#Targeted content delivery

[pathologicalreid]

burn notice | s.r.

in which your workplace is targeted by a group of extremists, and Spencer tries everything to keep you safe

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fighting, threats, arson/explosion, politics, mass casualty event, sole survivor, greek mythology my beloved, public transit word count: 2.34k a/n: i genuinely think my laptop is going to start smoking if i leave it on for much longer.

You pull your knees to your chest, sitting on the floor next to Spencer’s desk while he speaks with Hotch about the case. JJ waves at you solemnly before she heads out of the bullpen, leaving you as the last person. Setting your chin on your knee, you close your eyes and wonder how things got so messed up so quickly.

Someone was threatening your work, the threats weren’t directed at you personally, but with the way Spencer was acting, it might as well have been. The BAU had been called in by D.C. Metro yesterday, and that was when Spencer started acting overprotective.

The letters were demanding all of the money from a political action campaign, something you couldn’t give away. The money wasn’t yours to give. “Are you alright?” Spencer asks, having made his way down to his desk.

Accepting his hand up, you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest when he pulls you in for a hug. “Just a long day,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally letting yourself relax.

He chuckles lightly at your colossal understatement of the day’s events, gently rubbing your back before he goes to pick his messenger bag up, slinging it over his shoulder before taking your hand, “What do you say we order something out for dinner?”

You hum in response, “I think it’s pretty obvious that neither of us is in the mood to cook.” You don’t even need to bring up the fact that it’s eight p.m., you could be heading home at five and you still wouldn’t have it in you to cook a meal. You slip your hand in his while you’re heading to the elevator, waving briefly at Hotch as he locks up his office.

Spencer lets you sit on the metro, standing until it’s time to switch lines and he finds a seat while you’re headed to Farragut North. You rest your head on his shoulder, wondering if the food you ordered on the phone was going to beat you to the apartment.

You’re half asleep by the time you get to Van Ness, and Spencer practically drags you behind him as you exit the station and walk back to the apartment. As you expect, your food is waiting for you on the welcome mat, complete with the handwritten note from your favorite delivery driver, “God, this smells good.” You say, holding the warm take-out containers in your arms while Spencer opens the front door.

Setting everything on the kitchen counter, you retreat briefly to the bedroom to change your clothes, pulling on an old t-shirt before returning to the kitchen, taking your container, and sitting on the couch. “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

With food in your mouth, you nod at Spencer, watching him sit down on the other end of the couch. Swallowing, you shrug, “It’s election season, Spence. This is one of my busiest times of the year.”

“But there’s a group of people threatening to blow up the building that you work in,” Spencer reminds you, mixing up his food with his fork.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation today. “At the end of the day, it’s up to my boss to decide whether or not we get to take the day off or if we have to go into the office, and he said that anyone who doesn’t come in tomorrow gets fired.”

Spencer’s gaze narrows, “I quite honestly don’t care. I’d rather we go to having a single income than have you die in a domestic terrorism incident” He points his fork at you, “And for what it’s worth, your boss is an asshole.”

You huff in recognition, now that was something you were well aware of. This job was supposed to be your way in. A stepping stone on your way to being a liaison in the White House, but the world had started to slow down from the moment you entered the world of politics. Every ounce of excitement that you had felt when you first moved to D.C. was fleeting.

Work sapped joy from your life, and everyone around you knew it.

Fiddling with your chopsticks, you dig around in your takeout container for a carrot, “Do you think we could talk about something other than work?”

“I can’t stop thinking about how tonight might be my last night with you,” Spencer says morbidly, aggressively stabbing at his container. It was Spencer’s greatest blessing and his eternal damnation, being able to think so quickly and operate in a way that left his peers miles behind.

He saw the solution so plainly in front of him, standing in his pool of water with a fruit tree creating a foreboding shadow above him, but every time he reached out with the answer, you retreated. “DHS didn’t think it was a credible threat,” you murmur, setting your food down on the coffee table so you can attempt to have a real conversation with him about this.

Spencer huffs in response, the hair blowing strands of his hair around his face, “DHS isn’t emotionally involved in this case.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Do you think maybe you’re too close to this? What did Hotch say?”

“Fuck off,” he snaps. It was an instinctive reaction to your pushing, but that didn’t make the sting any less painful.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrink back into your side of the couch, “Is that what you told Hotch, too?” You watch his reaction, the way he presses his lips together in acute shame for what he said to you, but he won’t take it back, and he won’t apologize for it. Not right now, at least.

He’s just afraid, you try to remind yourself. Spencer’s terrified of something happening to you and he has some sort of deep-seated inability to process fear, so when he gets scared, he gets mean. Right now, he was taking his fear out on you, and if something was going to happen to you tomorrow, you didn’t want him to spend his time lashing out.

You turn on the TV, flipping to a program that the both of you like before going back to your dinner, manifesting that the tense silence between the two of you turns peaceful before it’s too late.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Nadine asks you, nudging your side gently with her elbow until you snap out of your fugue. “Are you heading home for dinner?”

Checking the time on your watch, you nod absentmindedly, “Probably,” your voice is rough from lack of use, spending so much of your day just staring at election models. You have the privilege of being the only employee who lives close enough to be able to go home for meals—you’d packed a lunch, but you have to stop at home for dinner.

In an unsurprising turn of events, your team was staying late at work tonight. You’d already texted Spencer to let him know, but you doubt that he even looked at your message. “Hey, at least no crazy person came and blew up the office,” she continues, noticing your melancholia.

You laugh without humor, a dry empty sound in response to your co-worker tempting fate. “Yeah, at least there’s that,” you respond, noting the strange air that remains in the suite, people are still thinking about the threat, even if they’re too scared to say it aloud.

Walking back to the office after making a sandwich at home, you pull your phone out of your purse and try to haphazardly type out an on my way text to Nadine, but when you send it, it doesn’t go through. Shaking it off, you drop your phone back in your purse and keep walking, sirens passing on the street as something goes on in the city. You think about texting Spencer again but decide against it—it’s better to give him his space.

A passing pedestrian knocks into you, getting you to lift your head to frown at him, but he just keeps running forward, not even bothering to throw a sorry over his shoulder.

“Is that building on fire?” Someone asks, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the question, picking up your own pace as tufts of smoke billow into the sky, suspiciously close to where your office is.

There’s a mob forming behind the police line, people who were in the middle of their commutes home when they found something to gawk at. Even people who choose to keep walking are rubbernecking, making double steps to look at the building for a split second longer. “Isn’t that the councilman’s office?”

“No,” you breathe, watching the flames as they only grow. The crowd clutches their pearls as people ask about people jumping from the building, your friends who would rather jump and possibly survive than burn to death. People run past you to get closer while you can’t do anything except watch in horror.

It’s not until one of the windows shatters that you move again, the location of the window right next to where you and Nadine had been standing earlier. You push through the crowd, trying to reach the police barricade as people ask Metro PD for answers.

You try to duck under the police tape before someone pushes you back, “No!” You cry, “No, no, no! Please let me through! I work here,” you try to explain through gasping breaths, “This is my job! These are my friends!” You shout over the ruckus, the smell of the fire filling your senses.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” one of the officers talks down to you, “We’re under strict orders from the FBI that no one is allowed to get through.” His voice doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy in it, and it pushes you closer to the ledge.

You point at him accusingly, “Fuck your orders! Let me talk to the FBI!” Desperation oozes from you in every direction as the crowd steps away from the crazy woman shouting about the FBI. “I know them all,” you plead, “just let me talk to them!”

The officer holds his hands out, “Ma’am, I don’t want to have to remove you from the scene.”

But you’ve already moved on from him, noticing a familiar cascade of dark hair on the other side of the barricade, “Oh my god, Emily!” Your voice is comparable to a shriek as you try to get her attention, “Emily, please!”

Relief floods your chest as her head snaps in the direction of your shouting, a confused look quickly morphing into shock as she recognizes you. “Let her through,” She calls to the officers, looking at you as if she’s seen a ghost. “What’s going on?”

You run to her first, adrenaline thrumming through every part of your body as you point to the two officers who made an enemy of you, “Those two won’t fucking listen to me!”

“We thought you were in the building,” Emily says, her tone is eerie, almost haunted.

Gasping for air, you wave your hand around at the building, babbling something about dinner and the walk while she continues to monitor your surroundings.

She places her hands on your shoulders to stop you from bouncing around, “Y/N, Spencer thinks you were inside the building.”

It’s like she’s knocked the hair out of your lungs, you shake your head, “I wasn’t. I was at home. I left for…” your voice trails off at the realization that at this very moment, Spencer thinks you’re dead. At the very least he thinks you’re trapped inside of that building when you very likely could’ve been at the apartment that you share while the fire was set.

“Reid!” Emily calls into her radio, rolling her eyes in frustration, “He took his earbud out.”

You tug at her arm, “Where is he?” Your voice broke, grief flooding your eyes as she communicated with the team.

She nods her head to the left, “He’s on the north side of the building.”

Not even waiting for her to finish her sentence, you took off in a full sprint, ignoring other people looking at you like you’re insane because the only thing you can think of is getting to Spencer. “Spencer!” You shout, your voice ragged from running, throat swelling with emotion as you scream for him.

JJ sees you first, “Reid!”

And you see him. It looks like Derek’s holding him back, stopping him from running into the building when you call out again, “Spence!”

He turns just in time to catch you, nearly toppling onto the ground as you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him while he holds you so tightly that your feet lift off of the ground.

“Yeah, Emily,” Derek says into his radio, “We’ve got her.”

Your hands tremble with an assortment of emotions as you grip the straps of his Kevlar vest, depending on him to keep you standing, “I’m okay,” you babble, “I wasn’t in there.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer responds, burying his face in your neck, you hold him impossibly tight as his tears hit your skin, eliciting a sob from the back of your throat.

You gasp, “I know. It’s okay. I’m okay,” you repeat like a mantra, a collection of words that needs to be tattooed on his brain. “We’re okay,” you tell him, smiling faintly as he walks backward to an ambulance, neither of you faltering in your grip of the other.

It seems like every cell that made up his body is shaking as he holds you, “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again. This time it’s deeper. He’s apologizing for his behavior, sure, but he’s apologizing for this event.

A cry bubbles in your throat. Everything was gone. Your friends were gone. The last two years of your life burnt to ashes.

And when you lose your footing and you otherwise would’ve fallen to the ground, Spencer keeps you up, his grip holding you together—keeping you close.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

re: Somerton

Not for nothing, but I think we should remember that James Somerton's fans and subscribers are normal people, just like you. They are people who received his output in good faith, and extended to him a normal amount of grace and benefit of the doubt, which he took advantage of.

I don't think it's helpful to respond to the exposé on Somerton with sentiments along the lines of "wow, how could anyone ever think THIS GUY'S videos were any good, ha ha ha, how did he ever get subscribers?" because 1) you have the substantial benefit of hindsight and a disengaged outsider perspective, and 2) it's a rhetoric that creates a divide between you (refined, savvy, smart, sophisticated) and Somerton's audience (gullible, unrefined, easily taken advantage of, terrible taste), which is a false divide, with a false sense of security.

Somerton's success happened because he stole good writing. He found interesting, insightful, in-depth work done by other people, applied the one skill he actually has which is marketing, and re-packaged it as his own. He targeted a market which is starving for the exact kind of writing he was stealing, and pushed his audience to disengage from sources that conflicted with him.

Hbomberguy makes this point in his exposé video: good queer writing is hard to find and incredibly easy to lose. The writers Somerton stole from were often poor or precarious, writing freelance work for small circles under shitty conditions, without the means or the reach or the privileges necessary to find bigger markets. And, as Hbomb demonstrated, when people did discover Somerton's plagiarism, he used his substantial audience to hound them away and dissuade anyone else from trying to hold him accountable.

He stole queer writing by marginalized people, about experiences and perspectives that people are desperate to hear more about, and even if his delivery and aesthetics were naff, his words resonated with people because the original writers who actually wrote them poured their goddamn hearts and souls into it.

Somerton also maintained a consistent narrative of persecution and marginalization about himself. He took the plain truth, which is that queer people and perspectives are discriminated against, and worked that into a story about himself as a lone, brave truth-teller, daring to voice an authentic queer perspective, constantly beset by bigots and adversaries who sought to tear him down. As @aranock, who works with some of the people he targeted, writes in this post, Somerton weaponized whatever casual bias and bigotry he could find in his audience to reinforce his me vs them narrative (usually misogyny and various forms of transphobia), which is what grifters do. They find a vulnerable thread in a community and pull on it. And while you may not have the particular vulnerability that he exploited, you do have vulnerabilities, and they can be exploited too.

People felt compelled to support him, even if his work was sometimes shoddy, because he presented himself as a vulnerable, marginalized person in need of help, he pulled on that vulnerable thread.

Again, he has a degree in marketing, and just like propaganda, nobody is immune to marketing.

YouTube as a system is set up to push for more, constantly more. More content, more videos, more output, more more more more, and part of Somerton and Illuminaughty's success was their ability to push out large amounts of content to the hungry algorithm, even if it was of inferior quality. The algorithm rewarded their volume of output with more eyeballs and attention, and therefore more opportunities to find people who were vulnerable to their grift.

It is a system which quite literally rewards the exact kind of plagiarism that they do, because watch-time and engagement are easily measurable metrics for a corporation, and academic rigor is not. There is pressure to deliver, and a lot of rewards to gain from cutting corners to do it.

Somerton and Illuminaughty and Internet Historian are extreme and very obvious cases, so blatant that you can make a four hour video essay exposing what they've done, but the vast majority of this kind of plagiarism isn't going to be obvious - sometimes it might not even be obvious to the people who are doing it. Casual plagiarism is endemic to the modern internet, and most people don't get educated on what the exact boundaries are between proper sourcing and quoting vs plagiarizing. We had an entire course module at my university aimed at teaching students the exact differences and definitions, and people still made good faith mistakes in their essays and papers that they had to learn to correct during their education.

All of this to say: it is extremely easy in hindsight to call Somerton's work shitty and shoddy, his aesthetics flat and uninspired, and to imagine that as a sophisticated person with good taste and critical faculties, you would never be taken in by this kind of grifter. It is extremely easy to distance yourself from the people he preyed on, and imagine that you will never have to worry about your fave doing your dirty like that.

But part of the point of Hbomberguy's video is that plagiarism is extremely easy to get away with, and often difficult for the average person to spot and call out, and with the rise of AI tools blurring the lines even further, it is not going to get any easier.

So I think we should resist the temptation to think of Somerton's audience as people with bad taste and poor faculties. We should resist the temptation to distance ourselves from the perfectly normal people he preyed on. Many times in your life, a modestly clever man with a marketing degree has fooled you too.

On a personal note, by the same token, I am resisting the temptation to assume that I am too good to be vulnerable to the systemic pressures that produced Somerton and Illuminaughty. No, I've never made a video by word-for-word reciting someone else's work, but I know for a fact that I could do a better job of double-checking my work and citing my sources. I feel the exact same pressure to get a video out as fast as possible, I have the exact same rewards dangled in front of me by YouTube as a platform, and I can't pretend it doesn't affect my work. To me, Hbomb's video felt like a wake-up call to do better.

[milkloafy]

THE ASTRAL EXPRESS’ LAUNDRY FAIRY — DAN HENG

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: you hate doing your laundry and dan heng needs to use the dryer. one day, he folds your clothes for you and places your skimpiest pair of underwear on top for everyone to see.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, 16+, fem!reader, humor?  ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 2.3k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: yes this is based on my roomie folding my laundry for me whenever i forget to take it out of the dryer for too long…but like no she doesn’t put my lingerie on display that is only for dan heng to do <3 sdjfhsdj

While the Express seemed filled with saving the world and trying not to die, being a Nameless had its more mundane moments too.

You had chores to do, just like any other person out there. You had to wash your dishes, clean your bathroom, and do your laundry. As did everyone else on the Express. 

Unfortunately for you, you hated doing your laundry—namely, you hated folding your clothes. And even more unfortunate was that there was a limited amount of washer and dryers that had to be shared amongst the passengers. 

It was safe to say that you had a bit of a…reputation for leaving your clothes in the dryers for too long. 

Most times, you would get a text from Trailblazer telling you to get your damn clothes out, or a knock on the door and a delivery of a basket full of freshly dried clothes for you to fold from March 7th. But some days, when you remembered in the late of night to go and take your clothes out of the dryer yourself, you would see them in a basket, folded neatly and compactly, with no sign of who did it. 

At first, you assumed it was Welt. He seemed fatherly enough. But today when you went to pick up your laundry basket, you noticed your lacy and sheer baby pink thong folded neatly and placed on the top of the pile of clothes, and you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. Welt would’ve had the decency to at least hide your undergarments…

You had plenty of other, more boring underwear in there was well. Plain black ones or nude-colored ones. Placing the skimpy pink one on top just had to be targeted.

Himeko, perhaps, would have the gall to do such a thing, but she was worse than even you at doing her laundry. At times, she didn’t even remember to take it out of the washer and it would take multiple more washes to rid her dresses of the musty, damp clothes scent. 

That left only two people: Pom-Pom and Dan Heng. 

Pom-Pom because the likelihood of them knowing that the underwear they folded was a thong bordering on lingerie was slim to none. And it was on top simply due to them thinking the color was nice. And Dan Heng, well…because he was Dan Heng. 

You decided there was only one way to find out. 

“Pom-Pom,” you said in a singsong voice to your favorite and only conductor. You waltzed over to them in the Parlor Car and handed them a homemade cupcake that came fresh from the oven. “Here is my little thank you gift. It’s red velvet. Your favorite.”

Pom-Pom’s eyes lit up as they accepted the cupcake with open arms. “For me? Pom-Pom loves this treat! But what is the thank you for?”

You smiled, pleased with yourself as Pom-Pom devoured the cupcake in just a few bites. “Thank you for folding my clothes for me, of course!” 

Slowly, Pom-Pom folded the cupcake wrapper with wide eyes. “Folding your clothes? Oh, you must be mistaken! Pom-Pom is not your maid. Pom-Pom is the conductor.” 

Blinking rapidly, you nodded with a sheepish look on your face. “Of course! Pom-Pom is no maid. But if you haven’t been doing my laundry for me, then that must mean…” 

Your eyes flitted over to Dan Heng, who was reading a book at a table in the parlor car, a cup of warm tea in front of him. He was close enough that he could overhear your conversation if he wanted to, but it was more likely that he was too engrossed in his book to notice. 

Clearing your throat to get his attention, you called out, “Dan Heng.”

He looked over in your direction before closing his book and placing it in the table. Picking up his mug, Dan Heng a sip of tea. “Yes?” 

“Did you…” you trialed off, realizing you didn’t have a cupcake in hand to thank him. It had been eaten by Pom-Pom for no apparent reason. Though, the conductor certainly deserved random treats for their hard work as well. 

“Did I?” 

You tugged the hem of your shirt sheepishly, suddenly feeling bashful at the thought of Dan Heng taking his time to fold the smallest of your underwear and putting it on full display. 

“Never mind!” you blurted out, suddenly making an excuse to head back to your bedroom. “See you later, Dan Heng! I hope you enjoyed your cupcake, Pom-Pom!”

Running out of the Parlar Car and down the hall into your room, you shut the door behind you and laughed to yourself. Now, you just had to find out— Did Dan Heng place your panties there on purpose? Was he simply unfazed or did he want to tease you by doing so? 

Closing your eyes and letting out an exhale, you told yourself there was only one way to find out. 

—

Dan Heng walked into the communal laundry room after his clothes were finished in the wash and saw the small selection of dryers in use. They all had another forty minutes left to them. All except for one. The one, single dryer that was finished drying but still had your laundry basket on top of it, claiming the space as yours until you gathered your items. 

He shook his head but smiled despite himself. This was a bad habit of yours you had to break, so why did he indulge in your forgetfulness when it came to laundry and fold your clothes for you? Part of him said it was simply because it would be too much work to message you and wait for you to gather your stuff— By the time that happened, his clothes would have been wet for too long. 

But another part of him just felt it was a nice thing to do for you. You, who always went out of your way to celebrate his “birthday” on a random day of the year since Dan Heng never had the chance to learn when it truly was. 

Everyone deserved a special day, you had said.

There was also you who made sure to always bring Pom-Pom a souvenir since they were unable to go out themselves. 

Perhaps laundry was your one downfall. And in that case, Dan Heng certainly didn’t mind. It was the least he could do to help you out.

Still, as he folded this week’s batch of your laundry, heat rose to his cheeks at the sight of, not one, but four pairs of lacy underwear and matching sets of equally revealing bras.

