continues.  ‘You don’t have to hide it from me.’

In response you relax your hands, or try to.

‘Hmm, let’s take a moment before we go through the preliminaries.’ 

You hear him move and you think he might be sitting on the floor in front of you, but you are not sure. 

‘I want you to sit up straight,’ he waits until you do so.  ‘Place your hands on your knees, palms up,’ he waits.  ‘And now, you are going to breathe.  Listen carefully.  Breathe in slowly through your nose and hold it a little, then breathe out through your mouth.  As slowly as you can.’

You swallow thickly through the nerves, and then you do as you were told.  As you inhale as deeply as you can, you hear him breathe with you.  He follows your lead and lets you set the pace.  Breath after breath you feel your brain calm down, your muscles relax a little. 

‘Good,’ he comments.  ‘Keep going.  You’re doing well.’

It grounds you, the combination of the extra oxygen and his reassuring voice.  You keep breathing.  Through the inhales and exhales you tell yourself that it’s okay, that you are safe, that you made this decision for a reason.  You’re okay.

‘Alright,’ he breaks the silence.  ‘I’m going to go through the guidelines provided by the agency with you.  If you feel nervous again, you just start the breathing again.  Do you understand?’

You nod.

‘Please answer out loud,’ he instructs quietly.

‘I understand,’ you say and your own voice sounds strange to you.

‘Good,’ he says and then he takes his time before he speaks again.  ‘There aren’t many, but it’s important we discuss them thoroughly.’

You sit in the silence and wonder whether you were supposed to answer or acknowledge, but he does not prompt you, so you keep quiet.

‘Participants are encouraged to keep personal details private until both parties explicitly agree to the sharing of details,’ he reads it slowly and clearly.  ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ you respond.

‘For now, this stays in place for both our safety.  Do you agree?’

‘I do.’

‘We will contact each other through the agency app for now.  However, we need something to call each other.  We do not know names, and I think we keep it like that.’

You nod, and then say, ‘Okay.’

‘Do you have a preference?’ he asks.

You think for a moment, and nothing comes to mind.  ‘No.’

‘Alright, I actually mostly prefer real names, but for now let’s do ‘N’ for me.  Is that fine with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I’ve thought maybe ‘Peach’ for you?  It’s cute, not too personal and not degrading.  Is that alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s important that you tell me if you do not agree,’ his tone of voice stays calm. 

‘I’m fine with everything you’ve said so far,’ you answer.

‘Alright.  Good.’  You hear the scratching of a pen on paper.  ‘Next one.  Participants are encouraged to discuss a safe word before any proceedings.  Further rules about safe words should be agreed upon beforehand.  Clarity on both sides are very important.’  You hear him shift a little bit.  ‘You were instructed to have a safe word ready.  Have you chosen one?’

‘Yes, it’s nutmeg.’

‘Good,’ he says and you hear him writing.  ‘A safe word means a hard stop.  Absolutely everything stops immediately.  Is that fine with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some people have a lot of other methods, but I like to keep things simple.  With the exception of the safe word, I am happy with you just telling me what you need,’ he says all of this slowly.  ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you repeat it back to me, so I am sure you understand?’ he asks.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly.  ‘I can tell you what I need, we don’t need a code.  But the safe word is a hard stop.’

‘Good,’ he says.  ‘Do you understand then how important it is that you are honest with me about your needs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you understand that you will have to speak up to let me know about your needs, even if I don’t ask?’

‘Yes,’ you nod along to try and make sure he knows you understand. 

‘Good.  Are you still doing alright?’  he asks, slight concern there.

‘Yes.’

‘You see, I don’t think you are being honest.  Your hands are beginning to shake again.’

You hear him move again and you have a moment of fear shoot through you.  You do not say anything.

‘Hey,’ he whispers.  ‘It’s alright.  Let’s breathe again.  Come on, deep, slow breaths.’

You do it, but your breath shakes a little. 

‘There you go, you are doing a good job.  Keep going.’

You feel your heart rate slow down again, and it feels like you are back in your body again. 

‘Keep breathing while you listen, please,’ he waits for you to take two more breaths.  ‘You have to answer honestly when I ask you a question.  So, take a moment before you answer.  I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s going on.  Do you understand?’

His voice remained so calm.  You nod through the breathing.

‘I know we don’t know each other, but you do not have to be afraid of me.  I will not do something you do not consent to.  Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘Alright,’ you hear him take a deep breath with you.  ‘Ready for the next one?’

You nod, and you keep breathing.

‘Participants are encouraged to communicate clearly about all the rules before any acts begin.  This communication should ideally happen before every interaction.’ 

Your breathing starts to slow down as you are less anxious.  You wait for him to continue.

‘This goes for both of us,’ he says.  ‘Anything the other one must know, like if you are not feeling well, or are in any pain, you know, something like that.  Your mental state at the time.  I will tell you about anything you need to know.  We will also discuss any expectations and anything else that is applicable to the moment.  It’s difficult to be very precise with this one, but the gist is clear and honest communication.  Are you fine with this?’

‘I am,’ you answer, and again he writes something down.

‘They have a list of example rules here,’ he says and you hear paper shuffling.  ‘I don’t think we need to go through all of them.  I will give you the list and you can go through it and let me know if there’s anything that appeals to you.  But for now, I don’t want to complicate things.’

 ‘Thank you,’ you say this and then realise how much you meant it. 

You hear him get up and walk across the room to the door.  ‘I am leaving the list here on the table.’  He walks back towards you.  ‘Alright, I think we can start.’

You immediately take a deep breath again and start the exercise.

‘Good girl, do the breathing whenever you need it.  But there’s nothing to be scared of.  The only time I am going to touch you is now, when I offer you a hand to help you up.  I want you to lay on the bed, please.’

You lift a hand, and he takes it and then he steadies you as you stand.  He guides you towards the bed.  ‘You can sit there,’ he waits.  ‘Now climb on the bed and lay down anywhere you feel comfortable.’

It was very disorienting, but you take your time scooting backwards and you eased yourself down.  You keep breathing.

‘You may tell me anything at any time you want.  Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well done,’ you hear a slight smile in his voice.  ‘You’ve indicated on your paperwork that you struggle with anxiety a lot.  Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ you say.  You wonder if he is just standing next to the bed. 

‘It must have been scary coming here today then.  Actually following through?’

‘Very scary,’

‘I’m glad you did,’ he pauses a moment.  ‘We are just going to do some relaxation tonight.  I want you to ask me if there’s anything about this arrangement that is making you anxious.’

‘I will.’

‘Right, please start by relaxing your legs, you are keeping them clenched together.  Keep breathing.’

You let go of the tension in your legs.

‘What made you choose me?’ he asks.  The question caught you by surprise.  ‘There is no reason to worry, I just want to understand.’

You remember your instruction to be honest.  ‘It said you were soft-spoken.’

‘Oh,’ he reacts and you wonder whether that had been as strange thing to say.  ‘Now concentrate on relaxing your shoulders, please.’

You try, you kind of roll your shoulders and just get the muscles to let go.  You also pay attention to your legs that have tensed up again. 

‘Is it difficult?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you keep trying.

‘Your jaw?  Try to relax that also,’ he adds more to your to do list.   

He waits a little bit, giving you a moment to achieve what he asked for, but you were really having a hard time, like your muscles just wouldn’t listen to your brain.  Once you’ve managed to get your shoulders dropped, your jaw was tense again and it kept cycling like this.

‘You are having trouble, aren’t you?  I think I am going give you some homework.  I want you to do the breathing exercise during this coming week whenever you feel the need, and then I want you to write down where it happened and if you know, why it happened.’

“I can do that,’ you say.

‘If you are in a position where you have to wait before you can do it, you do it as soon as you are able.  I want both of us to understand your anxiety better,’ he sounds like he is thinking deeply about this.  ‘Now, I want you to tell me about at least one thing about this situation that makes you anxious.’

‘Making me anxious right now?’ you ask for clarification.

‘Yeah,’ he replies.

‘The list by the door,’ you answer quite quickly.  ‘I don’t want to look at it.’

He takes a moment before he says.  ‘That’s not a problem, I’ll take it away.  Can you tell me why?’

‘I want you to choose,’ you say quietly.

‘Aaah, I get it,’ he takes a deep breath himself.  ‘I should have known that.  Thank you for being honest.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t apologise.  I need honesty remember?  You did good,’ you hear him get up and you presume he is taking the paper away.  ‘One more thing for homework; I want you to tell me next time one thing you require from me physically.’

You feel yourself blush.

‘We are going to explore a lot.  But I want to make sure I start in the right place,’ he explains.

‘I understand.’

‘I want you to communicate with me on the app if there’s anything urgent I need to know.  However, it is not your job to initiate a conversation or anything like that.  You should not feel any anxiety about it at all.  Am I clear?’

‘You are,’ you answer him.

‘Good, now you are going to try and relax as much as possible, fall asleep if you have to.  There is an alarm that will wake you when the time is up.  I am going to sit here and breathe with you.  I will leave five minutes before the alarm, I’ll be as quiet as I can.’

‘I’ll try,’ you nod.

‘I think we are going to work well together, Peach.’

Chapter 2

[luvingjeanie]

Hallloooooo can you please write about yaba or banda with a s/o (genderneutural) that is very clingy like they would be at their side 24/7 always hand holding or sitting on their lap oh and can they possibly already know eachother before the borderland they were in separate places when they transported to the borderlands so their s/o is terrified to leave them alone again (the angst potential for banda lol) thank you!

this one was lowkey hard to write icl😭

♡ yaba

♡ you were an intern in his office, a good few years younger than he was, but god he couldn’t help himself.

♡ you were sweet, obedient, still learning to navigate the big working world, and he saw you all the time, when you were bring him the printed documents he sent you off to get, fetching his americanos, and when you knocked on his office door, updating him on a change in the day’s schedule.

♡ and against his will, he found himself being a little more lenient with you, letting you stay on your break a little longer, pretending to not notice that you had returned five minutes late, being more forgiving when you fucked up printing copies, and people in the office definitely noticed.

♡ he’s typically stoic, analytical, a workaholic honestly, but he couldn’t help but be so worried about you when everything happened.

♡ he saw you again in the jack of hearts game, raising his brows when he saw you, still dressed in your work clothes, shrinking into a cold wall as you fiddled with the cold, uncomfortable collar around your neck.

♡ casually, he walked up to you, hands in pockets like always, soon taking one out and placing a hand on your shoulder, calling your name, admittedly more sternly than he intended, like you had made a mistake when drafting an important email back in work.

♡ but poor little you, scared and alone, were happy to see him nonetheless.

♡ as for the clinginess, he never reciprocates much despite enjoying the attention, and he absolutely won’t tell you off for it

♡ the most he’ll do is keep a hand on your waist or the small of your back

♡ perhaps standing a little too close as he whispers strategies in your ear before the next round, touching your neck and lingering longer than needs be as he checks for your suit

♡ in future games, or during your days off, he even finds himself patting his lap, inviting you to sit.

♡ you make him unusually warm even though he absolutely will not show it.

♡ when you sit on his lap, a large hand comes to rest on your thigh or knee, rubbing slightly whilst he focuses on the task at hand, whatever it may be

♡ honestly the only time i imagine him initiating genuine affection is when you’re both in danger, pulling you by your waist close to him, practically dragging you out of harms way, or hugging you when your scared, one of his big, rough hands pushing your head to his chest, keeping you close.

♡ all in all, very stoic, still very calculated, he won’t be outwardly warm and cutesy, but he’s ready to protect and comfort you which is big for him.

♡ banda

♡ i can’t imagine a situation in which you would know banda in a pre-borderlands world, honestly you were probably just his prison psychiatrist, someone he was forced to be with.

♡ he was indifferent towards seeing you, you were professional, curt, and plain usually, and feelings of affection don’t develop easily for him obviously. to him, you were a person he was forced to see, nothing more

♡ but seeing you now, meek, trying to hide your fear, and doing a terrible job at it, made him raise a brow, and a smirk tugged at his lip slightly. it was odd, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little amused.

♡ you weren’t affectionate immediately, despite wanting to jump to the closest person for comfort, as you knew everything.

♡ being his psychiatrist, you knew his darkest transgressions and misdeeds, his plain expression and blunt delivery of those thoughts serving as a testament to his sociopathic tendencies.

♡ but, one day you couldn’t help it

♡ god you were so scared, you clutched his arm, holding it close to your chest before you could register you were doing so.

♡ he didn’t love it

♡ but he absolutely did relish in the feeling of having someone he previously had to submit to in a way cower before him so easily

♡ i honestly don’t think he’d be down for lap sitting

♡ he only initiates affection or accepts it when you’re frightened simply because he enjoys seeing you in such a state

♡ he doesn’t love you, he doesn’t respect you, he looks down on you

♡ a once so put together person suddenly needing him.

[bamtwozled]

I need to hear thoughts on craftsverse dan

the thing that fascinates me the most about him is that he’s kind of afraid of what he is. dan appears to be a much better conduit for the occult forces they’re trying to communicate with—in glitter faces, he draws the pentagram seemingly without his own knowledge, in potato prints he seems to have some ability to understand what they’ve summoned when it speaks to him, and in slime he’s the one entrusted with completing the ritual to bring Him into their world (there’s also the little clip of him spinning the slime bowl presumably with his mind, which isn’t on the same level but is still a “something’s up with this guy” indicator nonetheless).

and yet there are multiple points where he’s afraid of what’s happening to him. in glitter faces, he panics when he discovers that he’s drawn the pentagram, and phil has to guide him back from it. in slime, he’s very clearly upset both before and after cutting his hand open to contribute the blood, and only starts laughing again when phil does. when the ritual is complete and He rises, dan full-body flinches. he still does all these things he’s supposed to do, up to and including literally stabbing phil to death and carving out his heart, even though doing so does seem to pretty significantly affect him, but he’s clearly not as perfectly on board with everything they’re doing as phil is.

phil’s role is pretty straightforward. he’s the true believer, and the sacrifice that’s happy to be a sacrifice because of that faith. he’s the driving force in these videos. he’s always the one to introduce the craft and guide dan and the audience through it, and he has more lines that directly acknowledge his absolute faith (think “I can’t see, but that’s okay, because I believe” from potato prints, or “I’m happy to give it to him” when dan says “this was just a start, but he’ll need it straight from the source” in slime, and that attitude around his own impending death also contrasts with dan’s trepidation around his own much smaller blood sacrifice). there aren’t really any times where his devotion or persona waver, but dan’s do.

and like I think there are plenty of things you can read into that, although we get more into headcanon territory rather than a direct interpretation of the video. the simplest explanation is that he does believe on his own, it’s just not quite as unshakeable as phil’s faith and confidence. another interpretation that I’ve played with in the past is that his devotion is more to phil than to Him, and his belief comes more from following phil than directly of his own accord. phil’s “everybody makes mistakes” in glitter faces is just a silly little line about dan being left handed, but in looking at dan having some fear of his own abilities, it’s possible that he sees plenty of things about himself as being a mistake, especially if any of this manifested before he really knew what was happening. finding someone who accepts and likes that part of him, even if it’s just because it’s useful, would be welcome, and could easily push him into this acolyte mindset. but again that’s all just like interesting headcanon territory based on how their power dynamic seems to me to play out in their videos, and there are plenty of other equally valid ways to read it.

I just think “this is the one thing he was made perfectly for, and yet it scares him” is such a fun and fascinating basis for a character like this, and I think it adds a lot more depth and room for interesting speculation than if they’d both been 100% complete believers

[irisintheafterglow]

just reread ur work of kiyoomi at the fair showing off and winning reader a stuffed animal 😓 do u still write for him? can we get another one pls 🤒

anon love i am SO sorry i'm getting to this so late (but i missed writing for omi omi so hopefully you like this <3)

he thinks you know what you're doing.

no, he knows you know what you're doing.

it was atsumu's fault--as were most things--that you were now dancing on the jumbo screen and blowing the camera kisses with fluttering eyelashes. it was his teammate that had first showed the msby managers the tiktok about some baseball team's partners flirting with them during a game via the crowd cameras. the players' reactions understandably went viral, leading other sports teams to follow suit and catch their players off guard. now, it was sakusa's turn. he couldn't figure out where you learned to fluster him so easily or sway your hips like that, and saw no other choice but to hide his burning face in his jersey.

the second time you show up on the screen, he makes the mistake of drinking water during the brief segment. there you are, waving at the camera like a pageant queen with a mischievous glint in your eye that makes him uneasy. you smirk knowingly before pulling off your plain sweater and revealing an enticingly cropped version of his jersey, his name glimmering in bedazzled beads on your upper back. the surprise of your shirt and the sheer amount of cheering hinders all of his senses, and the clip of water spewing from his mouth quickly becomes the top trending meme in the country.

the third time, he anticipates your antics and makes a point to avoid looking at the screen; he just has to sneak a glance, however, when the crowd erupts into hollering that rivaled a taylor swift concert. fortunately, you're not wearing anything incriminating that would turn him beet-red. unfortunately, you're holding up your left hand to the camera and tapping your very vacant ring finger, an exaggerated pout painting your expression. you shrug indifferently, pretending not to notice the cameras and amused faces surrounding you, and pull the zipper down on your jacket.

"what in the hell is THAT?" his outburst is unexpected and more than entertaining, for he fails to hide his bewilderment at the screen-printed photo of hinata shoyo with the caption 'my favorite spiker' plastered on your chest. you frame the bottom of the picture with your hands and pose for the nearest cameras, wiggling your empty ring-finger before placing a kiss on the glass. you were going to be the death of him, truly.

for the last game of the season, he makes you swear on everything you hold dear not to do anything for the camera. you begrudgingly agree, if only because you had the country's number one spiker on his knees begging you to spare him from public embarrassment again. rather than during a break, the cameras appear in front of you at the end of the easy victory. pursing your lips, you shrug and wait for them to find a new subject...but they don't. you shake your head more decisively and mouth he said no funny business with your palms up in surrender, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you hear the loudest cacophony echoing from the stands. you turn to the jumbo screen, puzzled, and your jaw drops.

drenched in sweat and grinning like a lovesick fool, kiyoomi shot the camera a single wink before turning in your direction and holding up a ring that'd been in his closet since the first day you flustered him.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[moirasdolly]

˚ ⋆ﾟ୨୧ Office Siren ୨୧ ˚ ⋆ﾟ Sevika x Fem Reader

Synopsis: Sevika took immense joy in irritating you. It didn’t matter what time of day it was or what she had going on, she would always make time to make your life hell. Working for her as her assistant was not for the faint of heart, but perhaps it wasn’t all bad.

Contains: NSFW (men and minors DNI), oral sex (r!receiving), dom/top Sevika, oral (r!receiving), spanking, office sex, Sevika is kinda toxic but gets soft at the end.

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: Can’t Get You out of My Head - Kylie Minogue

Notes: It’s been a while since I wrote for Sevika, but I drew inspo from a TikTok by the user _echo_riot_ and their CEO Sevika headcanons! I may write a second part to this but who knows hehe… I think it would be fun to explore a relationship between reader and Sevika.

Surviving with Sevika as your immediate boss was undoubtedly not for the weak. She ran the office like it was the navy and she never let up. When you first took the job you were meek, timid, and a pushover. You were a people pleaser in every sense of the phrase, but Sevika had hardened you to what you were now. Her harsh attitude gave you no room for mistakes and she wasn’t one to sugarcoat anything. If you made one, she would tell you down to the very last detail what you did that displeased her. You learned quickly what she liked and what she didn’t like at the expense of your naive personality.

Now, you knew how to match Sevika’s behavior with your own. You never took it too far though, just barely teetering on the edge of having an attitude with her. Often, you were quick to quip back at her only to feign innocence after. The older woman hated your little shows of defiance that she couldn’t really call defiance because you were still technically doing what she asked. She knew you were doing it to get under her skin—undermine her—in any way that you could. It’s like you loved to test her patience. There was always underlying tension too that both of you felt, but none of you wanted to address. You had your own little fantasies, but you’d take those to the grave. 

It was never one sided though, she had a special penchant for making your life especially harder. As her secretary you worked with her every waking moment you were in that office. She needed coffee? She bluntly told you her order, no please or thank you. Not even an order to get yourself something. Her schedule was impossibly full and needed to drop some meetings? “Clear my schedule.” She would bark at you. She loved bossing you around, and she also loved how easily you listened to her… well most of the time. If you weren’t being difficult to get back at her. He er favorite pastime was making you print out meeting reports in a specific format, then telling you it was the incorrect one before throwing out all your hard work and making you redo everything.

