#Y’know what I’m committing to a name

[beigetiger]

Trying to write about Skulduggery and Valkyrie in an AU. It is turning out very long, so in the meantime I’m gonna talk about what the Sanctuary is up to.

This au pulls the very stereotypical “most of civilization has collapsed”, so Roarhaven is incredibly crowded full of people mortal and sorcerer alike, and the city is shielded at certain times of the day to protect from threats (most notably Mevolent/Serafina or the Faceless Ones).

Like, when I say packed, I mean packed. Pretty much the whole city is stacked on top of each other and some people are seeing if they can connect the buildings together to form one massive structure, and even that isn’t enough to hold all the people now penned up in this city. Splashes of magic are becoming even more widespread, especially among mortals, to the point that some of the police have started to crack down on it. There are also people who can’t afford places to stay who all sleep together under one big tarp to conserve body heat, it is a mess.

China got aged down to about her forties in this au because of the magic blast, which really led to her being annoyed that magical explosions kept tampering with her age. She’s no longer the principal of Corrival and now she lives on the edge of town running a business as a Signum Linguist (since Signum Linguists are in very high demand in Roarhaven). She doesn’t create Splashes, but she does make weapons and/or enhancements for soldiers, particularly mortal ones (which I will get into later).

Corrival Academy is technically no longer functional but many of the teachers do still teach, and they find places and times to do it so that students can show up in groups and learn. Teachers like Fletcher and Militsa are partially helping the Sanctuary keep organized and on-task and partially trying to organize and actual school for kids since the last one fell apart. Also Militsa broke up with Valkyrie again on account of Val being an evil god (AGAIN), and now she and Fletcher are disaster besties who’re trying to keep it together. The two of them somehow managed to keep Xena alive until her death at an old doggy age.

Ghastly is still running things over at the Sanctuary, and he is having a VERY rough go of it. On top of mortals finding out about magic and chaos ensuing, he also has to deal with the fact that he now knows that Skulduggery is Lord Vile (because of what Cadaver told him) and that Valkyrie defended him for years (and has now turned into a slightly deranged god). He, Tanith, and Temper have been working together to create different military units with different purposes now that they have more demographics of people to keep track of, protect, and make use of. In short, Ghastly is even more burnt out than he was before the apocalypse.

The mortals have also been making themselves useful, usually working as soldiers for the Sanctuary. I talked about technomages a bit earlier, and I am talking about them now. Lots of the mortals now living in Roarhaven have been going out of their way to equip magical tools (usually weapons) to help them keep up with the sorcerers. This has led to them basically forming into military units working for the Sanctuary and has greatly increased their firepower, making them slightly less appealing to attack.

On top of Temper, Tanith, and Ghastly at the top of the Sanctuary, Dexter Vex also has a little group of his own who technically don’t work for the Sanctuary, but stay in Roarhaven and are more than willing to do tasks alongside them. Aside from Dexter, this team consists of Saracen (who was revived in the same way as Anton), Kierre, Aurora, Frightening, Donegan, and Gracious. Kierre showed back up when the Sanctuary (aided by China’s sigils) figured out a way to fix her boyfriend, and Aurora and Frightening found each other in America shortly after the general apocalypse (North America did not take it well) and then hopped over to Ireland to find Dexter. The Monsters Hunters did something similar to this except that they were in England at the time, and Saracen basically respawned in Ireland.

One of the people who is not present at the Sanctuary (or in Roarhaven at all) is Anton Shudder. He’s off working for Valkyrie for reasons that I plan on explaining in a later post, but he (and Valkyrie) are missed dearly by their friends.

Unlike most of the other groups in this au, Roarhaven isn’t actually aggressive and doesn’t go out of their way to pick fights with other gangs, instead working to act as a safe space for refugees from the war. They’re also completely stationary, which is why they have the part-time shield to protect them from attacks. Valkyrie is willing to spend resources to protect them, but they don’t entirely trust her and so she tends to give them space. They do get visits from her occasionally though, and she’s described as feeling like a harbinger of doom.

Much words, sorry to spam you all with au stuff

[moyazaika]

omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!

this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere

i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T

lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.

as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.

you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.

after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!

—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?

the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.

as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.

he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”

“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”

“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”

“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.

a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”

“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”

“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.

your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.

“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—

—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.

“fuck!”

you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.

“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”

“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?

he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”

“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”

“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”

“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”

—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—

“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”

you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.

“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”

“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”

“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”

“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.

“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”

“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”

“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”

[inkedells]

look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences. 

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

-

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso. 

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

-

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

-

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel. 

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?” 

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

@basicoccult @myhusband2cool @fleuraimer @chunguk @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucufifluclu @pintsizedsunshine @s1eepy-bear @daddysuperduperlonglegs @worhols @evyiione @criesside @saph-cyare

@gswizzsstuff @baloobalee @gessmiller05 @trynasurvivelol @yazsos @marchai @pompii @alyssa1216 @daddy-din @msmagix4 @blooming-bubs @huffle-punk @whorrorain @iliketoeatstrawberrypocky @onlineplant @totallynotastanacc @hiddenbabynyc @thedoctorofpoop @kamcrazy123 @afterglowsb-tch13

@redplaidedandcladed @simping-soldat @martyluvsu @mingiast @teddybonkers1960 @brittmb15 @ellswilliams @laurasunsole @senaar-ika @whore4ellie @harrysbitvh123 @atremises @silkiers @bbyanarchist @pawnshopbluess222 @https-hann @cassiesolos @xanqels @jawgrinder

@daylighthrry @victoriamay1357 @jeezkiddo @its-spooky-these-days @pedro-luvr @chibimosa @sagethephantom @loathsome-gargoyle @alejaa-a @greenclues @june-julie @spenciesprincess @donttamethebeasts @alec0 @djarinsimp 

[merakiui]

RABU.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, brief nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, implied murder/death, implied cannibalism, pregnancy, obsession note - i chatted with @heyyy11 and we discussed noodle shop owner jade!! :D this fic is the result of our thoughts. additionally, it's inspired by maretu's "binomi" and lyrics featured are from mitski's "me and my husband."

i. i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute. and then i’ll be nothing forever. and all of my memories and all of the things i have seen will be gone. with my eyes, with my body, with me.

There’s a pot of perpetual stew sitting on the stove.

It fills the small shop with savory scents, enthralling all who catch its delicious aroma on the air. Your husband of twenty years tends to it every now and then, lifting the lid to stir through its contents with a large wooden spoon. Regulars stop by for a fix of his food and comment much the same thing each time: “That husband of yours sure loves his stew.”

“Oh, he can’t get enough,” you would always reply, giggling at their observations.

You would then scrawl their usual orders in your notepad and they’d give you a knowing look. Still so infatuated even though two decades have passed—aren’t you the sweetest? But you can’t help it. Your husband is everything: affectionate, attentive, a masterful chef…

His forever single twin brother often groused that Jade got all the good fortune. “Y’know, if you’re ever tired of Jade, I’m here for ya,” he’d say, leaning over the counter with a sleazy smirk. “Shrimpy’s free to visit whenever she wants. My arms are always open.”

And Jade would smile tightly at him, brush him away with his broom, all while saying, “I’m afraid the shop’s closed now. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, Floyd.”

He acts in jest. Mostly.

Shortly after your wedding, on your first night as newlyweds, the two of you made a compromise. Jade wanted a family; you weren’t ready to start one. And so, in order to work through this dispute, you came to an agreement: He would be in charge of the prep work for the noodle shop he intended to open—a metaphorical child more than anything. In return, you would take orders and chat with customers. A fair deal, one you thought was attractive in its own right. Jade, ever so patient and understanding, lounged beside you in bed, gesturing towards the ceiling as if attempting to spell out the vision before your very eyes. He spoke so eagerly of his dreams. It warmed your heart.

Naturally, just as passionately, you would support him in his every endeavor.

“What do you think of this name? Rabu Rabu Ramen.”

You rolled over on your side, snuggling closer. You couldn’t snuff the overwhelming elation and tenderness that wrapped itself around you whenever you looked at him. And he was all yours—your husband to love forever, to grow old with, to experience life’s highs and lows together. Your wedding night was just the beginning of what would surely be a riveting romance.

“It’s silly.”

“It’s lovey-dovey.”

“If you like it, I like it.”

“Truly?”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t long before fantasy bled into reality. The both of you found a quaint spot in a quiet neighborhood. It was more hole-in-the-wall than you would’ve liked, but Jade didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes tourists stumbled in, commenting that they would’ve missed it had they not ventured down the narrow path. Jade liked that aspect. It was secretive, peaceful, off the beaten track…

By the end of your first year running the shop, plenty of praise had spread throughout the neighborhood. You learned the locals’ names and faces quickly, committing each to your memory as if there might be an exam later on. They thought you were the cutest, the way you’d take charge of the front while your husband worked diligently in the back. Grandmothers adored you, and they made sure to point out the obvious at every opportunity. 

“Omago-san, it’s too quiet in here! You’re still so young. Plenty of time for a family. Tell that husband of yours to get busy!”

You could only offer an awkward smile. “Maybe one day.”

When that ‘one day�� would be, you couldn’t say.

It’s become something of a widely-held belief that Jade can’t make a single bad dish. Everything on the menu is scrumptious. From the homemade noodles to the variety of broths to the additional ingredients, each prepared by Jade’s adroit hand, it’s a feast for the ravenous. 

Sometimes customers ask for recommendations, and if you aren’t careful you’ll end up fawning over every dish.

“It’s all so amazing, but I like my ramen with bone broth. My husband makes it better than I do.”

It was true. You couldn’t possibly replicate Jade’s skill in the kitchen. At the very least, when it comes to tea, you’re on an even playing field.

“Just what’s his secret anyway?”

To that question, you could only offer a shrug. “Maybe it’s love?”

Jade told you it was a family recipe—a cherished secret passed through the generations. You thought he’d confess at some point now that you’ve been part of the family for so long, but he’s yet to do so. It hurt at first. You’re married! Family! Jade is smooth about the entire thing, promising to tell you one day, easing all of your worries with sugared sentiments. You’re impatient and oh-so-curious, but you force yourself to wait for his sake.

It must be a special secret.

The pot on the stove is an heirloom. It’s old, yet reliable and sturdy. Jade’s mother gifted it to him in the wake of your engagement. Sometimes you think he treasures it more than anything. He’s always hovering near it, having forbidden you from lifting the lid, lest you unintentionally tamper with whatever it is he’s cooking. It smells hearty like meat stew most days, and according to Jade the process is long.

You linger near the stove. A tiny taste wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, Jade cooks things in excess to cure what appears to be an interminable hunger.

But then someone pokes their head inside the shop, calling out a greeting. You move to the front just as Jade returns from the storage room, carrying a crate of vegetables. That taste will have to wait.

Detective Azul Ashengrotto lowers onto a stool at the counter and heaves an exhausted sigh.

“If it isn’t Azul! What brings you here? Tired of the big city?”

Weary hues flick over your face. He manages a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, (Name). You’re still as energetic as ever.”

“You know it. Every day’s sunny over here.” You rest your elbows on the counter and hum. “Although it’s been awfully slow today.”

“I envy you.” He lifts his hat off of his head to card a hand through tousled hair. Now that you’re looking at him, he seems to have lost some weight. His face is thinner. His eye sockets appear hollow, heavy with shadows. “They’re running me ragged over there. Too many cases. Not enough answers.”

“You ought to take better care of your health.”

“I am—will. I plan to as soon as I wrap up this current case.”

“What’s it about? If you can tell me, that is.”

“A young man went missing near the port. They think he might’ve fallen in and drowned. His wallet was brought up from the seabed, but they haven’t recovered his body yet.”

“How unfortunate… I’m sure his family’s distraught.”

Azul drags a hand down his face and sighs again. “A mess.”

“My, my. It’s been some time since I’ve heard that familiar sigh.”

Lowering his arm, Azul fixes him with a sardonic grin. “How kind of you to join us. I was starting to wonder where you were hiding.”

Jade hums and adjusts his bandana. “Forever confined to the kitchen. My wife is eating for two now.”

A minute ticks by before the realization flashes on Azul’s face. He looks between the both of you, stunned.

“Oh, you’ve—wow. I wasn’t expecting… Ahem. Congratulations.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s talking about his stomach. I’m not pregnant.”

Azul’s countenance shifts through a catalogue of emotions before landing on a scowl. “To think I actually believed you for a moment. I rescind my congratulations.”

“My poor hara, endlessly empty without your sweet sentiments to fill it.”

“And my hara is telling me that you’re going to starve our guest if you keep being silly.” Clicking your tongue at him, you turn your much softer stare on Azul. “The usual, right?”

“Oh, thank you, but I ate before I came. I only intended to stop in and say hello since I was in the area. I really should be leaving now that—”

“Nonsense! You’re already here and Jade has nothing better to do. You should go back on a full stomach.”

“Indeed. A delicious bowl of tonkotsu ramen has your name on it,” Jade adds from his place in the kitchen. “And I do so love busying these idle hands of mine. Should they remain idle, I fear the devil may just find work for them…”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You look so withered, Zuzu. You’ll feel better after a hot meal. I promise!”

The platonic affection twined through the nickname catches him by surprise. Huffing, his cheeks colored pink, he stuffs his hat on his head to veil the darkening blush. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll get started on tea.”

You weren’t going to give him much of a choice. Azul probably knows this by now, well-acquainted with your proclivity to play caretaker.

“This winter is particularly brutal,” he comments after you’ve fetched him a cup. It’s more of a change in subject than an observation. He shudders and burrows further into the warmth provided by his coat. “The worst time to die.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Winter is full of mistakes. Drunken mishaps at night, in which the victim slips on ice and falls into the sea… Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. I can’t begin to imagine how painful that must be—to not know where your loved one has disappeared to, only to find them just as the winter frost melts away to usher in spring.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” You set the kettle down, and Azul watches steamy tendrils curl up towards the ceiling. “Does it ever scare you—the things you find?”

“I’ve seen so much it’s difficult to know what real fear even is.”

“Ah.” You glance over your shoulder at Jade as he opens the lid on the pot of stew. Your eyes drift over towards Azul once more. “You work hard. You deserve a break after your next case.”

“I could sleep forever when that day comes.”

“Retirement isn’t too far, is it, Ojiisan?”

Azul chokes around his breath. “Do I really look so old? Oh, my heart… If these sleepless nights don’t kill me, that assumption certainly will.”

You giggle. “Sorry, sorry. I meant to say you look as spry as ever.”

“You’re too happy to hammer nails into my coffin.”

“I do it with love. It’s our secret ingredient, you know!”

“So I’ve heard.”

The rest of your conversation stalls out. You wipe the counter with a fresh rag in hopes of giving yourself something to do while Azul reads through the newspaper and sips at his tea. You watch him in your peripheral vision. Is he taking care of himself? It doesn’t look like it, but you’ve known Azul long enough to be familiar with his level of responsible efficiency. Maybe this particular case has him in the trenches.

Just how hard are they working him over there?

As his friend you worry. In fact, you worry yourself sick. Every time he visits he’s in poor shape. Though he masks it with confidence, you can see the toll life is taking on him.

“Have you ever wanted to get married, Azul?”

“If I find the right person, sure.”

“But?”

“But, seeing as that has yet to happen, I have no interest in pursuing something that might waste my time and money. Emotions are exhausting, even more so when invested in something like romance. It’s better to put them towards something that will yield solid results. Like work, for example.”

“That outlook is so frigid! Don’t you wanna fall in love?”

“Love isn’t going to crack these cases,” he grumbles at the paper.

Jade appears at the little window cut into the wall. “Someone sounds like a love killer.”

“I’m only being realistic.” Azul scoffs. “Besides, you have no right to speak as a married man.”

“Envy is a wicked vice. I’ll gladly help you overcome it.”

You take the bowl of tonkotsu ramen from Jade and set it in front of Azul. “Okay, enough of that. Let him enjoy his meal in peace.”

“But I haven’t yet had my fill of fun.”

You reach through the horizontal window to gently tug on Jade’s ear. He rumbles with laughter. “Don’t bully the guests.”

“Why, I would never, my dearest.”

Azul watches this back-and-forth with a forlorn longing in his pale blues. Wordlessly, he sinks his soup spoon into the broth and lifts the noodles between his chopsticks. He eats with such zest it makes you wonder if this is his first meal of the day. Sensing your stare, he attempts to pace himself.

You smile sadly. He looks like he needs this.

“As always, it’s delicious,” he says once he’s made a sizable dent in the portion.

Jade basks in the praise. “I’m pleased you enjoy it.”

“But… Well.” The ghost of a frown settles on his weathered features. “The broth tastes different. You must’ve used a new seasoning. Or perhaps this is an expensive cut of pork? Whatever it is, it’s different. Not bad, mind you. I’m sure if it were anyone else it would’ve been difficult to catch.”

“Is this the impressive power of Detective Ashengrotto’s taste buds at work?” you joke, to which Azul flashes you a proud grin that’s more teeth than lip.

“Well, I have been using ingredients with better qualities as of late… I’m not very fond of serving cheap products to honored guests.”

“Isn’t my Jade so considerate? He’s too cute.” You stand up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “He even grows some of the vegetables himself. Green onions and mushrooms and the like.”

“Ah, of course. How could I forget that dubious green thumb of yours?” Azul muses, recalling the time in which Jade served him a new dish in exchange for valid critique. He had conveniently neglected to inform Azul that it contained mushrooms, something he has eaten plenty of in the time that he’s known you and Jade. So many that all varieties have been spoiled for him. “In any case, what’s the secret ingredient? Imported pork? Some sort of flavor that’s seeped in when left to simmer? No, not that… It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t place it!”

Jade chuckles. “There is no secret. It’s just love.”

Azul pokes around the bowl with his chopsticks, his eyes narrowed with an intense scrutiny. “I can recognize every other flavor. The meat, the green onions, the egg, the noodles… And I can parse the broth well enough. There’s just something else—a hint of something I’ve never tasted before. This profile is missing from my gastronomic lexicon.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “Well, it’s the same broth, isn’t it?”

The both of you turn to Jade for his input. He nods. “My recipe and method haven’t changed.”

“So it’s still the same as before?” Azul’s nose wrinkles. “Strange. I was certain there was a taste of something more…”

Before he can dwell on it any longer, the radio at his hip crackles to life: “Sir, you’re needed at the port. We’ve got something you should see. Over.”

Azul detaches it from his belt and lifts it to his mouth. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t touch anything if you can help it. Out.” Releasing the button, he deflates briefly and then addresses you and Jade next. “It was wonderful seeing you again, but I’m afraid I must cut my visit short.”

“Then we won’t keep you.”

He moves to pull money from his wallet, but you stop him.

“On the house. You deserve it.”