Dan Heng sighed, chuckling to himself. He learned over the last few weeks that you preferred more subtle types of undergarments… So why this week the amount of lingerie exponentially grew was beyond him. 

It could have been that you finally learned the person folding your clothes was Dan Heng and wanted to poke fun at him a bit. He shook his head. If that was the case, he could certainly retaliate himself.

After finishing up the folding with your intimates intentionally laid on top of the pile, he finally placed his own clothes in the dryer. He pulled his phone out to set a timer—something you could learn to do—but before he put it back in his pocket, Dan Heng found himself opening his messages with you.

Dan Heng: Interesting selection you had this week.

Y/N: ???

Y/N: Interesting selection of what?

Instead of typing a response, he thought it would be better to show you.

Smiling to himself, he took a picture of your laundry basket—the red pair on top this time—and sent it over to you.

Your reply was instantaneous.

Y/N: Oh my god…

Y/N: YOU’RE my laundry fairy after all?!!

Dan Heng: It seems I am.

Y/N: Then why are you placing my unmentionables on the top!! Have you no shame?

Dan Heng: Strange way to say thank you…

Y/N: …thank you.

Y/N: Also, just FYI, i don’t normally that many raunchy undies in one week. 

Y/N: I only wore them this week for you.

Dan Heng blinked in shock. Not that he was opposed, but he wasn’t sure if he was understanding you correctly.

Y/N: Wait. Not like that.

Y/N: It’s not like I’m wearing them for you for you, you know??? 

Y/N: It’s like… I was wearing it for my laundry fairy to find out who they were and to get a rise out of you.

Y/N: Out of them* the unknown laundry fairy.

Dan Heng almost laughed at the amount of times you had to correct yourself in the span of one measly minute. 

Dan Heng: Of course. You wore them for the elusive laundry fairy, not me in particular. 

Y/N: Yes! Exactly.

Y/N: But also thank god it is you, right? Haha.

Y/N: Like imagine it was Welt after all… Oh gods he does not need to know THIS is what I wore underneath all my clothes…

Y/N: He would say something like it might be uncomfortable for the movement required during combat.

Dan Heng’s expression soured at the strange thought of Welt having to fold your delicates, but that quickly changed when the image of you wearing these lacy undergarments flashed through his mind. 

Y/N: You know what?? Nothing I’m saying is coming out right t-t

Y/N: I’ll just see you at the laundry room to pick up my stuff

Y/N: Meet you there!!!

Dan Heng held his hand over his rapidly beating heart in hopes that it would calm down before you got here. Not to mention the red in his cheeks that showed no signs of going away.

He didn’t intend to think such thoughts of you, nor did he expect that he…didn’t mind it. But either way, the image had to get out of his head before you arrived at the laundry room. The visions would only grow stronger at the sight of you in person, and he was not prepared on having to deal with that. 

Dan Heng wasn’t sure if he could face your inevitable teasing if you ever found out.

—

All it took was one look at Dan Heng’s face and you automatically understood the entire situation. 

“Do you think the laundry room runs really warm too?” you asked, fanning your face as you entered the door. “It’s always so hot! I hate coming in here!”

Dan Heng blinked, nodding slowly but unsurely, as if he was ready to go along with whatever you just said.

You walked over to him and placed your hand on his forehead, checking to see if his entire face and body was burning up. Alarm filled you when you felt the heat radiating from his face.

“Dan Heng! You’re burning up in here,” you fretted, closely inspecting his face and tugging at his sleeve to motion him to follow you. “Let’s get out of the laundry room.”

His face turned even more red as you touched his cheeks tried to cool him off. Decidedly, Dan Heng shook his head. “I do not think it is the location causing the warmth.”

“Then what?”

He did not answer, but you noticed the way his eyes flickered briefly to your laundry basket of folded clothes. Just like the picture he sent you, your matching red lingerie set was placed neatly on top.

Suddenly, you felt your own face warm up.

“O-Oh… That’s why.” You scooped up the basket into your arms and held it close to your chest, as if it were a shield protecting you from embarrassment. “I’ll get these out of your way now! And thank you for…you know.” 

“Anytime.”

“And I promise, I won’t be wearing such racy bras and underwear in the future in case I forget to come collect my laundry again…” 

Dan Heng cleared his throat before shaking his head. “No, that’s not necessary.” 

You stared and him and he stared back. 

“What I mean to say is, feel free to wear whatever you want. I don’t mind,” he said, walking out of the laundry room with you. “In fact, you probably look…nice in them.” 

Dan Heng froze in place and you almost tripped over the air and dropped all your clothes. 

“I mean—” he started. 

“No, yeah! I get what you mean!” 

You did not get what he meant. 

Was he complimenting you? Flirting? You were 95% sure he was and your heart was about to fly out of your chest. 

This man would be the death of you one day.

“Anyway, this is my stop,” you announced, as if Dan Heng hadn’t been past your room multiple times before. “Thanks for doing my laundry! Bye now!” 

Rushing into the safety of your room, you threw the basket of clothes onto your desk at the entrance. Before you could get too comfortable, you heard a hesitant knock on the door. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a deep exhale and attempted to appear normal. 

You opened the door and peered up at the black-haired man with frustratingly pretty eyes. “Hi! Can I help you?”

“You dropped something…” Dan Heng stood at your door frame with your red thong hanging from his fingers. His cheeks almost matched the color of your panties. 

“Oh.” You grabbed them at lightning speed, avoiding looking into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Once you shut the door in his face for the second and final time tonight, you immediately ran over to your bed and screamed into your pillow. 

After a brief moment of silence, you heard his voice through the door, “I feel the same.”

Your threshold for embarrassment had broken already and all you could do was laugh. 

At least you and Dan Heng were both on the same boat.

[ovaryacted]

Rookie Mistakes

Pairing: RE2!Leon x Sergeant fem!Reader

Summary: When Leon seems distracted and makes a mistake during a call, you ensure your rookie gets his head together as his sergeant.

Content/Warnings: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn with plot. Dom/sub elements. Femdom/msub. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Needy/subby Leon. Oral sex. Fingering. Handjob. Office Sex. Slight age gap (reader is older at around 25, Leon is 21).

WC: 4.7k

Notes: Finally this is out. I know I know, I'm a liar! But, I had fun with this one, so I hope you like it. Shoutout to the babe @cinnarette for beta reading this and giving me her approval lolz. Anyways, reblogs & comments are always appreciated!

Leon had always been one to find the good in a shitty situation. Someone with a warm heart that matched the moral compass he developed despite the constant bullshit he experienced daily.

From his hectic childhood to his experiences in the police academy, he had to overcome many trials and tribulations on his own with nobody in his corner. All of those struggles to get the pure sense of relief once he felt his diploma in his hand made all the stress worth it.

When he first arrived at the R.P.D., he didn’t know what to expect. The anxiety of starting fresh in a new city with a new career clouded his mind with a paranoia he seemed to carry in his youth. Walking into the police department he’d call his new home, Leon was fairly surprised to be greeted with a welcome party.

Balloons and confetti filled the common room as he moved around the crowd, bombarded with introductions and greetings as he tried to memorize the names that were thrown his way. Still, the small games and blue cake he indulged in brought a smile to his face, topped off with the polka-dotted party hat he was forced to wear and the words Welcome Leon hung up on the ceiling for him to see.

What Leon didn’t expect was to be assigned to your personal detail the next day. A police sergeant on the force, a bit older, no more than 25 he first assumed, more refined and seasoned with one hell of a glare. First impressions? He was terrified, nervous as hell to fuck anything up seeing how you ran a tight ship, taking your job too seriously for comfort. Of course, you had to. You were working in a male-dominated field, forcing yourself into a mold so you could be taken seriously by those around you.

He took his hand out when being introduced to you, unstable grip and a nervous smile to match as he looked directly into your intimidating gaze. You shook his hand firmly, the strength of your grasp parallel with the small grin you offered him almost made a shiver roll down his spine.

“So you’re the new rookie huh? Well, it’s nice to see a fresh face in here. We have some serious work to do. Let’s get started.”

-

You were particular about how you wanted things done, very precise in your words and your delivery. A harsh leader, one who easily reprimanded the other rookie officers but was particularly picky with Leon. In a way, he started to feel like you were targeting him, pressuring him so he would crack and leave the force. He knew he couldn’t leave, that this was the career path he chose, and he was too anxious to say anything so he’d let it slide.

You didn’t let up on his training either, always making sure your rookie was on top of what was expected of him. The slight fear Leon had when first meeting you quickly turned into admiration. His stress-induced feelings morphed into respect, now wanting to learn everything you had to show him.

That was when it started. Leon now tried any little thing to get in your good graces, to see even the slightest sign of a smile or to hear you laugh. He started coming to work earlier to help with the case filings you had piled on your desk, organizing them the way you taught him whenever you assigned him grunt work. He wanted you to take a breather and start your day with a clear head, maybe even enjoy your coffee for a bit longer.

When you saw how tidy your work environment was, you went up to Leon who you saw was typing away at his desk diligently. His head lifted up to look at you, blue eyes glancing over your face to read your expression.

“Morning. By any chance, did you fix all the files on my desk?”, you asked curiously, making the blonde rub the back of his neck shyly.

“Yeah, I did. Wanted to help you out a bit and give you an early start to the day” he responded, silently hoping you wouldn’t be upset at him for entering your workspace. Instead, he was met with your look of genuine surprise, followed by a twinkle of gratitude.

“Thank you for that, I appreciate it. Keep up the good work Leon”, you praised him, offering a small smile, one that he made sure to burn into his memory.

“Yes ma’am”, his face was practically beaming at your words as he watched you walk back towards your office, trying to hide the sudden warmth flooding his cheeks.

Your words kept repeating in his head nonstop throughout the entire day. Not only did you acknowledge him in a positive light, you also addressed him by name, which was rare. He was more present at work, his posture straighter, and more eager to help. From that point on, he made it his mission to make sure his sergeant was stress-free, doing anything to see you smile at him again.

Working with Leon, you quickly learned that he was perceptive. A smart cookie, and probably the smartest one out of the current bunch of recruits. Despite the tough love you gave him, especially because he was your professional responsibility, he was the only one truly receptive to your teachings. Like a sponge, he took in everything you gave with a certain wonder you hadn’t seen in anyone else. It was cute really, how he was so ambitious and doing his best to get your approval.

What you liked the most about working with Leon was how he addressed you. He took your authority seriously, seeing someone in charge instead of your appearance. He didn’t say your name, not your first or last out of respect, but rather he always addressed you as Ma’am. You never had someone say that to you directly, thinking it makes you sound older than you actually are. But with the way his eyes warmed up when he’d say it with full confidence, you didn’t have it in you to tell him to stop.

-

Over the next few weeks, Leon became part of your daily routine, integral to the start of your day. He’d walk in a few minutes early as expected, with two coffee cups in his hands as he waited for you outside your office. Spotting the top of your head coming from speaking to the chief, you were heading his way. You had the same soft smile reserved just for him, one that he always looked forward to seeing when you worked together.

“Got you your usual”, he offered one of the cups to you, your fingers lightly grazing his when taking the warm concoction into your hand.

“Extra caramel?”

“With oat milk, vanilla and cinnamon. I triple checked”, he said enthusiastically, observing you as you sipped the drink. A soft hum escaped you while you closed your eyes in satisfaction.

“You know how to spoil me”, you gave him a wider smile now, seeing how his cheeks blushed the slightest bit at your expression. His reaction made you chuckle, a sound he’s come to enjoy the more time you two spent together. 

“Now come on, we need to work on this case before we patrol at 12. The chief’s on my ass again so let’s get this over with before lunch yeah?”, and without fail, he’d give you the same ending response every time.

“Yes ma’am”

The more you invested in Leon’s skills, the more you realized small things about him that were fairly telling. You weren’t stupid. Anyone with a brain could see that the respect and admiration he had for you was turning into something else entirely. You could tell with every passing moment you had with him, noticing how the tension between the two of you would get thicker after every interaction. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you enjoyed toying with him, a part of your ego feeding off on how he’d say yes ma’am in such a way that would make you want to hear it more often.

The faint touches between the two of you got more frequent. Your fingers would brush his during the exchange of files, you saw how he’d always be within a hair’s distance when standing near you. Moments spent training in the shooting range were where the intimacy seemed to skyrocket, putting your hands on Leon’s arms to keep his form up as he shot towards his target.

You didn’t need to do that. Leon was a good shot, accurate too. But you enjoyed the way he released a shaky breath whenever you were close to him or touched him, how the tips of his ears reddened when you praised him for hitting the bullseye.

In one certain instance when the R.P.D. was extra busy, you were being hammered with files and administrative work. The coffee sitting on your desk was no longer doing its job of waking you up, and the constant bombardment of having to organize new information was starting to make your head pulse. You stood up from your seat to give your back a break, bending backward until you felt a satisfying crack in your spine. Hearing a knock at your door that brought your attention, you noticed Leon on the opposite end.

“Hey, my bad if I caught you at a bad time. The investigators wanted to review those files on that drug bust we did yesterday, something about missing information”

“Oh yeah yeah, it’s right behind me. Hell, I don’t even know where I put it”, you turned to face the mess behind you, lamenting at the stack of files you have yet to sort through today.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll look for it. You stay focused on what you’re doing”

Just like that, Leon came over behind you, going through the files while you stayed reading over the papers in your hand. The both of you made quick conversation, commenting on how busy it became. The increase of instances flooding the department only added more to your workload. Leon kept digging through the pile, turning his body to go to the other side of you.

In the process, he put a hand on your hip and muttered an apology, slightly making you jump and walking behind you to go to your left side. You tried to pay no mind to the gentle touch, going back to refocusing on the case at hand. He found the document folders he needed, suddenly too close to your body when the second he turned, you moved backward into him. Leon’s hips pressed against your rear, his hands reaching toward your hips instinctively despite the hitch in his breath at the contact.

“S-shit, I’m sorry…”, he mumbled, cheeks flushed red as he walked out of your office. You didn’t get a word in, but his reaction was enough to tell you about what you already knew.

The ghost of his touch filled your mind for the rest of the day, and it was worse for Leon. He tried so hard not to think about it. Not to fantasize about how your hips would feel bouncing against his with force, what you’d sound like when you’re aroused. It was practically impossible for him. His imagination went haywire the second he got home, jerking himself off to relieve the hard-on he’s been managing since earlier this afternoon.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He thought about how you’d praise him, call him a good boy for making you feel good. Deep down, he wondered if you were equally as authoritative in the bedroom as you were outside of it. As he released all over his hands with a whine, he sighed to himself, fully aware that he had reached the point of no return with his own thoughts about you. 

-

It was a Tuesday afternoon when both of you were assigned to handle two suspects committing a robbery. Called to the scene, you trailed them down to a nearby commercial street. They were careless too, throwing their guns halfway into the chase and the items they stole slipping from their grasp onto the concrete floor. Catching them felt easy, handcuffing one to the ground and throwing him to the backseat of your cop car. Leon seemed to be distracted, with what you didn’t know. When the second thief seemed to slip from his grasp and started to make a run for it, you knew he needed to get his act together.

“Get your head out of your ass Kennedy! Before I put my foot up there instead. Now move!”, you ordered him to get back into the patrol car. Turning on the police siren, you drove to track down the next suspect and apprehended them with quickness.

The drive to the station was quiet besides the two handcuffed men grumbling behind you. Leon kept his mouth shut, refusing to look your way, and focused on listening to the chatter on the radio. He knew you were pissed, and he didn’t know what had gotten into him today but he couldn’t focus for the life of him. The nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him to be prepared for the worst, because he fucked up, and worse yet, he fucked up with you.

After bringing the two robbers down to the precinct, you couldn’t erase the irritation from your face. You couldn’t even look at Leon, upset that someone like him after so much training made such a rookie mistake. You only offered a glare, knowing for a fact you’d have to talk to him later on when your temper wasn’t so flared up. For now, you made Leon sit at his desk to do filing work, deciding not to berate him in front of the other officers and saving him the embarrassment.

Knowing you were giving him the silent treatment, he avoided you for the rest of the day, staying late at the R.P.D. in hopes of being able to talk to you. Leon drummed his fingers on his desk absentmindedly, until you came up behind him and got his attention.

“Kennedy, to my office. Now”, your tone of voice was harsh, making the hairs on Leon’s neck rise as he got up to follow you back to your workspace.

You locked the door once the both of you were inside, leaning back against your desk with your tactical belt off so your hips pressed against the wooden edge. Arms crossed over your chest, your head raised at the cop before you, watching his feet anxiously moving as he looked at the floor with slight shame.

“I want to know what happened out there. You messed up, and that’s not like you. You don’t make rookie mistakes anymore, we’re passed that”, you started to speak. Leon’s gaze was pinned on you, trying to hide his humiliation but it was clear as day.

“I know. I know I fucked up, it was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry”

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t invest all this time in training you personally for you to let things like this slip. You’re better than this, you know that”, your tone changed from irritation to concern, trying to get him to see the bigger picture.

“You’re my responsibility, Leon. I’m this harsh and this strict for a reason, and it’s because I care. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a shit what happened to you, but I do. This reflects back on me, so just get your head together alright?”, you saw how his brows furrowed a bit in slight confusion at your confession.

You cared about him.

“Yes ma'am. It won’t happen again, I really am sorry”, his hands started to fumble with his tactical belt.

“I know you are, but sorry’s not gonna cut it. I can’t have you distracted like this. Not on my watch”, you said, now walking from the desk until you stood in front of him. He didn’t move a muscle, not knowing what else to do besides stand there.

“If you’re really sorry you’re going to have to prove it. You’re not getting off that easy. You got that rookie?”, your eyes held that intimidating stare that made Leon tense, you could practically hear him gulp. 

“I-I understand ma’am. Whatever it takes I’ll do it.”, he was still oblivious, having no idea what he just got himself into but he wasn’t complaining, not when you were this close to him. Your hand went up towards his belt, a singular finger curving into one of the loops to yank his body forward. Now standing chest to chest he shivered at the close contact, holding his breath and waiting for your next words.

“You’re gonna use your pretty mouth to prove that you won’t mess up like that again. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll think about being nice and rewarding you. That okay?”, your words were laced with pure temptation, making Leon nod, too scared to speak up. He didn’t know what to expect, but lord if he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t enjoying it. 

“Use your words baby”

“Yeah, f-fuck it’s okay”, he was shaking in front of you, a blush on his cheeks so intense you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

“Can I kiss you?”, you tilted your head up towards him, his warm breath against your lips as the ends of your noses touched.

“Please do…”

You didn’t waste another second, lips colliding against his as Leon finally released the breath he was holding. He let you take control, his mind turning to complete mush at just the feel of your mouth against his. Tongues dancing together, you ran your fingers through his hair, his own hands going to paw at your hips. He released needy faint moans, holding on to you as if you were going to leave him any second now. When you pulled away from him and bit his bottom lip he whimpered, a sound you didn’t expect him to make. You fucking loved it.

You walked backward while he followed you on jittery legs. With your back now pressed against the desk again, Leon’s face dug into your neck, leaving a path of kisses in a way that made you chuckle. His hands were everywhere, overwhelmed with what to do or where to touch. You brought your fingers into his hair again, giving him a soft yank as he groaned out from the action. Pupils already dilated, you eyed him closely, how he seemed so far gone when you haven’t even started.

“You want to be good for me Leon?”, your voice was soft, almost patronizing and it only made Leon’s dick pulse in his pants.

“Yes, I wanna be good for you. Don’t want you mad at me”, Leon pouted, and you fought the urge to kiss him again.

“Then get on your knees and start working on your apology”, you commanded, watching how he bit his lip and nodded.

“Yes ma’am”, he was already shifting down to the ground, diligent fingers on the button of your cargos and undoing them, while you threw your shoes off.

Pulling the zipper down, he started to drag the fabric to your knees until it hit your ankles, pants discarded to the side and leaving you in your panties. Sitting on top of the desk, his eyes looked up at yours, coming face to face with where you wanted him most.

His large hands moved from your shin to your knee, then towards your thigh and hip to hook his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, noting the wet patch that was already staining the cotton material. He dragged them down with ease until they hung at your ankle, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulders to admire all of you with a soft moan.

“Can I taste you? Please?”, he mumbled against your thigh with a soft kiss. He was already playing the part so well, offering him a smirk as you drank in the way he begged you for more. You didn’t even have you train him.