Currently, that’s exactly what you were doing. Profanities were mumbled under your breath, just spilling out like a waterfall. Anger bubbled up in your chest, just begging for a reason to escape. Usually her antics didn’t make you this frustrated, but today Sevika had humiliated you so terribly in a room full of men who probably already thought you didn’t know how to do your job properly.

She had been wearing that stupid smirk of hers all the way to the board room like she already had something planned the whole time. You kept up with her strides though, your sleek black pumps echoing against the pristine floor with every step you took. Your perfectly manicured hands smoothed over your knee-length pencil skirt before stepping into the room right after her. A folder with everything Sevika had requested for the meeting rested in your arms as you sat down beside her. You slid the folder over to her with a curt nod before your hands settled in your lap.

You weren’t shy by any means, not anymore, but the men in this room made you want to shrink into your seat. They were all old, rich, and looked like they had never struggled a day in their life. Sleazy jokes were made before the meeting officially started and you couldn’t believe just how disgusting a group of people could be. Sevika didn’t seem to find them amusing either, but this was an important deal that could have been made. An air of annoyance settled over you and you kept to yourself throughout the meeting, only speaking when the older woman asked for statistics and reports. You still tried to make a good impression, you knew the importance of this meeting for the whole office.

As everything was coming to an end, one of the men who had been eyeing you the whole afternoon piped up, his yellowing teeth on full display in his sickly grin. “What’s your little assistant over there even good for?” He crudely gestured towards you. “She barely even acknowledged us the whole time, these females have no respect anymore.” He grumbled the last part under his breath. Your face glowed red with anger, and you could even feel the small vein on your forehead pulsing with every passing second. His words hung in the air for a moment before everyone burst into laughter. Not Sevika though, she just had the same smug look on her face from earlier. Her eyes darted to you before opening up her mouth to speak. “All she’s good for is fucking up these reports and giving me attitude.” She said as she smacked the manila folder onto the table. This sent her business partners into another fit of laughter, and it was almost so ridiculous that you felt like you were getting pranked. There was absolutely no way people actually behaved like this.

You cleared your throat loudly, reaching for the discarded papers, “Well if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” You scooped up the papers so harshly that one of your french tip acrylics cracked as your hand slammed onto the table. A yelp of pain was threatening to escape your throat, but you already felt embarrassed enough as it was, so with the last bit of dignity you had you exited the boardroom with the folder in one hand, and a bloody nail on the other.

That was what landed you in your current fit of rage. You were so lost in your own thoughts and reposts of how everything went down that afternoon that you hadn’t even noticed Sevika’s presence looming over your shoulder. “What was that?” Her husky voice purred into your ear. “I’m a piece of shit who humiliated you for male validation?” She repeated your mumbled words that you had assumed no one else heard because you were so lost in your own mind.

Your body jerked back at the sound of her voice so close to you, but she had caught you by the hips as you ran into her. Your back had just barely hit her chest as her bags ghosted over you, just barely leaving a wispy feeling on your skin. You wanted so badly to just sink into her hold, but you quickly snapped around to face her, your index finger pressing harshly into her chest to push her away.

“What the hell was that about Sevika?” You said in a hushed tone in order to keep your frustrations at least somewhat controlled. “Is it your life’s mission to just make me miserable every fucking day?” Every word was emphasized with a shove to her chest, inching her further and further away from you. “All you do is boss me around, I never even get a single ‘Thank you!’ or “Good job!’” It was like a dam broke and all your complaints just freely flowed and there she was, standing there with that stupid, smug smirk of hers as always. It’s like your words were going in one ear, and out the other.

“See, you’re not even fucking listening now either!” You had enough of her evil antics and shoved the folder full of supposedly “messed up” reports into her hands, and made your move to exit her office.

Papers flew everywhere as Sevika tossed the reports, not caring where they landed before taking large strides over to where you were heading. She grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to her. Her grip was firm, yet not harsh enough to hurt. “Where do you think you’re going?” The older woman’s tone sent shivers down your spine, and the catty attitude you had harbored just 10 seconds ago was starting to vanish into thin air. Still though, you managed to hold your ground and remove yourself from her grip.

“Anywhere but here.” You spat out, your words dripping like venom. Her grey, steel-like eyes narrowed and she chuckled, “Yeah right, like you’d ever quit.”

“You wanna bet? I’ll do anything to get away from you. I’ll go somewhere I’ll actually be appreciated.”

A low hum escaped her throat as if she was acknowledging your words, “You wouldn’t leave.” She echoed her previous sentiment. “You enjoy ogling at me too much to ever think about leaving.”

Your cheeks were flushed with color at her words… Sure you definitely stared, but was it really that much? It wasn’t your fault her suits were always tailored to perfection, showcasing her broad shoulders and back that cinched perfectly into her tight waist. And who wouldn’t stare at the way her slacks always hugged her hips and thighs perfectly?

Your lips fell open in a silent protest, but before you could even make up a lie on the spot Sevika had began slinking closer and closer to you until she had backed you against the door of her office. You locked eyes with her own mist-colored ones and you hadn’t even noticed her hand snaking down to turn the lock on the door. The click pulled you from your trance for just a moment before she wrapped her metallic arm around your waist to hold you close to her.

“You can’t even deny it. Whether you like it or not, you’re bound to me” Her flesh hand cupped your cheek and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your face into her touch. You had long given up trying to leave and opted to be completely shameless in your desire for her.

She was so close to you, you could feel her breath on your neck as she spoke, “Do you want this?”

There was no denying you wanted her, but it scared you that your dynamic could change. Everything you worked for could go down the drain if Sevika decided that all she wanted from you was a quick fuck and nothing else.

The other woman could see the hesitation in your features when she pulled away from your skin, and it worried her. Her smug facade dropped for just a second as she uttered her reassurance to you. “If you don’t, we can stop this right now and it won’t affect anything. I promise.” 

Her voice was softer than usual and it made your heart race at a ridiculous pace. You were sure she could feel it beating out of your chest. Her sincerity touched you in a way that cleared all your doubts though and you simply nodded.

“I want this, I want you more than anything.”

With that confirmation Sevika wasted no time hoisting you up into her arms. Your legs wrapped around her waist and her lips locked onto your as she brought you to her desk. She set you down gently in contrast to the sloppy, heated kiss. It was all tongue and heavy breathing being exchanged and you wouldn’t have it any other way. A loud whine escaped your lips and Sevika let out a little chuckle.

“Careful sweetheart, we don’t want anyone to hear. Right?”

“Mhm.” You nodded frantically, your mind already hazy from the kiss.

The half smile she gave you sent you reeling. Her lips were slightly swollen from the kiss, and the little gap between her teeth peeked out. You couldn’t contain yourself, so you pulled her in for another rough kiss. You tried to lead, but Sevika would never let anyone other than herself be in control. She slotted herself between your thighs and you instantly squeezed her close to you. Her flesh hand fiddled with the buttons of your blouse at a teasingly slow pace. She took her sweet time undoing every last one until your cleavage spilled free from its confines. She broke the kiss to take in your lingerie clad chest. You were adorned in the daintiest black push-up bra that as much as she liked the view of it, she wanted to see what was underneath too. Her other hand trailed up your waist to join her other one on your breasts, kneading them softly.

“Do you always wear shit like this hoping to get lucky, or was it a special occasion today?” She wanted to just bury her face into your plush tits, but she had half the decency to let you answer first.

“Always, you never know when you’re gonna score.” A little smile made its way onto your lips before you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her closer to your chest.

Sevika wasted no time placing dozens of kisses onto your breasts and littering your chest with small bruises. You definitely wouldn’t be able to wear low cut tops after this.

“Let’s get rid of this now…” She trailed off as she reached behind your back to unclasp your bra. Your breasts sprang free and she immediately took one of your nipples into her mouth, coating it with her saliva. You sighed shakily, trying to stay as quiet as you could, but her mouth felt so good. You couldn’t imagine how it would feel on your slick pussy.

You took your other breast into your hand and gently rolled your nipple between the pads of your fingers. The stimulation to both of your breasts felt heavenly and you could wait for your pleasure to intensify.

“Fuck, Sevika your mouth feels so good…” You damn near whines when her mouth left your nipple with a satisfying pop, but you couldn’t stay mad for too long because she dropped to her knees instead, hungry for something else. She pressed chaste kisses along your knees up into your inner thighs, just barely dancing around where you needed her the most.

“Please don’t tease.” You pouted, peering down at her through hooded eyes.

“Since you asked so nicely…” Her metal hand shredded your stockings open and you gasped at the sudden movement.

Her thumb hooked around your matching lacy to pull them to the side, revealing your arousal to her. You were absolutely dripping from just a couple of kisses, it was absolutely pathetic. Sevika found it hot though, she dove in, eating like a starved woman.

Her mouth focused on your clit first, giving a few experimental licks before wrapping her lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her tongue swirled around your clit, working in tandem with the rest of her mouth to make you feel things you had never felt before. 

You felt a high pitched moan threatening to spill from your lips, but you hand slapped over your mouth with quickness. You wanted nothing more than to squeal out her name like it was the only word you knew how to say, but your dignity was stronger than that. You couldn’t risk the whole office hearing you. Something about the secretiveness is this whole ordeal sent shivers down your spine though, anyone could knock on the door at anytime and discover that you, Sevika’s faithful assistant, was really just a whore for her.

Your thighs clenched even tighter around her head as she dipped her tongue into your drenched cunt instead. You missed the stimulation on your clit, but her tongue deep inside of you was a completely different sensation that drove you insane. Her pace never faltered, she was steady and ate like she’d never see a meal this good again.

“Oh shit…” You whispered through your hands. Your body felt hot all over and you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking your hips up into her mouth. Her flesh arm gripped your body as if she was telling you to still your movements for her. You tried to the best of your abilities but you still squirmed around while trying not to knock things off of her desk.

The noises coming from the older woman’s mouth were downright nasty. She moaned into your wet cunt, absolutely drunk on your taste. You had never heard anything as lewd in your life, but you weren’t complaining.

Your hands found their way into her short, blunt hair, tugging her impossibly closer. You felt yourself growing closer and closer to what you had been chasing this whole time. Her tongue dipped deep into your core to draw your orgasm from you. Your thighs clamped around her head on instinct, and she let herself get smothered. It didn’t bother her, she only continued to eat like a starved woman until your legs fell open in exhaustion and overstimulation. Your almost perfectly manicured hands pushed her head away gently before letting your back fall onto the desk. Sevika presses gently kisses all up your stomach, past your chest, and onto your lips before standing up to her full height. She loomed over you, her presence oppressive and unavoidable, “Up, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathy whine as to say “no” but she wasn’t having any of it. Her sweet demeanor was still there from the previous kisses, but there was something else brewing just underneath the surface. Part of you wanted to find out, but the other part of you wanted to be good for her, so you pushed yourself up to stand. Your legs shook as you found your balance, you were beyond tired and all you wanted to do was sit back down, but instead Sevika guided you to face her desk before bending you right over it. Your arms found purchase on the cool wood to support yourself as your cheek rested against the surface as well.

“You didn’t think I forgot about that little stunt you pulled earlier, did you?” Her large hands roamed the material of your skirt that had been covering your ass. “Do you still want to leave? Find someplace that’ll appreciate you more than I do.”

You knew your voice would betray you, so you shook your head as well as you could.

“Use your words.”

Her tone left no room for defiance. “No! I couldn’t never find someone who would treat me like this.”

You were so far gone it didn’t matter what had happened earlier in the day, you couldn’t even remember why you were so mad at her in the first place. You just wanted to stay with her. Whether these were lust driven emotions or something else was for another day.

She hummed, semi-content with your answer, but she wanted a little something more. Her hands slid under your skirt this time, making contact with the ripped, sheer tights under your skirt. She hooked both her thumbs under the waistband before delicately pulling them down. Next were the lacy panties that she absolutely adored, she’d make a mental note to ask you to wear them again. Both articles of clothing pooled around your ankles and you were completely bare except for the barely buttoned blouse that hung off your shoulders and your black pumps that managed to stay on throughout this whole ordeal.

Her rough hands kneaded the flesh of your ass before her organic one came crashing down onto the supple flesh. She immediately soothed over it with her gentle touch, making sure to not put too much pressure on the sensitive skin. “That okay?”

It was more than okay, the sting felt delicious, and you found yourself wanting more. “Mhm.” You hummed, pushing yourself into her as much as you could in the position you were in.

“Okay we’re gonna count to ten. Just nine more to go.”

Her palm made contact with the sensitive skin once more, and a quiet, “two” slipped past your lips. You were really trying your hardest to keep quiet, but each time Sevika brought her hand down on your ass you wanted to squeal at the mix of pain and pleasure.

By the time you had made it all the way to number ten tears were pricking the corner of your eyes and you felt like you could just melt into a puddle of pleasure at Sevika’s feet. Your legs were struggling to keep you upright, trembling like Bambi.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson, sweetheart?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry for threatening to leave, Sevika.”

Her heart fluttered at how softly you had uttered her name and she pulled you back up and into her arms for a quick peck to the lips. Seeing your lipstick smudged, eyeliner messy, and your glasses crooked made pride swell in her chest. She was glad she could bring you so much pleasure, but she was also concerned she might have been too rough with you.

“You okay?” She plucked the glasses from your eyes, setting them down on her desk before using her thumb to wipe the smudged lipstick from your chin.

You nodded, reassuring her, “‘M fine, I don’t regret anything…” You trailed off softly, something still heavy on your mind. Now that the lust driven haze had lifted you had remembered why you wanted to leave in the first place.

“I just don’t get why you had to embarrass me like that earlier. I get that you do it all the time when it’s just us, but in front of all of your business partners was taking it too far.” 

Sevika gave you a look akin to a kicked puppy before apologizing, “I’m sorry I know it was shitty, I knew it was before I did it, while it happened, and after it was done.” She looked to the side not wanting to face you, “Our dynamic shouldn’t always be me just… making you miserable, although it is fun to see you get mad.” 

You smacked her shoulder gently at the last part, “I’m serious Sevika. If you want whatever this is to continue, I don’t want to be fucked over everytime you need a quick laugh.”

“So you want this to continue?” You couldn’t quite place the emotion you sensed in Sevika, but her eyes lit up at the proposition.

“If you can promise me you’ll make an effort to be nicer to me.” You reminded her, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I thought you liked it rough?” That stuoid little smirk appeared on her face again and you had to keep yourself from giggling.

“I mean in the office! You know what I'm saying.”

Her eyes softened before nodding, “Okay, okay,” She put her hands up as if to surrender, “you got a deal.”

[slowsonic69]

I'm not in love...

Benjamin Poindexter x Mean!f!reader

Synopsis: Dex get's obsessed with a fellow FBI agent who seems to always be up to no good. Author's note: I don't know what this is, but it's here. The lack of Dex fics is making me go crazy and thus I end up writting this. Warnings: Smut(?), Masturbation, they both awfull, I do not condone anything the reader is doing/saying, English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. No use of Y/N. She/her reader. Also I know nothing about FBI, only what the internet says so...bare with me...

Words: 5k

He doesn’t remember when it had started really. The shift from Julie to her. It had flipped like the flick of a switch. Blinding light reshaped into complete darkness.

She wasn’t kind like Julie had been, patient and sincere in her warmth. She didn’t care much about how other’s felt around her. Didn’t run to their aid when they faltered. Didn’t compliment her colleagues when they did good. Didn’t pity laugh when the joke wasn’t funny.

She was crude with her words and harsh in her judgement. Walked with square shoulders and a lifted chin through the halls of the office. Her steps loud and proud even while deafened by the carpeted floors.

Her outspoken attitude led to frequent disputes with the guys over at the coffee machine, who’s arrogance matched her own. Answering their jabs with unflattering descriptions of her nights with their mothers. Poking at their insecurities like a seasoned surgeon on an operating table.

She would steal people’s lunches in the shared fridge on the days she had been too lazy to make her own. When people started complaining about their missing food she blamed Steve Fat Hudson (as she so kindly called him).

Even going as far as planting the half eaten lunches she had disliked into Hudson’s desk whenever his back was turned. Well hidden between the disorganized files and office supplies that Steve half-mindedly threw into his drawers.

It didn’t take long for people to noticed the smell of rot coming from his cubicle. And even shorter after that for them to socially outcast him, and call him Fat Steve to his face.

It had unfolded so perfectly in front of her, only mere feet's from her own desk. Spectating the scene with an unforgiving glint in her eyes, one that only Dex had spotted. After, she’d laugh at every joke at Steve’s expense, enforcing them even more by making pig noises whenever he passed her in the halls. It was cruel, he knew, childish even.

Yet Dex stayed silent, an unknown accomplice to her malice. He had noticed every single of her mischievous endeavor. How they always started as something random, a fleeting though that inexplicably stuck. Fat Steve, Slutty Samantha from the front hall and drunk gamble addict Peter who worked in forensic. A few of her ever growing list of victims.

By now he recognized it when the ideas landed. Her face would light up for a mere second, anyone would easily miss it if you weren’t paying attention like Dex was. Her canine would bite upon her plush lips, harsh white on pink, a ghost of grin growing ever so lightly behind it. Ready to bite at the bait laid bare before her.

Then, when gossips and manipulation weren’t enough, came the broken electrics. The sputtering coffee machine who left third degree burns, the printer that only printed out compromising pictures of a variety of colleagues. The smashed in vending machine, only one danglingly pack of peanuts left inside of it. Crimes left unpunished, even when surrounded by dozens of FBI agents.

She was a convincing devil, always an alibi at hand. A convenient witness, a contradicting proof that shows that it could not have been possibly her. But the higher ups knew or at least had a hunch that it was her. A cryptic feeling that came from years of dealing with the worst of crimes, and most cunning of criminals. They knew when someone was guilty. But sometimes you just couldn’t prove it and had to move on.

Therefore they shrugged at her demeanor. Reasoning she wouldn’t last long in the bureau anyway, so might as well laugh at it or ignore it completely. Their burdens and cases heavier on their shoulders then her gossiping or bitchy personality.

But she lasted, longer then most have betted.

Because at the end of the day, in between her casual cruelty, she was a damn good FBI agent. Efficient and fast-minded on the field, she never came back from a mission without receiving a pat on the back from Hattley.

She solved cases left and right. Meticulously writing them up and always handing them on time, no one could discredit her place in the bureau. As much as everyone wanted her gone. Or dead, depending on who you asked.

Dex continued to watch from the sidelines, perplexed and perhaps even drawn to her ways. She was so unashamedly herself. Even if it meant she ended up eating alone every evening, watching random show’s on her tablet. Even if it meant she had an empty contact list on her personal phone. That the rumors that she started were nothing compared to what others said of her.

She shrugged it all off, barely noticing how people immediately sighed and groaned when she entered a room. She never budged or adapted to others, instead forcing them to endure her for however long they had to work with her.

He hated her for it, hopelessly and obsessively waiting for the day she’ll be caught. The day she would be humbled and change herself for others. For the loneliness to eat her alive and make her fumble into submission. For her to crawl and beg for anyone to like her, love her as she is.

Dex lingered at the edges of her life, with the patience of a saint, so he’ll be the first to see her morph into an unhinged animal. Gnawing at it’s cage for redemption. He waited, with batted breath for her to turn into him.

Because she had to. Because if she didn’t, it meant that everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed would have been for nothing. That he had suffered for nothing.

Changing skin every time he stepped out the door for the mere price of being seen as normal — stable. While she paraded her vices like a trophy and went back home with the same life as him. The only damning difference being that she was content with it.

It made Dex’s head spin, especially while watching her through his monocular as she snickered at her phone. Like a well trained agent, he followed her offline and online activities closely. So he knew exactly what she was laughing at, or more accurately; whom.

Laying comfortably on her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, she was reading up on all the responses to her hate comment under a fitness influencer’s instagram post. Complaining about his mental health, on how much pressure he had felt making videos or content in general.

Her response to his post had been short, but poignant; Then Kys, pussy.

Immediately after she had been flooded with long essays about her inappropriate behavior. Accused of perpetuating the harmful pressure on men to not talk about their feelings. But even the most holiest of angel could not dissuade her from her path of chaos. On the contrary, it amused her to see them try.

Dex rolled his eyes at her means of entertainment, but didn’t look away either.

It irritated him to no end that she was satisfied doing all these meaningless bullshit while he couldn’t even fathom putting his cups away in the wrong order. And she ended up the happier one of the two.

