#LIKE ITS JUST SO POP AND GOO

[plumpengu]

GAGGHH I LOVE THIS SONGNNAJSJS

[aesthetically-dying101]

Trainwreck

A/N: *sighs* can you guys guess who i wrote for? yes its nanami

warnings: innapropriate workplace behavior (this is all so unrealistic pls), thats mostly it, maybe a bit OOC? idk obsessive behavior, lowkey creepy

Nanami Kento prides himself on being a man of structure. He clocks in at 8:00 AM sharp, organizes his desk with ruthless efficiency, and approaches every task with a quiet, burning determination. But recently—recently, you’ve ruined him.

Completely, utterly ruined him.

You’re not even his boss. No, you’re her secretary. Just the secretary, really.

A pleasant smile in the hallway, the click of heels passing by his office door. You’re always polite, professional. Efficient. And yet, you’ve utterly dismantled every ounce of his composure.

He notices everything about you.

He notices too much.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're focused, the faint scent of your perfume (something floral but not cloying, clean and perfect). The way you laugh softly with the receptionist when you think no one is listening.

God, you never wear a wedding band.

He’s looked.

He’s ashamed of how often he’s looked.

He hates himself for it—hates the way his chest tightens when he hears your voice. Hates the way his thoughts stray in the quiet moments of the day, imagining what it would be like if you looked at him the way he looks at you.

But you barely notice him.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Why would you? He’s just another cog in the machine, another suit with no significance beyond his output.

Nanami lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s supposed to be working, but instead, he’s replaying that moment from earlier today: the way you’d popped into the breakroom, looking fresh and radiant in that blouse that he’s now convinced was designed to torment him.

“Oh, hi, Nanami,” you’d said, smiling at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It had been such a simple, innocent thing. And yet, his brain had short-circuited.

“Morning,” he’d managed, stiff and awkward, and he’s sure you noticed. God, why did his voice sound so clipped?

“You doing okay? You looked a little stressed in the meeting earlier.”

And that had really done it. Your concern—casual, effortless—had hit him like a freight train. He could barely stammer out a reply before you were gone, leaving him standing there, coffee untouched, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

He wants to believe he’s subtle about it, but he knows better. He’s not subtle. Not when he hangs back in the breakroom just to hear you chatting with someone, filing away every detail like the pathetic little moth he is, hopelessly drawn to your flame.

“Yeah, no, I’m just focusing on work right now,” you’d said once, when someone asked if you had any plans for the weekend. No mention of a boyfriend. No hint of anyone waiting for you at home.

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it feels like the cruelest kind of hope, igniting in his chest despite himself.

Nanami leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’s disgusting. Obsessed. You’re probably not even aware of his existence beyond the bare minimum. Why would you be? You’re smart, funny, stunning—and he’s just him. Dull. Predictable. The kind of guy women settle for when they’re tired of the fireworks.

But oh, if you ever gave him the chance. If you so much as glanced in his direction with anything resembling interest, he’d fall to his knees. Worship you. Do anything to make you happy.

It’s humiliating. The longing, the yearning, the ache.

And yet he can’t stop.

His thoughts spiral as the hours drag on, oscillating between bitterness and hope. He tells himself to stop—orders himself to focus—but his mind keeps circling back to you.

Always you.

The end of the day finally comes, and as he’s gathering his things, he hears the soft sound of your voice drifting from the hallway.

“Night, Nanami!”

You wave as you pass, the gesture casual but bright enough to light up the entire goddamn floor.

“Goodnight,” he replies, quieter than he means to. His hand tightens on his briefcase.

You disappear around the corner, and Nanami stays frozen for a moment, staring at the space where you’d been.

*-*

It’s Christmas in the office.

The annual “holiday celebration,” a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to slack off in the name of festivity. Nanami hates it—or at least he wants to hate it. Forced camaraderie, cheap decorations, music that grates on his nerves. It’s the kind of chaos he typically avoids.

But then you walk in, and every ounce of self-discipline he’s built over the years shatters into irreparable pieces.

The pencil skirt.

The goddamn Christmas-colored pencil skirt. It’s shorter than usual, clinging to your hips in a way that feels engineered to destroy him. The matching blouse, festive but just tight enough to drive him completely fucking insane.

It’s not fair.

You’re smiling as you step into the breakroom, chatting with a coworker, utterly oblivious to the wreckage you’re leaving in your wake.

Nanami’s pulse spikes. His gaze darts away, but the image of you is already seared into his brain, lingering like a bad habit.

He adjusts his tie, swallowing hard. Don’t be a creep. Don’t be a fucking creep. But then his eyes flick back, just for a second, and—oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His pants feel too tight.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fumbles with a stack of papers on his desk. His hands tremble slightly. He’s mortified, but there’s no stopping it. Not when his traitorous brain is already spinning, conjuring images he really shouldn’t be entertaining in the middle of the office.

Images of you. That skirt riding up higher, your thighs bare beneath his hands. The sound of your laughter softening into breathless gasps. The way your lips would feel against his skin—

Nanami bolts.

He mutters something vague about needing a minute to no one in particular and beelines for the bathroom. The fluorescent lights are harsh as he leans against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses to his reflection. His tie feels like a noose around his neck.

He splashes cold water on his face, but it doesn’t help. Not when every time he blinks, he sees you. The soft curve of your waist, the way your hair catches the light.

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic. You’re just trying to celebrate the holidays like everyone else, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, wrestling with his own shameless thoughts.

The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that it’s not just the dirty shit. Oh, no. His brain is crueler than that.

He imagines quiet mornings with you. You in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, smiling at him over a mug of coffee. Your hand brushing his as you pass him a plate, the warmth of your touch lingering long after.

It’s insidious. It’s relentless. It’s everything he doesn’t deserve, and yet he wants it so badly he feels like he might choke on it.

Nanami drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan that echoes in the empty bathroom.

She doesn’t even notice you, idiot.

He stays there longer than he should, collecting himself—or trying to. Eventually, he straightens his tie, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to return to his desk.

But when he passes by the breakroom again, you’re laughing, radiant, and he knows this torture is far from over.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, he doesn’t.

But it’s impossible not to overhear you when you’re in the breakroom, talking to someone about the bouquet on the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, these are lovely,” you say, your voice light and cheerful. “But if I had to pick, I’ve always been more into bold flowers. Red dahlias, spider lilies, roses—things like that. Dark, dramatic colors. They’re so beautiful.”

Nanami freezes in the hallway, a stack of files in his hands. His heart does this stupid little stutter, the same one it always does when he hears your voice. But now it’s worse because his mind is spinning with the image of you holding a bouquet like the one you’ve just described.

Red dahlias, spider lilies. The thought of you cradling those flowers, smiling at them, smiling because of him—he has to physically shake his head to clear it.

He’s pathetic.

He knows he’s pathetic. He clenches the files tighter, willing himself to keep walking, but the image won’t leave him.

Over the next few days, he thinks about it more than he wants to admit. He imagines walking into a flower shop, carefully selecting each bloom, making sure they’re perfect. He imagines handing the bouquet to you, watching your face light up—

And then he imagines the aftermath. You smiling politely, awkwardly thanking him, wondering why the hell one of your coworkers is giving you flowers.

No.

He can’t do it. It’s wildly inappropriate. He’s already teetering on the edge of unprofessionalism just by thinking about you like this.

But then, one quiet afternoon in the office, he hears you mention your birthday in passing.

“Oh, it’s in a month or so,” you say, laughing softly. “I don’t usually do much for it, though. Just a quiet day, you know?”

Nanami marks the date down the second he gets back to his desk. He feels like a creep for it, but the thought of letting the day pass without acknowledgment feels unbearable.

He’s spent weeks overthinking this, debating whether or not he should go through with it. But as he stands outside the florist that morning, the door handle cold in his hand, he decides he can’t let it go.

He picks each flower carefully: crimson dahlias with velvety petals, a few spider lilies that curl dramatically, and deep red roses. It’s a small bouquet—not too extravagant, just enough to feel thoughtful.

By the time he gets to the office, his palms are clammy, and he feels like he might actually pass out.

He doesn’t give it to you right away. He waits until the middle of the day, when the office is quieter and most people are out at lunch. He finds you at your desk, bent over some papers, your hair falling slightly into your face.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice more formal than he intended.

You look up, blinking in surprise, and when your eyes land on the bouquet in his hands, they widen slightly.

“I, uh—” He clears his throat, trying not to fumble. “I overheard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”

You take the bouquet slowly, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer—something warmer.

“Oh my gosh, Nanami, these are gorgeous,” you say, holding the flowers close to your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. “Just… thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” Your smile is radiant, and for the first time, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice sincere.

He nods, forcing himself to meet your gaze for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before quickly retreating to the safety of his desk.

But that's what happens in his mind, in his fantasy... in reality, he simply left those at your desk while you were in a meeting, though he did hear you gasp when you saw them.

As he sits at his desk, his heart pounding, he allows himself a small, private smile. For once, his yearning doesn’t feel quite so pathetic.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. But it’s impossible not to hear you when your voice floats down the hallway like that, soft and full of joy.

The bouquet sits proudly on your desk, vibrant reds catching the fluorescent light, and you’re standing nearby, talking to another employee.

“I still can’t believe it,” you’re saying, your tone carrying this sweet mix of wonder and delight. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. It’s just… so thoughtful, you know?”

Nanami, passing by with his usual quiet efficiency, freezes mid-step. His breath hitches in his throat.

“I mean, look at them,” you continue, gesturing to the flowers. “They’re perfect. Whoever picked these out really put a lot of thought into it.” You laugh softly, a sound that makes his chest ache. “I’m not even sure how they knew these are my favorites.”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She’s talking about me. She’s talking about me.

He feels ridiculous for the way his stomach twists, for the heat creeping up his neck. A grown man shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feel this weak, over a few kind words. But goddammit, he can’t help it.

The idea that you’re gushing about something he did, that he made you happy, even for a moment—it’s enough to undo him completely.

“Whoever it was,” you add, your voice softening, “it’s just… it really made my day. Probably my whole week, honestly.”

Nanami swallows hard, clutching his briefcase like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His emotions are a mess—a chaotic tangle of pride, relief, and something deeper, something that makes his throat feel tight.

He knows he should walk away. He shouldn’t linger here, shouldn’t keep listening like some lovesick fool. But he’s stuck, trapped by the sound of your voice and the warmth in your words.

When he finally moves, it’s with a heaviness in his chest that he can’t quite define. He makes his way back to his desk, sitting down and staring blankly at his computer screen.

*-*

Weeks bleed together in the monotony of office life, except for the moments where Nanami lets himself carve out little spaces of joy—tiny gestures that go unnoticed by most but feel monumental to him.

It starts with a single chocolate, placed carefully on the corner of your desk one morning before you arrive. Just a small thing, barely bigger than his thumb, wrapped in shiny foil. He doesn’t linger to see your reaction. He couldn’t stomach it, not when he knows he’d fold in on himself if you so much as tilted your head in confusion.

But the next day, you’re chatting with the receptionist, that same soft laugh spilling from your lips.

“It’s so weird,” you’re saying, holding the empty wrapper in your fingers. “I found this little chocolate on my desk yesterday. I don’t know who left it, but it was sweet. Made my morning, honestly.”

Nanami ducks his head, pretending to be engrossed in the stack of reports he’s holding, but inside, he’s practically vibrating. She noticed. She noticed.

He tells himself to stop, to leave it there, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The yearning is too big, too loud, and it demands an outlet, however small.

After a grueling conference one afternoon, he slips a bottle of chilled water onto your desk when you step away. Nothing extravagant—just a quiet act of care. You’re gone for no more than a minute, but when you return, you blink down at the bottle, tilting your head in that way he finds unfairly adorable.

“Huh,” you murmur, glancing around. “Did someone leave this?”

You shrug, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, and Nanami has to fight the urge to look away too quickly, lest anyone catch the faint pink blooming across his cheeks.

It’s pathetic.

The way he lives for these small moments, like a man stranded in a desert, savoring droplets of water. Every tiny gesture, every unnoticed offering, feels like a prayer he’s too afraid to voice aloud.

He notices everything about you. How you seem to perk up on Friday afternoons, your shoulders relaxing as you chat about weekend plans. How you wrinkle your nose just slightly when you’re concentrating. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening—a soft, tuneless sound that drives him to distraction.

He doesn’t need grand gestures. He doesn’t want them. He just wants to make your days a little brighter, even if you never know it’s him.

And god, does he yearn.

He daydreams when he shouldn’t, his thoughts slipping away from spreadsheets and into fantasies that make his chest ache. He imagines brushing your hair back from your face, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He imagines quiet evenings, your laughter filling the silence of his apartment. He imagines the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

And sometimes—sometimes, when he’s alone, when the ache feels unbearable—he lets himself imagine things he shouldn’t. Things that make his heart race and his breath catch and leave him staring at his own reflection in shame after.

But he never acts on it. Never says a word. Instead, he keeps leaving his little tokens: a coffee cup placed carefully on your desk when he overhears you complain about a late night, a pack of your favorite pens after you mention running out.

You smile every time, and though you never suspect him, that’s enough. It has to be enough.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

*-*

You’re not an idiot.

No, you may be a little dense sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Someone has been leaving you small, thoughtful little gifts over the past few weeks.

And you have absolutely no idea who it is.

It started innocently enough—chocolate on your desk one morning. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it kept happening. A bottle of water after a long conference, a cup of coffee after a particularly brutal meeting. At first, you thought maybe it was just a mistake, someone leaving things around and not realizing it was yours. But no, they were always right where you’d find them. Right when you needed them.

It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it's also starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of you because, for the life of you, you can’t figure out who’s doing it.

You’ve spent the past few days trying to narrow it down, your brain doing mental gymnastics over every damn interaction you’ve had at work. And frankly? You’re getting tired of it.

“Alright, let’s break this shit down,” you mutter to yourself as you sip your second cup of coffee of the day, pretending to focus on an email.

Option one: Your boss.

Ha. Right. She’s too busy scheduling her hair appointments to think about leaving chocolates on anyone’s desk. Plus, she’s got the whole “I don’t care if you live or die” attitude, so yeah, not her.

Option two: Kevin from accounting.

Kevin’s an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but still. He’s the type to forget the coffee in the breakroom and then call it “the best thing ever” for two hours, as though anyone cares about his “discovery.” You’re not buying that.