“Yeah baby, you can”

Without hesitation, his mouth made contact with your body, the taste of your wetness filling his tongue and making his chest rumble. It was better than he imagined, moving his tongue up and down against your slit to collect the developing slick. You released a low hum from your lips, already pent up from the stress of your job and your day, now having your favorite rookie tending to you on your orders.

Leon was anything if not keen, tongue lavishing against your throbbing clit and his lips circling around it as he began to suck. You threw your head back at that, hand holding his head in place and hips moving towards him shamelessly. He was grunting under his breath, growing obsessed with the way your body twitched anytime he touched you just right. 

“You’re doing so good Leon, so damn good for me”, you praised him again, feeling the sounds he’d release when you did talk to him. It was debauched, how his senses were filled with just you with no end in sight.

This was how you wanted to see him. On his knees and eager to please.

His attention went back to your opening, feeling it flex around nothing with every flick he gave you. Inserting his tongue into your cunt, your hips arched towards him again, moaning louder than you anticipated.

You were silently thankful your office was a bit farther away from the rest of the department, and being it was later at night, you didn’t have to hide much of anything. You moved Leon’s face closer to your body with a pull of his head, clit pressed against his nose as he sucked at your essence greedily, taking in everything he could get. 

A warmth started to develop in your gut, pleasure like liquid fire making your body twitch. The high you so desperately craved was in near sight, grinding yourself against Leon’s face and using him to get off. He didn’t object, moving his mouth to suck at your clit again, two fingers teasing your entrance before inserting them inside. You cursed under your breath, the dual sensation of Leon’s fingers curling against your g-spot and his consistent sucking brought you closer to your much-needed climax.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum”, you could almost taste your release right at the edge of your tongue, could imagine the way it would feel to finally let go.

You looked down to watch Leon at work, how he’d pump his fingers at just the right pace, how his eyes grew hazy with pleasure when they looked up at you.

With one soft nip at your clit your release hit you full force, a small squeal leaving your lips as your gummy walls clenched around his fingers. Your grip on the desk and his hair were both tight, knuckles turned white as stars filled your vision. Leon kept moving his fingers and mouth the whole way through your orgasm, groaning loudly against you and refusing to stop. He couldn’t get enough of you or your taste, forcing you to pull his head away before the overstimulation made it too much to handle.

The both of you were panting, eyes widening when Leon pulled his digits away and inserted them into his mouth to lick off what remained of you. You pulled him up towards his feet, dragging him down to kiss you again and chasing your own taste that flooded his tongue. If you weren’t on a time crunch, you would’ve gladly let him go down on you again.

“Did I do good ma'am? Do you feel good?”, Leon asked, thumbs rubbing your trembling thighs as you came down from your high, flushed face waiting for your approval.

“Yes, you were so fucking good for me. You ate my pussy so well”, your words made him smile then, a dopey lopsided grin that seemed to ease his doubts from earlier.

“I think you deserve a little reward now. You want some help with that pretty boy?”, your eyes gestured to the tent in Leon’s pants, looking up at him from your long lashes.

“God, please touch me”, he begged then, blue eyes engulfed in pure lust.

You didn’t want to tease him any longer, undoing his pants and slipping your hand inside. With a gasp he felt your fingers wrapping around his cock that pulsated with need, knowing it wouldn’t take him long to cum either. He had been on the edge for too long, imagining you like this for what seemed like months. You pumped him, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb against his slit, feeling the precum that was already making a mess in his briefs. 

“You get hard when you have your superior’s pussy in your face huh? You like being used like that baby?”

“Y-yes, yes I do. God I fucking love it”, he nodded dumbly. “Love the way you taste, the way you feel…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, mind so blurred with just you that he was losing track of time and himself.

You smirked, kissing his neck and pressing your lips against the mole on his throat. Leon swallowed, hands pressing into your thighs for stability but he was so close to losing it. He thrusts his hips up into your hand, chasing his own high and you gladly let him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and biting at the lobe. The sounds Leon released were downright pornographic, whines and lewd wet sounds filling your office. 

“S-shit I’m gonna cum. Can I cum? Please ma'am, I’m so close”, he begged again, his cock throbbing and hot in your hand as he spoke. He bucked his hips more into your squeezing fingers, your pace picking up as you jerked him off more persistently. He felt like he could barely breathe, the prickly feeling in his lower spine getting more prominent the closer he got to his orgasm.

“Be a good boy and cum for me Leon. I want to see you cum baby”, it was your final order, and those words alone were his undoing.

His body shook above you when he fell over the edge, his lower stomach flexing hard as he came all over your fingers. He cursed and whimpered, an array of thank yous were said against your neck, hands pressed into your thighs hard enough to bruise your skin. His cum dribbled out of him as his body jerked, still pumping him to the point of sensitivity. He clutched your wrist to signal you to stop, half-lidded eyes looking at yours that filled with mischief.

You took your hand off of him and licked the remaining fluids, purring at the taste of him filling your mouth. Leon bit his lip when watching you, already starting to feel his dick twitch again for more.

He leaned down towards you, kissing you hard and chasing his taste, just like how you did with him. The eroticness of it all overwhelmed him, rasping against you as you pulled away. You looked over his face, cheeks flushed pink and lips plump from their usage. You burn that image into your mind, saving it for later when it would be more helpful. 

“No more distractions or mistakes from here on out Leon. You come to me if you need to clear your head. Understood?”, he released a dry chuckle, placing another kiss against your lips, much softer than before. The intimacy made your chest warm, your smile matching his own.

“Yes ma’am”

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗'𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡

　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N has a secret crush on Chris, not imagining that the feeling is reciprocated. But her best friend, Nick, has a plan to put them together.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Nick, stay still! I have to spread this mask very well. Otherwise, the pores won't absorb the vitamins." Y/N complained, slamming her clean hand against the blonde's covered shoulder before holding the region firmly, in an attempt to stop the boy's movements.

Nick gave her a dramatic deep breath as an answer, opening his eyes briefly.

The girl straightened her spine momentarily, feeling a slight pain from the position as Nick was sitting on the toilet lid and the girl was standing between his legs, curving her spine and spreading the face mask over his cheeks and forehead.

The bathroom counter in Nick's room was full of the skincare products that Y/N left there - since she didn't like the hassle of bringing the ones she had in her home every time she went there. Nick's hair was tied back with a pink cotton headband, preventing the strands from interrupting the girl's work.

The two were having a "girls night". Y/N and Nick were best friends, the two having met in Los Angeles after the triplets moved there.

She and the blonde quickly exchanged contact information after bumping into each other accidentally on Target, only then discovering that they were neighbors. Their connection grew almost automatically, being called the platonic soulmates by the Sturniolo's fandom.

"What's in this thing? Are you poisoning me?" The blonde frowned, feeling his skin itch. His expressions changed from second to second as he wrinkled his mouth and nose, trying to get the excess out of the places that burned.

"I hope this has some kind of poison in it and is poisoning you at this point, just because you keep stopping me from-"

The sound of the bathroom door opening abruptly cut Y/N mid-sentence, the girl jumping in place in fright as she quickly turned towards the source of the sound.

She had her right hand - the one full of face mask - raised so that she didn't spill the product on her pajamas. Her eyes were wide, and her heart racing.

"Hey, do you guys want McDonald's? Matt and I are going to order delivery." Chris asked, smiling in amusement after seeing their reactions to the loud sound he generated.

"Um, I... Yes, please... I'm kinda hungry." Y/N stuttered, clearing her throat and quickly turning back to Nick, trying to hide her stumble over her words. She felt her cheeks burn, and she was sure that a reddish color was taking over the area, closing her eyes tightly in embarrassment.

Nick frowned at her before looking at his brother, rolling his eyes, already used to his childish actions.

"Yes, you can order what I always get, but double." The blonde responded, raising his right hand and waving it in the air as if to say "you can leave now".

Chris raised his arms in surrender, sticking his tongue out at his brother before quickly shooting a glance at Y/N's back, finally closing the door again.

The girl shook her head, trying to shake off her embarrassment, returning her attention to Nick. She sighed while raising her right hand, bringing the contents close to his face again.

"He's a child, I swear." Nick rolled his eyes, frowning when he didn't receive a response or laugh from Y/N, as always happened.

His blue eyes ran over her face, noticing the reddish tone in her skin.

"Are you blushing? Because of-" He interrupted his own sentence, eyes widening in realization. "What, do you have a crush on Chris or something?" His tone was disgusted, wrinkling his nose.

"No?" Y/N responded slowly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth at Nick's reaction, stopping her hand in the air, knowing that he would stop her if she tried to apply the face mask on him at that moment.

"Oh my God, you do have a crush on Chris." Nick opened his mouth in surprise. "Ew."

"Shut up and stay still. Otherwise, I'll get real poison and throw it on you." Y/N fumed, finally going back to applying the product to the clean spaces on Nick's face.

"Ouch, you're going to rip my skin off like that."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Hello, good evening. Reservation in the name of Nicolas Sturniolo." Chris asked the assistant at the front of the restaurant, smiling kindly.

Nick apparently had spent the day at the mall shopping. At the end of the afternoon, he sent a text to Chris asking him to meet himself at an Italian restaurant that the triplets already knew very well.

Chris was surprised that the blonde had just asked for his presence without Matt, but he quickly dismissed any suspicion, imagining that Nick needed to vent about something since the two had become closer lately.

"Follow me, please." The woman smiled in greeting, turning and walking towards the designated table. Chris quickly accomplished, looking for the blonde figure over her shoulder.

The boy frowned as he saw the woman stop near a specific table and point at it silently, smiling one last time before walking away, returning to her post, leaving a very confused Chris behind.

In Nick's place sat a female figure.

Chris slowly approached, walking around the table until he had a full view of the girl, his eyes widening when he realized that it was Y/N.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" His tone was one of surprise, his blue eyes traveling across the table quickly before returning to her.

The girl looked up from her phone abruptly, her eyes widening equally as she saw Chris instead of Nick.

"Chris? I..." She shook her head, confusion settling into her thoughts. "I came to have dinner with Nick." Her eyes went behind Chris, as if she expected to see her best friend there. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to have dinner with Nick." The boy spoke slowly, his hands moving nervously inside the front pockets of his sweatpants.

"He asked me to meet him here. Oh my God, that must be so awkward." Y/N smiled apologetically, grabbing her purse from the chair on her right side, lightly pushing back the one she was sitting on, ready to stand up. "I'm sorry, I'll leave-"

"Wait, no." Chris quickly stopped her, raising his hands momentarily before lowering them, his eyes traveling across the room in sudden shyness. "Have dinner with me... As a date."

"As a date? What...?" Y/N sat down again, placing her purse on her lap and watching Chris's expression, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Y/N, look." He sighed, finally pulling out the chair facing her seat, sitting down quickly, pressing his lips into a thin line nervously. "I've had a crush, a huge one, on you for a long time. But I never had enough courage to talk to you about it and ask you out, out of fear." Chris explained, playing with his fingers above the table, his eyes fixed on the candle decorating the surface. "Maybe, I don't know... Maybe this thing that Nick did was a good thing."

"Oh, Chris." Y/N sighed, taking her purse to the free chair on her right side again, bending her torso slightly over the table. Her hands traveled to Chris's, wrapping her fingers around his, stopping his anxious movements.

Her heart was beating so fast that it seemed to vibrate her whole body, her chest burning with nervousness and excitement. She was sure that her cheeks and neck were red with embarrassment.

"I feel the same." She told him, her tone was gentle and calm, very different from the madness of emotions surrounding her.

Chris looked up quickly, his blue eyes meeting hers, and Y/N swore she could see when his pupils dilated.

"Really?" His tone was full of hope, his fingers squeezing Y/N's weakly, ignoring the trembling of his own.

"Really." Y/N nodded, smiling widely while watching his reactions.

Chris swallowed hard, returning the smile and finally intertwining his fingers with hers, lifting her hands and bringing them close to his face, sealing the soft skin, exhaling the aroma of the lotion that emanated from there.

"Let's have this date."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

From: Chris

To: Nick

"I owe you one"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[srbachchan]

DAY 6057

Jalsa, Mumbai Sept 17, 2024 Tue 11:26 pm

The impotency of content :

"The term "impotency of content" suggests a situation where content—whether in the form of text, media, or other forms of communication—fails to achieve its intended purpose or lacks meaningful impact. This concept can be explored from multiple angles, including the relevance of the content, its delivery, and the broader context in which it exists.

Content becomes impotent when it fails to resonate with its intended audience. Relevance is key; if content does not address the needs, interests, or concerns of its audience, it is likely to be ignored or dismissed. For instance, a marketing campaign that does not align with the target demographic's values or preferences is unlikely to generate engagement or drive sales. Similarly, academic content that lacks practical application or fails to address current research gaps can be deemed impotent in the context of advancing knowledge or solving real-world problems.

Even if content is relevant, its effectiveness can be diminished by poor delivery. This includes factors like the format, accessibility, and clarity. Content that is poorly organized, difficult to navigate, or presented in an unappealing format may fail to capture and maintain the audience’s attention. For example, a well-researched academic paper presented in dense, jargon-laden prose might be ignored by those who could benefit from its findings. Effective delivery involves not just the substance but also the style and method of presentation, ensuring that the content is engaging and accessible.

In today’s information-rich environment, content is often lost in a sea of competing messages. The sheer volume of content available can lead to saturation, where individual pieces struggle to stand out or make an impact. This is particularly relevant in digital media, where algorithms and social media platforms amplify popular or sensational content while less eye-catching material may be overlooked. In this context, even valuable content can become impotent if it cannot rise above the noise. Content must be timely and contextually appropriate to be impactful. Content that is outdated or irrelevant to current events or trends can quickly lose its significance. For instance, historical analysis or commentary that does not consider contemporary developments might appear disconnected or obsolete. Understanding the broader context in which content is produced and consumed is crucial for ensuring its relevance and impact.

Ultimately, the effectiveness of content is measured by its ability to engage and elicit a response from its audience. Content that does not prompt interaction, reflection, or action is often considered impotent. This engagement is not just about attracting attention but also about fostering meaningful connections and responses. Content that encourages dialogue, provides value, or inspires action is more likely to be perceived as potent and impactful.

In conclusion, the "impotency of content" underscores the abd not a word about the mediaimportance of relevance, delivery, and context in determining the effectiveness of communication. To avoid impotency, content creators must carefully consider their audience’s needs, ensure their delivery methods are effective, and remain mindful of the broader information landscape. By addressing these factors, content can transcend its potential impotence and fulfill its purpose, whether that be to inform, persuade, entertain, or inspire."

and hahaha .. 🤣 and not a word about media for which it was intended .. the most protected, educated, ultimate genre in this Universe ..

Love and in the more of reality ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[mysteria157]

Chapter One

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Hints of Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you would'nt want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. As stated in the masterlist, this fic is a continuation from Maneater, so reading that will definitely help set the tone for this fic. I plan to dig deep with this story and really find my voice writing a different genre.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

…women like you drown oceans -Rupi Kaur

*** You ***

Pop!

The sharp sound of gum expanding and then exploding causes you to flinch, your eyeliner pen frozen just above your lid. Through the mirror’s reflection, you shoot a glare at the open closet door, where your cousin rummages through your clothes.

Pop!

She’s in her own little world. If this were any other circumstance, she would have been scolded for her habit of popping gum—a top offender on the list of annoying behaviors ingrained in both of you since childhood. You detest the sound, and if you were closer, you would have punched her in the stomach by now.

You and your cousin typically get along well, but she enjoys testing your limits to coax you out of your shell. The only way to shut her up is by letting her tire herself out during her talkative rampages or swinging at her when you’ve had enough.

Every day with her is a gamble of which will come first.

Your eyeliner is still hovering by your upper lid, suspended in place as you watch another sundress get haphazardly thrown against the closet wall instead of being put back on a hanger where it fucking belongs.

You can’t bother with trying to get violent with her, you’re way too preoccupied with other thoughts. More incessant thoughts like how to play it cool on a date. It’s not that hard, right? Be yourself, get a gauge of the man trying to impress you, entertain a few hours of your day and then back home to relax.

Easy.

If it were anyone else but Toji, then it would be easy.

You had buried yourself in double shifts and extended hours in the lab just to distract yourself from today. Anything to keep you busy and keep your mind off the fact that someone you are sort of interested in…wants to see you. And he reminds you every day when you look down at your phone.

Despite his admission of being a lazy texter, Toji is surprisingly consistent. But the messages take on a blunt form wrapped around a small pearl of care.

Toji: Eat breakfast. What good are you in a hospital if you pass out?

Toji: Stop taking on more shifts, its stupid. Go home and rest.

Toji: You better not be tired this weekend. 

No matter how hard you try to force your face to stay immobile, each text makes your lips twitch into a small smile. He masks his words in harsh deliveries, but the intention is obvious. The satisfying jolt that shoots up your spine when your phone buzzes with a notification from him should be embarrassing. It should be.

But you love it.

It’s absurd, really. Only two weeks have passed since you met him, hardly enough time to form any meaningful connection. Yet, that night at your uncle’s was unexpectedly delightful. Toji was, against your better judgment, charming and attentive, almost to the point of clinginess. And, undeniably, he’s attractive. And a fucking fantastic lay.

So, despite your instinct to ignore a man and the way they flaunt their feathers for your attention, you want Toji to bring that same energy as last time.

You lean your elbows back into the shiny wood of your vanity, focusing your attention on your eye as you lower the eyeliner to your skin.

Pop!

The sound makes you jump, disrupting your focus and smearing the eyeliner across your temple.

“Rene!” you bark, slamming your eyeliner down on the vanity top with a force that makes your hand sting, and you yank a drawer open in search of a makeup wipe. “Stop popping your gum before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.” As you wipe off the smudged makeup, you catch the reflection of your cousin emerging from your closet.

She embodies a beauty that’s almost blinding, matched only by her lively personality. So naturally, heads turn when she enters a room, her chocolate skin seemingly radiant wherever she goes. With her thick, kinky hair always in a protective style and her unshakeable confidence in her intelligence and appearance, Rene caught Shiu’s attention immediately, and he’s been captivated ever since.

She is one of very few in your family who truly gets you, who sees the world with clarity and understands its nuances and how to navigate through it without compromising her ideals. Since childhood, you’ve stuck to each other like glue. She understands you and your guarded demeanor, you understand her and her loud personality. She’s one of your best friends.

But at this moment, as she stands before you in booty shorts and a tank top that accentuates her curves, her twist out cascading from a pineapple updo, and an outfit draped over one arm, she is pissing you off as she pops her gum againwith a cheeky expression.

“I like your makeup.” A sly grin stretches on her face, enhancing her soft features. You ignore her, feeling your defenses rise as she effortlessly peels back your layers. The liquid eyeliner glides against the smooth brown of your skin, forming a subtle cat-eye as you pretend not to notice her approaching you from behind.

She gracefully settles onto your vanity top, ignoring your lipstick casing that teeters over and rolls across the shiny surface. You shoot her another glare before moving to your other eye. “You should put on some mascara too. When you give him head later today, I’m sure he’ll love to see it run down your cheeks and—”

You swing at her not even a second later, landing a solid smack on the side of her thigh. “UM Ow?!”

“Um?? Shut the fuck up,” you growl, sneering at her with a leveling scowl that you hope cuts through her.

It doesn’t.

Rene snorts, shrugging off the vanity and moving to your bed to change her clothes. As she pulls your dark jeans over her thick thighs, you can’t help but wonder if you should dress more…sexy?  Your jean shorts reveal enough skin, and the jersey fits snugly around your torso. You’re no stranger to dressing to the nines and making heads turn just like her, but you value practicality more than appeal. It’s a football game, after all, and you love football. Why bother looking overly sexy when you’ll be screaming and stuffing hotdogs and pretzels in your mouth?

Despite the logic, a hand of insecurity tightens around your throat.

Rene, like the annoyingly clairvoyant bitch she is, tastes the shift in the air and rolls her eyes at you through the mirror’s reflection. “You look fucking amazing. Toji asked you out—frequently, I might add.”

The memories of his persistence flash through your mind in a rush. Heated touches in the backseat of your truck, sweaty skin sliding against each other, and your mouth dripping with moans of satisfaction were constantly interrupted by his repeated question.

“Let me take you out.”

As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he wanted more. As if he wouldn’t leave your uncle’s house that night until you flat-out told him to leave you alone.

You haven’t entertained a man since your cheating ex, so your defenses remain high and guarded, fortified with brick and mortar, armed to fend off anyone who comes too close.

But in such a short time, Toji managed to advance further than others with hard skin resilient to your attacks, and a constant insistence to be by your side. He’s spoken to you in ways that would have landed others in the ER, yet his words were always laced with harsh care to make you confront your own overreactions instead of hiding.

“Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

“You’re not mean to men; you just don’t do bullshit.”

“It’s okay to be a little excited about this,” Rene interjects, slicing through the thick current of your anxiety.

And you are, excited and a little nervous, though you don’t respond to her, simply reaching for your clear lip gloss to finish your makeup.

By the time there is a knock on your door thirty minutes later, you and Rene are ready to go. Your curls are piled high on your head, tendrils falling to frame your face and your hairline slicked with curled edges. There’s a subtle shake in your hands wrapped around the handle of your front door, betraying the calm façade you wear.  As you open it, expecting Toji’s familiar face, you’re met with Shiu, a toothpick in his mouth and a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You greet him warmly with a hug, letting him inside. He can only hug you for a second before rushing past you and toward the direction of your room, anxious to see his fiancé. “Don’t fuck on my bed!” you yell after him, loud enough for your cousin to hear.

It’s only a minute later when there’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, shocking you into reality again as you realize that you haven’t moved since inviting Shiu inside. In your stupidity, you look through the peephole and swallow the gasp at Toji’s distorted form.

“I can see your feet. Open the door,” his deep voice cuts, familiar and commanding.

Your fingers curl against the wooden surface of your door, nails scratching lightly along the veneer as you wrestle with the innate temptation to be stubborn. Besides Nanami Kento—another close friend and coworker—Toji is the only man you’ve let talk to you like this. He’s a little bit of an asshole, but beneath his rough exterior lies a tender core that beckons you to peel back the layers like an onion, eager to feel just how soft the bulb is in the center. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, and it’s a longing that ignites a hunger that you haven’t experienced in a very long time.

With a resigned sigh, you swing the door open to be welcomed by the sight of him, a picture that leaves you momentarily breathless. You swallow the drool that pools instantly in the back of your throat, curl your toes in your sneakers to resist the urge to spring forward and slant your lips against his, and bite the inside of your lip so the twitching on the sides does not turn into a gentle smirk.

“You look good, baby,” his words roll off his tongue effortlessly, his gaze sweeping over you with a knowing intensity. It feels as though he’s studying a heavily guarded masterpiece that he finally has his hands on to steal. He notices every stroke of paint, every blotch that makes you who you are and it’s with a concentration that leaves you dizzy enough to grip the door tighter in your hands.

Though only a week has passed since you last saw him, his presence still grips you with a force that borders on intoxicating. Clad in a black shirt that accentuates his commanding presence, his broad shoulders exude a magnetic strength that summons you, stirring a primal desire to dig your fingernails into him like you did that night in your truck. One of his hands is tucked in a jeaned pocket, the other is behind his back, and jet-black locks brush his cheeks as he chuckles, undoubtedly amused by the dumbfounded stare that you’re still shooting his way. His scar cradles the side of his lips in a seductive curl as he smirks.

God, he’s so—he’s so—

His presence seems to fill the entire room, a tangible force even without crossing the threshold of your home. An urgent ache surges within you, craving the warmth of his embrace, the security of his strength.

“You gonna let me in or just keep your mouth open for the flies?” His voice breaks the reverie in your mind, a well-known blend of annoyance that fills your chest immediately. You’re reminded of how effortlessly irritating he can be, yet there’s a strange allure in his confidence.

At this point, you don’t have a quip loaded up quick enough to shoot back at him. So, you step aside and hold your breath as his large body crosses the threshold of your home.

The last time he was at your door, he barged inside with a barely contained fury and pulled you into an argument that stemmed from your unwillingness to be vulnerable and his lack of expertise in expressing himself. It was a weird song and dance that marked the beginning of something you still don’t fully understand. Now, he’s here with a slightly different demeanor, calm and self-assured as he plants a firm kiss on your cheek as if he’s a hardworking husband returning home just in time for dinner.

You gape at his nonchalance, watching in disbelief as he kicks off his shoes and pulls his hand from behind his back, presenting you a bouquet of flowers in a manner that feels both rushed and sincere. You look down at the flowers, wide-eyed and blinking to make sure the reality you are currently in isn’t actually a simulation.

Daisies.

Not the cheap, wilted blooms you kind of expected from him, but fresh, vibrant flowers. Their white petals gleam softly, each grain of pollen in the yellow center visible in the light of your kitchen. The stems are freshly cut, wrapped in a simple red bow and your chest is fluttering with a severity that unsettles you.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked. And I don’t trust Shiu with an honest answer so…” His words trail off, leaving unspoken sentiments lingering in the air.

 Your lips curl around words that won’t form, and you mentally sort through your book of tricks. It’s a book you’ve spent years filling after countless experiences. Men will do just about anything for pussy. There’s no reason to be shocked at why they do the things they do—they’re all the same.

But even from that first day you met, you have already shuffled through your book when it comes to Toji. Every time you look up whatever trick he tries to pull, you come up with an empty page. There’s never a solution or a pre-written response that you can use. You have no choice but to figure this out on your own and fill in the pages later.

“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to take them,” he cuts into your thoughts, words edged with a trace of embarrassment that he’s trying to cover up with frustration. “Just give them back—” He reaches for the flowers, and you reflexively pull your arms away, much to your own shock at the way your body moves on its own.

“I like them,” you blurt out, your voice not as strong as you want it to be but thankfully steady as the words leave your lips. “They’re very nice, Toji. Thank you.”

He drops his hand, shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans before clearing his throat and giving you a sharp nod. His eyes take in your face for only a second before they flit away to focus on a random spot in your living room, a hint of blush on his cheeks that makes the fluttering in your chest pick up in speed. It’s a weird feeling that will consume you if you don’t stay in control.

So, you push it down, swallow the pool of saliva in your mouth so it can help the glide, all the way down to the pit of your belly to extinguish the embers that threaten to lick to life. You shuffle past him and into the kitchen to fetch a vase, your mind sorting through the symptoms of various pulmonary diseases to distract yourself from the giddiness of him getting you flowers.

A normal thing. The bare minimum for a man. But it makes you feel great all the same. They aren’t your favorite, not even close, but it’s a gesture that shatters your preconceived notions about Toji that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“What are they?” he asks, face still pink below his eyes that linger on the countertop instead of at you. You untie the bow at the stems and slide the daisies into an antique vase with crystalline ridges, shooting him a questioning raised eyebrow in response. One of his hands gestures wildly to the vase you are filling with water. “Your favorite flowers.”

“Snapdragons.” Toji throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows pinched together in a clear display of confusion that makes you chuckle. You push the now full vase of flowers to the center of your kitchen countertop, the sight warming your stomach no matter how much you try to stop it. “They aren’t in season, but there’s a vendor here that sells them in the Spring and Fall. Growing up, we lived right next to a river where they would grow. My father would pick them every year and bring them to my mother as a gift. Whenever they wilted, he picked more and replaced them…over and over until they weren’t in season anymore.”

You dig your teeth into the wet flesh of your cheek to stop yourself from rambling, the need to talk more about yourself is at the tip of your tongue. He’s quiet as he takes in your response, eyebrows twitching with fleeting emotion before they smooth out into their usual calm expression. Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks, but he looks as if he’s locked away your little nugget of information and is ready to move on to the next thing.

More of you.

That gaze is now free of shyness and taking you in, sharp and cutting and rough around the edges, his green irises sliding down to the exposed skin of your thighs, and they must beckon him because he makes his way towards you with a dominating presence that tightens your throat. He walks around the countertop, avoiding the sharp edge from biting into his side and now he’s standing in front of you, looming and dwarfing you without even trying. You catch a whiff of his cheap cologne—a different scent from what you smelled before—but still rich with bergamot undertones that make you more curious than bothered at his frugal mentality.

“Can I kiss you? Or you gonna smack me instead?”

Even though he’s teasing, he displays the growing knowledge of your boundaries and the lengths you will go to protect yourself.

“What, you want to get smacked, Toji?” you retort, lifting an eyebrow at him, your neck tingling from the strain of looking up due to his height. God, he’s such a big man. Big and burly and just enough to overwhelm you in a way that you crave so, so much.

“Nah. I want a kiss,” he confidently responds, blowing away the cloud of lust from around your head.

He’s too close and yet not close enough. He smells too good, looks too good with a voice that’s too deep and melodic for you to ride on logic for a full day, but you need him closer, so much closer and—

Your back brushes against the edge of the kitchen sink, making you tense at the realization that he’s backed you up against it and is looking down at you with that nasty smirk you entertain more than you should.

“You…” you begin, trailing off when one of his muscular arms reaches past you to rest onto the counter on one side, still giving you an escape route even though you’ll take being trapped against him any time of the day. “You already kissed me on the cheek when you walked in without asking me. Don’t be stingy.”

Toji clicks his tongue in disappointment, the sound pushing a rush of electricity down your spine that’s generating too much energy between your legs. He shrugs, broad shoulders pulling up and down, stretching his shirt in the most delicious way. “That’s not enough.”

Although lust is darkening your thoughts slowly despite your resolve, you still have enough common sense to remember the kind of woman you are. You’re someone unwilling to tolerate fuckboy behavior and would rather humiliate a man than give in to temptation that would only embarrass you in the future. You have to stay in control. Just for the rest of the day to measure his intentions with a level head. Even though you feel heavy with lidded eyes, you slip into that second skin of yourself with ease.

“Ask nicely,” you whisper.

He takes the bait—like they always do—and slinks further into your space, his broad and muscular form brushes against your softer one. Your gaze remains indifferent as he asks to kiss you in a sing-song voice that’s borderline annoying and teasing, threatening to make you laugh despite your resistance.

You take in his question with a noncommittal hum and slide a hand up the soft fabric of his chest. The muscles underneath flex and twitch beneath your palm, echoing memories of that unforgettable night when you could slide your fingers on the sweat of his abs as you rode him for all he was worth.

Your hand rests against his cheek, watching as he slowly falls for your trap, inhaling deeply with his lips a mere breath away from yours before you speak calmly and softly.

“No.”

You stroke his cheek in a soothing manner before patting it a little too hard that’s close to a smack, yanking a grunt of frustration from him as he pulls away with an bothered growl. You relish in the sigh of his scar twisting when his face curls with annoyance, his eyes rolling and his arms folding across his chest like a child being denied dessert. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, growing in intensity as his eyes narrow at you.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pouts, and the fact that he truly looks put off for not getting a kiss only makes you laugh harder.

***

The sight and sound of cheering fans excite you, filling you with childhood memories of games with your father. As the four of you make your way through the large parking lot and in the direction of the stadium, you take in the display of emotions that cross Toji’s face as he is immersed in a part of culture unfamiliar to him. The intricacies of American sports are puzzling to Toji, you realize. While you wave excitedly to the fans who are tailgating and grilling food and playing cornhole, he looks on in disbelief. When you explain the concept of tailgating to him, his expression deepens even more. He doesn’t like the hecklers that litter right outside the entrance and try to sell nosebleed tickets twelve times the market price. He thinks porta-pottys are foul as he takes in the long line of people who wait along the side of the large parking lot. You can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, and aggravated by the new things he learns. But he doesn’t complain, content to listen to the three of you as he watches his surroundings.

Despite the array of emotions that engulf him, he keeps you by his side without a second thought. The closer you get to the stadium, the thicker the crowd gets. When you make it through security and begin the long journey up the stone circular walkway of the stadium, Toji wraps a muscular arm around you and rests his hand on your hip in a grip that conveys a protective strength that shoots fluctuating reactions through you.

At first, you think he just wants his hands on you, and you’re prepared to smack his touch away. But then your perception shifts; a random man bumps into you with a sharp elbow into your arm and he turns around with an angry expression ready to yell. The glare that Toji levels at him leaves the man sputtering and apologizing before he slinks back into the crowd.

Normally, you don’t thrive off blatant displays of masculinity, but the sight of the man running away from Toji’s imposing stare makes your stomach fill with a deep-seated lust that surprises you. Like you’re a cavewoman, watching her caveman beat at his chest when another caveman gets too close to you. Toji grumbles to himself about the sheer number of people, his voice tinged with frustration even though his reassuring touch is gentle as he guides you through the throng of people toward your seats.

Thankfully, they aren’t nosebleeds, and they give you a good view of the field, with players already warming up. There is a large group of kids who hang off the rails, squealing in delight as their favorite players come and say hello and sign their jerseys and footballs. The speakers boom with music and commercial ads, the warm air carries the smell of popcorn up your nose, and your blood pumps in excitement.

It has been a while since you attended a football game, distant memories of sitting on your father’s shoulders as you both cheered in the stands. Since his death, you haven’t had the drive nor the time to attend another. So, to be in this position again with a man you are still trying to understand, it’s odd. But it’s not unwelcome and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. When you watch football at home with your family, you’re a different person. You are loud and unashamed to express your feelings when you watch the games unfold. You stand up and sneer and bark at the officiant who can’t even hear you. You argue with your family about plays and players who will never know you. You love every emotion that the game brings out in you, and you’re unashamed to hide it. Toji is going to see a side of you that will either push him away or make him slink closer for more.

So, when the game begins with the kickoff, you join in the collective screams of the crowd, waving a towel in the air adorned with the yellow and black of your favorite team that is playing.

To your surprise once more, Toji did his homework. He effortlessly explains the rules as you both watch the first quarter together, looking to you for approval to make sure he’s correct. His attentive nature transforms into active participation as he cheers alongside you, his voice deep and booming compared to your screeching.

In the second quarter, there’s an injury on the field and the clash of pads ceases for long enough that fans leave their seats for food and to stretch their legs. Shiu and Rene disappear to get themselves a drink and it’s just you and Toji in the middle of empty seats.

“You’re a screamer,” he teases, his voice low and appreciative as he leans on his thigh with a cheek resting on his fist. His hair flows in the warm air before settling on pale cheeks.

“Too loud for you?” you retort, even if mildly curious about what he thinks of this side of yourself.

Toji purses his lips as he regards you with relaxed eyes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you’re not a dainty little thing. And besides,” A smile stretches across his face, white teeth glinting with a sinister disposition before his lips load with a remark you know will be salacious. “I like my women loud.”

You can be loud if he wants you to be. Preferably in another place besides your car where he can thrust like a man mad between your legs and dig those gleaming white teeth into the skin of your neck—

Oh.

For fuck’s sake. 

Your blood simmers in your veins at the suggestion in his words. His eyes watch your throat when you swallow a thick pool of spit and that smile grows impossibly larger, a Cheshire cat looking at you with nasty intent. He’s too aware of the effect he has on women, and you have to look away from him to resist succumbing to the seductive charm that he wields naturally.

You steer the conversation back into your hands. “You were so curious about me when we first met but I don’t know much about you. Are you here in America for a reason? What do you do for work?”

In your own line of work, observation is key; every subtle cue from your patients holds significance, revealing layers of truths that they usually try to conceal. So, when you notice the tension in Toji’s jaw at your question, the way his features contort subtly, it’s a detail you slot into a drawer of curiosity that takes part of the file cabinet of Toji in your mind.

“I’m a private investigator,” he confesses harshly, catching you off guard. It’s a revelation you don’t anticipate. His imposing features give you the impression of a firefighter or maybe even a cop. Not someone watching others in his car, bugging houses and apartments, and gathering evidence. A PI? You open that drawer of curiosity again and slot away this information as well. He shrugs away the awkwardness that your silence brings, nonchalant and dismissive, avoiding your gaze. “It pays the bills. The hours suck sometimes but…the work is easy.”

“So…naturally I can’t really ask about the things you do?” you don’t hide the inquisitiveness that coats your words.

“It’s nothing glamorous enough to talk about.” And that’s all he offers you in response.

You have a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, each vying for attention from a man who is as tight-lipped as you. How did he even get into this kind of work? Who are his clients? Cheaters, embezzlers…or criminals?

That and so much more brew in your mind, tumbling over the other but ultimately dissipating when you sense his reluctance, evident from his still-averted gaze and tense shoulders.

“What about family? You asked me about mine, but I never got to hear about yours.”

Granted, you only told him about the members of your family who danced in your backyard when you both were wrapped in one another two weeks ago. He doesn’t know about the more intimate parts of your family life. He doesn’t know about your father’s death, or the estrangement of your stepfamily. But that can come later. Toji hasn’t given you enough of himself.

Toji’s features now morph into disdain, souring the air between you. The bright emerald of his eyes dims with a grayish overcast, the liquid of the irises hardening like cooling lava.

His response is terse, laced with palpable displeasure that intensifies the acrid taste in the air. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t get along with them, and they do their best to not get along with me either.” The timbre of his voice is lower, menacing enough to let you know it’s a subject he won’t entertain. At least for right now.

You open your mouth to speak again, to maybe apologize for making him uncomfortable, to reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him over something like this. He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and absentmindedly picks at a callous on the side of his thumb. The pink flush on his cheeks is not one of bashfulness, but of frustration and embarrassment. From the sliver of his eyes you can see, there is something simmering beneath the surface that might take you a while to unveil.

 “I do have a son, though.” The sentence shoots into the air and down your spine with a chilling clarity, breaking the flow of your thoughts as you blink in astonishment.

Pardon???

Considering he’s a grown man a few years older than you, it’s understandable. But the notion of him being a father never crossed your mind. The concept of children isn’t foreign to you; you see and take care of them every day. It’s the concept of children coming from him that’s a new development you have to consider.

While you believe you can handle a relationship with a single father, you’re upset at being told now, rather than before.

“You were with me all day two weeks ago and you never took the time to mention you have a son?”

You don’t hide your irritation. Once your trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain. Why would you give away sacred pieces of yourself to a man you wouldn’t trust to hold those pieces with care?

Despite your frustration, you rationalize.

Maybe Toji was nervous to bring it up? Some people may like to ease into such topics. This relationship, or whatever this is, is brand new and smooth. There haven’t been any cracks caused by arguments or behavior that is damaging.

But this isn’t about having a job that he’s not proud of or admitting that he is not financially responsible. This is about an entire child, a facet of his life that he cannot hide away. How long would he have waited to tell you if the topic of family hadn’t come up so soon? Would he have told you? Would he hide his son away and push him off to a babysitter on date nights so you are never aware? Would he sleep over at your house, so you can’t see the room that’s decorated for a child or the toys scattered about the floor?

As you wrestle with the growing anxiety that crawls across your skin, Toji fumbles for something in his pocket, his face a satisfying beet red as you watch him hand you his open phone. Bright from the illumination of the screen, you take in a picture of a young boy who bears a striking resemblance to Toji. His raven locks spiky and disheveled, his green eyes sharp and ethereal, and he wears a bored and calm expression just like his father. The chubbiness of his cheeks and innocence in his eyes tug at something in your chest; he can’t be any older than six years old. The sight of the boy makes you think of the many kids you take care of every day, and some of the frustration subsides within you.

“His name is Megumi,” he informs you, shy despite his rough exterior. He picks at the callous on the side of his thumb again, and one of his legs begins to shake in place.

The frustration dies down more. It’s a beautiful name, and as you look at the picture, a small smile tugs at your lips. You wonder what kind of a boy he is.

“Fuck listen—just I-I’m shit at this.”

You look up at him and take in the apprehension on his face. His lips are downturned in a gentle frown, the scar on the side of his face warped along with the muscles of his mouth. There’s a sense of shame in his gaze, and it somehow makes you feel relieved to know that he can feel just how upset you are.

“I don’t date women…I fuck them and stay around until they want me gone.” He doesn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. They shoot out of his mouth, piercing your skin with their directness. It’s a little painful, and you struggle to absorb his blatant honesty, feeling flashes of anger and indignation fill your chest as your lips part, ready to respond with directness of your own. “But you’re the first woman in a long fucking time that’s made me want more. So just…” he trails off, stuttering over what to say before ultimately growling low in his throat into silence.

You hesitate, lips flinching and syllables of fury dissipating in the small space between your top and bottom lip. “You gonna let me meet him?” you snap because you’re still mildly irritated as you give him his phone and pinch the muscle of his bicep with a harshness that reflects your fading anger and your desire to see him squirm for his actions.

He swats your hand away as if you’re a pest, moving his arm from you with a sneer that holds no malice. “No let me just lock him in my closet every time I want to see you—of course, I’ll fucking let you meet him.”

You throw him a withering glare, ignoring his sarcasm, and the smirk that slides onto his lips only makes you want to either smack or kiss him. The fact that you can’t decide on which only annoys you more.