Despite your generous offer, he still places the exact amount on the counter. “You won’t make profit if you’re giving food away for free.”

“Wha—but you’re a friend!”

“That makes it even worse. It’s not very fair to favor me to this extent.”

“Azuuul, don’t be so stubborn! You did this last time, too.”

“I surmise it will be much the same next time he graces us with his presence,” Jade says, eyeing you sympathetically.

“Ugh. Really… If you won’t let us treat you, at least promise you’ll take better care of yourself. No more skipping meals. Get a full eight hours. Prioritize yourself, too, okay?”

Azul starts for the door, so you miss the way he flusters up to his ears. They’re all very valid concerns, of course, but then he’s never been able to swallow the embarrassment that accompanies being unduly fussed over.

“I’ll do what I can,” he says instead and steps outside into the snowy afternoon.

You fold your arms over your chest and huff noisily. “What are we going to do with him? He’s in bad health and he still insists on being difficult. Must he faint before he realizes it?”

Jade emerges from the kitchen, sliding easily behind the counter where you stand. An amused glint shimmers in two-toned eyes. “I suppose we can only hope he’ll fix his bad habits sooner rather than later.”

“If only there were two of me… That way one could tend to the shop alongside you and the other could help him with his work.”

Jade embraces you firmly. With a giggle, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Two is much too troublesome.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have you all to myself.” His lips curve into a practiced pout. “What if (Name) Number Two finds Detective Ashengrotto more desirable than her own husband?”

You reach up to pinch his cheek in light scolding. “You know that would never happen.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I would never. If I did, that wouldn’t be the real me. I love you too much.” You twirl out of his arms to collect the dirty dishes. “Hey, since he’s no longer here, what was really in Azul’s ramen?”

“I haven’t the faintest inkling, my dear. I used the same ingredients I always do. Perhaps he was tasting something that wasn’t actually there?”

“Maybe… He looked pretty tired, Jade.” You peer at your reflection in the broth. “I wonder if he’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure he will.” Jade follows you into the tiny, compact kitchen. “You do know his penchant for smoking has worsened. I fear his sense of taste may be compromised from so many cigarettes. That, and age. Oh, but these are merely my own theories. He might have caught flavors of a love he’s never known before on those ruined taste buds of his.”

“Ah, right. Because everything you make is filled with love.”

“Not everything. There’s still something I’ve yet to fill with my love.”

He presses himself against you, his hands settling on your waist. You roll your eyes at his very obvious flirting.

“I’m assuming that something is actually a someone?”

“Indeed. And she’s standing right in front of me.”

His arms snake around your front so that you’re effectively trapped between him and the countertop. His hands close around your breasts to grope you through your shirt. You shiver against him when his fingers brush against the precise area of where your nipples are. It’s when he pinches both between his thumb and index that you finally shut the faucet off, surrendering to his touch instead of the dishes piled in the basin.

“At least close the front. What if someone walks in?”

“Unlikely,” he murmurs, his lips hot on your neck. His fingers slip under your shirt to undo the clasp of your bra. “It’s slow today. We can manage.”

You brace yourself at the sink and gasp when he grinds against your ass. “T-Ten minutes.”

“Only ten?”

“Would you prefer five? Your mouth is so smart today.”

“My love, I need only seconds to unravel you. You’re quite easy.”

You bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m not the one with the hard-on, my darling.”

“You’re too alluring, even in uniform. So beautiful, always and forever, my sweet wife.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of dirty dish duty.”

“How cold… You rival the snow outside.”

You shift slightly to face him, offering him an impish grin. “I’d hate for my Jade to freeze. Let’s warm up together, all right?”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

And all the while, your voices filling the kitchen in unison, bodies pressed close, the pot continues to simmer on the stove.

ii. and i am the idiot with the painted face. in the corner, taking up space. but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved.

“Can I ask you something, Floyd?”

“What’s up?” he answers around a mouthful of udon. A few strands hang out from between his lips, and he slurps them up in a motion so fluid it leaves you impressed. As for the mess he makes… Not so much.

“What’s the secret thing that’s been passed through your family?”

Floyd blinks at you, lost. “The secret thing?”

“It’s some ingredient or flavor or…whatever that Jade says is a family secret. I have no idea what it is. He won’t tell me no matter how many times I ask.”

“Ohhh, you’re talkin’ about Mama’s pot, right? That thing’s been in our family forever. She gave it to Jade cuz I didn’t want it.” Floyd points with his chopsticks, playfully accusatory. “What? You into cookware now? I can getcha somethin’ if ya want.”

“What’s this about cookware?” Jade asks, poking his head inside. He looks warm and comfortable in his nagagi and haori, a pleasant sight for your eyes, but the broom clutched in his hands tells a threatening tale. 

Ignoring the fact that he so clearly eavesdropped, you wave him forwards so that you can straighten his scarf. Jade props the broom against the doorway before striding closer. He leans into your touch with a smug smile, which is shamelessly directed at his brother.

“Oh, you’re freezing! Let me fix you a cup of tea. You’ll catch your death if you spend any longer sweeping out there.”

“Thank you, my dear. I fear the chill is rather paralyzing…”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”

“I might just die.”

His dramatics don’t faze Floyd, but they do draw a chuckle from you. “We can’t have that.” You duck into the kitchen and return minutes later with a warm cup of chai. “Floyd was just telling me about your mother’s pot.”

“Was he now?”

“Only cuz Shrimpy asked.”

Jade blows at the steamy beverage to cool it before bringing it to his lips for a sampling. He hums his approval. “It’s quite special.”

Floyd slumps against the counter. “Whatever. It’s boring!”

“I suppose there isn’t much to discuss regarding an old pot.”

“Nothing we haven’t already mentioned.”

“Speaking of that… You thinkin’ about closin’ up the shop for the holidays? Pops’s been on my ass. He and Mama want you to visit.”

Jade gazes at you, but you’re already looking at him. “Should we?” you ask. “I’m not opposed. I just know you like running things here.”

“Not like you’re gonna get crazy business on Christmas.”

“No, but there are a fair amount of regulars who might stop by.”

“We should visit your parents, Jade. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, listen to Shrimpy. Mama’s been missin’ ya.” Floyd shovels more noodles in his mouth. “And afterwards we can all do somethin’ fun on New Year’s Eve.”

“That sounds great! Let’s do it!”

“S’no fun spendin’ the holidays workin’ yourself into the ground.”

“Exactly. Your brother makes a good point. What do you say, Jade? We’ll make the trip to see your parents and then come back in time for New Year’s Eve.”

Jade smiles, approving of the idea. “In that case, I should call Mother so she knows when to expect us.” Taking a final sip from his tea, he rises from his seat and disappears into the kitchen. Seconds later, you hear soft footfalls on the floor above.

“You really don’t know?”

Floyd shrugs. “No idea. The only thing that kinda fits the whole secret ingredient vibe is Mama’s pot. That’s been passed through the family. Other than that? I’ve got nothing.”

“Well… Yeah, that’s true. Maybe it really is nothing.”

Floyd laughs. “This sure means a lot to ya.”

“Of course it does! We’ve been married for two decades and I still don’t know what this ‘family secret’ is. Decades, Floyd! Surely he would’ve told me by now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“It is to me.” You gaze sidelong at the broom and inhale a steadying breath. “It feels like I’m not a part of the family if he won’t tell me something as simple as this. You’d think twenty years qualifies you as—”

“Hey, you’re always gonna be family to me.” Floyd’s hand reaches to cover yours. He hesitates and instead grabs another napkin. “Jade’s just bein’ a hard-ass. Gets it from our old man.”

“Do you think this ‘family secret’ is real?”

“Who knows? I’m sure he’ll fess up once he gets tired of playing this game.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my Jade. He’s really too much sometimes.” You shake your head and sigh. “Thanks for saying that, though. That part about me being family. It… It means a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” Floyd sets his chopsticks and chirirenge down, lifting the bowl to drink what’s left of the broth. He whistles, supremely satisfied, and slouches on the stool. “You ever need anything—doesn’t matter what it is or how much trouble you think it might be—just gimme a call. I’ll be there to help.”

“Thanks. A-Again. Truly.”

Floyd flashes you a toothy smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You collect his bowl, intending to bring it to the sink, but Floyd’s next words stop you in your tracks.

“Hey, Jade’s got that pot on, yeah?”

“The pot? Oh, yes, the pot! What about it?”

“Has it been stirred lately? You gotta do that once in a while, right?”

Your nerves, which had previously been pulled taut, smooth out. He’s referring to cooking. Nothing else. Just cooking.

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Mhm! Smells yummy, by the way.”

“Doesn’t it? Jade’s food is amazing.”

“Mine’s pretty killer, too. You gotta come over and try some.”

“If you’re cooking for me, you’ll have to cook for Jade as well.” You giggle to yourself as you cross into the kitchen, only for the laughter to stick in your throat.

Jade stands at the stove. He lowers the lid onto the pot and sets the wooden spoon aside. He was so quiet you hardly noticed him. How long has he been there? When did he return from upstairs?

“Oh, good timing! Floyd and I were just saying the pot needed to be stirred.”

Jade smiles and takes Floyd’s empty bowl from you. “Did we all have a collective thought just now?”

“Ooh, like telepathy?”

“Wouldn’t that be shocking? Three-way telepathy.”

You watch Jade set the bowl beside the others in need of washing. “That would be so noisy! Three times as many thoughts… I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

“It’d be like watchin’ a show about the two of you,” Floyd pipes up from the front.

“Thankfully, that will never happen.” Jade guides you back out. You peer over your shoulder at the pot. “What a relief our minds aren’t connected. I don’t think I’d enjoy a stray listening in on our private affairs.”

You slap his arm gently. “Floyd’s not a stray!”

“Might as well be since it feels like he’s kickin’ me to the curb. So mean.”

“Not at all. I’m just making a distinction clear.” Jade’s smile is razored, his words catty. “You’re always welcome to visit so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hands off the Shrimpy. I gotcha.” Floyd pops up from his seat and stretches. It seems as if all of Jade’s remarks, each born from petty possessiveness, roll off his shoulders. “I’m not gonna steal her from you if that’s what’s got you so worked up.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Floyd’s once easygoing expression sours. “You’re beggin’ for cement shoes, ain’tcha?”

Jade feigns offense, placing his hands over your ears even though it’s a pointless gesture. “For my own blood to threaten me in front of my sweet pearl… It brings tears to my eyes.”

“All right, all right! I’m goin.’ Geez.” Floyd struts out the door, not wanting to be manually shooed out by Jade and his beloved broom. “And don’t forget about New Year’s Eve!”

You wave farewell until he’s vanished out of sight. Only then do you turn to address your husband. “You ought to be nicer to him. He’s your brother.”

“I was. Very nice, in fact.”

“Really? How?”

“I didn’t charge him for the meal.”

iii. me and my husband, we’re doing better. it’s always been just him and me together. so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow. and at least in this lifetime we’re sticking together. me and my husband, we’re sticking together.

Everyone thought the odds were significantly slimmer than that of younger women—impossible by your standards—but somehow you’re pregnant at forty-four. You suspected it when you missed your period and then, just days prior, woke up with a terrible bout of morning sickness.

Standing in the bathroom, staring at the positive test like it’s a relic from Atlantis, you pinch yourself. Hard. It stings, and with this your disbelief mellows into something astonished.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

And this time you’re ready for a family. You’re ready to raise a child. Somewhat. Amidst every positive emotion there's anxiety and fear, and they reign so tyrannical that you almost forget you’re meant to be excited. Tamping down insecurity, you turn the test over in your hands.

I’ve got to tell Jade.

But before that you think back on the timeline in an effort to pinpoint the fateful day. After mapping it out for a brief while, you arrive at what’s possibly the least romantic way to conceive a child. Going at it raw and reckless in the kitchen, bent over a sink filled with dirty dishes and pressed against the wall… At least it was in a place both of you treasure.

Not the worst place, you think. I guess it doesn’t have to be a typical rose-petals-on-the-floor situation.

You’re practically vibrating out of your skin when you tiptoe out of the bathroom. Jade’s already downstairs. You can hear him humming as he works to open the shop. Hastily, you change into your work clothes and stuff the test in your pocket.

Jade’s notorious for his surprises, but it’s never been easy to return the favor. You mull over this facet of his character as you skip down the stairs. How can you shock him with this good news when he makes it so difficult? It’s as if he’s always two steps ahead, expecting the unexpected before it can even happen.

Jade brightens when you walk into the kitchen. He meets you halfway, lifting your hand to his lips. “Good morning. How did you sleep, my pearl?”

You squeeze his hand. “Like the dead.”

He chuckles. “I’m pleased it was so restful.”

You glance at the pot then and an idea sprouts. “Is there anything else that needs to get done? Is the front opened?”

“Just about. I need to prep a few more things here and then—”

“I can do it! It’s just stocking up on what’s low, right? That’s not very hard.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” You claim the spot he had once been standing in. He was in the process of filling a container with chopped green onions before you came down. “Go on and open the front. I’ve got things handled here.”

“I do so adore you.”

“I adore you more.”

“I adore you most.” He beams and stalks off through the doorway. 

Now left to your own devices, you move to the sink and turn on the water to wash your hands. If all goes according to plan, you’ll open the lid, pretend something’s wrong with its contents, and when Jade comes over to investigate you’ll act as if you’ve pulled the positive test from the pot. It’s a harmless surprise. You’re sure he won’t be expecting it, especially since he’s the one who does all of the cooking.

After confirming Jade’s still busy with the front, you creep over to the stove. That infamous pot awaits. You slide your hand into an oven mitt and grab hold of the lid, lifting it slowly. You’re immediately hit with the delicious scent of bone broth, so fragrant it almost has you salivating.

Focus! I can eat after the big reveal.

You open your mouth to call Jade over and then pause.

Has he stirred it yet? It looks a little… No, it’s definitely murky. Is bone broth supposed to be this dark? Maybe I just need to stir it.

You lower the wooden spoon into the broth and, scraping along the sides and bottom, mix expertly. The bones knock into each other from the disturbance, and you inhale deeply. It reminds you of the tonkotsu ramen Azul fancies so much. You could go for a bowl right now.

You’re about to take the spoon out and cover the pot when something floats to the surface. Without meaning to, you recall Azul’s words from last month: Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. Curiously, you scoop the object up onto the spoon. Broth spills over into the pot and then you see it.

A finger.

A human finger.

What the fuck is a finger doing in Jade’s pot?

The nail has been plucked off and the skin is sagging away, turned to pliable mush from sitting in the pot for so long, but it is undoubtedly a finger.

A very real, very human finger.

Bile slithers up your throat with thick, acidic fingers.

Fingers.

There’s another one and then another. Three fingers. You poke around in the broth, dreading what else you might see. You don’t want to find a full set of ten. Anything but that. You count five and that’s all you can stomach before you’re shakily covering the pot with the lid. You set the spoon and oven mitt down next, your mind reeling.

You want to vomit.

You’re about to vomit.

You’re going to—

“(Name)?”

You whirl to look at him. Your husband. He stands in the doorway, a dark look on his face. You can’t describe the emotion, or lack thereof. It’s more of a shadow. An oppressive shadow. An intimidating shadow. A shadow that seems to say: You’ve seen too much.

“J-Jade!” How long has he been standing there? How much does he know? “Sorry. I… I felt sick just now. I think I should…rest a bit more.”

The gloom fades away into perfect placidity. “My, my. That’s not good.” He takes a step towards you and pauses when you jerk away. “Is everything all right?”

“Y-Yes, of course! I’m just…not feeling it today…or something.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” His eyes slide towards the stovetop. “I do so dislike getting into disagreements with you. So to avoid that I’ll ask once and only once. What did you see in the pot?”

Your spine stiffens, straight and still as a board, and you hang your head guiltily. “I… I’m sorry. I saw… W-Well, I don’t want to believe it. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding or a mistake of some kind. It’s just that—um… I… I saw…”

Fingers. Human fingers!

“I saw what I think is y-your secret ingredient. The thing—” your voice cracks, and you swallow thickly to push rising bile back— “Azul tasted that day…” “And that secret ingredient is…”

Tears brim and spill over in silent, horror-struck waterfalls. You risk a glance at your husband, and a wobbly smile pulls your lips apart.

“Love.”

[donutz]

Catnap x reader fluff Alphabet[1/8]

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

Affection(How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

— Before Catnap became the not so nice Catnap, he was very affectionate

— You would be by yourself and he would cuddle against you, he can get embarrassed but only when people(or toys) point it out

— He was an absolute sweetheart, and still somewhat is

— Before, he would rub his head against you, hold your hand, purr, y’know the way cats show affection

— Now, since he’s much bigger, he curls around you, he knocks over stuff right in front of you(to him that’s affection), he shows you the dead bodies of toys and humans, somehow that’s also how he shows it, it’s like a gift I guess??

— Like how cats bring their owners a dead mice

— He still purrs around you, but it’s a really distinct sound, you have to lean in a lot to hear it

Best friend(How would they be as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

— Before, he would approach you from time to time and just stare, it’s kinda his way of saying hi

— Now, uhm.. Depending on how you acted before ‘it’ happened you would, A) Be dead or B) Be nearly dead, or not, depending if you’re a heretic to him

— Before, he would BARELLYYY approach you, and this is before! You have to do it yourself, he’s a silent kitten

— After, as in when he was a lot more distant from the other critters, it would start from you approaching him, he wouldn’t ever approach you 

Cuddles(Do they cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

—Yall, this a cat we’re talking about

— Of course he would! Not all cats like to cuddle but they do like resting on their owners lap for the rest of their life

— Especially when you’re sleeping!

— He would ask permission to, but that way is him just staring at you while you’re asleep

— It was happening so often that you had to just straight up tell him

— “Catnap”.

— “?”

— “If you ever want to cuddle up to me when I’m sleeping, you can do so. You don’t need to stare at me okay?”

— “Ok-ay”.

— You gave him a hug after that, no hard feelings!!

Domestic(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

— His name is Catnap, he loves settling down!

— While watching people!

— I wouldn’t recommend letting Catnap cook

— Especially since he’s flammable

— Some of you might get what I mean

— When it comes to cleaning? I’d say he’s decent. He kinda falls asleep or just stares at the floor and gets distracted

Ending(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

— Catnap is a little boy ^_^

— The only type of ‘break up’ is killing you or stop talking to you

Fiance(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

— I don’t know about the commitment part but!! ^_^

— In the, “Let’s get married when we’re older!” way, like child way, he would not mind having a child marriage

— Like little ring pops instead of rings that cost $1k!

Gentle(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

— Before, he would listen to anything you had to say! You’re sad? Tell him about it! If you want

— As gentle as possible physically, wouldn’t say it, but would do it, like he wouldn’t say he’d be as gentle with you as possible

— In front of others

— Now, he would listen, but if you’re riding on his back or something

— He needs to ‘take care’ of the place y’know?!

