#They have the same lip. Same colors. Same mannerisms

[bonefall]

Deerfoot Refresher

wdym by “catching deerfoot” ? i have a vague memory of deerfoot having a gorey death in BF but don’t remember completely

@figgybeans

[Image ID: Deerfoot from Warrior Cats. He is a solid brown cat with yellow eyes, long whiskers, and dark brown paws, tail tip, and mustache. His upper lip is slightly cleft, permanently showing his front teeth. He's drinking some sort of pink liquid refresher from a glass with a straw.]

Deerfoot is a ShadowClan warrior who has opposed Thistle Law since Brokenstar took power. He's a son of Lizardstripe and Mudfoot, and the brother of Tangleburr and Runningnose.

He was actually one of my first reduxes so I'm super fond of the whole Mudlizard family lmao

Him and Tangleburr are the "two halves" of ShadowClan symbolically. Tangleburr immediately threw her weight behind Runningnose and Brokenstar and enthusiastically supported every campaign they engaged with. Deerfoot meanwhile was working with Nightpelt to plan the coup.

How did he not die during Runningnose's Plague? Maybe he got lucky. Maybe Runningnose couldn't bring himself to kill his brother. In any case, when TigerClan rolled around, Deerfoot did as Deerfoot does and organized the rebels once more.

He meets his end after helping Mistyfoot, Featherpaw, and Stormpaw escape to safety. He was the only cat captured in the 'Great Escape', and refused to snitch on any of his accomplices, paying with his life.

Because of his actions, Reedwhisker, Mosspelt, Stumptail, Mudfur, Jaggedtooth, and others were never discovered as rebels. He saved them all with this sacrifice.

[sttoru]

Trueform sukuna who never kisses his concubines. EXCEPT he only kisses his favorite concubine aka reader 😞🎀

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. you’re the only one deserving of lord sukuna’s.. direct affection.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!reader. fluff, suggestive at most. uhh exhibitionism ? kinda but nothing crazy sexual happens, so pda. size difference. reader gets called ‘doll.’

you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.

it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.

you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.

“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”

you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.

him.

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

[pucksandpower]

Seeing Color

Lando Norris x soulmate!Reader

Summary: the average person goes their whole life without seeing so much as a drop of color, so safe to say you’re quite surprised when the sky suddenly turns blue while you’re covering Formula 1 for the first time

The sky’s a muted gray, just like every other day of your life, as you stand in the bustling paddock of Silverstone, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

This isn’t what you signed up for. Football’s your thing — sweaty players, goals, and post-match interviews in rain-soaked stadiums. But motorsport? Formula 1? It’s a different beast altogether.

“Just one race,” your supervisor had assured you. “It’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a pro.”

Easy for them to say. The paddock is a maze of garages, team colors (which are a uniform grayscale for you, of course), and a cacophony of sounds that’s more overwhelming than a packed Premier League stadium.

You’ve been briefed on the basics — Max Verstappen’s the reigning champ, Lewis Hamilton’s the legend, and Lando Norris, the homegrown young talent, just secured P2.

P2. The words feel alien, even though you repeat them to yourself over and over, willing them to become familiar. Podium finish, second place. You’ve got this.

But the truth is, you don’t. Not really. And it’s showing as you fumble with your notes, trying to prepare for the post-race interviews. Your heart’s racing faster than any of the cars on the track.

“Hey, you alright there?”

The voice comes from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. You turn around and see a young man — not too tall, with curly hair, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. You recognize him immediately, even in black and white.

Lando Norris.

“Yeah, just-” You scramble for professionalism, straightening your back and offering what you hope is a confident smile. “Just getting ready for the interviews.”

Lando’s eyes flicker down to the notes in your hand. “First time covering F1?”

Your smile falters. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles softly, and for a moment, it’s as if the world around you narrows down to just the two of you standing there in the paddock, the sounds and chaos fading into the background.

“A little,” he admits, leaning casually against the wall, as if he’s got all the time in the world. “But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. There’s something about his easygoing manner that puts you at ease, just for a moment. “I appreciate that.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, right?” He asks, and you’re caught off guard that he knows your name.

“That’s me,” you reply, slipping into the role of interviewer as best as you can. “Congratulations on P2, by the way. How was the race for you?”

He glances at you, and for a brief second, his expression changes. It’s subtle — almost imperceptible — but it’s there. Something shifts in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Thanks,” he says, but the word comes out softer than you expect. There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation, before he continues. “The race was … it was intense. But honestly? Standing here right now … it feels like something else is happening.”

You frown slightly, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

Lando looks at you again, more intently this time, and you’re acutely aware of the way your pulse is thumping in your ears. “Look around,” he murmurs, his voice low, as if he’s sharing a secret. “Do you see anything different?”

You blink, confused. You glance around, expecting to see the same monotone world you’ve always known, the same dull shades of gray. But instead … you see it. A soft glow in the distance, a faint tinge of color in the sky.

It’s … blue.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. “What …”

Lando steps closer, his expression as bewildered as yours. “You see it too, don’t you?”

“I-I don’t understand,” you stammer, your heart racing even faster now. “This can’t be real. I’ve never seen color before.”

“Neither have I,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But … I’m seeing it now. Because of you.”

The air around you feels electric, charged with something you can’t quite name. Your eyes lock onto his, and suddenly, the world isn’t gray anymore. It’s alive with hues and shades that you’ve only ever imagined. His eyes, a stunning shade of fluid green, meet yours with the same wonder.

“This can’t be real,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. You’re trying to make sense of the impossible, of the vivid blues and greens and reds that are slowly seeping into your vision, like the world is waking up from a long sleep.

Lando reaches out, his hand hovering near yours, not quite touching. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that’s startling — like he’s just as unsure of what’s happening as you are. “I think …” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard before trying again. “I think it’s because we’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” You echo, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. You’ve heard the stories, the myths — how the world is black and white until you meet the person you’re meant to be with.

But it’s just that, isn’t it? A myth? A fairytale? With over 8 billion people on Earth, the chances of actually meeting your fated match are slim-to-none. Most of the population has grown to accept that they will never see anything other than black and white.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s what they say, right? You don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. But I never thought it’d actually happen. Not like this.”

You’re silent for a moment, trying to process it all. The colors, the implications, the fact that this person — this stranger — is suddenly supposed to mean everything to you. It’s overwhelming.

“I don’t even know you,” you whisper, voicing your fears. “How can we be soulmates if we don’t even know each other?”

Lando’s smile is small, almost shy. “I guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

The words are simple, but they carry a weight that you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. But when he looks at you like that, with such sincerity, you find yourself nodding.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “I guess we will.”

He takes a step closer, and this time, his hand does brush against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel it in every nerve, every inch of your being. It’s like the world has shifted on its axis, and you’re standing at the center of something much bigger than yourself.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando’s voice is quiet, almost tentative.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s such a simple thing, and yet, in this moment, it feels like the most important question in the world. You look around, taking in the colors that are now flooding your vision — the vibrant greens of the trees in the distance, the deep blues of the sky, the bright reds and yellows of the cars and team logos.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels right. “I’ve never had a favorite color before.”

Lando smiles, a real smile this time, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Pretty sure I’m legally obligated to say mine’s papaya,” he laughs, and you notice it for the first time — the vibrant hue of his team’s colors, standing out against the grayscale world you’ve known until now. “I think you’ll like it.”

You smile back at him, feeling the connection between you deepening with every passing second. It’s terrifying, and exhilarating, and everything in between.

“I think I might,” you say, and the words are full of a promise that you’re not sure you fully understand yet, but that feels right nonetheless.

For a moment, the world falls away, and it’s just the two of you, standing there in a kaleidoscope of color that’s bursting into life all around you. The roar of the engines, the clamor of the crowd — it all fades into the background as you look at each other, truly seeing each other for the first time.

“So … what happens now?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s hand tightens around yours, and there’s a steadiness in his gaze that grounds you. “We take it one step at a time,” he says. “We get to know each other. And we see where this goes.”

The simplicity of his words is comforting. There’s no grand declaration, no rush to figure everything out. Just a promise to take things as they come, to let whatever this is between you grow naturally, in its own time.

“I’d like that,” you say, and you mean it.

He grins, that boyish charm back in full force, and you can’t help but smile in return. “Good,” he says. “Because I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

There’s a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip a beat, and for the first time since this whole whirlwind began, you find yourself excited about the future — about the possibility of what’s to come.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think we are.”

And as you stand there, hand-in-hand with Lando Norris, surrounded by the vibrant colors of a world that’s finally come to life, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were always meant to be.

[waywardxrhea]

Casual - Spencer Reid

for the CM friends with benefits challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins <3

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

You thought that your sexcapades with Spencer Reid had meant more to him like they did to you, but after a couple of run ins with his BAU teammates you learn that he really meant 'no attachments.'

word count: just over 5k

content: smut (this is sinful whoops) MINORS DNI - 18+ ONLY: oral (fem receiving), public (ish) sexual acts, unprotected PIV, established FWB situation, drinking (just to the point of being tipsy, consent is still given), language, anxiety, angst.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

now playing: casual by chappell roan

“You finally made it!” your friend Maddie exclaimed gleefully as you walked into the latest bar that she had decided your small group of friends should try out that evening. 

Maddie’s girlfriend Celeste elbowed you gently in the ribs before teasingly asking, “Were you hooking up with Mr. FBI agent again?”

“That’d be, what? The fourth time this month?” Adrianna asked, a slight slur already in her words. She threw an arm around your shoulders and winked exaggeratedly before adding, “And it’s only the fifteenth! Get it girl!” 

“Ha ha, very funny, let’s all gang up on the girl with the best sex life here,” you joked, forcing a smile onto your lips despite the pang of hurt that shot through your gut at the comments. You grabbed a drink menu off the bar’s counter before heading back to your group’s claimed table for the evening, telling your friends, “I actually picked up an extra shift which is why I’m late and Doctor FBI agent is out of state on a case.”

“Awe, she knows when he’s out on a case, how sweet!” Celeste teased before winking and taking a sip of her brightly colored drink. 

“You three are impossible!” you said with a roll of your eyes as you stood up from your spot once more to escape the conversation and order your drink at the bar - a raspberry frozen margarita with sugar rim. Luckily when you got back to the table with your drink, the conversation had turned to Maddie discussing the latest drama at her job, so you sat back and relaxed as you sipped on your first drink of the night. 

“I can’t believe we finished all that paperwork in time to actually go out tonight,” Derek Morgan said as he stretched his arms, stepping out of his car and into the crisp evening air as he once more met up with the other BAU members at a bar the group gravitated toward when they had time to celebrate wins on cases. 

“Realistically it would have been nearly impossible for us to not get our work done in a timely manner. We got back from the case at ten AM and were all well rested after the flight, so our brains were all in ideal condition to finish the paperwork on time, even accounting for some delays in productivity due to jet lag,” Spencer Reid rambled off as they all walked into the bar, offering a small smile as some of his teammates rolled their eyes playfully in response. 

“Well all I know is that I’m getting a bottle of wine to celebrate wrapping that case,” Emily Prentiss commented as she dug through her purse. 

“What about you, pretty boy? Planning on drinking tonight?” Derek asked as he gently shoulder checked the younger man. 

“Just water,” Spencer replied. “Did you know that during long plane rides you can easily get dehydrated? The humidity within the cabin is usually around ten to twenty percent which is lower than the usual thirty to sixty percent that our bodies are used to. The lower level of humidity causes water to be drawn out of the body and the thirst reflex is diminished so you drink less water while at the same time losing more. I’m surprised that as a team we aren’t more dehydrated overall.”

The conversation was dropped as the team got their drinks ordered and then settled into a round booth at the back of the bar. As Spencer took a sip from his water, his eyes scanned the bar’s patrons to see if there were any people they may have to watch out for as the night goes on and more drinks are consumed. The water he was sipping on suddenly went down the wrong pipe though as he spotted a familiar face at the table adjacent to the team’s. It was you hanging out with a few friends, seeming to have not noticed his arrival. He wasn’t too surprised about that though because judging by the glasses on the table you were at least one and a half margaritas in and you already weren’t the most observant person when you were distracted anyway. 

“Everything okay, Spence?” JJ asked while she patted Spencer’s back. 

Derek’s eyes tracked where Spencer’s had landed and he smirked as he announced to the table, “Pretty boy just saw the girl he bangs on his couch.” 

There was a quiet cacophony of responses to Derek’s comment the moment it fell from his lips. “Remind me to not sit on your couch ever again,” Emily Prentiss commented with a quiet laugh. “Ooh Spence, how serious is this thing?” JJ asked in a sly tone. “I’m glad you found someone, kid,” David Rossi said with a nod and a toast of his glass. “As long as it isn’t going to affect you at work,” their unit chief Aaron Hotchner commented sternly. “Spencer’s dating someone? Why did Derek know this and I didn’t?” Penelope Garcia asked with wide eyes. 

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, suddenly overwhelmed by the barrage of comments, so Derek took a moment to dig the hole even deeper by adding, “He made me swear not to tell baby girl.” He got a mischievous look on his face as he continued, “But one time when I was at his place getting his go bag while he was busy in the shooting range, I found a bra in his dresser. It took some time but I finally got an answer out of him and it turns out this has been going on for a few months now.”

“Spencer Reid!” Penelope scolded while leaning over and playfully swatting at his hand. “How could you not tell me? You know I would have run a background check on her to make sure everything checked out!”

“Everyone slow down!” Spencer said, putting his hands up which caused the noise at the table to die down. “She quite literally ran into me at a coffee shop a few months back but I didn’t tell anyone because, well…we aren’t together. It’s just a casual thing.”

“Just casual? Is she okay with that?” JJ asked, quirking an eyebrow up in question. 

“She hasn’t said anything against it,” Spencer replied. He glanced over at you laughing with your friends one more time before shaking his head and asking, “Can we change the subject?”

“Whatever you want, player,” Derek said with a chuckle before the conversation moved on to whatever the latest sports news was, prompted by Derek’s reaction to something happening on one of the many TVs hanging around the room. 

Later that night after you had your fair share of appetizers and drinks, your friends were all starting to head home for the evening. “Thank you for coming, we need to do this again soon!” Celeste told you with a fake stern look before she giggled and leaned over into Maddie’s side. 

“We do!” you agreed as you grabbed your glass to finish off the last bit of your drink. “Get home safe!”

“You too!” Maddie said as she attempted to steady Celeste. “You’re calling a cab right?”

“Of course,” you told her with a nod, raising your glass in a toast as the pair headed off toward the door, following Adrianna outside. 

After finishing off your drink, you stood up, trying to balance as well as you could as you grabbed your clutch off of the table and went to the bar to pay off your tab. You weren’t completely drunk, but you were definitely tipsy and you were naturally clumsy, so nights like this were always an interesting time, especially when you were in heels. When you got to the bar to pay though, you were surprised to be informed that your tab was already paid for. “Who did that?” you asked the bartender, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Adrianna was just about finished with but still in law school and Celeste was a teacher so you could never ask them to pay for your drinks. Maddie was a paralegal and made a good salary but still, you made enough on your own to pay for your drinks, so who…? 

Your question was answered though when you felt a familiar pair of hands glide along your waist and land on your hips. You turned your head the slightest bit and an immediate heat flooded your body as you whispered, “Spencer… Hi. I thought I heard your voice earlier. When did you get back?” Your emotions were conflicted at his sudden appearance because you had overheard him talking with his group of friends earlier and it had honestly upset you, but now that he was practically wrapped around you, your mind flooded with memories of his hands on your body in the most intimate way…

“Just got back this morning. The team met up here to celebrate and I was surprised to see you here,” he replied. His voice lowered and his lips grazed the shell of your ear as he mumbled, “You look irresistible in that dress by the way.”

“I…Thank you,” you breathed, feeling your heart rate increase as his hands massaged your hips. “And thanks for paying for my drinks, you didn’t have to…”

“But I wanted to,” he told you, gently nipping at your ear lobe which made your cunt clench around nothing in desperation for more of his touch. Truth be told, it had been a week since you and Spencer last hooked up and you hated to admit that you had gotten dependent on his touch lately. 

Your impure thoughts were interrupted by a low whistle piercing the air, and your head snapped in the direction it came from, to see two people you recognized from pictures in Spencer’s apartment. They must be from the BAU as well. You made eye contact with the perky looking blonde woman and offered a smile as the man beside her asked, “Pretty boy, why don’t you introduce us to your friend here?” 

“Oh, I-I thought everyone had left,” Spencer said, instantly making space between the two of you. You looked at Spencer’s panicked expression that quickly changed into something more neutral as he introduced you by name and then said to you, “These are two other members of the BAU. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia.”

“It’s nice to meet you two,” you told them, a smile on your face as you raised your hand in greeting. “Penelope, you’re the tech girl right?” you asked after a few moments of going through your memories of what little Spencer had told you about his job. 

“That’s me! Resident tech genius because boy genius here refuses to get to know technology!” she replied chipperly. 

“Oh trust me, I know,” you said with a giggle, leaning into Spencer’s side as you remembered the last time you two had gotten lonely at the odd hours of night and wanted to video chat each other to get off. Spencer struggled to get the video call to work and it had ended up being muted for a few minutes before you finally got him to unmute himself so you could hear everything his surprisingly filthy mouth had to say to you. 

“Well it’s nice to finally meet the girl who is getting pretty boy out of his shell,” Derek said, flashing you an award winning smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m glad you all are keeping him safe out there in the field,” you replied. 

“All in a day’s work,” Derek said with a chuckle. He checked his watch before exaggeratedly yawning and telling Penelope, “Well baby girl, I think we should get going. Don’t want to hold these two up any longer than we already have. You two have a good one.”

“Thanks Derek,” Spencer mumbled as he watched the pair walk off and out the door. You watched as Spencer’s eyes did another sweep of the bar before his attention was back on you, turning you toward him and pulling you into his front, his hands snaking their way around to your ass and giving a light squeeze as he returned to kissing your ear and neck. 

Your hopeful thoughts from the conversation with Derek and Penelope were instantly abandoned and replaced instead by flashes of your intimate moments with Spencer over the last few months. Your hands drifted upward with one resting on his shoulder and the other lacing into his cropped hair as you let out a quiet moan in Spencer’s ear before asking, “Take me home?”