*** Toji ***

“Gimme two hot dogs and a pretzel,” Toji mutters to the concession stand attendant. It’s halftime, and the walkways behind the stands are crowded with fans hurrying to go to the bathroom, or for more food and alcohol. You stand close to him, a welcome warmth that he wants more of but refuses to ask for on the off chance you deny him. He doesn’t feel like pouting for the rest of the day.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” the attendant asks with a level of humor that is off-putting, a smile on his face that Toji knows you itch to smack off.

“It is for the lady,” you correct, a hint of condescension falling from plush lips that you still won’t let him taste. The attendant sputters, his face red as a tomato as he takes the rest of Toji’s order, doing his best to ignore the deadly glare you shoot him as he counts Toji’s money. A snort rattles from Toji’s chest as he watches you. He’s known from the beginning that you’re fiery, but seeing it firsthand fascinates and arouses him at the same time.

This environment is different for him, odd in every way, and a foreign ground that he’s unsteady on. The celebratory atmosphere reminds him of the loud laughter and fireworks from festivals that he could hear outside the Zenin compound throughout the year. He thinks of the Tanabata festivals he never got to experience or the years of Hanami that he was forbidden to enjoy. He could only take a small bit of pleasure in cherry blossoms in the Zenin gardens, blooming and scattering their petals on the well-kept grass to mark the beginning of the season. As a child, he was never allowed much. He was seen as ‘inferior trash’ that was insignificant and unworthy to be looked at let alone talked to unless it was to yell or belittle. Naturally, his family didn’t want others to see where said trash came from if they could help it.

He can’t think about it right now—he won’t. The thought of his family brings a tight coil of pain and anger in his chest, a coil he had used as fuel to cope with his dangerous decisions.

There’s so much more that he needs to focus on, like the fact that you’ve already taken a big bite out of one of your hot dogs. Half of it has disappeared from your hand, and there’s ketchup on the edge of your mouth as you chew. He notices the way you shift your hips from side to side in your seat, and the satisfied hum that escapes your throat. You’re satisfied, and while you eat with manners, you don’t hide your boisterous enjoyment, finishing one hot dog and moving on to the next, your pretzel wedged between the meat of your seductive thighs.

He’s been trying to be respectful all day ever since you denied him a kiss in the kitchen, but you’re tempting him. When you answered the door earlier in the afternoon, the hand that was in his pocket pinched the side of his thigh until the shameless thoughts could fade away.

You’ve graced his presence with shorts and a jersey, a yellow and black number that lays against your chocolate skin in a way that still seems to make you glow in the setting sun. No braids this time, your natural curls have fallen from your bun after screaming so much, framing your face and causing your gold hoops to wink at him. You didn’t wear makeup that night when he met you, so the sight of eyeliner on you today, and the way it accentuates the curve of your eye and the heaviness of your long lashes, it makes him shift in his seat.

He’s had to clench his jaw and bear the pain of his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself from ogling at the mouth-watering canvas of your legs. You’re all curves with dimples at the bottom of your thighs when you sit, and his gums ache to sink into the flesh so you can squeal and beg for him to touch you where you want it most. It’s been weeks since that night and he’s feigning for more. When you smile at him or shoot him a glare, it reminds him of that commanding aura you had in the backseat of your truck, and the back of his neck prickles with sweat.

While the thought of you skinning him alive if he decides to be a Neanderthal turns him on, he wants to be civil. In your kitchen earlier today, you allowed him to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, to catch the scent of coconut from your curls, tantalizing his senses until your firm ‘no’ sobered him up immediately. It was a stark reminder of who you are, and how little you tolerate.

He'll behave.

His eyes catch you guzzling down five heaping gulps of your beer, the foam coating your upper lip. You wipe it away with your finger, sucking the digit into your mouth, and popping it out completely oblivious to how sinful you look and Toji’s catapulted into that day when you sucked your own cum off his fingers.

He has to behave.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket sours his mood immediately, turning his gaze from your form as he digs into his pocket. It’s the third time it’s buzzed today, and he knows who it is. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can only put off his job for so long.

Unknown: Good job on the assignment last week. 

Unknown: Your pay should be in your account by tonight.

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

“Everything okay?” Your voice pulls him from his phone, and he meets your curious gaze, one of your elegant eyebrows lifting in question as you assess him. “Something with work?”

“Yea,” he replies and regrets it immediately.

Lie #1

It’s not a complete lie—it is work—but the details…

Toji takes a long swig of his beer, attempting to soothe the shame that washes over him.

You really are a screamer.

Toji sits back in his seat, watching you with a wicked smile as you unleash a torrent of colorful language that makes his cock twitch. Even though you roar with the crowd, your voice rises higher.

“That’s a fucking flag! I should come down there and officiate for you instead you stupid piece of shit!”

Your curls brush the skin of your cheeks that puff in your frustration, your arms folding across your chest as you cock your hip and growl beneath your breath. You’re easily the loudest one in this section of the stands. Rene revels in it, egging you on by rooting for the opposite team and giggling when you bark at her. Shiu is content to watch the display, a fresh toothpick in his mouth and an arm over Rene’s shoulders as he idly twirls a lock of hair at her nape. You’re all yelling and sputtering indignation as you watch the game unfold, your team losing by what Toji has learned is a touchdown.

He knew this side of you was there. He could tell in the weight of your gaze that night. It's a side of you that he did not expect to see so soon. He soaks it in. He takes in the way you cuss out the man three rows down who won’t stop glaring at you. He absorbs how high-pitched the screech of your voice makes his eardrums shake, and he revels in the smile that forms on your lips when your team scores the game-winning touchdown.

When there are lulls in the game, you tell him about your career. You’re a pulmonary pediatric fellow at a hospital here in town that’s only a year and a half from completing your fellowship. You smile when you talk about the kids you take care of and your associates at work. You’re proud of your research and of how far you’ve come.

All of it, every part of you that you show him, is comforting. Warm despite how cold you appear. It’s a comfort he didn’t imagine having…ever in his life—especially a dreary life like his. But he soaks up this—you—as much as he can.

When the game is over, you’re elated and giggling, tucked into his side as he guides you through the drunken crowd. The moon is high in the sky, and it bathes your skin and makes you stand out in the crowd. You look up at him, smiling softly with a buzzed gaze that’s two beers deep.

“Did you have fun? Not bad for your first American game?”

“You screamed the entire time,” he teases, chuckling at the way you gape up at him and then sneer before turning away. He throws his arm around your shoulders, using the touch as a safe territory to keep his hands to himself, and pulls you closer.

You demand cotton candy which he indulges in as well before you both part ways with Rene and Shiu. The journey back to your apartment is a quiet one. As Toji drives, the warm July air fills the car, mingling with the faint strains of classic rock playing on the radio. Toji watches with flickering glances as you hum along, your eyes closed and the breeze wafting through your curls loose around your shoulders.

Something inside of him rattles. Whatever it is, it’s long-forgotten and buried deep within him, surrounded by cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time since that dark day years ago.

*** You ***

From the short journey of his car to inside of your apartment, you repeat to yourself that you have to take this slow, for your own peace of mind.

You keep the most intimate parts of yourself locked away and only those who are worthy of you have a copy of the key. But somehow, and in such a short time, Toji has stolen a copy for himself and slotted the key into the door. But thankfully, the door is caught against the wall, hinges rusted over and ungiving.

You have to know more about him before you let him in to look at those parts of you. If you jump the gun and give him more so soon and end up hurt, it will throw you into a depth of pain that you promised yourself to never touch again if you could help it.

“You have a good time?”

Toji’s voice breaks the silence, his arms folding tightly across his chest, betraying the restlessness in his hands. His messy black locks, tousled by the late July humidity, partially hide his emerald gaze, which flickers briefly to meet your own before darting away.

Your socked feet pad across the hardwood floor, closing the space between you, and your head slowly tilts to look at him. Despite his façade of composure, his scar curves against his lips in a slight twist, twitching as he tries not to frown. Thin eyebrows pitch down in frustration, and you catch the way his fingertips drum against the skin of his biceps. He’s fidgety—nervous. Is he upset with himself? Ashamed that he couldn’t take you out on a proper date with dinner and a movie like everyone else expects?

Hopefully, he will learn that you go against the grain of proper in so many ways.

“I had a great time,” you confess softly, noticing the subtle relaxation in his stance at your words. The thrumming of his fingers stop, the tension in his shoulder fades. “You wanted to take me out and I let you. That all you want from me?”

He’s such an expressive man.

His face twists, perturbed by your bluntness and the prospect of delving into emotional territory. “I told you already that I want more.”

His declaration sends a fluttering through your heart that is reminiscent of the feeling you had when he surprised you with a slice of yellow cake. It’s comforting, and you want to lean into it. But it’s not enough to overwhelm you. You’re still in your right mind and still aware of your expectations even though he captivates you.

You press your finger into the firmness of his chest, hard so that the muscle pillows around your digit. The gaze you shoot up at him is unyielding, serious, and menacing enough that he straightens his spine just a little.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. I’m not saying things need to be serious with us but…you need to show me that you mean it.”

As you speak, you assess Toji, who shows no signs of amusement or ignorance. His posture is rigid, his back ramrod straight, and his deep green gaze locked onto yours.

“That night we had was great. I won’t deny that but…I won’t compromise my expectations and I don’t tolerate bullshit. I’m not going to let you fuck me just because we did it before. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

You relish in the way his eyes widen, contemplating your words and the severity beneath them before his face smooths back into its usual cool demeanor. He unfolds his arms from his chest, and you curse inwardly at the way you immediately watch his shirt stretch across defined pectorals.

“You know you’re a feisty little thing.”

Heat from the way he speaks and annoyance at his lack of attention flare within you like wildfire. You open your mouth to yell, to bark at him to be serious, but the sound of his laughter extinguishes that fire inside of you instantly.

He doesn’t offer an apology for his comment and you don’t need one. You know you’re feisty and steadfast. It’s the only way you can function around men to survive, to stay afloat and still have a grasp of who you are. And if Toji couldn’t handle it, you definitely wouldn’t have slept with him or entertained a date that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’ll try,” he finally offers, voice soft but filled with conviction. Normally the small remark would offend you, but surprisingly coming from Toji, it’s enough.

Observing his behavior today and a little bit two weeks ago, you note his acceptance of your quirks and individuality—at least the bits you allow him to see. He marveled at the amount of food you ate and joined alongside you. He let you babble to him about every single player on your favorite team and how many championships they had won. He let you display your strength in your voice and personality, didn’t try to control or overshadow you like so many other past experiences you’ve had before learning how to rule the men in your life.

He let you be yourself.

And that thought makes you finally open your mouth to give him something he had asked for earlier, something you had previously denied despite your own desires.

“You can have your kiss,” you offer with a shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your heart picks up in speed as the implication registers on his face. “So you better do it right.”

It’s an invitation that he snatches away from your imaginary hands and tears open with thick fingers, greedy and growling with finality.

His sharp gaze traces the contours of your body, unabashed in its appraisal, leering at the pieces of skin visible to him. You know he’s been looking at you all day, but his observation now is intense, heavy and without reservation and you’re fumbling from the sudden rush of longing that pumps hot through your veins.

Toji inches closer, your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, his towering presence overwhelming your small stature. His height ignites an evolutionary desire in you that makes your mouth water, makes your cunt pulse with need beckoning for him to fill the mold he left inside two weeks ago. You’re still not used to climbing up the summit of him, so the air is thin once more, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and stuttering in your chest when a large hand cups the side of your neck and tilts your face up to him like an offering.

When his lips slide against yours, your fingers in his shirt tighten. His touch singes the ends of your nerves, boils the blood in your veins that pump fast throughout your body. Your skin is burning, searing when muscular arms hoist you up and wrap your legs around his thick waist before your ass is sliding on the cold marble of your kitchen counter, your lips still sealed against his.

There’s so much of this that feels like that night at your uncle’s. So much and yet not enough.

He drowns you with his touch, digs his fingers into the plump flesh of your thighs before yanking you, hard and with unforgiving impatience, closer to his body. The fabric of your jeans rubs too harsh against your wet panties, digs against the sensitivity of your clit and you repress the insatiable yearning to roll your hips against his.

Toji’s large hands slide up your body, traversing the mesh of your jersey that hugs you before cupping each side of your face again to tilt you sharper in the way he wants. Blue raspberry from the cotton candy you both indulged in after the game coats his tongue that licks your bottom lip in a silent request for entrance, and you grant him access, surrendering a whimper into his mouth as his tongue slides sinfully against yours. Tastebuds kiss your own, slide against them with whispered promise of satisfaction if you just relax and melt further into him. Just a little.

But you can’t, god you can’t.

You’re losing control and you have to stay strong. You have to stay above the waters of logical thinking even though you’re sinking with every stroke of his tongue, with every sweet, hot breath into your mouth, with every inch of flesh that your fingers dig into his chest because you need more. More than a kiss, more than what he’s offering, and you know he can give it to you. Toji can pull you into the inferno he’s raging inside of your body until your clothes are scorched off and his skin is sliding against yours sweaty, sticky, and undulating with every roll of his hips.

But he doesn’t give you more. He doesn’t pull you further into that fire.

The intensity of his kiss dies down slowly, his lips pulling away from yours with a wet smack as you pant along with him. Toji kisses your lips once, then twice, nips your bottom lip to seal everything he’s given before smirking down at you. Too devilish and arrogant and you don’t have a working brain cell in your head right now to correct him. His hands that cradle your cheeks slide down to your upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he speaks.

“You still gonna let me be nice to you?”

His words are an echo of that night, his own way of telling you that he’s here. That he wants more—that he wants to give you more. You just have to let him.

With your head still swimming and the pulsing between your legs refusing to calm, you want him to be more than nice right now. But remembering the boundaries you have set, you nod instead and sigh into him when he kisses you one last time, sweeping his blue raspberry-flavored tongue against yours before pulling away, acting as though it’s nothing, as though you’re not sweaty at the small of your back and trembling with desire.

“Lock the door for me,” he commands, words devoid of a questioning tone, but filled with a sense of security and protection that you lean into.

“O-okay,” you manage to breathe, your heart slowing back into sinus rhythm, only to jump again as he places one final kiss on your lips, then your nose. You frantically bat him away before you lose consciousness, because any more and you’ll drag him into your room and disregard everything you said five minutes ago.

 You watch him saunter away, pull his keys from his pocket, and twirl them in his hand before winking. “I’ll text you.”

It sounds so ridiculous coming from his lips, from a grown man who looks as if he doesn’t even know what a cellphone is, let alone a text message.

But it still makes your heart jump all the same.

You can only nod in response because your throat is too dry and heavy in the back of your throat with each swallow you take. You follow him to the door and roll your eyes at his annoying smirk before he closes the door behind him, casting your apartment into silence.

Your fingers wobble as they turn the locks of your door into place. You’re lightheaded, brain flitting through salacious memories of what you both did weeks ago and what you could easily be doing now.

You throw your back against the door and sag to the floor with an annoyed sigh.

*** Toji ***

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

Toji: I’m interested. Send me what you have.

[jymwahuwu]

Summary: You have been kidnapped and sold as a pet. Blade wants a pet. Content Warning: kidnapping, non-con, dehumanization, body modification (just nipples ><), lactation, humiliation, yandere

dark content, minors DNI

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-

Last week a man who lived down the street was taken and disappeared. People are talking about it. It was the employees of the Space Pet Home Company who caught him. Those disrespectful aliens roam the galaxies, capturing random species to sell. This is contemptible. Still, there's nothing anyone can do about it. Under the gaze of a powerful space civilization, the planet you live in is trampled like ants.

On the way home, you browsed the news with your mobile phone, and found that some people searched for the man's photo and selling price on the official website, and posted it on the discussion forum. They offer to raise funds to buy him back to the planet. This is already the most likely way to redeem them to their original planet. You clicked on a link to the pet company's website. Ironically, that's a cute design with clouds and a rainbow, and a little animation that brings the pet home. The website loaded for a while, and a picture of the man was displayed. He looked at the camera with a calm expression on his face. You have no idea what they did to him.

Name: ▄▆▄▂▅▅▄▃

Price: 200000

Below is a description of the pet. You read a few words and feel so sick and horrified. There is also "More Recommendations", which introduces pets of different species, from cats, tentacles, humans to supernatural creatures.

You close the page and want to donate some money. However, you feel a cold, prickly sensation in the back of your neck.

Half a second later, as if stepping on air in the sky, you plummet.

-

Blade was more irritable than ever. This time, the target of the mission made a provocation, leaving some traces, deliberately mocking them. He then "solved" them, a little rougher than usual. The problem is, for the next three days, he was just as "rough". He even declined Silver Wolf's invitation to play a racing game together. Silver Wolf remained expressionless, indicating that she didn't care, but the atmosphere became a little depressed.

"Bladie, did you know? Elio said you're getting a pet this month."

"I don't need a pet." No doubt, that's stupid.

Kafka's eyes narrow, and smiles. She said in a certain, seductive tone. "Are you sure? Imagine getting that little kiss after a mission…kneeling down to relieve you…"

"No," he snapped, getting up and walking into the darkness.

-

"Currently scanning for physical condition-"

"Number E92730012 is in good condition. Everything is fine."

"Suggestion: Transform the nipples into a breast-feeding state, and add drugs to enhance sensitivity."

You are in a coma, two robotic arms grab your hand and stretch out, and two needles are aimed at your nipples on both sides to inject medicine. Some subtle changes are transforming your boobs.

"Hmm…" Your head shook slightly, but your eyelids were so heavy that you couldn't open them, and you could only bear the sensitivity and a little pain on your chest. The machine continued to inject the medicine without mercy, and gradually, some white milk flowed out from the flower buds, dripping on the ground, exuding a sweet smell.

-

Not this… and not this.

None of them fit.

If the other Stellaron Hunters saw Blade now, they'd think he was nostalgic about something and wouldn't bother. No one knew he was looking at the official website of Space Pet House. He has searched with keywords, but the results are still not what he wants.

He decided to go to the store in person.

-

It's been three days, maybe… five days?

You can't believe that you've been captured and sold as a pet. The store was decorated like some kind of spider web, some kind of hideous lair. Placed across from you are about thirty transparent cages of various species, including six humans. Some people try to resist like you, slapping the cage and cursing at the clerk, only to get some accusing looks from them, like they are really looking at a naughty pet. Some had given up and stayed quietly in the cage, looking at the guests curiously.

Your neck is covered with a black lace choker and a heart bell. Clean water, food and toys are placed in the cage. You can't believe it and don't want to play with those toys for cats.

When those guests visit, they always whisper which pet is better and more suitable. Among all the customers, you are impressed by a certain man. His dark blue fringe draped over his forehead, and his waist was covered with long hair. His hair dangles along with certain bandages as he walks around the store. He's… charming, in every sense of the word, but creepy, with those red eyes that wander from cage to cage and finally stare at the cage you're in. This situation lasts for tens of minutes, scanning your information and prices.

You don't know if he wants to buy you, because when the clerk asks if he needs to go further and allow him to play with you for a while, he just walks away.

-

"It's been seven days… still no one wants to buy this pet. Why…"

"Maybe we can help."

-

"No…don't! Please! Please, I'll be good!"

You plead as you struggle. The clerk still pulls down your sheer clothes, exposing your breasts and locking your hands above your head. The tears in your eyes are swirling, whimpering, thick milk flowing down the swollen breasts.

The door bell rang and two guests came in. They looked around the store. When they caught a glimpse of you, their eyes visibly lit up and they walked in your direction.

"Today's special offer, milk production anytime...?" One of the guests read out the information under your cage in a low voice - that's the first time you know what's written there. The way they look at your naked breasts seems to be on fire in you. "sounds good."

"Didn't know you were interested in that." Another guest snickered.

"Such a beautiful little thing can change my mind. I hope this time the pet will not be destroyed so quickly…"

You shudder at the implications of his words - this is a lunatic who isn't taking care of pets. what should you do? What if you were bought by this person? You may be facing a more dire situation than you are now…

There is a raging and dangerous atmosphere wandering in the store. You see that familiar face from behind the two customers. He stood behind them, but didn't seem to see them at all. He feels his crotch tighten when he notices your breasts dripping with milk.

-

He licks away any sweet milk that pervades your swollen buds, sweet, rich, and creamy. His hand is rubbing your other breast and pinching your nipple. It doesn't take much force, the milk is already squirting. Your bewildered moan turns into a scream as your lower body bounces, the fluid squirting against his cock.

In the orgasm, you stick out your tongue, address him unconsciously, and touch his palm. It's cold.

"Blade." He said his name.

“…?”

You touch his chest, where the heart is beating and echoing. A warm feeling sinks in.