God, he loathed her. Just like everyone who ever met her.

So why did his heart flutter when approached by her at the coffee machine on a random Tuesday?

The office had been mostly empty that day. A heavy sigh stagnated between the overworked bodies and humming computers, the heat of summer slowing down their movements. Phones ringing here and there, it seemed even crime had slowed down from the heat.

Most were catching up on paperwork, only the ticking of their keyboard filling up the silence. Others were suspended from being on the field and so ended up doing the same. Dex had been one of them. And so was she.

She walked up to him with the same confidence that a man in his midlife crisis would have after buying a Lambo above his budget. It was comically over the top. She didn’t walk but stomped to him. Her shoulders swinging with each step, hands tucked in her trousers pocket. Her canine visible behind her badly hidden grin.

“Damn, you’re stuck here too?” She started, leaning her back against the wall next to the coffee machine. Observing his movements like a shark looking for blood.

“Yeah.” He breathed out, sipping from the crappy office coffee. Worried for a moment that she had broken the machine once more and came to see him get burned. Dex stepped back from it just in case, keeping his face stoic. He didn’t want to give her anything. Not a tick of his jaw or the shuffling of his feet. He must stay neutral — boring.

“Sure feels like a shitty day to stay inside.” She continued, he was sure she hadn’t even registered his response and simply continued on to perform her planned monologue.

“It’s just isn’t fair isn’t it? To punish agents for simply doing their jobs.” She pushed herself off the wall, kicking an invisible stone on the ground like a grounded child. Well, in a way she was. Dex silently agreed with her statement though but didn’t show any sing of doing so. Simply continued to stare as she turned dramatically with a woosh back to him.

“It’s my first trespass. Shoot out gone wrong” She eyed him up and down. “I’m sure you know the drill after, what, your fifth suspension?”

It had been out of his control, a visceral reaction to her words. His eyebrows creased into a deep frown. His mouth opened half agape ready to retort before he saw the glint grow brighter in her eyes. Shit. He caught the bait.

Dex pressed his lips tightly back together before he could regret coming to work today. In return she shot him a smile, shark teeth in full display.

“I didn’t mean it as a jab, just…you’re experienced, right? What do you do on a day like this?” She stepped closer, hunching down slightly, Her eyelashes fluttering. Surely hoping to come across as unharmful, lost and in need of guidance. Dex knew better. Knew her better.

He shrugged, “Ask Hattley, I’m sure she’ll be glad to help you.” He finished the sentence with a tight smile and a nod. His feet dragging him forward and past her. Eager to escape whatever plan she was hatching up, so he could concentrate on lowering his pounding heart and the tingle of something creeping up his spine. A sentiment he couldn’t place.

But of course, she wasn’t one to give up so easily. She followed him to his desk.

“I can’t ask Hattley, she’s mad and would just bark at me to get out her office.” She finished with an exhausted huff and made herself comfortable against the side of his desk. Dex watched her do it, her hips pushing his penholder slightly to the left. With flared nostrils he put it back to its place, an inch more to the right. Her grin broadened when she noticed.

“I don’t know how to help you, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out. On your own, like a grown adult.” He snapped back, the tingle in his back increasing with each of her predotary smiles.

She chuckled, picking up the neatly placed fountain pen on his desk. Turning it around between her fingers, her smile never faltering. She was clearly getting exactly what she wanted out of him.

“You sound like Hattley. I’m only asking for guidance, you know.” She flipped the pen in the air, and caught it back with her other hand. Repeating the motion until Dex had enough. Catching it mid-air he placed it firmly back where it should have stayed, 3 inches from his writing mat.

“I have work to do, so…go bother someone else.” He squeezed trough clenched teeth. She tilted her head.

“That’s not true. You finished all your reports yesterday.”

The tingle up his spine intensified. “How do you know that?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. This close he could smell her perfume, (Florabloom Forte from Guerlain Paris, he had noticed it in her bathroom closet). It reminded him of spring, when the trees grew greener and the air caressed his skin instead of biting on it. The perfumes tones mixed with her natural odor almost made his eyes flutter shut, forgetting for a moment how annoyed he was from her presence.

Unfortunately, the creaking of the desk as she leaned closer stripped him out of that short sweet daze. “You’re not the only one who’s observant.”

“What?” His whole body straightened, fully back on guard.

When she chuckled, warm breath hit his cheek. Accompanied with the scent of the strawberry mints she sparsely ate throughout the day. As sweet as it was it, this time it couldn’t distract him from the fact that she was mocking him. Sitting on his desk like she owned it, disorganizing his whole setup.

Her overwhelming presence and insinuations inciting the tingling to grow even stronger, threatening to reach the back of his skull.

“You don’t think I wouldn’t recognize your car outside my apparte-” Dex didn’t let her finish, not in the middle of the office like this. He grabbed her arm, pulling at her black blazer and pushing himself back on his feet. Towering over her, he eyed the rest of their colleagues. But no one was paying them no mind, too entranced in their own melting misery.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice strained inside his throat, prompting him to croak out his words. The faintest start of a buzz tickling the inside of his skull, taunting him to implode further.

She winced as his grip tightened but didn’t wiggle or fight her way out of it. Instead she placed her hand on his, the sudden added warmth making him suck in a breath.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. In fact…” She looked around as well, more for the dramatics then out necessity. “I kind of dig it.”

He frowned, frozen in place. “What?”

“I said I liked it.” It was with ease that she peeled his stiff fingers off her arm. The shock of her revelation making his body compliant to her touch.

He simply stood there for a second, dumbfounded. Whatever outcome he had expected, it hadn’t been that one. Then again, she was a special kind of person. Completely out of the box, and undeniably attracted to danger and everything forbidden. What else could he have expected then this?

“It’s not what you think.” That’s all he managed to say. Because it wasn’t. She made it sound perverse, like he was some kind of creep stealing her underwear.

“Let’s talk about this somewhere else?” Some attention started to turn towards them which made an added ounce of sweat join his already damp forehead.

Licking her lips she nodded. “Sure, pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He led her to one of the underused utility room close to the bathrooms. It was a narrow space, but big enough to fit two bodies. And most importantly, it would be private.

Now chest to chest, the small room encapsulated their warmth in some sort of makeshift sauna. Dex felt drops of sweat tickling down his neck, her keen eyes not helping with the matter. Close once more, her sweet perfume enveloped him. Somewhat calming down his nerves.

“Well, you wanted to talk?” She drawled out her words, taking sadistic pleasure in his discomfort. “Or, we can cut the bullshit and just…you know, do it?”

He tilted his head. “Do…what?”

“oh come on, you know what I mean...” She hit his arm playfully. It must have been an attempt at easing the air, an offer of partnership in whatever she was insinuating. With no response from Dex her face contorted into disbelief, finishing it off with an exasperated sigh as he remained lost.

She raised her eyebrows like an elementary teacher would while explaining something obvious to the dumb kid. Lifting her hands in front of him she passed her right index finger multiple times through the hoop her left hand formed.

It dawned on him like a bucket of ice. Sex. She was talking about sex.

Dex stiffened into place, the already small room shrinking even further around him. Suddenly their current placements felt completely inappropriate. Her chest only inches away from his, he could nearly feel her dress shirt shifting against his. The glint in her eyes, her whispers, her attention — it all had corrupted into something more then just her search for mischief. And all shifted into place right in front of him.

He couldn’t stop the blush from reaching his cheeks. “No. I- No, that isn’t-” clearing his throat he reaffirmed his voice. “It’s not what this is.”

“Wait, so you weren’t planning to fuck me?”

As always, crude with her words. He clicked his tongue. “No.”

For a second she just looked at him, in complete shock. Clearly not expecting that answer.

“Then why the hell are you stalking me? Just for shit and giggles?” She barked, raising her voice.

Dex shushed her down, but that seem to do the opposite effect. “Don’t fucking shush me!”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but please keep you voice down. I’ll explain, I swear.”

She rubbed her face, the heat finally getting to her as her skin reddened. She restrained. The edges of her anger grew duller, its blade halted. For now.

She nodded for him to continue. “Better be good.”

He took a breath, trying to form a coherent reason why he indeed had followed her around. As much as he had wanted to explain to her why, he realized he didn’t really know himself.

Morbid curiosity? Hatred turned to obsession? The need to understand her? To become like her? To survey her?

He had acted before thinking, impulse always taking over when it came down to it. Lost in the rhythm of her life, her schedule, her habits.

He hadn’t even stopped to think on why he had given up on Julie for one of earth’s many scums.

“You intrigued me.” Is what he landed on. Although it was short, and simply not enough to explain the wide range of emotions he felt whenever he simply thought of her, it was a start. An opening into a plausible cause of his overwhelming interest.

The utility room fell silent, only their labored breath filling the dense tension. The smell of his sweat overwhelming her sweet perfume. He hoped it didn’t disgust her. He hoped he didn’t disgust her. The mere thought made him twitch.

He thought he hated her, wanted her punished for what she was. But now faced with her complete attention, it dawned on him that he didn’t want any of that. He couldn’t even deny the small ounce of pride he felt as she had wanted to give herself to him, right here and now. Not despite his flaw, but because of it.

In the whole 9 months he had been surveying her, he had never seen her with another man. Romantic nor platonic. The notion quirked up an involuntary smirk. She had really wanted him, just like that.

The echo of her laugh reverberated in the ever shrinking closet, causing him to look back up, not having even realized he had inclined his head in the first place.

“You’re a weird motherfucker.” Another chuckle, although she didn’t sound amused. His heart dropped.

“Good lord, if it weren’t for your pretty face I would have already punched you into a coma. But wouldn’t want to ruin your only redeeming quality, right?”

Watching her cruelty from afar and being the target of it was two very different things. When distanced from it it mildly annoyed him, like a lone small rock inside your shoe, uncomfortably digging into your sole.

Now confronted by it, the rock grew ten fold and split his skin open until blood poured freely out of it. She had given him an ounce of what he craved, and immediately snatched it out of his hand. He knew that what she had just said was nothing compared to what she’d done to others. And yet he couldn’t shake the need to hurt her back.

“Well at least I got something going on for myself. Couldn’t say the same for you, the office’s whiny bitch. ” He retorted, the crudeness feeling strange on his tongue. But he didn’t mind the taste.

She cocked her head to the side, staring as if seeing him for the first time. It wasn’t disgust, to his relief, but something else. Something deeper, a reaction she won’t give away freely. Not without a fight.

With one step forward their chest collided, adding on warmth to the already simmering utility room. If there had been windows, they would have completely fogged up by now. She was a few inches smaller, but it still felt like she towered over him.

“Brave little stalker. With your particular antiques I could end your career just like that.” She snapped her fingers as emphasis, always up to overdoing her dramatics. “And your carreer will end up dead and buried, right next to your parent’s caskets.”

His face dropped and before he could stop himself, his hands flew at her collar. Gripping at it while pushing her against the wall behind her.

“Not before I end yours.” He promised, now nose to nose with her. His spine rigid as a metal rod, the feeling from before still pressuring against the back of his skull. Like bolts of electricity turning into warm pooling blood. He wanted to vomit from it’s pressure.

Another one of her mocking chuckle filled his ears. He was growing tired of them.

“With what exactly? Because from last I heard, being a whiny bitch doesn’t get you fired. But stalking someone is a felony. I could press charges, and whine some more at the court stand. Cry my bitch eyes out until you end up right where you belong, you freak.”

She pushed hard against his chest before he could even register what she had said. His back hitting the wall behind with a loud thud, making him groan in pain.

The door of the utility room flew opened, airing out the sweat and the spitted out insults. With her hand still on the handle of the door, she turned, one mean look on her face.

“Stay away from me, asshole.” She said like a dare. Challenging him into a game he didn’t know the rules of yet.

He should have followed her, threatened her into silence for even thinking of getting him fired. Hell, he should put a bullet inside that thick skull of her and make her shut up for good.

But he didn’t, instead he leaned further against the wall. His hand resting on his chest where she had pushed him minutes ago. Through skin and muscle he felt his heart beat a thousand miles an hour.

The tingles from earlier finally breaching through the thick layers of the wall he had built around his mind.

As it collapsed the corners of his lips lifted into a full smile. The same one he wore the day he had won his first baseball match and his team had lifted him up in the air. Cheering his name instead of spitting it out.

The same smile he shamed himself into forgetting when he aimed at the birds in the tree in front of the orphanage’s window. Watching them fall flat onto the grass bellow, their thin wings twitching one last time.

It was all consuming, akin to a wave crashing into him, engulfing him completely. Like the floral smell of her perfume. The sharp predatory canine behind her pink lips. The harsh rolls of her tongue as she threatened him, Pushing him to be his true self.

He wanted to show her more. What he could do, what he wanted to do but stopped himself from doing everyday. And he will.

It didn’t take long before her talent for gossip worked throughout the office. For days now, weird looks and whispered followed wherever he went. It felt like walking through the halls of the orphanage again, head down and desperately confused on why no one liked him.

He shook it off, because he had to. Because he will not let her win at this game she forced him to play. But he couldn’t deny that she was pulling at a string he was sure she hadn’t even known was there. Alienating him even more the he already was. It wasn’t difficult for people to believe the strangest things about him then.

The story that she had concocted was that Dex had assaulted an ex-coworker into a coma back at his old job. At least that was what Ray had told him.

“I didn’t do that, I would never do that…” He pleaded with his partner, the only one still willing to talk to him. Ray reassured him that he believed him. Still, there was a hesitation in his looks, a lingering ‘what if’ written in his frowns*. She was making him paranoid.*

Work had always been a safe heaven of order for him. Predictable after years of cases and missions. With one whisper she had grumbled it all down to the ground, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

Dex’s head spined further and further into an agonizing buzz as the days went on. Not once catching sight of her. It was almost like she had evaporated from the surface of the earth completely. Ray affirmed him that he had seen her around the office, so it wasn’t as if she was missing. Some days he went and waited next to her desk, hands on his hips. Gnawing at his lips until they bled. She never appeared. Always ‘On a mission., at least that what he was told.

From that point on her saw her everywhere.

From the weirdly human shape coat rack in in the corner of the office to similarly looking strangers on the street. Even the shadow of the breaker box the at the end of the hall of his building had suddenly taken her form. The brown bubbles of his decaf winked at him like her. The fountain pen she had played with staring him down, mockingly. Traces of her fingerprints still present on the barrel.

Driven thin, he discarded her warning of staying away from her even further and went to park in front of her appartement. The same spot he always used, with the best view to her windows. The lights were out. The curtains pulled. He never saw her come in or out that night.

It was driving him mad, no one can just disappear like that. She had to be somewhere, hiding just at the edges of his vision.

With each passing day he couldn’t see her he was left to resolve the frustration with imagination. Fantasizing about what she was possibly doing. Perhaps her dishes or going for a walk a cigarette dangling form her lips. Pursuing the bad guy she was currently investigating, placing the photographs of the murder scenes on her desk. Those sparkling eyes toning down into deep focus.

But the most recurring thoughts were the flashes of her heated stares in the utility. They ran frantic at the forefront of his mind, making him squirm in his bed at night.

The feeling of her clothed chest moving against his, her floral perfume and her even sweeter sweat filling his every pore. He could have had her then, taste the strawberry mint on her tongue. Mingle his sweat with her own, his tongue tracing her racing pulse underneath the flesh of her arched neck. His hands mercilessly groping at her clothed breasts.

She had turned him into a pervert.

Even as a teenager he hadn’t fantasized this way. Left so pathetically aroused in his bed it had felt almost painful. Hopelessly grinding against his mattress like animal in heat, hoping to alleviate his growing needs. Unsurprisingly, it worsened it. He couldn’t ignore it for long, with fast hands he freed his member, pre-cum already leaking from it. He sighed in relief, like a weight had been lifted from his chest.

Through half lidded eyes, he stroked it slowly. Up and down, feeling the velvet skin stretch with each thrust. The pronounced veins pulsating with pleasure. A broken moan escaped him involuntarily as images of her haunted his release.

“Gross little freak. All this for me?” She would taunt him, that god awful grin of hers sharpening with each of his groans. And he liked it. All her attention on him, even when knowing what he was. Not looking away but praising it. Because she must be as fucked as him, to do what she does.

His strokes grew faster, more hasty.

She’d brush the hairs away who stuck at his sweat-packed forehead. Her touch soft and caring, like a lover would. She’d be kind to him, only him. For they both know how it is to be alone. Rejected for being different. But they had each other now. She’d lean down, frustratingly slow, and rest her lips on his. Gentle, like a confession. Deepening it into a promise.

“I’d never leave you. I need you, Dex.”

Strands of cum spurted out past his hand and onto his naked stomach. His orgasm so strong and sudden, he almost forgotten how to breath properly. It had been while since he had had a climax that strong. This intoxicatingly bittersweet.

The aftermath was the bitter part. Cleaning himself up witch shaky hands (he hated the stickiness on his skin, the bleach smell filling up his senses), reality creeping up on him. He was still alone in his bedroom, his appartement, his life.

Shame and anger, intermingling and tightening into his core. He felt dirty, he felt pathetic. But the hope of seeing her again, and show her he was capable of what she wanted of him kept him going.

To show her she was not alone in her cruelness, that he could be way worse.

She would embrace it, Dex was convinced. She had to or he’ll kill her.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Hiya there. I'm sorry but I'm very confused about how old Bart is supposed to be during Young Justice 95. I hear everything from 12 to 22 and I can't look this up easily. If you could help me I'd be so appreciative.

Hello! If you're confused it's because it is a little confusing unless you've read Bart's origins from the beginning, and even then it's weird.

To answer your question I'm just going to go through what happened with Bart and his accelerated aging, and how old he is supposed to be in Young Justice (1998) not 1995.

I'm even going to frustrate you in one key moment, but it's Waid's fault not mine.

The Flash (1987) #93

When Bart is first evacuated from the future to the past, he is physically 12 years old, so this is where some people claim he is 12 - but the thing is, he aged an additional 2 years while running away from Wally putting him at 14 physically.

In Impulse, we do get another recap to what happened and more insight to how "old" he is supposed to be.

Impulse (1995) #1

Transcript of the important bubbles

Apparently, I was born with Grandpa's speed -- and a mega-metaloblism metabolism. It was whacked. They say I was aging at hyper-speed. At two, I looked twelve. I'd still be two in the head if the scientists hadn't plugged it with virtual reality.

So this gives us two details that are important;

1.) his chronological age is two, 2.) he was educated appropriately according to his physical age in relative time (VR) so developmentally he is not a toddler, as some people try to claim. Bart is very clear about this.

There also this very strange list of personal stats that you can make of it what you will from the same issue;

It could mean that when he was physically 8 he was mentally 14, whatever that means, maybe that's the level of "course work" he was doing - it also lists that his "VR Age" is 19 which could mean that when it comes to relative time to Bart, he's spent 19 years there instead of 14, or 8. We have no idea. I doubt if you even asked Waid what this was supposed to mean he would be able to answer it an it's likely a detail we're supposed to ignore but we have it regardless.

The thing about this is that it adds evidence that Bart's age is not entirely reliable based on his physical age, or his chronological age as they are totally out of sync with each other.

This is not the frustrating detail I was talking about. The frustration comes literally later back to back and contains a discrepancy that DC had to make a note about because Waid goofed in his own writing.

Impulse (1995) #1

Max claims Bart is FOURTEEN. 14. We got this. We so got this. Then-

Impulse (1995) #2

Max claims Bart is actually fifteen. 🙃

This however was a printed mistake, and reader Charles Skaggs commented on it as being very strange, which prompted the editor to clarify that Bart is, in fact, supposed to be FOURTEEN.

Impulse (1995) #5 Letters to the Editor Section

So, when Bart is first around as Impulse he is solidly fourteen years and then, as sometimes it happens in the comics, he celebrates a birthday which bumps his age to finally being fifteen.

Impulse (1995) #22

Bart turns fifteen years old in this issue which was released in February of 1997, pre-dating the very first issue of Young Justice.

To quote the editor above, for all intents and purposes, Bart during all of Young Justice is fifteen years old, and then in Teen Titans (2003) he is sixteen.

Comic time can be tricky to parse out and unravel, and it also is not uncommon for writers to contradict each other (or themselves like Waid) and for time to just not add up (Bart's solo features more than one Christmas suggesting two years have past, and Bedlam also claims later two years past since he met Bart but Bart's age doesn't change - this is just normal comic wormhole time that's part of the frustration.)