“God yes,” Spencer whispered, pulling away and turning you around so you were in front of him. To anyone watching it would look like he was simply helping you keep your balance as the alcohol in your system continued to impair your coordination, but only you knew the real reason for the closeness. So as you walked the block to the parking lot, you occasionally let your ass rub against the growing problem in Spencer’s slacks which earned low groans and a squeeze of your hips as you two made your way to Spencer’s car which was tucked away at the back of the lot away from other cars. 

When you got there, Spencer pinned you against the side of his car and his lips were on yours in an instant. After a few seconds, he pulled away for a moment and between panting breaths he asked, “Is this okay? You’ve been drinking, I didn’t want to-”

“You aren’t taking advantage of me,” you promised before he could complete his sentence. “I only had two margaritas and a shot and a ton of food. If you want to breathalyze me, agent, go ahead, but I promise you I’m all here and I’ve missed your hands on me.” As you said this, you carefully hooked one leg around Spencer’s waist and pulled your hips closer together with a smirk gracing your lips. 

“I trust you,” he whispered before your lips crashed together again. You once more laced one hand into his curls and used the other to pull him closer as your tongues began lapping into each other’s mouth, desperation and pure need guiding your actions. Shocks of pleasure began flowing down to your core and you felt light headed as Spencer rutted his hips into yours, seemingly desperate for any sort of friction. The moment that his hard cock brushed against your cunt you let out another moan that was swallowed by Spencer’s mouth before he was moving one of his hands from the grip he had on your ass.

Within seconds you heard the tell-tale sign of the car doors unlocking and Spencer was opening the door for you to get in. Rather than going over to his side to quickly drive to one of your apartments though, he instead pulled at the levers at the base of the passenger seat and began scooting the seat backward and flat, sending you into a near laying position and dizzying your senses. “Spencer, what-?” you asked as you regained your composure after a few moments. 

“I can’t wait,” was his reply before he began tucking himself into the now more open floorboard and pulling your panties down your legs. 

“What about- What if we’re caught-? Your job-!” you managed to get out in clipped sentences. 

“No cameras, no cars near us, it’s fine,” he replied quickly. “I just need to taste you,” he added, his voice almost dark with desire which had your cunt clenching around nothing again as your own desire overtook your anxiety about getting caught.

He hooked your legs over his shoulders and pulled your hips close to his face before you felt the flat of his tongue on you, going from your entrance to your clit before he stopped there and began focusing on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a sinful noise as one hand gravitated toward his hair to hold him close as he began sucking on your clit, not wanting to let go of the feeling. 

After a few breathtaking moments, Spencer pulled away slightly and mumbled, “You’re so wet, fuck…” The vibrations of his voice on your core made a high pitched cry escape your lips and he chuckled before asking, “You like that?”

“God yes,” you replied breathlessly as your chest heaved as the pleasure began to build already in the pit of your stomach. “I missed you,” you found yourself confessing as your hips bucked up to meet his tongue as he returned to his assault of your dripping cunt. Spencer’s only response was to shift and add two fingers to the mix which caused you to cry out his name as he hooked them skillfully, hitting the spot he knew could make you fall apart within seconds if he got it just right. “Oh fuck, right there- Spencer, I- shit…” 

“Come on baby,” he mumbled against you as his long fingers began stroking his target within you, causing the tight coiling feeling in your abdomen to increase more and more. 

It all became too much when Spencer began kitten licking at your clit at the same time and the coil snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing over your body as your orgasm ripped through you. A loud moan slipped past your lips as your grip on his hair tightened and Spencer pulled his fingers out quickly before beginning to lap at your cunt like a man starved, holding down your erratically bucking hips as you slowly began coming down from your high. Overstimulation took over after a few moments and you gently pushed Spencer’s head away as you panted, trying to catch your breath. Spencer obliged, pulling away and wiping his face with the back of his hand before sucking the remnants of you from his fingers as he chuckled. 

You joined in on his laughter after a few seconds and the question that had been on your mind all night slipped past your lips, “Is it casual now?” Knowing it was a loaded question though, you panicked and quickly pulled Spencer up and into a kiss before he could answer. For good measure, you made sure to keep him preoccupied by teasing him as he drove you back to your apartment where he made sure to thoroughly make up for his week away on the case. 

A few weeks had passed and you were out with your girls again to celebrate Adrianna finally graduating law school. It had been a long and arduous journey for her, but she made it! So before she had to buckle down once more to study for the bar exam, the four of you went out to a nice, new Italian restaurant that had opened only a couple of weeks prior. The restaurant had great reviews, and most importantly to Adiranna, an excellent wine list. So the four of you celebrated with delicious pasta, only one glass of wine for you, and began on dessert - a tiramisu that smelled heavenly. 

As the dessert was being brought out by what seemed like half the kitchen staff who were all warmly congratulating Adrianna, your eyes drifted past them when you heard a distinct nickname being called out teasingly from across the restaurant. Pretty boy. You made eye contact with the man in question and like an instinct your heart rate began to increase and heat began to pool down into your core. It was a Pavlovian response at this point, as Spencer had explained to you the first time you brought up the fact that you would get turned on at the mere sight of him, even if it was in no way sexual. You averted your eyes a moment later and bit your lip as you shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing together to try and alleviate some of the tension building in your core. 

“You okay?” Maddie’s voice asked, breaking through the flashes of when Spencer dragged five orgasms out of you that night after the bar. 

“Just a headache, red wine doesn’t really agree with me,” you told in a half-truth. Red wine really wasn’t your forte, but it was what Adrianna wanted so that’s what you had been sipping on slowly throughout the meal. “I think I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a Motrin, I’ll be back. Maybe the lights will be a bit less harsh in there.”

“Maybe so. I’ll make sure to save you some tiramisu,” Maddie said as you stood up and began making your way across the restaurant to where you noticed the restrooms were earlier. You weren’t really going to the restroom to take some medicine or get away from what really wasn’t even that harsh of lighting in the dining area. There was some part of you that hoped that even from across the restaurant Spencer could tell that you needed him and would get the message to meet you in there. 

Of course as you passed the table Spencer was at, it was filled with the rest of the BAU members, most of whose attention was on the man animatedly talking about the wine and pasta selections. You thought you had gone unnoticed until you heard a low wolf whistle before the comment, “Go and get some loving, pretty boy.”

“Shut it!” you heard the distinct voice of Penelope snap as you kept your head down and made your way to your destination. 

Right as your hand reached up to push the restroom door open, you looked back to see if Spencer had followed you like you hoped, and to your body’s joy he did. Glancing at his lips as he wet them with his tongue, you felt the dampness in your underwear growing as your breathing began to pick up its pace along with your heart. “Hey,” you said simply. 

“Did you want to-?” was all Spencer asked before you nodded vigorously which earned you his lips as he gently pushed you into the single person restroom before locking the door. Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, one diving into the low v-cut of your dress and beginning to massage your breast, thumb flicking over your already hard nipple as you moaned into his mouth. “If I knew you would have been here I may have dressed a bit nicer,” Spencer commented as he moved from kissing your lips to your neck, your hands desperately roaming his frame as he explored yours. 

“You always look amazing,” you told him earnestly as he hiked you up onto the sink’s counter space and pulled the strap of your dress down your shoulder so he would have better access to your chest. “Oh, God, Spencer…” you whispered as he took your sensitive bud into his mouth and began sucking. It wasn’t long before he moved on from the nipple to the surrounding skin and started to bite and suck which you desperately hoped would leave a mark. You loved it when he marked you because it made things feel more permanent, even if just for a few days.

Before you knew it, your legs were being nudged apart and Spencer’s fingers were teasing your entrance as he asked, “Are you ready?”

“Please,” you begged. The sound was breathy and high-pitched, but you didn’t care much about how desperate you sounded because you knew the sounds you made drove Spencer crazy. 

“Turn around,” he said in a low voice as he helped you jump off of the counter. You didn’t even get the opportunity to tease Spencer or spread his own arousal over his head before you were being bent over the counter with your panties pushed aside as he quickly shoved into your throbbing core. Your moan was muffled as Spencer’s large hand came around and covered your mouth and he gritted out, “We don’t have long.”

You whimpered into Spencer’s hand as he pounded into you from behind, your exposed breast occasionally grazing against the cold countertop causing the most delicious mix of pleasure to course through your body. He always felt so big from behind and tonight was no exception, but the rate and rhythm that he was going at had the coil in your core building quickly. “Spencer, oh, fuck! I-”

“I’m close too,” was Spencer’s grunted out response as the grip he had on your hip tightened as his thrusts began to get sloppy. You don’t know if it was because of the prospect of getting caught, or what, but after a few more thrusts, Spencer was already losing it, whispering, “Baby, I- Shit, shit, shit! I’m coming, fuck-” 

You felt his hot release filling you up and you let out a moan in response, so close to your own peak, but instead of continuing his ministrations like he normally would, Spencer pulled out and began cleaning himself up. You stood there speechless for a moment, still bent over the counter with your heart racing and chest heaving as you recovered from your almost orgasm. Spencer had never left you hanging like that. Maybe to edge you to try and get your body to do what it still hadn’t managed to, but never to deny you an orgasm. 

Spencer approached you from behind once more and recovered your core with your underwear before beginning to straighten up your dress to help you look presentable. He turned you around and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before chuckling and telling you, “I think you may want to fix your makeup a bit.”

“I-I will,” you quietly agreed with a nod, watching as he ducked his head and left you in the bathroom alone, hot, bothered, and honestly a bit pissed off. You quickly relocked the door and went to the restroom, trying to rid your underwear and body of the traces he left behind with his abrupt finish. After cleaning up, you went to work fixing your makeup as best you could and hoped that with all of the wine in their system your friends wouldn’t notice that it was slightly less perfect than when the night began. 

As you quietly made your way out of the restroom, you froze when you heard Derek’s voice coming from around the corner as he asked, “That love toy of yours treating you well?” 

Your blood ran cold as Spencer responded, “Oh, I- uh- Yeah. She is.”

“My man!” Derek said with a bright laugh before the conversation was prompted to return to non-sexual topics by someone else at the table. 

You felt your shoulders slump as your eyes casted themselves down to the floor and you just wanted a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. A sense of dread began to fill your body and your head began to feel heavy as your anxiety started to climb. Trying to breathe through the dizzying feeling, you kept your eyes down as you made your way past the table Spencer was sat at. When you reached your friends, you offered a small smile before telling them, “The headache is just getting worse, I think I need to get going. I’m sorry to be a downer…”

“Hey it’s okay! Get to feeling better!” Maddie told you, offering a smile to try and comfort you. 

“Thanks,” you said as you reached into your small purse and pulled out a few bills that should more than cover your fair share of the meal. “Congrats again, Adri. You earned it!” you told her with a fake chipperness in your voice that you hoped was convincing. 

Once that exchange was over, you quickly made your way out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, trying to convince your lungs to take deep breaths before a full blown panic attack set in. You should have known that all of this with Spencer was too good to be true. You should have known that he just wanted you for sex and nothing more. 

Even though you know you shouldn’t have, after that night meeting Derek and Penelope, you had let your mind wander just a bit and had imagined a little life with Spencer. An apartment smack between both of your jobs, going to the movies together, reading in silence on the couch, maybe even him showing you off at some team party after they closed a particularly hard case. But clearly none of that was in the cards for him… It was just a fantasy you had built in your head.

How did you let this drag on for so long? You pride yourself on being a strong and independent person and for the longest time had sworn off dating after the last disaster that had ruined your life. Yet here you were letting Spencer come crashing into your life, upturning everything you had built for yourself. A searing hatred started to rise in your chest, but it wasn’t directed toward Spencer. It was for yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted though when a gentle hand was placed on your upper arm to get your attention. Just turning to look at Spencer made you dizzy once again and you braced yourself against the building to keep from falling. “Are you okay?” Spencer asked. “You’re still on the pill right? I didn’t even think about asking, I-”

“Yes I’m still on the stupid pill,” you choked out through your tight throat that felt like it was threatening to close up any moment. 

“Then what’s-?” he tried but you interrupted him. 

“I just thought you thought of me better than a ‘love toy…’” you whispered, the sound barely audible. 

Spencer reached for your hand and squeezed it gently which made your heart soar, but it came crashing down once again when he softly reminded you, “No attachments, remember?”

Panic reared its ugly head again as that dreadful feeling threatened to overwhelm you. So before you could break down in front of Spencer in front of the restaurant, you jerked your hand away and sharply told him, “You can go to Hell, Spencer Reid…” 

a/n: phew, that was... something! i think i need to go touch some grass... anyways, when i was plotting this, i couldn't help but think of another song that ended up causing their backstory, so i'm going to start writing a part two to this called 'butterfly effect' because i don't like unhappy endings. i hope to see you there! likes and comments are always appreciated!

xo, brooke :)

part two - butterfly effect

[mooooonnnzz]

Platonic ask for gravity falls 🩷

The twins with a mother figure? Those kids are all around saving the world, someone needs to seriously worry about them and make a little fuss lol maybe the mother figure is Stanley or Stanford new wife? I just imagine the twins coming back next summer and boom new mother/aunt

Heartbreak, Heartbreak

Stanford x Reader / Dipper & Mable x Mother!Reader

✦ your stanfords wife whaatt?!

✦ i feel like this is one of my weaker works, i apologize

✦ 2,5k words

✦ fem reader

✦ gulp i hope i did ur request justice 😭

✦ mable goes "stop fighting!!" at some point

✦ requests r still deliciously open

꣑୧ Coming back to Gravity Falls was a dream come true for the twins. What they weren’t expecting was to see their Great Uncle Ford walk in the Mystery Shack hand in hand with you. Mable was the first to bombard you Grunkle with questions; which stemmed from “Oh my god, when did you guys meet?” to “Oh my god, oh my god, am I going to have Great Cousins? That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” Ford had to calm her down before she got too rowdy with their questions and overwhelm you. 

꣑୧ Once Mable was calm enough to sit down in the same room with you, without bursting in her seat with excitement, was when Ford broke the news. “Mable, Dipper. This is my wife,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You introduced yourself to the twins who were more than happy to meet you. 

꣑୧ “Did our Grunkle by some chance, manage to hypnotize you into dating him with a book?” Dipper asked with an analyzing stare. His lips were puckered, pointer finger and thumb on his chin, tapping it curiously. Not expecting a question as absurd as that, you let out a laugh. Shaking your head, you smiled at Dipper. “Not at all,” You respond, taking Ford’s hand with yours, intertwining your fingers together. “He just won me over with his nerdy charm.” You say, your eyes locked on Ford. A rush of blood swarmed Ford’s cheeks. A chorus of groans echoed in the shack. Stan appears behind the kids, resting his arms on the top of their chairs. “See, kids,” He motions over to you and Ford with a swipe of his hand. “This is what I had to deal with while you guys were gone.” With a sympathetic look, Mable rested her hand on his arm, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Stan.” 

꣑୧ After the initial shock wore off, Dipper and Mable began to grew skeptical of you. What if you were one of Bill’s goons disguising yourself as a human? And your goal was to take down their Grunkles and start Weirdmageddon 2?! Rushing up to their room in the attic, they pulled out their trusty 8-ball, the one they used the first day they arrived at Gravity Falls and when they were unsure if they were safe to stay with Grunkle Stan. They both sat down on the floor, 8-ball in Dipper’s hand. “Okay, magic 8-ball!” Mable boomed loudly with a weird amalgamation of a British and French accent. “Mable, keep it down.” Dipper shushed. “Oops,” Mable giggled. “Okay, magic 8-ball,” She whispered, her head uncomfortably close to the 8-ball. “Is Grunkle Ford’s wife evil?” With a rapid shake, Dipper and Mable peered into the ball. A pyramid accompanied with words appeared. “Don’t count on it.” The twins read out loud. “Huh…” Mable slowly nodded her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Well,” Dipper tossed the 8-ball behind him. “The magic 8-ball never lies.” 

꣑୧  Getting along with the twins wasn’t hard. All you had to do was grab your car keys from your purse, jingle them as if they were a bell and wait. Few minutes later, you’d hear their feet stomping down the stairs and a flash of colors swarming the living room. “I heard keys jingle, I heard keys jingle!!” Mable’s eyes darted around the room in search of the keys and when her eyes landed on you, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation. “Are you taking us somewhere, Great Aunt [Name]?” You smiled, spinning the keys around your finger. “Depends,” You pretended to think for a moment, just to keep them on their toes. “Where would you guys like to go?” A laugh escapes you as Dipper and Mable attack you with where they want to go. “Alright, let me tell your Grunkle that I’m taking you guys out.” Digging through your purse, you fish out your phone. You turned it on and went to your contacts. With a tap, you dialed his number. He picked up almost immediately. “Yes, dear?” You could hear his pencil scribbling on a piece of paper. “I’m taking Dipper and Mable out for the day.” You tell him, mouthing to the kids to get in the car. They scampered out of the living room and to the hallway. You could hear the door open and their hushed voices as they made a beeline to your car. “Okay, be safe when you’re driving and call me whenever you can, okay?” You hummed in response. “Of course, I’ll keep you updated on the kids.” You say, walking out of the shack and to your car. “I want updates on how you feel too,” You could feel the love dripping from his tone. “I will, my love.” You blow a kiss into the phone, wishing Ford goodbye. He blows one back and the call ends. Entering the car, you look behind you to see the twins all buckled up and ready for their adventure. “You guys ready?” “Yeah!” 

꣑୧ “So, Dipper, what’s with those dots on your arm?” You point at the four dots on his arm with a fry. Dipper looked down to his arm. His eyebrows rise in shock. “I-I completely forgot I had these,” Dipper’s thumbs the scars, an uneasy look on his face. Your heart stops in your chest. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I didn’t mean to make–’ Dipper’s hands raise up to his chest, waving them side to side, dismissing your concerns. He assured you that your question didn’t make him uncomfortable. “No, no! It’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “He got possessed by a demon!” Mable blurts out, stuffing her face with a greasy burger. “Mable!” Dipper whines. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t handle you beating around the bush any longer.” She says with a mouthful of chewed up food. You leaned yourself back in the booth, trying to assess what Mable just said. “Dipper got possessed?” You repeated in a question. “Yeah, I kinda did.” Dipper said with a slight voice crack. “Can I know how?” Disbelief was thick in your tone. You didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away in shock. They don’t look like they’re telling a joke? The way Dipper has his head slightly hung low and a tiny frown on his face proved that. But Mable seems as jolly as ever. You fight with yourself, trying to make sense of what happened when Dipper spoke up. “Have you heard of the name Bill Cipher?” Shaking your head no, the twins dove straight into a very long story pertaining to Bill Cipher and how he tormented them throughout summer last year and ultimately led to the world almost ending. “Wow,” Was all that you could mutter. You never got your question about Dipper’s scar answered that day. 