Option three: That one guy from marketing, Tom.

You nearly burst into laughter just thinking about it. Tom’s an over-caffeinated golden retriever in a human’s body. He’s the type of guy who thinks sending a “Hey, just wanted to check in!” email twice a day is “checking in” on people. He probably couldn’t even remember to get a chocolate from a store, let alone leave it at your desk.

Option four: Nanami.

You pause mid-sip, blinking rapidly. Nanami? The quiet guy from finance? The one who barely says more than a handful of words in a meeting?

Now that’s an intriguing thought. He’s always… there. Always around, like a quiet shadow, observing. Sure, he’s not exactly filling the room with energy, but there’s something there, right? Something beneath that perfectly structured exterior.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No way. That’s ridiculous.

But then you think about it. Nanami’s the type of guy who doesn’t get distracted by office chaos. He’s methodical. Focused. The guy who lives on routine. He’d be the one to sneakily notice when someone’s overworked and needs a small pick-me-up. He’s just... quiet about it.

But then again, who leaves water bottles, chocolates, and coffee? It’s not like he’s ever said anything about it. Not a single “hey, I thought you might like this,” or anything remotely close to an acknowledgment. Hell, he doesn’t even smile much.

God, he’s so damn mysterious it makes your head spin.

You glance over at his desk. There he is—quiet, as usual. Focused, pretending the world isn’t falling apart around him.

It could be him.

But no. You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. He’s not the type. Right?

It’s just… weird. And you’re not even sure why it feels so weird. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve got a secret admirer at work, which is fucking hilarious because it sounds like something out of a shitty rom-com you wouldn’t even watch if someone paid you.

"God, I’m going insane," you mutter under your breath, checking your watch. "Seriously. Who the hell is doing this?"

*-*

It took weeks.

Weeks of small gestures.

You’ve figured it out.

It took some careful observation, a bit of deduction, and honestly, a lot of staring at Nanami when he wasn’t looking. But there’s no doubt in your mind now. The quiet, stoic, almost painfully composed man from finance—the one who always has his tie perfectly in place and whose voice could melt butter—he’s your secret admirer.

And oh, it’s delicious.

At first, you weren’t sure. Nanami wasn’t exactly the type to scream “hopeless romantic” or even “mildly interested.” But the more you watched him, the more obvious it became. The way his eyes linger on you just a second too long, the way he tenses when you get too close, the way he seems to disappear right after you find something thoughtful left at your desk.

You caught him once, hovering near the break room as you raved to a coworker about the flowers. He didn’t say a word, but the way he froze mid-step, his jaw tightening ever so slightly? Yeah. That was all the confirmation you needed.

And honestly? You’re thrilled.

Nanami’s hot. Not just conventionally attractive, but smart-hot, the kind of guy who could ruin you with a PowerPoint presentation and a sharp comment about fiscal responsibility. He’s also maddeningly composed, which makes you want to poke at him, see what’s underneath that calm, collected exterior.

So, naturally, you decide to fuck with him.

Just a little.

You can feel the tension building in the air as you move through your day, the little comments, the subtle glances. Nanami’s still trying to play it cool, but it’s clear. He’s a mess. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away when they linger on you a second too long. You can hear it in his voice when he answers you—a little too stiff, a little too forced.

So, you decide to push him.

You start small. Little things. Nothing too obvious, just a few well-placed gestures to see how far you can take him before he finally snaps.

You walk past his desk, and you’re definitely not trying to make sure your skirt hugs your hips just right. You bend over just so to grab a file from your bag, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of your cleavage.

You’re certain he’s trying not to look—hell, you can practically feel him forcing his eyes up to the ceiling, but you know. You know he’s been watching.

When you straighten up, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s gripping his pen like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles pale, and his jaw is tight. You smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

“Need something, Nanami?” you ask, the words dripping with an edge of playful mischief.

He swallows, clearly doing everything in his power to maintain his usual stoic expression. “No,” he replies, too quickly, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

You laugh lightly, keeping the tension alive as you pull away. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Oh, this is too good.

You don’t stop there, though. No, you want to see how much he can handle.

The next day, you make sure to wear a skirt that’s just a little tighter, just a little shorter than usual. The fabric clings to you in all the right ways, and when you walk past Nanami’s desk, you make sure to let your hip brush against the edge of his desk, just lightly enough to catch his attention.

As you bend down to grab a report from the printer, you give him the tiniest, most casual look over your shoulder. You’re sure you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your legs before he quickly looks away. Gotcha.

You straighten up, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you walk back past him, barely stopping yourself from humming in satisfaction when you feel his gaze linger on the curve of your back.

It’s all too easy.

And now? Now it’s time to turn it up a notch.

You’ve been toying with him for days now, watching as he stiffens every time you get a little too close, testing how much he can take before his composure cracks. You see the way his breath catches when you “accidentally” brush your arm against his as you pass by. He doesn’t say a word, but you know. You can see it in the way his eyes flash with something darker, something needy, before he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

You know what you’re doing to him.

And you’re fucking loving it.

*-*

For two weeks, you’ve been shamelessly pushing Nanami to his limits.

You flirt, you linger, you brush your hand against his arm just a little too long, your skirts are shorter, tighter—designed to test the boundaries of his sanity.

And he notices.

Oh, he notices.

But what you don’t see is what’s going on beneath that perfectly calm, stoic exterior.

Because Nanami is losing his fucking mind.

Every look, every casual touch, every time you lean just a little too close—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire inside him. He’s never been this affected by anyone, and now it feels like he’s constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He tries—he really does—to keep his composure. He’s a professional, damn it. A man of control and discipline. But you? You’re unraveling him piece by piece.

*-*

She knows. Oh, God, she fucking knows. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she doing this on purpose? She’s doing this on purpose. That skirt—did it get shorter? That’s not appropriate for the office, right? Should I say something? No. No, shut up, you idiot. Just focus on your work. She’s walking toward you. Act normal. Act—

“Hey, Nanami, could you help me with something?” you ask, your voice sweet, with just the faintest hint of teasing.

His throat goes dry. He looks up, forcing his expression to remain neutral, professional. “Of course. What do you need?”

You lean closer, your hand brushing his shoulder as you point to your tablet. “I can’t figure out this formula. Can you show me?”

He doesn’t miss the way your perfume lingers in the air, soft and floral, and it’s driving him mad.

“Sure,” he says, his voice even, betraying nothing of the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

But inside? He’s screaming.

*-*

This is a problem. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. That look she gave me this morning? That wasn’t casual. No, that was calculated. She’s testing me, trying to see how far I’ll go. Does she know how much I—

He can’t even finish the thought. Because the truth is, his daydreams are becoming increasingly inappropriate, increasingly desperate.

He imagines you sitting on his lap in his office chair, your arms draped around his neck as you laugh at something he said. He imagines kissing you—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate, until he’s completely lost in you. He imagines everything he wants to do to you, and it’s enough to make him clench his fists under his desk, trying to hold himself together.

*-*

One afternoon, you’re standing next to his desk, going on about some report, and he can’t take it anymore. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and the way you’re looking at him, with that mischievous little glint in your eye—it’s too much.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low, controlled.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He stands, towering over you, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on yours. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though the slight curve of your lips betrays you.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The teasing. The looks. The... whatever this is. If you’re trying to drive me insane, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Your grin widens, and you cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his confidence unwavering now. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and he feels his chest tighten all over again.

“Okay, Nanami. You’ve got yourself a date.”

*-*

The date is perfect.

Nanami shows up at your door precisely at seven, looking sharp in a navy suit and holding a small bouquet of red dahlias—your favorite. Dinner is a mix of light conversation and laughter, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm that feels like you’ve known each other forever.

When he walks you back to your apartment, the air between you is warm, charged with something unspoken.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice soft, your eyes searching his.

He hesitates for half a second before nodding. “Yes.”

*-*

Your apartment is cozy, filled with little touches that are unmistakably you. Nanami takes it all in—your bookshelves, your mismatched throw pillows, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

But then you’re there, standing close to him, your eyes meeting his, and everything else fades away.

The first kiss is tentative, a soft meeting of lips that quickly deepens as he pulls you closer, his hands resting on your waist. You sigh against him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans softly, losing himself in the warmth of you.

“Nanami,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch your breath.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

You laugh, your forehead resting against his. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I hate the way you consume my thoughts. I hate the way you make me feel so... so...”

“Alive?” you offer, grinning.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

Before things can go further, your cat jumps onto the couch, meowing loudly, and you both break apart, laughing.

“Excuse me,” Nanami says, his voice soft but firm as he picks up the cat and carries it to another room. “We need privacy.”

When he returns, you’re still laughing, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands cradling your face.

Between kisses, he whispers things that make your heart ache in the best way.

“You drive me crazy... but I don’t want it to stop. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

By the time the night ends, you’re both a mess of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, and for the first time in weeks, Nanami feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

A/N: sorryyy, this might be ooc for him? im unsure...

Masterlist.

:)

[inkdrinkerworld]

Fake I.D

synopsis: cowboy!james is infatuated with you and your flirting, so you take him line dancing to get him to make a love

cw: suggestive content, 18+ only, grinding, flirting, use of the word pervert, James and reader are kind of idiots in love

Your hot pink and white boots will be the death of James and he knows you know that.

He can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you out of them and the total number of times is one- every other time, it’s been those godforsaken hot pink and white boots with a thick heel that makes your legs look like something out of his teenage wet dreams.

You’re not new in town, you and James have known each other since primary school but it was in secondary school that you really plagued his every waking thought. You were pretty, and kind, but also confident and didn’t take shit from anyone. James found it wildly attractive.

You and James hadn’t been close friends, but you’d always been friendly. His friend Sirius had introduced you both at a party, and you’d been friendly since that.

The turning point in you and James’ friendship had come not too long after you’d started working at a salon.

James’ parents own the biggest horse farm in town, and you’d rescued a tiny colt that had been trapped up in some bushes while you were on a hike, and drove it to James’ family ranch in the back of your pickup with tears in your eyes because of the cuts on its legs.

James had never seen you, loud, confident you, in tears like that and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest as you hiccuped through your words to tell him about the colt. He and his dad had taken it out of your tray and everyday the colt was on the ranch, you went over to check on him.

Eventually, James was able to nurse the poor thing to perfect health and then asked you if you wanted to name it after his dad told him they’d keep it.

James wasn’t shy himself, but sometimes when you looked right into his eyes, lashes framing your eyes, it made his heart stutter.

“You really think I should?” You had asked, eyes wide with excitement but also a bit of apprehension.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’d only be right.” and as you had stroked the near blood coloured mane, the face of the horse in your other hand, the name came to you easily.

“Copper.”

You and that horse and James had been inseparable after that and James nearly lost his breath every time you went to the ranch after that- cutoff shorts, hot pink and white boots and shirts James swore made him feel like a pervert.

Now, you’re at James’ ranch, a brush in Copper’s mane as you look at James tending to his own filly- Moondancer.

“Please Jamie? It’s fun and you never stay for the dancing.”

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle. You’re doing those puppy dog eyes and you’ve got red eyeliner on to match your shirt and James feels a little overwhelmed with his attraction to you.

“I’ll be your partner all night, Jamie. Won’t leave you to be eaten up by the ladies- save that luxury just for me.”

You giggle when he sputters and his cheeks flush. “Alright, angel. What time do I meet you at the Boneyard?”

You gasp, all faux aghast. “You won’t pick me up at my house? Where’s your southern hospitality?”

James rolls his eyes, “I can do that too. Say eight?”

You pop your hip as Copper nuzzles into your hand. “Will you be all done by then? I don’t want you to cut into your chores and stuff Jamie?”

You’re so earnest, and the flirting has been put to a pause making James turn to goo.

“I’ll be all done, angel. Don’t worry.”

At seven thirty, you’re all finished with your makeup, nothing too extreme, just a smokey eye with glitter on your lids and the heavy black eyeliner you noticed James likes.

Your hair is out and ripples down your back in loose curls, your most recent haircut making them look even better than usual.

You’re not trying to impress him, but you have a plan for how tonight is going to end and you want James to finally take all your flirting as seriously as you mean it.

So you dress up and pull out all the stops that you know he likes- the hot pink boots a must, your low rise jeans, and your skirt that says, ��save a horse.’

When James knocks, you squeal, boots clacking as you race to the door.

“Hey Jamie,” you sing-song as you pull the door open, James taking in a deep breath as his eyes rake over you.

“You look stunning.” There’s a little husk to his voice that you love.

As he gives you a once over, you do the same. He’s dressed in his most relaxed pair of jeans, a blue wash that makes his already thick thighs look ever thicker, a black t-shirt that clings to his arms and nearly makes you drool and his hat. God you love and hate his hat- you love it because he looks stunning in it; but you hate it because it hides away his pretty curls. God you love those curls.

“So do you, Jamie. I like your shirt, it makes your arms look nice.”

He smirks, a little emboldened. “Oh yeah?”

You nod, stepping out of your door, “Ready to go?”

James nods and holds his arm out to you, smiling to himself when your hand wraps around his bicep and not his forearm.

The Boneyard is packed as it usually is, most of the patrons are already more than a little drunk, but you spot some of the girls at your salon, some of James’ friends and some tourists who’re no doubt in tonight for the line dancing.

“A cherry vodka angel?” James asks, wanting a drink to dispel some of his nerves.

“Yes please, James. I’ll go see what songs they have for tonight.”

James nods, watching you walk off first before going over to the bar. Sirius is working tonight, a smirk on his face as he spots James and then spots where he’s looking.

“Finally doing something about all her flirting, Potter?” he asks and James flushes a little as Sirius passes him a beer and then makes your drink without James saying a word.

It takes him a little by surprise that Sirius knows it, but then it dawns on James that he talks about you a lot to his best friend. A lot.

“Trying, but she makes me so fucking nervous, Pads.”

Sirius laughs, patting James on the arm.

“Doesn’t sound so bad, Jamie. You’d be a fool not to be nervous about that girl. She’s trouble all over in the best way.”

James is very inclined to agree.

“Hey Siri, you being nice to James?” You take your drink gratefully and take a sip.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, trouble.” You shrug with a pretty devious smile on your face- James’ heart rate picks up. “Saw you looking at the setlist, you and Potter planning on dancing?”

You nod, smiling when you look up and find James looking at you with fondness written boldly on his face. He’s easy to read, never one to guard his feelings, James.