We're not going to get into the other discrepancies or the time(s) Bart was aged up to an adult as these are irrelevant to his age in Young Justice.

I hope this makes sense.

TLDR: He's fifteen in Young Justice (1998)

[bwobgames]

She remembers the first time she met Nina.

It was when He took her home for the first time.

They had mistook the deadline for an assignment, and they had to rush part of a project in very little time. Seeing as He lived closer, they made a run for it.

“I should still have an unopened pack of energy drinks and enough coffee for 20 cups so we might just make it”

“Leave that for later, start planning the introduction!”

“This is gonna be worse than my metroid run”

He unlocks his door at record speed, because of course he does.

“I'll get the things I printed. You get settled”

“Alright, grab me a-”

There is a woman.

There is a sleeping woman at the table.

“...There's a really bad intruder at your house.”

“WHAT?!”

He runs over, somehow not dropping any of the papers he messily put together.

“Agh, you scared me for nothing, grab these”

“Eugene who is this.”

Actually, she can recognize her a little. She has seen her talking to him on campus sometimes. New roommate?

“It's Nina. World's number one champion at giving bad first impressions. Hey, wake up”

“Noooo”

“We have visitors”

“awawhat?!”

While that is an expression Marigold could never see on Eugene, somehow this girl looks like him.

She connects the dots

“Your sister?”

“Obviously. Oh, wait. I didn't tell you before?”

“Whoops. Mistake. I'm a bit too used to people seeing us as a pair”

“Excuse me! Are you Miss Marigold? I've been told wonderful things about you! It's a pleasure!”

“Uh. Likewise”

She offers a cold handshake.

At the time, she couldn't understand how those two were in any way related. And her grumpiness at the time didn't help.

How could a man as hardworking as Eugene have a sister who simply decides to take a nap on a table?

Then she found out Nina's studying to become a teacher. In this economy.

Does she have any ambition? Any sense of responsibility? Or is she planning on mooching off Eugene's career?

Nina is everything her parents warned her about.

She helped in keeping them awake that night, bringing drinks and making noise, but due to their busy work they didn't notice.

Of course, as her friendship with Him started to develop, Marigold found it beneficial to befriend his sister. Perhaps befriend is too much. She is now colleagues with his friend's sister.

But that changed the day of her birthday.

They were out of a hard test, going for a walk in the city.

“Ok, I calculated everything and even if I completely fail I still pass, so it's fine!”

“There's no way you failed, you're awesome!”

Marigold is aware that Arnold is only befriending Kevin for his parents connection to the wine industry. And Kevin is in no way worried about his grades because he's aware his parents could sue the teacher easily. Again.

Now Ashley is going to pipe in with something about celebrating, as she has no cares in the world. She is married after all.

“We should celebrate that it's finally over!”

“Yeah!”

This is a great opportunity for Mari for more networking. If she can get them talking about other friends she'll get a bigger network.

Maybe if she gets them a little drunk…

“Wait, Marigold, isn't it your birthday today?”

Oh. Surprise Kevin interjection.

“Oh, I forgot about it”

“We were so busy studying, it completely flew over our heads”

And here's a wildcard, Eugene Coli. Someone with a name like that clearly wasn't a wanted pregnancy.

They are similar, in a way. They are both ambitious, they both need to work their way to the top. They both know what's right.

She can see potential in him. She can see a future where they are strong, on top.

She could use him.

And as she has found out in drunken stupors, he might enjoy it!

They pass a toy shop.

“What about something from here? For the birthday girl? Might make you feel younger”

Well now that's just rude. A lot of her male classmates are still not used to dealing with ladies.

“What will I get from that? An useless thing to gather dust in my room? Please, if I wanted that I would get a Philosophy degree”

It makes everyone laugh, as she foresaw. Thus redirecting their rude comments somewhere else.

A lady cannot be rude. And an entrepreneur cannot risk losing connections.

This is the correct way.

There are many contradictions in her head. She ignores them.

“Let's do a double celebration then, for us and Marigold. Oh! I want pizza!”

.

.

.

.

.

When all her classes are finally over for the day, Nina of all people asks for help retrieving something she forgot in a locker.

Why couldn't she bother someone else was a mystery, but Marigold needs the Coli connection anyways.

She wonders if it's really worth it, it's not like he talks much about his sister anyways. Maybe they grew separately.

But while the data is not clear, she'll go with her.

The weather was lovely.

<PREV START NEXT>

[notiddygothgf]

xii

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're a devil ❞

★ c.w.: public foreplay, vibrator, smut, confusion again (thank you aki, we all say in unison), lovemaking ( uh ohhhh ), an epiphany. not beta'd

★ a/n: I'M BACKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!! omg i have been writing this chapter for like weeks now. it's been so hard. honestly i'm not even entirely sure if i'm happy with the way it turned out, but it was necessary, i'll say that. y'all are gonna have a lot of fun! until shit gets real. not saying tm but enjoy my lovelies ;) (also, if you wanna be on the same wavelength i was on when i wrote this, stream 'My All' by Mariah Carey)

★ w.c: 20k

pornstar ; chapter index

FRIDAY EVENING, after work, after taking a long, relaxing shower, you pulled on some loungewear and wrapped yourself in a cardigan, but you couldn't quite settle. Your thoughts kept drifting back to tonight.

Aki hadn't called it a date, not exactly. He had only said, Are you free Friday at 7?. That was it. No real details. No mention of where you were going. But something about the way he had said it—calm, deliberate—had made your stomach flip.

Now, as you made your way downstairs to the mailroom, you felt a strange nervousness settling in your chest. It was ridiculous, really. It was just Aki. You had spent countless hours with him, had some... late nights together, had made more drunken mistakes with him than you were willing to admit. But tonight felt different. Like something was shifting, tilting into unfamiliar territory.

You ran a hand over your arms, trying to shake the feeling as you entered the mailroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you rifled through your usual stack of bills and junk—until something unexpected made your breath catch.

A box.

You froze, staring at it for a moment before picking it up. It was light, unmarked except for your name printed neatly on the label. No return address. No clue where it had come from.

Your heart gave an uneasy thud. You didn't remember ordering anything.

A prickle of curiosity ran through you as you carried it back upstairs, your fingers gripping the edges a little tighter than necessary. Once inside your apartment, you set the box on your bed, hesitating only a second before peeling away the tape.

The flaps folded open easily, revealing something soft inside.

A dress.

Your breath hitched.

Beneath it, a folded letter. Handwriting – neat and deliberate. Calm, calculated slopes and curves of pretty cursive lettering. You recognized it from the post-it note Aki had handed you the other day. Clean. Concise. Him.

I hope this gets to you on time. Wear this on Friday. I'll be around to pick you up at 7 PM.

No explanation. No unnecessary words. Just a simple request.

You read it again, something warm and nervous blooming in your chest.

Your fingers brushed over the dress again, lifting it from the box. It was beautiful. Black, sleek, form fitting in all of the right places without giving too much away. The fit looked perfect, which meant—

Aki had asked someone about your size.

The thought sent a quiet shiver through you. Maybe he had checked the uniform orders at work. Maybe he had gone through the trouble of asking someone. Either way, it meant he had thought about this. About you.

A nervous, fluttering feeling stirred in your stomach as you held the dress up to your body in front of the mirror. Your reflection stared back, wide-eyed, lips parted.

Was this a date? It felt like one.

You traced your fingers over the fabric, smoothing it down over your waist, picturing Aki standing in a store, picking this out for you. Would this suit her? Would she like this?

The thought made your breath catch.

And suddenly, the nervousness shifted into something else.

Excitement. The giddy kind, the kind you hadn't felt in a very long time.

What the hell is he doing to me?

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stood before the mirror, the dress clutched in your hands. The soft fabric felt almost foreign against your skin—smooth, delicate, but somehow heavy with meaning. You had barely noticed the tremble in your hands as you slipped it over your body, as though something deep inside you was already anticipating what tonight would hold.

As the dress settled, the sensation of being clothed in something that wasn't just meant for you, but for him, sank in. It wasn't about just looking good—it was about being seen, being chosen, being claimed. The way the dress hugged your form, the way it shaped you just perfectly, it felt like it had been made with him in mind. And suddenly, the nerves were no longer nerves. They were something else, something thrilling.

You traced your fingertips over the fabric again, feeling it stretch across your curves as you imagined him standing behind you, his eyes on you. The thought made your heart beat faster, the anticipation building as you imagined how he would look at you. This is for me, you thought. You belong to me tonight. The thought sent a surge of heat through you, a rush of excitement so powerful it almost made your knees buckle.

He had chosen this dress. He had seen you in it, imagined how it would feel against your skin, how it would look under his touch. This wasn't just a gift—it was an ownership of you, a declaration that tonight, you were his in every way. The dress was a symbol of that, a quiet but deliberate statement that you were being taken, in a way that made your pulse race.

You couldn't help but admire yourself, and it wasn't vanity. It was the feeling of being something to him—something special, something his. You wanted to look good for him. You wanted to embody everything he had imagined, to fulfill his desire for you. You weren't just getting ready for a date. You were preparing yourself to be his. And that thought made your breath hitch.

The mirror reflected your image, but it wasn't just the fabric of the dress or the way it accentuated your body that caught your attention. It was the way you felt in it—controlled, owned, desired. The weight of the dress felt heavy with that unspoken promise, and the excitement only intensified. Tonight, you weren't just dressing for yourself. You were dressing for him. You were preparing for what he had planned. The thrill of his expectations made the anticipation damn near unbearable.

You slipped your fingers into your hair, tugging it back into an intentional style, something that would look just right when he finally saw you. Every touch felt deliberate, as though you were getting closer and closer to being the vision he had in mind.

Your makeup, too, was done with the same careful attention—nothing extravagant, just the subtle touches that made you look like his. A hint of blush to highlight your cheeks, a soft dusting of mascara to make your eyes appear just a little more doe-like, just a little more vulnerable. You wanted him to see that. You wanted him to see you, but a prettier versionof you, the one that was his to look at, to control.

The sound of your flip-phone ringing snapped you back to reality. You glanced down at it, at the small computer that held so much weight. Slowly, you reached for it, turning the thing over in your palm and flipping it open.

Aki Hayakawa.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you hit answer and held it up to your ear. "Hello?"

His voice replied to you – deep, smooth, sexy as all hell. "Hey. Did you get the package I sent?"

You glanced down at the smooth, buttery black fabric draped over your legs, fighting back a grin. "Oh, that was you?" You teased. "Didn't have a return address. Figured it must have been a secret admirer."

"Very funny," He replied, not sounding the least bit entertained. (Okay, well, maybe a little bit). "We're going out to dinner tonight. I don't know if you figured that out by now."

"Where?" You asked. You surmised that it would have been somewhere nice, given the sleek nature of the dress he had sent you.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," He replied, leaving your question unanswered. "I'll be heading out within the hour. Be ready for me."

Gently, you set your phone down on the counter. Then, taking a deep breath, you sighed – a dreamy, breathless one. A dangerous one.

He finally showed up, and the sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. That damned suit—you knew it well. You had seen it many times before, perfectly tailored, sharp against the broad line of his shoulders. But tonight, it looked different. Or maybe it was the way he stood in the doorway, framed by the dim evening light, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers in one hand and an elegantly wrapped gift box in the other.

Flowers – freshly cut. A bundle of red and pink roses, speckled with white flowers in between. They were swaddled in brown wrapping paper, tucked neatly in his palm.

Your heart stuttered.

"Oh my God," you murmured, stepping forward as warmth spread through your chest. "Come in, let me put these in a vase."

He handed you the bouquet, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest moment—just enough for a flicker of warmth to pass between you, a silent awareness neither of you acknowledged aloud. He didn't move right away, watching you as if memorizing your reaction, as if uncertain whether he had done enough to make up for his absence earlier.

You held the flowers close, inhaling their delicate fragrance, then looked up at him with something between wonder and quiet amusement. "Would you believe me if I told you no one's ever given me flowers before?"

He let out a low chuckle, something soft threading through it. "I'm glad I could be the first," he said, his voice gentler now. His gaze searched yours, unreadable for a moment before he added, "It's the least I can do after leaving you hanging at the office."

You turned away, busying yourself with the flowers, though you could still feel his presence behind you. There was something unbearably tender about the way he stood there, waiting, watching you as though he was trying to piece together the right words, the right way to express what he couldn't say outright.

And then, just as you reached for a vase, his voice came again, quiet but certain.

"You look beautiful, by the way."

Beautiful.

Your breath hitched.

This is a bad idea, you thought. It was a very, very bad idea. You knew how your brain worked – going on a date with the man of your thoughts would do nothing to quell the storm of emotions he seemed to leave in his wake.

Still... he thought you looked beautiful.

The compliment settled over you like a warm, unexpected touch, igniting something deep in your chest. You swallowed, feeling the heat bloom along your neck, your cheeks—an involuntary response, no matter how hard you willed yourself to stay composed.

You turned slightly, your fingers tightening around the vase as you fought to keep your voice steady. "Thanks," you murmured, though the word felt too small to contain the way your heart fluttered.

Nothing about this seems very casual, you thought. Not when he smiled at you, not when he moved to take a seat at your kitchen table, and certainly not when he nudged the pink gift baggy towards you with two fingers.

"I got you something for tonight," Was all he said, sitting back in the chair and watching you while you filled the vase up about halfway with water and plopped the flowers inside – after cutting them free from their wrapping, of course.

With a smile that could have powered a fucking car, you hesitated before reaching for the box. Then, as slowly as you had picked it up, your trembling hands undid the little bow sealing it closed at the top and let it fall open. You reached into it, past the layers of pretty, pastel-pink tissue paper, until your fingers brushed up against something – a box.

Curiously, you cast him a glance. His expression, of course, gave away nothing, so you pulled the thing out anyway, and nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

It was a pretty pink vibrator. One that looked like it was supposed to go inside of you.

You snapped the cover of the box shut, jaw flying open. Wordlessly, Aki grinned, as if this was all a part of some plan you had yet to understand.

Still, the image of him pursuing the aisles of an adult store just for you, fingers skimming over the boxes in search of something that would fit you – like that fairy tale with the three bears. Not too little, not too much, but just right – did something strange to your gut. You weren't entirely sure you hated the idea.

"Something else for you to wear tonight," He added casually, eyes raking themselves over the dress he had carefully picked out just for you. "Thought it might be fun if we had a little challenge."

"Challenge?" You reiterated, face flushed with embarrassment. "So, what– you want me to just... like– keep it in... me...? The whole time?"

"Something wrong?" He asked. His tone was genuine, but his eyes... his eyes burned with a challenge.

His brows lifted slightly, and then, with a smirk just shy of smug, he said, "Just the other day, you were on your knees below my desk." He tilted his head, considering. "With a coworker in the room." He let that hang between you for a moment, savoring the way your breath caught before adding, "I think this might actually be pretty tame compared to that."

Your face burned as he pushed himself to his feet, moving with slow, deliberate purpose. It was a short distance between you, but somehow, it felt like he crossed an entire mile just to reach you. The space between you shrank to nothing as he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle—unbearably so.

Then, with the same ease, he pried the box from your grasp.

"Unless, of course," he mused, his voice impossibly soft, "you don't think you can handle it."

A sharp pulse of heat curled through you, something electric buzzing beneath your skin. Without thinking, you snatched the box back from him, your fingers curling around it with quiet defiance.

His smirk deepened.

"I could put it in for you, if you'd like," he offered, his voice dipping lower, silkier, as he took half a step closer.

"No, no—" You laughed, shaking your head. "No. Let me do it."

His gaze lingered, amused, knowing. But he leaned back, conceding.

You brushed past him and walked towards the bathroom, keeping the box tucked beneath your arm as if that would make this whole ordeal any less embarrassing. Then, once you had closed the door behind you, you set the thing on the counter, staring at it.

Intimidating – it stared right back at you.

Momma didn't raise no bitch, you thought.

Then, you were hiking the skirt of your dress up over your thighs and letting your panties drop to the floor. Once that was done, you reached for the box and pried it open. The thing was... kind of cute, actually. You turned it over in your palm, taking a moment to admire it.

You had used your fair share of vibrators before, but this one was different. It was longer than your finger, and was crooked up at the end. The base was flared, and looked as if a part of it was meant to sit outside... pressed up against your clit to provide even more stimulation.

And... well, there was no button.

Maybe this isn't a vibrator at all, you thought.

Still, that didn't stop you from getting a little nervous at the prospect of having it in you the entire night. Holding it up to your lips, you spit on it, letting your saliva run down its shaft, smearing it around. Then, you reached down, between your legs, and...

"Shit," You gasped the moment the cold silicone brushed up against you.

You pressed a little deeper, until the thing broke past the first layer of flesh, until it pressed right up against your entrance. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to see it through, then you pressed in a little deeper.

Do it for him, you thought.

It slipped in a little deeper.

Before you knew it, the entire thing was seated neatly inside of you, pressing up against all of the right spots, and–

"How the fuck am I supposed to walk with this thing?" You whispered to no one in particular, shifting your hips from side to side, just to test it. It would be possible, sure, but not without giving you a limp.

This feels so fucking weird, you thought. Still, you felt... full, and that was enough to have you squeezing your thighs together. Uncertainly, you slid your panties back up over your legs, holding it in place.

You smoothed down your dress, inhaled deeply, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Aki was waiting in your kitchen, seated casually, fingers drumming lightly against the counter. The moment he saw you, his gaze flickered down, then back up, slow and deliberate.

A smirk played at his lips. "Did I tell you that you looked great, by the way?"

You rolled your eyes, but the grin that tugged at your lips betrayed you. "Once or twice."

You reached for your bag, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. "Feels weird, but... I think I'm ready to go."

Aki hummed, standing up, his movements easy and unhurried. His eyes never left you. As he stood to his full height, you fiddled with your hair, reached for the purse you had left on the counter.

"So..." You slid the purse over your arm. "What exactly is this thing supposed to– like– do...?"

Aki didn't answer.

Instead, he held up the remote.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could protest, before you could even process, he flicked it on.

A sharp jolt of sensation tore through you, white-hot and overwhelming. Your knees buckled, and you caught yourself against the counter with a strangled gasp, doubling over as your breath hitched in your throat.

"Oh—God—" You choked out, shaking your head, gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline. "No, we can't... we can't do this."

"Of course we can." His voice was maddeningly smooth, entirely too calm. He took a step closer, tilting his head as if he were enjoying the way you trembled under his control. "As long as you don't make a sound, who would know?"

You glared up at him, biting back a whimper, your body still reeling from the sudden, unrelenting pulse.

"You're a fucking devil, Hayakawa," you grit out between clenched teeth.

Aki only smiled, smug and devastatingly pleased with himself. "You ready to go?"

"You're not gonna press that thing while I'm walking, right?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder. Your voice was casual, but the suspicion in your tone was unmistakable.

Aki stood in front of you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the remote. He twirled it between his fingers absently, as if weighing his options. His expression was unreadable, but you didn't trust the way the corner of his mouth twitched—like he was barely holding back a smirk.

"If I fall," you warned, voice firm, "I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass."

That made him roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured, placing a hand at the small of your back as he guided you toward the door. His touch was steady, firm, a quiet reassurance despite the teasing glint in his eyes.

The night air was cool against your flushed skin as you stepped outside, locked up the apartment. The city hummed around you, neon lights flickering against the damp pavement, the distant murmur of voices and the occasional honk of a car filling the silence between you. Aki walked beside you, silent but ever-present, his pace easy and controlled.

When you reached his car, he opened the door for you—always infuriatingly gentlemanly when he wanted to be. You slid into the passenger seat, adjusting your dress as you settled in. The moment the door shut behind you, a tense silence fell over the car like a thick, invisible veil.

Aki started the engine, but he didn't put the car in drive right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and rolled it between his fingers before glancing at you.

"You can say pineapple if you want me to stop," he said simply.

You blinked. "...Pineapple?"

He nodded once, eyes flickering to you before shifting back to the road. "Pineapple."

A beat of silence passed. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, your stomach twisting—not with nerves, exactly, but something close. It was one thing to tease, to flirt, to push back against his games. But the quiet, firm way he had said it, the way he made sure you knew you had a way out—it made your chest tighten, just a little.

You turned your gaze out the window, the city lights blurring past as he drove. Neither of you spoke.

The tension in the car was thick, electric, stretched taut between you like an invisible wire. The remote sat in Aki's lap, and you had to fight the urge to glance at it every few minutes, unsure whether he'd press the button just to watch you squirm.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, your palms felt a little damp against your thighs.