— Physically, he needs to try even harder to be gentle, like with his paws when he’s grabbing you

Hugs(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

— He gets a little confused, but he will 100% accept it!

— He will have a big smile on his face!

— He mainly does it when he’s tired, but if he does it randomly it will be a quick one, or a long one, but that’s pretty rare

— His hugs are very comforting! Especially when you’re sad

— His lavender scent is the best.

— One time it made you fall asleep when you guys were having a long hug

I love you(How fast do they say the L-word?)

— RARE, THAT IS SO RARE

— You try your hardest to record it

— Before, if someone said to say it to you, he’d get a little shy but say it quietly

— He says it out of nowhere!

— You’re never able to catch it :(

— Now? Uhh, It’d take a few minutes but he’d muster it out eventually

Jealousy(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

— I saw this headcanon in where he’d get jealous unless it was with DogDay and I HIGHLY agree with that(creds to lovelybee666, if you’re reading this on Wattpad, they’re on Tumblr ^_^)

— He can get jealous, depending on how the other person or toy interacts with you

— If they’re all touchy, he’ll drag you away when they’re not looking

— Then he just stares at you as if saying, “Explain. Now.”

— He’s not thattt possessive but he can get reallyyyy jealous

— Then you’ll ‘explain’ and he’ll just chill with you for an hour or so before you can go back to them

Kisses(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

— Sooo since his mouth is permanently a smile I have no idea on how it happens

— But what I imagine is that he uses his top ‘lip’ and gives you a smooch like that

— He likes ‘kissing’ you on the cheek

— He sometimes ‘kisses’ you on the forehead but all you see(if you’re not closing your eyes) is just darkness

— He would like forehead kisses I think

— Makes him feel all special

— But after ‘it’, if you did do that he’d stand still for a sec then sit down and rub his gigantic head on you

Little ones(How are they around children?)

— Not in the ‘having kids way’ since it says little ones, but I don’t think he’d be very active with the kids

— Unless it’s time to sleep

— He’s like a night guard it’s kinda terrifying

Morning(How are mornings spent with them?)

— Catnap never knows if it’s morning.

— But there is kind of an alarm that ‘wakes him up’

— I know this isn’t morning like but he sleeps throughout the day

Night(How are nights spent with them?)

— Adding to what I said, he rarely sleeps at night

— But if he does, he’ll be so cuddly!

— It’s so cute

— He purrs in his sleep

Open(When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

— He wouldn’t

— If you asked?

— You’d have to ask a lot, before and after the incident

— It will take a long while for him to open up about everything

— It’s like how games slowly make certain parts to it so they can reveal more lore

Patience(How easily angered are they?)

— Can get angry if you actually ignored him

— He just stares at you if he gets angry, if he’s angry because of you

— You can kinda see it in his eyes

— Like you could be mad at him for killing nearly all the smiling critters and just ignore him

— He will follow you wherever you go, then you pick you up by the back of the neck with his mouth(somehow) and take you to the thing that he knows will make you happy

— After a while, he’ll take you to his sleeping area, y’know(unless you don’t) the one that’s on the right of you before you meet Dogday

— And then it’s time to sleep

Quizzes(How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

— Catnap will most likely remember everything about you

— His memory is very good

— You could mention your favorite color and he’ll remember it if you ask him, even 5 years later

— He'd rememeber every detail

Remember(What is their favorite moment in the relationship?)

— The time you still loved him even after the hour of joy.

Security(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

— Very, he would see a tiny spike and use his paw to pry you away from it

— He’d pick you up from the back of your neck, use his paw, protect you with his body, or just absolutely destroy what would hurt you

— He wouldn’t mind you protecting him

— But please, he can do it himself

— I bet he won’t even get scared at a cucumber

Try(How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

— You guys don’t have dates

— But before, if you did, there would be a little table with a yarn knitted candle, with Catnap in a suit while you’re in whatever you wanna wear

— And then you start talking because Catnap is never the type to start conversations

— Anniversaries?

— “Ann-ver-sary..”

— “Huh?”

— He gave you a paper

— ‘Happy Aniversairy’

— His spelling was a little off but that was okay, plus he added little hearts!

— His gifts is dead stuff

— Or, your favorite objects!

— Like your favorite flowers, pencil, doll, anything he can find will be a gift!

Ugly(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

— How he can just not interact with you for a whole day

— Having Dogday hung up even though you tell him everyday to stop having him there

— You’d do it yourself

— But both Catnap and Prototype won’t like that

— You don’t care about Prototype but you do for Catnap

— You’ve tried convincing Dogday to just side with the two

— Multiple times

— But Dogday always goes silent

Vanity(How concerned are they with their looks?)

— He does NOT care ^_^

Whole(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

— If he killed you, and you were someone really important to him, I’d think he’d be bummed for the longest time

— He’d even zone out when Prototype would be instructing him

Xtra(A random head cannon for them.)

— Love language is maybe slightly physical touch, but gift giving is his go to

Yuck(What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

— When you yell at him

— When you ignore him

— You going against Prototype

— How you ‘pester’ him about Dogday

Zzz(What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

— You know when he had his cardboard cutout? Yeah, he snores, loud.

— But it happens only sometimes

— Most of the time he’s purring

[str4wkinzi]

02/02/24, working on a fic abt toji but i do NOT want to. wont be out until like next year

Prison Warden! Wriothesley x Prisoner! Reader.

nsfw content. by continuing into this post, you will be exposed to nsfw content. you have been warned.

Wriothesley never left the underworld. He’d stay there for months on end, barely bothering to call.

Non-prisoners aren’t allowed anywhere near the Fortress of Meropide, let alone go inside it. So, what do you do to see your beloved Wriothesley?

You commit a petty crime, tell on yourself to Neuvilette (who already knows what you’re doing), and land yourself in the Fortress of Meropide. As soon as you get inside you see him, arms crossed.

“I’ll take the convict from here.” He says to the guard. He leads you to his office, coming across people who call him ‘Your Grace.’

You both finally get to his office, he locks the big doors and turns to look at you.

“His grace? Is that why you don’t want to leave this place?” You snort. Wriothesley doesn’t budge.

“Oh, come on. I haven’t seen you in so long-“ “So you get sent to prison to see me.” It comes off more as a statement than a question.

You start to feel a little dejected. Looking upon your reasons that got you here, they don’t seem at all smart.

You give your lover and sheepish smile.

“I just missed you. Can you blame me?” You say as you go over and give him a kiss.

He sighs and smiles at you. Returning your kiss, he mumbles about how he missed you too. Suddenly, you pull back and look into his eyes.

The look he knows all too well.

“You didn’t just come down here because you missed me, did you?” He questions. Though, he already knows your real motives.

Now knowing you’ve been caught, you sigh and admit part of the reason you came. He laughs in your face for a hot second. Then, silence. Pure silence with a stone look on his face.

“Over the desk, convict.” Wriothesley demands.

You obey and bend over his desk. You feel the cold metal handcuffs on your wrists as they clank shut.

He takes your pants and underwear off. His fingers start to glide up and down along your slit, occasionally circling your clit.

Without warning, he plunges two of his thick fingers inside you. You whine out at the sudden intrusion, calling out your lovers name.

he uses another one of his fingers to rub your clit. Soon making you close to cumming.

“I’m close!” You whine out.

Just as you’re about to come undone, he stops.

“You’re going to cum on my cock.” He growls into your neck as he slides his pants and underwear off.

He starts to ease into you, rubbing your clit and kissing your neck.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He hisses as he starts to slowly rock his hips into you.

Moans escape your lips as little groans come from his. He starts to pull you back by the handcuffs, slamming you on his cock.

Little whines turn into full screams of pleasure. He starts to grin as he gropes your clothed breasts. He knows you’re close to your release for the second time. As soon as he feels that pre-orgasm clench of your cunt, he stops.

You whine out. Looking back at him with tears in your eyes.

“You’re a convict now, y’know? I can’t just give u special treatment, baby.” He chuckles with a shit eating grin like no other.

He leans down, chest against your back as he whispers in your ear.

“Favoritism is against code. You gotta work for it, honey.”

You start to work your hips backwards, effectively bouncing yourself on his cock.

He starts to groan as you speed up your movements. You soon get close and clench around his cock again.

He grabs your hips and starts to slam his cock into you, slapping sounds fill the air as screams occupancy them.

He fucks you through your shared orgasm. He cums inside you and pulls his cock out of you, watching his cum drip out of you.

He puts his clothes on, then yours. He un cuffs you and sits you in his desks chair to relax. He goes outside with some paperwork but comes back soon after.

“You’ll be out tomorrow.” He says while he lifts you up and sits down on the chair, putting you in his lap.

You whine about how you don’t want to go.

He finally caves.

“I’ll let Neuvilette and the gardes know that you can come down when you’d like.” Wriothesley sighs.

He sees the sparkle in your eye as you hug his neck. He kisses your forehead.

“I love you.” He whispers.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep. Right in your lovers arms.

Im gonna be like a dad that shows up every 7 years so be prepared <3

(got the idea from yagami yato (ty for reminding me that one comment) i also heard that shes done some not so good things and im not supporting her in ANY way! Ty to these two comments (i deleted them cuz i wanted to address it in the post itself just incase ppl dont check comments)

[yelenasdiary]

I’m thinking about pervy prison guard Natasha (who has a dick) and innocent!r, who got framed and Natasha takes an interest in her and just has to protect her but y’know you have to pay her back in different methods, I hope you can write this ^_^

Number One Rule

Pairing: Pervy Prison Guard! Natasha x Innocent Fem! Reader

Summary: After being framed and sent to prison, one guard takes an interest in you and offers you protection from other inmates, of course with a catch.

Slightly Rough Smut | Angst | Natasha has a penis | Language Warning | Mentions of Murder, Drugs & Physical Violence | Mentions of Masturbation | Slight Degradation | Oral (both receiving) | Nipple play | Unprotected Sex | Loss of Virginity | 2.8K | 18+ Minors DNI! 

AC: I think I have a new obsession! Thank you for sending this, I hope you enjoy it x!

Never in a million years did you think you'd be in a prison cell crying yourself to sleep every night. Nobody believed you, that you didn't commit the murder you were framed for and now here you were, in a cell with your cell mate on the top bunk snoring loud enough to drain out your sobs. The nights where harder than the day, you felt more alone at night and too scared to fall asleep. 

The other women took a liking to you but not in the way you hoped. You were fresh meat, somebody they would use to get drugs into the prison to save their own backsides from being caught, the newbie they could throw around and get to do anything they wanted because you didn't want to get hurt. You just wanted to stick to yourself and serve your sentence while trying your best to clear your name from the inside. 

It had only been a month since you arrived, and things were only getting harder. You've been beaten one too many times already, just the women's way of 'welcoming' you to the unit and who to be scared of and for them, it worked. You never left your cell unless you knew there were guards walking the halls or you were forced too by them, but there was one guard that seemed to take an extra liking to you. 

Miss Romanoff. Probably the only guard that was kind, all the others had this front about them but it was a prison, nobody was supposed to be nice. Miss Romanoff began standing close by your cell and everywhere you looked she was there. What you weren't aware of was the hidden camera in the showers that gave the guard the perfect view of you in every single inch. When she went home, she'd watch the playbacks of you in the shower, washing your body with the crappy soup you were given, watching the way you moved your hands all around your body while she stroked her cock just wishing she could take you right there. 

Each morning after breakfast, inmates were allowed to call their loved ones for 30 minutes, all but you as it seemed. As you were lining up, other inmates pushed in front, pushing you further and further to the back of the line until you eventually snapped. 

"Hey! the back of the line" you spat at one of the inmates who turned to face you and chuckled, "Does it look like I give a fuck where the back of the line is?" she replied, shoving you harshly into the cold, brick wall as she laughed at you. 

"I mean it! You guys do this shit to be every fucking day, I've had enough!" 

"Check this out, the newbie has had enough guys!" the criminal laughed once more before shoving you once again, this time harder. You knew your next move wasn't a good idea but you're only human who could take so much. You pushed yourself off the wall and lunged at the inmate, punching her in the face before you had realized what you'd done. "You stupid, stupid BITCH!" the woman spat before lunging at you with her fist ready to return the punch you had just delivered her.

You closed your eyes and prepared yourself for the harm you were in but to your surprise the woman's fist was caught by a guard. "Get back to your units, all of you! Call time is off!" Miss Romanoff announced, the room erupted with groans as the woman spat insults to you on their way out, some kicking the wall to show their anger. 

"You're dead meat, newbie!" one woman whispered as she walked by you. 

You sighed and turned on your heels to walk out, only to be stopped by the guard. "Not you, Y/n. You're coming with me" she said, gently taking you by the arm and giving you a light push to continue walking.

To the others, it looked like you were in trouble and on your way to 'the box'. A cell of isolation, no contact with anybody but staff, no outside time, nothing. Just you in a cell for as long as they wanted.

"Miss, I'm sorry. I got angry and I shouldn't have punched her" you spoke, trying not to breakdown in the hands of the guard. "After you" she opened the door to a room you'd never seen before, hesitantly you stepped foot in the room before the red headed guard closed the door behind you both. "W-what is happening?" you asked in a scared tone. Nobody was allowed in the boiler room, not even staff unless authorized. 

"We're going to have a little chat" she smiled softly, making you both walk a little further away from the door. "I..I p-promise I won't do it again, please don't hurt me" you begged, scared that the woman was going to beat you like you'd heard many times on the news that prison guards would sometimes beat inmates when they were out of line. 

"Shh, darling. I'm not going to hurt you, like I said, we're just going to have a little chat" she replied before you both came to a stop, completely out of view if anybody were to come into the room. "You're new here, I know but you shouldn't be getting yourself into situations like that. The inmates here won't hold back on killing you over something tiny like what just happened" Miss Romanoff explained. 

"I…I know, I j-just got so sick of the bullshit they do to me every day" you admitted with a sigh, "Again, I'm really sorry" you added. 

"I can protect you" Miss Romanoff brushed off your apology, "I can make sure they don't hurt you, I'll keep you safe" she added. 

"You'd do that? B-but isn't that a bad thing? I mean, w-would they come after me even more than they are?" You looked at the guard with nothing but fear in your eyes. 

"I've been working here for years, and I've seen many scared women like you come and go, some only make it out in a body bag. You saw how quicky those inmates listened to me, doesn't that not show you that I can handle them?" 

She had a point and just the thought of having somebody looking out for you suddenly made this place seem a little more bearable. You nodded, "but why bring me here?" you asked. The guard chuckled, "because the number one rule in prison is you never do anything without giving something in return" she explained with a light smirk before she gently grabbed your hand and placed it over her bulge, "I'll look after you, if you look after me" she spoke as your eyes dropped to your hand on her clothed bulge. 

"I..I" you stuttered as you slowly looked up at her, "I've…n-never" you paused, looking away with embarrassment. Natasha smiled softly before guiding you to look at her with her thumb. "Baby, have you never had sex before?" she asked, your checks went red as you nodded slowly. "It's okay baby, we'll have fun. Now, how about you be a good girl for me and get on your knees. You're going to learn how to suck my cock real good and I'll make sure you're out of harm's way" she smiled before gently pushing you to your knees. 

Natasha unbuckled her pants, letting them fall to her knees. You could see she was already semi hard, her cock just begging to be released. "It's okay sweet baby, don't scared" she looked down at you, giving you the okay to pull her boxers down and finally freeing her cock. She was bigger than you pictured just seconds before as she pulsed in front of you, you slowly looked up at her and swallowed the lump in your throat. "I d-don't think I can make it f-fit" you stutter once more, hoping not to disappoint the guard.

"I'll guide you, now open that pretty mouth for me" she instructed. You did as told and allowed the woman of power to slide her member inside your mouth before her hands landed on your eat to guide you to start moving. Natasha moaned at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around her, she told you to swirl your tongue around her as she began to thrust her hips forward, making you take her down the back of your throat, gagging for air. 

"That's it baby, gag on my cock just like that" she moaned, throwing her head back as you wrapped a hand around at base of her cock with a tiny boost of confidence which made Natasha smirk, "good girl, you're getting the idea now" she commented as you began to stoke her cock she left go of your head and let you suck her off at your own will. 

Moans and groans left the guards lips as you grew more confident sucking her off, taking her down your throat at your own will now. "Fuck baby, I'm going to cum!" she looked down at you, noticing how you had your free hand down your pants, she smirked. "Take your shirt off baby, I want to cum all over your pretty tits" she instructed. With need, you had your shirt off and threw to the side and unclasped your bra. "They're so much prettier in person, fuck" Natasha basically drooled at the sight of you. 

"W-what?" you asked, freezing all actions as you looked up at her. 

"Oh come on baby, you don't think I haven't been protecting you since the day you came in here? I've had eyes on you every single day, everywhere" she admitted and if you weren't already so easily turned on by her moans earlier, you would've blown up at the thought of a stranger watching you. "Don't go shy on me now, I've seen how you play with yourself in the shower when everybody has left the room" Her comment made your cheeks go red once more as you looked away from the woman. 

"I heard the name you moaned once too" she added, catching your attention again. Once, by accident you moaned Miss Romanoff's name as you rubbed your clit in the shower, you were as shamed of it but never thought she knew about it. "I'm s-sorry, I just, I mean, it was an accident" you tried to make the excuse. 

"Shhh, I don't care about your excuses" she grabbed your head, forcing your mouth back around her cock. You could feel her twitching as you sucked her harder than moments before. "I knew you were a needy little slut, stop, I'm gonna cum!" she took her cock out of your mouth and jerked herself off for a few short seconds before you felt warm spurts of her cum landing on your chest, moans leaving her lips as she continued to unload herself on your bare chest. 

"Stand up, it's your turn" she smirked as she gently stroked herself. You stood up and pressed your back against the cold, hard wall as Natasha got on her knees in front of you, pulling your prison colored pants down with her. "Mmm, tell me you want this" she looked up at you after seeing the wet patch on your panties. You couldn't help but nod with need, unsure of what exactly you were agreeing to. 

Natasha pushed your legs apart slightly before pulling your panties down to your ankles, "you're so wet baby" she commented before brushing her thumb over your exposed clit. You moaned at her touch, you've never been touched before, and it felt so much better then when you'd touched yourself. 

"Please" you begged with soft eyes as you looked down at the red head, she smirked as she looked up at you. "Tell me what you want, say it" she demanded but you were too shy to say the words as you shook your head. "I can't" you replied. 

"Say it" she repeated, this time she started to pull your panties back up. 