“Yeah, they’re finally doing Fake I.D again so I figured I’d take James’ virginity in that regard.”

James, bless him, doesn’t sputter, which he’s eternally grateful for. Sirius shares a wicked grin just like yours.

“Don’t make it too vulgar, Remus’ll run you off the dance floor.”

You put your hands up, “I make no promises.”

James is saved from any more teasing from either of you when the song starts playing.

“C’mon Jamie, it’s starting.” He lets you pull him after he downs the last of his drink.

“What if I mess it up?” He whispers as you tug him along. Your hair whips at his chest as you turn to look back at him and he can smell your vanilla shampoo and shuts his eyes for a brief moment.

“You won’t, just follow my lead. You’ll be perfect.”

It takes him a couple steps to get into the song, but seeing you smiling and giggling makes James fall deeper into the music.

The floor rumbles with everyone’s steps, but all you can think about is James behind you as you dance in a circle.

“James!” you squeal when you feel his hands hold onto your hips, James smiling wide as you lean into him a little.

As the guitar solo riff continues you know you have to stay close to James for this part. It isn’t hard because it seems like you’ve both magnetized to each other more than before. As the beat drops, you feel like time has slowed, the words filter into your ears all muffled and soft as you pull James close by his shirt, your chests pressed together. “Hey mister, won’t you sell me a fake i.d.”

You see his breath hitch more than you feel it. You’re both grinding on each other on the dance floor, and it’s way more erotic than anything else either of you could’ve been doing.

“Fuck,” you feel the whisper as James’ hand cements itself to your hip and one of yours buries in his hair.

You tip his hat onto your own head and you swear James’ chest rumbles. “Angel.”

You’re breathless as you and James dance, you feel like you’re the only people on the dance floor.

He dips you backward and you bite back a moan when one of his hands travels up your back to keep his hat on your head. As he picks you up, his fingers knot in your hair and your lips just barely meet.

“James.” You breathe his name and he groans.

“You really are trouble.” his lips meet yours, tentatively at first, and then his mouth consumes yours the moment you kiss him back.

You pull apart and smile, “Took you long enough, James.”

He shakes his head, his dimple poking out as he chases your lips. “You look so good in my hat.”

His stare turns you a little shy and you duck to hide your face in his chest; James laughs at the action.

“Come outta there, sweetheart. Can’t hide those eyes from me now.”

You groan, but look up at him. “Have you always been this smooth?”

James nods, tipping your chin up just a bit higher to kiss your lips again. “Just for you,” you beam at that. “My heart’s thumping.”

“Mine too,” You kiss his jaw, teeth scraping a second path. “Wanna get out of here?”

James slips his hand in your back pocket eliciting a keen he wants to hear more of. “Get your cute butt in my truck, angel.”

You giggle as James squeezes before releasing you, holding your hand with his hat sitting proudly on your head as you stomp your feet out of the bar to his truck. He really does love those hot pink boots.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day! I was thinking about this Bakugou, where he penches his s/o lips whenever she teases him or compliments him, saying that her lips should be punished for driving him crazy or smth.

I just find this idea cute if you please can write about it 😭🤍

a/n:..wait...cus why are you a literal genius this got a lil kick teww ittttt.. (kinda soooorta angsty but like if you squint, katsuki is bad at feelings but he tries his hardest, kissing, no biting for once wow its been a while..dont worry yall its comin, short lil drabble, hope u enjoy ! <3)

"your eyes are so pretty katsu."

katsuki bakugou thinks he'll never be able to get used to you when he looks down at your head in his lap, raising a brow as a defensive mechanism to not turn red all the way down to his chest.

"where'd this come from ?" he leans into your hand almost reflexively when you place it against his cheek, still not breaking eye contact as you smile at him, he feels warmth crawl up his back and it makes him squint.

"nowhere," you run your finger across his cheek, than across his nose bridge "just wanted to tell you."

he gulps, clearing his throat his eyes fight to keep looking into yours, relaxed and happy and comfortable. it feels strange to see someone so comfortable around him.

"yeah ?"

"mhm, your lashes are so long too." you muse. it's casual, it comes out so easily.

he feels his heart beat loudly against his chest when you run your fingers over his eyebrows. you keep on touching him, and he likes it, usually. but it's overwhelmingly nice, you're overwhelmingly nice and he doesn't know what to do with it. because bakugou isn't sweet like you. he can't casually tell you that he loves your eyes, that he could be perfectly content staring at you doing whatever for hours on end, that random things he sees when he's out remind him of you and that you're the last thing he thinks about when he falls asleep.

because it comes out wrong, when he does. but even still your words make him so unbearably giddy. it's foreign receiving compliments, and if he does their almost always quirk related. but these are different and they're from you, so it feels even better and though embarrassment creeps up onto his body his heart buzzes and beats proudly. he feels like he can't sit still so he does the next best thing.

"shush." he mumbles, pinching your cheeks to make you pout. you splutter out a giggle when he leans down to place a sloppy wet kiss onto your duck lips. "you keep sayin' weird shit.." he dodges your grin when he lets go of your cheek.

"but they are long ! and your eyes are pretty ! that's not weird, it's the truth." you maintain, nodding afterwards like your word is law. fuck, he loves you.

"be quiet." he pinches your lips shut and you start flailing around with muffled giggles and squeals. katsuki follows, laughing through his nose and meanly moving your lips around in his grip.

"fuck, you drive me crazy.." your eyes snap open at his soft eyes and words. his eyes shine mischievously but his cheeks are bright as he smirks. you pout at him and it makes him want to squeeze you until you pop. ( he remembers you called it cute aggression or something)

"you talk too damn much." he pinches your cheek "needa be punished for drivin' me nuts all the damn time."

"jush shay yur not goo wif complimeshs." katsuki snorts at your attempts to talk with your cheek in his grip, and he can't help the half smirk on his face when you laugh. he releases your cheek in favor of leaning down to press his lips against yours.

"you're the pretty one, dummy."

"but we can both be pretty !"

"whatever, you're prettier then."

katsuki still feels his heart thump loudly in his chest, and he's sure he'll keep feeling like this for a long while. your words will keep sticking to his heart like they always do. and maybe he is 'pretty', he'll go along with that for you, but you're definitely prettier.

[starsofang]

poly!141 x autistic!reader

still thinking about that anon that requested how poly!141 would be with an autistic partner, so here’s a sweet little drabble about price with them <3

tw: brief angst before cute fluff, just reader being overstimulated and price offering comfort

The entire room felt like it was closing in on you. It made you feel suffocated, claustrophobic, like all the walls were slowly constricting you and threatening to squeeze you until you exploded into a bloodied mess of splattered red.

Warm flames were trickling into your bloodstream, slowly but surely, heating you up with rage, attempting to scorch you from the inside and out. It was becoming unbearable. It was ruthless.

You loved Johnny and Kyle. Truly, you loved them to death, just as much as you loved Simon and Price. But putting them together could be a youthful night of smiles and laughter, or it could be a recipe for disaster. Right now, it was the latter.

The restraint you had was wearing thin. It was painful, both mentally and physically, to mask your anger and not snap at the two of them for how loud they were being. It wasn’t their fault, they were always the more outgoing types when they were paired together, and a lot of it expressed itself when you were around so you wouldn’t feel excluded or isolated.

But god, it was wearing thin, borderline snapping and shattering into unrepairable pieces.

You were overstimulated. Extremely.

Your mind was poisoned goo, seeping into a puddle in your head, tainting your emotions with a venomous disease. It screamed at you, flooding you with overwhelming exposure.

The air in your lungs felt as if it were monoxide. It didn’t filter through, it didn’t make you feel like you were breathing. It was a strangling feeling, one that made you lightheaded and tuned out.

Johnny and Kyle’s voices mixed together in an agonizing shrill that made your eardrums feel like they were two seconds away from combusting. It didn’t calm you like it normally did, nor did it make you laugh. All it did was make you irritated.

“Please,” you begged, voice raspy and forced through the grit of your teeth. Your hands plugged over your ears, cupping them in attempts to drown out their rowdy jokes. “Can you please just shut up? For two fucking seconds? Please?”

Instantly, the room filled with a deafening silence. The two men stared at you, guilt pooling in their eyes when they realized just how inconsiderate they were being towards you.

They were aware of things that could overstimulate you to the point of blinded exhaustion mixed with rage, but even they could forget sometimes. They’d never hurt you on purpose, nor would they want to make you feel that way.

You were their partner, all of theirs, and with five of you in the mix, it was easy to let the reminder slip.

“Hey,” Kyle called out softly, reaching a hand out to you. When you flinched away from it, an angry glare etched into your eyes, eyebrows taut firm, mouth pressed into a frown, he pulled it away, noting how you were in no mood to be touched. “Hey, we’re sorry, dove. Didn’t mean to get too much, we’ll quiet down.”

Your hands remained over your ears but you could hear him perfectly fine, though made no effort to respond. The little virus in your mind was too occupied with spreading its disease, and you couldn’t cure it in a flash. It would take time to settle.

“Bonnie?” Johnny asked. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. It was too much. You needed space to breathe, and surely, they’d understand that.

Stepping away from them and out of the room without another word, the first person who popped in your head was Price. His office was right down the hall, so you stomped towards it, keeping your head low and your ears covered.

You didn’t bother knocking. You never had to with him, and he always kept it unlocked for when you wanted to see him, or needed to, in this case.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Price greeted warmly when you yanked open his door and stepped inside, before promptly hurling it closed.

His eyes followed you as you made your way over to the couch he kept in his office just for you, watching as you plopped yourself on it. Knees to your chest, sour expression, ears covered. It was enough indication for him to read the room.

You needed a quiet space, and that was something he could always give you.

Price silently stood from his desk, crouching down to one of his drawers. Tugging it open, he pulled out one of the blankets he kept on hand for you. Normally for when you’d take a nap in his presence, but this time it was for comfort.

Walking over, he stood in front of you, head tilted and eyes taking in your appearance. You were flustered and disheveled, and his heart ached seeing you shut down. He knew it was just all apart of who you were, but he still felt pained seeing you unhappy.

“Here, bug,” he offered with a kind smile, using careful hands to place the blanket around your shoulders. He wrapped you up in it, before stepping back, allowing you the space you needed until you were ready. “You want some music?”

Shaking your head, you continued glaring down at the floor, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself in a secure cocoon.

“Alright. I’ll be over there, okay?” He gestured to his desk, but when you didn’t respond, he took no offense and returned to his paperwork anyway.

The two of you sat in silence for the duration of your visit. He didn’t mind, and would cast the occasional glance in your direction to make sure you were well, before returning to his work.

The silence was needed. It calmed you, smoothed over your nerves and ceased the thumping of your heart and loud voices in your head. When you came to, you instantly made a mental note to apologize to Johnny and Kyle, but for now, you could welcome the quiet.

It took about an hour for you to move from your spot. An hour for you to calm. An hour for you to become aware.

The wildfire was finally put out, and you could breathe again without the angry smoke of it to strangle you.

Standing up from the couch, you wordlessly walked over to Price. He glanced up at you from his paperwork, placing his pen down and leaning back in his chair. He was patient, not making a first move until you did, but when you stood in front of him with a kicked-puppy expression, he opened his arms.

“C’mon, bug,” he assured lovingly.

You didn’t hesitate, stumbling into his lap and allowing yourself to be embraced in the comforting warmth of his arms. They wrapped around you, holding you to his chest. One hand lifted to lightly stroke through your hair.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, and you shook your head from where it was buried in the crook of his neck. “That’s okay. Just needed some peace and quiet, hm?”

“Mhm,” you hummed into his skin, eliciting a light laugh from him. It rumbled against you, filling you with glowing warmth and making you sink into him further.

Price pressed a chaste kiss on the side of your head, smiling down at you when you peeked your head out from his neck, gazing at you as if you put all of the stars in the sky.

(You definitely ended up apologizing to both Johnny and Kyle later on, resulting in plenty of hugs and kisses to go around, and a brief smack on each of their heads when Simon found out about what they did.)

[rawrsatthetree]

Dark urge and Astarion hold a baby

GN!Durge!Tav x Astarion

Inspired by a fanart of Astarion holding a baby and an audio of Neil talking about babies as Star

Warings: well it's druge so descriptions of violence

As you and your party waded through the crowd of refugees a strange sound caught your attention. It sounded like crying but far too high pitched to be any person or child. The sound grated and scrapped at your mind and before your realized it, you had wandered off from your party in search of the source.

Among the crowd of broken families and lost souls you found an old elven woman cradling a squirming bundle in her arms. The thing wriggling about in her grasp was what had been making the terrible noise that had now quieted down into a pathetic whine.

You didn't notice how close you were lingering until the old woman spoke up. "Can I help you dear?" She questioned, her demeanor warm and friendly.

"Oh, um I was just um..." You were at a loss of words, your eyes fixed on the thing in her arms.

"Would you like to see him? Come closer, no need to be shy." She gave you a warm smile.

Hesitantly you shuffled forward to where you could see what it was she was holding, expecting some sort of animal or other strange creature.

"A baby?"

"Yes, a precious little thing, his name's Arthur." The woman rocked him in her arms.

The baby took a reprieve from it's fussing to turn and look at you. It stared at you blankly for a moment as you stared back before it broke into a smile and babbled at you.

"Would you look at that." The woman cooed, "he hasn't smiled once since he lost his mother to the Absolute's army."

The very sight made you mind ache and twist. Thoughts of all the horrible ways you could end the small innocent life flooded your skull. Perhaps you could simply smash it, the little ball of goo and viscera that it is. Or maybe it would be fun to squeeze its little neck until its doll like eyes popped out of its skull and its neck snapped.

Your vision started to blur, your pulse pounding, hands shaking. You tried to regain your sanity, remembering the mediation exercises you had practiced with Halsin. First ground yourself, breathe, what can you hear, what can you see.

Breathe in, you heard the footsteps on the crowd.

Breathe out, you felt the cool breeze.

Breathe in, you smelled smoke and farm animals.

Breathe out, you heard the chatter of the crowd around you.

Breathe in, you heard the old woman speak. "Would you like to hold him?"

Breathe out, you could see the baby still smiling up at you.

Your mind cleared as your vision came back into focus. The Urge had passed for now and relief washed over you. You answered the woman, "Can I? Are you sure its okay?" You asked mostly to her but partly to yourself.