Aki pulled into a private lot, smoothly parking before shutting off the engine. He didn't move right away, only tilting his head to glance at you. The streetlight outside cast long shadows over his face, softening the sharp edges of his jaw, making his expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, he got out.

You inhaled deeply before following suit.

The moment you stepped out, Aki was beside you. He didn't hesitate before reaching for your arm, looping his through yours as he led you toward the entrance.

The gesture was... unexpected. And more than that, it made your breath catch.

You glanced up at him, but he was looking straight ahead, his grip gentle but firm. Your heart gave an unsteady flutter, something warm curling in your chest despite the nerves still buzzing beneath your skin.

The restaurant was stunning—warm golden lighting, sleek marble floors, soft jazz playing in the background. The air smelled of expensive wine and seared steak, and the quiet murmur of voices hummed through the space like a steady undercurrent.

Aki walked up to the hostess stand, his voice smooth as he said, "Reservation for Hayakawa."

The hostess, a polished woman with dark red lipstick and neatly tied hair, checked the list before offering a polite smile. "Right this way."

She led you through the softly lit restaurant, weaving past white-clothed tables and elegantly dressed patrons. Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked, your heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ribs.

At the table, Aki pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit.

You arched a brow. "Such a gentleman," you teased, but you sat anyway, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as you settled in.

He only hummed, taking the seat across from you.

The waitress appeared moments later, offering water and letting you know that someone would be by soon to take your order. Then, just as quickly, she disappeared again, leaving the two of you alone.

You leaned back in your seat, letting the tension ease slightly as you picked up the menu. The prices had you raising an eyebrow. "This place is fancy," you murmured. "Didn't know you were the type."

Aki merely shrugged, looking at his own menu.

You tilted your head, studying him. Then, with a small smirk, you asked, "You take all your playthings out to dinner?"

Aki didn't immediately answer. He closed his menu, setting it down beside his water glass.

Then, he looked at you—really looked at you. His expression was unreadable, his gaze steady and quiet, but when he spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

"No."

You blinked.

He didn't smirk, didn't tease, didn't roll his eyes the way you had anticipated. Instead, he answered you honestly. And that, somehow, was worse.

You swallowed. "Oh."

A pause.

Then, he tilted his head slightly, observing you, and added, "You're the first."

Your heart skipped.

A slow, warm feeling spread through your chest, catching you off guard. Your fingers curled around the edge of your menu as you tried—tried—to keep your expression neutral, to not let him see how much that simple statement affected you.

You looked away, staring at the flickering candle in the center of the table.

"I should feel special, then," you murmured, voice quieter now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

A pause. You could feel his eyes on you, studying, assessing.

"You are special," he said simply.

Confusing much?

Before you could decide what to do with that, the waitress arrived, all polite smiles and professionalism. You busied yourself with the drink menu, forcing normalcy into your voice as you ordered, though your fingers still gripped the menu a little too tightly. He ordered without hesitation, his voice smooth and confident, as if none of this affected him at all.

As soon as the waitress turned to leave, he shifted in his seat. The movement was small, barely noticeable, except you felt it immediately. A soft vibration, low and teasing, flared to life inside of you. Your body tensed – you bit back a gasp.

Your fingers twitched against the menu.

You exhaled through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax, feigning nonchalance as you slowly lifted your gaze to his.

His lips twitched, just barely.

The buzz lasted only a brief moment, a fleeting reminder, before it stopped as abruptly as it had started. He had only pressed it once, just enough to get a reaction. A test, a warning – a reminder that he had all of the power.

You took a slow sip of water, using the glass to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

"Really?" you said finally, voice low but pointed.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly as he flipped a page of the menu, as if he were deeply invested in his options. "Something wrong?"

You shot him a glare, but he wasn't even looking at you. If you didn't know him so well, you might have believed he was actually deciding between pasta or steak.

The worst part was the way he remained so composed. You, on the other hand, could still feel the lingering sensation against your clit, inside of your walls, a phantom buzz that made your pulse stutter.

You set your glass down with a deliberate clink. "Cut it out."

This time, he did look at you. Slowly. A dark amusement flickered in his gaze, and then the corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smirk, but close.

"No."

Your stomach tightened—not from the toy this time, but from the way he said it, quiet and confident and so sure. It was a single word, but it carried weight, a kind of promise.

You opened your mouth to argue, but just then, the waitress returned with your drinks. You reeled yourself back in, schooling your features into something neutral, ignoring the way your fingers still felt unsteady as you reached for your glass.

She placed a cocktail in front of you, a neat whiskey in front of him. "Are you both ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?"

You were about to say you needed more time when it happened again.

A second buzz.

You sucked in a breath, your grip tightening around the stem of your glass. It was brief, just as before, but somehow more insistent, more purposeful. Your body betrayed you, tensing before you could control it, and his eyes flickered, catching the movement.

He was doing it on purpose now.

You forced yourself to exhale slowly, smoothing your expression as best you could. Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you kept your voice steady as you turned to the waitress. "I'll have the—" you hesitated, the buzz still lingering in your nerves, still pulsing inside of you, "—the salmon."

If she noticed anything off, she didn't show it.

"And for you?" she asked him.

Dear God.

He leaned back slightly, taking his sweet, precious time. "The ribeye," he decided, then added, "medium rare."

She nodded, jotting it down before collecting the menus. "I'll get that started for you."

As soon as she walked away, you let out a slow breath and shot him a look. "You are impossible."

His lips curled around the rim of his glass before he took a slow sip of whiskey.

The rest of the dinner passed by in a similar fashion.

The candlelight flickered between you, casting shifting shadows along the white tablecloth, distorting the reflection in your water glass. Your fingers traced the condensation on the stem, trying to ground yourself in the cold, the solid, the real. But it was difficult when every few minutes, he pressed that damned button.

It wasn't constant. That would have been easier to handle. Instead, he wielded it with precision, pressing it just enough to catch you off guard, to remind you exactly who was in control of this moment.

Like now.

A fresh buzz pulsed inside of you, insistent and teasing, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. You hunched slightly, squeezing your thighs together, fingers tightening around your fork.

"Something wrong?" he asked, the picture of innocence, casually slicing into his steak as if you weren't actively trying to keep yourself from making a sound.

You shot him a glare, heat crawling up your neck. "You know exactly what's wrong," you hissed under your breath.

His mouth twitched, amusement sparking in his eyes as he chewed thoughtfully. "I really don't."

The worst part was that no one around you had noticed a thing. The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the clinking of cutlery against plates, a low melody playing from unseen speakers. Everyone was completely unaware that under the table, you were gripping the fabric of your dress, fighting for composure.

You exhaled slowly, straightening, trying to salvage some dignity. He was enjoying this too much. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of breaking.

With careful movements, you speared a piece of salmon with your fork and lifted it to your mouth. A distraction. If you just focused on eating, maybe—

Buzz.

A choked noise escaped before you could stop it. It wasn't loud, barely more than a small gasp, but it was enough. He heard it. You knew because his gaze darkened slightly, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table as another wave rolled through you. The vibrations weren't strong, not really, but they were persistent, perfectly timed to make your body betray you.

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, hands trembling slightly as you set your fork down with exaggerated care. "You're such an asshole," you whispered.

His fingers brushed his chin as he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, interested, voice low enough that no one else could hear it. "You should be more careful with your words. I'm the one with the remote, remember?"

Your breath hitched again as another pulse hit, and this time, you hunched forward, instinctively bracing yourself against the table. It was too much, too sudden, and a small, helpless sound slipped past your lips before you could swallow it down.

Mortification burned through you.

He heard it.

Worse, so did the couple at the next table. Not enough to know why, but enough to turn their heads slightly, their conversation pausing.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, heat flooding your face.

I'm gonna fucking murder him.

He had the audacity to smile.

"You alright?" he asked again, voice perfectly neutral, as if he wasn't the cause of your current predicament.

Your nails dug into your palm. "You know damn well something's wrong."

His smile widened, slow and satisfied. "Do I?"

You wanted to kill him. You wanted to grab the remote from his hands and throw it across the restaurant. You wanted to do something, but it was hard to think when the silicone toy was nestled so perfectly inside of you. Because you were sitting, it crooked right up against that spot that had you shifting your hips for more, rubbing you in all of the right ways.

The buzzing stopped.

Your body was still tense, coiled like a spring, your breathing uneven. But there was nothing. Just silence. No vibrations, no teasing pulses, nothing pressing against your stomach.

You blinked at him, suspicious.

He simply took a sip of his whiskey, regarding you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine.

"That's better," he murmured.

You exhaled, releasing the table from your death grip. The couple next to you had already resumed their conversation, the moment forgotten. You picked up your fork again, taking a small, careful bite of your salmon, hoping to find some sense of normalcy in the simple act of eating.

But the second you started to relax—

Buzz.

Evil asshole. A strangled whimper broke from your throat, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but loud enough for him. His grip tightened subtly around his glass, and you caught the way his jaw tensed for the briefest moment.

The realization sent another rush of heat through you.

Oh.

He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

You swallowed thickly, adjusting your grip on your fork, as if the very motion could somehow keep you grounded.

"My stomach is killing me," you murmured, barely moving your lips, your gaze dropping to his hands.

A lie, of course. One that anyone would be able to see through.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, slow, measured. "We can leave whenever you want. Just say the word."

You almost took him up on the offer. Almost. The promise of paradise, of being taken home with him... of finally getting this damned thing out of you was almost too tempting to bear. But, then, he looked at you, and you knew what leaving meant.

It meant that you were throwing in the towel.

And you would be damned if you let Hayakawa win.

You licked your lips, feeling lightheaded from the heat, the tension, the thrill of it all. "You're awful."

"And yet," he pressed the button again, just once, just enough to make your body shudder, "You haven't said the word."

You couldn't argue with that.

The candlelight cast a warm glow over the table, flickering against the deep amber of Aki's whiskey. His fingers rested idly on the rim of his glass, tapping a slow, measured rhythm against the crystal. To anyone else in the restaurant, this was just another quiet dinner—a couple engaged in light conversation, enjoying a meal together.

But beneath the table, hidden from curious eyes, something far more dangerous brewed.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself as you picked up your fork. You couldn't let him see how much this was affecting you, couldn't let him have the satisfaction. If you could just get through dinner, if you could act normal, if you could pretend—

Buzz.

Your body jerked before you could stop it. The vibration shot through your core, sharp and insistent, and you had to grip the tablecloth just to ground yourself. Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together in an attempt to suppress the reaction, but it was too much, too sudden.

Across from you, Aki took a slow sip of whiskey, watching you over the rim of his glass. His face was unreadable, composed as ever, but you could feel his amusement, the quiet, patient way he was waiting for you to crack.

You forced your grip to relax, exhaling carefully. "You're quiet tonight," you said, forcing your voice into something resembling normalcy. "That's rare."

He hummed as he set his glass down, tilting his head slightly. "I'm just enjoying the view."

Your stomach tightened.

Buzz.

Your hand twitched violently, nearly knocking over your glass. You barely swallowed down a choked noise, your breath breaking in the middle.

Aki speared a piece of steak, utterly unbothered. "You seem jumpy," he remarked, his voice smooth, unaffected. "Something wrong?"

You shot him a glare, your nails pressing into your palm beneath the table. Bastard.

"No," you said flatly. "I'm fine."

Aki's lips twitched, but he let it go, cutting into his steak with slow, deliberate movements. "Good."

You took a shaky sip of your drink, gripping the stem of your glass tighter than necessary. You could do this. You just had to hold out.

For a while, it was almost normal. You both ate, making idle conversation, the tension beneath the surface like a live wire waiting to snap. Aki asked about your day, and you forced yourself to answer, focusing on each word, pretending nothing was wrong.

But every time you got comfortable, every time you thought maybe he would let up—

Buzz.

Your fork clattered against your plate.

Your shoulders tensed as another wave of heat rippled through you, your thighs squeezing together under the table. Your breath hitched, and you barely bit back the sound that tried to escape.

Aki took another sip of his whiskey, watching you closely. He noticed.

And he liked it.

You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

Swallowing hard, you picked up your fork again, though your hands still trembled slightly. You tried to keep eating, tried to act normal, but your body was betraying you, your skin flushed, your breathing unsteady.

You clenched your jaw. If he thought he was the only one who could play this game, he had another thing coming. Quietly, you kicked your heel off of your right foot, creeping towards his side of the table.

Your foot slid forward beneath the table, slowly, deliberately, until it pressed up against his thigh.

Aki's breath hitched.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it—the way his fingers briefly tightened around his glass, the way his exhale was just a little too sharp.

Victory.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Something wrong?"

His jaw flexed, his grip tightening around his fork. His expression was still composed, but now you saw it—the crack in his calm.

Two can play at this game.

He exhaled through his nose, his fingers shifting subtly near his pocket. "Careful," he murmured.

Careful. A warning. A promise.

Your heart pounded, heat curling in your stomach. You knew it was indecent, knew it was reckless, but at this point, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

He was unfazed, calm as ever, while you were strung tighter than a bow, every muscle in your body aching from the strain of staying composed. Your hands, curled tightly around the edge of your glass, trembled ever so slightly. The soft hum of conversation in the restaurant around you felt distant, almost drowned out by the chaos of your own thoughts.

Aki's eyes flickered briefly toward you, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he placed his empty glass back down. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that knowledge made you feel both exposed and... well, entranced. He was playing with you, a slow, deliberate game, and he was winning.

But you weren't ready to give up just yet.

When the waitress returned to clear your plates, you took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself. You couldn't let him see how badly he was getting under your skin, how every little touch, every playful press of a button under the table, had your body taut with barely contained tension.

The waitress, oblivious to the storm between you and Aki, set the check down gently between you two. "Can I get you anything else tonight?" she asked, smiling brightly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could form a word, Aki took the check into his hands, pulling his wallet from his jacket with a fluid motion. His fingers slid easily over the leather, pulling out his card with a practiced precision. Without missing a beat, he handed it over to the waitress, his calm demeanor not giving away a single hint of what was happening beneath the surface.

"No, thank you," Aki said, his voice steady and smooth, but there was something in his eyes—a quiet, almost predatory glint that made you shiver despite yourself.

The waitress took the card and left without another word, leaving you alone with him once more.

Your chest felt tight, your heart still racing from the unrelenting pressure. You didn't dare look up at him, afraid that if you did, you'd see that quiet satisfaction written all over his face. Instead, you focused on the table in front of you, picking at the edge of your napkin as if it could somehow anchor you to reality.

Minutes passed in heavy silence, the weight of his gaze never leaving you. Every time you thought you might catch your breath, you'd feel that subtle buzz deep within you, that dangerous reminder that he hadn't let you off the hook yet. The need to break free, to run, was becoming overwhelming, but you wouldn't give in—not yet.

You were wet – an understatement. Practically dripping down your own thighs, in fact.

Aki, on the other hand, was relaxed, at ease as if the world outside this small table didn't exist. He watched you, his gaze never faltering, like he was studying you in a way only he could.

Studying you the way a lion studied its prey before striking.

A few moments later, the waitress returned, her presence bringing a quiet relief. She set the check down in front of Aki, her smile polite and professional. "Here you go, sir," she said cheerfully. "All set."

You glanced up briefly, catching Aki's eyes as he took the check, still unaffected. He gave the waitress a polite nod before pulling the pen from the side of the folder, the small motion sharp against the quiet of the room. He signed his name fluidly, the pen moving effortlessly across the paper. The whole act was so smooth, so routine, but you couldn't help but watch him, feeling the tension rise once more.

There was a stillness in the air as he capped the pen and placed it back in the folder. His gaze turned back to you then, almost casual, but you saw the flicker of something in his eyes—amusement.

You hated him at that moment. Not for the first time tonight, but this time it was different. This time, it felt like the weight of everything was crashing down on you all at once. You were so close, so close to losing it.

How dare he stop? 

Wait... no.

"I hate you," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't even know if you meant it, but it didn't matter. The frustration, the heat, the maddening pull between you—it all exploded in that simple admission.

Aki's lips quirked into a smile, and you could see it in his eyes—he was enjoying every second of this. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, almost affectionate.

You wanted to slam your fist against the table, wanted to scream at him to stop—to just let you be. But instead, you just sat there, your fingers curling against the tablecloth, feeling every inch of your body wound tighter and tighter.

The waitress returned again to take the folder, a small polite smile on her face as she walked away. Aki remained seated, unfazed, as if nothing had happened. But you were still burning. Every part of you, every nerve in your body was screaming for something you couldn't even name.

Aki stood, and the movement was so effortless, so fluid, it almost felt like he'd been waiting for this moment. His fingers brushed against the edge of your chair, the touch so light, so deliberate, that it made your breath catch. Then, before you could react, his hand was at your back, guiding you to your feet. You weren't sure when he'd moved so close, but now, his presence felt like it had always been there, surrounding you. The moment he touched you, a shiver rippled through your spine, curling deep within your chest.

He was careful, but there was no mistaking the firm pressure of his touch, the quiet assurance that he was in control, and you were—somehow—allowing it. You didn't dare look up at him, knowing that if you did, you'd see that knowing smile, that quiet satisfaction he always wore when he had you on the edge.

"We'll see about that tonight," he murmured, his voice so close, so low, it made your heart flutter, the words slipping into your skin and curling there, leaving a mark that felt too tender to ignore.

You wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, you nodded slightly, as if it was the only thing your body could manage. His hand remained at your back, gentle yet firm, as he guided you through the restaurant. The world around you blurred, the chatter, the clinking of silverware, the quiet hum of music—all faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was his touch, the feeling of him close to you, pulling you along, leading you somewhere that you knew would change everything.

The door swung open with a soft chime, and the cold night air hit you, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between you. It was a relief, a brief moment to collect yourself, but then Aki was there again, his hand still at your back, steady and unwavering. His touch was like a promise. It was like a tether that held you to him, reminding you, pulling you closer, whether you wanted to or not.

You didn't say anything as you walked toward the car. You didn't need to. The space between you was filled with something too complicated for words. His hand never left you, never strayed far enough to make you feel alone. And as much as you might have wanted to step away, to breathe on your own, you didn't. You let him guide you, your steps in sync, your hearts beating in a quiet rhythm.

When you reached the car, Aki didn't release you. His fingers slid along the curve of your arm, a soft, deliberate touch that made your breath catch again, a feeling so intimate it left you dizzy. There was something about the way he touched you, something that felt like it was meant to be. His eyes met yours, and you saw that familiar spark in them—something that made the air between you both crackle with electricity.

He opened the car door for you, a small gesture, but it was enough. You hesitated for a moment, caught in the web of his gaze, before you slid into the passenger seat. The moment your body settled against the leather, you felt the absence of his touch, but it didn't last long. Aki slid into the driver's seat next to you, and the air between you both seemed to thicken, a silent understanding passing between you.

You were wrapped around his pretty little finger.

When the two of you stumbled into Aki's apartment complex, brushing past the desk clerk – who shot the two of you an incredulous look – practically giggling the whole time, it took a great deal of effort to keep yourself from ripping his clothes off right then and there. The car ride had been tense – the good kind. The kind where Aki's strong hand had maintained its firm grasp on your thigh the entire time, occasionally teasing a finger just beneath the slit in your dress. On the outside, you were calm, composed, even, but on the inside? You were dying.

Dying to get in his pants, that is.

Aki led you over to the elevator and pressed the up button with his finger. In the moment that it took for it to arrive, he didn't give you a moment of reprieve – stealthily flicking on the vibrator in a way that had you covering a gasp up with a laugh.

Then, he was ushering you into the elevator's open doors with a gentle tap on your ass. You shuffled in, breathing out a sigh of relief when he turned the thing off, and then settled into the corner furthest away from the buttons, away from where Aki had his back turned to you, fingers pressing into the sixth floor.

Long ride, you thought, swallowing as the doors slid shut with a quiet thud.

Then, there were two.

Subconsciously, perhaps, your eyes raked over the elevator's interior. Aki inched towards you, a devilish smirk on his face. He looked as handsome as ever, of course, and that was the worst part – it wasn't the way he pressed you up against the corner of the elevator like he didn't give a damn if those doors opened and someone saw the two of you. No, it was the way your heart skipped a beat when he slipped a hand beneath your neck, cradling the back of your head and then leaned down.

Your lips brushed against his tenderly, then again – just barely there, just enough to tease. It felt easy, kissing him – too easy. It felt easy when he tilted your head to the side to deepen the kiss into something more sinful, lick at your lips, your tongue for entrance. It felt too easy to melt into him, letting him press you into the wall, moaning his name into the kiss.