"Please!" you begged again, "please…fu-fuck me"

Natasha smirked once more, "good girl" she commented before she placed one of your legs over her shoulder and dived into your pussy. Licking a long stripe up to your clit as you moaned once again, your hands finding her head and gently pushing her forward for more. You both knew you didn't have a lot of time for Natasha to take her time with you like she would've loved too, she ate you with hunger and need, giving you feelings, you didn't even know existed as she turned you into a moaning mess, begging her to keep going. 

"I th-think I'm going to cum!" you moaned, unsure as you were never truly able to make yourself cum. 

"Cum for me baby" Natasha looked up at you as you threw your head back once more before letting your orgasm take over your body, letting the woman's tongue taste even more of your sweetness. "Oh god!" you moaned as the woman helped you ride out your high while tweaking your hardened nipples. 

"That was better than I expected" you admitted when the woman rose back to her feet. "We're not done yet baby" Natasha took off her jacket and placed it on the ground, "on your hands and knees, I need to feel you cum around my cock" she looked back at you. 

"I don't think that's going to fit!" you replied as your eyes dropped to her hard on. 

"I think it will" she nodded for you to get on the ground. 

Natasha settled behind you, kissed down your spine as she rubbed the tip of her cock against your clit, making you moan once more. "It's going to hurt, please don't" you looked back at her with concern. "Only for a few minutes baby, don't worry, it'll feel good after, I promise" she assured you as she lined herself up with your wet pussy, "let me know when you're ready" she added. It only took a few minutes for you to remember the times when you were at home with a vibrator wishing you had a dildo to stuff inside you for that extra pleasure, you looked back at the guard "fuck me, please!" you begged while Natasha smirked as she slowly entered you. 

Your fists gripped her jacket hard as the burning pain rushed through you, Natasha stopped when she bottomed out, "you're so fucking tight baby, let me know when I can move, okay?" she lent down and kissed the back of your shoulder for comfort. After a new minute, you were comfortable enough for the guard to start giving you what you wanted. 

Natasha started thrusting slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of having her inside you as you moaned, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you up against her. "You're mine now" she whispered before she began to fuck into you harder, moaning at the way you clenched around her. 

You were lucky the boiler room was naturally loud enough to cover the sounds of Natasha's thighs slapping against you and your moans begging her to fucking you harder. "God baby! Keep clenching me like that and I'll cum!" she commented as you were close to your orgasm. "D-don't cum inside me! Fuck! Just keep going!" You moaned. Natasha's grip on your hips was sure to leave a mark by the next day but you didn't care, as long as she kept fucking you with this hunger she had, you'd let her do anything. 

With one hand, Natasha reached for your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you did your best to cover your screams as you came around her cock, "fuck!! It's too much!!" you moaned as the woman kept fucking you, chuckling at your state. "You can cum for me baby" she commented as she continued to hit that one spot that made your eyes roll back, "'s too much!" You moaned once again before you realized you were cumming once again, almost numb from the overstimulation. 

Natasha pulled out quickly before unloading on your lower back, "God baby!" she moaned while you gently allowed yourself to lay completely flat on her jacket, completely fucked out. The woman laid down next to you as she caught her breath, "they won't bother you again, I'll make sure of it" she looked to you. 

You nodded, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep but she had to return you to your unit before headcount. "I would usually look after you, but I can't, not here. I'll take you back to your cell and you can get your things then I'll take you to the showers and you can have one without anybody coming in" she added, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "Thank you, Miss Romanoff" you smiled tiredly. 

"When nobody's around, call me Natasha" she replied.

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[azzifudd]

possession

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: four times paige & azzi knew they belonged to each other

rated: teen

2.5k words

disclaimer: many made up events obviously

[AO3 LINK]

The ball swishes through the net, nearly soundless in the empty gym. Azzi has been taking shots for the past three minutes. She hasn’t missed yet.

She had arrived at the UConn campus only 15 minutes ago, to surprise Paige for her birthday, and after nearly five minutes of hugging, that Azzi is sure Paige would’ve turned into more if her parents hadn’t been there, she had been dragged to the gym where the other girls were in recovery after a strenuous practice.

Paige had left her in the gym, promising to be back soon with the others, and Azzi had picked up a ball to pass the time. As she takes another jumpshot, one of the doors bangs open and she flinches. Her shot goes wide, bouncing off the back of the rim.

Two boys have entered the gym, and Azzi vaguely recognizes them. One of them rebounds her ball and brings it over to her.

“Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Andre. I’m on the men’s basketball team.”

She’s heard Paige mention him once or twice.

“Y’know if you want any pointers with your jumper, I could help you out.” His eyes run over her, from head to toe.

“What’s your name?” He asks, overeager.

“Azzi,” she replies, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Dude, that’s Azzi. Bueckers’ girl.” His friend has come up beside them, after hearing Azzi introduce herself.

Azzi feels a flush overtake her entire body. Part of her almost wants to be offended that this boy, on one of the top college teams in the nation, didn’t recognize her. She’s the number one high school player in the nation, and it’s not even close. But another part of her, a bigger part of her, loves that so many miles away from home, a complete stranger hears her name and knows she’s Paige’s.

“Oh shit, you’re Paige’s Azzi. Azzi Fudd!” Andre covers his mouth and groans. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot.”

His teammate cackles beside him, slapping him on the back. “She’s been in three point contests with Steph Curry, my guy, I think she’s good.”

“Damn, that’s embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”

She smiles up at him, now charmed by the whole thing. “It’s cool, I didn’t know who you were either.”

“Oh! She got your ass.” His friend laughs again before turning to her and introducing himself. “I’m James.”

“Azzi.” They shake hands.

“Like I said, I know. PB does not shut up about you.” He does a quick dribble behind his back before pulling up into a smooth jump shot that swishes through the net. “We’ll be shooting around after practice and it’s ‘Oh, Azzi never would have missed that shot. She’s the hardest worker I know.”

“You shoulda seen her a few months ago. Always tapping away on that iPad, putting together clips.”

Azzi remembers the video that Paige had so proudly shown to her family. How silly, and sweet, and how Paige it had been. It makes Azzi even more excited for dinner tonight, where she will finally get to tell Paige that she is committing to UConn.

The door pushes open again, and this time it’s Paige who rushes over to them, throwing an arm around Azzi’s neck.

“Hey, these losers bothering you?” Paige asks, laughter clear in her voice. But Azzi knows that it would only take one word from her to set her off if Azzi asked.

“No, they’ve been cool,” she says.

“Well, Coach heard you were here and wanted to say hi. See you guys later.” Paige leads Azzi deeper into the facility.

And if they’re a little late to meet everyone because Azzi pulls Paige into a secluded broom closet for some alone time, no one needs to know but them.

//

Azzi’s sprinting around the top of the court, rounding one screen and then another, trying desperately to get open. She’s open for a split second, and that’s all it takes for Paige to hit her with the pitch perfect pass. She rises to take the three that could tie the game when a body barrels into her legs.

She hits the floor hard. A whistle blows as the referee calls what Azzi hopes is a shooting foul. She stays on the floor for a moment longer, catching her breath, when suddenly the arena erupts in noise.

Whistles blow, and she finally looks up to see a furious Paige being pulled back by their teammates as one of the referees signals a technical foul. She is spitting furiously at an opposing player. Nika is at her side, simultaneously holding her back from causing more trouble for them and firing Croatian insults at the other team.

Azzi won’t find out until someone shows her the footage after the game, but Paige had stormed over the moment she was fouled and had pushed the offending player with two hands to the chest.

The referee points off the court. Paige has been ejected.

Coach has run over, screaming as the officials struggle to get everything under control. Aaliyah runs over to help Azzi up.

“Paige! Get your ass over here, now!” Geno’s voice somehow booms over the raucous Gampel crowd.

Paige throws her arms up, shrugging their teammates off of her. Satisfied that she has calmed down, everyone begins to back off. But instead of heading off the court like she’s supposed to, she makes a beeline for Azzi, who is still slightly shaken but standing.

Paige raises a hand as if to touch Azzi’s face, but she stops, recognizing where they are. She rests the hand on her shoulder instead.

“You good?” She asks, voice hoarse from shouting.

Azzi nods, still breathing hard. “Why did you do that, you idiot.” But even as she asks, she knows the answer.

Paige smiles crookedly. It is soft despite the noise around them, tender in a way Azzi knows Paige saves just for her.

“Bueckers!” Geno roars. They know if he could storm the court for her, he would have already.

“Go,” Azzi says. “I’ll see you after I win this game.”

“That’s my girl.” Paige leaves the court with a smirk on her face, cheers of her name following her.

Azzi sinks the free throws to send them to overtime. And when they end up winning by eight, even Geno can’t complain too much.

@bueckersbuckets35 it’s bullshit that paige had to apologize. they were targeting azzi all game. bet she’d do it again in a heartbeat if she had to

Paige Bueckers liked this tweet.

//

“That layup you had in the third!” Paige mimes a euro step, mimics taking a shot with her left hand. “Left hand, baby, bang!”

Hailey van Lith laughs at Paige’s antics, pushing at her playfully. “I mean, it wasn’t enough to get the win against you guys, but it’s always a good time pulling up against you.”

Even if they didn’t talk all the time, it feels like there would always be a special connection between all the girls who had played together for USA Basketball.

Hailey glances around. “How’s the wifey been? I didn’t get a chance to talk with her at the arena.”

Paige grins at that. She knows Hailey means it as a joke, that they are way too young to even think about marriage, but there is always something deeply satisfying for Paige to hear someone acknowledge that she is Azzi's and Azzi is hers.

“She’s doing aight. Her surgery went well. It’s just a shit deal y’know.” There have been plenty of tear filled nights for them both since Azzi had experienced the freak injury, but now Azzi’s ready to move forward, and Paige will be there every step of the way, like Azzi was for her.

Hailey smiles apologetically. “I was really sorry to hear about it. I remember you could never shut up about playing with her.”

“Thank you.” They both jump when Azzi pops up beside them. She gives Hailey a quick hug hello before turning to Paige.

She’s surprised when Azzi wraps her arms around her waist, tucking herself under Paige’s arm, pressing their bodies together.

They are no strangers to PDA. In fact, if Paige had her way, she would never stop touching Azzi. But the younger girl is usually more reluctant around people she doesn’t know, and with Hailey’s teammates around, it is a surprise to see her so affectionate.

Paige isn’t going to complain. She tightens her arm around Azzi’s shoulder and presses a quick kiss to her temple. She catches a whiff of alcohol on her breath. That explains the touchiness.

They chat with Hailey for a bit longer, but when Azzi begins to zone out mid convo, Paige excuses them both and walks them up to Azzi’s apartment.

“She’s so pretty.”

“Huh?” Paige pauses as she wipes the last of Azzi’s makeup from her face as they stand in the bathroom together.

“Hailey. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Paige shrugs. “Mm, I guess so.” She moves in closer, nose pressing into Azzi’s head, breathing in the scent of her. “Let’s go to bed.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything else until they’re tucked in together in her bed.

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

“Huh?” Paige groans into the back of Azzi’s neck, already half asleep. When she finally registers the words, she replies, “Who?”

“Hailey,” she replies, like Paige should know exactly what she’s talking about.

“We were just catching up. It’s been a while.” Paige presses a kiss to the side of Azzi’s neck, ready to fall asleep.

“Do you miss playing with her?”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Paige props herself up on her elbow, turning Azzi onto her back to face her. She softens at the look on her girl’s face.

She presses a soft kiss to the dimple in Azzi’s cheek. And then she kisses her nose, her forehead, and all over her face until she’s smiling.

“Hey,” Paige says, making sure Azzi is looking into her eyes as she speaks. “You’ll be back. Best player in the nation, baby.”

Azzi pulls her into a deep kiss that still sends Paige’s head spinning and heart racing even after they have shared so many. When they pull apart, they are both breathless.

“Me and you.” Azzi’s eyes are shining and clear.

“You and me.” Paige gives Azzi a roguish grin and lets her pull her down once more.

//

“Yo, where’s P?” KK asks, scanning the room. It’s Senior Night, and they’re all getting dressed for the game. Even Azzi has just slipped into a jersey, even though she isn’t playing tonight.

“The seniors are on the court already. I think they had to do a run through of the ceremony. Why?”

Azzi is suspicious. KK looking for Paige is always a sign of something potentially stress inducing on the way.

“Oh, no reason, I just wanna make sure I’m outta the way when Daddy Paige sees you in her jersey for the first time.” KK cackles, ducking out of the way of the towel that Azzi flings at her.

“Nah, we all know there’s no way this is the first time she’s worn it.” Ice chimes in.

“Shut up,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes, glad that the fluorescent lights hide her blush. Surprisingly, she hasn’t worn Paige’s jersey since they were in high school, and even though she’d never admit it to her teammates, she is very excited to see how Paige reacts to it.

The injured players head into the arena just before tip off. The place is packed with fans there to celebrate the players who have given their all for UConn.

Besides that though, the media presence is palpable. The entire basketball world is waiting to hear whether Paige is staying or declaring. Azzi has known for weeks that Paige has decided to stay at UConn for another season. She has unfinished business, and even if they won the title this season, her injuries have robbed her of too much time here.

Azzi feels eyes on her as soon as they get into the open. She has been linked to Paige since before they even came here, so everyone is clearly gauging her mood on such an important night. She could try to play it more coy, but she can’t fight the smile on her face when she sees Paige warming up.

She’s getting one more year with her person. One more chance to fulfill the promise they made to each other when she chose UConn. She’s so happy.

Azzi waves up into the stands where hers and Paige’s family sit together, all wearing Bueckers gear. Drew jumps up and down when she makes a heart with her hands in his direction.

She’s stepping onto the court when she feels it. Goosebumps pimple her skin and she turns to where the majority of the team is casually warming up.

Paige stands at midcourt, staring at her, slack jawed. Azzi smiles coyly at her when Paige takes a step toward her, only to be stopped by CD who is standing next to her with a clipboard and an eyeroll.

Azzi just laughs and goes to take a few shots near the others. She isn’t close to being cleared to play, but she misses it so much. Even just being on the court during game days can be emotional lately. Soon, she feels a heated presence at her back.

Azzi turns around and finds Paige standing close. Too close for such a public place, but she can’t bring herself to move. Paige runs her eyes up and down Azzi’s body, lingering on where the number five splays proudly over her chest.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful. You tryin’ to get me in trouble?” Paige asks, voice low.

“Just wanted to support my favorite player.” Azzi looks up at Paige from beneath her lashes, and finds those blue eyes fixated on her lips.

“She must be pretty damn good if she’s your favorite.”

Azzi watches the muscles in Paige’s arms and shoulders flex as she links her hands behind her back, stopping herself from reaching out to touch.

“She’s not bad.” Azzi smirks. “Could use some work on her shooting stroke though.”

Paige scoffs. “I’ll show you my str-”

Two arms suddenly wrap around their shoulders as KK comes barreling into them.

“K, what the hell?” Paige pushes at her as they fight to stay steady on their feet.

“Yo, mom and dad, y’all have got to tone it down.”

KK smiles at them. “Media girl is on the way for some pics and P looks like she’s about to jump you.”

Azzi flushes as they all separate.

“What would y’all do without me though, seriously.”

KK strikes a ridiculous pose, distracting the media girl so Paige and Azzi can rearrange themselves into a more platonic pose.

Azzi hopes no one can see how flustered she is when Paige whispers in her ear to keep the jersey on for after the game.

They take a few quick pictures before it’s time for tip off. It’s an easy win, everyone playing with joy and anticipation of the celebration after the game.

For a moment, Azzi feels deeply sad. She wants to be out there, next to her girls.

But then the final buzzer sounds, and Azzi watches Paige bask in the attention of the crowd who loves her almost as much as Azzi does, and forgets everything but the beaming smile on Paige’s face.

[satorkive]

REWIND: JUJUTSU TECH—2006

“gojo-sensei, i’m home.”

megumi who just got home from school called out for his teacher. his training with nobara and itadori ended a little bit late.

he found gojo sleeping in the couch with a laptop on. he stared at his teacher’s face with dry tears streaked on his cheeks. megumi who became curious because gojo didn’t let his vulnerability out and he’s probably crying because of something he had watched.

there were various tapes scattered around the table and the laptop had the pause button. he quietly placed himself in front of the laptop and pressed the play button.

in the beginning there was darkness, but a girl their age or probably older than them sat in front of the camera.

she looked pretty. megumi thought in awe. although there was a dull look in your eyes and your skin looked like blood had been drained out of you, you looked effortlessly stunning.

“satoru, if you ever watched this tape, i’m already dead.”

megumi slowly blinked at your blunt words. oh.

you let out a humorless laugh. “i’m sorry for my… vulgar words, satoru. i…” you looked down as you played with your fingers on your lap.

“y’know how i have this weird, but strong sense of intuition that always happened when i predict? i have that feeling—the exception is, i can feel it in my soul that i would already die. in this mission. that the higher ups assigned to me.”

the spiky-haired boy observed how you took a deep breath as if you were resisting the urge to burst out.

“i’m sad because i won’t be there to witness you slaughtering them.” you gave the camera a sweet smile.

your smile dropped and you looked away from the camcorder. the grainy effect made you look more… vintage. just a memory from the past. you were once someone’s person and now you were just someone’s memory…

“i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be able to fulfill my promise to you—to never leave you behind. i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be there to wipe your tears when you cry. i’m sorry if i wouldn’t be able to lend my shoulders for you to cry on. i…” your voice cracked and tears started to fall like crystals on your cheeks.

megumi could feel the pain she’s feeling and his lips turned into frown.

“i’m sorry if i was giving up, not bothering to fight for my life because to be honest, satoru, i ask myself at night with the question: who am i doing this for?”

when the teenage boy looked at you, he felt like you were seeing him. like you were sitting in front of him, asking a simple question.

“is it for the civilians so they won’t have to endure anymore? is it for the children so they won’t have to go to war anymore? is it for the future so they would be able to live a peaceful life? or…”

“is it for the selfish elders who send children to fight for the sins they have committed?”

oh.

“why do the children have to pay for their forefathers’ sins?”

a sob broke you out and megumi could only watch in pain as you went hysterical.

it was saddening to see you—a person who clearly the world doesn’t deserve—need to sacrifice your life for the betterment of the world.

that’s how a jujutsu sorcerer works, unfortunately. you clearly don’t belong in this world. in this cruel, awful world.

“whoever manages to find this tape, i hope you will take care of my friends—satoru, suguru, and shoko. i hope you will give them the patience to grieve and to mourn. i hope you will be able to give them the care and support they deserved. i hope you will be able to see them for who they are, and not for what they are. i hope you will be able to see hope during the darkest times. and i hope you will be able to feel grateful even if your life is just a borrowed time.” you tilted your head and delicately smiled.

you let out a last giggle. “this is [last name][name], signing off. goodbye.” you pulled the camera closer to your face and gave a smooch.

the laptop went black and megumi could only blankly stare at the wall.

what a world they live in.

such a life doomed from the start and they could only wait as death came for their friend.

what a… life.

you didn’t know then, your death is the beginning of all tragedies.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my girlfriend to lose weight?