"Of course dear, he seems quite fond of you and it would give my old arms a much needed rest." The woman held little Arthur out to you.

You stood there stiff as a board not sure how you were meant to take the baby.

"Have you never held a baby before?" She asked noticing your apprehension.

You shook your head 'no'. Even if you could remember you doubted you had ever held a baby in your past, at least in a way that it's limbs stayed intact.

"Here, hold your arms like mine, almost like your making a basket."

You followed her example as best you could. The woman shifted the baby into your arms with out warning.

"There just like that! Be sure to support his head, see you're a natural." She encouraged you as you panicked with the infant in your grasp.

After an awkward moment of adjusting to the warm squirmy little weight in your arms, Arthur calmed and snuggled into your chest. The innocent little thing feel asleep in your arms happy and at peace. You were over come with emotion, it felt so sick and wrong, it shouldn't have been possible for you to hold something so precious. Yet there your were holding a baby gently without any intent to harm it. The feeling of his little body in your arms filled your heart with a feeling you didn't quiet understand but it brought tears to your eyes all the same.

*************

Ever since that night he had you restrained, Astarion had tried his damnedest to keep an eye on you. It figured the moment he got distracted by some snide comment from Shadowheart, you had vanished. He hadn't even noticed until he went to turn to you for back up only to discover you were gone. Panic over came him as he frantically scanned the crowd for any sign of you. Either you had been abducted by one of your countless enemies or your urge had drawn your attention away from the party. Both outcomes filled him with dread.

Without even a word to the others he rushed though the crowd. He smelled the air for any hint of blood, yours or your victim's. Nothing, at least you weren't hurt or hadn't hurt anyone else yet. He only grew more worried as he moved though the refugees with no sign of you, surly you couldn't have gotten far.

Just when he was sure you had been kidnapped by some villain never to be seen again, he found you. There you were with your back to him standing with some old woman. Whatever relief he felt was quickly replace with concern as he noticed how you rocked and swayed.

"Darling, what are you doing?" He approached you cautiously hoping he wasn't to late to save you from the urge.

"Oh, is this your husband? What a handsome young man." The old crone greeted.

Astarion ignored the woman only focused on stopping you from what ever nightmarish act you were about to commit. Before he could reach out to you and pull you way, you turned around to him.

"Astarion look! I'm holding a baby!" You beamed at him. You moved closer and whispered so only he could hear you, "and I'm not hurting him."

You were a sight to behold grinning from ear to ear with dried tears staining you cheeks. Just as you said, there in you arms was a fat little lump of a baby curled up and completely intact.

He wasn't sure why but seeing you standing there with a baby cradled in you arms made his cold heart ache. He was relieved you were safe, proud that you had fought through your urge, deeply sad - although that was nothing new; but there was something else, a longing he didn't understand. Not wanting to dwell on the feeling he turned his attention to the baby.

"Just look at the little thing, so cute and helpless." He smiled fondly at the infant.

You noticed the way he looked at the baby with such softness, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Can my husband hold him for a bit?" You asked the woman, not realizing how naturally the word 'husband' had rolled off your tongue.

"What?" Astarion was taken aback, "No, I couldn't possibly." He looked to the woman hoping she would object.

The woman gave the two of you a knowing look before answering, "of course dear."

You turned back to him, your eyes shining, holding out the baby, "only if you want you Starlight."

Astarion caved under your loving gaze, he hated how easily you swayed his heart. "well alright give it here, you know I can't say no to that face."

His action did not reflect his words as he stood there froze just as you had, not sure how to take the baby. If he had ever held a baby it was centuries ago long before he had been turned and far to long ago to remember.

"Here Star, hold you arms like mine." You instructed him just as the old woman had done for you before gently passing the baby into his arms.

The aching longing tore a hole in his heart as he held the sleeping infant in his arms. You felt it too as you watched him, your love, cradling the baby as if it were the most precious thing in the world. You moved closer to him warping an arm around his waist, you cuddled into his side as he relaxed into you resting his head against yours. The two of you didn't need words to understand what the other was feeling. The baby, although a source of pain, was also a symbol of your hope. Hope you'd both find freedom, hope you'd survive this whole ordeal, hope you'd have a future.

"Astarion, I-" You were cut off by a familiar voice calling out over the crowd breaking your tender moment.

"There they are! Hey!" Shadowheart was waving at you as she approached with Lae'zel close behind her.

As if snapped out of a trance Astarion quickly handed the baby back to his caregiver and thanked her. He whipped misty eye before either of them could notice.

"What the hells are you two doing, we've been looking everywhere." Shadowheart scolded, examining you both with suspicion.

"Sorry, I had another episode," You lied. "Thankfully Astarion found me before I could hurt anyone."

"Enough doddling, we've wasted enough time searching for you." Lae'zel turned as if to leave with out you. Shadowheart simply rolled her eyes, turning to follow.

"Come my love, we don't want to be left behind." Astarion spoke to you softly as laced his fingers with yours, pulling you toward the party. You waved goodbye to baby Arthur and the woman before turning to continue you journey.

[amkyor]

S. TODOROKI SHORT STORY

Short note: This short story was originally in mha guys react to reader using a pickup line on them but I thought it deserved its own section so here it is!! This section is still in the mha guys link though!! Also, chapter 21 of my Bakugo x Reader is out. Check it out!! Link at the end of this post!!

Unique Beauty ᡣ𐭩

The warm glow of the small lamp in the corner of the room cast soft, golden hues across the walls, giving the space a cozy and intimate ambiance.

You were seated on the floor in your apartment, cross-legged on the plush rug, with Todoroki sitting directly across from you.

His mismatched eyes watched you curiously, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips as he observed the items you’d brought back from the bathroom.

In your hands were two face masks—both contained in sleek, colorful pouches—and a pair of headbands.

You had been gifted the masks a few days ago by a friend who swore they were amazing for relaxation, and the idea of doing them with Todoroki had popped into your head immediately.

Surprisingly, he had agreed without hesitation, his calm demeanor making it clear he didn’t mind indulging you in small things like this.

"Alright," you said, breaking the silence as you placed everything on the floor between you. "First things first, we need to keep our hair out of the way."

Todoroki’s gaze shifted to the headbands, his brows furrowing slightly. “We’re wearing those?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with faint curiosity.

You chuckled, holding one up for him to see. “Yes, we are. Unless you want face mask goo in your hair, which I’m guessing you don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words before nodding. “Fair enough.”

With a smile, you picked up the other headband and slipped it over your own head.

The stretchy fabric was soft against your skin as you carefully positioned it, pulling back the strands of your hair that framed your face.

You adjusted it a few times, making sure it sat just right, and then tucked any loose pieces behind your ears.

“There,” you said, sitting back and giving him a small grin. “See? Easy.”

Todoroki watched you intently, his heterochromatic eyes following your movements as if committing every detail to memory.

Though his expression remained composed, you could tell he was slightly intrigued by the whole process.

“You look cute,” he said suddenly, his tone as straightforward as ever but carrying a certain warmth that made your cheeks flush.

You laughed softly, brushing off the compliment as you reached for the second headband.

“It’s just a headband, Shoto,” you teased, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

He shrugged, leaning forward slightly as you prepared to hand him the other headband.

“Still,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

Shaking off the sudden flutter in your chest, you turned your focus back to the task at hand, ready to guide him through the next step in your little self-care ritual.

You handed Todoroki the second headband, watching as he stared at it like it was some foreign object.

“Just put it on like I did,” you said, demonstrating with your hands how to stretch it out and slide it over your head.

He gave a small nod and attempted to mimic your movements.

The result was… less than perfect.

The headband sat askew, one side bunched up near his temple, while the other was twisted and barely holding back his hair.

A few strands stubbornly stuck out, and the sight was so adorably Todoroki that you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“You’re—” you tried to speak between giggles, “you’re not supposed to wear it like that!”

Todoroki blinked at you, completely unbothered by your amusement. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, his tone as calm as ever.

You leaned forward, still chuckling. “Everything is wrong with it, Shoto. Here, let me fix it.”

Without waiting for his reply, you scooted closer and reached out to adjust the headband yourself.

He sat still as you worked, his eyes fixed on your face as your fingers carefully untangled the fabric and smoothed it over his head.

The world seemed to slow down as you pushed his hair back, revealing more of his face.

His dual-colored strands fell neatly under the band, and his forehead came into view, unencumbered by the usual fringe of hair.

Your movements faltered for just a moment as your eyes fell on his scar.

With his hair pulled away, it was more visible than ever, its jagged edges a stark contrast against his otherwise flawless skin.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, not out of discomfort but because of how striking he looked.

“There,” you whispered softly, finishing the adjustment and making sure the headband was sitting properly.

You were inches away from him now, your hands lingering near his face.

His mismatched eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you moved.

Unable to help yourself, you let your fingertips brush against his cheek, your thumb instinctively tracing over the edge of his scar.

His skin was warm under your touch, and the texture of the scar was slightly raised but smooth.

“Shoto…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

His eyes softened, and though he didn’t say anything, the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch spoke volumes.

Todoroki’s mismatched eyes widened slightly at your words, the faintest hint of surprise flickering across his usually calm expression.

He blinked, as if trying to process the depth of what you’d just said.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the heater in the background.

You kept your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing over his scar again as you offered him a warm smile. “I don’t see a flaw when I look at you; I see a story that’s made you who you are,” you said softly.

The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, and his lips parted slightly as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

“Scars are like badges of courage,” you continued, your voice filled with sincerity. “I can tell you’ve faced something and come out stronger. That scar doesn’t take away from your beauty—it adds to it. It’s a part of you that makes you uniquely beautiful.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and you could see the faintest dusting of pink creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

His gaze softened further, the hard lines of his face melting away into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“You really think that?” he finally asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

You nodded without hesitation. “I don’t just think it, Shoto—I know it.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, his hand came up to rest over yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping your fingers. He held your hand against his cheek, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a quiet gesture of gratitude and affection.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, you should,” you said with a small laugh, trying to ease the intensity of the moment. “You’re pretty amazing, Shoto. Scars and all.”

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, a genuine one that reached his eyes. “I think you’re the amazing one,” he replied, his voice still soft but filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying more weight than you could have imagined.

You smiled back at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and love in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Always,” you whispered back.

☆ ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION ☆

[wyllaztopia]

girlgie pop i WISH I KNOW about your AU sooner LIKE OH MY GOODDD, oh my gOD???? oh my god girlie POP!!! I WANNA INJECT THIS AUT INTO MY VEINS /POS. I WANNA EAT IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN. im gooing through so mayn emotions but the doc LONE??? GIRLIE im GOING THROUGH it and its just the doc... SORRY im emotinally unwell you WILLL hear from me again (GOD I LOVE YOUR AUS SO MUCH I WANNA EAT IT EAT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT)

thank you sm... @neotxnic is the co-writer and contributed a lot to the doc too....... check him out.......

have a nim wip for the mean time

[comatosebunny09]

oral fixation | astarion a.

summary: he loves your lips. especially when they’re so eagerly wrapped around him. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy described, oral fixation, face-fucking, bj, jealousy, possessiveness, bodily fluids, choking, cum-eating, brief dacryphilia, explicit language, alcohol and tobacco use (hookah), blood drinking now playing: criminal - taemin notes: please thank @nanaoise08squad for helping me write this! also, please let me know if i missed any warnings! hope you enjoy, lovelies! screenshot credit

Lips.

Your lips.

They’re his favorite—if anyone ever bothered to ask what he enjoys most about your body.

Well, other than the devastating clench of your pussy, of course.

They’re pillow-soft. Thick. Flushed like rose petals. Cute when they’re pulled into that warm smile. 

Alluring, stretched into a thin line as you glare at your enemies. 

Exquisite, stained with blood and bruises and split—he can’t help wanting to lick them whenever he sets his eyes on them, even in the heat of battle.

Perfect and sweltering, curled around him. Dribbling with globs of spit and pre-spend as you take him down your throat. His favorite of all. And those pretty, garbled sounds you release when he presses deeper, testing your gag reflexes, amplifies his love for them.

Your sinfully gorgeous lips.  

Gods.

Astarion bites his lip, threatening to draw blood. 

He observes you through the wispy haze of tobacco smoke staining the lounge, trained on every twitch and spasm of your mouth beneath the dulled lighting. Every smile, every scowl. Every dart of your tongue from betwixt them, chasing wine that glides down the corners.

Your tongue leaves a sheen of saliva in its wake. Astarion swallows thickly. Unconsciously flashes back to how you make his cock gleam like that. Glistening and flushed an angry red when you release him with a lewd pop after swallowing him down like a fucking pro.

Astarion shudders, his eyes rolling into the backs of their sockets. His fingernails pull at the plush, crimson cushions beneath him, a groan trying to make itself known.

You’ll be the death of him; he’s sure of it. 

Astarion sulks, swirling the contents of his goblet, brows weighed down in the middle by something like irritation. 

You’re doing this on purpose. Enticing him. Vexing him. Your eyes occasionally find him across the lounge. Twinkle with mischief below bowed lashes before flitting back to your company. Company he wishes would piss off.

He can think of better ways to occupy your mouth that don’t involve meaningless conversation.

However, everyone’s gathered around you to celebrate the famed Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite Astarion’s protests, you insisted on staying. 

You are a beacon of hope. An idol perched on a plinth, the Madonna della Pietà. Who would he be to steal you away from your adoring fans?

He just wishes his trousers weren’t so unbearably tight. Wishes he wasn’t straining against the seam of them, throbbing and pulsing with beads of pre-cum staining the thick material. Plagued by memories of the beautiful sounds he evokes from your mouth instead of your airy laughter filling his head once again.

Astarion crosses his legs with a petulant sigh and shoves a pillow onto his lap to mask his growing need. Quietly simmers, downing what remains in his cup. He swipes the back of his hand across his chin to clean up errant dribbles of wine, uncaring of how unsightly he must appear.

He’s in no mood for pleasantries. No mood to entertain others, waving off the belly dancers who try vainly to charm him with the wind of their hips. He’s too busy boring holes into the arm draped about your shoulders—one of your fans getting a little too cozy. 

If looks could kill, he would’ve murdered this imbecile a thousand times over.

His vision glosses red when the man’s thumb swipes at the corner of your lips under the pretense of cleaning off some wine.

“There you go, lass,” he murmurs, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your chin. “Good as new. And still just as pretty.” 