Fuck. I love the way he kisses me.

"Aki," You breathed, the words smothered by his lips.

"Mhm?" He asked, kissing and kissing your skin until he crept closer and corner to your jaw, where he latched on. Not too much, but just enough to have your eyes fluttering shut.

God, he's depraved.

"Aki– the–" You shuddered, looking up at the camera behind him – the one in the opposite corner of the elevator. "There's cameras–"

He seceded, then, pulling back to get a look of you, and you swore you felt the energy change. It wasn't entirely lust anymore. No, the air around the two of you was steeped in something different. His baby blues scanned over the planes of your face, dropping down to your nose, your lips, for just a moment before returning to meet your gaze. Like he couldn't bear the thought of not being lip-locked with you. Like he needed you. Like you were so much more to him than just another hookup.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, and Aki was pulling away. Before you could protest, the elevator dinged, coming to a stop at the sixth floor.

Aki cleared his throat, nodding towards the doors as they opened. Wordlessly, you stepped past him, slipping out of the elevator. Your heels met the carpeted floor of the hallway, and then he was right behind you, ushering you towards the right.

What the hell was that? You thought.

It was silent, in fact, as the two of you walked further and further down the hallway – came to a stop right in front of his door, where he reached into his pocket and stuck a key into the knob.

I'm about to see his apartment. You realized. I'm about to see my captain's bedroom, and his kitchen and probably his bedroom.

This is dangerous, You peered up into his eyes. Without breaking eye-contact, he twisted the key and opened the door for you. Immediately, the scent of him wafted over you. The detergent he used. The hints of nicotine that always seemed to linger on his clothes – something so distinctly unique to him that you wished you could have packed it into a bag and taken it home with you.

You saw a peek of the foyer – the cubby where a few belongings were stashed away, along with a jar full of incense. Certain shoes were organized, neatly tucked away, and certain ones were strewn about. You didn't have to look at their small size to know they belonged to one of the other two.

To the right, a series of doors. Bedrooms, perhaps. There were three of them, all closed. In front of you, the open kitchen, the TV room, the glass-sliding-door balcony. Not a single thing out of place. Neat, as if he had cleaned up before leaving (only for Denji to leave his shoes out).

You whistled. It was way nicer than your old place on the other side of the city. Bigger, too, with a lot more open space to breathe in. "I gotta get a promotion."

Aki kicked off his shoes while you did the same, "Trust me, it's normally a mess. I feel like a single dad with those two freeloading here."

I could play mom with you, the thought – as fleeting as it was – crossed your mind. The thought of spending some time here with him. If he cooked, you would clean the dishes. If Denji was agitating him, you could pry him off his back, if only for a moment. He listened to you better, anyway.

It was a stupid thought, of course. One you tucked away. You were getting way ahead of yourself.

It's just sex, you thought. Our relationship is purely sexual.

Aki deposited his keys in the trinket tray on the empty kitchen counter, saying over his shoulder, "They're gone for the night. Power and Denji."

Oh.

Aki's fingers brushed yours as he led you down the dim hallway, his touch lingering for a moment too long before retreating. He didn't need to pull you along—your feet moved of their own accord, as if your body had already decided to follow wherever he went. The apartment was quiet, unusually so. Just the two of you now.

Alone.

Your finger found its way to the back of his shirt, trailing down the crisp fabric, tracing the line of his spine through the cotton. You felt the shift in his posture when you did it—how he went still for half a breath, muscles coiling just beneath his skin like he was trying not to react. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

He opened his bedroom door with a casual push, revealing a space dimly lit by the glow of the city seeping in through the curtains. It smelled like him—cool and sharp, with notes of cedar and something warmer underneath, like spice and sleep. You'd never stayed long in this room. Just enough to feel the warmth of his body, then the cold of his silence once it was over. But tonight felt different.

Or maybe it was you who felt different.

You stepped inside, hands at your sides as he moved past you, his tie already loosened at the collar. The top button of his shirt undone. Hair a little messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it on the way home. He didn't look at you right away, just dropped his keys on the nightstand and toed off his shoes. The moment stretched. You let it.

You stood at the edge of the bed, turning slightly so your back was to him, fingers reaching behind to toy with the zipper of your dress. Just enough to let him hear it. Just enough to make him look.

"Can you help me with my dress?" you asked, your voice soft, almost innocent—but the undertone was anything but.

There was a pause. The air shifted. You felt the heat of his presence behind you before he even touched you.

It was intimate – far too intimate, perhaps.

Wordlessly, he reached for the zipper, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your spine as he dragged it down with deliberate slowness. The sound was deafening in the quiet room—a hushed whisper of invitation. The fabric loosened, slipping off your shoulders with barely a breath of resistance, sliding down your body like it wanted to be rid of itself.

He didn't say anything. Not at first. His hands hovered for a moment before withdrawing, letting the dress fall to the floor with a gentle sigh.

You stepped out of it slowly, deliberate. You had chosen your undergarments carefully tonight—not that you'd ever admit it aloud. Black lace, sheer in places that mattered, hugging your curves in a way that always made his eyes darken.

"You look as ravishing as usual," he said, his voice low, a rasp of breath just against your ear. Then came the pause, the smile you couldn't see but could feel in the way the air shifted again, thick with it. "No, scratch that — much better than usual."

A shiver slid down your spine, and he caught it, the way he always caught those little tells. That was the dangerous thing about Aki. He paid attention. Even when he pretended not to.

With one hand at the small of your back, he nudged you gently toward the bed. You went without protest, letting the mattress meet your knees before sinking back against the soft, dark sheets. The comforter was cool against your thighs, a stark contrast to the heat building steadily inside you.

Aki followed, kneeling on the bed with you, his knees framing yours. He undid the rest of his tie slowly, watching you with that unreadable expression—equal parts focused and detached, like he was trying to memorize you without letting it show. The tie slid free and he tossed it beside you.

He leaned down and kissed you then—slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world, and maybe he did. The kiss started soft, his lips brushing yours with the gentlest pressure, but it deepened quickly, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging along your cheek. You melted into it, into him, letting your hands find the open collar of his shirt, the slope of his neck, the quickening pulse beneath your touch.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he murmured between kisses, his mouth brushing yours, voice barely more than a breath.

You smiled against him, eyes half-lidded. "Yes," you breathed, then paused just as he kissed down your neck, lips dragging heat along your skin. "But you said have... like there's no more fun to be had."

He chuckled, low in his throat, his breath hot where it hit the shell of your ear.

"You wouldn't leave a girl hanging, would you?" you added, letting your nails drag gently down his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt.

Aki pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes darker now, pupils blown wide. That quiet restraint he always carried was still there, but barely. Just beneath the surface, you could feel the tension coiling tighter, like he was holding something back—and you wanted him to break.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, each press of his mouth deliberate, unhurried. He didn't just want to get you undressed—he wanted to ruin you piece by piece. And you wanted him to.

God, I'm so horny for him.

His mouth trailed down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts, leaving heat in his wake. You arched into him, just a little, just enough for him to notice.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, voice thick with desire, words vibrating against your skin.

Then he looked up at you from beneath those dark lashes, his gaze searing, his breath ragged. And you knew—you were his for the night.

Maybe, dangerously, he was yours too.

One last time, Aki plucked the small remote from his pocket — cruel little thing, harmless in size, devastating in what it did to you. You were already trembling, breath uneven, your thighs twitching with the aftershocks of his slow torment. You barely had time to protest before he flicked it on again, the soft hum of it cutting through the silence like a warning.

"Aki—" you breathed, but your words melted into a moan as the vibrator pressed deep inside, right where you were already raw and too sensitive.

"Just one more," he murmured, almost mockingly tender. "You can take it."

You wanted to tell him no—you should tell him no—but your hips betrayed you, jerking up into the touch with a desperation that made you feel stripped down to something primal. He watched you intently, jaw clenched, the same composure he always wore hanging on by a thread.

The sensation built too fast, already unbearable. Every nerve felt raw, each vibration slicing through you like heat lightning under your skin. You clenched the sheets, back arching, a helpless gasp escaping your lips.

"Aki—please—"

You didn't even know what you were begging for. For him to stop. For him to keep going. For him to end this exquisite ache that he kept building and building until it felt like you might unravel from the center.

Then, just when your body started to break apart beneath the pressure, just when you were about to fall over that edge—

He turned it off.

The silence left in its place was deafening. Your breath caught in your throat, your body still shaking with the ghost of it, your muscles tensed and coiled, suspended in some cruel, endless moment of not-enough.

He leaned down, slipping two digits beneath the drenched fabric of your lacy panties and reaching for that damned toy.

He pulled the toy away with maddening slowness, then brought it to his mouth. Eyes locked on yours, he licked it clean—deliberately, slowly, like he wanted to savor not just the taste, but your reaction. You felt your stomach tighten, something needy catching in your throat. You could barely breathe through the desire thick in the air, and he was feeding it like fire to oxygen.

Your hands, without thought, went for the front of his pants. You wanted him—needed him—so badly it hurt. The hunger had been clawing at you all night, and now it was a wildfire. You fumbled with his belt, fingertips brushing over the hard line of him through his slacks, and he let you—just for a second. Just long enough for your pulse to spike.

Then his hand caught your wrist, firm but gentle.

"Not yet," he said.

His voice was steady, but just barely. You heard the tightness in it, the restraint. He was just as wrecked as you were. That only made it worse.

You looked up at him, flushed and trembling, eyes wide with disbelief. You'd have begged him, if you thought it would work.

He leaned in, kissed your cheek once—frustratingly sweet—and murmured, "Stay just like that."

Then he stood, running a hand through his hair as he adjusted his shirt, fixing nothing, only stalling. You could see it in his eyes—he was holding onto control by the thinnest thread.

"I'll be right back," he said, voice low.

You heard the soft click of a door, the muted shuffle of movement just beyond the bedroom. He was in the closet, you realized—quiet, deliberate. The room felt colder without him in it, your skin still flushed and humming from where he'd touched you, teased you, ruined you—then left you wanting more.

You shifted against the sheets, trying not to think about the ache between your thighs, or the taste of his breath on your lips, or the fact that every second stretched longer with the weight of anticipation.

When he returned, your breath caught.

He was holding a box. Dark wood. Simple, unmarked. It looked old—worn at the corners, like it had been opened and closed a hundred times. Your heart picked up speed without your permission.

He didn't say anything right away. Just set it down at the edge of the bed and flipped open the lid.

Inside: rope—coiled, soft-looking, pale in color. A spreader bar made of polished black metal, a few small leather cuffs, and some other implements you didn't recognize at a glance. Not harsh. Not intimidating. But your mouth still went dry.

You looked up at him, eyes searching his face.

He was calm. Focused. His expression was unreadable—but not cold. There was a softness in the corners of his eyes, an edge of restraint you knew well. He saw the flicker of hesitation in you. The way your breath caught. He came closer.

"You're okay," he said gently. Not a question. A reassurance. "I'll walk you through it. I'm not going to do anything you don't want."

Your gaze flicked past him—up—and then you saw it.

A mirror. Mounted above the headboard. You hadn't noticed it before, not in the haze of arousal and low lighting. But now it was undeniable. You could see yourself. The rise and fall of your chest, the flush across your cheeks, your legs still curled under you, barely covered.

And you could see him, too. Behind you. Watching. Waiting.

"Come here," he said softly, extending a hand. "Stand at the foot of the bed."

You hesitated only a second before pushing up off the mattress and going to him, your feet unsteady beneath you. There was no smirk on his face now, no teasing. Just quiet intent.

He knelt down in front of you, holding the spreader bar in both hands.

"This is a spreader bar," he said, voice still low, almost clinical in its clarity. "It's adjustable. These cuffs go around your ankles—it keeps your legs apart."

Your throat tightened at the image, the implication of it. Your knees wanted to knock together.

He looked up at you again, watching your face closely. "Do you trust me?"

You nodded. It wasn't even a question in your mind. Not really.

"Use your words," he said, almost a whisper.

"Yes," you breathed.

His fingers brushed your calves as he knelt and gently fastened the cuffs around each of your ankles. The leather was cool against your skin, snug but not tight. Then he adjusted the bar, clicking it into place, widening the space between your legs.

Just enough to make you feel exposed. Just enough to make you tremble.

Oh God

You looked down at him—his hands still on your legs, his eyes lifted to meet yours. He stood slowly, the proximity between you electric.

He didn't touch you again. Not yet.

He let you stand there—open, waiting, your breath coming faster—and let the moment stretch. A mirror above you. A box of rope and silk on the bed. His gaze steady on yours like he could see straight through you.

And in that unbearable silence, you realized: he hadn't even started yet.

You were still standing at the foot of the bed, breath catching with each moment, the spreader bar forcing your legs apart just enough to make the air feel colder between your thighs. The room smelled like him—like cologne and something warm and cedar-rich—and you felt that scent wrap around you, heavy and intimate.

Aki stepped closer, holding something small and smooth in his hand. Another toy.

He didn't put it in immediately—just held it out between two fingers, letting you see it. A delicate, curved shape. Subtle slope. Sleek, purple-colored silicone.

"This one's new," he said, voice gentle, like he was offering you something precious. "It's soft. Stays in place. It's not going to hurt—just curl in deep and tease you a little."

You swallowed. He didn't need to be more specific—you could already feel what he meant. You tried to squeeze your thighs together instinctively, but the bar held you open, a frustrated whimper leaving your throat.

He looked down at your legs, satisfied. "Trying to run from me?" he murmured, then tilted your chin up with two fingers. "Can I put it in?"

You nodded. Then, remembering—use your words—you whispered, "Yes, sir."

He knelt again, slow and deliberate, and slipped it into place with practiced care, fingers brushing against you, warm and unhurried. The sensation wasn't overwhelming—yet. Just pressure. Promise – an ease with which it slipped into place.

You exhaled shakily.

Aki stood again and reached for the box. This time, he pulled out a coil of rope—soft to the touch, red, and carefully wrapped. It looked almost like silk in the low light.

"This is body-safe rope," he said. "It shouldn't hurt. And if it does, I want you to tell me immediately. Got it?"

You nodded, your pulse spiking again.

He unraveled it slowly, letting you hear the subtle swish of the fibers slipping between his fingers. Then he stepped behind you, the heat of him ghosting across your back.

"I'm going to tie your hands behind your back," he said. "But first..." He hesitated. "Pick a safeword."

You blinked. "You mentioned that earlier," you said quietly. "What is a safeword? Is it something I say when, like, I want you to stop?"

"That's right," he answered, stepping to the side just enough that you could see his face in the mirror. "Whenever it gets to be too much, or if anything doesn't feel right—you say your safeword, and I stop. No questions. No delay."

You bit your lip, thinking. He waited, patient.

"How about..." You glanced toward the mirror again. "Red light?"

He paused.

"Like a stoplight," you added, cheeks flushed.

Aki huffed a quiet laugh, fond and breathless. "Okay," he said. "Red light it is."

He stepped behind you again, and you felt the brush of the rope against your skin as he guided your wrists behind your back.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice low in your ear, threading the rope beneath your arms and across your wrists.

"Yes," you whispered.

The fibers glided over your skin, warm and soft and sure. He was methodical—each loop measured, each knot secure but not cruel. The feeling of your wrists bound behind you made your chest tighten with something more than arousal—it was trust, raw and dizzying, as much as it was submission.

He's done this before.

You watched yourself in the mirror: bare, bound, and spread. And behind you—Aki. Focused. Beautiful. In control, but never far from tenderness. His hands – large, precise – and his blue eyes trained carefully on your body, searching for signs of hesitation.

When he finished, he stepped in front of you again, fingers trailing along the tops of your thighs.

"You look incredible," he said, quiet and reverent. "You're doing so well."

And then, he reached down—flicked on the toy.

You gasped, legs buckling slightly against the bar. It was gentle, at first—a steady pulse deep in your cunt, just enough to tease the edges of your sanity.

You couldn't close your legs. Couldn't cover yourself. Couldn't do anything but stand there and take it as he stepped back to admire the way you trembled.

It felt vulnerable – in a way you weren't entirely sure you hated.

"Do you remember the other night?" Aki asked, voice a low drawl in the stillness. "How you behaved in my office?"

Your stomach dropped. Your breath caught before you could answer, your thoughts immediately spiraling back—too tight skirt, too slow steps as you passed his desk, bending over too obviously to pick something up. Flirting with fire because you knew he'd catch it. You knew he always did.

He didn't wait for your reply.

"Wearing that skirt I specifically told you not to wear?"

A slow smirk tugged at your lips despite the heat already rising in your cheeks. "Maybe."

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer—dangerously close—until his shadow curled over your skin. His gaze dropped over your bound body, taking in every inch of you like you were a puzzle he already knew how to pull apart. The mirror caught your expression, your half-teasing smile, but you didn't miss the way your legs trembled, the subtle shiver you tried to suppress.

"Good," he hummed, reaching for something behind him. "Then you'll also recall that you asked me to punish you."

The words knocked the breath out of your chest.

You did.

You heard the sound before you saw it—a gentle swish of air, and then the soft thunk of something hard against his palm. He brought it forward, twirling it between his fingers like something casual.

A leather paddle.

Wide, smooth. Black letter patterned with red hearts. Firm enough that you knew he wasn't bluffing.

"I couldn't do what I wanted in the office," he said. "Too many ears. Too little space. And I had to show up to my meeting somewhat on time, of course."

Of course.

He tilted his head slightly, catching your gaze in the mirror, and his voice turned low and firm.

"But here, there's no one listening. No one to stop me. And you're going to take what you earned."

You squirmed, the anticipation already crawling down your spine. You tugged instinctively at the rope around your wrists—still tight, still binding—and tried to close your legs again. Useless. The spreader bar kept you open, vulnerable.

"Face the mirror," he said. "Back straight."

You obeyed without thinking, without questioning. Heart pounding in your ears as you craned your neck around to look at your disheveled reflection.

He stepped behind you, the paddle brushing teasingly against the bare curve of your ass.

"You're going to thank me after every one," he said. "And I want you to count. If you mess up, I'll start over again."

The paddle lifted.

Your body tensed.

"And you're not going to come. Not until I say you can."

Then the first strike landed.

A clean, sharp slap echoed through the room, and you gasped, legs jolting slightly in the cuffs. The sting was immediate, warmth spreading beneath your skin like fire licking its way into your core.

It was so much worse than his hand – or the riding crop, for that matter. It was flat, covered more area, and it stung.

But, shit, it felt exhilarating.

"O-one," you stammered. "Thank you."

"Thank you, what?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, "Thank you, sir."

"Good girl."

The second was harder—he wasn't holding back. The paddle cracked across the opposite cheek, the sharp sound punching the breath from your lungs.

"Two," you choked. "Thank you, sir..."

He hummed again, satisfied. Walked his fingers slowly down your spine as if to soothe, only to draw away again, cruel in how gentle he could be between blows.

He's so mean.

Each strike stole more of your control, every count tumbling from your lips between shallow breaths and stifled moans. The toy inside you hadn't stopped—its slow, curling rhythm synced with each rise in pain and pleasure until your whole body felt caught in a current you couldn't escape. Pressing right up against that spot so deep inside of you that you couldn't help but drip down your own thighs.

"Eight," you gasped, knees buckling. "T-thank you, sir..."

Aki stepped closer, his chest brushing your back, his voice like velvet against the shell of your ear.

"You're doing so well, Baby" he whispered, thumb tugging on the rope that bound your wrists. "Twitching, though. You close?"

He called me Baby.

You were. Too close. The pulsing toy, the heat in your skin, the tension in your thighs—it all coiled tighter with every breath.

"Aw... you look so pretty, I almost wanna let you cum," he said. "But, see, that's the problem. Brats don't get to cum. They need to earn it."

He dragged the paddle up the inside of your thigh, so slow, so cruel.

"I suppose I can't stop you. I can always just start the count over."

You whimpered.

Because you believed him.

And God help you, you wanted to behave. You wanted to please him. You just weren't sure you could.

What's happening to me?

"Nine," you gasped, breath hitching around the word, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Thank you, sir..."

The sound of your own voice felt distant, thready. Your knees trembled under the weight of sensation, thighs aching, muscles tight and burning from how long you had been holding yourself upright. The toy between your legs continued its slow, relentless pulse, curling heat deep into your belly.

It was too much. It wasn't enough.

Your wrists were bound tight behind you, arms straining slightly against the give of the rope. You were exposed, every part of you laid bare, trembling and flushed and dripping.