[delimeful]

WIBAR Intermission: Visiting Home (1/3)

G/T July Day 17: Home

this intermission has 3 parts, taking place during different points in the WIBAR timeline. this chapter takes place before LMMR/Act 2 of WIBAR! baby time :)

shoutout to nyn for inspiring the last scene with Roman at the end! 

warnings: negative assumptions, mentions of blood/hunting/injury, mild fear/nervousness, other than that it's all fluff (literally)

-

Despite the tension buzzing at the back of his skull, Virgil found that being planetside again was surprisingly… nice.

He would have preferred that it was an uninhabited area— or at least, that it wasn’t one of the only places in the universe that had aliens he really, really couldn’t afford to terrify— but he couldn’t deny that feeling the ground under his feet and the sunlight on his skin was soothing, a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

It wasn’t the same as Earth, not really, but Patton’s home planet was close enough to familiar that he found tension seeping from his overwrought muscles despite himself.

He shook some of the dazed contentment off, flicking a glance over his shoulder and reminding himself that if any of the locals saw him, it could spell Capital-D Disaster.

His little excursion into one of the less populated natural areas near the little port town was entirely unplanned, and all the riskier for it, but they simply hadn’t had any better options.

Patton had been putting off visiting his family for longer than anyone would have liked— first with the excuse of healing from his injuries, and then with the financial strain that had come from his crewmates dedicating the bulk of their time to searching for him, rather than doing their usual delivery and transport jobs.

(The strain of providing for an entire new off-the-books crewmate, too, Virgil knew. He tried to avoid taking up too much, resource-wise, but there was only so little he could eat before his symptoms went from barely-tolerable to unmanageable.

The adrenaline crash and resulting sprains after he’d intervened in the raiders’ attack had been a painful reminder that most days, his body felt like it was barely holding together at the seams.)

Finally, they’d managed to weave together a cover story believable enough that the trip was set in motion, with the caveat that Patton would go planetside to visit, and Virgil would stay on the ship, up in orbit, firmly out of range of discovery.

Patton hated the idea of lying to his loved ones, wanted more than anything to introduce Virgil and prove he wasn’t the monster the galaxy thought he was, but even his stubborn optimism hadn’t held up under the combined forces of the other 3/4ths of the crew.

It was too dangerous for word to get out about Virgil, especially after the close call they’d already had, narrowly averted thanks to Remyy. Between Logan’s points on the historical government response to rumors of rogue humans, Roman’s assertions that bounty hunters of all kinds would begin targeting them, and Virgil’s own intense discomfort with the idea of his existence being revealed to others when he’d only just gotten free, Patton had conceded, if a bit morosely.

So, things had proceeded according to plan… right up until Patton’s clutchmates commed in, requesting that they bring the Mindscape down so that they could fill Patton’s quarters and kitchen with a variety of gifts and supplies to remind him of home after he left.

Patton hadn’t been informed. A surprise, they’d said, meant to show their love and care for their sibling in a way that would linger as long as possible.

It was a cultural custom, apparently, and Patton’s hard headed tendencies must have run in the family, because they’d refused to take no for an answer without a good reason.

Unfortunately for the reason in question, informing them that there was another crew member onboard who couldn’t be seen by anyone else would only defeat the purpose of staying off planet in the first place.

And so, after very intense sweep of the ship to hide away any trace of Virgil’s presence, he’d swept his old cloak around his shoulders, followed Logan offboard, and let himself be guided to what seemed to be an unoccupied area of the coastal jungle that surrounded the local populace.

Logan had requested he stay in the general area until he returned from corralling the busybody relatives, and then rushed back to the ship where Roman waited, looking more harried than Virgil had ever seen him.

It was an awkward, stressful situation, sure. But he still couldn’t help but marvel a little at the thick, dark fronds of the trees and the almost powdery texture of the grey-white sand beneath his feet.

He hadn’t gotten very many chances to actually appreciate the wonder of being in space, on alien planets, with how much of his stay so far had either been locked in cages aboard ships or on the run, too busy trying to survive to take in the scenery.

Running his fingers over the corkscrew-patterned bark of one of the nearby tree trunks, Virgil didn’t notice the slight rustling of a nearby brush.

—

Marren had thought the alien an intruder at first, had skidded to a halt and narrowly avoided toppling out of the underbrush right in front of them.

Behind her, Robbyn and Denel tumbled against her back with the beginnings of peeped complaints at the interruption of their game.

“Ssst!” Marren made a whistle that was more air than sound, her baby feathers ruffling up in pre-emptive upset. “Quiet, there’s a stranger!”

Unlike any other game, her playmates immediately went silent, eyes growing round and nervous. They all knew better than to catch the attention of a maybe-dangerous unfamiliar alien.

Especially now. One of the older kids had told horror stories about smugglers when the grown-ups weren’t listening, insisting that straying fledglings would get all their feathers shredded off and fed to the horrible monsters at the bottom of the Spacesea, where starlight and ships alike couldn’t reach.

They’d gotten in big trouble for the tall tales, but the story had already been taken up by the waves and couldn’t be squashed, especially with the fearful but dedicated belief of younger fledglings.

“Is it a monster?” Denel asked, already looking more fluff than form.

Marren… couldn’t really tell.

They were huge, even bigger than the Draellex spacefarer who had come to do a presentation for her class last season, but most of their features were also obscured by the long, deep grey cloak that they were swathed in.

“They’ve got hands,” she reported instead, because the stranger was touching various plants and rocks with nubby, strangely smooth fingers. “No claws, though.”

“Maybe a trader ship came early?” Robbyn offered thoughtfully. Their downy soft pink feathers were the least fluffed up between the three of them, their gaze focused on the alien with an intense curiosity.

“We woulda seen it, right?” Marren replied dubiously, before going quiet for a moment as the hooded head of the stranger turned and paused as though listening.

She didn’t continue until they turned back to their slow inspection of the wildlife, letting out a tiny peep-peep-peep of relief. “The only ship that came down is Uptel Patton’s, and he’s only got two playmates.”

She’d only met one of her Uptel’s friends in person, and only when she was a baby baby, way before her first molt, so she barely remembered it, but there were plenty of pictures in her Elder Uptel Farrun’s home. Patton’s parents were always happy to talk about their spacefarer son, and Marren always got a fun trinket from her Uptel when he visited.

Well. Almost always.

He’d seemed very distracted when she’d seen him this morning, enough that he’d barely noticed her amongst the many relatives that had swarmed to greet him after his longer than usual absence.

Something bad had happened to him, Marren had been told, which had made his parents’ home feel all sad-grief-loss whenever she visited, but he was all better now.

She wasn’t so sure. Everyone around him had felt like relief-joy-kinship at the sight of him, sure, but her Uptel had never flinched away from preening before.

“Maybe he got a new one?” Denel asked, still half-hidden behind Robbyn but not quite as frightened.

Marren made a considering chirp, and then began shuffling under the wiry branches as quietly as possible, seeking out a closer bush.

“Where are you going?” both of her playmates asked in very different tones.

“Gonna look closer,” she replied, and then froze as the answer carried farther than she meant it to.

The stranger turned sharper this time, and searched the clearing with tiny back-and-forth movements of their head.

“Patton?” they called after a moment, and Marren almost startled back in shock: the alien had spoken Uptel Patton’s actual name, not the Common version, and sounded uncannily close to an actual Ampen.

If it weren’t for how impossibly big the stranger was, she might have thought it was a simple prank, a couple of older kids stacked on top of each other under a form-disguising cloak.

Her gaze trailed down and finally focused on the familiar glow coming from the shadowed neckline of the cloak. She would know that glow anywhere!

“They’ve gotta special charm!” she crowed, and pushed past the branches to dart out into the open, intent on inspecting her Uptel’s newest friend.

Patton’s friend stumbled back hard with a sharp inhale, and Marren abruptly remembered that it wasn’t polite to startle people, especially strangers, and slowed to a stop. She angled her head up to try and peer into the shadows of the hood, squinting her eyes almost closed in as innocent and friendly a look as possible.

“I’m Marren,” she introduced herself, using the little bit of Common that her Uptel had taught her. “The stars greet you and so do I!”

That kind of greeting was more for actually being up in space with all the stars, but she figured it was the thought that counted.

Patton’s friend muttered something in an unfamiliar language, their tone soft, and then lowered themself to a seated position, much slower than they’d moved before. “My name is Virgil. It’s… nice to sea you?”

Marren let out a peal of chirping laughter, nearly knocking herself off balance with the force of her amusement.

That was definitely one of Uptel Patton’s friends, alright. He was the only bondrelative she had who put silly word jokes in his greetings like that.

“Can I sea you?” she shot back brightly, and when that didn’t seem to make it through, she pretended to move an invisible hood down from her own head.

Friend Virgil went all stiff for a moment, before speaking again. “I don’t think… uh, that’s not a good idea. I’m… I’m shy.”

Marren was distracted for a moment by puzzling through the words; it was an odd combination of Common and Ampen words, some of them a little smushed together until they almost seemed like a new word entirely.

Once the meaning behind the answer registered, though, she made a long, protesting whistle. “I’m not gonna be mean to you! Denel’s shy, too, you guys can get along!”

“Denel?” Friend Virgil echoed, again pronouncing the name eerily accurately, and Marren heard a little peep of alarm from behind her.

Antennae twitching with frustration, she turned and gave the bushes her best irritated stare, fluffing up indignantly. “They’re Patton’s friend! They’ve gotta be nice to me, I’m his favorite telit! Stop acting so new-hatched!”

“You’re his only little cousin,” Robbyn was speaking to her as they hopped into view, but their wide eyes were locked on Friend Virgil like they’d just found a shiny new stone. “Can they talk?”

“Kinda,” Marren chirped back, since it seemed like Friend Virgil knew more of the spacefarer tongue than their native one. “I know enough space words to translate! Probably.”

“You’re going to hurt your throat,” Robbyn cautioned in their best know-it-all voice. Marren was saved from having to answer by the thud of Denel tripping his own way out of the bush.

With his underlayer all fluffed out like that, it was no wonder that he accidentally rolled a few feather-lengths along the ground, squawking in high-pitched, babyish alarm as he tumbled.

Friend Virgil leaned forward so quickly that even Marren peeped in surprise, but all they did was set a humongous cupped hand next to Denel to keep him from toppling any further. Denel pulled all his limbs in with a panicked squeak as he bumped into the helping hand, and turned his head to peer up at Friend Virgil nervously.

“Safe and sound,” Friend Virgil crooned, in the sort of lullaby sing-song tone that was usually used to soothe hatchlings. “Okay, good, okay?”

It took Denel a stunned moment to respond, but when he chirped affirmative, the waver in his whistle had faded to almost nothing. He slowly uncurled, and even reached out for balance as he got back upright, looking absolutely awestruck.

He was way more aether-sensitive than most fledglings, Marren recalled, which meant that Friend Virgil must have been radiating some deeply trustworthy energy. As always, she had been totally right! Of course Patton’s friend was nice!

Marren wasted no time in spinning back around and darting up to Friend Virgil’s legs, giving them her best pleading expression.

“See? We can all be friends, you’re big-nice and nobody will be mean to you! Please please please?”

—

Virgil was not good with kids.

Specifically, he wasn’t good at saying no to kids.

Back home, they’d always picked up on it the moment they saw him, like sharks catching the scent of blood in the water, except the sharks were twelve year olds and the blood was Virgil’s inability to tell them not to draw on him in sharpie.

He’d finally found something that humans and aliens had in common, it seemed, because Marren– the apparent leader of the little group– had immediately figured out exactly how to use the Ampen version of puppy dog eyes against him. It was like nature had designed them as adorable feathery pom-pom creatures as a tactic designed to target him, specifically.

He hadn’t stood a chance.

As such, he found himself seated in the middle of the small clearing, his hood lowered and face exposed for anyone to see, being used as an actual, literal human jungle gym by a bunch of chirping alien fuzzballs.

The playtime racket must have been attracting more, because it felt like every time he looked up, three or four entirely new bundles of fluff had appeared, racing around his feet or climbing up the side of his cloak, chattering between themselves in strings of tweets and whistles.

The namecall they used for him wasn’t quite accurate, sounding more like ‘frrr-kul’ with a rolling trill followed by a chirp that only occasionally resembled the latter half of his name. They seemed to have a much harder time than Patton making the non-bird sort of syllables, which made sense, seeing as they were itty bitty babies.

“Frrrr-kul!” one of them called gleefully, summoning him over to the other side of the clearing for the newest round of whatever it was they were playing.

Virgil wasn’t ashamed to admit that something in his chest squeezed a bit as another fledgling turned dizzying little loop-de-loops in front of him, presumably leading him over to the new spot. For once, the heart palpitations he was experiencing around strange aliens were almost entirely cuteness-induced.

Almost, because there was still a solid chunk of his brain panicking viciously about how tiny and soft and fragile they all were, hence him moving at the pace of a seasick slug.

Marren had put forward a half-hearted complaint about how slow he was moving, to no avail. As it turned out, the only thing more compelling to him than a kid’s heartfelt request was the fear of accidentally hurting one of them.

It had taken him at least fifteen minutes just to stop flinching every time one of them fell or flung themself off of his knee or shoulder or— for one very stealthy candidate— his head, only to tumble lightly back to the ground unharmed, the impact entirely cushioned by their fluff.

He’d caught the first five or six on sheer instinct, which had only prompted even more to partake in the fun new ‘game’, until he gave up and accepted his fate as a living launch pad. Thankfully for his stress levels and long-term heart health, they had moved onto another game quickly enough.

He was slightly less thankful that every game so far had included him being scampered over, without exception, but he should have figured as much just from being friends with Patton, honestly.

His latest role seemed to be a very ill patient, as one of Marren’s friends walked around—and on— him carefully, calling out chirped instructions and sending the rest of the participants scrambling into the nearby brush. Within a few moments, they’d return with leaves, twigs, and other forest detritus, which would then be painstakingly applied to the top of his hand, or his chin, or wherever else the ‘doctor’ gestured to. Half the time, the makeshift bandages would flutter off the moment Virgil shifted even a little, prompting chitters of delight as the kids hurried to re-apply them.

Still better than any healthcare he’d gotten on Earth, honestly.

Seeing as his current job was to lay in place morosely like that guy from the Operation board game, he eventually closed his eyes and let himself relax a little, trying to hide an irrepressible closed-lip smile.

A few rounds later, he heard a chorus of what sounded like Patton’s favorite greeting chirp, but in a range of much higher pitches. He cracked his eyes open, expecting another gaggle of fledglings had showed up, and instead found that Logan was standing at the edge of the clearing, arms all dropped limply to his sides in shock.

Virgil went tense, only managing to repress his flinch because a good portion of his brain was still dedicated to monitoring where all the babies were around him, and currently at least ten were clinging onto his person. “Okay, listen. This was not my idea.”

Logan carefully tucked his hands behind his back in what Virgil first mistook for a polite gesture, only to emerge with what was unmistakably the portable camera he used whenever he was collecting video data for later.

“...Really?”

Whirr-click. Logan didn’t even bother looking apologetic as he began recording Virgil’s pint-sized tormentors. “If Patton didn’t get a memento of this, he would never forgive me, facetiously speaking.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil slowly shifted up to his elbows, a startling amount of leaves fluttering down from his hair. A tentative hand feeling around in his hair revealed a fluffy stowaway, who peeped in displeasure as Virgil carefully disentangled them.

Talk about having a bird’s nest for hair. That was probably a sign that he needed a trim, but for now he could only laugh to himself, using two fingers to try and soothe the ruffled feathers of the fledgling that had apparently seen his head as prime real estate.

“You’re… very good with them,” Logan commented, shuffling closer with uncharacteristic tentativeness. “Is it normal to take on a parental role for children that aren’t under your care on Earth?”

Virgil snorted, and then leaned forward a little to help keep one of the more tenacious fledglings clinging to him from losing their grip. “It depends on the person, but honestly? A lot of humans are total suckers for anything cute making baby sounds, human or not. Sometimes to the point that the keener wildlife will take advantage of it and lead us to babies that are injured or out of reach because they know that odds are, a human will help.”

“Truly? Non-domesticated species, as well?” Logan replied, visibly distracted from his slow approach by the implications. “Cooperative dynamics between sapient species and local fauna are present on many planets, but for almost all studied Deathworlds, such a thing is unheard of. The risk is higher in harsher environments, where a much more competitive nature is required for survival.”

“Yeah, for real. I used to work as an assistant… uh. An assistant animal-healer, and people were always bringing in abandoned babies they’d found. Sometimes they were actually in need of help, but sometimes they definitely weren’t,” Virgil huffed a little at the memories, holding still as a fledgling took a running leap to jump from one of his knees to the other. “It was well-intentioned, though. Lots of people hate to see a baby left alone and jump to conclusions, since you’d never do that with a human infant.”

Logan’s hands twitched, and Virgil carefully shrugged one shoulder, giving him permission to record the information.

“Just make sure you don’t write stuff about babies or kids down where anyone could get to it,” he cautioned, chewing on the edge of his lip. “I trust you, but I don’t trust, y’know… the rest of space. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Correct,” Logan confirmed, having heard that exact catchphrase from Virgil probably about twelve times a week. “Am I alright to approach?”

“What?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course, just be careful. I mean, you’re definitely safer for them to be around than me.”

There was a relieved angle to Logan’s ears as he stepped forward, nimbly avoiding a few of the fledglings chasing each other back and forth like feathered tumbleweeds. “I disagree. They seem quite safe in your hands,” he said. “I have no doubt that Patton would be ecstatic to know that you’ve managed to make some friends amongst his kin despite our need for secrecy.”

Right. His cover had been blown five minutes in by the Ampen equivalent of a bunch of grade-schoolers. Crap.

“Let your mind remain at ease,” Logan added, either correctly reading the panic on his face or just guessing from the not-inconsiderable experience he had with Virgil. “With Ampens this young, I’m certain that your positive impression as a playmate will be the bulk of what they mention to their families. I’ve already heard a few of them refer to you as ‘Patton’s shy friend,’ so I imagine most will come up with the rest of the answer on their own assumptions.”

"'Patton's shy friend'?" Virgil felt his ears redden as his face heated up, and there was a chorus of delighted whistle-squeals from the nearest fledglings.

“You change colors just like Uptel Patton!” Marren shouted excitedly, and, well.

There were at least four different species of alien he knew of that shifted colors in all sorts of ways, from a gradual chameleon shift to the rapid flush of an octopus. This was one trait that wasn’t likely to make anyone think ‘Human’.

“Do another color!” A small harmony of encouraging peeps and eager gazes.

“Uh…,” Virgil cast a helpless look of his own Logan’s way. “I mean, I can probably do purple if I hold my breath for long enough?”

“Alright,” Logan cut in urgently,“I think it’s time that Virgil get back to the ship, actually, you’ll have to play with him again the next time we come to visit. Yes, yes, everyone off now…”

–

Miraculously, they’d managed to get through the entire impromptu visit without either of Patton’s flockmates seeing any errant belongings, broken cabinets, or any other indications of the highly illegal and infamous Deathworlder they definitely had onboard.

Roman let out an exhausted snort, trying not to shift impatiently as he stood by the boarding platform and waited for Logan to return with Virgil. If Patton was there, he would have given him a disappointed look for being so blatantly untrusting, but he wasn’t, and it had been a long day, so Roman could be on edge if he wanted to, okay?!

Thankfully, Logan chose that moment to step out from the shade of the forested area, exchanging an assessing look with Roman before deeming the path clear and beckoning Virgil to follow him on board.

The Human padded after Logan, footsteps eerily quiet as always, and… huh. He looked a lot less stressed than he’d seemed when they’d all but shoved him off the ship a few hours ago. Roman tried not to feel immensely suspicious about it, but he glanced down to check his hands for blood anyhow.

He was mostly sure that the Human didn’t actually have any murderous designs, especially not on anyone from Patton’s hometown, but they’d set him loose in a random forest with little to no guidance. Roman couldn’t rule out the idea that Virgil had entertained himself by hunting down some of the local fauna or something.

There was nothing, though, and so he forced his eyes away and checked in briefly with Logan instead. See? He could be cordial when he wanted to! He was a beacon of toleration, okay?

The claim fell a little flat even in his own mind, but he was promptly distracted by the tiniest hint of a whistle. He straightened up, alarm shooting through him as he swiveled his head this way and that, searching for any surprise witnesses.

His gaze fell on the Human as Virgil passed him to board the ship, and Roman stiffened at the sight of three fluffy bundles perched in the swoop of the Human’s hood. “Stop right there!”