꣑୧ Laying in bed, you eyes drifted over to Ford who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You wanna know something crazy the twins told me earlier today?” Ford spat out the toothpaste into the sink. “What did those knuckleheads tell you?” He said, cupping his hand under the running faucet and filling his hand up with water. “It was this really crazy story,” You started. Ford nodded, dunking the water in his mouth and sloshing it around. “They told me about this interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher?--” Ford spit out the water in shock, spraying it everywhere on the mirror. You sat up in surprise. “Ford?” You pushed the blankets off of you and walked over to Ford, your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” With a forced, “mhm,” he wiped the dripping water from his lips with his forearm. “Y-yeah, no. I’m fine.” He waved you off, nodding his head vigorously, almost as if he was convincing himself that everything was fine. “Are you sure?” Concern laced your voice. Someone who’s fine wouldn’t spit out their water like that at the mention of…Bill Cipher? That’s when it clicked for you. “You have history with this demon as well, don’t you?” Ford groaned, running his hands down his face. “Those kids can’t keep their mouths shut, can they?” He mumbled to himself, his head turning to face you. “What else did they tell you?” That night, you spent it horrified with the tales he told you regarding the past summer and his time with Bill. “And you never told me this, why?” Ford nervously pushed his glasses up, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Because I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” He stops for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My past...isn’t something I could easily tell you without having a second thought.” A frown pulls to your lips. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, your voice frail and quiet. “Yes?” His tone was full of uncertainty. You didn’t know what to think. One side of you wanted to be mad at him for keeping all of this from you, but on the other hand you felt sympathetic. You knew this wasn’t an easy topic to discuss normally. And you could tell it took him a lot of courage to admit a side of him that he wasn’t fully ready to reveal. But you were deeply hurt that he kept such secrets from you for a long time. And considering how he responded to your question, you weren’t even sure he was going to tell you any time soon. “What are you thinking about?” Ford’s voice ripped you out from your thoughts, grounding you back to reality. “I’m thinking about how crazy all of this is. I didn’t know. The kids went through so much at a young age. A-and you act like it was nothing, they could’ve died Ford.” Your hand rested on the side of your forehead. “You also made a deal with a demon? I…” You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Stanford.” Ford cringed at the use of his full name. “I can go, if you’d like me to.” You raised your hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just need time to process this,” You offer him a weak smile. “That’s all I need right now my love, just time.” 

꣑୧ “You what?!” Mable and Dipper both screech at the same time. “Yeesh, Ford. And I thought I was a screw-up.” Stan chuckled, elbowing Mable to see if that got a rise from her. It did not. “I thought I was protecting her from all of this madness!” Ford’s elbow rested on the dining room table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grunkle Stan tried doing the same thing, did you see how that almost ended for us?” Dipper said. “I know, I know.” Ford weakly muttered out. “Then, why did you keep such important details away from her?” Stan argued. “Because I was trying to protect her!” Ford yelled, slamming his hands on the table. That seemed to get a rise from Stan. “Well, maybe you weren’t trying hard enough! Now, look at what you did. You fucked everything up.” He shouted. “Oh!” Ford stood up from his chair. “That’s hilarious coming from you!” Scrambling up the table, Mable slammed her foot down, gaining the attention from Ford and Stan. “Fighting isn’t going to fix things, guys.” She said, “Ford had his reasons, like how you had your reasons for hiding Grunkle Ford from us, Grunkle Stan.” Ford adjusted his sweater, sitting back down on his chair. “Now, Grunkle Ford. What did she tell you?” She asked, turning over to Ford. “She told me that she needed time.” Sitting crossed-crossed, she nodded her head intently. “That’s good, right?” In return was silence. “Right, guys?” Both Dipper and Stan agreed. “Great! Now while we wait, can we apologize to each other for acting so mean and for swearing.” She directed a look to Stan who scoffed. 

꣑୧  And wait they did. After a couple of days, Ford’s phone randomly started ringing. Rushing to pick it up, he lifted his phone to see you calling him. He gulped nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he pick up the phone? If he does, what if it’s you telling him that you want a divorce? Or that you need a break, or that– “Grunkle Ford!” Dipper snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Answer!” He pointed to the phone. “I got it!” Mable sang out, swiping her finger to the right. There was a beat of silence. Mable and Dipper anxiously waited for at least you or him to speak. One of them was about to intrude, no longer able to withstand such silence when you spoke up. “My love?” Your voice was timid. Ford’s heart lunged to his throat. How he missed your voice. “Y-Yes?” He mentally punched himself for stuttering like a complete fool in front of you. “Can you open the door for me? It’s locked.” Without a second thought, Ford practically ran over to the door and whipped it open for you. The twins watched you and him silently talk to each other from a distance. After a few tearful words and hugs, they recoil in disgust when they see Ford swoop you in for a kiss. “Oh my eyes!” Mable dramatically exclaimed. “Gross.” Dipper made a face in disgust. 

꣑୧ “I’m still mad at Ford for roping you kids into all that madness.” You tell the kids, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. “Dawww, don’t you worry about us.” Mable put a hand to her cheek bashfully. “We can handle it.” You found that hard to believe. “Is Gravity Falls still…crazy?” You whisper the last part, in case Bill Cipher is listening. You’ve only heard stories of him, but hearing what he has done rooted a new fear in you. “Kind of? There’s still weird things that happen here, but not as bad as last summer.” Dipper said, jotting down a few notes in his journal. “How come I’ve never seen anything weird?” You wondered. “Because you’re too busy making out with Grunkle Ford to notice anything!” Mable chirped, kicking her feet as she drew on colored piece of paper. That elicited a laugh from Dipper and a “What!” Ford walked in with an eyebrow raised and breakfast in hand. ”I heard I was mentioned in a conversation. Are you guys talking crap about me?” Ford places his food on the table and pulls back a chair. He sits right next to you and before he dives in on his breakfast, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. “You wish!” Mable says, flipping her paper on its backside. “I do not.” Ford said quietly. “So, kids saving the world, huh? That has to count as some kind of child abuse.” You half said seriously, half said jokingly. Ford rolled his eyes. “What? Are you gonna arrest me?” You glared at him. “I might…” 

[nekomanager]

SORRY, THERE'S ONLY ONE ROOM LEFT ♡ AKAASHI KEIJI

due to unfortunate circumstances you have no other choice but to spend the night, sharing the same room with your charming editor AKAASHI KEIJI

f!reader, pwp, deep penetration, fingering, breast sucking, orgsm delay, cunnilings, mirror sex

“I deeply apologize. We're fully booked for tonight. We only have one room left.”

Tough luck. Now, you’re stuck in a hotel room with a man overnight. It was not just a man, it's your longtime crush and editor, Akaashi Keiji.

Your fingers fumbled as you tried to process everything in your brain.

All of this wasn’t supposed to happen to you. It was his ordinary house visit asking you about the plot of your new work when he suddenly invited you to one of the places in your story for "inspiration".

Talk about being lucky. Akaashi had been working with you for years now. Your admiration for him grew as he was the only man who listens to you ramble about your plots and actually gives his serious and constructive thoughts about them. He's intelligent, attentive and respectful. It's truly admirable.

Add to that, he was charming as hell. Well, his eyes were wistful and lips, peachy. He always reached his hand out for you to shake and you swore you felt nervous every time without fail.

Just when you thought everything would stop with him being so good-looking and fine, you’re wrong. Just a while ago, he opened the cafe door for you as you headed out. He had manners too. He was every man straight out of fiction!

Good grief. He also smelled like olive essence that you wanted to bury your face into his chest. You were sure that time stopped during that moment.

The snow fell hard and the train stopped their operations. Finding a cab home was also impossible. You had no choice but to stay at the nearby love hotel. A love hotel! How ridiculous. An even silly catch was you had to endure sharing it Akaashi.

You sighed, staring at the mirror of your shared room's ceiling. You blushed. We all know what's this for. This is ridiculous!

Donning only the white oversized shirt you got from the vending machine and the disposable panties from the vanity kit, you laid down in bed freshly-bathed, and inspected the buttons at the side table. You were amazed when the light changed different colors from blue to pink. Leaving it there, you pressed a button that made the bed bounce. You panicked and wanted it to stop, but you only increased the speed more which threw you off the bed.

“Ow!" You stumbled on the floor with your lower-half hitting the edge of the bedside table, wounding the back of your left upper-thigh.

“What happened?” Akaashi rushed out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist with his hair still dripping. Even though you’re in slight sting, you didn’t miss how perfectly toned his abs were as the droplets fell over them.

“I-I’m okay. I just fell out of bed," you said, avoiding to look at his body.

He went beside you and slid an arm behind your knees, carrying you back to bed. Your insides clenched at how your cheek was pressed close to his still drenched chest. The heat of his skin making you hot in the lower region of your body.

Once he laid you down, you shifted a little and a pained expression left you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah, I guess I just have a little wound.”

Akaashi stood up and went to where he placed his bag, fetching a brown pouch. He brought the item over and pulled out a band-aid. “Where is it?”

You turned your body sideways and lifted your oversized shirt, revealing the small wound at the back of your upper thigh just near below your ass. You were just wearing panties and you knew that so well, but somehow...Maybe you could look a little charming for him too.

Oh, Akaashi sure knew how your charm was working him real bad. You were smart, quirky and witty. You're wonderful. You piqued his curiosity most of the time and he always thought you're cute.

He swallowed dryly. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He could just give you the band-aid and let you tend to your own wound, but you're too adorable to resist and the pull of his dick was clouding up his judgment; not to mention the sight of your fleshy thigh before him and that smooth skin was inviting him to come over.

So he did.

He took out the band-aid from its seal and carefully covered your wound.

His light touch and breathing fanned your sensitive skin—it was hot and a little ticklish, sending down tingles in between your legs. His eyes met yours and you held his gaze.

Both of you were panting.

Anticipating.

His stare didn’t leave you as he planted open-mouthed kiss on your thigh. You closed your eyes and breathed through your mouth. Your reaction signaling him that you wanted it too. He kissed even lower, leaving little marks on your thigh as he sucked on your flesh.

The moment he reached your knees, he parted them and got himself in between.

He leaned down and kissed you, tasting and sucking your lips. His hands skimming under your shirt, pulling it up off of you.

Damn!

He felt his cock harden at the contact of your erect nipple against his chest. Hungry for them, his lips traveled down your neck, your collarbone and stopped at one of your nipples. He sucked and twirled his tongue around it and you squirmed under his weight, a wanting moan went out of your lips.

As if sensing your need, he slipped a hand under your panties. The pad of his three fingers flat on your pussy, massaging it with the right kind of pressure. Hearing your heavy breathing was getting him more excited. Your arousal drenching his fingers, tempting him to slip one in.

“Mhmn!”

That just made him add another one in. His mouth transferred to your other nipple and your fingers all tangled in the strands of his hair. Your head felt light. His tongue on your breast and fingers inside your cunt were in the same tempo. Slow, sensuous and torturous. You wanted more and more of him.

You couldn't reason with yourself anymore, begging the man whom you had a totally professional relationship until now. “Please…” You whimpered.

Akaashi looked upon you. That helpless look on your face ain't helping at all, it made him want you even more. He really wanted to take this slow but you’re making it hard for him. You’re making him too hard.

Unlatching your breast, he captured your lips next, removing his fingers from your pussy. Your hips slightly buckled up, missing his touch.

Getting lost in his tender kisses, your wetness dripped out from your slit. He parted from you and you let out an involuntary moan of complain. That made made him smile sweetly at you.

Shit! Did that make you bite your lower lip. Everything this man did was be pretty and sexy as hell. He stood up and…

Wait- Was that it? You felt a pang of disappointment, until you yelped!

He pulled you at the edge of the bed by the waist. It was abrupt but still very gentle. Your legs were splayed down, while only your upper-body was lying on the mattress. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He said. You gave him a questioning look and he leaned forward to kiss your forehead, “Your wound.”

He took hold of your gaze. You got lost in them that you didn’t notice him sheath himself. He watched your eyes widen as he slid his cock inside you. Shit. He’s hot. He felt so hot. He draped your right leg up his shoulder. Reflexively, you wrapped your left leg around his waist.

You really thought he was gonna fuck you fast. The way he’s already throbbing inside you made you think so, but you were wrong.

Akaashi was sliding out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of his long cock just to slam hard and deep right back in. Your eyes almost closed each time he’s hitting it deep. It was relentless.

Thrust. He couldn't believe that he'd be having sex with the girl of his dreams tonight. But hell! Who gives a damn! Thrust. He'd been sticking by the rules all this time. Maybe, he should try to live for once and fuck! Thrust! You felt so good, he could have you 'til tomorrow. Yes, just for tonight, the only one he'd be reining in would be you.

“Ohhh, ahh…” You couldn’t even control the pace. His silent and gentle command showed on his knitted brows. His cheeks were flushed, jaw clenched as a light droplet of sweat crawled down the side of his face. Damn! He’s so goddamn sexy.

You bit your moans, looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. You watched as he fucked you slowly but hardly. His cock sliding in and out of you while his ass clenched every time he was slamming balls deep into your pussy. The impact everytime he rammed in was making your breasts bounce lasciviously.

Despite his slow tempo, he’s going in hard and heavy that his balls slapping onto your ass was audible in the entire room, drowning your pathetic moans. It felt so good. So good that you wanted more.

"Akaa...Akaa...mhmn~"

You’re always so close to coming with him penetrating so deep, but him sliding out so slowly was delaying your orgasm. You felt it. Growing and building hot inside you. Your pussy was throbbing so bad and you whimpered to him helplessly.

He knew he could still go for far long but seeing you plead for your release, he couldn’t help but satisfy your need.

“Come here.” Akaashi ordered in that gentle but commanding manner. He let go of your leg on his shoulder and you followed his order without any complain, lifting your body and lacing your fingers together at the back of his head. “Hold on tight.” He whispered as his strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place.

“Ah!” You gasped as he fucked you surprisingly fast this time with the same depth and impact. “Ahhh! Oh my god! Shit! Ahhh…”

He grunted through clenched teeth as he pounded you hard. Fuck! Fuck! Y/N fuck!

Three pumps and you leaned your head back, mouth open, orgasming like you never had before. The feeling of not being able to release for a prolonged time then letting it all out made you feel like you’ve seen heaven. It felt so amazing that you’re still trembling around him.

Akaashi kissed your forehead; with his cock still hard inside you, he lifted you up. You weakly hugged him tight in return.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He brought you to the bathroom and dipped your connected bodies in the jacuzzi. He unlatched from you, retrieving his cock. Him sliding out got you almost close to coming again, still feeling the pleasure in your pussy.

You looked in between you and watched as he removed the used condom. He didn’t cum! And he’s still erect and rock hard. How’s that-

His lips found yours again and you instinctively wound your arms around him.

“Do you have anywhere else to go to tomorrow?” He asked with a voice so sweet. The way he’s so gentle yet disciplined was crazy attractive.

“No, I have nowhere else to go.” You answered limply.

“We have all night then.” He lifted you up and seated you at the edge of the tub, so his face was just right in front of your pussy. “Feet up.”

And you lifted them on the tiles, opening wide for him. His index and middle fingers rubbed your pussy, making you moan, “Aka-“

He stopped, looked back to you and demanded, “Keiji.” He inserted his two fingers in. Your head lulled back, foolishly repeating his name over your head. You’re sure you’d be screaming it for the entire night. The moment his tongue finally touched your pussy, another wave of orgasm hit you. Right there, you knew you’d be extending your stay.

© sir-kuroo 2024 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

[sunahsvt]

—FLOWERS FOR YOU.

kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

+ angst and fluff, childhood friends to lovers (guess how it ends lmao)

other tags: just mentions of love making (idk im bad at these), small cases, not entirely canon

word count: 2.2k

note: came back from writing after a good 3 years. this is NOT proofread and was written within 6 hours so it's just word vomit TT

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS

you love receiving flowers.

at first, you thought it was a such a waste of money. this thought rooted from the fact that you're not from a wealthy family. you weren't poor either. middle class, they would say.

you just turned 8 years old when you realized money doesn't grow on trees. when your parents bought you cake, but when your classmates had their birthdays, they would throw princess parties— cake, flowers, toys, and all.

you didn't want to sound ungrateful, so with a smile, you blew the candles and thanked your parents as they hugged you. regardless, you were grateful with what they can give you.

kuroo was the first one to give you flowers— or should you say, a flower. it wasn't a bouquet, but it was, in fact, a flower.

you both just met at a playground. his family just moved in the neighbourhood yesterday, and thanks to the soft chatters of your mom's neighbour friends, you heard he's the same age as you. the shy person you were, you sneaked out of your house to play in hopes you'd meet him there. (you had no idea what he looked like or what his name was.)

you were on the swings. you've been waiting for a solid hour. at 4:30pm, your parents would have realized you weren't in your room. it was almost dark out and dinner would be ready.

at 4:50pm, you decided maybe he has no interest in playing at the park. you were about to get up when a boy with spikey black hair came running towards you. you took a few cautious steps back before he could reach you while you also noticed the rose in his hand.

"hi! im tetsurou!" he exclaimed, attempting to hide the rose behind him. he sure can't hide things, you thought.

"i just moved here," he swiveled his body just to point where his house was. "it's that one with the white roof!"

although you already knew which house he moved to, you were trying your best to look for it from where you stood. he was much taller than you for someone of the same age.

distracted, the rose that he tried his best to hide from you earlier was now right in front of your small face.

"a rose for you!" he said as he smiled so brightly you almost squinted. hesitant and confused, you took the rose from him anyway.

"y/n," you muttered.

"i saw a rose on the way here and thought maybe i could give it to someone," he explained. "you're the only one here so maybe it's destiny!"

a small smile formed on your lips, fidgeting the rose's torns. maybe it is destiny to wait for you for that long. you're careful not to prick yourself.

you played together for a while because at 5:00pm, the sun was already setting and you thought maybe receiving flowers wasn't so bad after all.

since then, you and tetsurou were inseperable.

tetsurou gave you another flower shortly after that. he had surprised you with a small makeshift bouquet with three roses wrapped in colored paper.

unlike last time with smiles and bright energy, he gave it to you in a sheepingly manner while muttering a "happy birthday". he added that he kept a silent promise to himself that'd he'd get you at least two flowers, better than last time.

you smiled, your smile reaching your eyes. he was so proud of himself from your reaction. you also noticed the torns were scrapped off. this made your heart swell even more with joy.