And still, he hadn't touched you.

Not really.

He was standing just a few steps away. Calm. Composed. Controlled, the way he always was when he had you like this—strung out and pleading, held up only by the tension in your limbs and the sound of his voice when he spoke.

"One more," Aki uttered, his voice low and even. "You can do one more."

I want to please him.

You shake your head before you even realize it. "Aki," you whisper, "I—I can't—I don't think—"

His footsteps were slow as he approached, a measured, steady sound against the floor. He didn't rush. He never did. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat of his body, the way your own ached for his, like your whole being was reaching for him.

"You can," he said softly, almost like he was speaking it into you, willing you to believe it. "You've already come this far."

Tears stung the corners of your eyes. Not because you were in pain, but because you were so close to breaking, and the only thing you wanted was him.

Him, him, him.

"I don't want—" Your voice cracked, catching on the words. "I– Can't take it."

His brows drew together, gently, not out of confusion—but recognition.

"You can. I know you can," he murmured, stepping closer. One of his hands settled at your hip. The other rose, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek, his knuckles warm against your skin. "You're not alone. I've got you."

Your heart felt full. Your face was alight with warmth.

What am I feeling right now?

You shuddered at the contact, the gentleness of it breaking something loose inside of you. Your lips parted, and before you even knew what you were saying, it was pouring out of you—unfiltered, needy, raw.

"Aki," you breathe, desperate, aching, "I just want you. Please—please, I need you. I can't—I can't do this without you—"

You make my heart feel weird, The words built up on the back of your tongue – shocking you, forcing your eyes to widen. What's going on?

His hands were on you now, steadying you, holding you upright when your legs threatened to give.

"I got you," he said.

"I need to feel you—just—please, touch me, please—" You weren't even sure what you were begging for anymore. His hands, his mouth, his voice, his presence—you would have taken anything. You just wanted him. Only him.

He exhaled softly, a sound that carried both restraint and affection.

"You've been so good for me," he breathed, gently, firmly. "You've taken everything I've given you."

Your wrists were shaking behind your back. Carefully, Aki undid the knot, unraveled the rope from your arms with slow precision. He didn't rush—he never did. His fingers were gentle, deliberate, like he was undoing something sacred.

The second the rope slipped away, your arms fell forward, weak. You collapsed into the bed, burying your face in his sheets that smelled just like him, just like home, hands curling into the fabric.

He soothed you easily – one arm around your back, the other cupping the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair.

Don't leave me.

"Don't go," you whispered.

Don't ever leave me.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied. "I've got you."

The toy had long since stopped its humming, but you didn't care anymore.

I need him.

You tilted your head up, searching his face. "Can I... have more?"

Aki studied you curiously. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, where a tear had tracked down.

"You want... more?" He asked, seeming thoroughly surprised by your request.

"Yes," you breathe. "Want you."

For the first time that night, something cracked in him. His eyes went darker, softer, deeper. His thumb lingered against your jaw, then dipped down to graze your lips.

"You're insatiable."

You trembled at the words.

His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease. He lifted you onto the bed—finally, finally—and laid you down like you were something fragile.

But the way he looked at you... hair disheveled, blue eyes peering into yours, chest heaving up and down like a wild animal...

Just sex.

It's just sex.

Nothing more.

He set the toy to the side – again, finally – and you whimpered, not from the loss, but from the anticipation.

"I've got you now," he smiles, pressing a kiss just above your knee. "You can have whatever you want."

Your mouths met in a messy, breathless rush—more instinct than intention, a blur of teeth and lips and too much feeling. He stumbled a little, catching himself on his forearms, laughing softly into the kiss as you both nearly tumbled back.

You laughed too, surprised, lightheaded. For a second, it felt easy. Like maybe this didn't have to be so heavy. Like maybe you could float in the in-between forever.

But then your heart fluttered.

And you knew. You knew how dangerous that was.

You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Even when your hands rose of their own accord — shaking, unsure — and tugged at his shirt, dragging it up and over his head with a sudden burst of urgency, he didn't rush. He didn't make a sound. He just let you.

The sight of him unraveled you further. Pale skin dappled with old scars, lines of healed violence mapped across his ribs, his abdomen, as though his body had collected every storm he'd ever walked through. You reached out before you could think better of it, fingertips skimming the faintest line along his side — one you hadn't noticed before. A scar, thin and jagged, raised ever so slightly.

Your touch paused there.

You didn't ask where it came from. You didn't need to.

He tensed, just slightly, as your thumb brushed it. But he didn't pull away.

The silence was thick, a held breath stretched between heartbeats. You let your hand fall back to the bed, watching him watch you — your chest rising, falling, your lips parted in some half-formed thought you couldn't speak aloud.

Because this wasn't just desire. Not anymore.

It was everything you weren't saying. The things you needed but couldn't admit. The way your chest ached with the simple truth of it: you wanted to be known. Wanted to be seen — and you knew, without him ever saying it, that he did. He saw you. All of you.

And that's what scared you most. You had never let anyone in like that before.

He moved again, this time smoother, more sure. He pressed you into the mattress, hands finding the dip of your waist, your hips, your thighs. His touch was reverent — like he was memorizing you by feel. He looked at you like you were something holy and wrecked at once. Like he wanted to worship and ruin you all in the same breath.

And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Your breath hitched as his weight shifted over you, settling into the space you hadn't realized you'd made for him. He hoisted your legs up onto his hips, and the sensation hit like fire and wind — devastating, electric. A gasp escaped you, unbidden.

He didn't move right away. He just held you there.

The moment stretched — your legs trembling where they rested against him, your palms gripping the sheets in desperation you couldn't name. There was something terrifying in how still he was.

Maybe all of this — the tension, the ache, the way your body answered his so willingly — was just a way of saying what you didn't have the words for.

That you wanted him.

That you'd always wanted him.

That you didn't know where this ended, and for once, you didn't care.

"You're not gonna take 'em off?" You teased, nodding towards your black panties.

He quirked a brow, "And ruin this pretty outfit you put on just for me? That would be a crime."

So, rolling your eyes – with no real amount of venom – you gripped the zipper on his slacks, rolling it down slowly, tentatively. "That's a shame, because I plan on taking these off."

And, a little breathlessly, a little flushed – he let you. He let you unzip his pants, cobalt gaze tracing your fingers as they undid his belt, grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled them down. There, before your hungry gaze, his boxers were strained with the pressure from his erection. You took a moment to admire him, admire the way the thick bulge stood out against the fabric – the way it was tinted darker where he had leaked a bit of precum.

"What's the matter, Baby?" He teased, "You need something?"

Baby.

Your eyes flitted up to him. Then, wordlessly, you reached for the elastic waistband, slipping your fingers beneath and tugging them down – just enough to free his cock from its constraints. The damn thing nearly hit you in the face when it sprung free, pink tip glistening the way a blade of grass held dew in the morning.

And you couldn't help the way your body reacted. No, you couldn't help it when you wrapped your hands around him, or when you licked your lips. And you certainly couldn't help it when you leaned forward – keeping his gaze the entire time – and wrapped your lips around the flushed head, sucking him into your mouth with a satisfied hum. The bead of precum melted onto your tongue like butter, salty and real.

Instinctively, perhaps, his hand went for the back of your head – fingers tangling themselves into your hair, gripping you by the base. Gently, of course, but just enough for it to sting.

The pain balances the pleasure.

"That's it, pretty," He groaned – low and relieved, like he had been aching for you all night. "Get it nice and wet," Above you, his head rolled back. Below, you hollowed your cheeks, pushing him a little deeper into your throat. "Fuck, just like that."

Call me a good girl.

Tell me I'm a good girl.

You moved, back, then forth – going a little deeper each time. Your saliva did a great job at getting him wet. In fact, as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked on him once more, you could hear it – hear how wet you had gotten him every single time he met the back of your tongue, your throat.

"Shit," He huffed out.

And the word only motivated you to suck him in harder, faster. You had long since forgotten your goal of teasing him. No, now all that remained was the desire to please, the desire to make him feel good.

The desire to be good for him.

"Your mouth feels so good," He purred, guiding your head while simultaneously allowing you to set your own pace. "Deeper, Baby, just like that."

You felt that fire in your core reignite, making you press your legs together while you pulled back for a moment to slurp on the tip, spit dripping down his shaft. You tilted your head to the side, wrapping your hands around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to work the rest of him.

As you braced your hands on his hips to sink your head the rest of the way down, you met some resistance, eyes watering as you felt yourself gag on him.

What? He was big.

Above you, the muscles in Aki's arm tensed. With a blissful sigh, he leaned his head back. He ran a hand over his hair and down his face, lashes fluttering shut. He was so fucking pretty, it made your heart skip a beat.

That's normal. Totally normal.

His chest rose and fell steadily. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, which parted soon after to release a trembling sigh of your name.

Then his hand fisted itself tighter in your hair, and you moaned – really moaned, none of that fake shit. You never would have guessed that you were into hair pulling, but... well, here you were.

Just when you went back for more of him, he tugged you off. His dick sprang free with an uncharacteristically funny pop.

You knitted your brows, peering up at him through lust-ridden eyes. "W'happened?" You asked, still a little breathless.

"If you keep going the way you're going–" He panted, catching his breath softly, gently. "I'm not–" He paused again. "I feel like... if I can't be inside of you, I'm gonna go fucking crazy."

Well, shit.

Deciding that you couldn't have agreed more, you climbed back on the bed – back, back, until your head hit the headboard. His eyes trailed you the entire way, not at all unlike the way a cat's eyes might have trailed its prey. Then, when you parted your legs slowly, savoring his reaction, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating at the mere sight of you.

He climbed back onto the bed with you. His lips met yours in the middle – but only briefly before he was kicking his boxers off somewhere to the side and pressing himself right up against you.

Right where you needed him.

He teased the head over your heat – hand gripping the base while the tip smeared an obscene mixture of your spit and his precum over your needy pussy. You jumped when he brushed up against your clit, back arching up off of the bed.

And, of course, cruel man that he was – he smirked, rubbing your clit back and forth, back and forth with his dick. It was as if he couldn't have cared less about how dirty it was. And you could do nothing but mewl, cry out, arch... rut your hips down to chase more of that sweet, sweet stimulation.

When you decided you'd had enough, you reached down between your body and his. His gaze flicked up from the place where the two of you met for a moment – just briefly enough to catch your eyes as you steered the head of his dick down against your dripping cunt.

And, when it caught on your entrance, the head slipped in with ease. (You had been teased all night, after all). The two of you released a similar sound, gasping in perfect tandem with one another as he finally breached the surface.

Then, he was sliding in the rest of the way, and fuck, the stretch felt good.

Your hands flew up to his back, fingernails digging into the muscular planes of his shoulder blades. He slid out a little bit – only slightly, like he couldn't bear the thought of not being inside of you – and then back in. Out, then in.

The slow tenderness wasn't something you were used to. In fact, your pussy was clenching down on him already, heat boiling up in your stomach at a rapid pace because you had been waiting all night for him to fuck you like this.

He rolled his hips down, back, down again – and then something wildly embarrassing happened.

You came. You came with a warning cry of his name, legs twitching around his waist. You came, spilling arousal onto his dick and his bed. You came only a few thrusts in.

The world seemed to tip on its axis as you came down from your high. Through it all, he kept you pinned down, eyes boring into yours like watching you fall apart all over him was his favorite pastime.

And, then, he laughed. It was a little breathless, a little impressed, but a laugh nonetheless. "You missed me that much?"

Kill me now.

You covered your face with your arm, slapping him on the chest. "Fuck you."

"If you say so," He grinned – you decided that you loved his smile.

And then he was moving again.

Not hurried. Not careless. Just slow — so unbearably slow — pulling back like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he felt the ache coiled beneath your skin, the anticipation building, rising, threatening to spill over.

Your body tensed before you even realized it, back arching, a silent plea written in every trembling inch of you. And he answered — with pressure, with presence, with that rhythm only he could find. He returned to you all at once, all heat and weight and tension, and you met him there, instinctively, helplessly, grounding yourself in the friction where your bodies aligned and moved and pressed together.

It wasn't frantic. It wasn't rushed.

It was tender.

It was the kind of closeness that blurred the lines between pain and need, between comfort and desperation. His breath ghosted against your cheek, your shoulder, your throat. Every part of you lit up where he touched — and where he didn't.

You couldn't separate yourself from him anymore — not in this moment, not in this movement, not with the way your hips rose to meet his. Not with the way your fingers curled into his shoulders like you needed to hold onto something, anything, just to stay grounded.

Because it was too much – and it still wasn't enough.

The world narrowed to this: the press of him, the tension winding tighter, the heat pooling deep in your belly as your body moved in sync with his, again and again. Like a language only the two of you knew. Like breathing.

Like wanting. Like need.

He felt like too much, all at once.

His weight over you, his breath against your skin, his hands clutching your hips like he couldn't get close enough—you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop. Your bodies moved in frantic rhythm, messy and hungry and loud. Skin slapped. Your spine arched. Your thighs trembled where he held you, kept you, pinned you down like you were something he needed to ruin while he fucked you past the point of hypersensitivity.

And maybe that was what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to be undone, to have something else tear you apart so you wouldn't have to deal with the noise building behind your ribs. It was easier to focus on the pull of his body, on the rough, perfect friction, on the sound of him groaning under his breath when you moved just right.

It was easier to pretend that was all this was.

Because anything more—anything deeper—felt too dangerous to name.

You clung to his shoulders, nails biting in, eyes fluttering shut as he drove into you harder, again and again, like he couldn't get enough. He felt so good it was almost unbearable, like pleasure was too thin a word for it, too neat.

No, he was fucking the shit out of you.

But your body betrayed you. The way you gasped his name was a dead giveaway. The way your arms wrapped tighter around him.

I wish I could keep him here forever.

Buried inside of me.

You shook the thought out of your head.

It didn't mean anything. He didn't mean anything. It was just the heat. The urgency. The way he made your nerves light up and your stomach twist in on itself.

He shifted his weight and grabbed your thigh again, rough this time, pulling your leg up and over his hip in one practiced motion. You gasped—sharp and startled—as he sank deeper, pressed closer, sweat slipping between your skin and his.

"Aki, fuck," You cried out.

It felt so good. God, it felt right. And that's what scared you the most.

Because it shouldn't. It wasn't supposed to.

This was supposed to be simple. Just release. Just bodies. Just a way to burn off the ache.

So why did your chest ache?

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out – the thoughts, the tightness in your throat, the strange warmth curling in your belly that had nothing to do with his touch – and just focus on him. You could hear the rush of his breath, the rasp in his throat, feel the way his muscles tensed under your fingertips. It made you dizzy, made you want to dig in deeper, to hold him there and never let go.

But no. You wouldn't go there. You couldn't.

Because the second you thought about what this might mean, what it might become—you'd lose control completely.

And he wasn't looking at you like someone who was seeing you. Not really. He was looking like he always did: focused, sharp, lost in the moment. Not in you. Not in what this was doing to you inside.

So you matched his rhythm. You moved with him, against him, chasing sensation, grounding yourself in it. Anything to drown out the noise in your chest. Anything to ignore the unfamiliar tightness wrapping itself around your ribs like a question you didn't want to answer.

"You take me so well, pretty," He commented.

Your head fell back. He followed, pressing in deeper, his hand splaying against your thigh like he owned it. You let him. You wanted him to. Because if he touched you like that—rough and hungry and full of intent—maybe it would mean you didn't need anything else.

Maybe you could pretend that was enough.

But even now, tangled together, breathless and shaking, some part of you whispered that it wasn't.

Still, you didn't let yourself listen.

You just held on tighter. Let your nails drag across his spine. Let your body move in time with his, fast and reckless, until all that existed was this—the blur, the heat, the tension stretched thin between your lungs every single time he fucked into you.

You couldn't think.

Not clearly.

Not with him buried up to the hilt in your tender pussy.

Everything had bled into sensation — too much and not enough all at once. The drag of his hands down your sides. The weight of his body over yours. The sharp snap of his hips against yours that made your back arch, made your vision spark at the edges, made you cling to him like you'd fall apart if you didn't.

You didn't mean to be this far gone.

But he was relentless.

And now you were just feeling — mouth parted, breath caught somewhere in your throat, pulse beating fast beneath your skin. You felt yourself spiraling, unraveling, losing track of where your body ended and his began. Every inch of you was taut and burning. Everything about him — the sound of his breath, the strength in his grip, the way he moved with precision like he knew what you needed before you even said it — it overwhelmed you.

It was raw. It was animalistic.

You couldn't hide how much you wanted it.

Worse: you couldn't hide how much you wanted him.

He pressed his forehead to yours for a second — brief, heavy — before shifting his angle again, and the noise you made at the sudden change was nearly a sob. You reached for his back, nails raking over damp skin, trying to ground yourself in something. But nothing grounded you. You were weightless, untethered.

It was just pleasure, you told yourself. That was all.

It had to be.

But then you looked at him — really looked — and the ground tilted under you.

His eyes were locked on your face, not your body. And he looked ruined in a way you hadn't seen before — jaw slack, brow furrowed, hair sticking to his temples, like all of his focus was in this. On you. He wasn't talking. He never did during moments like this. But there was something in his silence that made it worse — made the tension snap even tighter in your chest.

"Oh god," You breathed out, like it was a prayer. Like he were some divine entity and you a devout follower.

A sound caught in your throat. A broken gasp. You didn't even recognize your own voice anymore. Every moan, every breath, it all felt like something you weren't controlling. Just responding.

God, he was everywhere.

His hands gripped your thighs and pulled you in closer, hoisting your legs high around his hips, and you felt him sink deeper — all the way in — and everything inside you locked tight around it. You cried out. Clung to him like you were drowning.

The worst part wasn't the desperation.

It was that you didn't want it to stop.

You weren't thinking of after. You weren't thinking of the mess or the confusion or the fact that, when he walked out that door, you'd be left with nothing but the memory of how close he'd made you feel.

You were thinking about the way his eyes flicked to your mouth when you gasped.

The way he held you like you were something he wanted to touch, not just something he needed to use.

The way your body burned for him — not just with want, but with something you didn't have a name for.

You tilted your head back into the pillows and shut your eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm, on the pace. He gave you no time to catch your breath — kept driving into you, deep and sharp and perfect, like he knew you were right at the edge and wanted to hold you there, stretch it out.

"Fuck me!" You pleaded with him. "God, Aki– fuck– don't stop!"

You needed more.

"Aki—" His name slipped out again before you could stop it, broken and hoarse and filled with too many things you didn't want to unpack.

He grunted — just once — like the sound of it meant something to him. Like he liked hearing it from you.

And your stomach turned again.

Not in discomfort.

But in that way that told you you were spiraling toward something you couldn't undo.

He leaned over you more, mouth brushing your jaw, and the way he was panting — hard, wild, desperate — almost made you forget he was the one in control. That he always was. You could feel it in the tremble of his arms, the way his hips faltered just once, just barely at the sound of your voice.

It made you feel powerful and helpless all at once.

"Keep saying my name like that," He begged you. Commanded you.

You clutched at his hair. Pressed your face into his neck. Tried to disappear into his body, into the moment, into anything but your own thoughts.

Because something inside you was starting to crack.

Not from the heat. Not from the building pressure.

But from how right it felt.

It was just sex. Contractual. It wasn't supposed to feel like being wanted. It wasn't supposed to feel like a connection.

You weren't supposed to care.

But your chest was tight. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was caught somewhere between a sob and a moan and your body was begging for release, for him, for something you couldn't even name.

What the fuck?

His pace quickened, erratic now — like even he was on the verge of losing it — and you whispered something against his skin that you couldn't even hear.

"Close–" You exhaled shakily, digging your nails into his back so hard that you knew you would leave marks. "Don't stop– Aki, Baby–"

You didn't mean to say his name again.

You didn't mean to sound so needy.

But everything about this was out of your hands now. Out of control.

You were burning. Blinding. Drenched in heat and confusion.

You were unraveling.

Every breath came fast and uneven, your body stretched so taut it felt like even the smallest push would break you open. Aki moved with a focused intensity, deliberate and unrelenting, like he knew exactly how close you were—like he could feel the way your body clung to him, how you trembled under every thrust, every shift of his weight against yours.

You gripped at him blindly, hands slipping up his back, over his shoulders, fingers pressing into sweat-damp skin like you were trying to memorize him by touch alone.

He's so beautiful.

You couldn't think. You couldn't speak. You could barely breathe.