Virgil went still, shoulders hunching upward like a bristle and eyes bizarrely wide, and Roman let his tail scrape from side to side for a moment as he glowered, only growing more certain of his guilt.

“I knew it, those are fledglings! Let them go this instant,” he started, planning to end with a suitable threat to ensure the safety of the smallest and most vulnerable of Patton’s kin, only for the Human to somehow go even more stiff and frozen.

“Oh my god, where?” He hunched over slightly, eyes flickering down to scan over his front and arms. “Are they okay?”

Roman pulled up short, admittedly disoriented at the show of clear and abrupt concern. One of the fledglings cheeped in dismay, and Virgil’s head tilted, following the sound.

“Guys, that’s not safe,” he groaned, and then repeated it in Ampen tongue. “Not safe. Not good, not safe, okay?”

His hand twitched up like he was going to reach for them, but then he hesitated for a moment, before slowly turning around so that his hood faced Roman. “Can you help them out? I know they’ve got all the feathers and stuff to keep them safe, but I still don’t want… I don’t want to jostle the hood and knock them out or something.”

“I… yes,” Roman said, feeling like he’d just been hit by a paralyzer shot. He reached out and scooped the fledglings out of their makeshift nest, watching as Virgil’s shoulders grew more and more taut. The Human didn’t trust him, but he held still anyways. “You’ve got, ah. Leaves and twigs. In your head pocket.”

“I bet I do,” he muttered, before taking a few slightly too-fast steps away once he’d checked that his fuzzy passengers had been evacuated. With soft, cautious movements, he patted down the rest of himself, including his other pockets and even the folds of his overcloak. “I think I’m good.”

“That was very dangerous,” Roman scolded, looking down at the trio with disapproval.

Virgil shuffled slightly, looking at him more directly than he usually did. After a moment, he spoke. “They’re fine, right? It’s not their fault, they just think it’s a game.They’re… they’re only babies.”

This was what worry looked like on a Human, Roman realized with a jolt, and managed to choke down his initial offense at the very idea that he would hurt them. He’d assumed the same at first glance, hadn’t he? Virgil had never seen him with kits before, and didn't know very much about him. Roman hadn’t exactly been sharing information or encouraging any bonding, and it wasn’t like the Mindscape had provided very many opportunities for interacting with younglings thus far.

Stars, he hoped there hadn’t been any kids on the smuggler ship. The very idea made him sick.

“Of course they’re fine,” he replied a bit shortly, cradling them a little closer. “Kits will be kits. They didn’t mean any harm, like you said.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good,” Virgil said, some of that odd tension falling away. He looked back down at the kids. “Uh. Bye, little guys. Stay safe.”

He mimicked a farewell trill with uncanny accuracy, and the fledglings all echoed it with varying levels of mournfulness. Virgil waved as he edged his way up the ship’s ramp backwards, like he thought the kids would ambush him the moment he took his eyes off of them.

Seeing as these three had somehow snuck past a Human’s senses, Roman almost couldn’t blame him.

“When I next see Patton, I’m going to tell him to have a serious talk with you all about being too adventurous, you hear me? Crewmates are not for climbing,” Roman lectured as he carried them back to the main path. He paused to think about how hypocritical that lesson would be coming from Patton, who took any excuse to perch on Virgil. “Oh, for stars’ sake.”

Well, whatever. This was just a one-off. What were the odds they would ever be bringing the Human back here, anyhow?

[elvhensinner]

I don't know if you answered something like this before, but what type of porn would each Twice member do?

Good question! So allow me to expound my answers heheheh

Nayeon - loves knowing men jerk off to her so she does all the top viewed kinks. Stepcest, schoolgirl, BBC, group, etc. She the type to roleplay at the start but instantly drops it after a few minutes cause she's too horny to keep up the act 🤣

Jeongie - Solo queen. Has the most number of toys compared to everyone in twice. Her content is geared towards wholesome plots 🥺. Her best performing video is a pov slow titjob virtual sex type with tons of eye contact, licking, and words of affirmation titled "Relieving my big man after his long day at work"

Momo - JAV STAR. Always on the top featured page, front n center. Always a housewife, and always targeted by the typical ntr archetype (father in law, uncle, neighbor, boss, delivery man, etc). Watching her vids always leaves you with these thoughts: tits, moans, and whines.

Sana - Passionate about porn. SHES EVERYWHERE AND DOESNT STICK TO CONCEPTS. Jav, western, meet n fucks, international, fuck a fan, dom, sub, ntr, passionate. The type to have a sfw socmed account cause of how outgoing she is.

Jihyo - Established couple's page. Always the same man. Tons of passionate porn. Cuddlefucks, waking up with sex, slow penetrations with matching giggles filled with love. Her bf handles the account 🤣 You'd kill to be in his position.

Mina - HIGH PRODUCTION. She's no girl, she's no woman, she's a lady. Imagine the productions of those blacked/bleached openings, with the high budget camera angles, beautiful lingerie, and voiceovers. All the works. Consistent quality in every video, from start to finish. Softdom until her partner teases her asshole.

Dahyun - She puts the actress in "porn actress" cause she's the type to really get into the thick of roleplay. Shes like jeongie who loves making solo virtual sex vids. She wants to satisfy a different kink every vid. Appreciates her fans so she tries to reply to comments as much as she can. (Ahck. I cant 🤧)

Chaeyoung - Her page has the most hard/uncommon kinks compared to everyone else. Examples: gloryhole, mouth/Drool, footjob, armpitfuck, extreme leather, musk, watersport, smoking, etc. The video Always ends up in hardcore porn when it's not solo.

Tzuyu - high rate onlyfans with ppv. Captions her vids to satisfy different kinks (stepsister, cheating, babysitter, etc.) as clickbait, but never follows the plot 🙄 It's all just sex with her bf. But she has a high following cause everyone likes her body type.

[adachimoe]

Hello! Fairly recent follower here who has been rabidly consuming your various post about P4/Adachi. Thank you for sharing so many cool scans/resources and for providing insightful analysis! I was wondering, have you ever written up anything about Adachi's relationship with Dojima and Nanako--and if not, would you mind sharing your thoughts? I keep seeing people say he doesn't actually care which is kind of wild to me!

Hi there! Glad you enjoy the content!

To date, I've only posted about his relationship with Nanako and Dojima once before, and it's a breakdown of the brief line when he first introduces himself to Nanako and the protagonist at the Dojima house.

This line was unfortunately completely different in English. The line was rewritten, the delivery is very flat and unplayful; Adachi sounds more like he feels threatened/scared of Dojima. But the Japanese voice acting and what he's saying (pretending to be Dojima's wife lol) and the situation made me feel that, even in April, Adachi must have had some level of rapport with Dojima.

Like you, I've also seen some insane shit. E.g. "At the hospital, I bet Adachi leans over Dojima's bed and whispers about how he hopes Nanako dies"??? What the hell that is an insane take LMAO. I've also seen people say that Adachi's arc in Arena Ultimax and what he says about Dojima in his narration means that Adachi got "woobified". Which, like, what?

Honestly, a lot of this also seems to go hand in hand with people not understanding the plot of Persona 4. Some people walk away from this game thinking that Adachi is the one who put Nanako into the TV (???), or that Adachi "picked" Nanako to be on the TV and thus targeted by Namatame (???). Thus, they interpret him to be more antagonistic towards Dojima and Nanako. Persona fans are not beating the "can't read, didn't play the game" allegations.

I think Adachi's relationship with Dojima and Nanako in the games can be described as, "Not really understanding what you have until it's too late". It's not something he necessarily sought out (e.g. he wants to be a hotshot detective with a hot wife, not "Dojima's Bud"), so he takes it for granted. After you beat up Adachi in the TV World and bring him out to Junes, his expression and inability to say anything when he finds out that Dojima hasn't completely given up on him really speaks for itself. And this continues into Arena Ultimax.

The 2010 Persona 4 audio drama also helps build upon his relationship with Dojima and Nanako. He is involved (and even pats himself on the back for his participation lol), yet at the same time, he also un-includes himself: When he tells the protagonist that he helped Dojima *spend time with his family*, it's like he is putting up a boundary between himself and them, counting himself outside of their family circle.

Golden further builds on this with his Social Link and his new interactions with Nanako. He clearly cares enough to watch his mouth around Nanako, catching himself before he says something that might upset her. Plus the extended letter he sends at the end, he really does spell out that, "Wow I kinda miss you all now huh funny how that works".

And if you've not seen it yet, the Adachi Q&A from the Stalker Club has some meta answers from Atlus regarding why Adachi took to Dojima when he first came to Inaba. I get the impression that Adachi is not a person who has many people that care about him, or feels like there aren't many. Thus the gestures Dojima showed him -- especially after a low point in his life, having been transferred to a small city and all -- probably meant a lot to him.

If you follow the line of thought about Adachi's cat / mouse game being bullshit, his real goal being ruining Namatame's life, and him not ever watching the Midnight Channel, then Adachi's Social Link seems complimentary to the sequence of events on November 5th.

Under this lens, it would mean that Adachi doesn't know Nanako was on TV, and he understands (or has assumed) that the Investigation Team have been saving people but he doesn't quite know the precise details. Naoto calls and reveals that Nanako is gone. Adachi shows some hesitancy towards Dojima jumping to action, and he's hesitant to let the Investigation Team go. But he does eventually cave and lets them leave. Not just because he wants them to find Namatame (which would be beneficial to him), but also because he now understands what's happened and knows that Nanako is in danger.

On the flip side, I'm not huge on the Golden anime's depiction of Adachi which puts a great deal of emphasis on his relationship with the Dojima family. While his relationship with them is certainly an undeniably important part of his character in general, the Golden anime changes his character in a way that I don't vibe with.

"Adachi willingly goes into the TV World without being exposed as the murderer due to feeling guilty about Nanako getting involved" is a very different character than "Dipshit suffocating in society while trying to get away with murder so he can still belong to society". Really, the Society!! thing, and how he just seems to feel stuck in the adult world; not advancing but not removing himself either, is a major factor as to why I like his character, and I feel that aspect of him was completely removed/downplayed/something for the anime.

Like, I found these 3 panels from the Persona 4 manga (which also adds in some emphasis on Adachi's relationship with Dojima and Nanako) to be more effective and poignant than whatever the Golden anime was trying to do. Even just the top panel by itself tells a story that someone might be able to discern things from without knowing anything about Persona 4. It is absolutely possible to depict this aspect of Adachi without fundamentally rewiring him.

Anyway this got long lol. Thanks for the ask!

[pouralaura]

I wanted to ask you this because I adore your Tav and how you write Raphael. Seriously I can’t get enough of them together. ♥️

We all talk about finding Raphael’s diary, but what if he found Tav’s? Tav who’s all prideful and teases him, acts like they’re not interested in him. Keeps their guard up, ya know? But he snatches up their diary and uncovers that they are anything but uninterested…

Basically just constant gushing, all of those embarrassing, obsessed, horny thoughts written down that Tav would rather die than admit to. ESPECIALLY to Raphael.

Thank you so much for the kind words! I love to write em mutually obsessed in the worst way. down so bad. 24/7 gross about each other.

here's a little something

--

Tav is out.

She's traipsing about with her companions (far less interesting than she; nuisances toward whom Raphael simply can't help his indifference) around the city, so it's a perfect time to do a bit of reconnaissance. Normally he'd demand this of Korrilla, but he is quite fond of Tav.

And sending Korrilla into Tav's private rooms at the Elfsong won't be quite enough this time. Some clients require a more personal touch -- more exclusive scrutiny.

(And, if he happens to find a delicious little morsel during his perusal through Tav's personal items, perhaps all the better.)

...Also helpful to have his little warlock downstairs to keep watch, just in case his target returns unexpectedly.

So: yes, Tav is out, and Raphael is in. He's poofed into her little bedroom, surveyed her meager possessions, and found...

...what has he found? Not much. Some emptied bottles and a wine glass that ought to be washed, a few books here and there in various states of being read, some dirtied laundry (but in a literal sense, not really what he's looking for).

There is, however, a small leather-bound volume on Tav's nightstand. Unassuming. Perhaps a journal.

He flips open to the most recent page, half-full of Tav's blocky print, and he discovers he's correct. Her writing is smudged inelegantly where he presumes she's rested the heel of her hand against the paper as she moves along. It's poor penmanship. Raphael tuts in disappointment.

But then he takes in the actual content of the page, and...

It's quite the discovery.

Oh, there's no mention of illithids anywhere. No reference to the Astral Plane, or their travels along the Sword Coast beyond a few landscape details. Not even a single acknowledgement of the long-awaited death of Ketheric Thorm.

No, it's something else entirely.

Her language is tentative and blushing at first, but grows more and more lewd as the paragraphs wind on. Such a hard-headed woman -- it's not a compliment -- headstrong and obstinate, keen and incisive...and she might as well have written a name in looping cursive surrounded by hearts all over these pages.

But what name? A lover from her past? Surely not one of her little friends.

Who is this man, who's clearly enchanted her so thoroughly? Tav writes of warm brown eyes and curls she'd like to touch and oh she knows he's absolutely fucking packing under those ugly-ass trousers --

Positively troglodytic language from his favorite little mouse. Raphael scoffs. How curious he is now to uncover the source of her more basal fantasies (aspersions cast on attire clearly notwithstanding). He flips another page, and scans the contents he finds.

Something tells me that man likes the sound of his own name more than anything. I'd say it all he wanted if I could have his mouth on me.

Raphael tastes iron and brimstone as he bites down on his tongue. His piercing gaze darts to the opposite page.

Would hate to stifle his sinful voice, though, even with it between my legs. Wonder if he'd sound the same with his cock buried so far in me he'd cum out my damn nose -- "Little mouse", he'd groan for me --

...

The devil blinks.

Well, well, well.

So it's he whom the hero of the story fancies so intensely, is it, now? Usually so quick to brush him off, to turn up her nose at his delivery...but ah, how her writing contradicts her demeanor. What a find. What a delight. Raphael's shit-eating grin nearly rivals his erection in size. (Also, yes, he's obviously packing; the little mouse is entirely correct. As if he'd glamour himself a small human cock.)

But he's not able to bask in this delicious revelation for long, as he feels the press of Korrilla's signature sending spell at the edge of his mind, signaling Tav's return to the inn. Much as he'd love to read more -- perhaps alongside a glass of wine, a hot bath, and the willing, pliant flesh of his pretty incubus (in the form of the Archduchess tonight, he thinks, as his cock aches) -- it's time to vacate the premises.

Carefully he replaces the leather-bound volume on Tav's bedside table exactly as he'd found it, snaps his fingers, and he's gone in a puff of smoke and glittering sparks. As if he'd never been there at all.

--

It's not a week later when he sees her again at the Caress, come to ask another question and draw out her inevitable agreement to his terms once again.

(He's in no hurry. He's not the one with a ticking time bomb in his pretty mortal head.)

It's not until she gets up to leave, her little friends in tow --

"See you later, Raphael."

-- that he makes his move. Stands with them as is polite, sweeps around elegantly to Tav's side as she follows her companions to the door.

Raphael places a hand delicately at the small of her back, giving her pause. Leans in close to her ear, pitching his voice low:

"How I do love the sound of my name more than almost anything else, little mouse. Particularly when it comes from your mouth."

Fingertips drift down further, tracing the line of Tav's hip to a point between decent and indecent -- the lightest of touches; almost-but-not-quite a caress. Raphael watches a flush travel from the apples of the mouse's cheeks down her neck, its trail further hidden by the unfortunately high line of her leather armor.

He thinks he's got her, but then she looks up to meet his eyes, and there's laughter behind her gaze as she delivers her line and exits stage left.

"The quilting on your trousers is ugly as all the Hells."

The devil is left bereft of words as Tav skips off to join the vampling and the Selunite at the door, casting one last (heated? mocking? both?) glance back at him. A wink in exchange for the sneering curl of his lip -- a rose for his thorns; a thorn for his roses.

But his scorn melts into a smirk when she disappears from sight. If it's more than a bit fond, who's to say?

He does love it when his clients put up a fight.

Perhaps he'll bring her to her knees in more ways than one. Give her an eyeful of the expensive quilting she seems to despise so passionately.

[illusionsofdreaming]

birds without feet;

Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~ Ft: Beacrox

It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.

Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”

His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.

“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?” 

Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.

You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”

Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.

Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.

You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”

Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due—such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”

You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”

He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.

One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.

“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent. 

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”

He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.

“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”

His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?

The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter. 

“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar. 

But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”

He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”

“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”

“I refuse.”

Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him. 

“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words. 

There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face. 

To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.

“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.” 

You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.

“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”

Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.

You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.

Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.

“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked. 

“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.

He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.

Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.

You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over. 

But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality. 

“..tastes nothing like it.” 

When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him. 

His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“

“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.

“You just said-“

“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”

You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for? 

“Get out of my kitchen.”

“But I haven’t-“

“Out.”

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.

Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again. 

Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.  

Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies. 

That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.

Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down. 

But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.

It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times. 

He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity. 

He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.

A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.

“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh. 

Conscious. 

“Why are you here?”

Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.

It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand. 

“How bad is it?” 

Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts. 

“It’s been treated.” 

The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.

You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.

Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”

That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn’t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“

His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body. 

Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-

“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.

He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.

From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.

The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.

As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt. 

A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound. 

He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms. 

As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling. 

Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins. 

“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”

A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.

And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.

He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby. 

“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.

Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”

“Charming~” you beamed.

Some things, still don’t change no matter what. 

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out. 

“Why me?”

The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.

You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.

“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”

It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle. 

The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition. 

The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.

“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“

A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation. 

In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign. 

"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”

There was a lot to unpack from that revelation. 

He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.

You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy. 

Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.

“Why me?” He repeated softly.

You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”

What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?

It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.

“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine. 

“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact. 

For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.

Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.

And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Bea please marry me.”

It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.

He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Thank you.”

He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”

“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”

Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is. 

We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.

You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off. 

This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.

“You’re welcome.” he said softly. 

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━ 

BONUS:

Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.

“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.” 

What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.

He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.

The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron. 

He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected. 

The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes. 

“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”

Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse. 

“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”

Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron. 

Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions. 

The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you. 

“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite. 

“What.. the hell?”

Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.

“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”

“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”

Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain. I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore. I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼

[veronicaphoenix]

wrapped in winter embers | n.s.

One-shot ✨ Pairing: noah sebastian x fem. reader

Tags and cw: Established relationship. Christmas fluff with sexual content, hot chocolate, snow, and oral sex (both receiving), p in v, slight bondage, unprotected sex, chocolate and marshmallows included, mentions of pregnancy, and a glittery dick (yes, read to find out what I’m talking about). Not beta read. Just needed to get this out of my head. Enjoy :) | AO3

WRAPPED IN WINTER EMBERS

I found myself sitting in awe before the giant Christmas tree that had been set up in the expansive living room of our recently acquired home. We had moved in a mere ten months ago, and I had been looking forward to Christmas so that I could put a giant pine tree in the corner and decorate it from top to bottom. It had been a recurring dream of mine since childhood.

            The tree had been brought in that morning, but Noah and I hadn’t started decorating until afternoon. I’d been running some errands in the morning while Noah took care of the delivery, and I nearly screamed when I entered the house and saw the tree in the space in the corner that we had left specially for it. 

            As the kitchen was cleared from our lunch and the house assumed a soothing sense of order, Noah and I set up to spend that afternoon and evening adorning the tree and extending the holidays spirit throughout the house. 

            We put some cute decorations in the entrance and had also placed small figurines and pots with artificial greenery and snow on the furniture around the house. Our main dining table and the coffee table in front of the television had also been adorned with delightful stuff that we had bought in a shopping Christmas trip we did to Target last week.

            Now that we had a place of our own, it was the first time we put two red stockings on the fireplace with our names on them, and it was so lovely. 

            Nearly an hour into the tree decoration, we ran out of ornaments, and Noah decided to make a quick trip to a store in town to get some more. I told him it was not necessary. We could go together on Monday, but he insisted, given that tomorrow would be Sunday and the shops would be closed, and our tree would remain unfinished for another day and a half. 

            He pecked me on the lips as he zipped his winter jacket and left after grabbing the house and car keys from the small tray we kept in the entrance. I told him to drive safe, given that it was snowing outside. It wasn’t much but enough to cover the ground about two inches. 

            By the time Noah came back, not more than twenty minutes later, I was sat on the floor, busying myself rearranging the twinkling ornaments to sooth my OCD. I couldn’t shake the feeling that both sides of the tree were stuffed unevenly, and it was driving me nuts.  