There’s no mistaking the gleam in his eye. The lecherous cant of his lips. A look Astarion knows all too well, having pinned you with it so many times himself. 

You chuckle something tense, finding Astarion’s gaze through the discord.

Astarion moves on instinct. Soundless as a panther, pushing through the harem of dancers that had gathered around him. Parts through the revelers assembled at your feet, and they look up at him with varying degrees of alarm.

With an abrasive sound pinched from his lungs, Astarion plucks you from the settee with a possessive hand encircling your wrist. Murmurs a curt excuse us, daring the man who touched you to protest with a predatory glare over his shoulder. 

The hairs of your neck stand ramrod stiff. A pleasant, cooling sensation pools in your belly. Trickles southward into your underwear, and you throb.

You do so love it when he gets like this. Green-eyed and seething.

You bid the other patrons farewell, unable to disguise the sinister arc of your lips. Toddle behind your beloved, your body still buzzing from the wine, your head still spinning from the nicotine. Astarion finally tugs you beneath layers of sheer, burgundy curtains, far from the grasp of the lounge’s other clients.

“Astarion,” you gasp as the world twists around you, and he pulls your stumbling, giggling self before him.

You’ve hardly any time to admire your surroundings, the swell of sound from the longue muddled and blotted out by the clipped growl rumbling in Astarion’s chest. 

You only have the gleam of his irises and the flash of his teeth as warnings before you tumble backward onto a mass of pillows, shoved into them by your beloved. You clamber to your elbows, breaths labored, pupils dilated. Again, you’re pushed into the satiny cushions as Astarion crawls overtop, fingers winding around your jaw and neck to hold you in place for him to ravage you.

He slots himself between your legs, and it’s like he’s always been there. Feasts on your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your teeth in pursuit of your tongue, thumb pressing against your larynx. He pours the most relieved sound between your lips when he finds it. Entices it into an ardent dance, and Gods, you’re so warm and wet here. He can’t help how he bears down, hips rolling like waves licking the shoreline as he presses against the stitching of your breeches.

You moan in tandem, and the air punches from your lungs, the heels of your feet digging into his back as you twine your legs around his waist. 

His other hand pulls and bunches up your clothing in search of the supple glide of your skin. Groans something satisfied when the hardened pads of his fingertips find the xylophone of your rib cage, easing upward. He grazes the underside of your breast, and he kneads and rolls your nipple with slow, meticulous circles, luring the prettiest little whine from your throat.

“Astarion,” you recite, clawing at the bindings of his breeches. It’s the sweetest supplication to his ears to hear you begging so wantonly for him. To see he isn’t the only one who missed the hot press of your body to his.

He abandons your mouth to blister your neck with kisses, fangs nipping at your clavicle, thumbs cruising down the dip of your stomach in search of your hips whilst you arch your back. He sighs around your nipple when your soft hands close around the head of his cock, tugging and squeezing, your thumbs generous as they spread pre-spend around him. Instinctively, Astarion ruts into the scorching clasp of your hands, breathing hot against your flesh, rolling your other nipple between lithe fingers.

It’s almost embarrassing how desperately he yearns for you. How he leaks and whimpers while you fist him, and his canines sink into the doughy flesh of your tit, pulling a yelp from your mouth. He licks over the wounds in apology, hips pinning your waist to the floor. He’s dizzied and overwhelmed, and the wind of your waist isn’t helping matters. 

The succulent tang of your blood provokes his tastebuds, and his hips paint a rhythm of their own volition as he pistons against you. He glances up whilst your head crashes into the pillows, your lips glistening and parting with a breath, and your lids shuttered against the wave of ecstasy sifting through your spine.

“Astarion,” you breathe, pulling so nicely on his cock. Swallow. “Astarion, please. My mouth. Need, I—you…want you in my mouth.”

How sweet you sound, begging for your mouth to be stretched wide and violated. The jumble of your words is endearing. Usually, Astarion would tease you for your impatience. But he hasn’t the tolerance to, having gone without your lips sucking him in for days.

Astarion pants, scrambling to his knees, straddling your shoulders, and tugging his breeches down, down, down until his impressive girth springs free of its confines. It slaps intimidatingly against his abdominals, a pretty, gossamer string of pre dribbling from the slit towards your chin, and his cock twitches at your eagerness.

There’s reverence in your stare. Hunger as your mouth opens and closes, and your perfect body squirms beneath him, anticipation lancing through you. You squeeze your thighs together to ward off the delicious, sparkling rush of endorphins collecting between them. 

You watch as Astarion handles himself, his hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock whilst he pumps himself, head thrown back, the tendons of his neck flexing. 

He groans something feral and desperate, his cock grinding against the hot, sticky pucker of your lips. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, darling. Open your mouth. Now.”

He spares you a few more stuttered rolls of his pelvis. Taps the turgid flesh of his cock against your tongue before feeding the swollen, sensitive head between your lips. 

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion sighs. Draws back, his body shivering as your mouth releases him with an obscene pop. You flitter your tongue over the slit, chasing the briny edge of pre-cum.

He peers down at you through furled lashes, irises smoldering like liquid spilled over hot coals. He chuckles something breathy, easing back into the hot suction of your mouth.

“Eager, aren’t we, darling?” he husks. Cheeky as he drives himself deeper until your jaw clicks, your eyes roll back, and your whimper vibrates around him.

Your pussy clenches, and you undulate your hips off the floor. Grip the taut globes of Astarion’s ass, urging him further inside until he agitates your gag reflexes. 

Your throat constricts around him, a fist-like vice that brings him barreling forward onto his hands. And he’s a pretty, panting mess hovering over you, alabaster curls falling over his eyes, sweat gliding down the tips, brows creased in anguish.

He gives you minimal time to adjust before taking a fistful of your hair and pinning it to the pillows, keeping you in place so he can fuck into your mouth. 

Slowly, he draws his hips backward until only the head rests on the palate of your tongue. You whine petulantly before Astarion pushes back in, building a steady tempo thereafter, your lips stretching so wonderfully to accommodate him each time.

His mouth forms around silent ohs. Breaths choppy as he fucks your face, and saliva meddled with pre-spend bubbles on your cheeks. 

Your eyes gloss over with tears, your throat rubbed raw, jaw aching. But you squeeze his ass ever tighter, urging him to use you. To chase that cresting wave of pleasure. You could die like this, with his cock distending your throat and your pussy weeping and begging to be stuffed.

“Gods, fuck, fuck, fuck,” chants your lover. His hips stutter, and his cock throbs on your tongue, fingers gripping your hair in a way that’s almost bruising. You know he’s nearing his peak, and you take to kneading his weighted, tight balls to help steer him to the edge.

It takes but a few more thrusts into the opulent warmth of your mouth before he paints your throat in thick, syrupy steaks of white. He pushes a groan through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut whilst he cranes his neck back, exhaling his release.

You choke, the hot rush of tears blistering your cheeks. But Astarion holds your mouth in place as you thoroughly milk him, dumping the last vestiges of his cum down your throat. 

He slowly unsheathes himself. Crawls down to straddle your hips, petting through the riot of your hair and drawing your swollen mouth into an apologetic kiss. He tenderly entwines your tongues together, the briny tang of his cum coaxing a moan from him.

Astarion rolls onto his back beside you, giving you time to catch your breath. And with your lashes dewy and wet and your lips abused, you chuckle something satisfied. Astarion looks at you warily before laughing himself, seeking out your hand to lace your fingers together.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you muse once your laughter peters. You roll onto your side, propped on your elbow, cheek perched on your hand whilst you run your finger down the length of his arm. A cattish grin rounds your lips.

Astarion scoffs, avoiding your stare. “Jealous? Me?”

You give him a pointed look.

He flinches beneath the weight of your glare, a nervous smile twitching his lips. “Well…maybe just a little.”

You sit like this for a while longer, admiring the flutter of his lashes and the peachy hue of his cheeks. Finally, he breaks the comfortable silence, pinning you with a scarlet-spun gaze. 

“We should go.” Astarion slowly sits up, a smirk taking residence on his lips as he tugs you into the circle of his arms. “I’ve much more in store for you, my love. Things I can’t be bothered to do…here.”

You shiver at the thought, boneless as your lover hauls you to your feet. You fix your clothes and hair as best you can before Astarion leads you back to the main lounge, twin smiles adorning your lips.

Astarion swings by the bar to drop some coin onto the counter to pay for your drinks. Catches the eye of the man who’d had his arm around you earlier, and his mind sparkles with a sinister idea.

He draws you against him, your breath coming out in a gasp before he takes possession of your cheeks and lures you into a soul-siphoning kiss. One of tongues and teeth and sloppiness, and you find your thighs rubbing together again to curb the insistent throb between them. 

You whimper into his mouth, and Astarion fixes the man with a sinister look over your shoulder as he grips your ass and squeezes. Something of a warning, a threat. 

Touch her again, and I’ll have your head on a pike. 

masterlist

[amara555555]

He’s lonely, I can fix that~

Gun Drabble~

Mimi:

Goo’s eyes couldn’t pop out more. He looked the demon from smile just standing there, waiting for someone to pluck out the balls like mr potato head.

Gun was picking out tiny tutus. Like the most tiniest tutus and biggest bows that would combine over his and Goo’s head and still have space for 2 more heads.

He finally asked.

“Watcha got there?”

He tries to as casual as he’s humanely possible. Gun turns around with attitude.

“Why do you care?”

Goo scowls.

“You’re holding a tutu! Who’s that for??”

Gun rolled his eyes.

“No one”.

Goo scoffed.

“My ass. You got a love child eh?”

Gun grimaced. Wrong answer.

“……your gonna put that on your d-“

Gun throws a rack of clothes at him.

———/-//———————-

Goo took in the interior of the shop they stood in. Pastels of every colour along with pet collars along the walls. Some fluffy, bells, bows, diamonds, leather, metal- but Goo just wanted to know why and what was Gun doing in a girly ass shop like this? One he wouldn’t be caught dead naked in????

Gun picked a light pastel pink fluffy collar with tiny pearls. And a pink bell.

Goo’s eye twitched and he rubbed over his glasses as Gun stepped up to the counter to pay.

“…..you a pastel dominatrix dear ole pal?”

Gun threw the cash register at Goo-

—————————————

Goo’s head rested in his palm as Gun walked with a pink holster leash. It was lengthened with glitter, gems, and hearts.

He grinds his jaw as Gun took a seat and sent him a look.

“What?”

Goo blinked and pointed at the leash.

“That for me?”

Gun slaps Goo-

———————————

Goo tried to peek over at Gun’s phone who held it in a special angle of privacy. Goo huffed and puffed in silent before Gun was called away by Charles.

He watched Gun go before double taking in noticing his phone still on the table.

A sinister smile creator up his cheeks before he snatched it and giddily logged on by using Gun’s password of ‘Shiro Oni.’

His smile dropped in noticing the large the page that popped in his face of Pinterest. With cats and Tutus.

He started doom scrolling on Gun’s favourites before a shadow dimmed his vision and he turned to see the black scleras and white pupils of a very pissed off Gun park.

“……wh-“

Gun punched Goo’s head in.

——————————————

Goo couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he hadn’t been over to Gun’s place in ages but COME ON! What could’ve been so different that he’s buying socks out a 8 year old girls store?

Goo’s head was still cladded in a bandage as he zoomed down Gun’s junkyard and aimed straight for his shack.

“Oh sweet pea~ daddy’s home-“

He barges through the door and Gun’s there.

Holding the most girly, accessorised, expensive, pampered, beautiful, long fluffy tail, rag doll kitten he’s ever seen.

Her big blue eyes and long white thick coat of fur was currently being dried with a hair dryer and Gun’s gaze was of pure fury.

Meanwhile the cat looked to her dad before reaching up with her paws to press her-??!

“YOU GOT THE SOCKS FOR A CAT?!”

Goo finally connected the dots. The bows, the leash, the tutus, socks, food, treats, bows, fluffy collars, bells, pink bows, toys, BOWS……..were all for this tiny cat???????

Gun eyes burned holes through Goo before he pecked his cat and let her roam the floor. She settled on her paws before gently shaking herself out and Goo almost ugly cried from cuteness.

Her fluffy tiny body clad in a tiny pink tutu, her paws clad in tiny pink socks, a enormous bow behind her head, her fluffy pink collar rang its bell when she shook her head, and a tiny clip just under her ear and above her eye.

“Here baby-“

Gun punched Goo through a car.

————————————

They both sat bloodied and sticky as the sun hung over the the junk of the yard as they shared a bottle of soju.

Gun sipped his gently as the cat nestled herself in his lap. Goo looked over at her before scratching behind her ears.

“She got a name?”

Gun looked down at her before scratching under her chin, her purrs vibrates through the silence of the sunset.

“Mimi.”

[blessedbygookim]

The Queen Of Busan.

Part one: the meeting.

Part two: defeated.

Part three: years.

16 year old Gun and Goo getting they asses whooped.

It must be done by someone. Sorry, not sorry.

That meeting happened one week ago.

Since then, they did some digging, although not finding out much. Her last name is unknown, so is where she is from originally and so her fighting prowess, which wasn't just a pain in the ass, but also unfortunate, adding to the mystery of the girl.

All they found out, is that she’s is 19 years old, same age as Sinu Han, meaning she is a part of the first generation.

Now they both sit in front of Charles Choi, in the rundown shack that he has been hiding at for a good while now. Gun is sitting in a pretzel, back straightened with his usual seriousness, and Goo is slightly slouched over in a more relaxed manner.

"So the strongest person in Busan is a woman... and she refused to join the Four Major Crews?"

Charles asks as his eyes dart between both younger man.

Gun sighs, finally speaking up as he rubs his temples, the memory of the meeting still giving him a headache.

"Not only that: she outright refused to help us in any way, shape, or form. I guess we're gonna have to try and find another business to extort."

Goo nods his head, remembering how his shot was shut down so fast.

Yes, that was his biggest concern.

His eyes dart between Charles and his partner as they speak. There is a tinge of disappointment stirring up in his chest, she could've been a fantastic asset to the crew with her smarts and charm.

And money, of course.

"Might I add, she seems to have taken some of Big Deal's territory under her control as well in the meantime. She seems surprisingly influential in the country as a whole, like scattered bubbles rising on surface, popping up everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if she started taking over more businesses in the meanwhile."

Gun continues his train of thought.