Okay, so that sounds horrific, but bear with me.

To be clear, I (23M) could not care less what weight she (27F) is or what she looks like. I love this woman with my whole heart and none of it is about her appearance. We’re pretty much engaged in all but name, the only reason it’s not official is because we don’t have money to even think of weddings right now, and I plan to spend the rest of my life with her.

Thing is, she’s obese. Like, medically, not in a derogatory sense. This is massively affecting her health. She’s constantly out of breath, constantly in pain, constantly struggling, and it’s leading to other conditions such as sleep apnea. She thinks she has asthma because she’s always struggling to breathe, but I’m 95% sure it just comes down to weight and her doctor has said the same, but she tends to write it off as doctors being fatphobic.

Much of this is due to the fact that she used to struggle with binge-eating disorder. She no longer binge eats, but she does overeat in general because her body is so accustomed to constant food, so she gets painfully hungry and dizzy after 2-3 hours of not eating.

I’ve tried to encourage her to exercise with me, diet with me, count calories etc., but she gives up super easy when she doesn’t see immediately results. She also says herself that she finds it very difficult to see herself accurately - she has the reverse of “typical” body dysmorphia, where she sees herself as thinner than she is, so she genuinely sees herself as thin or like slightly curvy. (To be clear, she is very visibly obese, people comment on this often, and while I’ll be the first to go fists up if someone’s a dick to her about it as people have been I also am genuinely worried about her health.) Because of that she has no motivation to lose the weight because she just doesn’t see it. It’s bad enough that she’s been told by doctors she WILL likely struggle later in life with heart failure, diabetes etc if she doesn’t lose weight, yet her POV is more, “It can’t be that bad because I’m not that big so I don’t need to worry about it”. She has occasional reality checks, most recently she put her measurements into some site that shows an image of what you look like from a third person perspective, and she was completely shocked like “I can’t look like that. Do I? This is a wake up call”, but days later it’s completely lost and she’s back to saying she’s not that big again.

She wants kids with me, and I just absolutely do not want to commit to having children with her when I know there’s a not-insignificant chance she’ll have serious health issues in the future that could mean she’s not with us for as long as she could be. Both for the kids’ sake, and selfishly because I want her around! I don’t want to think about something happening to her earlier in life and being without her.

But I just don’t know what to do. Gently suggesting it hasn’t worked, saying I’m worried about her health hasn’t worked, saying I don’t want kids until she’s healthy hasn’t worked (even if she’s still overweight I really don’t care as long as she’s not in a “danger zone” y’know?), trying to meal plan with her hasn’t worked, trying to get her to keep track of calories hasn’t worked, trying to exercise with her hasn’t worked.

People I’ve asked in the past have told me to be firm about it, but I’m incredibly reluctant to do that - I struggled with anorexia for most of my teenage and adult life and I know how deep it can cut to have your weight criticised or commented on. I don’t want to be that dick who basically calls someone I love very much unhealthy and fat and tells her to lose weight or no kids or some horrible shit like that.

But I just. Can’t work out what to do. She does express a willingness to lose weight, she says she wants to, she just doesn’t have that motivation to do it. I don’t know what else we can try.

AITA for focusing on this in the first place? Like am I actually just being fatphobic, or is my own past with EDs influencing my thinking? Am I going about it all wrong? Should I just accept it as something that’ll be a potential issue in future and deal with it then or am I fair to worry about it early on?

What are these acronyms?

[theshslpumpkinghost]

My predictions for the rest of DRDT!

(mostly my general thoughts after this ep)

(Spoilers for Ch2 Ep16!)

Okay so- First off, Levi’s fate!

If he doesn’t die from this, then he’s almost certainly going to die from trying to assists somebody else. As mentioned in the voice trailer, he’s willing to do anything to help his classmates, even if it involves him getting hurt. I can see him dying without anyone specifically targeting him, or someone being targeted because they know Levi will save them. Although that might not be so reliable depending on the recovery time needed…

Okay, next up Arturo- He’ll probably finally leave J alone, busy with making sure Levi doesn’t, y’know, die- Plus the whole breakdown he had in the trial, and his secret being revealed.. He’s gonna need some time, I think-

Teruko! Ohhhh my god where do I even start with her- She won’t die, obviously. She’s told us that multiple times, we’ve seen the proof, there isn’t a way that she can die. And that’s her curse, more than the bad luck is. So she could hypothetically get away with murder, although I don’t think she will actually kill somebody. She could get away with it, since she’s like- one of the only competent people in trials, and all it takes for Charles is for him to either be murdered or witness a murder, and he’s unable to assist. So Teruko is the only one the people here are relying on, which leaves them vulnerable if she is the blackened. Also- Teruko finally broke down and cried! It makes sense, after what she’s seen, and what she’s ended up inadvertently causing- The voice actors for Teruko and Ace (and levi) this ep >>> The new Teruko sprites were so cool, and I’m pretty sure I saw one that mirrored Min-

And now- MonoTV!! I don’t know if my theory about there being no mastermind is accurate, but after this episode- It could be! And so I’ll take that- Wasn’t expecting it to sound like Mai, at all, but that’s really interesting- Pretty sure XF caused this killing game, or at least created MonoTV-

Whit! His new sprite is fascinating considering he has no other serious sprites- And his concern for Charles, too! (..also, more fuel for the time loop theorists?) If Charles dies next chapter.. Whit will either completely break, giving up the happy persona he has, or, he ends up going so far into coping that he ends up going manic in the trial- Either way, fun development for a guy who’s only really made jokes or known a concerning amount of things about hanging-

Charles! He- isn’t doing well right now, since he saw Levi’s injury- Whit did attempt to shield him from that at least, so points towards the Charwhit (platonic or romantic, whatever you prefer) dynamic developing further! If someone like Teruko was going to commit murder, she’d probably go for Charles first. Since he is the only one besides her that really helped in the trial, and if he hadn’t gotten involved after ep11, everyone would have been executed by now. Definitely the biggest threat if Teruko is the blackened. But she might not even want to take him out if she commits a murder, because after all, she won’t die from an execution-

And finally- Ace Markey! The blackened himself! hhhh oh my god where can i start with this- Ace still cares about Levi! He knows that it’s pointless, he was searching for any reason to be mad at him, even if it made him a hypocrite for condemning another murderer. But, even after that was revealed- He was willing to get executed so Levi wouldn’t die. He yelled at Arturo for saying that he couldn’t save Levi, for being a coward, and isn’t that ironic- Also! His friend’s name gets (re)revealed! After the QnA where his name was first revealed was deleted, Taylor’s name makes an appearance on one of the gravestones in Ace’s execution! I loved the fact that his execution was themed around his fears, since he was established as a guy who had, well- a lot of fears, since the first episode he appeared in. Definitely more interesting than the cliche of ‘horses’ (not that there’s anything wrong with that idea at all-) Uh- I have a lot of thoughts about Ace rn but I’m way too tired rn to type them all out- I’ll probably add it to my p2 of this!

Okay so- I’ll probably put the rest of my thoughts in another post, since it’s 2am for me right now-

(i will be so surprised if anyone reads all this im so sorry it’s long-)

[lalalunel]

Pathetic Leon pt. 7

word count: 837

Figured i should include a word count bc this feels (and def is) longer than the other parts. also trying to make it somewhat neat?? an attempt, pls cut me some slack

Leon was pacing around his living room nervously while waiting for you to come back from class, his nails bitten down to skin at how hard he was stressing. What should he say? How could he put you down gently without hurting your feelings? How did he avoid telling you he felt the same? That one was stressing him out the most. 

He froze in his place when he heard the lock disengaged, the door opening to present you, a happy look on your face as you carefully balanced two coffee cups in your hands. You looked up to see Leon there, a smile spreading on your face that made Leon want to forget about saying anything at all. “Hey,” you greeted, which he returned as calmly as he could. “I got coffee after class, figured I’d get you some too.” 

“Thanks..” His heart aches as he takes the cup of coffee from your hand, staring down at it almost with a guilty expression. He looks back up at you as you go to settle down, gently grabbing your wrist to keep you in place. “I actually need to talk to you for a sec,” he calls out, gaining your attention instantly. “I uh… I heard your conversation last night..” he says outright, figuring the best way to get this over with was to rip the bandaid right off. 

Your eyebrows raise. “Huh?” He drops his grip on your wrist, awkwardly taking a sip of his coffee as he tries to collect his thoughts. The coffee scalds his tongue. “The walls are thin..” He can’t stand looking at your face, the way you recoil from embarrassment and what is probably shame. “You weren’t very quiet so I.. overheard everything…” 

You’re unable to meet his eyes after he speaks and clearly embarrassed, and he instantly wishes he could suck his words right back into his mouth. Not having your pretty eyes on him because of him makes him want to commit a crime against himself in retribution. He presses on, however, word vomiting in a mild bit of nervousness. “I'm flattered, really, I just.. As your father’s friend, I can’t indulge you in any way, y’know? He would have my head if he knew anything happened between you and me.” 

You still don’t say anything or look at him and his mild nervousness turns almost into a panic. Did he just ruin his relationship with you? “Plus I’m way too old for you, sweetheart. You’re in college and you’re pretty, I’m sure there’s plenty of nice guys that would suit you better, yeah?” You only answer him with more silence and it all but drives him mad.

“Please say something,” He pleads, unable to stand the silence you give him. He would never be able to forgive himself if somehow he just crushed you. 

“..I’ve known the walls are thin..” It’s the first thing you say after a while of silence, and it throws Leon for a loop. He looks at you with an obviously befuddled look as you finally turn to look at him again, your expression pinched. “It goes both ways, y’know.” 

Leon stares at you, processing before your words seem to click. 

If he could hear you, hear your friend who was over the phone, there was nothing stopping you from hearing him too. Like maybe when he was groaning and whimpering your name under his breath none too quietly as he desperately jerked off to the thought of you after seeing you in those shorts from the other day and after he heard your conversation.

The realization made his eyes widen, a look of pure horror over taking his face. You don’t have to say anything further for him to understand what you mean, and yet you still do. “I heard you, jerking off and saying my name. So you’re too old for me, but I’m not too young for you?” 

The question makes him cringe, his entire demeanor deflating. How does he even respond to that? What can he say to salvage this? “Listen, I-- that--” You have him stumbling over his words trying to fix this. “I can’t-- You weren’t supposed to hear that. I meant what I said, I can’t indulge you. I am too old for you, and you are too young for me.” 

You don’t seem all too pleased with that answer. Leon figures as much from the way you mumble ‘hypocrite’ under your breath, thinking he won’t catch it. “Okay,” you reply simply and curtly. Leon can barely press you on the answer before you’re already walking towards his guest room, shutting the door behind you firmer than he would deem normal. 