"where have you been getting these though?"

he scratched the back of his head, "you know that garden next to—"

"i knew it!" you laughed. you told him to stop stealing your poor neighbour's garden of roses before he gets caught. that lady had the nastiest attitude, you warned. all he did was pout.

a month later, tetsuro got caught stealing roses from your neighbour's garden, and he never attempted to steal the roses ever again. that lady has a nasty attitude, he went to you right after he was scolded by your parents. you shook your head, trying your best not to laugh and tell him "i told you so."

after that mishap, he decided he'd get creative instead. so the next time he gave you flowers, it was purely made out of colored paper. the kuroo tetsuro, at 9 years old, did arts and crafts all on his own and at his own will at that. it took him a whole month just to finish 12 paper flowers.

"why do you keep giving me flowers?"

"i like you, silly."

at 9 years old, you realized you loved receiving flowers.

if the paper flowers wasn't creative enough, tetsurou had given you flowers made out of all sorts of materials: crepe paper, post-it notes, clay, satin ribbons, pipe cleaners, papers from books (don't worry, not out of his text books), and so much more. all of them were so beautiful.

at 10 years old, he gave you a bouquet of flowers made out of crochet yarn. he even told you it took him months to learn how to crochet, master it, and finish the entire thing. little did he know, whenever you visit his house, you could see the crochet yarns, results of failed attempts of crochet flowers, and crochet tools hidden away in one of his cabinets left slightly ajar. he sure can't hide things, you chuckled to yourself.

flowers of all types made out of all kinds of materials were given to you, and all of them you happily received from tetsurou. until at 15 years old, when he had saved enough money for all the years he had given you diy flowers, he surprised you with a bouquet mixed of all types of real flowers after your first day of high school. this is why you can't seem to have a favourite flower, he noticed that too.

"you sure you don't have a favorite flower?" he asked again.

"i'm really coming out blank," you were carrying yet another bouquet of flowers and crochet coin purse he made, walking home together after his volleyball training. "i love all of them the same."

"how about me?" he teased.

you giggled, "but you already know that i love you!"

"we'll make it official someday," he promised.

you nodded, contented. i may not have a favourite flower, but "just because" flowers from you are always the best.

after the both of you turned 17, you two made your relationship official, deciding why wait when both of you were certain you have the rest of your lives to love each other plus bragging rights for that.

on his last year as nekoma's captain and middle blocker, you watched from the sidelines how nekoma lost against karasuno, concluding his last game in high school.

at 18, you gave him a bouquet of flowers of red roses wrapped in mixtures of black, red, and white cellophane. touched, he cried yet again in your arms. kenma and his other teammates watching the two of you from a far, smiling with tears in their eyes waiting to spill.

at 19, you both got accepted to your dream universities. you also got accepted at a cafe for a part time job, whereas tetsurou got accepted in his university's volleyball team. all is well.

on your 3rd anniversary, you both celebrated at an art cafe museum. he had given you a promise ring (soon to be engagement ring, he teased), a handwritten letter, and of course, a bouquet of flowers.

three down, a lifetime to go, part of the letter says. the whole night you both expressed just how in love you were with each other. you actually saw the shreds of the receipt of the ring he purchased under your shared bed. he still can't hide things, you chuckled.

at 21, when both of you graduated uni with flying colors and when he decided to go pro, things started to change.

when the flowers you would receive weren't personally given from tetsurou in the flesh, and instead, they were delivered at your office or at your shared home. when the "just because" flowers turned into "i"m sorry" flowers— "i'm sorry i was late last time" flowers, "i'm sorry i'm never home nowadays" flowers, "i'm sorry i can't update as much", "i'm sorry i can't make it" flowers.

it all became too much.

you were starring at the engagement ring on your finger— one of tetsurou's 5th anniversary surprise— when the doorbell rang. you dragged your feet to the front door, already know what to expect.

by the 10th flowers you received via delivery, you stopped counting. sometimes when tetsurou disappointed or upset you, he would either facetime you, give you flowers, or in rare times, he would be radio silent— not a single text or message or call. because how can he notice you were slowly fading away when he was so busy all the goddamn time?

this cycle repeated over and over again for 2 years. you can tell he tries so hard to keep communicating with you. he loves you that much.

it was 4:50pm, the sun was almost setting and you were in your car waiting for him at the airport. his team was miraculously given a month off to rest from the constant training and leagues. he kissed you as soon as he got inside, putting his things at the back seat. he handed you a single rose made out of paper which was colored with, as you can tell, a red marker.

this was the first time in 24 years that he gave you a lone flower instead of a bouquet.

"i bought you a lot of things! i remembered you mentioning them!" he beemed.

before you could say "you didn't have to" he pecked your lips, wiggling a finger at you. "i missed you. let me you love you just how i have been doing so for the past 24 years."

so for a month, he did. he made it up to you so well, showering you with kisses the moment you wake up and the moment you fall asleep, making love to you in every part of the house, telling you stories and becoming such a loser in love when he expresses how much he loves you all the while rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand, or you being wrapped up in his arms. not a single milimeter of space between the two of you. most of the time, he would do everything, from cooking to cleaning.

when you would eat out together, he would always give you the princess treatment. you barely lifted a finger during the whole month of his stay.

on his last day before he had to leave for overseas again, you wondered when will you ever get married.

and so when he made love to you that night, when he kissed you goodbye, when he texted again that they just landed, you had a sickening feeling in your gut.

for a few weeks, everything was fine until he gradually became radio silent again. this time, he rarely delivered flowers, or called, or texted. this time, he was mostly a ghost.

the first message from him and flowers via delivery was given to you a day late on your birthday, and that's where you decided you just can't do this anymore.

you prolonged it for weeks, even after he said he won't be having any oversea activities for a while. it just wasn't the same anymore. he was still never home.

"i love you," he said out of the blue, his eyes downcasted. all these years, he's still bad at hiding things from you.

"i love you, tetsurou," he turned his head to look at you, dreading what you would say next, "but i think we should break up."

he tried. you both tried, but it just didn't work anymore. maybe it was destiny to wait for you for so long— but that doesn't mean it works. for 24 years, you loved each other so much— but that doesn't mean it works.

after crying in each other's arms, he let you go.

you had the rest of your lives to love each other— but from afar.

a year and a half after the break up, you were sitting at a cafe, waiting for the blind date your friend at work set up for you. kenma was against the whole idea, but he realized you had the right to move on from kuroo. you and kuroo both did. the two of you were his best friends after all. it was just sad how he had to witness the both of you barely functioning after the break up, all the while doing his best not to talk to you or kuroo about each other.

so when a boy with dark brown hair went inside, quickly approaching you, you thought this was a bad idea.

"are you y/n?"

you nodded slowly, eyeing what he was holding. your heart was in your throat.

his eyes shone, handing you the bouquet— yellow daffodils and red roses.

at that moment you thought:

you hate receiving flowers.

general masterlist | haikyuu masterlist

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS. feedbacks, comments, and rbs are appreciated!

[astraystayyh]

An eye for an eye.

assassin!hyunjin x journalist!yn. slow burn. suggestive and angsty at times. she/her pronouns. 7.4k.

it is perhaps the most decisive night of your life. what are the odds that at the same time and place, it happens to be hyunjin’s too?

warnings: mention of alcohol, guns, bruises and injuries. brief talks of grief.

a.n: this is prompted by how hot villain hyunjin looks in the ate era 😭 it was supposed to be a drabble and i didn’t plan on it to be this long.. but i hope you’ll enjoy reading tehee it’s different from anything i’ve ever written so please feedback would be so appreciated,, muah muah 😘❣️

A ruby red lipstick. 

Your first childhood dream was to become a journalist, but not the complacent, obedient kind. You wanted to shed light on uncovered events, dig into the raw truth with your claws, and hold it up for the entire world to witness. You craved justice. You never believed in letting things flow their way, like a current that morphs into a torrent, destroying everything in its path.

No, you were a dam, forcing the water to change its trajectory. After all, you have always believed that all it took for change to happen was a trigger, a single flicker that would in turn burst into flames.

You wished to be it.

It was hard to grow into this specific kind of journalist, though. Not because you lacked drive, passion, or discipline. Especially not because you weren’t curious enough, brave enough. You were Seoul Press’s youngest and brightest reporter, after all.

But in a highly competitive field, you still needed your big story, your breakthrough which would put you on the radar of esteemed awards that all journalists venerate. Though you deemed it much easier to obtain a Pulitzer than to squelch your heart’s quest for truth, justice, and most importantly, in an unpredictable curb that life threw at you— revenge.

Your second childhood dream was to put on ruby red lipstick. Your thirteen-year-old self deemed it the ultimate show of power and confidence, each time you saw your aunt wearing one to her most important meetings. You dreamed of the day you could put it on as well, on your way to uncover the truth. 

And tonight, as you applied your ruby lipstick precisely, gliding the vibrant color across your lips, you felt nerves tighten like thorny vines in your stomach, puncturing your tender skin and leaving you a bloodied mess from within. 

Tonight, in your black gown and your ruby lipstick, in San Heo’s mansion, your country’s most prominent presidential candidate, and the man who ruined your life, it seemed like you were about to achieve both dreams at once.

… 

The clock hand points nine on Hyunjin’s Tank Louis Cartier watch. He throws a fleeting glance at the Victorian watch, before eyeing the people mingling at San Heo’s party. 

He knows all of the guests, memorized their faces and their habits. He knows the school where they drop off their kids and what bar they frequent every Sunday. He memorized their mannerisms and antics, knows what set them off and what did not.

This is the fruit of two years of work, after all.

He knows exactly why everyone is here, tonight particularly. Three politicians’ families and friends gathered as a show of power, to prove that they weren’t afraid of whoever’s been forcing politicians to come clean about their crimes for the past three months.

In the least glamorous manner, at that too, to put it delicately—ten bloodied tapes sent to the country’s most prominent media channels, where ministers and heads of multinationals are bound by ropes to a chair, recalling their most heinous crimes: money laundering and embezzlement for most, theft and murder for some.

The latter is Jung Cho’s case, San’s most successful competitor for the presidency, who has also mysteriously vanished from the police’s grasp since the release of his tape. No one can get a hold of poor Jung Cho anymore. 

Hyunjin smirks lightly to himself. His knuckles seem to have healed well since he last dislocated Jung Cho’s jaw. Well, that was before he shot him through the roof of his mouth.

The golden cuffs of Hyunjin’s Versace blazer reflect the light of the dangling crystal chandeliers, and he runs a weary hand through his black locks. He never chose to gel them back; he wasn’t one for structure, preferring the feeling of his silky strands brushing against his fingers. 

His eyes catch those of San’s across the room, who tips his glass of whiskey towards Hyunjin—a job well done, he reads in San’s stare. Hyunjin raises his red wine back, before settling it across the table once more.

It is a boring half an hour that awaits Hyunjin.

That is until he sees you.

You weren’t here two minutes ago, Hyunjin is sure of this. And, judging by the way you are leisurely sipping your sparkling water, your eyes gliding across the room in search of someone in particular, you had just stepped foot into the party.

Fashionably late, if he were to add.

But that is none of Hyunjin’s concern. What intrigues him the most is that your face isn’t familiar to him. That isn’t normal.

You weren’t supposed to be here, then.

Who are you?

As if hearing his question, your gaze locks onto his. He cocks an eyebrow at you; you mirror the gesture like clockwork.

Thus ensues an intense game of eye contact. You don’t break away from his gaze until two minutes later, a light scoff escaping your lips that he can discern even from afar. You then turn to look at San, your eyes morphing into something fiercer, more determined— a sniper finally locking eyes on its target.

Hyunjin feels a slight headache growing at the base of his temple. He downs his drink, before taking long strides towards you.

It’s official, you’re going to be his nuisance for the night.

27 minutes.

“Care to dance?” Hyunjin inquires as he materializes before you, a hand extended towards your body.

“Pardon?”

“A dance? To the lovely music we are hearing right now?” 

“I know what you mean,” you roll your eyes, leaning your body against the chair right next to you. Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over your legs peeking through the high slit of your dress. Had it been another setting, the sight of your black sheer tights would have made this night turn much differently.

Your voice dispels his thoughts like morning fog. “I mean why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“How flattering,” you grin sarcastically and Hyunjin feels the smallest urge to return your smile, although he knows it isn’t genuine.

“I know. Shall we?”

Your gaze flees to San once again, seemingly debating something in your head before finally sighing.

In the few seconds of scrutiny you consecrate to his boss, Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on your bright red lipstick, and the way you tuck your lip slightly into your mouth as you ponder.

A beautiful nuisance, he corrects himself.

“Fine,” You place your manicured hand in his in response.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he settles one hand atop your waist. The fabric of your black dress is too thin, he can feel the heat emanating from your body seeping through his palm.

Focus. You need to discover who she is.

“Julia,” your hand settles atop his shoulder, while the other entwines with his. “And you?”

“Sam. What are you doing here?” he quickly inquires.

You shake your head slightly, gliding your hand from the base of his neck to the end of his shoulder.

“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”

Hyunjin tilts his head curiously at you, before smirking slightly— “Yes ma’am.”

“What do you work for?”

“I’m Mr. Heo’s political adviser.”

“You’re quite young, though,” you note.

“I know.”

“And I don’t see you by his side a lot.”

“I work in the background, mostly. I don’t do well with the cameras.” He spins you around, picking up speed as the orchestra picks up the violin. “How do you know Mr. Heo?”

“I’m Kang’s niece, you know, Mr. Heo’s economic adviser? Uncle Kang is ill, and my father is out of the country so both of them chose not to come.”

Hyunjin’s memory faintly brushes off Kang’s single niece, completing her architectural studies in Paris’ Sorbonne. 

“C’est beau à Paris?” Is it beautiful in Paris?

You don’t even blink— “Même magnifique, tu devrais visiter.” Marvelous even, you should visit. 

Checks out.

“I’ll hold you on to that offer,” he says, before spinning you around, your chest settling across his back. Hyunjin ignores how his heart skips a singular beat at your proximity.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. He watches as your chest rises once before your airy voice floods his ear.

“Networking, though you didn’t quite allow me to speak to anyone but you,” you tease slightly.

“I fail to see what an architect has to do with politicians,” he muses, as he sways you gently from left to right.

“I want to oversee the building of Jamsil Sports Complex.”

“So you’re using your father for work connections?” he taunts and you swivel around, placing both your hands on his shoulders before interlinking your fingers behind his neck, caging him within the notes of your perfume.

“Is it a crime?” your voice is airy, too airy, everything you say sounds rehearsed, you don’t seem intimidated by him, by this setting, as opposed to how a newly graduated student, one who grew up away from her father’s world should.

“Depends on your definition,” he counters.

“Do you regard it as such?”

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers all over yours. He senses something urgent in your gaze, as if you are pushing for more, beyond what this simple question entails.

When he remains quiet for a tad too long, you let your hands drop by your body, taking a step away from him.

“I need to go,” you say. He grabs your wrist instantly. “Where to?”

“Bathroom.” And with that, you quickly turn around and walk away, leaving behind notes of your floral perfume and ghosts of your ruby lips.

Hyunjin steals a glance at his clock. 09:13 p.m.

He drags a hand across his forehead wearily. He won’t let you ruin this night.

17 minutes. 

You are washing your hands obsessively in the bathroom, lost in thought as you gaze at your reflection, all blurry from your unfocused eyes. You only turn off the water once your skin starts to sting from the force of your touch. 

The orange-scented soap doesn’t seem to get rid of the stench of blood. 

A week ago. 

“I don't understand your obsession with Mr. Heo,” Christopher Bang calmly removed his glasses, placing them next to the shiny placate reading ‘Editor in Chief of Seoul Press’.

“He is corrupt.”

“As all politicians are,” he spoke matter of factly, and it angered you how unfazed he seemed before your, you admit, far-fetched request. 

“You don’t understand, sir. He’s different.”

“Did he do something to you?” Chris asked, leaning back against his chair. You felt exposed all of a sudden, like a flower left bare without its stem. 

“Would my answer change anything?” You inquired tentatively. 

“It would explain many things, yes actually,” he got up from his chair, before sitting on the one right across from you. “You are a talented journalist, Yn.”

“Thank you—“

“But you are utilizing the company’s resources to conduct your personal investigation on San Heo.” 

He knew. 

“You’ve been working on his case from the day you joined our media. Which was exactly 389 days ago. I know that you’ve managed to uncover quite some dirt, one that would make an explosive case if you get more information. That’s why I turned a blind eye to everything you did because I trust your skills and integrity.” 

You remained silent.

“But now, you’re asking me to completely disregard my deontology by finding a way for you to break into Mr. Heo’s mansion. That is a crime.”

“Not break in. I want an invite to his party, it is the first time he organized one in his home, probably the last time, it is my only chance to—”

“Details,” he waves a hand disinterestedly in the air, cutting you off. “Your intentions aren’t to mingle with politicians, it is to dig in his office and find something of substance. While I admire the lengths of what you want to go through, I must stop you here.” He leveled his eyes with yours. “This can land you in jail, he is the most important man in our country right now.”

“What if I tell you he did something to me, that he ruined my life? Would you help me then?” your voice was hoarse, tears pricked your eyes as you tried your best not to avert your gaze. You hated displays of weakness, despised them even more in professional settings. 

“What did he do?” 

You bristled at the question, ugly memories flashing before your eyes like a blinding light, your body begging you to flee away from this question and the heavy response it entailed.

Still, you spoke. 

Christopher remained silent as you recalled what happened on your doomsday, the night in which your world ceased to spin, and simultaneously, the reason why you joined his company, to begin with. When your sniffles subsided a few minutes later, he gently handed you a napkin, a silent invitation to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his weary face before finally speaking. 

“I’ll give you the invite tomorrow. Say that you are Kang’s niece, her name is Julia. She went to Paris for architectural studies, and that you are back for a vacation. Kang is ill these days, he won’t attend the party, and his brother is out of the country, no one will question you.”

“How do you know this?” 

“Because I know them,” he toyed with his lower lip lightly before a tiny smile drew upon it. “An eye for an eye, right? I’m Kang’s cousin. I changed my last name because I didn’t wish to deal with them anymore.” 

“So Bhang isn’t your real last name?”