But feeling—you felt everything.

Every inch of him. Every sound he made. Every glance he gave you between half-lidded blinks, his brows furrowed like he was trying not to lose himself too soon. Like he needed you to stay with him through every second of it.

It should've been just your body reacting.

Just nerve endings firing, just heat and friction and the way he filled you so completely that you forgot how to hold yourself together.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't just that.

You looked up—just for a moment, just to see his face—and the sight of him, undone and gorgeous, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world—

That was when it hit you.

It was like being slammed in the chest with a truth you didn't want to see. Your breath caught. Your heart stuttered beneath the pressure of it.

You wanted him.

Not just like this. Not just the physicality of him or the way he made you feel like you were burning alive.

You wanted him. The person. The man. The quiet steadiness, the rare softness, the way he touched you like you meant something even when he didn't say it out loud.

"Fuck– 'M gonna cum–" Your legs trembled around his waist, eyes fluttering shut. "Akiiii– Oh, God."

You'd been trying not to name it. You'd buried it under desire, under the illusion that this was just about chemistry, just about two people using each other to escape.

But it wasn't. Not anymore.

Not when he looked at you like that.

Not when your body was seconds away from shattering around him and all you could think was I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose him.

"Aki–" You breathed.

He replied back like he meant it, "I got you, Baby."

The sensation built inside you, unbearable in its intensity. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to hold it back, to keep some piece of yourself from slipping out along with it.

But it was no use.

Your body was already tipping, pushed past the point of no return.

And this time, when the pleasure surged through you—hot and sharp and consuming—you didn't fight it. You didn't hide from it. You let it take you.

You came for the second time that night, crying out for him as you did so – colors and shapes dancing behind your eyelids. You gripped him like a vice, like you would die if you let go.

He wasn't far behind you – hips staggering only a few more thrusts later. When he tumbled over the edge after you, he buried himself as deep as he could go, nestling his head into the crook of your neck, brows furrowed. He came with the prettiest sigh of your name – the syllables tumbling off his lips like they were meant to be there. Like you were the only name that had ever been there. And when the warmth came – an explosion like fireworks deep inside of you – you arched up into him one final time, wrapping your arms around him and cradling his head to your chest. It was something so intimate– so off-limits.

Sexual intimacy? Easy. But having him pressed up against your chest, back rising and falling with the weight of his breaths... that was something else entirely.

The heat between you both hadn't faded. In fact, it lingered, curling around your skin like a soft burn, more familiar now than the fire that had taken over you earlier. Every breath you took, every small movement of his body against yours, sent waves of warmth flooding through you.

His chest rose and fell against yours, slow and steady, but you could feel the slight tremor that still lingered in his muscles, in the way he gripped you, as though you might slip away from him. You didn't want to slip away. Not from him. Not now.

You let your fingers trail over the lines of his back, tracing them absentmindedly, though you could feel the weight of it pressing into your chest. The tenderness of the moment felt like it was seeping into you, something quiet and unexpected. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had preceded it, yet it felt so much deeper.

It didn't come all at once. It wasn't some sudden revelation, but more like something deep within you slowly unfurling, pushing itself out into the light.

His fingers lightly brushed the side of your face, gently guiding you to look up at him. You couldn't avoid the look in his eyes—the raw, unguarded tenderness there, the way his gaze softened the edges of the world around you. It wasn't just affection, not just care, but something deeper. Something that made your heart beat erratically, something that you couldn't hide from, no matter how hard you tried.

"You okay?" he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

You could only nod as you held onto him, wrapped your arms around him as though he were the anchor in a storm, trying to ground yourself in the moment

And as you did, that terrible, rotten truth bloomed fully in your chest.

You were catching feelings.

The bed felt too empty when you woke, a coldness that you hadn't expected wrapping around you. The comfort of his touch, the weight of his body against yours, had faded like a dream. You didn't want to move. Didn't want to acknowledge that you were alone again.

But the absence of him—his warmth, his presence, the steady rhythm of his breath beside you—was undeniable. And in that moment, the pull of loneliness, sharp and raw, snaked its way into your chest. It felt different than the quiet isolation you were used to.

You ran your fingers through your hair, your skin still flush with the remnants of him, and with a reluctant sigh, you rose from the bed. The silence in the room was almost suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn't shake off. Above all else, you were dressed in one of Aki's sweaters. Nothing else.

The air was cool against your bare legs as you moved toward the window. The quiet outside seemed to mirror the stillness inside you, and the moment your eyes landed on him—leaning against the balcony railing, cigarette between his fingers—you felt that same pull.

You hadn't meant to look, hadn't meant to stand there, watching him like that. But there he was, his back lit by the dim glow of the streetlights below, the faint haze of cigarette smoke curling in the air around him. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, yet he stood there.

You hadn't expected to find him like this. But here he was, alone, like he didn't quite belong in the world around him.

The door creaked as you stepped outside. He hadn't noticed you yet, lost in the quiet world he had made for himself on the balcony. You hesitated, uncertain of what you even wanted. To speak? To retreat? You couldn't tell. The pull was too strong, though, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped further into the night, closer to him.

Even though you knew you shouldn't.

The soft scrape of your feet against the ground was the only sound between you, and Aki turned slowly, his gaze meeting yours. It wasn't an angry gaze, or even a surprised one—just quiet, a little weary, and with something you couldn't quite place.

"Did I wake you?" His voice was low, but it had a softness to it that caught you off guard. It was just a question, simple and harmless, but you felt the weight of it settle over you, heavy and almost intimate.

"No," you said, shaking your head. You weren't sure why you felt the need to lie. But it was more than that. You didn't want him to know. The vulnerability of the moment, the strange way your chest felt so full and yet so hollow, was something you wanted to hide.

He nodded, taking another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the quiet between you that made everything feel fragile, like the air itself might shatter if either of you said too much.

The night was cool, the stars hidden behind the haze of city lights. You stepped closer, but even then, there was a distance between you. Not a physical one, but an emotional divide you couldn't cross. You felt it pulling at you, making every movement feel like a decision.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," you began, your voice faltering slightly. You didn't know what you wanted to say. You didn't even know why you were standing there. But the question hung in the air, and the tension between you two only grew.

Aki's eyes softened slightly, his lips pulling into a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's fine. You're not interrupting anything," he said, his voice a little lighter. But there was something heavier in his tone now, something that wasn't there before.

Does he... feel it too?

No, you corrected yourself. Don't be an idiot.

For a moment, you both stood there, the cigarette smoke lingering between you like an unspoken barrier. His gaze never wavered, but it wasn't the usual guarded look. There was a softness to it, something open, but only barely. And that, more than anything, made you feel more vulnerable than you ever had before.

"So... you gonna tell me where you sent Denji and Power off to for the night?" You teased, elbowing him before leaning over the balcony. "Or are you gonna keep pretending they just so happened to be out for the night?"

The ghost of a grin lingered on his lips. He looked so pretty beneath the moonlight that – for a moment – you wondered if this was all even real.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He replied.

"Bullshit," You jabbed back. "Not like they have friends."

With a sigh, he tapped the end of his cigarette, casting his gaze onto the empty streets below, flicking ash off of the end of it. "Alright. I might have sent them to Himeno's."

The answer should've been funny. It should've made you roll your eyes and laugh and call him out for how goddamn obvious he was. But the words just sort of sat there between you, too heavy to move.

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. "Why?"

A beat passed. Two.

"I told her I needed a break," he said finally. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't guarded either. Just honest. "But, to be honest, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you the moment I pictured you in that dress."

You didn't know what to say to that.

Your brain was still buzzing. Your body ached in places you didn't want to think about. You could feel the remnants of everything—the closeness, the heat, the way he'd touched you like he meant it. And it should've been simple. You'd done this before. You knew how to compartmentalize.

So why didn't this feel like all the other times?

You reached for a distraction.

"I should probably head home," you murmured, arms tightening across your chest. "While I can still catch a taxi."

You didn't move.

Aki turned his head just slightly. "It's late. Just stay the night."

Oh. Okay.

Your throat closed up for a second, because the way he said it wasn't casual. Not really. Not cold either. Just quiet. Just like him.

You should've said no. You knew that. Knew you'd already crossed a line somewhere in the dark, maybe back in his bedroom or maybe before that—maybe when he looked at you across the table earlier tonight and you'd caught yourself smiling like a damn idiot. Somewhere in all of this, the rules had changed, and you didn't remember agreeing to it.

But you stayed.

Fuck, you always did.

So you just gave a small nod, barely visible, and leaned back against the railing beside him.

It was quiet again. The kind of quiet that felt like it should've been peaceful, but instead it settled in your chest like static—like the edge of something unsaid scratching at your ribs.

You didn't know what any of this meant.

You didn't know what he meant.

Aki wasn't looking at you, but you could feel him anyway. The space between you was loaded. Not tense, but not easy either. It was just... too much. All of it. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

It was messing with your head.

You weren't supposed to care like this. You weren't supposed to look at him and feel your stomach twist like that. You weren't supposed to want more. Hell, you weren't even sure what "more" looked like. But you knew what it felt like—this pull in your chest, this ache just under your skin.

You closed your eyes for a moment and tried to breathe past it.

And when you opened them again, he was looking at you.

Not with the flat, impassive stare he gave everyone else. Not with the vague irritation he usually wore around Denji and Power. No, this was something else.

He looked at you like you were a puzzle he didn't want to solve. Like he didn't want to break whatever fragile thing was happening here.

And, shit, neither did you.

So you didn't say anything.

You just leaned in, hesitant and slow, until your shoulder brushed his. And then, after a long pause where neither of you breathed, you let your head tip gently against him.

He didn't move.

Didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

And you didn't know what the hell that meant either.

All you knew was that the words "I'm falling for you" were sitting on the edge of your tongue, heavy and stupid and dangerous.

You didn't say them.

Not because they weren't true, but because you weren't ready to give this – whatever this was – up.

You decided you would do whatever it took to keep him next to you like this, his scent surrounding you, hand tracing shapes on your arm. You would do whatever it took to keep this train chugging, keep him looking at you like that, even if it meant lying to yourself a little along the way.

You looked up at him, into those pretty blues of his, like he could be so much more than what he was – like you and him could actually amount to something. And, maybe it was the lighting, but you could have sworn he looked back at you with the same glint in his eyes.

No harm in catching feelings if I keep them tucked away, right?

a/n: im sorry yall. things were going too good. it had to be done lol. (lmk what yall thought in the comments thooooo, maybe even what yall THINK will happen lol ;P see u in the next one mloves! wish me luck on exams)

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

(i finally fixed the taglist so it should work now!!!! click away!!!)

[writingwithfolklore]

A Master Guide to the Three Main Forms of Publishing

There are many ways to get published nowadays, but traditional, self, and hybrid are the three most popular, so here’s the gist of what you need to know for each:

Traditional Publishing

This type of publishing goes through a publishing house who often have their own editors, artists, marketing team, etc. to launch your book. They will make your cover for you, format and edit your book, nominate your book for awards and may organize events like a launch party, book signings, speaker roles at festivals etc. They are your book’s team!

Some publishing houses accept cold queries (pitches for your unpublished manuscript) from you, but many only accept queries from agents. Agents are not necessary for traditional publishing, but they can definitely help get you in front of some of the bigger publishing houses. In my opinion, I would recommend an agent for if you want writing to be your career, but would not recommend one if you’re just looking to publish one or two books.

To get an agent, you go through essentially the same process as you would trying to get a publishing house, except you’re sending your query to different agents instead. Querying is very, very difficult, tends to take a lot of time, and will force you to face many rejections. It’s important to be prepared for when you don’t encounter instant success.

If an agent likes your query letter, they may request your full manuscript, and if they like that, they may sign you on as a client. From here, the agent will take over all the work of sending your manuscript to publishing houses. They will also act as your representative to the publishing house, and will protect you from getting scammed or not getting the deal you deserve.

Most important to remember! You never have to pay for any of these services. The money works like this: You write a book, an agent believes in the book so they sell it to a publishing house—the agent takes a cut of those profits and you get the rest (this is called an advance). The publishing house then sells the book to the public, and any profit they make after your advance, they get a cut of, your agent gets a cut of, and then you get whatever is left.

Essentially: these people make money by selling your book, not from you. If you have to pay them for any reason, you are being scammed.

Pros of Trad Publishing:

You are not held liable for a large part of the work—marketing, cover art, formatting, etc.

You are more likely to see your book in large resellers (think Chapters or Barnes and Noble), and have it reach a wider audience

You are also more likely to be given further opportunities like events, interviews, or speaker roles at festivals, and you’re more likely to win awards.

You have legitimacy and credibility as an author, especially if you have an agent, to do more books in the future and perhaps move into bigger publishing houses and make larger advances. The longer you’re in the business, the more money you make.

Cons of Trad Publishing:

It is difficult as a first-time author, and takes a long time

Some of your creative control is taken from you (you may not be able to choose your own cover or your title, etc.)

Your book must be easily marketable for them to take a chance on you

You will likely not see very much money starting out

Self Publishing

Self publishing puts all of the work that a traditional publishing house does on your shoulders. You are responsible for the editing, the formatting, designing a cover, doing your own marketing, applying for awards (if you desire), etc. This means that all creative decisions are entirely up to you, but also, that any mistakes or poor choices reflect entirely on you.

There are many ways to self publish, but lately Amazon’s publishing service seems to be the easiest for authors. In other cases, you may want to design everything and then go to a printer in your area to print off copies to then sell on your website, or try to entice resellers to pick up.

In self publishing, you may have to pay upfront for everything (especially if you hire outside services to do some of the work for you), which can make it an expensive and risky endeavor. However, you also get all of the money from sales.

Pros of Self publishing:

You are fully in control of the final product

You can publish a book that others may not have seen potential in

You don’t have to share your profit with anyone, you may see more money starting off than a trad author

It takes less time

Cons of Self Publishing:

Your reach to audience is as much as you are able to market yourself (if you have a high social media following, you will sell more than if you don’t)

All of the work is up to you, which can be difficult and frustrating, especially in getting resellers

You may not be given the same sort of opportunities as trad authors

On that note, if you ever want to make the jump to trad publishing, self published manuscripts are sometimes not seen as incredibly legitimate or credible unless they sell amazingly well

Hybrid Publishing

This form of publishing takes the idea of self publishing, but hires out some of the work. For example, you may hire a publicity company to do your marketing for you, a graphic designer to make your cover, and an editor to do a proofread, and handle the rest of it yourself. If you desire, you can technically hire out basically every service needed. This can be somewhat of the best of both worlds between trad/self publishing, however, it’s also the most expensive.

Pros of Hybrid:

You still have a majority of creative control given you are paying the companies to do what you want

A professional can take on some of the tasks that you are not as confident or skilled in

Cons of Hybrid:

It is expensive—unlike trad publishing, these companies will expect you to pay them upfront for their services, so you are risking not making back the money when your book is ready to sell

You may have to manage a lot of different people and companies—it requires intense organization and deadlines!

On that note, it is also up to you to determine if a company is credible and does good work—just getting any professional is not a guarantee that the work will be high quality

If you have any more questions about publishing, feel free to leave them in my inbox! :-)

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[sexhaver]

Hyalopterous Lemure and Mystic Remora are really funny parallels to each other because they were both originally printed in Ice Age with comically misdrawn art. although they sound like gibberish, both "hyalopterous" and "lemure" are real words; the former means "having transparent wings", and the latter is a form of spirit or ghost from Roman religion. however, Dick Thomas made the same mistake as Google here and drew a hyalopterous lemur

since "lemur" and "lemure" are both different, real words, WOTC was pretty easily able to correct this one with a reprint. they also printed another Lemure in Time Spiral, mostly as an excuse for some Norin the Wary flavor text:

Mystic Remora, on the other hand... you know, i always thought it was weird that something as creature-like as a fish would count as an enchantment instead of a creature, but i (embarrassingly) recently learned that "remora" can also mean "drag" or "resistance" (apparently out of the belief of sailors that remoras stuck on their ships increased drag). this makes way more sense with the card type and effect than a fish. unfortunately, "remora" and "remora" are not different words[citation needed], and by the time the card was up for a reprint, it was because it was such a powerful and iconic EDH card that suddenly "fixing" the art would be way more trouble than it was worth. so they've kind of just rolled with it lmao

woe, fish be upon ye

[saturn-wisteria]

How obsessed and hyper-fixated are you with your fanfic characters?

Me:

BOOKBINDING!

Ominis and Phineas now sit on my shelf along with my other books ♡

This was my first time binding fanfic, and no better choice than my own, "Take Me To The Lakes" (AO3 / Wattpad)

update (March 30): New cover art by the amazing @rinthecap 🩵

More photos and the step-by-step after the cut! (+ the appendix with Taylor Swift songs in a stylised lyric book)

I'm all about my crafty hobbies. I've been eyeing bookbinding for a while, and the algorithm finally convinced me to dive into it so I'd have a reason to procrastinate on writing

Having written a shorter fic ("Lakes" is roughly 35k words) gave me the perfect opportunity to start with something simpler.

The main tutorial used is the one by NeatFreakGeek on Tiktok.

Step 1: The typeset

I used the base template file by NeatFreakGeek, which already had the settings for printing in formatted book signatures.

With the basic body of the document formatted and ready, I started the personalization: choosing the fonts, spacing, sizing etc.

For the quote at the beginning, I chose one of the lines I wrote for Ominis + the wisteria.

For chapter headers, I chose the Gemini constellation. (In the story, Ominis and Phineas got their middle names from the stars in the same constellation, Castor and Pollux.)

I also made the chapter titles with the HTV to give it an extra glow.

Sight is overrated. Phineas makes all my senses the very essence of life itself.

Since the story was rather "short", in order to have a thicker spine, I added an appendix with the stylised "lyric book". This was probably my favourite part of typesetting!

Step 2: The textblock

With a little lot of trial and error and more mathematics than expected, I printed each signature at a time, then folded each at a time, making sure it didn't get mixed up across the signatures. My printer does front/back automatically, but to print the commissioned arts as borderless, I gave myself a headache, printing it separately and manually. This step could have been done considerably faster with a laser printer and b&w content only :)

Next, it was sewing and glueing. I won't go into detail here because the video tutorials are way better at explaining. All in all, with the right tools, this was done rather easily and with barely any mistakes, so I didn't have to print anything again, thankfully.

Step 3: The endpapers

I got a scrapbook 12x12in block in this abstract colours. I had many different ideas on how to match the theme, but I ended up choosing these colourful patterns that align with how Ominis perceives the world. Then, I added the quotes from the story.

The endpaper of the front got this sky-like print to go with the dialogue Ominis and Phineas have when they are children.

P: How would you know what blue skies look like? O: I don't know. And I don't mind not knowing.

The endpaper of the back is in green x blue shades, colours that are also a big part of the story. For the quote, I chose one of their last lines when their relationship is established.

P: Ominis, you always care too much about the others... but who takes care of you? O: No one ever did. P: Let me care for you. Please. Let me love you, Ominis Gaunt. O: Will it make any difference if I say no? P: Absolutely not. O: Will it make any difference if I love you back? P: Fucking absolutely yes.

Step 4: The cover! (Yes, the most interesting part!)

This was the most challenging step in both the conception of the design (too many ideas to choose from) and the execution (I've never hated box cutters so much.)

With the basic cardboard casing cut and glued, I chose a faux leather material as a book cloth. This might be the choice I regret the most, because the glue it comes with is not that strong, so it would often unstick easily, and also, it's a bit too thick, leaving the corners a bit weird. But the final result was a bit worth it.

For the cover design, I printed the art with fabric HTV and ironed it on. On top of it, I threw in some wisteria petals (a reference to the song "the lakes", by Taylor Swift), and another quote of the story at the back.

I didn't have a cricut machine back then for the vynil pieces, so I ordered it online. This part was harder than I thought, once again because of the faux leather choice: as I ironed the HTV, some parts of the material melted lol.

Lastly, I decided last minute to create a clear dust jacket because the combination of the faux leather + printed HTV seemed tro fragile to be handled. I liked the final result, but ironing the HTV on the acetate was a pain lol.

In summary, this was so much fun and not as hard as I expected, craft-wise. The designing of it all took the most time just because I wanted every little detail to have a meaning :)

I made two copies to gift one to a friend, so it gave me the opportunity to make the first one and mess it up, then, for the second one, I had already learned from my mistakes.

There are many things I'd do differently for my next binds, but that's the most fun part: experimenting with materials, themes, and processes.