            The content smile on my face fell as I looked towards the entrance, where he was struggling to remove his boots while his hands were fully occupied. I stood up, leaving a golden garland on the floor and quickly walked to him.  

            “What’s all this?” I asked, grabbing one of the boxes that he carried in his arms, clearing his vision, hitherto obscured by the cardboard monolith.  “You should’ve called me. I would have gone outside to help you bring these in.”

            “It’s freezing outside, baby. I didn’t want you to get cold. Besides, it wasn’t a problem.”

            “You would’ve probably tripped on the carpet and fallen on top of these,” I said, smiling sheepishly at him after I set the box I carried next to the tree. 

            “Yeah, and that would have been so much fun for you, right?”

            I moved my shoulders up and down, feigning an innocent expression. 

            “Yes, play good girl all you want, princess.” He set down the other box and removed his jacket, walking back to the house entrance to keep it in the main wardrobe. He came back, clad in his Bad Omens hoodie, sweatpants, and the winter socks that I had recently got him from a new shop that had opened in town. He took a seat on the carpet next to me. “How is it going?” He asked regarding my work during his absence. While waiting for my answer, he ripped the tape of one of the boxes and opened it, diving into its contents.

            “Well, how does it look?” I moved back, leaning on his shoulder so that we could assess the tree together from a small distance. 

            He hummed in satisfaction and proceeded to empty the boxes. There was so much stuff in them that I thought we would have to buy another tree, after all. Maybe a small one that we could put outside on the porch. Not a bad idea. 

            “Oh, you got the glittery ones?” I asked as I held a box of eight perfect Christmas balls painted in vibrant glossy red and coated with a golden layer of glitter. 

            “I know you said to get the plain shiny ones,” he replied, finishing unpacking and setting the different plastic bags and cases containing all kinds of ornaments in one side. “But these ones looked so good.”

            “There will be glitter everywhere for months. This thing is super static, but yeah, they look nice. Thanks.”

            As we busied ourselves unpacking some of the things, I noticed a couple of garlands and a satin ribbon that look extremely similar to the velvety ones that Noah kept upstairs, in our bedroom. I looked up at him, wondering what had been on his mind when he entered the Christmas shop downtown, but he was distracted removing the plastic from some other random decorations. 

            We spent the next hour finishing the tree. Two weeks ago, I had bought a ladder on Amazon, thinking that it would be helpful for events like this, but truth was that I hadn’t really thought much before purchasing it, and it ended up being pretty useless, especially when Noah was around. 

            After hearing his complaints about the ladder for a solid five minutes, I gave up and I asked him to pick me up, much to his satisfaction. He willingly crouched down (with a grin on his face) to let me hop onto his shoulders, and as he straightened up, the world beneath me transformed. Everything certainly looked different from up here, and it was also a bit scary. 

            “Be still,” I told him. The only way I could grab onto him as I set the star on top of the tree was by tightening my thighs against his head. 

            “Ease that grip, tigress. I’m not going to let you fall,” he replied, holding onto my thighs with his hands. 

When the final touch was complete, I clapped, full of joy. Noah, seizing the opportunity, thought it would be funny to start swaying right and left, threatening to dislodge me from his shoulders. I clutched at his hair, using it as an anchor and pulling whenever I thought I was going to fall down, and his laughter morphed into a sudden yelp of pain. I gave his shoulder a playful slap, scolding him, only to be met with another round of sways. I lost my balance, but he was prepared to catch me and wrapped his arms around me as I wrapped my limbs around his slender, towering frame. By the time I bit his neck, we were both laughing, filling the cozy space of our home with the sound. 

He trailed a path of kisses and lovely nib bites down my neck and sternum, causing me to shiver. Sensing my slight chill, Noah proposed starting a fire and preparing hot chocolate.

I was clearing out the plastic and empty envelopes strewn across the floor when he queried if I wanted cream and marshmallows on my drink. I wasn’t very keen on the cream, but that day I fancied some marshmallows, and I replied with a delighted “yes, please” from the living room. Even though the kitchen seamlessly melded into the living room, I was out of Noah’s sight, positioned on the other side of the sofa. In the background Christmas music played from a speaker nestled in a corner of the kitchen counter.  

The mug warmed up my hands when Noah offered to me. He kissed my hair and let me sit back down in front of the tree to wonder where we could put the rest of the new decorations. Noah took a seat in his favorite armchair, a cozy grey piece that we found in a second-hand furniture shop and that he had sent for repairing. He loved spending hours there when he was reading a book or whenever he was on a phone call that extended for too long. Whenever I was alone in the house or he was locked in his studio, I would steal his place and sit there myself, cozy up with a blanket and a good book and wait until he come back. He would feign shock at the fact that I was sitting on his favorite spot, he would pick me up and carry me to the sofa, where I would keep my hold on him to avoid him getting away. Many evenings that winter we had fallen asleep on the sofa, Noah on top of me, after a slow kissing session driven by our playful fight about the armchair. Some other times we would end up having delicious sex. 

            For a while, it was quiet in the house, the tranquil hush only interrupted by the occasional noise I made while playing around with the Christmas decorations. The air carried the warm essence of hot chocolate, infused with the comforting aroma of cinnamon and the warmth coming from the fireplace. As I took in how happy I was, I looked at Noah, who was responsible for making this dream of mine a reality. He was sat slouched in his armchair, scrolling down on his phone as he indulged in the warm drink. His legs were casually parted, and he looked so damn good in his black sweatpants. I knew from experience how good I fitted between those two legs. Memories from previous times sparked a sudden yearning, heat coiling up in the pit of my stomach. 

            In a matter of seconds, my attention shifted from the adorned tree and Christmas trinkets. I moved silently toward him, crawling my way between his legs until I was seated on my knees, on my heels, in front of him, right between his legs. I looked up and bat my eyelashes. 

            Noah moved the hand that was holding the mug aside and directed his gaze downward, meeting mine.  

            “Hi, there, pretty girl.”

            I licked my lips and slid my hands from his knees to his thighs.  

            “What are you doing?” He asked. Oh, he knew very well. “You wanna suck me?”

            “Yeah.”

            There was a moment of hesitation in his actions, probably because he was taking in my proposition and was being consumed by the sudden excitement inside of him. He kept the mug and his iPhone on a small wooden table by the armchair.

            “Go on, kitten.”

            One of his hands moved to the back of my head and encouraged me forward. My hands found the waistband of his sweatpants. I pulled them down alongside his underwear as he lifted his hips for two seconds. 

            My throat went dry at the sight in front of me. He was already half hard. I hadn’t even touched him, and he was already eager at the idea of my mouth on him. 

            I leaned down, opening my mouth. I licked the head once. It was salty, earthy. All man. I lapped at him again, hearing him hissing in a breath, and delved right into it, filling my mouth with his thickening length. His hands found the back of my head, fisting my hair. He buckled up slowly, forcing me to take him all in, until I had him at the back of my throat. My mouth felt overfull as I worked him back up and down, his little whimpers and curses filling my ears. 

            I moved back once, his hand freeing my hair and his cock slipping from my lips. I licked them, looking intently at him. He smiled wide and bright, and brushed some strands of hair out of my face and onto the back of my ear. 

            “Keep going, baby.”

            Taking a deep breath, I leaned in again, sliding his cock in against my tongue, setting a blistering pace. “That’s it. Fuck. Deeper? Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

            The taste of him suffused me. I held onto his thighs as he slid in and out of my mouth. One of his hands found support on my hair again, something that he loved doing. I knew he was almost there as I felt him tensing his grip on my hair and how his hips snapped forward and his head fell back on the recliner. He was losing it. I was enamored with the image of him in that state, even if I couldn’t engorge myself too much on it because I was busy with his cock in my mouth. If anything, knowing how powerless he was in that moment, how vulnerable he was for me, I sucked him deeper, tightening my mouth around his thick length, and playing with my tongue as I felt him pulsing inside and I heard his whimpers increase. A salty liquid coated my tongue and the back of my throat. I struggled to swallow, but I did it as I slowly slid him out of me. 

            He muttered a curse as his whole body released from the high. I stayed on my knees, licking my lips, and watching him with utter adoration. I would spend the whole day worshipping him like this if he’d let me. 

            “I don’t know what Christmas gift you’re planning to get me, but trust me,” he said, taking a pause to regain his breathing, “nothing will beat this up.” 

            “I’ll take note of it,” I joked. 

            After a moment, he kicked his sweatpants away from his feet, bent forward and helped me get up from the floor. He lifted me onto him and settled me on his bare lap. 

            “What a lucky motherfucker I am,” he whispered. With a hand on the back of my neck, he pushed my face down onto his and I drowned in the kiss. 

            We kissed for a while, oblivious to the snow falling outside and the cracking of the fire behind us. When I pulled away, Noah’s cheeks were flushed pink. I moved a few strands of hair out of his face, and he studied mine for a second or two before picking me up and standing up. 

            “Is your period over?”

            I nodded. 

            “Choose: the kitchen isle or the carpet?”

            The idea of both scenarios made me wet.

Wetter. 

            “Both?” I appealed. 

            “Someone’s cheeky today, huh?” He noted with hint of amusement. 

He walked us to the kitchen isle. 

            “I’m feeling festive.”

            “Sure you are,” he replied, holding a laugh. 

            He set me on the isle, and I let out a little scream at the cold surface. I was wearing grey leggings and the layer of fabric was very thin. I could feel the cold spreading through every inch of my body. 

            “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to heat you up so badly you’re going to beg me to switch on the AC.” 

            He captured my mouth in his again. He pushed me back, forcing me to lay down on my back, my skin protected by the white top and the oversized sweater I was wearing. He ordered to lift my hips and he removed my socks, leggings and underwear, eyeing them and lifting a brow. 

            “Someone’s very aroused,” he said, eyeing the embarrassing stain covering my panties. 

            “Clearly,” I replied, pointing with my eyes at his growing erection. 

            “Bratty girl”, his voice got muffled by the fabric of his hoodie and shirt coming out. 

            I was going to say something but then two of his fingers slid down my curls and then to my folds, and the words got stuck in my throat. 

            “Fuck, Noah.”

            “That’s what I’m gonna do: fuck you.” He slid a finger in. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation brought by the movement induced by his long finger, sliding in and out in a tortuous dance. “But I need to have a taste first. Isn’t it wonderful that this isle has the perfect size for me to get on my knees and dip my mouth between your legs?” 

            I didn’t have time to think or utter another word before his tongue was on me. I gasped and struggled for my next breath, but he didn’t care. He toyed with me, slipping another finger and fondling my walls, sticking to his promise of heating me up. I couldn’t feel the cold of the marble anymore. I could only feel his warmth breath on my skin, the texture of his tongue lapping at my clit. He was fucking talented, and I could only give in to his pleasure, which moved to another level when he moved back, stood up, and grabbed his cock in his hand to guide it towards my entrance. 

            “You look so pretty all wet and ready for me.”

            “Please…”

            His hand slid up my belly, making its way underneath the fabric of the sweater and the top until it reached one of my breasts. Holding onto it, he used his other hand to position his cock in my pussy. Then he pushed in. I grasped his tattooed forearms. He started thrusting, his face tense, his expression one of contained self-control. My nipple ached between his fingers, and my heels dig onto his backside as I urged him closer, deeper into me. 

            “Noah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold it for long,” I manage to mumble between cries. 

            “Well, I’m not ready to let you come yet.” 

Not a moment had passed that he slid his arms underneath my body and picked me up again, securing me against his frame with his arms and hands. He walked us to the center of the living room, by the Christmas tree. He sat me on the floor and told me to sit up the two seconds it took him to remove the remaining pieces of clothing I had on. I laid back down. The cracking from the fireplace and the scent of the two mugs of hot chocolate still lingering in the air, adding an extra layer of warm to our sweaty bodies.  

Confusion suddenly etched my features as I saw him taking my hot chocolate from the spot on the floor where I had left it. He took a sip, taking his time indulging in it. 

            “Lucky you,” he started saying, “the chocolate is still warm.” 

            He set it down next to my body, dipped his fingers in the chocolate and picked a marshmallow. A second after, he was playing with it around my nipple, leaving a trail of hot liquid chocolate around the peak of my breast. My breath was caught on my throat as I watched the lust in his eyes.

            “I’m gonna eat you all up,” he promised before he put the marshmallow in his mouth and descended into my breasts. 

He covered me in drops of warm liquid, watching my body shiver every time the chocolate touched my skin and smirking at the desperation showing and growing on my face. He repeated the same pattern for a few times, tracing drawings on my chest and stomach, chewing at the marshmallows and even putting one of them on my mouth, his tongue sliding too far down a couple of times and lapping at me once, twice. The last time he dipped his fingers in the mug, he led them to my mouth and asked me to lick them off, which earned me a sweet “good girl” from him. 

He gave up the rest of the hot chocolate and focused on the task of sinking himself on me again, but he stopped for just a second, eyeing the point where our bodies where about to merge, then guiding his gaze to me. 

            “Do we have any condoms here?” He asked, looking around as if remembering where we had placed the last box we bought. 

            “No…” I answered. A thought raced my mind. It had been there before, but I had never really said it aloud. Until now. I swallowed and said in a low voice, “It’s okay.” 

            “It’s okay?” He repeated, eyebrows furrowed. 

            I started smiling and he knew me too well to discern what my expression meant. 

            “Do you mean I can…? I can do it inside?” His pupils expanded.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

            I nodded impatiently. 

            “This means… Pff,” he sat back on his heels, looking down as if suddenly lost in thought. He raked a hand through his hair. “Are you thinking about…?”

            “Yeah…” I whispered. I sat up to run two fingers down the side of his face. I didn’t have to say it out loud to know that the same images were crossing his mind. The bottom of the tree filled with Christmas gifts and a few kids running around, chasing each other, filling the house with their sweet and loud laughs, and Noah and me looking at them from the sofa, where we were cuddled up in each other’s arms, drinking hot chocolate. 

“Well, now I can’t definitely shake off the idea of having a little you driving me crazy around this house,” he suddenly stated. 

“So…?”

“So,” his body covered mine, his eyes diving into mine. “I’ll ask one more time. Are you sure? You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes.”

“This is— You are gonna be the death of me. Wait a second.” 

He ruffled through the stuff set on the floor, toppling one of the boxes containing the glittery balls. They scattered around in all direction, rolling beneath the tree and weaving through our legs. He moved them aside until he found the satin ribbon. 

I knew it. 

            He requested for my hands, and I offered them to him, the inner side of my wrists gently meeting. With practiced precision, it took him less than a minute to tie them up in a very elaborate knot that showed off his skills in the art of Shibari. He had been interested in it for a long time, having read plenty of books. However, it wasn’t until one evening, filled with a hint of shyness, that he approached me and asked if he could try it on me. Surprisingly for the two of us, we both enjoyed it, leading to an ongoing exploration where he continued to refine his arts on my body.  

Once tied, he let them rest over my belly for a second and admired me, flush filling up my cheeks. 

            “My perfect Christmas gift,” he said. 

            “I’m naked,” I replied, a bit self-conscious.

            “That’s how I like my presents: unwrapped but tied. Now be good, yeah? Or else, Santa will not bring you any presents.” 

“I have mine exactly where I want it…” I smirked and Noah mirrored my expression as he lowered his head to kiss me. It was soft, gentle, passionate. His lips molding to mine in a way that would drive me insane anytime. I would remember his taste and his scent for ages and ages.  

With my arms positioned a top of my head, his mouth claimed mine again and his body filled mine, every inch of skin touching, gliding against each other as we started moving.

We fucked relentlessly, my screams increasing with every thrust, filling up our house. The sweat covering Noah’s body intensifying as waves of heat enveloped us not only from the fire burning mere meters away from us, but from the one growing and growing inside of our bodies. 

When the moment came, I wanted to witness his expression with my own eyes. I was a prisoner underneath his body, but he was mine to admire and adore.

“Noah, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

But it was too much. His gaze bore into mine, but his features were tensing and a muscle in his jaw ticked until he couldn’t hold it any longer and he sank his head in my neck with a primal growl.

            It was the first time he came inside of me, and I never heard him groaning the way he did that afternoon as he emptied himself inside of me. I was overcome by a new and strange sensation. A part of him was now inside of me and would stay with me forever. It was different than saying he occupied a place in my heart. This was totally, undoubtedly different. This was physical. Primal. And I loved it. I wanted to stay in that moment, in that warmth that spread inside of me, his pulse beating against my walls. 

            I moved my tied arms and put them over his head, around his neck, until my fingers could graze the sweaty hair at the back of his neck. He struggled to regain his breathing. The weight of his entire body laid on mine. 

            “You look so pretty when you’re coming,” I said softly.

            Noah’s shy laugh against my neck, below my ear, made me giggle underneath him.

            “You’re spoiling me, you know?” He said, nibbling at my jaw. Even though his face remained hidden, I could see in my mind the flush that covered his cheeks every time I complimented him. 

            “I want to make you happy.”

            “You’re my happiness,” he replied. A kiss laid on the pulse of my neck.

            “That’s sweet.” 

            He touched my cheek, and finally lifted his head from the crook of my neck. Tattooed knuckles tenderly grazing against my skin. 

            “I’m not lying.”

            “I know.”

            I kissed him. He kept me in his embrace for a while, taking a moment to check my face, move the hair out of it, and make sure I was okay.

He straightened up on his knees and pulled out softly, making us both feel the last trace of our union. He looked attentively at the point in which our bodies stopped being connected, and I heard him say “it’s all inside, fuck,” and a smile tugging at a corner of his lips before he got up. He told me to wait as he went to the bathroom to grab some wipes and clean us up a bit. 

I heard him curse from the bathroom downstairs a few seconds later. 

            “Is something wrong?” I asked from the floor.

            “My dick's got glitter in it!” 

            “I told you about the glittery balls!” 

            “You’re telling me!”

I cracked up at his reply. Then I heard him muttering: “How the fuck did it get here?” 

I could picture him holding his dick with one hand, observing his length and his glittery balls and trying to remove the small particles with a tissue paper. 

            When he came back, he was holding a packet of wipes in one hand, his dick hanging lose between his legs, softening, but he still looked as much a man as he looked when he was pounding inside of me. 

I loved him with all my soul, and I would never stop feeling lucky for getting to call him mine.

            “What a cute little Christmas thing you are, aren’t you?” He said when he noticed that my thighs and belly were also shining with particles of glitter that had glued to my skin. 

I was laying down by the Christmas tree, covered in glitter, all flushed and used. 

            “I’m still tied.”

            I hadn’t bothered to move because I felt… euphoric. Nothing had changed. Yet, everything could have. I still felt Noah’s liquid drip inside of me and it was… strange yet welcome. And the thought that I could be pregnant in the next minutes, if not already, had me floating in a dream. 

            “And if I had my way, you would stay like that for hours while I eat you out and make you come over and over again,” he said, looking down at me from his full height. 

            Noah knelt beside me and untied me. His warm hands massaged my wrists briefly before he extracted a couple of wipes from a thick plastic envelope. As the damp cool cotton touched my skin, I startled. 

            “Cold?” he asked.

            “Yeah.”

            “Sorry,” he apologized, and maneuvered my body so that I was closer to the fireplace. The comforting warmth enveloped me, and I just stared at the flickering flames for a while, taking in the events of the evening, a sense of satisfaction and tranquility settling over me.

            Suddenly, I felt Noah’s hand on my tummy. When I turned my head, he was lying face down on the carpet next to me, his head propped on one hand while his other was caressing the skin of my belly. 

            “I’ve never felt anything quite like it before,” he confessed in a hushed tone, gaze fixed on my body. We had always used condoms, and if not, he had always pushed out before he orgasmed. “That was incredible. Thanks.” 

            “Maybe this will be our Christmas gift,” I replied, placing my hand on top of his. 

            Noah studied our joined hands, his smile widening. There was a glint in his eyes that filled my heart with happiness. 

            Leaning down, he kissed me, whispering a slow and tender “I love you” against my lips. My response echoed his three words. 

I brushed some strands of wild hair away from his face. 

            He peppered some kisses down my shoulder. 

            “Want to take a shower?”

            “I think we actually need it,” I acknowledged. “Might help us remove that glitter.” 

I looked down at him. Indeed, his dick had glitter in it. I just needed to tie a bow with that red ribbon and tadah! My Christmas gift!

            “Don’t you even think about sharing this with the guys. They would never let me see the end of it.” 

            The topic clouded my other thoughts, and I found myself laughing as Noah helped me up. I couldn’t restrain myself as he pushed us towards the bathroom in the main suite upstairs, and by the time our naked feet hit the cold tiles in the shower, we were both cracking up.