“No.” He ran his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly debating adding something. “San’s office is on the far end of the third floor.” 

You heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

13 minutes. 

It was one thing to stare at photographs of San seared behind your reddened eyelids or to stand at the far end of his press conferences. It was another to step foot into his mansion, to stand amidst powerful people who are capable of ruining your life had they known of your motives. 

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your personal feelings. Fear, nerves, all of those feeble emotions pale before the chance you have today. So, you nod at your reflection in the mirror, count to three in your head, and finally head out of the bathroom. 

“Five minutes, were you crying?” Sam’s bored voice startles you as soon as you set foot outside. He’s leaning on the wall across from the door, hands deep into the pockets of his suit.

Not again. 

“I know that I’m very pretty but don’t you have better things to do than to follow me?” you ask, pausing right in front of him. 

“I’m not following you, I just happen to be particularly fond of the architecture of this corridor,” he jokes and you ignore his words, walking past him with a renowned determination. He pushes himself off the wall, only to grasp your wrist once again, spinning you around until you’re facing him. 

He chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. His icy blue contacts pierce through your skin like a puncture needle.  “You know, I’m curious, Julia. You seemed very eager to get away from me.”

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. “Have you considered that I found your company utterly boring?”

“You wound me,” he places a hand on his heart, any trace of humor absent from his voice. His grip tightens on your wrist for a millisecond. A warning. “I need you to leave.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“And why should I listen to you?” you challenge and his eyes darken further. 

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then let me go,” you mutter, slipping your hand away from his grasp. 

“Julia,” he says sternly, pulling you back till your back is against the wall, his hands rooted on either side of your body. 

It is a dimly lit hallway, and the sound of the orchestra barely reaches you. Your worry intermingles with a new kind of nerves, all orchestrated by his proximity, and the way his gaze brushes against your body like a skilled painter. 

“I’m not joking, leave.” His voice is much softer when he adds, “It’s for your own good. What will happen later doesn’t concern you.”

He knows something that you don’t know, something that, from his tone, none of the guests are aware of. You see something human in his eyes, in the slight crease doting his eyebrows. He seems genuinely worried for the innocent civilian he thinks you are. 

Your eyes turn to look at his hand near your head, only to notice his faintly bruised knuckles, shades of purple and green doting a delicate porcelain skin. They have healed well, then. 

Should you unearth the memory from two weeks ago— pleas for mercy, a deafening gunshot, and an excruciating silence afterward, the quiet after the murder that you remember most? 

Then, another scene rings in your head like bells of an ancient church— a bruised hand brushing against your own in an art gallery from two days ago, raven locks, and familiar, melancholy-tinted eyes. 

Could it be? 

Your voice turns sweet, tender, “should I trust you for the night?” your thumb brushes against the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the concealer you knew you spotted.

There it is, the eye mole you thought he covered. 

It clicks in your mind in an instant, pieces of a puzzle falling into place, there are still a few missing but you manage to grasp the bigger picture.

If he’s not letting you go then he could be of good use. 

What other choice do you have but to gamble with a killer? 

Your sharp nails drag across the nape of his neck, before settling right beneath his jaw. You mimic a gun, his eyes narrow in response.

“Is this how you killed Jung Cho, Hyunjin?” 

You feel a cold barrel instantly press against your stomach. “Police officer?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Journalist ?”

“Yes,” you slowly mutter.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t wish to tell you.” The gun only presses further onto your skin. You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your exposed spine. 

Breathe. 

“It’s Yn.”

“What do you know?”

“It’d be easier for me to talk if you removed the gun,” you smile lightly and Hyunjin only leans further, a distance as thin as a blade between you both.

“Speak.”

“You killed the only candidate that stood a chance in front of San. You drove him to the empty deposit near Inwangsan Mountain, tortured him for three days, filmed his confessions, and then sent them to many media outlets. Ours included. I know it because I followed you.” 

“Why did you follow me?” he questions. Your eyes flee to the end of the corridor where an impossible staircase sits. You are wasting your time. 

“Because I am investigating San. And through following him I ended up getting to know you. You are different from everyone he meets. Very secretive. So I figured it’d be worth a shot following you too,” you explain as calmly as you can. You’re sure the barrel of the gun will leave a bruise on your skin. 

“And why didn’t you write a piece about me? Everyone is dying to know who I am.”

“I have, I just haven’t released it. If I don’t come back home in an hour my head chef will post the video of you murdering Mr. Cho on every SNS. The public loves you for what you’re doing. But the politicians will come together to kill you. They have a price on your head. You are threatening everything they ever built.” 

Hyunjin drags his gun up your stomach slowly, trails it across your collarbones before it settles on your jaw. 

“I could kill you too, right now.” His tone is cold, evil. Very different from the man who asked you to dance. You know that I can.” 

“My death would only sign yours.”

Hyunjin’s forehead rests on the wall right next to your head. You can hear him inhale deeply, hear the gears turning in his head. “Fuck, you are driving me crazy.”

He drops the gun and takes a step back. “Why didn’t you expose me?”

“You are not the one that matters to me.” 

“What do you want from me then?” 

“Three minutes. Open San’s office, and then I’ll go. No one will ever know of your identity.” 

He remains silent. 

“Hyunjin, please.” 

“Fuck, fine. But whatever happens next you’ll have to trust me, okay?” his hands settle on your shoulder, his eyes leveling with yours, “if you’re not leaving then you’ll have to trust me enough, for tonight.” 

8 minutes. 

“After you,” Hyunjin bows slightly as he opens the door to Heo’s office. You step in first, and he steals a quick glance behind him—no one’s here, for now.

“That saved me the hassle of breaking the door.”

“You know how to do that?” he asks, slightly impressed.

“One of my hobbies,” you shrug before walking directly to the desk. Hyunjin leans against the wall, watching as you lift your dress slightly, revealing a small packet tucked into your garter. The sight drives Hyunjin a little crazy, and he closes his eyes for a second.

He really, really wishes he hadn’t met you here tonight.

You take out a listening device, tapping the bottom of the desk until you find a suitable spot, and then you stick it in place.

“Another one of your hobbies?” he smirks.

You giggle. “Mm, aren’t I the most fun?”

“You are,” his eyes drag across your figure, and he notices a slight falter in your posture, “the most beautiful too.”

You blink, and he’s suddenly in front of you, trapping you between the auburn desk and his toned body. You don’t seem intimidated, placing a palm on his chest as you tilt your head to the side. 

“Aren’t you curious why I’m going after San?”

“No, he angers a lot of people.” His thumb caresses your cheek, a touch so soft in contrast to his next words. “A lot of people fantasize about his death.”

“Are you one of them?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Right now, all I’m fantasizing about is you.” His voice is husky, and he finds it comes out much easier when he actually likes the person he’s attempting to seduce. 

It takes you a few seconds to speak again. “Is that so?”

“Mm, let’s dance.”

“Didn’t we dance downstairs?”

“That was Sam and Julia dancing,” he says as he entwines his fingers with yours. “You see, Hyunjin is a different kind of dancer.” His hand presses against your back, snaking against your bare skin. “Can I pull you closer?” he asks, and you simply nod, eyes fleeting widely all over his face. 

His chest presses to yours, so close he’s sure your hearts are syncing with one another, his inhales alternating with your exhales. 

“Yn,” he whispers your name, as you look up at him through the curve of your eyelashes.  

“Yes, Hyunjin?” His name sounds soft as it stumbles from your ruby lips, innocent from all the blood that drenches his soul.

“I like the way you say my name.” He glances at his watch above your head. 9:57.

“Hyunjin,” you repeat, as your hand drags up his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gently dragging it backward, exposing his enticing neck to you. “You are always looking at your watch, what are you waiting for?”

He chuckles faintly, grabbing both your hands and spinning you around till his chin rests on the small of your shoulder. “You’re perceptive,” he mutters, as his fingers drag down your bare arms. “But so am I,” he says coldly as he grabs both your hands, bringing them behind your back. “Look, your hands are shaking just from my proximity. I don’t think you have it in you to film me killing Jung Cho. I don’t think you have it in you to watch me torture someone for three days.”

Click. Cold metal wraps around your wrist in an instant, handcuffing you to the leg of the table before which you’re standing. 

“I think you lied to me, Yn. I don’t like being lied to.”

“What are you doing?” you ask disoriented, panic spilling from your being like an overflowing cup.

Hyunjin pays you no mind, taking out his phone and dialing a number. “Boss, we have a problem. I caught a journalist trying to get into your room,” he taps his chin slowly as he looks at you. “No, no need for security. Just come alone. Don’t alarm the guests.”

2 minutes

“Are you serious?” you ask as soon as he hangs up, a prominent lump in your throat. “You told me to trust you.”

“Did I say I was worth that trust?” he pouts, seemingly mocking the vulnerable ordeal you found yourself in. 

A loud chuckle escapes your lips, your head thrown back as if before a hilarious spectacle of sorts. Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest as your giggles slowly quiet down. 

“You’re a peculiar person, aren’t you Hyunjin? You need to hide your identity but you crave normalcy still, so you open your art gallery. You go to crazy lengths to cover your moles and wear contacts because you wish for people to look at you with admiration in their eyes, kindness. But you don’t deserve it.” There is a fire lit in your eyes, flames latching into his black suit and burning his already scarred skin. “You’ll always be as evil as them.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t respond for a while, his eyes simply softening at your words.

“I know,” he whispers. 

“Who’s this?” San’s voice booms loudly as he sets foot into the office. Hyunjin’s eyes break apart from your figure to look at San, bowing slightly to greet him. 

“Julia, she infiltrated the party,” Hyunjin explains, stealthily locking the door behind San. “She’s been investigating you for quite some time now. And… She knows about the murders.”

“Mm, she’s clever. Should we hire her?” San jokes and Hyunjin smiles politely, dragging his eyes over your face. You simply roll your eyes, seemingly more bored than scared. 

Cute. 

“Anyways,” Heo stares at you for a fleeting second before tapping Hyunjin’s shoulder. “She looks easy to kill. Just get rid of her. But don’t stain my carpet though, it's expensive.”

“Sure thing,” Hyunjin nods, taking out his gun and pointing it at your temple. He steals a final look at his watch— 9:30 p.m. he reads. 

Time’s up. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you go?” Hyunjin mocks, cocking his head at you. In a split second, a bullet ricochets loudly, but not at you. It grazes San’s ear, making him pause near the door, his back towards you both. 

“Right boss?” Hyunjin’s tone is slightly whiny, annoying is the best way to describe it. You can hear police sirens blare loudly outside, see the red and blue hues reflect off the window. Loud shouts erupt downstairs, Hyunjin leisurely reloads his gun, one hand deep into his pocket, San’s posture slightly falters, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm. 

“Do you hear that Heo? Your mansion is surrounded. All your filthy dirt is exposed. The police officers are arresting everyone downstairs right now. And they’re coming for you. The man of the hour.” Hyunjin makes a show of curtsying deeply. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics.

“You dare turn your back on me?” San yells, pivoting around to face Hyunjin’s barrel, the latter simply yawns as if it’s a regular Saturday activity for him. 

“Oh, don’t get emotional on me,” Hyunjin pouts, before his eyes narrow down coldly. “Now kneel. Let’s end this without staining your carpet.”

You see San slowly lowering himself to the ground, Hyunjin’s gaze sets on you for a millisecond, his pupils dilated in apology, in concern, you don’t know, you don't get to decipher his look because San is taking out his gun from his back pocket, aiming it at Hyunjin. “Watch out”— is all you manage to shout, and hyunjin ducks in an instant, propelled by the sound of your voice to the ground.

He could have died, he could have died because he looked at you. 

It all happens so fast, Hyunjin diving into San to take away his gun, both their weapons flinging into the air, San punching Hyunjin’s mouth and the latter retaliating by flinging his fist up against his nose. You’re struggling with your restraints, trying to reach out for the lone gun that fell to your right. 

A bit more, tune out the sirens, tune out the punches, slowly, only a few centimeters left, your wrist is on fire but that is the least of your concern, almost, there, you grab it.

You fire the gun.

It’s quiet once again, for the first time in two years, it is quiet in your head.

It’s over. 

You close your eyes, tilting your head back into the desk. The sound of your mother’s laughter floods your ears, her airy giggles as she brushes your hair and tucks you into her chest, her being a vision of beauty underneath the sun’s caress. 

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin kneels before you, wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks with his bruised knuckles. He is worried, even behind those icy blue contacts, you can still grasp his worry.

You nod, swallowing the sob that is lodged within your throat. Hyunjin is quick to unlock your handcuffs, entwining your fingers with his as he pulls you off the ground. 

You slightly push him aside, your eyes set on San’s bleeding figure. He’s still alive, rugged breaths escaping his chest, his palm pressed to the bullet that punctuated his stomach. 

“I want him dead,” you mutter, grabbing Hyunjin’s forearm to support yourself, “but I want him to rot in prison too.” 

“He will, for all his crimes. I have it all documented. The police have it too,” his palm rubs soothingly against your back, you lean further into his touch.

“He’s a monster.” 

“I know. They all are. That’s why I killed them,” he simply says, before guiding you back to a couch on the right of the office. He shrugs off his suit, draping it over your trembling shoulders. 

“Give me a minute.”

You watch as he grabs the gun you fired off of the ground, before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes your fingerprints, making sure to leave his all over the gun. He then walks to the table, taking away your listening device and crushing it to the ground.

He’s calm and collected as he rearranges the scene to his liking, it looks like he has done this a million times before, as if this is the element in which he thrives— a sunflower turning to face the sun, at long last. 

He kneels before your freezing figure one last time, tilting your chin to the side so you’d look at him.

“I fired the gun. You had no idea any of this would happen, you’re just an ambitious journalist who wanted an insider scoop.” He senses you’re somewhere far, pulled by the ropes of memories that had long haunted your dreams. His warm palm presses to your cold cheek, your eyes are glossy as they rest on him. 

“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who used you as a scapegoat to bring San up here, just like I agreed with the police. Alright? You did nothing.You know nothing.” 

“Alright.”

Hours pass in a cold blur, the weight of time lost on you as three police officers take turns questioning you. You repeat the lines Hyunjin taught you, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. Even as you step out of the police station, with Hyunjin's hand resting gently on your back, you feel nothing. A slight tremor runs through you when he mentions that San survived and will be transferred to prison once he's healed.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed you didn’t become a killer.

You don’t know anything, don’t feel anything as Hyunjin drives you home. You don’t question how he knows your address or the code to your elevator. It’s only when you unlock your door and he starts to pull away that reality snaps back.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist, suddenly aware of the loneliness that awaits you inside, an uninvited guest preying on your vulnerable heart.

“Would you like some tea?” you ask, your voice tinged with hopelessness, knowing just how silly you sound. Why would he stay? He has so many loose ends to thread after his finishing blow, you know he’s part of something far larger than you. 

As if mocking your question, his phone buzzes for the tenth time in the span of five minutes.

But then, to your surprise, he turns it off.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I’d like some tea.”

As you bring the water to a boil, Hyunjin rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, casually wandering around your apartment as if it’s not his first time setting foot in here. He’s always at ease— with a gun pointed at him or while looking at the souvenir magnets on your fridge. 

His calmness helps instill some peace in your heart too. 

“I like your apartment,” he says, accepting the cup of chamomile you hand him. “It’s cozy, feels like a home.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you sink into the couch, your head hung low. So much has happened in just half an hour, too much for you to fully comprehend and process.

“Let me see,” he says a few sips later, as he gently removes the cup from your clutch, before sliding his thumb across your right wrist. The bruises have already begun to form, the red marks from the handcuffs clear evidence of your struggle to reach the gun.

“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” he murmurs, frowning as he avoids your gaze, staring intently at your wrist as if he could will the blue hues away. “I didn’t plan for you to be at the party.”

“I involved myself,” you chuckle softly. You’re not one for physical touch, but you don’t feel the usual urge to pull away from his grasp. His hands are warm, the roughness of his fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.

“You’re a stubborn journalist,” he says with a small smile, finally meeting your gaze. you suddenly yearn to look into the rich brown of his eyes once more. Was its shade as deep as you remember?

“And you’re an excellent painter,” you retort, eliciting a surprised laugh from him. The sound is unexpectedly endearing, and you’re caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is this really the same man you saw taking a life? The same man now holding your wrist as if it were made of porcelain?

“Right, you figured out my identity. What gave me away?” he asks, still smiling.

“I heard about this new gallery where the artist’s only clue to his identity was the name signed on his paintings. So, I decided to see for myself. While everyone else was captivated by the artwork, I noticed you, standing in the corner, observing the reactions of everyone around. You smiled when someone smiled, and your grin grew wider with each compliment. That’s when I started to suspect that the artist was you, all along.”

“I remember it now. I bumped into you as you were leaving,” he says, and you nod.

“What stood out to me were your sad eyes. That’s what I remember most. Well, besides your bruised knuckles.”

“And that’s how you connected the dots.”

“Yes, and your eye mole, too. Even though you tried to conceal it with makeup, it still showed.”

“Very perceptive,” he says with a grin.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll expose your identity?” you ask, as his hand gently slides into yours, his fingers resting lightly on top of yours. A simple, innocent touch, yet it stirs something unknown in the pits of your stomach. 

“I trusted you when you said I’m not the one who matters to you.”

“Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss putting my faith in someone, even if they end up failing me. Isn’t that the most human trait of all?”

How could an assassin create such heartfelt paintings, overflowing with emotions too hard to explain with words, let alone colors? Perhaps because this isn’t the life he always wanted.

“Did you choose this?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the interrogation, or the near brush with death, or perhaps the relief that this chapter is finally closing for both of you. But something compels you to keep talking, to ask, to hold on to Hyunjin just a little longer.

“Being a killer, you mean?” His voice carries a tenderness that seems at odds with the weight of his words. He’s a walking contradiction, balancing two identities within himself—Hyunjin and Sam. One feels heavier on his bones than the other. 

“I grew up in this world,” he continues. “My parents run a large network of assassins—or vigilantes, depending on how you see it. Some people hire us, and sometimes we act on our own when we see injustice or corruption festering for too long. We conduct thorough background checks. We only kill those who truly deserve it. We always make sure of that.”

“An eye for an eye.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I always feel good in the midst of a case. One less evil in the world. But after, there’s just this emptiness. Now what? I always wonder. So I try to fill the void with painting.”