"Jake Kim, and her have made an alliance and she's helping Big Deal and its street... so in a sense she is working for us... Not directly, but she is of help... she seems to have a soft spot for Big Deal, you can't deny her abilities and influence."

Goo thinks over Gun's words as he speaks, unable to argue with his logic in that regard. He sighs as he places a hand on his hip, his other hand pushing his glasses up slightly.

Maybe the reason why she gets along so well with Jake and the Big Deal members...well, with most; because eventually her goals and their goals are the same.

Protect.

Big Deal is the epitome of being a family, filled with passion. No wonder how well she gets along with them, and took it upon herself out of the goodness of her own heart to help them run their businesses on Big Deal's street.

"If her soft spot gives us a loophole from which we can exploit, I don't have a problem with her having a soft spot for Big Deal. That just makes it easier for us to take advantage of.”

Gun concludes, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he speaks, looking over at Charles expectantly.

Still, Charles lets out a small grunt.

"Even if she's in an alliance with Big Deal, and as much as their sales went up, one single business of hers in Busan makes 3 times more than Big Deal alone. We need her businesses."

When Charles says his thoughts out loud, Gun can't help but have his eye twitch slightly, his eyebrow raising at his words. Both knowing exactly what Charles is saying but still having the same thoughts they've had before: this Nova woman is not making their job easy by any means.

"As beneficial as having her businesses for you would be, you've heard how quickly she shut us down. The woman said herself that she wanted to remain uninvolved in anything relating to either or any of us. It would take a miracle if she is somehow convinced to cooperate with us in any way."

Goo lets out an agreeing groan, nodding in agreement with his partner.

"Before I make a decision, tell me more about this woman."

Charles utters as he looks off, pondering, ready to hear what they know so far of Nova.

Both of them sigh and cross their arms, their faces giving off an air of disappointment and irritation.

"All we were able to get from what research we did and since the brief meeting we had with her was her age: 19, her place of birth: unknown, and so is her last name."

Gun lists off as he closes his eyes momentarily, his voice carrying an irritated tone to it as he speaks.

“She's literally running dozens of businesses with a perfect 0% corruption rate. She's also incredibly smart and charismatic, her charisma and kindness alone is already enough to make anyone obey her immediately."

Goo continues with a tone more carefree, perhaps a little more boastful than intended.

"Zero corruption, no shady business practices... a kind person in a world of grime..."

Charles repeats his words, trailing off as he visibly ponders, rubbing his bearded chin.

"A gentle heart like hers won't survive for too long in this world. We should teach her that lesson sooner rather than later."

Gun can't help the small, sadistic chuckle he lets out at Charles' words, his mood instantly shifting into amusement as soon as he hears the other man's plans. He always admired when Charles had his ruthless tendencies come out, it always was interesting to see.

"Especially since she's the Queen of Busan. Who would've thought someone her age would be able to take over such a large city on their own? It's both hilarious and admirable at the same time really."

Goo immediately frowns again as he hears Charles and Gun say such things, he's not afraid to admit it but he genuinely feels protective of this woman now.

"I don't know how you plan to teach a woman like that a lesson in this world, she's like an absolute angel of light. You can see in her eyes just how kind she truly is, we should really be careful before she shows us how dark she can be behind that bright exterior.”

To his words, Charles sends Goo an empty stare, and Gun nudges him softly with his shoulder.

"Joongoo, you should drop your personal feelings towards the girl. This is only business."

They were both all about business and raking in the money, empathy had no place in their plans. In the world of HNH group, there is no such thing as kindness, there isn't any place for a soft soul here. Even though from a moral standpoint Gun also happened to take a liking to the girl, his loyalty towards Charles Choi was still far greater.

But Goo will make sure to keep her in his thoughts regarding his own future.

Charles' words and the way both he and Gun look at him make him let out a defeated sigh, a hand rubbing his hair in frustration.

"Fine... you guys win, I'll try to keep my thoughts on her to a minimum. Doesn't change the fact that she's absolutely perfect though, the way she could've easily won that fight in the restaurant, the way she stood up to both of us... I guess it's hard for me to not be slightly entranced by her."

Goo admits with a slight shrug.

This was expected from him, all Gun can do is mentally roll his eyes.

"Enlighten me on her fighting prowess then.”

As that question slips from the man's mouth, both of the boys glance at each other.

Even as Gun remembers back at how taken aback he felt when she managed to throw a fork perfectly aimed at his eye and how it pierced his sunglasses, he cannot help but shiver at the sheer agility she displayed out of nowhere in that moment. But other than her terrifying aura in that moment and her precision, and speed, not much else is known. It's really a mystery how this 19 year old woman became who she is.

Goo’s eyes light up the very second Charles asks what her fighting prowess is, smile widening with excitement as he really has been itching to start talking about just how insanely talented Nova really is. He starts off almost before Charles had even finished in asking his question.

"Her precision, agility, and speed are on a whole other level. A normal human shouldn't even be able to accomplish a fraction of what she's capable of. It’s safe to say to admit that she might be on the same level as Gun and I."

Goo was nothing further than ecstatic, having a free opportunity to flap his guns.

“She whipped a fork at him and it pierced right through his sunglasses, but just enough to not actually pierce his eyes. She seems to have the speed and agility of a cheetah while having the precision of a sniper. She's a true, perfect masterpiece in a woman's body."

Charles ponders for another minute, humming once to himself as he shifts his eyes back on the two in front of him.

"So she's quick... but speed is nothing if she doesn't have the power. I will send a crew to ransack some of her businesses."

Goo can't help but feel iffy about the situation, he felt a strange feeling welling inside him as Charles says that. But ultimately, he isn't surprised by his plan. He had been a part of so many of Charles' plans over time, so it was no surprise to him that his plan to get Nova to cooperate involved violence. His face immediately goes neutral again as he remembers that there is no place for empathy here. It was all about business and profits for this organization and they couldn't let this woman get in their way of that. Or is how he tried to soothe his nerves with.

While Gun's face hardens, he nods his head. They both know what the outcome of all this will be in that regard.

"That would be wise, her businesses would be completely defenseless. Even if fast, speed is nothing if it doesn't have the power backing it."

So sending a few men he did. An hour and a half passed since then, and there was still no update about how it all has progressed.

Goo fiddles with his thumb with his lips pursed as he sits on a bench. Eyes casted on the pavement as they're now outside of the house, as Gun smoked a cigarette.

"I've never been so conflicted about something like such before...”

Goo mutters out, glancing at Gun who seemed as unbothered as ever.

Though Goo's words made him wonder what was really going on here. Was Goo getting soft on them? Or was his loyalty to the organization getting less and less? He didn't have the answer to that but one thing was for sure, he needed to shut Goo up before he started acting too soft.

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting now? I can literally hear you overthinking it. You aren't actually soft for her, right?"

Gun questions with a slight tone of menace, taking another exhale of his cigarette as he gives him a hard look, his eyebrow rising just slightly.

"... I don't know...or at least I don't think so." Goo shrugs, his mind for sure running marathons. "I know we've also done the same with countless businesses all throughout South-Korea without any remorse and whatsoever... this is the first time I feel like we wronged the nicest person in the worst way possible."

Gun was starting to get a little worried now, Goo was beginning to let his feelings influence him. It was only natural since this woman was so kind and empathetic, but that kind of quality was not welcome in the world of gangs. If he let this get to him anymore, he could very well turn against them. He didn't want to have to deal with dealing with Goo's betrayal as well. This is honestly starting to get ridiculous to him, he's never seen his partner get so upset over something like this before.

"It was inevitable that we were going to have to do that. You already know that her kindness wouldn't keep her alive in this world, so I don't know what you're so worried about. It's nothing we haven't done to anyone else before."

Goo lets out an exhausted sigh as he leans back on the bench, staring up at the sky.

"I just have a bad feeling about this, is all..."

Gun's eyebrow raises slightly, slowly raising a hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he just lets out a groan of frustration.

"Listen, I've been working with you long enough now to know when you get these ‘bad feelings’ about stuff. If you're worried then we'll just go over there ourselves, how about that? If we deal with some of the trouble on our own, it might get that bad feeling out of your system and get you to calm down again."

"Fine..."

The blonde mutters out with a slight pout, sitting up slowly.

As soon as Gun finished his tangent, is the same moment he gets a message to get back in. His expression lights up as he hears that they finally have an update, him reaching down and stomping his cigarette into oblivion with his hand as he looks over at Goo with a confident look on his face.

"We have updates on the situation. Come on."

As he speaks, Gun looks over at Goo for just a small moment before he turns back around and starts walking and Goo follows with a crease between his eyebrows..

The crease between his eyebrows deepen even more when they step foot into the office. Gun is getting a little worried, he has never seen his boss so puzzled and taken aback in a good while. They could tell by his facial expressions, and the uneasy atmosphere as well with the tension now rising up in the room.

"The men I have sent have been defeated in every bar, store and establishment of hers. None of my men could return."

Once they hear those words from Charles, their eyes both widen in disbelief and shock. Both of them stare at the older man in disbelief as the two of them stand with dumbfounded looks on their faces.

"You're saying... nobody came back?"

Gun questions slowly, blinking slowly at Charles as he lets what he had just said sink in, his eyebrow raising in complete bewilderment as does Goo's, hardly able to suppress the smirk that was threatening to stretch out on his face.

"Her men has single handedly defeated all and everyone... and apparently it was her alone who took out my most skilled men by herself... Not only her men are skilled, but so is she. I did not expect that at all."

Charles mutters out with a groan. Eyes closing with his brows knitted together, clearly frustrated at the turn of events, and the smirk now fully lifted both corners of his lips when he hears the news that it was Nova that did all that, but Gun's expression looks much less enthusiastic.

"That’s sounds unbelievable.."

Gun mumbles out with a baffled look on his face, his shoulders rising as he gives Charles a look of shock, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Either way, desperate times call for desperate measures." Charles responds, eyes opening with a furious glint in them. "I will send the two of you and a few more men to dissect the whole of her businesses in the city. Attacking from all and every angles. Your main target is Nova. Finish the job for me, and make sure to break that woman in so she has no other choice but to oblige."

The two boys were monsters for a reason. The best of the best, if not the best, among all of the Ten Geniuses as of yet. The two of them should have no problem taking down one single person so she has no choice to bend to their will at the end.

As soon as Charles's words finish, Goo's face pales slightly as he looks over at Gun beside him, the two of them staring at each other for just a moment as they absorb the message that Charles had just given them.

"We got it, we won't let you down, Sir..."

Goo replies calmly, the two of them giving Charles a calm, collected look, his words sounding far too calm for the situation that they had been handed.

"Go now. I believe the two of you should be able to handle her. The other men I have sent are already in Busan. If everything goes as planned this time, it will only be her left.”

Both of the boys give a single nod of understanding to the instructions, and with that they both walk out of the room without another word, leaving Charles alone as they go get prepared for their trip to Busan.

"Alright, looks like we're headed back to Busan."

Goo comments as he looks over at Gun, a slight smirk on his face.

"You seem way too excited to see her even under these circumstances..."

Gun comments, eyeing him suspiciously, but shakes his head softly at the end.

Even though Goo is somewhat excited, he can't help but feel a ripple of fear run through him. As much as he had some personal feelings for the girl, her skills were still unknown.

The blonde just grins even more when Gun remarks about how excited he looks to see Nova again, him just giving the other a playful roll of the eyes in response.

"Hey, you know me, I like strong women. And a woman like her? Well, she's a whole other level of powerful... and a whole lot sexier too-"

"Whatever, just make sure you focus. Idiot."

He lets out a laugh, the tension melting away as they begin to focus on what they need to do instead of their emotions.

Maybe an hour later as they arrive in Busan, the atmosphere certainly doesn't feel as welcoming as the last time.

There is a certain tension in the air all around, the clouds are more gray, and the streets are eerily empty.

"Why did you bring a katana...?"

Gun asks Goo, spotting the weapon on his back in its sheath.

The latter just smiles when the questions is thrown his way, a smug look on his face.

"What? I wanted to make sure I'm extremely well equipped. Plus, I'm a man of style, and what's even more stylish than a Katana, right?”

He says in his usual, laid-back tone, his eyes filled with glee and excitement as they approach Nova's buildings.

"You're annoying.." Gun rolls his eyes at that as they keep walking through the streets, muttering under his breath.- "It's just a girl going on a rampage anyway... nothing more, nothing less."

Perhaps his own delusions will also calm his own discomfort as well about the situation. If only he knew what they were really in for, he'd have probably been much less dismissive.

"You said it, White Ghost. Just a simple girl on a rampage, nothing to worry about, right?~"

Goo chuckles out, his pace remaining steady as he walks along beside Gun, giving him a laid-back look as the two of them approach Nova's buildings. Gun's words actually got his nerves to calm down a little bit, if he started to think of her as just a woman then it would be easier to deal with her…But that woman is far from just a normal woman, even if Gun doesn't believe that she is, he did.

They remain mostly silent for the rest of the walk, as they approach their first location. The bars and establishments were all filled with all Charles' men taken out. Bodies upon bodies, the eerie smell of blood a little too strong for their likings. Goo noticed a pattern with all of the locations they went to so far, it was the same thing everywhere. The whole location would look trashed, bodies lying around, and yet the woman herself was no where to be found.

"God damn... this isn't just rampage, but a straight up massacre..."

Goo exclaims softly, nose pinched together as he nudges a body with his foot

"It's a damn bloodbath..."

Gun mutters out, looking around the room at all the men sprawled on the ground, their bodies looking beaten into a pulp as his expression darkens slightly at the sight of it all.

"It might be a good idea if we stick together, this chick isn't someone to mess with alone. We need to stay together at all times if we don't wanna end up like these guys are."

"Yeah, let's leave now, it smells like straight up death in here..."

Goo mutters out a response, leaving the establishment first.

Until nothing else but the restaurant where they first met a week ago remain.

The moment they enter the street, is the moment it all becomes so real.

Trails of blood scattered all around the road and pavement. Bodies mutelated, mauled, Goo swears he just saw a body torn in half from the jaw down. A cold shiver creeps up their necks, especially when their eyes land on the person they have been looking for all along.

Standing in the sea of bodies is Nova. White dress stained with blood, hands covered in the same crimson substance up to her elbows, skin and flesh under her nails. Hair disheveled, an eerily blank face paired with a blood thirsty gaze as her eyes glow luminously white. Barefoot as she stands, emitting nothing but a pressuring aura.