He stares blankly where you were before, at a loss for words. Did that go well? Definitely not. Whatever high regards you held him in before that were definitely tarnished beyond belief. Leon can only stand there, his cup of coffee growing cold in his grasp as he regrets opening his mouth in the first place.

~~~

oooh, let's pretend it didn't take me like a week to write something this short oooh

if it makes it any better, I'm already writing part 8 :D

[mrsensitive]

4 times everyone else caught on before the 1 time you and quinn finally did

a good old 4+1 ft. best friend beau & a couple other cameos, some mutual pining and also reader is a costume designer . kind of an elaboration of a lil blurb i wrote a while ago so if it seems familiar no it doesn't 😋

1

You’d never been more grateful for Friday to roll around. You’d had what felt like the longest week from hell and just wanted to take your mind off everything, so when your new neighbour turned best friend Beau texted you to meet him and a couple friends at the bar, the thought that you wouldn’t know half the people there wasn’t enough to dissuade you from joining.

When you arrive, you’re quick to spot the group - Beau hadn’t lied when he said it wasn’t just the team, but he might’ve stretched the truth when he said you already knew some of the guys. A quick once over is enough for you to realise the only other person you really know is Brock. Sure, you had heard of the others from Beau’s stories and the fact that you sometimes watched the games, but you were starting to wonder if you should’ve just gone home to your bottle of wine instead.

Beau is quick to welcome you though, flooding you with the names of everyone you’d yet to meet and pushing you into the seat he’d just vacated.

“Wait here, I’m getting the next round,” he beams at you, a good few drinks in already. “Brock come give me a hand, bud.”

You try to get your bearings a little, looking around trying to commit names to faces since the only two people you knew had left, and you realise mostly everyone is in their own conversations save for the guy on your right. You pause, staring at him trying to remember his name as he watches you struggle, clearly bemused.  

“It’s Quinn,” he offers after a moment or two. He’s laughing lightly and you relax in your seat a little. “Don’t sweat it.” 

You breathe out a smile, “Thanks. I was getting there, y’know.” You pause, taking a moment to get a better look at him. “Hughes, right? I’ve seen you play before. You’re a great skater.”

“Oh uh…thanks.” He shifts a little in his seat. “Beau’s talked about you a couple times actually. So it’s nice to meet you finally.”

You can’t help your eyebrows from shooting up, both of you are equally surprised and amused that you’re even aware of the other. You’re half expecting Quinn to elaborate, scanning his face for any hint that what Beau’s said about you was any level of incriminating, but somehow, you find yourself a bit distracted by the way his hair is curling over his forehead. 

Before either of you can say anything, Beau’s dropped a glass in front of you and inserted himself back in the conversation.

“So what was so terrible about work this week? What’s the drama this time?”  

You let out a sigh, remembering why you’d dragged yourself here in the first place. “Oh, nothing new. They just decided to reschedule all our fittings so we barely had the right costumes prepared - which is just an embarrassing look for me, you know, even if it literally wasn’t my fault. I was running all over the place trying to make it work - and then on top of that I find out they’ve put our costume truck about three states over from where the set is so I’ve got to hassle someone about that and-”

“Costumes?” Your rambling is cut off by Quinn who looks much more interested than Beau, who, to his credit, has heard some variation of this story just about every other week.

“Oh, yeah. I’m a costume designer,” you explain, “I’m working on a movie at the moment.” For some reason you feel rather embarrassed that you didn’t clarify this to him before and you’re hoping the dim lighting is hiding the way you’ve started blushing. 

“I’m going to take this as my cue to leave.” Beau says, already standing up to move across the table, “You tell Quinn the whole back story and I’ll come back when you’re done with that, okay?”

Beau, in fact, does not come back for the rest of the night but you’re so wrapped up in your conversation with Quinn that you don’t particularly notice anyway. Usually you hate talking about yourself, but the drinks have loosened you up and he seems so genuinely curious and intrigued about you. He asks how you met Beau, so you tell him the story of how his 7’s look a little too much like 1’s and you ended up getting so much of his mail that you had to go and confront him about it. You try to ask him about hockey but he seems rather adept at deflecting the conversation back to you every time. You can’t help but bask in the full attention he’s giving you and the more drinks you have, the more you find yourself quietly admiring his bone structure. You’re a little surprised to hear yourself laughing so much and how easily the conversation moves that you can’t quite remember how you ended up discussing how you both think roses are overrated. 

You’re so caught up in each other that neither of you catch Brock nudging Beau and nodding his head towards you across the table.

“You reckon?” Brock asks, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Oh, easily. I’ve been watching them all night.”

2

You pick up Beau’s call almost immediately.

“Hey, what’s up? Do you need something?” There’s a tinge of confusion in your voice.

“What? No, I just- I have an extra ticket to the game tonight and I was going to offer it to you if you weren’t being so snappy.” Beau teases.

“Oh,” you let out a chuckle, “Sorry, you just never call. I do happen to be free tonight though, if the offer’s still on the table...”

“Great, I’ll send you the ticket,” you can hear him smiling through the line. “Don’t drive, I’ll give you a lift if you wait a little after the game. Stick around and say hi to some of the other guys too.”

“Sure,” you reply, “I’ll see you later then. Maybe score or win or something? I dunno, make it worth my night?”

“Yeah ok,” you can hear him laughing now, “Will do, just for you. See you soon.”

And even if you were only joking, the team does deliver on your request. You hang by the exit as you wait for Beau, congratulating some of the other guys on the win as they start to trickle out. When Quinn catches sight of you, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and you can’t help the way you mirror it.

“Hey Quinner, congrats on the game,” you greet him, “Big win!” 

You’re mildly aware of the way your heart rate has picked up slightly since he stopped in front of you. You want to believe that it’s just because the handful of times you’ve seen him now have always been aided with a bit of liquid courage, even if you’re currently fixating on his slightly damp hair and the way his bag is slung over his shoulder. Quinn, however, is severely aware of the way his heart rate seemed to stop upon hearing the nickname leave your mouth.

He clears his throat, “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t realise you were going to be here?”

“Beau said he had an extra ticket last minute - enticed me with a ride home, so I’m just waiting for him now.” 

“Yeah, he should be done with the interviews soon - you know, three point night and all,” he laughs, glancing back at the doorway in search of a sign of his teammate.

“Coming from you, mister record breaker!”

Quinn whips his head back around to you, eyes wide as he starts to mumble something to try and downplay his night. He knows he’s blushing from the way he can feel his cheeks burning but he’s hoping it could be disguised as some sort of postgame flush.

You can’t help but let out a laugh at how off guard your comment seemed to catch him. “Surely you’re going out to celebrate?”

“Oh, I don’t know… we’ve got an early start tomorrow…” He rubs a hand at the back of his neck and your eyes flicker to his bicep briefly.

“Hmmm boring,” you tease, “All work and no play I guess.”

Something in your tone has him grinning now. “No rest for the wicked,” he quips.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, you’ve had an audience for just about all of your conversation.

“Is this what he looks like when he’s trying to flirt?” Petey asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I guess. Or trying to, at least,” Brock answers, still eyeing the scene in front of him. “How long do we think til they do something about it?”

Beau’s appeared next to them at the door now too, smirking as he watches you and Quinn completely oblivious to everyone else.

“Wanna take bets?”

3

Quinn’s nervous. He’s already texted you to let you know he’s arrived but he’s expecting that you’ll have to turn him away last minute. He’s still in disbelief that he’s even here, despite the fact that you’d offered to have him visit you on set several times already, but he always thought it was just a throw away thing you would say to be nice. He only tells you this about the fourth time you’ve asked, the arrival of the post season working out with one of the quieter days of your schedule, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing in his face about it.

“Quinn. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it. Most of our conversations are about movies, so I just thought you might find it cool to see what it’s like,” you shrug. "I've watched you play games before so it feels kind of fair, right?’

As much as he protests that it’s different, you are kind of right, naturally. He thinks it is extremely cool that this is what you do for a living, and even cooler that you’d even considered to bring him along and show him a part of it. At least, cool is what he’s trying to convince himself he’s feeling about it all. 

When he sees how excited you look, running out to meet him, he once again can’t help the grin that weasels its way onto his face. He holds out the second coffee cup in his hand to you.

“Hey,” he greets, “I brought you a coffee. I stopped on my way here but I didn’t really know what you usually get or if you prefer, like, hot or iced? So I just got you what I get which is-”

You’re pleasantly surprised and amused, letting him ramble a little before you cut him off, thanking him and groaning when you take a sip. “God, thank you. I’ve already had one today but I truly needed this.”

He’s relieved to hear it, immediately relaxing. “Hectic day then?”

“Kind of, but like… A controlled hectic you know?” You pause, giving him a once over, realising he’s a little less jittery than a minute ago - and also that he looks good. You’ve only ever really seen him in very weak bar lighting, or after a hockey game - but definitely never before lunch. The sun looks good on him you think, and you’re rather charmed by the outfit he’s picked out for the occasion but you’re quick to snap yourself out of your thoughts.

“Let me show you around!”

You give him a tour of the set, proudly pointing out how you managed to convince them to move your trailer closer, talking him through your designs you have pinned up and showing him some of the final costumes.

Quinn’s already wide-eyed, kid in a candy store at all of this, staring and asking if he can touch things. He almost doesn’t believe you when you say he can watch them film a scene or two. He’s amazed by the whole set up of it all, the cameras, the monitors, all the people who seem to be constantly walking places very quickly with a lot of purpose. You lead him to your little costume camp in the corner, letting out a chuckle at how impressed he is. 

“Okay, look so I do kind of have to do my job and leave you alone here, but just stay where I tell you to, don’t get in the way and you’ll be fine.” You’ve barely finished your sentence when someone calls your name, so you’re pushing Quinn into an empty chair, wincing a smile at him and scurrying away.

You don’t really get a chance to check back in on him for a good hour or two, but Quinn’s barely noticed the amount of time that’s gone by. He’s shocked at the fact that he’s so close to actors who he actually recognises, but he’s even more in awe simply watching you in your element. He knew you’d downplayed your role to him but even so, he’s mesmerised at the way you’re handling everyone’s questions, how you’re there in between takes to fix collars and ties and things he hadn’t even noticed, at how almost out of nowhere, you suddenly seem to have this commanding yet gracious air of authority around you. He’s never seen or even pictured you like this but he’s completely caught up in it, not realising that one of the makeup artists has been watching his laser focus on you this whole time and sidled up to him.

He doesn’t quite hear her at first.

“I was just asking if you were the boyfriend?”

Quinn’s immediately blushing furiously and he’s only glad that you aren’t there to see it. “No- no, um. Just, uhh, just a friend is all.” 

His response appropriately earns a raised eyebrow.

“Ahhh, okay. Gotcha. Sorry, was just asking,” she pauses, entertained by his spluttering, “She’s rather amazing, you know? Really great at her job and just incredible in general.”

“Yeah, I, uh- I know,” he answers, glancing at you briefly. There’s something in this stranger’s tone that has him slightly confused, wondering why he’s being told this.

She only hums in response before walking away, leaving him to try not to overthink the interaction. He quickly pushes it aside when he sees you making your way over.

“Hey,” you grin, coming to a stop in front of him, “Been having fun?”

“Oh yeah,” he perks up immediately, “Heaps.”

“Great, because we’re starting to wrap up. I’ll take you back out to the entrance, save you all the boring stuff, y’know?”

Quinn’s surprised that it’s already heading into the late afternoon when you exit the studio. He turns to look at you, shoving his hands into his pockets and mustering up as much sincerity as he can.

“Thanks again for having me. It was, um, it was really cool watching you do your thing.”

“Well thanks for finally taking me up on my offer,” you counter, “and thanks for the coffee. I’m glad you had fun, really." You pause, cocking your head slightly, “We’ll go watch the movie together when it’s out.”

This, Quinn is sure, is a throw away line, at least he thinks. You’re not completely sure if you meant it either, but you know you only said it because you knew he would take it as one.

A couple days later you get a text out of the blue from Beau, and then Brock.

Beau: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU TOOK QUINN ON SET???? I’VE KNOWN YOU FOR HOW LONG AND YOU’VE NEVER ASKED ME?!!?!?! 

Brock: I like movies too :))

4

For whatever reason, Beau’s apartment had become the designated gathering spot. You’d already found yourself there a couple times already with the rest of the group, so you didn’t really question it when he ropes you into the games night he’s hosting, claiming they need another person to even out the numbers. It doesn’t occur to you to ask why he couldn’t have asked literally any of the other guys instead, so you don’t realise he has a whole catalogue of excuses ready to cover the fact that he’d been orchestrating a reason to get you and Quinn in the same room again.  

If anyone were to ask Quinn why he was late, he also had his own list of excuses ready to rattle off before he’d admit the truth. He’d spent an embarrassingly long amount of time switching between three shirts knowing that he’d see you - and so what if you’d done the same, as long as nobody else knew? 

Currently, you’re all way too many drinks in, lining up along the couch in preparation for the final tie breaking round of charades. Beau’s couch is definitely not big enough to fit six of you but you all squish in anyway, mostly too drunk or too determined to win to care. You should have expected this level of competition from a group of professional athletes; you've done a good job of keeping up all night, but you’re suddenly very acutely aware of how close Quinn is sitting next to you. You take another hard swallow from your drink before turning your focus onto Beau flailing his arms in front of you.

You manage to keep your cool through several rounds, but eventually you realise Quinn’s thigh has, at some point, ended up pressed firmly against yours. Immediately your whole leg is tingling and your face is flaming up, but Quinn doesn’t seem to show any signs of pulling away, or simply even realising. You blink, trying to refocus, but the only thing your brain seems capable of processing at the moment is the feeling of Quinn’s leg against yours through your jeans. If it weren’t for Beau’s overly dramatic reaction, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed that your team had already lost. 

You move to lean back against the couch - which was a mistake, considering now your shoulders are brushing too, and someone might as well have set your entire body on fire. Your head is starting to spin - must just be the shots catching up, you try to convince yourself - and you’ve drawn your lips into a thin line in an effort not to combust. 

Brock lets out a laugh, clocking your expression. “Alright, no need to be such a sore loser, princess.”

You can feel Quinn turning to look at you, even if you’re desperately avoiding his eye contact. Beau is looking at you now too, eyes flickering over the way you and Quinn are pressed into each other’s sides. He grins, gears already turning in his head.

You hope your laugh sounds convincing. “Yeah, didn’t realise I’d get so into it, huh?”

“We’ll just have to have a rematch another time,” Beau reassures you, well aware losing wasn’t the reason why you looked so distressed. He fakes a look at the clock as you stand up from the couch, having decided you wouldn’t have survived much longer if you didn’t move.

“Well I guess it’s getting a bit late. I think we’re all pretty far gone at this point so everyone’s welcome to crash for the night if you want," Beau offers.

“Dude,” Quinn pipes up, “There’s no way you have enough space for all of us.”

“Well, lucky a certain someone just so happens to live not so far away!” Beau is already shepherding the two of you out of his apartment, still wearing the biggest grin on his face.

Before you can even begin to protest, you’ve already found yourself standing next to Quinn in the hallway. A beat passes, the two of you staring at the shut door incredulously before you finally catch Quinn’s eye, both unable to help the fit of giggles that escapes when you catch each other’s expressions. 

In hindsight, you think this is the exact moment where you lose the ability to deny to yourself that you see him as just one of Beau’s friends. His eyes are a little glazed over from the alcohol, and his lips are flushed the prettiest pink to match his cheeks which are pulled into the widest smile you’ve seen him wear to date, and for the first time you notice exactly just how full his eyelashes are.

“I guess I do have a free couch,” you breathe out once you’ve both calmed down. 

“No it’s fine really, I can just get an uber home, don’t worry about it,” Quinn argues, the slight awkwardness of the situation finally hitting him.

“Quinn, don’t be ridiculous. Your car’s still here, isn’t it? I literally live down the hallway,” you pause, “... like Beau said.”

He swallows, blinking at you for a good while. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure then.” 

He waits for you to tell him that you’ve changed your mind, that actually the boyfriend you’ve never mentioned before wouldn’t like it if he stayed, or anything along those lines - something that would make the whole thing feel a little more believable, but instead, he just finds you looking at him. He doesn’t think he can handle that much longer without buckling at the knees, the way your eyes are searching his face, so he turns and starts walking down the hallway. He goes to ask what number your apartment is when he suddenly feels your soft hand slip into his.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe how nervous he suddenly seemed, maybe the way his hair looked perfectly dishevelled, or maybe in your intoxicated state you’d just finally decided to throw caution to the wind.

“I’m back this way, idiot,” you laugh at him before tugging him down the other way to your door. 

Quinn is sure that his heart is thumping so loudly that you can hear it echoing through the silent hallway, or that you can somehow feel it where your fingers are laced through his but you’re being nice and saving him the embarrassment by not saying anything about it. He’s also hyper aware of how you didn’t drop his hand until you were both inside, even when you were rummaging in your pockets for your keys.

He glances around your apartment, following suit as he watches you kick off your sneakers. He’s overtly aware of the quietness compared to the chaos of just earlier, and the overwhelming sense of domesticity as he trails behind you into your home. 

You watch him as he looks around, trying to find something to do in order to not get distracted staring at his nose. “Want some water?”

“Yeah actually, thanks,” he feels like he’s whispering, like if he speaks any louder you might realise that he is, actually, in fact, standing in your apartment and decide to kick him out. 

He watches you reach on your toes to grab an extra glass from the cabinet and he finds himself endeared by it all - the way your shoes were lined up in the hallway, the sweater left draped over the couch, the lone mug left on your kitchen counter by your coffee machine.

He gestures at what he’s guessing is an open script left on the table next to an array of pens. “New project?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done reading through it,” you answer, “I won't be working on it for several months still, but I haven’t completely decided yet.”

“Is it shooting here as well?”

“Only bits of it. Looks like it’ll be mostly in LA though. And a couple other locations but it’ll be fun,” you shrug, handing him the glass.

“So you’re gonna do it?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Script’s pretty good so far, and it’s an exciting team. Kind of like why not, you know?”

Quinn only manages to mutter out some sort of agreement. He’s surprised by his own disappointment at the idea that you could be moving out to LA, when in the grand scheme of things he’s only known you for about half a year. Thankfully, you interrupt him before he can think about it much more.

“Anyway, I’ll go get some blankets for you. Bathroom’s down that way, there’s extra toothbrushes in the first drawer.”

When he’s back, he almost crumples at the sight of you in your pjs setting up the couch for him. He notices you’ve refilled his glass before you turn around and shove a pile of clothes into his hands.

“Sweats for you, they should fit, I think,” you crinkle your nose. “My room’s down that way, just let me know if you need anything.”

He only manages to get out a small thanks in response. He’s staring at you, he knows that, but he can’t help how soft you look in the dim lighting.

You tilt your head, giving him a small smile. “Night, Quinn.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” he mumbles.

He makes a mental note to both punch Beau and then thank him in the morning.

+ 1

Nothing ever happened after that seemingly eventful night. It’s now well into the next season and you’re thinking that this is just what the dynamic of yours and Quinn’s friendship is like. You’ve gone back to trying to convince yourself that it’s normal - like you also think Beau’s good looking, right? You had a bit of a crush on him too when you first met him, even if that came and went awfully swiftly and you don’t get anything even close to the same kind of head spinning giddiness when he talks to you. Quinn thinks he’s been less subtle about it all, and you think you’ve been dropping hints but apparently your efforts have only been evident to everyone else but each other.

You know that the team has a gala coming up soon. Beau’s mentioned it to you a couple times in his attempt to gauge how you would feel if he forced Quinn to take you as his date. When he tells Quinn his master plan to finally get the two of you together, Quinn almost chokes on his own spit.

“Ask her as my date?! You’re kidding right?” he practically screeches.

“No.”

Quinn stammers, trying to formulate some kind of reply. “I don’t- We’re not- … I’m not doing that.”

Beau groans. “You guys are both such idiots, I’m sick of it. It’s so obvious that you like her and I don’t know how you can’t see that she’s head over heels for you too!”

Quinn only stares at him in response.

“Why won’t you just ask her? The world isn’t going to implode.”

There’s a good minute of silence, the two of them staring at each other waiting for someone to break. Quinn finally sighs, taking a seat on the couch.

“Isn’t she leaving for LA soon?”

“Are you being serious right now? Please tell me you’re not actually this stupid.”

Quinn blinks. “I don’t know. Vancouver and LA are pretty far apart.”

Beau is just about ready to physically knock some sense into him.

“You’re not even in Vancouver half the time anyway. Plus she’s not moving away forever. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

When Quinn doesn’t say anything in response, Beau doubles down.

“If you don’t ask her, I will for you. I’m not lying but you can test that out if you’d like.”

Beau doesn’t believe that Quinn will do anything, but he doesn’t give him much time to prove him wrong anyway. He’s calling you that evening.

“What are you doing Saturday night in two weeks time?”

“What? Nothing, I don’t think.”

“Okay, great. You’re coming to the gala as Quinn’s date then.”

“I’m what?!”

“You heard me.”

There’s a pause.

“Are you home right now?”

“Ye-”

You hang up on him before he can finish the syllable and you’re storming down the hallway until you’re banging on his door. He looks rather calm when he lets you in, but you don’t miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You point an accusing finger at him. “Explain it to me again. You want me to do what now?”

Beau rolls his eyes. “You’re free. Quinn’s free. Why not? It’s painfully obvious that you have this massive crush on him.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “No I don’t. And you’re asking me instead of him because?”