“Now what…” you repeat, your voice trembling as a lump forms in your throat. “Now what? What should I do now?” Tears well up and spill over suddenly, streaming down your face in an unstoppable torrent. “San is behind bars, but my mom isn’t coming back. So what now? What was all of this for if I can’t get her back?”

You find yourself burying your head in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as if he could contain your sadness, preventing it from seeping from your soul and reaching your mother, wherever she may be.

You haven’t allowed anyone to hold you like this in two years, denying yourself any comfort until you could bring your mother’s killer to justice. It was a promise you made to yourself after San drunkenly ran her over and fled the scene, leaving you alone to hug her cold body in that sterile hospital room.

“It drove me crazy,” you sob, your words broken and incoherent. “He bribed everyone—the doctors, the paramedics, the stores nearby. Everyone acted like my mom didn’t d-die because of h-him,” you hiccup, and Hyunjin only holds you tighter, closer, enough to stitch your wounds with time, only if he remains this close to you. If he wishes to, if you allow him to.

“But now he’s behind bars, and I still don’t have my mom. What do I do now that I can’t bury myself in revenge? Hyunjin, what should I do when I miss her so much and I can’t see her?”

Five hours later.

“The article is perfect, no corrections needed,” Chris says, removing his glasses and looking at you with approval. “Excellent work, Yn.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief, but mostly exhaustion. “I stayed up all night working on it.” 

“Goid, it’s only 6 a.m. so we know that no other media outlet has touched this yet. Our article will be the one to shape public opinion. This is a big win for us. It’s a thorough investigation, and I’m confident you’ll get the recognition you deserve,” he writes something down onto his notebook before looking at you once more. “Take a few days off—you’ve earned it. I’ll reach out if anything urgent comes up.”

“Thank you, sir.” You bow slightly before turning to leave the suffocating office. Or maybe it’s your own mind that’s suffocating you. You don’t have time to dwell on the question before Chris speaks again. 

“Oh, Yn?” Chris calls out just as your hand touches the doorknob. “One last thing, did you ever figure out who was behind all those tapes?”

Your grip on the doorknob tightens imperceptibly. “No sir, no clue.” 

One month later. 

It’s a few minutes before the art gallery closes when you walk in. Hyunjin spots you before you see him, your distinctive walk etched in his memory as vividly as if it were only yesterday that he had seen it.

He approaches quietly, stopping behind you as you gaze at the newest addition to his collection.

“Is this us?” you ask, not turning around. Hyunjin’s eyes follow yours to the abstract painting of a couple waltzing in a ballroom, their hands intertwined just like yours were, four Saturdays ago.

“Yes,” he replies softly.

“It seems I left an everlasting impression on you,” you tease, he can hear the smile in your voice without seeing it. 

“You did. You looked beautiful.”

“So did you.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says sincerely. “I missed you.”

“But we only spent a day together,” you giggle quietly, and Hyunjin wishes he could capture your laugh and tuck it away in the veins of his heart.

“Didn’t that day feel like a year, though?” he muses, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. You lean back into him, closing the space between you.

“It did,” you admit before nervously clearing your throat. “Are you free right now? We could grab a drink, if you’d like?”

“Chamomile tea?” he chuckles, and your laughter vibrates through his being.

“No, something stronger this time.”

He hums, hesitating as he despises the words that would stumble out of his mouth. “I have some things to handle tonight. Urgent matters.”

“Ah,” your voice dips slightly, the disappointment clear in your tone. “Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you another time, then,” you say, finally turning to face him. 

He really missed you. 

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Okay.”

“Congratulations on your award, by the way,” he says, watching your expression soften, a delicate smile forming on your lips.

“You saw it?”

“I did. I read your piece, too. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”

Tears of gratitude well up in your eyes, and you squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you whisper, “Thank you. Really. Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s words linger in your soul, echoing through your mind for the rest of your day, his voice the only sound that seems to fill the silence within you. That is until three loud knocks resonate through your apartment, just minutes before midnight. 

You open the door to find Hyunjin standing there, a fresh bruise marring his jaw, his knuckles freshly scraped and bloodied.

“Let me guess, you had nowhere else to go?” you joke, trying to regain your composure at the sight of him once more.

“No,” he replies, his tone earnest, “I wanted to come to you.”

Your smile falters at the sincerity in his voice. You can’t quite place what it is about Hyunjin that pulls you toward him, how amidst everything that’s happened in the past month, the most vivid memory is how he held you gently as you cried and cried.

“I forgot something,” he says, pulling a tube of cooling cream from his back pocket and offering it to you. “I meant to give this to you for your bruised wrists.”

He’s a month late, you both know your wrists have long since healed.

“I… yeah,” he sighs before your silence, turning to leave, a light blush tinting his cheeks. But before he can, you drop the tube and grab his hand, spinning him back around.

“I forgot something too,” you say quickly before pressing your lips against his.

You don’t fully understand what draws you to Hyunjin, but you know his lips taste as sweet as cherry chapstick, that his hand around your waist feels like water flowing gently over your skin, warm and encompassing. That his brown eyes remind you of sunlight dancing on autumn leaves, that no one has touched your soul as deeply as he has.

You know you wish to make him feel as human as he makes you.

[thinkinonsense]

Logan thought of the day from a fan!::

Old man Logan being all domestic with someone around his age. I don’t think a lot of people think about the concept but I genuinely enjoy the thought of Logan having a wife he’s desperately in love with. Been married to for years on end 😭😭 him calling her sweet nicknames, combing her hair or buying her things he knows she loves.

(NSFW thoughts just for the hell of it: him still being an amazing lover in bed. Like sure the man isn’t as fast or agile as he used to be, but he can still absolutely ruin your shit. Pouring all of his love into you in the absolutely most animalistic manner possible before collapsing cause his back hurt like a mf)

You don’t have to write anything you’re uncomfortable with but those were just my thoughts! Love your blog, take care 🙂‍↕️💚

aw! this is such a cute concept! i'm currently working on a series rn but i wanna write a full blurb about this in the future<3

old man!logan with a mature!reader

over the years, you and logan have definitely been through some shit. full on yelling matches, jealousy, near death experiences, all of it. no matter what, he always comes back to you with those water colored eyes that you adored so much.

idk why but i think logan would enjoy the simplicity of doing things like laundry, cooking, and dishes together. he always says he wants to help you but somehow his hands sneak up your sweater and his lips always end up on your neck.

late at night, logan will pull you on top of his chest and play with your hair until you fall asleep. during the day, he will put your hair up for you or style it in a simple brain if you need his help.

old man logan loooovvveeesss passionate kisses. you're always running late to work in the morning because logan can't simply give you a quick peck on the lips.

when you two finally have the 'kids' conversation, something snaps in logan. he's constantly hard just even thinking about getting you pregnant.

logan definitely wants a little girl for many reasons but especially because he's worried that if he had a son, he would only inherit the worst of logan's traits.

the two of you never had an actual wedding and nothings official but logan gave you a ring that you never part with. neither of you need a piece of paper to prove your love to each other.

old man logan can still put it DOWN in the bedroom. it's not as rough or fast as it used to be but he still leaves you whimpering and seeing stars.

he thrives off of taking this slow. logan loves making your legs shake and building up your high.

he wears his wedding band on the same chain as his dog tags because he's afraid of it busting due to his claws.

you love putting on an old record late at night while he smokes and you lay in his lap, reading a book. just enjoying each others company.

you are the only person that gets to see logan in his most vulnerable state. he lets you wrap up his scars, clean his claws, kiss the tender and bloody flesh.

logan always promises that he's done fighting but you know the truth.

he's a sweet talker when your irritated at him.

one time you joke about getting old, something about wrinkles or not looking as pretty as when the two of you first met. logan doesn't let it slide. he spends all night long assuring you that you are still as beautiful as the day he first saw you.

[merakiui]

[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar. 

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic. 

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs. 

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence. 

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle. 

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.” 

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie. 

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

[aweina]

ᰔ. wrong package : mike schmidt — suggestive warning !! + ft. secondhand embarrassment.

next door neighbor mike who randomly appears in front of your doorstep, an unusual flushed look in his tired features. neither of you have been formally acquainted, if you don’t count the forced awkward exchanges when getting the mail outside.

although, mike was good looking despite his unkempt demeanor — the remnant memories of his stiff politeness and husk voice had you fawning over him for as long as you were made aware of his presence. but it seems like he’d rather get to work or rest at home than getting to know any of his neighbors.

but now, he stands in front of you shifting one foot over the other — his wavering eyes settling onto the torn box in his grasp rather than your face. there was a bob to his throat, swallowing down on his thickening saliva in anticipation.

“uh sorry to bother you, but i’ve actually gotten your package on accident and ummm … i opened it.” his fumbling words shot through his lips like he’s in a rush, but you still manage to make his statement coherent.

he directs your curious eyes over the beaten package and immediately, your polite smile turned into a silent scream. the rabbit vibrator that you ordered online was hastily covered in some old newspaper — what mike probably did beforehand out respect of your already invaded privacy. the hot pink color and obnoxious packaging taunting you. your name was bold and printed on the delivery sticker, sparing you no excuses for your erotic purchase.

your dilated pupils and now flushed complexion made mike feel apologetic, yet somewhat amused. his encounters with you were a rarity, but he made sure to remember those moments. like when you would focus on reading the mail beside the shared mailbox, the way your face looked so cute carefully squinting and mumbling each word. or even that time you mistaken his sister as his daughter, the same dust of pink settled onto your cheeks like it did now.

mike formed an impression that you’re put together and tooth achingly innocent, but after accidentally opening your package — his superficial thoughts about you has gone down south and into the depths of a more lustrous head space.

how would you look like using it? what would you sound like? crude and carnal ideas spilling over the mental image of your face, his senses clouded with this new epiphany.

he carefully hovers his hand over yours and guides them with a phantom touch, placing the package gently in your stiffened grasp. the furrow in your brows and lack of response made him worried you might pass out — but then you began to sputter a shy “thank you”, your quivering eyes never meeting his. it was a nice look, he couldn’t deny it.

“i won’t tell, promise.” his previous nervous manner completely melted away as he teases you for a bit, his pointer finger pressed against his friendly smile — like it could somehow permanently seal his lips from exposing your status on your sex life.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak — not when you heart feels like it’s about to explode while your body temperature is fighting between haunting chills or overwhelming heat. the gaze in his eyes was much more darker and relaxed than before. weirdly enough, you trust him like you’ve known him your whole life. mike gives you a friendly farewell before he makes his way back into his house.

slowly shutting the door with a solid click, you immediately pathetically fall to your knees and shriek in absolute horror — the box crashing down with you and revealing the one thing that made this rare exchange so humiliating, embarrassment settling so thick in your core. your hot neighbor knowing you’re sexually active? currently getting off to a dingy sex toy? you cannot go back outside again, not if you’re going to possibly see him. hell, you cannot even use the toy without thinking of mike. it’s like he cursed it with some spell, the whispers of his name draw closer each passing second whenever you gaze at the toy.

his ears perk at the bloodcurdling scream that pierced through your closed windows — one so loud and dramatic, it sounded like an active crime scene. he couldn’t help but helplessly laugh into his baggy sleeves, prickles of tears in the corners of his eyes. it’s been awhile since he’s laughed like that, it was needed. returning back home felt less eventful, your embarrassment still making him chuckle under his breath and somewhat eager to see it on you again.

of course, there’s no shame of getting yourself off, but if you needed a helping hand — mike would gladly come over and do his due diligence to be the perfect neighbor. with his new image of you carved into his mind and colorful second impression of you, maybe it’s time for him to make a more formal introduction of himself, once you actually start recovering from your eternal embarrassment.

[lady-phasma]

Diplomatic relations

Feyd x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI! NSFW, spit as lube (I guess, kinda), penetration, honestly a little tame compared to my usual stuff.

The poll came in at 57% soft!Feyd so here we go. This is probably as soft as I can make him.

Summary: No physical description of reader. Feyd is on a diplomatic tour of an unnamed planet (not Caladan) under Harkonnen rule. You catch his eye, smuttiness ensues. Plot if you squint. 4k words

You looked away almost as soon as his eyes met yours. You didn’t want to be caught staring at the na-Baron. Feyd-Rautha’s presence on your planet had cause quite the uproar. Though many of the houses were pawns for the Harkonnen, some still remained who defied the colonizers. Your house couldn’t openly oppose the Harkonnen, but you knew that they were not respected. They were feared. They were fearsome after all. The na-Baron’s delegation had been sent to keep the peace, to quell uprisings, to provide confidence to the planet. You supposed it worked for some.

However, you wondered if the na-Baron was enthusiastic about his diplomatic responsibilities. He looked bored and distracted. You hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to notice one person out of the hundreds who crowded the city streets to show allegiance. But someone had caught his eye. He straightened a bit, turning his head slightly to look at you as the procession moved on. You swallowed hard and looked away again.

Your thoughts whirled and spun the rest of the day. That night, you would be in the same room as the na-Baron, possibly as close as the next table. Your house had the “honor” of hosting him on his first night in the city. You were preoccupied as you went about your errands, looked over the financial ledgers, dressed for the dinner. The hours seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, dragging on for days.

As you walked into the main hall that evening your eyes searched for the na-Baron. You didn’t even realize you were doing it until a servant spoke to you and you hadn’t heard them. You nodded, unsure to what you were agreeing, and walked through the groups of people mingling and conversing.

You found your seat at the secondary table. The head table was reserved for the Duke and his guests. You continued to scan the room, lost in thought, unable to put your finger on why you were intrigued by the na-Baron. You barely heard the sounds around you, the chattering was a dull noise. You felt a chair pull out next to you but didn’t register who the occupant was until it was too late.

Feyd’s fingers stroked the utensils on the place setting, lightly aligning any that were askew. You looked up from his pale hands to his face. You were startled to see that he was staring at you. The Harkonnen skin and hairlessness were disarming amidst the bright colors of the hall.

“You must be old enough to know that it is rude to stare,” Feyd smirked as he spoke. “Surely you have seen a Harkonnen envoy before?”

“I- I-“ you stumbled over your tongue, then swallowed. “Yes, my Lord na-baron, I have seen such an envoy before.”

“And?” Feyd stretched the word out.

“Yes, I came of age last year and I know my manners,” you replied. You straightened your shoulders, squared them, and turned to face him more fully. “Did you need assistance to find your seat?”

Feyd laughed. His black teeth caught the light and you stopped a gasp before it could leave your mouth. They were almost horrible to look at, but the lips that surrounded them dulled that impression, somewhat.

The laugh was mocking but amused. He understood your tone as well as your impertinence. His blue eyes on you sent a chill down your spine. Almost as quickly as the laugh had appeared, it was gone. The grin that replaced it was somehow worse.

“No,” he spoke so lowly that it sounded as if the words rumbled from his chest. “No, I believe I already found my seat.”

There was no one on the planet who could make him move and the Duke was too subservient to object. Resigned, you turned back to the table and sipped your wine. All of your emotions mixed together: anger at his presumption, mild fear of his capabilities, and, strangest of all, curiosity. This man was intriguing and intensely attractive in a completely mad way.

Your food was unremarkable and you barely noticed if you had eaten any or not when they carried the plates away. Your dinner companion barely spoke at all. His interactions with the nobility were perfunctory and diplomatic. There was constantly an air of boredom about him. As imperious as he seemed, you didn’t think that this detachment was intentional. He understood his role here, his duty, but his thoughts were constantly elsewhere.

Only once during dinner did you interact with Feyd. Purely by accident, you turned to him to ask a very discourteous question. You caught yourself but he saw your face and wouldn’t let you go. Like an animal in a trap.

“How may I be of service?” His grin was infuriating. Without context, anyone looking on would think he was being as pleasant as was possible for him.

“It was nothing,” you tried not to spit the words at him, irrationally angry at that grin.

“No, please,” he leaned forward onto his elbows, grin falling just a bit as he dropped his voice. “Go ahead. I won’t command you, but I could.”

Your eyes widened at this, this threat. Was it a threat or a jest? You couldn’t read that infernal mouth. You made your face a mask, attempting to conceal any emotion.

“You could…” you began. “However, that shouldn’t be necessary.” Your chest began to tighten as you spoke. The feeling in your stomach wasn’t new but you hadn’t felt this in a long time. You felt like, no, it wasn’t possible… You felt as if you were flirting with him, and he with you.

“I was going to ask, Lord na-Baron, what is it you would rather be doing that sitting here? It’s a rather improper question, so I bit my tongue.” The truth seemed like the only way out of this trap.

You did not expect his smile to fall completely. Only for the briefest of moments he let his surprise show. He recovered and quipped back at you.

“Quite improper, but my answer would be much more so.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair, feeling he had won this round. A blush ran up your face, evidence of his victory.

After the Duke and his retinue offered the required pleasantries and excused themselves, the guests rose and began to leave the main hall. You stood before Feyd and succeeded in not looking at him as you began to walk away.

As you turned down the passageway, headed to your quarters, you heard heavy footfalls behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and the tightness in your stomach redoubled. There were only a few of the household staff remaining in the halls. You were nearly alone with the na-Baron. Your mind offered, unbidden, the word exhilarating.

His strides were long enough that he caught up with you in little time. His height was impressive after having been sitting next to him. Not much taller than yourself but tall enough to command attention.

“Were you tired of my company?” One corner of his lip curled in a smirk. “Or were you nervous I might answer your impertinent question?”

You stopped walking at this. He turned and looked at you, studying you.

“No, my Lord na-Baron,” you replied levelly. “I could not tell which you enjoyed more: my company or mocking me.”

His smile faltered then grew. You assumed no one ever told him the truth. You knew you could become afraid of him, perhaps should be, but you weren’t yet. Two chattering guests walked past and you moved to the edge of the hallway to let them pass.

Feyd stepped past you and leaned against the wall, his long coat belying the muscular figure underneath. Your breathing became shallow. His proximity to you was informal. It was unnerving. You couldn’t know what he was thinking and his smile was always simultaneously pleasant and malicious.

“Your confusion shows on your face,” he whispered. “What are you trying to discern?”

“Well, um, you, Lord na-Baron,” you dropped your gaze from his. “I do not yet know if I can trust you.”

Feyd dipped his head to meet your eyes and force you to look at him. He was barely smiling at all. His brows furrowed earnestly.