"Well... isn't she beautiful?"

Goo remarks, his eyes locked onto her just a few feet away, a smirk forming on his face as he looks at her blank expression combined with the blood- thirsty look in her glowing white eyes.

...is he dumb?

"You did... all of this?"

Gun aims his question towards the woman, who slowly turns her head towards their direction.

Goo's heart almost drops right out of his asshole, smirk faltering lightly.

She definitely wasn’t as happy to see them again as he was..

She lets out a long exhale, breath so warm the fog of it filters visibility into the frigid air... and it wasn't even winter time.

“So it was you two behind this all along... huh?..”

She asks, tone empty. Monotone, no hint of emotions in her words, but the way she was practically staring at Gun like he was a prey about to be hunted down, told them more than enough

"Guilty as charged.~"

Goo replies with a chuckle, his smirk still plastered on his face as he looks at the girl, a gleeful tone in his voice. Gun looks just as confident, staring at Nova.

"Don't take this personally, it's nothing but business."

Gun states firmly, his eyebrow raising slightly as he keeps his expression calm, his hand slowly moving to grab a pack of cigarettes.

He could barely take the pack out of his pocket, his eyes widening. As the last syllable leaves his lips is the same moment she lunges towards him like a catapult. Arms extended, nails looking like they're about to tear him into shreds.

Gun barely manages to dive away just as she reaches him, rolling over the ground before he looks up at her once again, his eyes flashing with both surprise and amusement as she skids away slightly, nails digging into the concrete, ploughing it up.

"Oh, that was fast..."

He mutters under his breath as he pushes himself up to his feet, his eyes locked on her with a determined gaze.

"Fast?? It was like she teleported the fuck??"

Goo was horrified by the speed she moved with and it almost got him shocked into not knowing what to do next.

While still on the ground, she digs her limbs into the pavement to use as leverage to catapult a flying split kick used in Kyokushin Karate to send a heavy blow towards Goo this time as she flips with her leg extended.

Taken aback by the sheer velocity that simple kick had, he manages to block it above his head with his arms crossed, making him grimace, he for sure hasn't felt a blow this heavy, in a long while.

He for sure felt and heard his bones crack, a hiss of pain escaping his lips while he grimaces slightly, giving Nova a look of disbelief.

"That actually hurt..."

He mutters softly to himself, his eyes remaining locked on her even as he takes a step back, trying to ignore the pain in his arms as Gun suddenly takes a step towards Nova, trying to land a punch at her from behind.

While foot still printed hard against the blonde's arm, the other top of her feet lock behind Gun's head after he is in closer proximity, she now uses them as a lunch pad to push herself away, not just dodging his punch, but in the mean time making them headbutt each other. Hard.

Letting out a shout of pain in unison as they both smash their heads into each other, their faces colliding in a brutal collision as they both stagger back, a pained look on both of their faces.

"God damn it...."

Goo mutters under his breath as he holds his head in his hands, Gun doing the same as he slowly wipes the small trickle of blood flowing from his nose.

Charging at her the same time, their fight continues.

Unfortunately to them, one sidedly for the most duration of the time.

Neither of them seen someone who has so many martial arts abilities, skills and techniques under their belts. Some they haven't even experienced before.

Sheer power and skills blending perfectly. Speed almost teleportational, countless times disappearing out of their peripheral visions just to appear right behind them, and send such blows that stung like needles, or were heavy like tons of weight were just dropped on them. Every move is impossible to expect and predict, every move she makes sends shivers down their spine.

It was like she was the perfect mix of all the fighters they have since met, be it in the second or first generation.

"DUDE JUST LAND A PUNCH!"

Goo exclaims in a hastily manner, in the midst of throwing his own heavy blow, only for his wrist to be grabbed, his own flow of power be turned against him as she makes him eat hard concrete, the pavement denting under him, almost swallowing him up whole.

"I'm trying!!"

Gun shouts loudly, his voice filled with a mix of both impatience and frustration, his expression desperate as he tries to come up with some sort of a plan.

Deciding to just straight up go for it, at this time not really having even a second to spare, and throws a straight blow her way, it was scary, with how much ease she evades it, almost like flowing with the air.

“Leave.”

She speaks as takes a very firm hold of them both, flipping them in the air and slam them back down into the pavement by their throats.

“Leave Busan and never return.”

Hoisting them up in the air in the midst of their concussion, not even giving them a chance to recover, kicking them both down once again like a soccer ball, Gun flying right into a brick wall, and Goo eats concrete once again a few feet away.

“This is my city.”

Both men lay motionless on the ground, clearly beaten, still for several moments, trying to process and recover from the beating they've just received, before eventually Gun lifts his head up a bit, a pained but satisfied expression on his face as he pushes himself up onto his knees.

"Damn... I don't think... I've ever been beaten like that..."

He mutters softly, his breath coming out in labored puffs with a wide smile, the pain making it hard for him to form a coherent thought, other than knowing it felt exhilarating.

She's far beyond human at this point, she isn't someone to be underestimated at all.

While taking steps closer to Gun specifically, the only thing he can do at this point is just to watch her near, and attack when the time is right.

“I will not let you destroy what I have created.”

She utters out flatly, a hand inching towards Gun's face slowly.

“Cool eyes... mind if I take them as souvenirs?”

A look of disbelief and horror appear on Gun's face the moment he hears those words, his eyes widening slightly as he hears Nova's intentions. It's clear that both of them have never met someone stronger than them until now, never even considered such a possibility before this moment. Without much time to react, Gun tries to dodge back, but she's too fast, her hand grabbing his face in one quick, swift, almost instantaneous move.

He sits knees on the ground, jaw almost breaking in her grasp,looking at her like she's some kind of otherworldly monster, as he starts to wonder if he will even be able to hold out any longer.

This was a feeling neither of them were used to at all. Gun had never truly experienced fear like this before from a fight with someone, he always knew that no matter what he could always win. He always had such confidence that he would always win, but this time he was genuinely afraid. She didn't just overpower them. This time, they were completely outmatched. They were the prey and she was the predator in this situation. In that moment, all the cockiness and arrogance he usually possessed was gone, replaced with pure dread. This wasn't just a girl on a rampage, she was a monster.

Meanwhile, Goo, although going in an out of consciousness, and through gritted teeth as he already feels all and every bone in his body broken, the moment he notices the woman standing above Gun's body, is the same moment in a blink of an eye, he rushes forward.

Katana pulled out of its case, a deadly glint in his eyes as he makes one swift moment, stabbing the girl right through her abdomen from the front as he now suddenly stands behind Gun.

Perhaps his katana and swordsmanship actually came into good use.

For a moment, it looked as though Goo had managed to land a decisive blow...

But her expression made it clear. She wasn't even phased by it, her face remaining as blank and expressionless as ever as she simply turns her head to look back down at Goo, who was now staring back up at her in shock and disbelief.

"Oh... I am so fucked."

Are his only words as she takes a step forward.

Yes, forward.

While the blade still piercing right through her, discarding Gun aside like a measly ragdoll as she walks even deeper into the blade, and grips the sharp edge with her hand so he can't even think about moving the blade any way.

Of course nothing budges. Every time he tries to push her, or lever her off the blade, she doesn't even move at all. Not with her holding the shaft of it with such grip it was denting the metal. She doesn't look in any pain, or even show any reaction at all. She just keeps moving forward slowly despite the huge blade piercing into her stomach.

In fact, as she slowly pushes forward, the sound of the katana tearing through flesh can be heard in the empty city street, making both Goo and Gun tense up as a look of realization passes through their expressions.

What the hell was this woman made of...??

Blade broken by the tight grip of her hand after it had enough of warping and twisting her other hand is already up in the air. Hands flat like a spear, extended, ready to strike.

What happened after that is unclear.

After several moments, it was over. Goo and Gun both lay on the ground motionless, both of them completely unconscious and completely beaten for the first time in their lives. Everything hurt, and the shock from the whole ordeal was weighing heavy on them.

It went against everything they believed had ever known in their lives, the belief that no matter what, they would always win. But she changed that belief forever. Now, they would live the rest of their lives knowing someone more powerful and stronger than them was out there somewhere.

It is a story no one really talks about, since how unbelievable it sounds.

Two of the best, most powerful fighters in SK getting taken down by none other than a woman, in mere minutes.

Perhaps that was a good choice, that no one mentioned it since then, and did their best to keep it a secret. At least some of their ego stayed in tact, but couldn't help how bruised, and a broken they both felt after that.

[gremlin-girly]

Day 6: Gingerbread House

Pairing: Bucky x gn!reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, petnames (sweetheart), slight innuendo (sorry)

Summary: You and Bucky attempt to build a gingerbread House.

Word count: 500 Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

Prev | Next | Flufftober 2024 | Masterlist

Not once did you think, despite Bucky's grumbles, that you would have to keep him from eating your hard-work. Now that you were both stood opposite each other, sticky, thick overly sweet icing covering your fingers as you made one final desperate attempt to hold together the gingerbread walls; you thought that finally he would stop trying to eat your masterpiece.

But alas, he did not.

Picking up a gumdrop when he thought you were reading the instructions, he popped it into his mouth quickly and licked icing away from his metal fingers. Your head whipped around as he was dragging a finger out of his mouth slowly with an audible pop.

Your eyes narrow at him. "Did you just eat one of my candy trees?"

"No." He says quickly, his mouth thick with gummy goodness, trying to give you an affronted look after being accused of the thing he 100% did do.

"You did! You're eating the house!" You exclaim, trying desperately to hold the slabs of gingerbread together. Your icing was too runny, despite its thickness, and couldn't withstand the weight of the thick gingerbread walls.

"I am not. It was just one." Bucky pouts at you and whilst you're stuck holding the walls together picks up another gumdrop. He gives you a smug look as he throws it into his mouth. "Now it's two."

You remove your gooey hands, watching carefully as your foundations stay put and point an accusing finger at Bucky. "I knew it was a bad idea to ask you to help! You have such a sweet tooth."

Bucky throws up his hands in a sorry-not-sorry way, making you huff. "It's not my fault you've got all these sweets in front of me. That's just cruel, sweetheart."

You sigh in defeat, knowing he's right. Candy never lasts long if there's one Bucky Barnes around. Speaking of not lasting long...

You watch with slow dismay as your gingerbread walls slowly collapse in on themselves, finally buckling under the weight, leaving you with stacked, sticky gingerbread slabs that look nothing like the image on the box that they came in.

Bucky bites back a laugh at your reaction. "That could be salvaged."

"This is your fault." You say quietly, looking at your pile of gingerbread.

"How is it my fault?!" Bucky tries to sound offended but he's fighting back a smile and from the way your lips are twitching; so are you.

"For eating the furniture and trees." You say, flicking a gumdrop at him. You sigh again and then throw up your hands. "Wanna eat the pile of goo and gingerbread with me and watch a shitty Christmas movie?"

"Of course I do." Bucky says breaking off a corner of gingerbread wall. "I heard the Merry Gentlemen is all the rage from Natasha."

"Oh yeah it is." You chuckle, gathering some of the sugary decor you had set out. "We're watching that."

Perhaps the night wasn't as much of a failure as you had thought.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - graveyard shift

The dinging of the door alerts Sarah of someone walking in, and she barely glances up from her phone to see who it is. It's past midnight and somehow her coworker John managed to convince her to take over his graveyard shift at their convenience store. He owes her one, because she's been standing here for an hour and nobody's come in.

Not a surprise to her - nobody likes to stay out past sundown in Amity Park, even after nearly three years of ghosts appearing all over the place.

But still, it happens sometimes. So she doesn't look up. The dinging bell just lets her know that it's not a ghost, and that's really all she can ask for. The last time she worked late and a ghost came in, she was cleaning the shelves from some weird goo for an hour.

However, the lack of footsteps in the store after a few seconds worries her enough that she forces her head to lift. And a frown weaves its way onto her face when she sees no one at the door, nor anyone in the closet aisles.

...Shit, was there really a ghost here? Can they ring door when they come in? Normally she sees them just phase right through. And normally they glow, bright and jarring that leaves a migraine building behind Sarah's eyes.

Her eyes quickly scan the shelves again, looking for anything out of place -- anyone with too many heads, or too many teeth, or snakes for hair. She's pretty sure a coworker saw that once when they were working graveyard.

But she still sees no one. Apprehension raises the hair on the back of her neck, and she straightens up from her lean against the counter. Fuuuck. Was this one of those... marshmallow ghosts? An animal ghost?

Sarah really does not want to have to fight off a three-eyed raccoon looking-thing with eagle feet. She's heard the horror stories. And there was no way to contact the Phantom or the Red Huntress to come pick it up -- and she wasn't gonna try her luck with the Drs. Fentons.

Her fingers itch for the broom hanging on the wall behind her. It probably won't do much against a mutant raccoon-ghost-monster, but it'll make her feel better.

There's a rustle and crinkle in the candy aisle, and Sarah's hands are curled around the broom before she could blink. Her heart beating in her chest. She walks out from the counter, the bristled end raised like a bat in the air as she creeps apprehensively towards the noise.

There's nothing there when she peers around the side, and the aisle shelves are tall enough that she can't see over them.

She raises the broom higher. Sarah was in softball. She could take out a raccoon-eagle-hybrid.. thing.... easily. She just... needs to pretend its a golf ball. Except golf isn't softball so that's a terrible comparison.

Oh god she was gonna get her face ripped off, wasn't she.

John so owes her one. So much.

Creeping down the aisle, she keeps her ears perked for any new sounds. But all she can really hear is the soft pop music playing on the store speakers -- chosen by yours truly from her own personal playlist -- and the hum of the freezers. Ugh. This was not good for her paranoia. Like, at all.

Sarah's down at the end of the aisle when she feels a quick set of taps on her shoulder. Her nerves are already shot, so she shrieks and whirls around on her foot, swinging the broom blindly.

Only to be met with sudden and blunt resistance. Blinking rapidly, Sarah stares up and sees a black gloved hand gripping the broom handle tightly, small white bandages peeking over the side around five fingers. Following the hand down connects it with an arm, and then a chest, and suddenly she's staring at a black hoodie and black jacket.

When she tilts her head up, Sarah comes face to face with the bone-white mask and the terrifying, unearthly green eyes of their local vigilante, the Phantom.

...Holy fuck. It was the Phantom.