“Because he’s being an idiot, like he has been for almost an entire year now.” Beau looks at you and he can tell you could be convinced. “Just say yes. I’ll be there, the other guys will be there, there’ll be free food and drinks. Plus you’ll get to dress up! You’re always telling me you want to have an excuse to dress up yourself instead of other people!”

You can’t deny his last point. Literally just the other week, you’d sent him a link of this drop dead gorgeous dress you’d found whilst sourcing for your next project and complained to him about how you wanted to get it for yourself but had nowhere to wear it to.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. Just say you’ll come as his date. That’s it.”

You pause. Beau finds himself in his second stalemate of the day, but he knows you’re going to give in more easily. He listens to the tick of the clock in his living room, patiently waiting for you to cave.

“Fine.”

You don’t give him a chance to properly react before you’ve flung open his door, marched back to your own apartment and screamed into your pillow about what you’ve said yes to.

Beau should’ve known you were going to be insufferable leading up to the actual night. You spend the entirety of the next week pestering him about what the dress code is, how you have nothing to wear, what to expect, who else is going to be there. He gives you the same answers every time you ask and he promises to go dress shopping with you on Thursday. You’re only the slightest bit more relieved at this, but as soon as you agree, Beau’s texting Quinn that he has about a week to deliver.

Quinn had called you as soon as he saw Beau’s message, apologising and saying that he wished Beau had given him a little more warning so he could have asked you himself (he knows he wouldn’t have) and telling you that you don’t have to go if you didn’t want to. You were barely done freaking out about it yourself, but the way he sounded so completely flustered about it all through the phone was somewhat reassuring. 

When you make your way up the stairs to your apartment on Wednesday evening, you find yourself actually excited to go pick out a dress the next day. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t pulled together some inspiration images, but in your defence, you were just good at your job. Your steps falter a little when you notice a package at your door, but as you get closer, you notice there’s a post-it note over it. 

Been a minute since our mail got confused again :)

– Beau

You’re confused because you don’t remember ordering anything, but it’s definitely been addressed to you. You head inside to open it, brows furrowing when you start to recognise the fabric. Needless to say, your jaw is definitely on the floor when you pull out the same dress that you had sent Beau not too long ago. You’re scrambling to grab your phone to yell at him when you remember they’re currently playing a game at the moment, so you settle for a borderline blasphemous string of texts instead.

Hours later, when you’re still reeling, you get one single message in response.

Beau: Wasn’t me. Was all huggy :)

It feels like the last days left until the gala had gone all too quick yet also taken way too long. You felt like you’d been pulling your hair out about it nonstop, and it didn’t help that the guys had gone away on a roadie in between. 

You’d started getting ready way too early. You couldn’t do up the clasp of your necklace since you weren’t used to having your nails done, leaving you too much time to start wondering if you’d maybe gone a little overboard with it all. You’d been pacing around your apartment for the past half hour trying to occupy your hands with something else instead, waiting for a more appropriate time to get changed. You think you must look like a deranged housewife, washing your dishes and folding your laundry with a full face of makeup and maybe too much diligence.

You’re so caught up in distracting yourself that the buzzer ringing makes you jump. 

“Hey, come on up. I’ll unlock the door, I’ve just got to get changed,” you say over the intercom. 

You run back to your room to pull on the dress you’d been fawning over for weeks, still not entirely sure how either Quinn or Beau had managed to work out the right size for you. You hear the door being opened and Quinn calling out your name just as you’re spraying your perfume. 

“In my room!” You yell back, “One sec!”

When he rounds the corner and lays eyes on you, Quinn’s certain he’s turned completely into putty. He’s never seen you so dressed up and you look so breathtakingly stunning that he almost drops the bouquet in his hands.

You’re equally breathless when you turn around to face him. You didn’t realise that he’d gotten a tie to match, and you wouldn’t know that he’d dragged Petey to help him pick a new suit in an attempt to impress you. You’re both staring at each other for what feels like forever before either of you can manage a word.

“Um, hi,” he breathes, barely audible, “You look- you look really beautiful.”

You can’t hide the blush that’s creeping up your neck, but you don’t try to anyway considering his cheeks have gone a rosy shade to match. 

“Thanks, Quinn. You look really good too.” You don’t notice how he flushes even deeper because you’ve finally noticed the flowers he’s holding, and even more so, how there’s not a single rose in the bunch. “Are those…?”

Quinn suddenly feels embarrassed about the fact he got you flowers. “Yeah, I um, I got- they’re for you.” He feels like a school boy all over again, mentally kicking himself for not being able to get a proper sentence out. He looks down at the stems, rubbing at his stubble. “Did I overdo it?”

You laugh, you’d been fidgeting with your nails the entire time.

“No, I think it’s really sweet.” You take the flowers from him, laying them down on your vanity when you remember your necklace.

“Oh, can you help me with this? I can’t seem to get the clasp.” You hand him the chain and turn, moving your hair out of the way. 

You can smell the waft of his cologne and feel his focus on the back of your neck, suddenly incredibly aware of how close you’re standing. Your mouth has dried, you're pretty sure your ears are ringing and you think you’re fully frozen in your spot.

“There,” Quinn mumbles, barely even able to get the word past the lump in his throat. He’s still thinking about how unreal you look and fighting the overwhelming urge to spin you around and kiss you right then and there. 

You’re both snapped out of the moment when his phone starts ringing. It’s Beau, asking what time you guys are going to arrive.

“Yeah, we’re just about to leave. See you soon, dude.” Quinn answers, turning his attention back to you. “Ready to go?”

On the way there, you’ve somehow recomposed yourself to manage a somewhat normal conversation. You’re not sure exactly what it is that sent your nerves into haywire in the first place. The fact that you’re so done up, that you’re technically his date, or the fact that he seems just as antsy as you. He tells you he’s a little nervous about the speech he has to make, so you squeeze his hand in reassurance and try to reel your nerves in for both of you.

It’s a lot easier when you get there and see everyone else. You’re reminded that they’re your friends and that this is just another time you get to hang out, even if it’s a lot more fancy and official than what you’re used to. But when you finally go to take your seats after doing your initial rounds of mingling, you still manage to somehow knock your fork to the floor. You bend over to pick it up and you don’t realise Quinn’s covered the edge of the table with his hand until you bump your head into it. Before you can even say anything or just thank him for it, he’s offering to swap forks with you.

“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” you laugh a little breathlessly, “Five second rule, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, but he’s already replaced the fork next to your plate with his anyway. 

Brock and Petey have watched the whole exchange and share knowing smirks from across the table.

Everything else seems to go smoothly. Maybe it’s the soft touches on his arm or on your back, the blushing smiles and longing glances across the room, but something about tonight feels like tomorrow you won’t be able to pretend nothing happened.

Quinn’s speech goes well, and now everyone is up and moving around again. You hang back and let the long line of teammates and attendees go to congratulate him first.

Beau approaches Quinn, interrupting his train of thought.

“Now that the business part is done, you gonna finally make a move or what?”

Quinn’s eyes almost pop out of his head at the idea of this and also the volume at which Beau is speaking.

“Shut up,” he hisses, “She’ll hear you!”

“Doesn’t matter - she’s going to notice anyway with how hard you’ve been staring all night!”

“No I haven’t,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah ok, sure buddy. Just- no time like the present!” Beau claps him on the back and leaves Quinn to shift his gaze back to you. He’s starting to get lost in how at ease you look, talking to some of the other wives, when he realises Beau is right and you’ve caught him staring.

You make your way to him, prodding him gently in the shoulder.

“Told ya you didn’t need to be so worried.”

He’s blushing again. He can’t seem to get a handle on the effect you have on him.

“Yeah, it went alright, I guess. Made it out alive.”

“Well I, for one, think you spoke really well.” There’s a slight teasing in your voice, but you hope he can tell you mean it.

Quinn finds himself lost for words in front of you for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He’s scanning your face and tries not to think too hard before he opens his mouth again.

“Can I kiss y-”

“Please.”

His hands are quick to find your waist and pull you closer as your hands find a place against his chest. The kiss is quick and rushed and almost all teeth from how big you’re both smiling, but you don’t mind it. You feel like the ground’s been pulled out from under you in one fell swoop and you’re free falling but somehow it feels like exactly what you needed.

When you pull away, Quinn’s wearing the goofiest lopsided grin you’ve ever seen and you can only imagine that you look the same.

“I, uh-”

“You’ve got lip gloss on you.”

You’re both giggling as he swipes over his lips with his thumb. 

You’re so lost in him that you almost don’t register all the hollering and clapping from your table. Usually you would hate the idea of so many eyes watching you, but it all feels like such a long time coming that you can’t seem to be even remotely embarrassed about any of it.

[bakugosbratx]

Wrapped Around Your Finger — Eren Jeager x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+Content. Alcohol, cheating, toxic relationship, kinda Stockholm syndrome kinda not, angst, fighting, rough sex, degrading, etc.

Tags: @nymphoheretic @cupids-soul @sickchildren

Words: 2,019

Not beta read

Eren Jeager.

He’s not someone you would want to bring home to your mother. In fact, he’s someone your mother would warn you to remain far away from. If you had any brain cells left in that thick head of yours, you would learn your lesson by now. He was nothing but trouble and some part of you loved that about him.

The way Eren can make up for all those broken promises with just one breathtaking kiss. His tongue dancing with yours as his large hands squeeze your ass, you can’t help but feel intoxicated.

“Miss me?” Eren asked with a devious smirk. Did he actually care if you missed him or not? Most likely not, but it did not matter as you disrobed on your way to your mattress. “Yes, so much.” You breathed. You are quick to forget about your last fight and how you two haven’t talked for a month and a half.

You are quick to help remove his black hoodie, discarding it to the floor with his t-shirt quickly following. Pulling away from your lips, he lays you down onto the bed as he leads your hand to his jeans. You can already feel his cock rising as you palm him with greedily little fingers. Eren’s selfish desires quickly consume you. There is no hesitation about this as you set him free for him to take advantage of your hole.

Eren still had fresh scratches on his chest and back from his last sexual encounter before he arrived here, but you were too much in heaven to care. You could easily ignore the hickeys the last person left just a couple hours before. You have done it so many times before. For now, your focus is on you two.

Eren’s cock is deep into your guts, his long hair out of his hair tie as you entangle your fingers into his luscious strands. You just slide the black hair tie on your wrist while your nails dig down Eren’s back.

“Keep your damn claws to yourself.” Eren growled as he restrained your wrist above your head. “I taught you better than to mark me.”

All you could do is blubber incoherent sentences as Eren’s strokes became too much to handle. Your back arches as your toes curl from the intense pressure. It was a blessing and a curse to be Eren’s favorite fuck toy. The sex was always amazing.

That’s just the honest truth.

Eren knew all your favorite spots. With every thrust, it was a painful yet beautiful bliss. No one else could touch your soul like he can. And he was good at claiming you, though, he was not one who wanted commitment. No one could fuck you, but him.

The negative was, well, everything. Nobody can please you like him. Everything Eren wanted, he got. It didn’t matter how long he was gone for and what venomous words that flew from his mouth; Eren always got what he wanted. The saddest part was that you knew this was going to happen. Eren’s dirty laundry was always the talk of the town yet, here you are, moaning his name.

“Eren, please, I’m going to—“

“You better fuckin’ not.” Eren threatened with a harsh slap to your face. The adrenaline was only bringing you closer to your high. “Y’know you don’t get to cum unless I say so. Don’t fuckin’ act stupid.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” You murmur out as your eyes roll back. Eren’s cock was already leaking pre-cum into your depths, your organs absorbing it like so many times before.

Eren’s eyes remained on you. As much as you loved to be praised, Eren was not the praising type. Especially in the bedroom. Your reward was him. His attention, his presence, his cock deep in you. You should be so grateful to even be used by him. Though, if you only knew that each time Eren abused your tight little hole, his eyes would scan your naked body to make sure nobody else marked what is his.

Sure, you are single. You can date, talk, fuck anyone you want. No one can tell you otherwise. Eren does whatever he wants, why can’t you do the same?

You made that mistake once.

Consumed by alcohol and the rhythm, you swayed your hips right into the hands of an attractive man. A man known as Jean who had the hots for you for as long as you could remember. You have turned him down and his advances quite a few times, but tonight, you felt a bit frisky. Plus, you had to watch Eren flirt, kiss, and so many other things with pretty girls.

Was it out of spite? Potentially. Eren has already told you many times you are nothing more than a fuck toy. You are reminded every time he comes and goes out of your front door yet your heart fell for his beautiful smile that was hardly ever present, his voice that was so cold yet was so hot, and those beautiful green eyes that knew how to look right through your soul. He read every single page of you without you even telling him to.

Eren knew you like the back of his hand. He knew when you were at your weakest for him. Being deprived of his attention for so long made you practically on your knees for him. You would do anything he wanted just for him to stay a little longer.

“So fuckin’ pathetic,” Eren would always remind you as your limp body take more and more of him. You are so tired, mentally and physically, from how much you have been used yet you’ll give up every ounce of yourself to make Eren stay. “You’ll give up your own morals and happiness just to keep me, huh?” He scornfully chuckled. His words had nothing to do with the intercourse, but you both knew he was correct. You would throw away so much just to be with Eren.

It really was so fuckin’ pathetic, Y/N.

And you knew it.

However, your heart forever ached for Eren. Every female he gave attention to that was not you was another stab to your back. So many knives rested in your spine leaving you forever paralyzed in agony. Overtime, it should not hurt as bad, but your pillowcase full of bitter tears and playlist full of sad songs say otherwise. How can someone who can see right through you not even feel an ounce of love for you? Someone who knew your entire soul from just touching your soft skin; how can there not be love present there?

Maybe you were just too cock drunk to see the tiniest glimmers of care in Eren’s eyes for you. You just chalked it up to be all in your head. That’s what Eren made you believe anyways and those glares from across the room whenever Jean’s hands rested on your hips were just the vodka talking. Everything is just an illusion.

As your painted colored lips twirled with Jean’s, your eyes closing in hopes you could imagine it was Eren. You could practically feel his cologne fill your nostrils at the thought only for your orbs to abruptly open. You let out a gasp when you find Jean on the ground and an angry Eren standing in front of you.

“E-Eren—“ you muttered in shock. Eren glared at you. You could not process what even happened when Eren began storming out. You are quick to follow, ignoring the crowd.

“Eren! Wait—“

Eren stopped a few meters ahead of you, his back still turned to you. “What did I tell you, Y/N?” His voice was calm, but you could feel the bitterness coated in the way he spoke your name.

You arched a brow. Eren has told you many things. Many of them were either not appropriate or cruel words you have fought hard to forget. Any instance of sweetness that ever came from Eren was just pillowtalk.

‘I just say it because I know it gets you off,’ he would always shrug along with other similar excuses when you would question his motives. You are just friends with benefits, sure, but the subtle brushes of each other’s hands when you both go to turn up the music in his car send electricity running through you both. And if you two are just friends with benefits, why do you know how Eren takes his coffee and his favorite childhood video games? Oh, and why does Eren, at times, find excuses not to leave? Laying beside you, your head on his muscular chest, his fingers entangled in your hair, your soft snores soothing his rapid heartbeat.

Only for you to wake up all alone.

You always end up alone.

“Can you not hear?” Eren hissed, bringing you back to the question at hand. “I asked you a question. Y’know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I’m yours.” You gulped, attempting to swallow the words before they evacuated your mouth. The two delicate words were barely above a murmur between the loud music and drunken chatter, but the frigid air between you and Eren silenced out the world and those two words echoed in each other’s ear drums.

The wind picked up, suffocating you. Eren had so many emotions roaring within him. He will never be one to settle down. He will never be the one to be able to take you on all the lavish dates you deserved. You can lie all you want and claim it does not matter, but Eren knew you deserved that. It’s not from lack of money, status, or time, but rather that is not in Eren’s nature.

No matter how hard he wanted to try, he could not be the man he wanted him so bad to be. He saw how you gazed at him with stars in your eyes and as much as he wanted to match the potential you desperately wanted him to be, he just couldn’t.

Yet, here you two stood. Those two words have such a major effect on each of you. Secretly, and loudly, you have always had a faithfulness to Eren and he feasted on that. He thrived that he could have you hanging on the line while he did whatever he pleased. It was not fair. Even Eren knew that, but his immature ways tend to always win.

Eren gazed over his shoulder, “and don’t you forget it.”

You were frozen as you watched Eren walk to his car. So many questions that remained unanswered all this time later. You wanted to believe this was Eren’s complicated way of displaying his love for you and if you were not manipulated as usual by him, your hunch would have been correct.

You two did not speak about that encounter.

As Eren finished in you, your eyes glossed over in pure bliss. Your leaking hole was always the best. No doubt about it. That’s what he tells himself on the reason why he keeps coming back to you. And that must be the reason why he is crawling into bed beside you, hugging your exhausted body close as you quickly fall into a deep slumber.

Maybe this time Eren would not slip out into the night. Maybe he would let you be conscious enough to hear his heartbeat race while in your presence. Maybe, just maybe, he can stay the night. That is not too much of a commitment, right?

It’s just one night.

One night that was not tonight. Eren caressed your beautiful face one more time before making the difficult decision to climb out of your bed, careful not to wake you, put on his clothing that was still scattered on your hardwood floor, and cover up your naked body with your duvet. Kissing your temple, embracing the beauty you are from the moonlight illuminating your room from the window.

Eren wanted so badly to climb back beside you, hold you and keep you safe, but as always, he sneaked out into the night, leaving you all alone.

[babygirlmurdock]

Unexpected Connection

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your friend convinces you to go to a singles event only for you to meet Hell’s Kitchen infamous lawyer.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: mild swearing, alcohol

a/n: heyyy lol so this is my First piece of fiction. i’m trying to get better at writing fiction and this actually came to me when something like this was actually brought up to me recently lol so i thought hey why not try to write something about it?

——————————————————————————

You’ve been single for quite some time now. Your last breakup was nasty, left your heart shredded; you weren’t too sure when you’d be truly ready to date again. Your friends have been helpful, pushing you to get out there and meet new people. Get your mind off your ex, y’know?

Swipe after swipe. Messages that are painfully one sided. Or men that just want to hook up or want something casual.

“Ooh, I just got this advertised to me on Instagram,” Jill says to you. Jill is a coworker turned friend. You perk up from your desk to see what she was talking about, “a meet and mingle this Saturday at the Refinary rooftop. We should definitely go!”

“Ugh, I just don’t know Jill. All men have done is just disappoint me and nothing has compared to Jam— ”,

“James. I know. But maybe the guy that is way better than James will be there. Your soulmate could be here and you would never know! C’mon it’ll be fun, I think. Plus meeting people in person is way better than on the apps,” she leans up against your desk. You worked as an editor at the New York Bulletin. It was an internship turned full time position after you graduated college. You dreamed of New York one day, and it still feels surreal that this is your reality.

You are sure your friends were tired of you sulking about James. It’s been well over 6 months and he’s probably already moved on while you’re stuck in this trench of dating.

“Okay. Fine. I hope there’s good drinks because Lord knows I’ll need that liquid confidence.” You scrubbed your face.

Jill squeals, “I’m so excited!! It starts at 7.”

——————————————————————————-

“Matt! It would be so fun, talking to beautiful women all night and who knows, maybe take one home!” Foggy hints to Matt about this meet and mingle.

“I’m really not in the cards to be dating right now, Foggy,” Matt says, shuffling through some papers. The mid-afternoon sun beamed through Matt’s office as Foggy stood in his doorway. Matt was trying to get through the last of this litigation before the end of the week and Foggy was not making this easier.

“This might be the opportunity that you meet someone who is actually normal! Not some psycho chick that almost got your ass expelled back in law school. That’s how long it’s been, Matt! Do you know how long ago law school was?” Matt lets out a small laugh at Foggy.

“Yes, Foggy. I was there, I know how long ago it was.”

He never understood why Foggy was so adamant on him meeting someone. Now that the firm is getting some business and he’s gone out more times than he can count as Daredevil, he just doesn’t have the time to commit.

“I’ll go only for an hour,” Matt sighs and Foggy lets out a cheer.

“You’re not gonna regret this, Murdock!”

————————————————————————

Saturday night rolls around. You and Jill are about to head to the singles event.

“I hope I meet someone rich,” Jill says, applying her lipstick. “I just don’t want to work again, y’know?”

“Tell me about it. I just hope nobody is too much of an asshole. I don’t know if I can take another person mansplaining what investing is and why I should do it,” You shouted from the bathroom, spraying some hairspray in your hair. You came out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

“Whoa girl, what are you wearing? You can’t wear that!” Jill said from your living room.

You eye yourself in the mirror, “what is so wrong with jeans and a t-shirt?”

Jill says your name sternly, “everything? You might meet the love of your life! Show some more!”

“You’re ridiculous. You’re lucky I’m going to this in the first place! Would it make you happier if I changed my top?” You say, taking off your shirt to dig for something she deems more appropriate.

“Atta girl, show the goodies,” Jill says, shimmying her chest. “Uber is downstairs, let’s get going.”

——————————————————————————

You arrive at the venue and make your way upstairs to the roof. It was decorated with greenery and twinkle lights. The place was lit just enough to make it romantic but not where you couldn’t see anyone. Not even 15 minutes into the event, you lose Jill in the crowd already talking to people. You make your way to the bar to order yourself a drink.