“You can trust me. I am only ever what I seem. I am an open book to any who care to read closely,” he whispered, mere inches from your face. He straightened and your eyes followed his. “Those who see that, don’t often call me ‘na-Baron’ every time they speak. Though I understand the risk one takes with using my name. I am quite…. impulsive.” And that smile again. This time with a touch of fondness in his eyes that suggested he was recalling a pleasant memory. Though you couldn’t imagine that murdering someone for using your given name would be pleasant. From what you knew of Feyd, he probably had done just such a thing.

“How might those who ‘read closely’ decipher your enigmatic smile?” Finding your voice, you spoke directly at him. This made him grin even more, showing his black teeth.

“Perhaps that may always be a game of guessing,” he quipped back. He took a step away from you and waited for you to follow. Your heart was almost pounding in your chest. You walked beside him, but allowing yourself to have some distance to think by staying one step behind. You tried not to stare at the slope of his head down to his neck, his hands, the only visible parts of his body. But they seemed to glow against the black cloth of his coat.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The silence was tense but not uncomfortable. You weren’t sure you could guess anything about him. Your first appraisal of him may have been entirely incorrect, or mostly.

The main house sprawled, much like a palace though more understated. You knew the halls and passages by heart, but you weren’t guiding Feyd. You followed him without thinking. Your instinct told you to gather yourself and head directly to your chambers without a backward glance. Your curiosity was stronger than your instinct. Curious about him, yes, but also curious as to why he was so interested in you.

Feyd didn’t stop as he opened the door and entered his room. You paused, waiting for an invitation. He held the door and looked at you, no expression on his face. Your choice he seemed to suggest. He didn’t hold out his hand in a welcoming gesture either. You took one more breath to make your decision.

His room was probably a drastic change for him from his home on Giedi Prime. He had been given a guest room fitting of his station. The sumptuous fabrics and ornate furniture were more grand than those in your own quarters. You paused near the middle of the room. If he sat you would join him. He didn’t.

He stepped in front of you, looking, not speaking, and you felt that damnable blush rise to your cheeks again.

“If I may,” he began. “I’ll answer your question.”

You tried to nod but couldn’t. Your mouth was as dry as Arrakis.

“No, I did not want to be trapped at that farce, the quiet tension so palpable one could cut it with a knife. I was thinking of all the things I had in mind for you.” He took a small step forward and tilted your face up to his, fingers guiding your chin. His eyes were fierce and you saw no mocking in his slight smile now.

“Then you were correct, your answer would have been quite improper,” you managed to reply, mustering the last of your propriety.

“Yes,” he drawled. “Yes, then it would have been improper, but we’re alone now.” He swept his hand, indicating the empty room but he didn’t look away from you. He didn’t wait for your to respond. “You aren’t deferential to me like the others in your house. You are… intriguing. As I sat next to you, I decided I wanted you and I get what I want. Always.”

Your body tensed as he leaned forward and kissed you. At first you were rigid, unsure of what you truly wanted, but as one of his hands found the back of your neck you realized you had actually wanted this all along. Still wary of him, you kissed him back but did not move to touch him. His other hand slid to your waist and gripped you firmly, fingers digging into your flesh through your clothing. You exhaled and softened in his arms. You felt his smile against your lips. You assumed it was a triumphant grin but set your pride aside and opened your mouth to him.

Feyd’s tongue slipped into your mouth. His hand gripped the back of your neck harder. You placed your hands on his chest, tentatively, testing this new closeness. He slid his hand from your side to your back and pulled you in closer. You didn’t want the kiss to end but he pulled away and looked at you.

“Was that so bad?” he ask, finally without a grin.

You could only shake your head as your heart thumped in your chest. You moved your hands upward, slowly, to his neck. Using both your hands, you pulled him back down to your mouth. A small groan left his mouth and he pressed his body against yours. You licked his black teeth, growing braver. You still felt hesitant, nervous, even a little frightened. You had experience, you weren’t shy, but those were with people from your home planet. He was a Harkonnen. Completely hairless, scarily pale, and notoriously cruel. Something about the combination of those thoughts made you press against him in return.

His lips left your mouth and he drug them along your jaw, down your neck, the graze of teeth making you shiver. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, resisting the need to move your hips against him. Patience, you thought.

Without warning, Feyd let you go. Suddenly, his arms were gone. Then he spun you around so your back pressed into his chest. He wasn’t going to be patient. He clamped one hand on your throat and rested the other on the lowest part of your stomach. His lips grazed your ear and his breath was hot as he spoke.

“Are you going to give me what I want?”

“Yes,” you replied though you weren’t sure the sound was audible.

“Say my name.”

“Yes, Feyd,” you swallowed, feeling his hand move on your throat as you did. “Anything you want.”

He chuckled at this, the sound vibrating into you from his chest. His grip on your throat wasn’t tight but it held you in place as he slid his hand farther down your stomach. You didn’t let yourself moan as his hand grazed your thigh but you involuntarily moved your hips. You didn’t want him to take his time. Your need was getting the better of you. This seemed to be happening so fast, yet it had truly begun at dinner. Your desire had been growing with every step toward this room.

Feyd kissed just behind your ear, down your neck, as his hand dipped between your thighs. You knew he could feel your arousal even through your clothing. You wanted to push against his hand and gain more friction. He continued to tease, up and down, but then his hand slipped under your clothing. His touch on your bare skin elicited a groan from you. He released your throat and used both hands to free you from the garments.

You were momentarily embarrassed at your sudden nakedness but that was pushed out of your thoughts when he put his mouth on your shoulder blades, kissing each in turn. You began to turn to face him but he stilled you with his hands. You looked over your shoulder as he tossed his coat onto a chair and pulled his shirt over his head. He was actually magnificent you realized. He was hailed as a great fighter but you understood now it was more than skill, it was also strength. You watched him take his place behind you again then turned to face front once more.

You realized Feyd wasn’t just clever, he was always a step ahead of everyone. When you had entered the room you had been so anxious that you only took a cursory glance around the space. However, he had maneuvered you to stand in front of the bed. Now that you saw it, your breath caught in your throat. He was kissing your spine, your ribs, letting his hands explore everywhere but where you needed him. You took a deep breath and instead of the exhale you expected you moaned. He kissed his way up your back and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I take it you are no longer confused by me?”

“Quite the opposite,” you replied. You moved your hands behind you, finding his hips, and pulled him to you, back to chest again. It was infuriating that he still had his pants on. You slipped your fingertips under the waistband. Even half-clothed his erection was obvious against your backside.

Feyd gently pressed your arms to your sides and you felt immediate disappointment. But then he began to unfasten his pants. The heat from your body flooded to your core. The need, the ache, that had been growing there was now fully aflame. You felt one of his hands rest gently on your hip when he came back to you. Seeming to keep a bit of space between, you he guided your forward until you were only inches from the bed. His hand slid up your side, to your chest encircling you. You sighed again. His mouth explored and made its way back to your ear.

“Lick,” he commanded, holding his other hand in front of your face. It took a moment for you to understand and another moment for you to summon the courage to follow the command. He made you feel things you didn’t know existed. In a spilt second he made you feel like you were doing something wonderful yet illicit. It thrilled you and, as soon as your brain sent the signal, you lapped at his palm. He made a sound like a chuckle, but deeper. You pleased him.

You couldn’t see but you heard Feyd stroke his cock with his recently wetted hand. You whined. Not a moan but an actual, involuntary whine. The waiting was excruciating even if you couldn’t predict his actions, whatever was to come would surely feel amazing.

Feyd’s hand moved from your chest around to your back, rested gently between your shoulder blades, and began to press you forward. With your heart racing you leaned forward, placing your hands on the bed.

“Such a good pet,” he growled. You would have blushed if there had been any blood left in your body. It was currently all pooled in your core, throbbing with that need for him. He slid his hand down your back and gripped your hip. After what seemed like an eternity, you felt his cock between your thighs. You couldn’t control yourself and you pushed back a bit, trying to feel more of him. He gently held you in place. He moved so slowly, teasing you with his length. When he had the angle he wanted he put his hand on your other hip and pressed against you.

It was so slow. Every movement was wonderful torture. You tried not to push against him, so you pressed your face against the bed and groaned. He pulled back and began pressing into you again. You realized he hadn’t yet given you his full length and you gasped as he bottomed out. Over your breathing you heard the most delicious sound come from him. It was a groan, perhaps a word, but certainly a sound of extreme pleasure. Now, you did push back into him.

You looked over your shoulder as you ground your hips slightly and his eyes were open, watching your ass. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his mouth was slightly open. You had never seen anything so beautiful, so unique, in your life. Before you could appreciate him any longer he pulled back, started a new stroke, and caught your eye. He winked at you, cocky yet comforting.

You couldn’t take it, you buried your face in the bed clothes, overcome with desire. This man was your undoing. Just as that thought flickered in your mind Feyd increased his pace. With steady movement he brought forth a litany of noises from you. As he sped up you moaned and pushed back onto him. His low, rumbling groans were intoxicating.

Feyd’s hands roamed up from your hips, over your back, around to your stomach, ceaselessly exploring you. When he leaned forward, pressing his stomach along your back you reached behind you and grasped his arm. Pulling him down on you by his forearm, then traveling up to his bicep. Your fingers dug into his muscle His rested his forehead against your shoulder.

You felt the pressure building in your core from the consistent rhythm. You were lightheaded, dizzy with the feeling of Feyd’s weight on top of you, his scent, his sounds. Then a brightness shot through the fog as he reached around you and stroked the center of your heat. You made an undignified sound.

“Please, yes, there,” you groaned, unable to decide if you wanted to press forward into his hand or back to meet his hips. “Please, Feyd, don’t stop.”

“Of course not,” he replied as he kissed your shoulder and stoked the heat in your belly. He growled against you as he sped up. Pounding into you, his hand between your legs, his body pressed against yours, Feyd dominated all of your senses. You had no thoughts. Only the growing pressure inside you.

“Wait for me,” he said quietly but firmly. You could barely nod, much less speak to answer him, as all your concentration was focused on holding back the cresting wave.

Feyd’s strokes were deep but quick. He grazed his teeth over your skin. His unoccupied hand dug into your hip so he could fuck you that much harder. Then you felt it. The stutter of his hips. His hand between your thighs sped up. A flood of heat ran over your entire body. At the same time, your core seemed to explode. His grunting made you cum that much harder.

He let out a final, deep moan, mingled with your name, and spilled his black seed inside you. You inhaled shakily, smiling to yourself. The lightheadedness was back and you felt emptied, completely hollowed out. You stayed still as he caught his breath. You tried to relax as he pulled out, but were unable to stifle a small gasp. You were ruined but never wanted this to end.

Feyd gently stroked your back and then began to guide you up, almost lifting you from the bed. When you were standing in front of him he kissed you on the forehead, then the lips. With his hand on the small of you back he led you to the side of the bed. He didn’t instruct you to lay down, you didn’t have a choice. There was no way you could remain standing on your shaking legs any longer. He covered you with the blanket then stepped away for a moment. Unable to keep your eyes open you listened for him.

He soon walked to the other side of the bed and slipped into it, pulling you against him. He tucked you as close to him as possible. He kissed your neck. Then nuzzled his face against you before resting his head close enough so you could feel his breath on the back of your neck.

“I always get what I want,” he whispered. Your lips curved into a gentle, satisfied smile.

[itaipava]

— things f1 boys do that give you butterflies.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS:

when he whispers sweet-nothings in your ear; it’s almost always when you’re cuddled and sleep is about to take over both of you, it’s times like this when lando feels completely free and calm, and that’s when he starts whispering everything his heart is saying. he is not aware of the effect it has on you; from the flutter of your heart, the butterflies in your stomach, and even his warm breath against your ear and neck as he leaves soft kisses here and there. he also likes to gently run his fingertips over your body, appreciating you as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO:

he wears your initials around his neck; whenever he feels down, sad or even misses you, he takes the necklace and gently kisses your initials, reminding himself that everything will be alright and that soon he will see you, his safe haven. he didn’t think it would be a big deal for you, but well, it was; whenever you see your initials on his neck, your heart races in your chest. it’s a different feeling of love and trust that he awakened in you and that made you realize that he is the love of your life, the right person for you.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when he addresses the word “my” before calling you, like “my love” or “my y/n”, the way the words come so firmly but affectionately (even teasingly) from his lips make your heart race, as if he wants to show everyone - and especially you - that he is proud and even lucky to be able to call you his and he won’t miss a single opportunity to brag about it.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

the way he introduces you to all his friends and family; an affectionate but firm way present in the way he pulls you to him or holds your hand and says with a proud smile on his face to anyone “this is y/n my partner”. and he always talks about you with as much passion and fervor as if you had hung the moon and stars in his sky. he wants to show everyone that you are his and that he is entirely and passionately yours and it always makes a wave of love and passion fills you.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

the first thing he does in the morning is call you; he wishes you a good morning and asks how your night was, but all you can think about is his voice, how husky and attractive it is. and he also loves to call you at night; he puts his cell phone on speakerphone while doing mundane things like folding clothes or making dinner while listening to you talking. he listens to everything you have to say with a smile on his face, always giving you all the attention and kindness in the world; and when he talks, you can tell he’s smiling, and that’s enough to make your heart race.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

you can’t help but smile at his gentlemanly gestures; the way he always walks beside you but when you are arriving at your destination he walks a little further just to open the door for you, taking things from the high shelf for you, he also pulls out the chair for you to sit down first. he always does everything thinking of you; always putting you and your priorities above his and god, he couldn’t be more perfect.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

he decorates all your favorite things; he always makes breakfast the way you like, you often wake up to the smell of ready-made coffee; he leans against the doorframe with a cup in his hand and smiles lazily at you when you wake up. he loves to learn your quirks and mannerisms; and he ends up taking all of them and just realizes he’s doing the same thing as you when you point it out. he also loves to please you so he often brings home your favorite flower in your favorite color, or plays your favorite music at random times. he always smirks when he realizes how happy those little things have made you, and he couldn’t be more in love.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 184 }

that green gentleman (things have changed).

single.parent!sung jinwoo x fem!daycare worker reader

{ things have changed for me, and that's okay | i feel the same, i’m on my way, and i say | things have changed for me, and that's okay }

you had simply been tidying up the area, placing all of the toys back in its respective boxes as each child went home with their parent for the evening when you heard your coworkers groaning and talking amongst themselves.

"it appears the father of that child is asking us to keep an eye out for suho, since he's working overtime yet again at the station."

"goodness, i would stay back, but my husband's waiting for me."

"same here, i haven't even picked up my groceries for dinner yet!"

you look back to see the cute, 4 year old boy named sung suho remaining quiet, spending his free time drawing as he surrounded himself with a plethora of crayons. being familiar with suho and his father, sung jinwoo, you knew how difficult and challenging it was for a parent to raise their child on their own.

"sorry ladies, but i couldn't help but hear that sung jinwoo may be late in picking up suho?"

your coworkers heave out yet another sigh. "indeed; honestly, i wish i could stay back, but i've got my own errands to fulfill before i come home and prepare dinner."

"and my own husband is waiting for me as well..."

"if that's the case, why don't i stay here with suho and close up the daycare?"

your coworkers' eyes go wide, with them stating your name in an incredulous, but grateful manner. "you'd do that for us?"

"of course! you ladies go on and head home. i'll keep suho company and wait for his father to arrive later tonight."

after receiving their gratitude at least a hundred times, you watch as your coworkers pack up and leave the daycare, leaving you alone with the tiny boy.

smoothing your apron, you come closer toward suho, seeing a new stack of drawings settled next to him. no one else knew this, but you developed quite a fondness for suho, often admiring his imagination and how colorful his drawings were.

"hey there, suho. your papa says that he'll pick you up later, so since it's just me and you, you don't mind spending some time playing with me, do you?"

suho vehemently shakes his head while flashing you a wide smile that had a few gaps between his front teeth. "hello miss, and i don' mind playing with you til daddy gets here!"

you giggle along with him and press a finger against your lips, playfully telling suho to remain quiet (as if you were keeping a well kept secret), "since it's just us, how about i get you some snacks? would you like some pudding and strawberry milk?"

suho's eyes go wide as he presses both hands against his mouth, not saying a word as he gave you a series of nods.

"okay, i'll be right back with those snacks."

you bask in suho's sweet giggles, going into the fridge to grab a cup of pudding with a carton of strawberry milk. returning to suho, you help him open his pudding and milk while giving him a plastic spoon. as the toddler enjoys his snacks, you trailed your eyes over to the stack of drawings.

"mind if i look and admire your drawings, suho?"

suho simply gives you a nod with a spoon in his mouth. you thank him and pick up the stack of pictures, tracing over each crayon mark. there were lots of purple and black shadows that surrounded figures that appeared to be suho with his father. despite how malevolent the shadows seemed, the painted smiles on each of the shadows' faces dissipated any amount of concern you held. if these were suho's imaginary friends, then it was clear that they made him happy (with his favorite one being in the shape of a giant ant.)

as you turn the page, you saw a drawing that broke your heart. in it, suho and his father were settled on the couch while watching the television with a frown on their faces. on the screen was what appeared to be a blonde woman smiling with a microphone in hand as she waved at the cameras.

"that's mama." suho says with a bit of a sad tone. you nod and place the drawing of his mother back on the table for suho to see. he was frowning, pushing aside his empty cup of pudding while pointing a finger at her. "papa says she left when i was two... i don't remember her, but papa says she's happy in the t.v., singing and taking pictures."

"i see. your mom is very pretty?"

suho gives you yet another nod. "yeah, papa says she was so pretty that she left us."

suddenly, tears fill his grey eyes when he turns his gaze to you, filled with a desperation as he shakily asked, "did mama leave because i wasn't a good boy?"

"oh no, honey. no no no, this has nothing to do with you." you automatically bring suho into your embrace, gently caressing at his hair as he cried against your apron. "sometimes, adults have dreams they wish to achieve, too, and such dreams make them blinded. i'm sure your mama still loves and thinks about you, she just wishes to make her dreams come true first and foremost."

suho continues to cry while in your arms, yet still, you remain by his side, comforting him. you trace random shapes against his back while humming a lullaby. soon enough, the tears slowly begin to cease as you heard the soft sounds of his breathing.

with a fondness in your gaze, you turn suho around so that you were cradling him in your arms, rocking him back and forth while placing a gentle kiss against his forehead...

"suho." a deep yet breathless voice was heard calling out to the little boy, and as you trailed your eyes forward, you were met with what appeared to be a much older version of suho himself-

you were met with jinwoo, his father.