He was taller than she initially thought. Was her jaw on the ground? Probably. It was flapping like a fish out of water. "I- uh, you-- buh--"

Slowly, the Phantom raised his free hand and wrapped it around the handle of the broom. Sarah watches, wide eyed still and stammering as he firmly plucked the broom out of her hands and turned to lean it against the shelves.

Something about him doing that must've kicked her brain back into gear, because the first thing that comes out of her mouth is; "Your eyes are really green."

And she was going to lock herself in the freezer in the back for that one. She feels her face grow hot with embarrassment, and the Phantom only looks at her blankly. Her eyes shift nervously. "Well, it's true."

It was! The green eyes of the Phantom was his most defining feature other than that unsettling mask he wore. Especially considering they were the same color as some of the ghosts. It was one of the many, many creepy things about the guy.

Looking at it gave her the same, faint headache as when she stared at a ghost for too long. So Sarah drops her gaze a little to avoid it.

The Phantom remains silent, but he raises his hands and signs something to her that she doesn't understand. Fuck, that's right. He didn't speak - and Sarah doesn't know any ASL.

Sarah cringes. "Sorry, I don't know ASL."

She can feel his burning green eyes boring into her, and he remains as silent as the grave as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a phone in a plain black case. She watches him turn it on -- or at least she assumes he does, there's a privacy protector covering the screen -- and type something into.

He holds it up to her face when he's done, and she squints at the screen. In the notes app, a small text reads; 'We're ready to pay.'

..Oh. This wasn't Sarah's night. Embarrassment flashes hot through her and she forces out a laugh in order to try and quell it, Phantom shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Oh! Oh, right! I'm sorry, I'll uh- get up to the front--" She stops in her tracks.

Wait. Did that message say 'we?'

She smiles nervously, tilting her head up at the Phantom as her brows thread together. "Um," she swallows dryly, "we?" Didn't... didn't the Phantom work alone?

As if startled, the Phantom jerks. And for the first time since he showed up, he blinks and turns around. Which personally, doesn't bode that well as the Phantom swivels his head from side to side like he's looking for someone.

Sarah thinks, after the Phantom stalks up to the end of the aisle and looks around, she hears him sigh. And when he walks back, he snatches the broom with an elegant twist and knocks it against the shelves.

Thud, thud, thud!

There's very, very quiet shuffling that Sarah would have missed if she hadn't been looking for it, and then silence for a few seconds, before suddenly there's a small child pushing past her side and over to the Phantom.

And in the process, scaring the shit out of Sarah.

She squeaks and jumps, nearly tripping over her own feet as the child makes a spot next to the Phantom's side. "Where did you come from?!" She says, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

The child says nothing, just stares at her through a creepy bone-white mask reminiscent of the Phantom's. Although unlike the Phantom, he was wearing some... kind of... dark red ninja outfit?

Sarah really wasn't quite sure. It was partially covered by a jacket that clearly belonged to the Phantom and with the sleeves rolled up multiple times to his elbows. The jacket alone nearly obscured the sword attached to his hip.

...Why the hell did the child have a sword.

She looks between Phantom and the child, at a loss for words. Why-- why did the Phantom have a kid with him, why was the kid wearing a mask like his.

"You have a child with you." Sarah says bluntly, her voice flat. It betrays how shocked she feels. The Phantom doesn't say anything, as she should have expected, but he does nod shortly.

The child bristles slightly, but says nothing. Part of his mouth was uncovered, and she watched it twist downward into a scowl at her. Unlike the Phantom, his eyes were not green. She couldn't see his eyes at all, actually. They were shadowed by the mask.

There's the sound of paper thwipping, and like a magician pulling out a card, the Phantom holds out a note card to her. He stares, expectantly, and Sarah reluctantly takes it.

Written in neat writing and bold sharpie are the words; "This is Wraith."

...And that's it. Sarah glances up at Phantom. Then at the supposed 'Wraith'. Then back at Phantom. "You're bringing a child with you to ghost hunt?" She asks, and okay, maybe she's not able to hide all of the judgement leaking into her voice. "And you gave him a sword?"

The Phantom stares at her blankly, or well, probably blankly. All of his expressions are unreadable with the mask he wears. But the kid, Wraith, bristles again like a stray cat. His scowl deepens, he puffs up, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

...Only for the Phantom to immediately snap his hand out and cover his mouth. Wraith makes an angry sound, and Phantom drags the boy into his side, seemingly nonplussed as he twists his wrist and pulls another note card out of nowhere.

"He is perfectly capable of handling himself." The card reads, and then continues; "I would not have been able to stop him anyways. Wraith would have followed me regardless."

Did he have these prepared?

Best not to question it, Sarah decides. The Phantom has always been strange. So she just nods mutely and stuffs the two notecards into her back pocket. "Okay," she says, and moves around the Phantom. "I'll check you out up front."

[slamminslamminmcgill]

breeding kink joel is infecting my mind he won’t leave me alone. imagining him slowly rocking into me after filling me up to keep it inside and then we just go to sleep like that. wrruf wrufruf arf:3

BARKBARKBARKBARK i gotchu :3

warning: breeding kink, daddy kink, squirting, overstimulation

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy

“Nghhh, shit… So fuckin’ tight, kiddo… Gon’ milk me fuckin’ dry… Yeah, c'mon, boy, give that pussy to your Daddy...”

Joel’s breath was hot against your ear as he rutted into you with all his body weight. He had his arms around your back, keeping your limp body squished up against his in a tight bear hug. You appreciated the extra support, since you’d squirted out about half your brain cells by now. For an old man with self-proclaimed shitty knees, his stamina was impressive. At this rate, you weren’t sure which was coming first: him, or all your bones turning into goo. Your arms and legs were flaccid, barely sticking to his back with all the sweat and body heat between you both. Insightful conversation was long gone for you, and in its place was incoherent babbling. “Oh, fu-u-ahhh, my gah… my god, fuck… D-Daddyyy…”

“That’s right, baby, Daddy’s here… Daddy’s—mmm—Daddy’s right fuckin’ here… All the way deep inside you, boy… Such a good boy… Makin’ Daddy feel so good, pretty boy…” Joel’s softly-spoken, sugary sweet words were the icing on the cake, a cake that you’d overstuffed yourself on, and were now in the midst of a sugar crash.

Even through the onslaught of overstimulation, your hoarse vocal cords croaked out a quiet appreciation. “A-Ah, hah… Tha-... Thank you, Daddy…”

“You’re welcome, baby boy…” Joel speckled kisses on your temple, down your jaw, and along your neck. You felt his hips stutter, a telltale sign of impending climax, and he inhaled sharply. “Ooh, fuck, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby… Got a big load for my special boy… Gon’ fill you up so good—shit! Shit!”

Joel squeezed your body like he was trying to pop you, and came with a feral growl that resonated deep in his chest. His cock throbbed and spilled inside you, his cum filling what little space there was between your skin and his. No matter how smart and self-assured you were in your day-to-day life, Joel Miller could wreck you, leaving you nothing more than a well-used sex doll plugged with his seed.

But he’d never leave you like that. Pulling out of such a nice, warm, not to mention filled-up hole? Blasphemous. He wouldn’t dream of it. Plus, he had to check in on you. “Still with me, baby boy?”

The rush of post-sex endorphins always left you a giggly mess. Smiley and loopy, your limbs flopped onto the mattress below. “Hehehe... yeah! Yeah, I’m—ah!”

You were cut off when Joel thrust his hips just an inch or two forward, just enough to make you squeal like that. It made him laugh. "What? Gotta keep it all in, baby." His scratchy beard nuzzled against your cheek and he sighed. "Comfy?"

“Mhm.”

“Yeah? I’m not too heavy for ya?”

“Mm-mm…” You yawned. “I like it… Feels like a weighted—" He thrust his hips again, making you squirm and whimper beneath him. "Mm! W-weight... weighted blanket…”

Joel chuckled, "Good. Cause I'm not pullin' out til morning." He swept some of your sweat-drenched hair out of your face, and smooched your glistening forehead.

"G'night, kiddo."

[brodygold]

Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Five

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: FIVE GOLDEN RINGS (sung very dramatically)

Scott was busy decorating his Christmas tree, humming to himself as he worked. He'd barely finished humming the line before his phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, bro. Is this Scott?”

Scott’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah… Is this who I think it is?” he asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

“If you’re thinking Brody Gold, then you’re spot on.” The voice on the other end had a confident, almost playful tone. “I just wanted to congratulate you, bro. You’re one of the five lucky winners of our Golden Army sweepstakes!”

Scott nearly dropped his phone. His mind raced back to the contest he’d entered after the last game he attended. The details had been vague—no one knew exactly what the prize would be—but the allure of anything related to the Golden Army was impossible to resist. Maybe it was a jersey, or a VIP ticket to meet the team? The possibilities made his fanboy heart pound with excitement.

“Oh, shi- crap! Thanks so much! So… uh… what did I win? The contest never said.”

Brody chuckled. “I’m sending you a video right now, bro. It’ll explain everything you need to know. I’ve got four more winners to call, so watch it and hit me back when you’re done, alright?”

“Of course! Thanks again! I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished.”

“Good boy,” Brody replied smoothly before hanging up.

Scott blinked at his phone, a little puzzled. Good boy? The condescending comment lingered in his mind for a moment, but a notification popped up almost immediately—Brody’s promised video. The excitement surged back, and he tapped it without hesitation.

The screen flickered to life, but instead of a promotional video or an excited announcement, a mesmerizing black-and-gold spiral filled the display. Scott’s smile faltered. His eyes locked onto the spiral, unable to look away, as golden words began to flash on the screen in hypnotic pulses.

BLANK. OBEDIENT. EMPTY. MINDLESS.

Scott’s thoughts slipped away as if a plug had been pulled from his mind. His body slumped in his chair, his jaw slackening. The spiral consumed his focus, and he didn’t notice when a black, viscous substance began oozing from the edges of his phone. It crept onto his hand, cool and smooth, before spreading rapidly up his arm.

The words on the screen shifted:

DRONE. BLANK. OBEY THE GOLD. SERVE US.

The goo flowed like liquid shadow, engulfing his torso, dissolving his clothes in its path. Scott didn’t flinch; his mind had no room for panic. It was being stripped of humanity, thought by thought, memory by memory.

The rubber solidified into a sleek, glossy black polo shirt, perfectly fitted to his frame, leaving his arms exposed. The substance continued down his legs, forming tight, shiny black pants and polished boots. It crept upward, encasing his neck and jaw in a mask that gleamed under the light. His transformation was almost complete.

More words flashed on the screen:

NO NAME. ONLY A NUMBER. PDU-207. SCOTT ERASED.

A gold number, 207, etched itself across his chest in bold, gleaming digits. The spiral faded, but the programming remained. Scott—no, 207—rose from his chair, standing at attention. His blank gaze stared straight ahead as his hand moved with mechanical precision, redialing the last number.

Brody answered after the first ring, his voice firm and commanding. “Designation, drone.”

“It is PDU-207,” the drone replied in a monotone voice. “It obeys and serves the gold without question or hesitation.”

Brody’s voice softened, tinged with satisfaction. “Excellent, 207. A transport will arrive shortly to bring you to our facility. You will comply.”

“Drone acknowledges the order and obeys.”

“Good. When you arrive, report directly to my office. We’ll begin your 'advanced training'.”

Brody ended the call with a smirk. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his desk.

“One down,” he mused, “four more drones to go.”

[frostbitebakery]

Love the goo!Obi-Wan au. How did the 501st react when they had to work with Obi-Wan for the first time? Seeing their brothers from the 212th being unaffected by the creepiness

Thank you, Nonny!! 💜💜💜 Sorry this took a bit but I had to pick and choose how I wanted the 501st represented by Rex to react. Enjoy!

“Uhm.”

“Basically,” Boil says. “The rhymes are catchy though.”

Cody nods, lifts his shoulder in Boil’s direction. “They are.”

“Uhm.”

“You get used to it,” Waxer chimes in.

Rex holds up a hand. “No. No, we are going to backtrack a bit. What do you mean I’m standing in General Kenobi.”

“Only technically,” Waxer assures and smiles at the black smoke curling around his foot before wafting off.

“Well then!” Rex hisses out and rounds on Cody. “You stop laughing your ass off!”

Cody’s blank face doesn’t change under the accusing finger. Instead his eyes catch on something down the hallway. “Hm.”

The very last thing Rex wants to do is turn around. Unfortunately, being brave to the point of stupidity is anchored into his bones, so he turns around.

And is almost bowled over by a scream shattering down the hallway, a rush of dense, cold air freezing the blood in his veins. It’s too fast to duck, too consuming to not want to curl into a ball and weep. A clock is ticking down somewhere, taking every second backwards of Rex’s life and leaving him in the unforgiving grave.

“Must’ve dripped in the pudding again,” Cody comments just as his comm goes off.

A small blue version of the General pops up in the holo field, bowing deeply. “I apologize for what just occurred and for any inconveniences my lack of control may have caused.”

The comm cuts off and Rex has trouble blinking the afterimage from his eyes.

“So, anyway,” Waxer says as if this is all just another Taungsday and Rex’s hair didn’t just turn even blonder from shock. “You get used to it, really—“

The pad of a finger slowly strokes down the back of Rex’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Under the blacks. He slaps a hand against the sensation.

“Ha, yeah, and one time he made it seem like he was on fire and was intimidating the enemy but then he forgot how to turn it off again—“

Whispers in his ear. Loud and louder and standing right there behind him.

“So Commander Cody just got the fire suppression foam and was like, stop that! It was so funny—“

Hands tugging at his. At his wrists. Arms. Grabbing his jaw and prying his mouth open but nothing moves it’s all in his head.

“Rex,” Cody says and Rex is standing with the others at a T-section on the Negotiator.

He looks up, sees the understanding there in Cody’s eyes, the half-smile. “Don’t be afraid. He’s still General Kenobi.”

.

The General is red with shame and chagrin. “I cannot possibly apologize enough, Captain Rex.”

Which does a lot to alleviate Rex’s fears. Multiple. He’s been walking awake through every nightmare he’s ever had since boarding the Negotiator.

“My control is becoming stronger, overall, though it is certainly lacking in other aspects. I’m very sorry. Especially for the incident with the mouse droid—“

“We’re not talking about that,” Rex rushes out before remembering himself. “Sir.”

“Of course.”

And after that, it’s… easy. Don’t be afraid and there’ll be no loop feeding itself on his fear until he has a heart attack.