{ ... }

jinwoo was cursing all the way toward the daycare, berating himself for being so caught up in yet another cold case. the time was nearing 10 in the evening, which was past suho's bedtime as he rushed toward the daycare.

admittedly, ever since cha hae-in's departure (leading to their inevitable divorce), it was difficult for jinwoo to care for his son. of course, he had his loyal shadow soldiers that protected and kept watch over him-

but what suho needed was that soft, maternal touch he was certain his son had been deprived from when hae-in left and gave him complete custody. in her own way, jinwoo knew that hae-in loved her son-

yet the promise of being more than a simple housewife was a calling that such a gorgeous woman like his ex-wife could not ignore. she had big dreams when she was younger, but was unable to reach them until recently. their child was barely 2 years old when an agent caught sight of her and made her an offer she could not refuse.

jinwoo spent months arguing back and forth with his wife, wondering why their son wasn't enough (why he wasn't enough) to make her stay-

but in the end, he ultimately relented and let her go.

after all, he loved her enough to let her go and help her pursue her dreams-

even if it didn't involve either him or suho.

the memory of it all was enough to make jinwoo's heart twist, his hands clutching at the steering wheel when he arrives at the daycare, parking haphazardly before tossing the door open. he runs a hand across his unruly locks of hair, entering the building while calling out his son's name.

"suho-"

he trails his gaze forward, only to feel his throat closing up in response at the sight before him.

jinwoo sees suho in the embrace of a kind young woman. she meets his gaze while placing a finger up against her lips, humming a lullaby as suho remained asleep in her arms. his heart was racing, practically melting at the sight of her. when she finishes her lullaby, she beckons jinwoo closer, allowing him to take suho within his embrace.

he lets out soft coos of his son's name, feeling him stir the tiniest bit before settling within his arms. he looks back at the woman and thanks her, seeing her name tag while referring to her by her first name, "thank you, for caring for my son. and ah... i apologize for arriving so late."

she merely giggles, waving off his concern while taking off her apron, hanging it somewhere before grabbing her bag. "don't worry about it, mr. sung. it's tough working as an investigator. i don't mind spending a few extra hours keeping watch over suho until you pick him up."

jinwoo thanks the woman once more, this time with his eyebrows furrowed in response. "say, it's getting pretty late. is your boyfriend or partner picking you up?"

he hears a choked laugh coming from the woman. "ah, no mr. sung. i'm afraid i'm single and must take the train back to my place."

"the trains stop running by midnight, ma'am. you'll never make it." jinwoo tells her with a whisper of urgency. "i'm sorry, this is all my fault. let me give you a ride back."

before she could even protest, jinwoo's voice takes on a more authoritative tone. "trust me on this; it's late at night and you're a young woman. do you know how much the rates of assaults have increased this past year? there are millions of depraved men still out there."

his words end up striking a nerve within her, and he watches as she purses her lips before nodding, "well, okay mr. sung. if it isn't too much trouble-"

"don't worry, it's no trouble at all. after all, it's my fault that you had to be here so late. and please, call me jinwoo."

while keeping his sleeping son within his embrace, he watches the kind daycare lady shut off all the lights before locking up the daycare, following him to his car. as he opens up the backseat, he had a hard time getting a good grip on suho in order to transfer him to his carseat. it was during this moment that jinwoo witnessed her unconditional kindness once more.

like it was second nature to her, jinwoo watches as the woman gently ease suho away from his embrace, angling her body so that she had better access to the carseat. with gentle movements, she places suho in his carseat while buckling his seatbelt. "i'll remain in the backseat with this little guy. i can tell you my address as well."

taken aback by her easygoing nature and genuine kindness, jinwoo could only manage a nod in response, watching as she sits next to suho's carseat while he settles in the driver's seat in a bit of a haze. turning on his phone, he types in the woman's address and begins to back out of the parking lot.

with each stop light, jinwoo couldn't help but sneak glances at the kind woman, seeing the way she kept a protective arm around suho's carseat while looking out the window. seeing how soft and nurturing she was makes jinwoo smile, filling his heart with a warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time.

after what seemed like mere seconds, jinwoo arrives at her apartment complex. he was filled with a reluctance to see her go, especially when she gives suho a gentle kiss against his hair. "night little guy, i'll see you tomorrow."

giving jinwoo one last thank you, she exits the car and makes her way toward her apartment building, with jinwoo remaining parked in the front, not moving until she was completely inside of the building.

"papa..." jinwoo's ears perk when he hears suho calling out to him.

"yeah suho?"

jinwoo tilts his head back to get a good look at suho, seeing him yawn before telling him, "i really like her."

he hums in agreement, "well, you've got good tastes, suho. i really like her, too."

suho lets out another yawn before falling back asleep, making jinwoo smile as he started the car once more, thinking about how the next time he went to pick up suho that he'd need to place a soldier within her shadow...

{ ... }

you had fallen into a bit of a routine with jinwoo for the months that followed.

more often than not, jinwoo would end up working overtime at the station while you would always offer to keep watch over suho. and during those late nights when jinwoo picks suho up, he would always take you home.

but lately, it seemed as though you were steadily doing more... intimate activities.

for example, during the weekends where jinwoo was able to take some time off, he would pick you up after your shift at the daycare center and invite you out to dinner with him and suho. whether it be to a nice restaurant, or to a comforting, home cooked meal made by jinwoo himself-

it truly was nothing short of bliss to you.

and it was during moments like these that you found yourself falling utterly and irrevocably in love with the man named sung jinwoo. everything about him was just so perfect to you, and you found yourself thinking on how crazy his ex-wife was for leaving such a perfect family behind-

but you digress, since you were certain that it was simply the jealousy getting to you.

it was your day off, and you were simply doing mundane chores when you heard a knock at your door. drying your hands against a towel, you answer the door, only to feel your eyes go wide when jinwoo was found in front of your apartment. he was dressed comfortably in a black turtleneck sweater with matching jeans and a pair of converses, holding in his hand a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"hey, do you mind spending the rest of your day with me?" he gives you a sheepish smile, placing the lovely bouquet within your hands. you felt flabbergasted, gaping a bit as you looked around for any signs of suho.

"suho's with my parents for the day, so it's just me and you." as if reading your mind, jinwoo reassures you, placing a hand within the pocket of his dark jeans.

"oh, well, yes! i don't mind spending my day off with you. hold on, i'll place these flowers within a vase, and i'll grab my bag, then we can go."

jinwoo chuckles while telling you to take your time, simply watching you while in your doorway as you fluttered around your living room. after filling a vase with some fresh water, you place the lovely bouquet inside and grab your purse from your room. you join jinwoo after locking your door, smiling up at him as he takes your hand in his.

feeling the heat against your cheeks, you remain silent, simply allowing jinwoo to interlock your fingertips together with his. "let's take a walk, there's something i'd like to talk to you about."

you nod, "okay, lead the way, jinwoo."

he tightens his hold on your hand, walking with you out of your apartment complex. remaining on the sidewalk, you walked for about 20 minutes before arriving at a nearby park. he keeps on walking deeper into the park, not stopping until arriving at a gorgeous garden filled with a rainbow color of blooms. spotting an empty bench in the midst of such a wonderful garden, jinwoo gestures at you to sit as he settles beside you.

you both remain quiet, simply admiring the scenery. you were in the midst of counting how many flowers there were in a single section when jinwoo calls out your name. you feel him taking a hold of your left hand and begin speaking.

"you have sparked a fire in me that i didn't think even existed anymore."

the way jinwoo's voice cracked made you look back at him, your eyes being filled with empathy. you felt him giving your hand a squeeze when he meets your gaze. "ever since my ex wife left me to pursue her dreams, i buried myself in my work to forget about the pain of her abandonment. i did my best to raise suho on my own because of how much i love him, but it hasn't been easy.

what suho needs is a nurturing touch of a mother. he needs a gentle and kind love, that unconditional type of love that his own biological mother was unable to give.

truly, i was at a loss; uncertain of what i could even do to help him fill that void. and when i felt as though i were close to giving up and losing it all, that's when you came into my life."

your breath hitches in response to his confession, feeling him reaching out to you with his free hand as he cupped at your face. "you were like the sole beacon of light my soul was searching for. when i saw you that night, cradling my son so gently within your embrace, i knew that my heart was yours."

jinwoo finally lets go of your hand, making you let out a gasp when you saw a beautiful diamond engagement ring settled against your left ring finger. "j-jinwoo-"

"i know, i know, you may find me to be a rash man, proposing to you so suddenly, but i obtained such a trait from my own father." jinwoo lets out a rich chuckle while pressing a kiss against your ring finger, "the sungs have always been men who knew what they wanted and would do anything to pursue it-

and the only thing i want is you..."

jinwoo's eyes begin to glow purple just then, and you felt him framing at your face as he presses kisses that were no heavier than dew against your parted lips, "so please, marry me. make me and suho the happiest boys in the world. suho needs you- i need you in order to feel whole again."

with tears streaming down your face, you lean forward to press your lips against jinwoo's in a searing kiss, knowing that you would simply be a fool to reject his proposal.

[ epilogue ]

suho was getting ready for his first day of school, face frowning into the mirror as he kept trying to adjust his bowtie-

yet still, it seemed like no matter what he did, it forever remained within its lopsided state. with a pout, he stomps his feet and marches his way over to you.

"mom! i can't get this!"

you giggle and put aside the book you were reading, resting a hand over your rounded belly as you beckoned your son closer to you, "come here, sweetheart, let mommy help."

suho hums, remaining still like a good boy as you fixed his bowtie, settling it perfectly in the middle of his shirt. he gives you a toothy grin and leans down to kiss your stomach. "mwah! is my baby sister ready to come out yet?"

"not quite yet, honey, but soon, just have patience, okay?"

suho gives you another pout, ready to say something else when jinwoo's whistle was heard echoing throughout the house, "come on, suho! it's time for school! give your mama and little sister one more kiss, and i'll take you!"

suho listens to jinwoo's words, giving your cheek and your rounded belly yet another kiss before skipping away from you and toward his father, "bye mama!"

jinwoo gazes down at his son with a fondness, catching your stare while giving you a wink before leaving the house. and as your husband and son departs, you were aware of the shadowy wisps that surround you, making you smile as you knew that you would forever be protected by the man who was the absolute love of your life.

a.n. - an early father's day gift for the daddiest of them all lmaooo i'm sorry i need to write something fluffy and sweet for my hubby due to the stress i'm feeling. currently unedited, but i'll make any changes once this is posted 😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[shaisuki]

imagine surprising satoru with a album of the photoshoot you secretly took.

he remains silent. humming as he flips the pages. gojo satoru is many of emotions but never is quiet. this quiet while skimming through the pages of you, posing in a seductive manner that you didn't knew you can pull off. the photographer was a real help.

“wow.” he silently gasps. flipping page after page and the photos got more risque than the last one and thank the heavens above for this. his girlfriend dressed in different types of lingerie. there's even a photo where you lay in sheet of silks. covering the intimate of your body. flesh peeking through on your most private. satoru have seen you many times. bare and naked and in various lingeries. cute and sexy. stretch marks and cellulites displayed for him to see. daringly bold and fierce.

then there's a particular photo of you. your side profile in display. dressed in a two piece baby blue lingerie with fairy wings the same color. your round stomach poking in that piece and satoru finds it beautiful. thick thighs are pressed and he knows they're doubled in size. thicker and plumper. your head is slightly raised in the picture like you were a fairy waiting for that little dew drop to fall. it's alluring. adding an air of mystic that captivates who ever sees it. hypnotizing. too bad, these are only for his eyes.

a goddess you are in these photos and duh, in personal also. satoru prefers you in your natural beauty and the photos are the mixed of different varieties of sweets. ready to be eaten and he's one hungry man. he's almost salivating from these photos. how could you be this beautiful and satoru takes a pause in looking at the pictures and gazes at you.

“do you like it, satoru?” you asked him. a shy smile on your lips and satoru could think that the woman in these photos and you are different from how you act around him. like is an understatement. he loves it more than he can say so he pulls you to his lap.

“like? i should get this all framed up and displayed on my wall for me to see.” his blue eyes shimmering with a boyish smile in his lips. “gorgeous you are in these photos but i rather prefer you dresses in these pieces personally.” he said. trailing kisses to your neck.

say no more, satoru.

and the next surprise he got is you sitting in the middle of his bed with the photo he loved the most.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Whiskey Neat

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Natasha x Reader x step!daughter!Wanda

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, soft!dom!reader, strict!dom!Nat, sub!Wanda, step-cest, legal age gap, mommy kink, daddy kink, one slap, brat taming, manhandling, unprotected sex, face painting, oral sex, implied after care

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Nat decides to teach you bratty step daughter Wanda some well needed manners while her mom is away for work.

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

Wanda was starting to get on your nerves, you tried your best to get your step daughter on the right path with motivational words and gentle touches. Whenever her mother would treat her with harsh words and made the poor girl feel like a burden to the word you were there for her, stroking over her soft skin and mumbling sweet nothings in her ear to distract her from the lingering pain her mothers words had left. It wasn’t her fault after all, that college and being an adult was so god damn scary, she’d only need a pit of starting assistance to get on her feet.  

You gave her an internship at the firm you had founded when you were roughly her age, you’d given her chance after chance after chance only to be met by the same disappointment.  Wanda preferred to choose skimpy clothes even when she had to attend office. Her skirts left little to nothing for the imagination. Same thing with her low cut blouses, it almost left like she intended for you to one day bent her over the mahogany desk and color her ass in the shade you wore on your lips. 

It had happened before after a nasty fight you had had with her mother. She came into your office wearing nothing but her skimpy pajamas. You didn’t intend to share a night with her but it was destined to happen, while her mother was away you shared passionate hours between her milky thighs. Her mewled sounds were like forbidden melodies in your ears, begging you for more begging you to keep going. 

She tasted like a forbidden fruit, you longed for the fresh taste that made your life complete. Even after the first time you got to taste her, it enchanted you like an ancient spell which binds you to keep going back for more. 

The raindrops fell against the glass windows of your  home office, it had been rainy all day enchanting the air with a fresh smell. Your wife, Wanda's mother, was out of town for some business but in reality she just tried to avoid you. It was late already. You shared a chat with your friend and colleague Natasha. 

 A quiet knock interrupted you and Natasha's comfortable silence. “Wanda, my step daughter” You mumbled, turning slightly to see who was at the door. Incoming was Wanda who upon seeing the two older women blushed, hoping that they wouldn’t notice. 

“Why are you here?” Wanda looked down hiding her hands behind her back “I was hoping that you would have some time for me” You chuckle, upon seeing Nat all her bratty behavior suddenly just seemed to disappear. “I was hoping you could offer me a ride home” 

“I could offer you much more, sweetheart” You husk, knowing fully well how your words would be interpreted by the younger woman. “Come over here, Wands. Why don’t you entertain me and Nat for a bit” Wanda took a seat on your lap, being forced to look into the hungry eyes of Natasha.  

“She’s a pretty one, too bad that she’s a brat” Natasha leaned back in her office chair with the desire for the younger woman written across her face. “Maybe she’s in need of some discipline, Y/N.” Natasha was right you had tried to give her some punishments in the past but you couldn’t deny that whenever her doe eyes would swell with tears you couldn’t deny her anything. 

“Stand up” Natasha demanded, her voice dripping with authority making Wanda follow suit. “I want you to undress and get on your knees” Wanda breath hitched, this was like a dream come true for her, being used by two older women at once. Hastily she unbuttoned her blouse only to be stopped by Natasha once more. “Slowly, make a show for us like the slut you are”

You could feel yourself wetting your own panites when the silk fabric disappeared from Wanda's perky breasts. They were protected by her lacy red bra leaving little to the imagination. “Did you wear that for me baby” You husk making Wanda blush even more if that would even be possible. She gave you a shy nod before moving on to her pencil skirt and stepping out her heels “A matching set, that’s how I like it baby” 

She got on her knees not sure who to look at, Nat got up from her seat positioning herself in front of your step daughter. “Do you know why you’re a brat?” Natasha’s voice was sharp like it could cut through the air. “No, I-” Before she could finish the sentence there was a slap ringing through the air followed by a sob, it shocked even you. 

“First you deny being a brat, then you don’t address me right” She grabbed her chin forcing her to look at Natasha. “Are you even grateful for Y/N giving you chances for you to be a lazy slut” There was a silence following not even you dared to break “I’m sorry, daddy” She sobbed her tears running down her cheeks, the slap wasn’t even that hard she just hopped that crying would make you have pity with her. “How about you make it up for us huh?”

Again the couch in your office came in handy otherwise you could’ve never witnessed this sinful scene in front of you. Wanda’s chest pressed against the leather couch, her ass high up in the air pressed against the bulge in Natasha’s boxers. “Go on baby, make mommy happy”

 Wanda listened to you eagerly kissing the top of your cunt, she took a few licks over your cunt humming at her favorite taste. While the younger woman was distracted Natasha slipped off her boxers, her cock already hard from earlier. Upon inspecting Wanda's cunt which was already so wet she dripped down her thighs she slowly inserted her cock. 

The poor girl mewled at the stretch not being used to the large stretch, your straps had all been smaller than Nat’s size. She broke away from your cunt making you goan at the loss of pleasure, which didn't go unnoticed by Nat. “Get back to work slut” She hissed, pushing Wanda’s face back into your cunt. 

“You do so good baby, such a good girl” You praised her only making Wanda all the more confused. She tried her best to stay focused on sucking on your clit while Nat rammed her dick inside her tight cunt again and again, hitting the younger woman’s cervix, which only made Wanda cry out more. Her muffled cries and moans were muffled by your cunt which sent wanted vibrations through your body. 

Her licks became more and more unrhythmic as she lost herself in the pleasure provided by Nat who had slipped her right hand from her hips to play with her clit. Her walls flattered around Nat indicating how close she was. “Does the whore want to cum?” Wanda nodded eagerly “Then make your mommy cum first” 

With two fingers inside of your cunt and her mouth latched on your clit you were sure you couldn’t keep it together. “Fuck, Fuck, baby, I’m cuming” With another cry you released all over her face and fingers. She clawed her on your lower stomach as she came around Nat’s cock.  

Nat was close too, pulling out to manhandle the girl on her back. With a few more bumps of her hands she came all over Wanda’s mixing your cum with her own. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this” You helped Wanda to sit up, trying your best to clean her face with a handkerchief, but you knew what she needed right now was comfort which you gladly gave her.  

“Go run her a bath Nat our good girl needs a reward”

:)