“Dirty martini, gin, please. Thanks,” you stand at the bar while you wait for your drink and hear a smooth voice next to you.

“Whiskey, neat, please. Thank you,” you peer over and your eyes meet a beautiful man wearing red glasses. You take a moment to read him a little bit. Gorgeous side profile. Your eyes make their way down to his hands, and meet with a cane. Blind?

“Dirty martini & a whiskey neat.”

“Thank you,” you both say in unison. “I suppose we should cheers?” The man says to you.

“Oh, uh sure, cheers,” You clink your glass against his and a smile breaks out on his face as the glass meets his lips. God damn, this guy looks like the next coming of Christ. He was so unreal looking. He had the jaw sculpted by God himself, decorated with just the right amount of stubble, and his lips. They were so pink and full. The thoughts of kissing him already danced in your head. The faint smell of his cologne twirled around in your nostrils.

“So let me guess,” you take a sip from your drink, “your friend basically dragged you here too against your will even though you told them you were over dating?”

“Wow,” his eyebrows perked up as he took another sip, “how did you guess?” he says, sarcastically.

“Well, considering you look like that,” your hand vaguely gestured to his body, “and women aren’t at your beck and call, I had to assume.”

“Look like what? Oh God, did I forget to put on my pants? You’d tell me that I’m pant less right?” He says frantically, trying to hide his laughter.

“Ha ha, very funny. But was I right?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not too far off. It’s hard to do modern dating when everything is on dating apps and eyesight helps that. Phones can only be so accessible. I’m Matt by the way, Matt Murdock.” He sticks his hand out for you to grab. You give him your name as you shake his hand. You notice some bruising on the knuckles and wonder what that could be about.

“Wait like, the lawyer?”

Matt sheepishly nodded in agreement, “that would be me.”

“Where were you when I told a cop to fuck off because I didn’t like how he was speaking to my friend?” You take a big swig of your martini hoping the alcohol would hit you sooner rather than later.

“My law partner must’ve missed the call from the woman brave enough to tell a cop to fuck off,” Matt smirks at you. Butterflies erupt inside you and your heart beat jumps.

————————————————————————

As the night goes on, and after a couple more drinks, conversation between you and Matt flows effortlessly. You two made your way over to a couch to sit and talk. The crowd ebbed and flowed throughout the night. People left, more people showed up, but it never got too crowded. It honestly felt like you and Matt were alone, like the world stood still.

“So you mean to tell me he took your furniture outside?” You laugh at the thought of his college roommate moving all of Matt’s furniture outside.

“Yeah, it was kind of rude of him to do that to a blind guy. He thought it was hilarious though,” Matt smiles at you.

“You guys seemed wild in law school. I bet campus police weren't too thrilled with your shenanigans,” you rest your chin on your hand as you lean a bit closer to Matt.

“Foggy actually got into some trouble with them because he was breaking the school's disability rules. Nothing too major, he just had to volunteer as a part of campus police to pay his dues.”

You laugh at Matt, and briefly look around and notice you and Matt seemed to be two of the other five couples that are still there.

“So, I have a question for you…” you trail off, debating on asking this question.

“No, I haven’t been blind my whole life,” Matt states.

“How did you know I was going to ask that?” your voice has an edge of surprise to it.

“It came in the pamphlet when I lost my vision. Don’t worry about it though, it doesn’t bother me when people ask,” Matt reassures you. “It’s been 20 years at this point.”

“Oh wow, so you had to adapt and relearn the world without your eyes. That’s insane, it must have been tough for you,” you rest your hand on Matt’s bicep. What business does he have to have this much of a defined arm?

“It took some adjusting but my other senses were…” Matt stops mid sentence before realizing what he was about to say.

“What? Like sensitive? I’m sure your other senses had to compensate now that your eyes were out of commission.”

“Yeah, you can say sensitive in a way,” Matt sighs. Silence falls between you both. You fiddle with your glass for a moment until he speaks up, “what do you say we get out of here?”

“Oh, um,” you look around in hopes of finding your friend because you’re still nervous about potentially going home with somebody new. No matter how gorgeous the man is. “I–“ you stammer.

“I don’t want to give the wrong intentions. What I mean is maybe go to another bar. There’s a place two blocks over that we can go to. If you’re up for it,” Matt gave you a small smile of reassurance.

You think for a moment, staring at his face while your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your body. What the hell, why not? “Sure, I’d like that,” you smile and get up. You let Matt grab onto your forearm for guidance as you walk to the bar to close out. After he graciously also paid for your tab, you walked with him to the elevator.

“What’s this place called? How do I know you’re not going to murder me? You are still a stranger by the way,” you ramble on. Matt laughs at your nervousness.

“It’s called Josie’s. I’ve been going here since I was in law school. And if I were going to murder you, I would have done it already,” Matt leans into you playfully.

“Ah yeah that makes me feel so much better, thank you, Matt,” you joke.

——��——————————————————————

The walk to Josie’s is mostly silent, but not awkward. You feel at ease around Matt. His energy is soothing, it feels like you’ve known him for ages. He asked about your upbringing, what brought you to New York. Your typical “getting to know someone” questions.

As you approach the bar, your nerves dissipate as you recognize this is a dive bar. “You seem less tense,” Matt said to you, his hand lightly placed on the pulse point of your wrist.

“Yeah, I love a good dive bar. It’s charming in a way,” you breathe out, leading the way into the bar. You find a seat at the bar for you and Matt to sit. You look around the bar, and notice the pool table in the back. There were old beer signs all over the walls. The lighting was dim and moody. Classic rock was playing over the speakers. Matt must’ve waved down a bartender while you were distracted because two beers are placed in front of you as you sat down next to him.

“I love how you assumed I liked beer,” you tease, taking a sip from your bottle.

“I can order something else if you’d like me to,” Matt's voice breaks a bit.

“I like beer, don’t worry,” you reassured him, “so what are the odds a blind man knows how to play pool?”

“I’ve played. I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”

Your drinks start to hit you more as you speak, “Do you want to make a bet?”

“Betting against a blind man? Low blow,” Matt sucks his teeth teasing you a bit. You giggle, “Fair point, Matthew. Fair point. C’mon, do you need guidance to the table?”

“No thank you, I know this place like it’s my own home,” Matt smiled at you as you both made your way over to the pool table.

You rack up the balls and Matt grabs some cues. “Do you want to break the triangle?” Matt asks.

“Sure, why not,” You bend over, lining up the cue ball with the tip of the triangle. Your heartbeat quickens as you feel Matt’s gaze upon you. You know, for someone who is blind, you sure can feel like his eyes were all over your body. The loud crack of the ball break snaps you out of your train of thought. “Do you, um, do you need help lining up the cue?”

“Actually yes, that’d be helpful.”

You make your way to Matt’s side, telling him solids were his and what balls were lined up with which ones. To your shock, he nails two solids into the sink holes. “I’ll be damned. Blind man is good at pool.”

Matt’s voice is low and husky when he says, “there’s a lot of secrets about me,” which gives you full body chills.

“Well, okay then, I—” you stammer trying to collect your tipsy self. You take your shot and, “God damn it, missed. You’re not hustling me, are you? You said you weren’t good!” you protest.

“Ehh, lucky shot, I guess,” Matt laughs, taking a swig of his beer.

The round of pool goes at a good pace, flirty innuendos fly off the walls. At this point, Matt’s jacket is off and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up showing his forearms. Every passing hour, you feel more and more attracted to him. And you only hope he feels the same.

“Alright, 8 ball is up. Absolutely no fucking way I’m about to lose a game of pool to a guy who can’t see,” you said competitively.

“Well to be fair, you have been helping me line the cues up, you could’ve hustled me and lined up with your balls.” He suggests with a shrug.

“God damn it, you’re so right. Holy shit why didn’t I think of that?!” You line the cue up to the ball and take your shot...and miss. You let out a gasp as you just lost this game of pool.

“That didn’t sound like a good gasp,” Matt teased.

“You’d be correct. Good game, Matt.”

“Good game,” he said your name back to you.

You looked at your watch and realized it was almost midnight. “It’s getting late, I think we should head out. That sound okay to you?” you say, even though you secretly don’t want this night to end.

“Yeah, do you want me to walk you home?” Matt asks you, with a shy smile secretly hoping you’d say yes.

“That’d be really lovely, thank you. I’m just 5 blocks up actually.”

————————————————————————

“Alright, this is me,” you halt in front of your building’s entrance.

“Are you sure it’s not up one more block?” He flashes you a cheeky smile.

“Unfortunately, it is not. I had a really good time tonight, Matt,” you step closer to him, inches away from his body.

“I had a really nice time tonight, too,” Matt’s voice just above a whisper. God, that register in his voice practically made you fall to your knees.

You and Matt are still standing dangerously close to each other as both of your body’s heats mingled together, practically begging for some physical touch. “I should, uh, get upstairs. Goodnight, Matt.” As you are about to turn away, Matt pulls you in closer as your chests nearly touch. Lips hovering over one another as your breath intertwines with his. Your brain is barely forming coherent thoughts, until you whisper, “I think this is the part where you kiss me.”

“I was waiting for the words,” Matt’s hand snakes up to gently rest on your jawbone as he tilts your head up. His lips meet yours with the tenderness and sweetness that you crave so desperately. He pulls away and you both sigh. “That was—”

“Really nice. You’re an excellent kisser by the way,” you let your inside thoughts exist on the outside now. “That was meant to stay inside my brain, oh my god….” You buried your face in your hands as you pulled away from his embrace.

Matt laughs, “I appreciate the compliment, thank you.”

“Let’s do this again, next week? You owe me a rematch in pool.”

“Next week sounds fantastic. If the pool game went anything like it did tonight, it won’t be much of a rematch,” Matt banters with you. You gasp at his remark which makes him laugh. “I’ll call you sometime this week to set something up, okay?”

“Do you mind if I put my number in your phone? I figure that’d be easiest maybe,” You suggest.

“Oh yeah, that’d be great,” Matt said pulling out his phone. You grabbed it and put your name and number in there and handed it back to him.

“Okay,” you smile at him, “I’ll be anticipating your call.”

“Goodnight,” Matt whispers your name, dripping from his lips like honey. You kiss his cheek and head upstairs. As you close the door, you squeal in excitement.

Matt stood outside your building for a moment, listening to it shut to ensure you made it in okay. As he was about to step away, he heard you squeal to yourself in excitement, which made him laugh to himself.

[dawn-moths]

“Ivory for Ebony, Rust for Gold”

Undertaker x Female Reader

*this is a prologue to my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series.

word count: 15,400+

(Struggling to pay this month’s rent and fighting about who among you and your roommates needs to pick up some extra hours at work, one of them makes a harsh comment that you should just get a sugar daddy to deal with your financial troubles since that’s all you’re probably good for. To her it was just a hurtful, sarcastic remark. But to you, it's an idea, an opportunity for revenge in its own twisted way. Because if you were going to let someone tell you what to do, they could at least be willing to treat you to some nice clothes and expensive dates. So when you match with the mysterious and dark yet beautiful and wealthy “Undertaker” on a dating app and he actually extends the invitation to take you out, how could you possibly deny?)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! most of this is fluff with smut at the end, dating apps, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamics, size kink, loss of virginity.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Your alarm went off at eight AM.

You could say “bright and early” if not for the fact that the sky that blanketed London was a pale, gloomy grey more often than not.

You jabbed at the screen of your phone to silence the irritating shrill of the alarm, heaving out a deep sigh as you rolled over and sat on the edge of your bed, running your fingers through your tousled hair to try and untangle some of the knots that had formed during sleep.

Another day… You thought to yourself, despondent as you stared in a daze out the window, black cabs dotting the streets as they mixed in with the traffic of people on their way to work or school.

You and a college friend of yours had tossed around the idea of moving in together in London for a few semesters before you’d both finally pulled your meager funds into one pot and committed to it. You’d had to find a third member to join the flat if you wanted to be able to afford it, and your friend had known someone who seemed like she’d be a good match.

And it had been fun, at first— a new and exciting experience that had led to so many late nights out hopping from clubs to pubs and somehow stumbling your way back to the apartment with only half the night’s memories intact.

You’d met so many interesting people, made a few new friends, had gotten used to weekend get-togethers and house parties that you’d thought would last forever.

But again, that was in the beginning.

Y’know, when you’d still had some extra money in your bank account to play with— to burn.

Now, nearly two years later, all three of you were struggling.

Because the days of bar hopping in the tightest minidresses you owned and having handsome strangers buy you round after round of whatever you were in the mood for that night had seemingly come and gone. There hadn’t been an invite to a weekend hangout or a house party in what felt like forever. At least, not one that you had time to attend.

Because all your lives now only consisted of two things— school and work.

And you were getting tired of both.

The sound of your roommates chatting quietly out in the kitchen beyond your bedroom door pulled you from your daze momentarily as you tried to hone in on what they were saying. They spoke with a hushed kind of urgency— the perfect tone to use when discussing secrets.

You snuck up to the door and pressed your ear to the crack, listening in.

“Well I don’t have time to pick up any extra hours with my schedule!” the girl who was the friend of your friend insisted, the words whispered with the intention to be taken as a very quiet shout. “Not to mention I have a ton of stuff to do before grad school!”

“Yeah, and I’m about to start my senior thesis which is gonna eat up all my free time so I can’t get another job either…” your actual friend countered, sounding more conflicted than riled up.

You then heard your name being thrown around, something about how you were the one who seemed most likely to be able to pick up some of the slack.

You didn’t like where this conversation was going yet you couldn’t stop listening. Couldn’t make yourself known to be eavesdropping yet either.

“She doesn’t even care about school!” Your third roommate continued, clearly upset with the situation but willing to throw you into the fire if it meant sparing herself. You’d found out after a couple months of living with her that she was the top of her class, teacher’s pet type. The days she didn’t brag about the prestigious grad school she’d gotten into were few and far between. “We all know she’s a C’s get degrees kind of girl anyway. She should be the one who has to go out and get another job, not one of us who actually have a career waiting after graduation.”

That particular dig cut you especially deep.

Sure, you might not’ve been the most studious member among your flatmates, but you had your own set of strengths.

Like, for instance, you could sweet talk your way out of getting written up for being late for class almost every single time. It didn’t matter which professor was chewing you out for skipping a lecture or not turning an assignment in on time, you’d mastered how to get off with a warning with each and every one of them.

And you were great at fashion advice. If it wasn’t for your knack for perfectly balanced color combinations and precisely pieced together aesthetics when it came to jewelry and clothing then your roommates would’ve never gotten past any of the bouncers that guarded the entrances to the popular nightclubs you all used to frequent. You could turn even the most timid and awkward girl into a drop dead gorgeous ten with the right hairstyle and shade of lipstick. 

And— and this part was what made the comment that had just been said about you particularly hard to swallow— you were always there for your friends. You’d been their shoulder to cry on so many times, had taken them out for milkshakes and a movie after a breakup or saved them from having a one night stand with some fuck boy that you knew was just going to hump ‘em and dump ‘em because you practically made it your job to stay up to date on all the latest rumors and juiciest gossip.

But, despite the harshness of their opinion on your academic skills, you knew that, with the full context, they were right.

Because rent was almost due again and you’d all just barely scraped by for the past couple of months.

That was the price you paid for living in the heart of the city— the city that you barely even went into anymore since, despite what they thought you did with your free time, you were trying to study a little more, maybe earn yourself a B instead of skating by with C’s…

When they’d asked you if you wanted to renew the lease for another year, you’d just said yes, not wanting to have to scramble to find new people to live with or move back into campus living where you couldn’t even have your own space.

But now things were getting desperate.

Tensions were rising among all of you over this and you didn’t want to have to be the one to give in when you felt like you were just getting motivated to try and raise your GPA.

But you knew you would, in the end. Because you always gave in, let them bully you into submission as they talked you in circles and convinced you that it would just be for a little bit, that you’d only have to take a couple extra shifts until you guys were all caught up.

“Alright, well, just let me talk to her about it…” your friend suggested, sounding sort of sympathetic, though she still wasn’t willing to take on the extra responsibility so long as there was someone else available to carry the weight. “I don’t think she’s gonna be happy about it though—”

Both of their heads turned to stare at you as your bedroom door swung open.

“Who won’t be happy about what?” you asked then, trying to act innocent but still letting a little edge of irritation slip into your tone.

The stiffened posture of your startled roommates softened a bit as they sighed.

“It’s the rent…” your friend went to say. “We’re not gonna be able to pay it this month unless—”

“You need to pick up some more hours at work,” the pushier of the two cut in, crossing her arms and giving you a stern look which only flared the crackling embers of your annoyance.

But the longer she glared at you, just like always, you could feel yourself beginning to back down. You wanted to be able to hold your ground, to tell her that she had no right to make such demands of you, but instead you just averted your gaze and let her keep trying to tell you what to do. “It won’t be forever, just until we can catch up on the bills. I’m too busy with all of my already existing school and work obligations and she—” She gestured to your friend who was looking at you apologetically. “She’s got her senior thesis to work on.”

Your little hands were nervously fidgeting with themselves— a habit you’d long been attempting to break since it was a dead giveaway for your anxiety— but you forced yourself to look back up at your rudely assuming roommate as you protested, a slight scowl twitching timidly on your brow, “Well… I’m still in school too. And I have a big test coming up. I don’t think I—”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, shooting you a condescending smirk. Her words only became even more patronizing as her tone liltingly insulted, “We all know that the only reason you’re even still going to class is because Mommy and Daddy are paying your tuition and you feel bad about letting them down.” You flinched at the sheer audacity of her assumption— even if the part about your parents paying for your education was correct— and felt tears threaten to well in your vision, the back of your nose pickling with the unpleasant emotion.

“That’s not—” you tried to say, but she interrupted again, clearly in the mood to get out all the horrible things she’d ever thought about you in that particular moment.

“And your little cutesy, innocent act doesn’t really work. Not on me, at least.” Your actual friend then shot your roommate a warning glare as she hissed her name. Still, she continued, stepping closer to you as you stood in the doorway and fought to hold back your frustrated tears. “You think I don’t hear you through the wall when you’re on the phone with whoever talking about how—” she then went to imitate your voice in a dumb, high pitched, mocking tone, “you just like, really wish you could drop out already because you don’t even like what you’re studying and this is totally a waste of your time.”

“That’s enough!” your friend raised her voice over the unnecessarily cruel argument. But your roommate wasn’t done showing her true colors just yet. She was going to paint over you with all her harsh, petty shades until even your tears couldn’t wash away the bleak pigment.

“I mean, really. I don’t get how you even got accepted into this school to begin with.” She was standing over you now, glaring down at you as her condescending comments finally pulled the tears from your eyes to streak shimmering lines down your cheeks in pairs. “You’d do better for all of us if you just quit now and worked full time. Then at least you’d be serving a purpose other than desperately trying to hook up with one of the sport’s team captains or offering favors to your professors in exchange for a barely passing grade.”

“I never—!”

“Don’t try and act like that’s not the truth! You just—”

“I said that’s fucking enough!” Both you and your bitch of a roommate turned to look at your friend, who wore an expression of genuine anger now. Her eyes were wide and her shoulders shaking as she nudged her way past the bully who’d just berated you to stand by your side, putting her arms around you as you tried to silence the sobs that were hitching in your chest and scowling hard at the girl who was responsible for breaking you.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” she went on, now shouting and causing your roommate to back down a bit. “Just because she doesn’t feel the same way about school as you do doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the same right to an education! Maybe if you got down from your high horse once in a while you’d realize that you’re not the only one who’s stressed out right now!”

You were glad that your friend was actually defending you so openly. In the past, when your roommate had made little remarks about you to your face or behind your back, your friend hadn’t had it in her to tell her off. She’d just come to you when you were sulking in your room and offer to console you privately.

Still though, after what had just been said, you doubted you could stand to live under the same roof as her for much longer.

The worst part was that you couldn’t just up and leave. Then you’d be abandoning your friend, aside from breaking a lease, and you couldn’t do that to her right now. Not when it was still a struggle to pay the rent with all three of you.

“I’m sorry, but it didn’t sound like you were very willing to go out and get another job!” your confrontational roommate continued. “And I don’t know how many times I have to repeat the fact that I can’t do it because I—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it!” your friend shot back, still embracing you in solidarity. “You’re smarter and more important than everyone! Would you just get a grip?”

“Oh so now you’re just gonna act like you weren’t agreeing with me two seconds ago?!”

“Y’know what, you’re such a—!”

“Please stop!” you bellowed over the bitter arguing. Your face was a mess, all tear-streaked and red from embarrassment and anger. “Just stop it! Please…”

You began to wipe away your tears, sniffling and trying to catch your breath so you could get a clear sentence out while you had both of their attention.

“I’ll do it, alright…” you caved, shooting the instigator a scathing glare. “I’ll get some extra fucking hours. Just stop talking to me like I’m stupid!” You’d looked your horrible, hurtful roommate in the eyes as you’d spit the word, hoping it sounded like a warning to back off more than a pitiful plea to leave you alone.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at your sensitivity, turning to grab her bag and head out the door as she added on one final jab at your character, “If you don’t wanna work, why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent? Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.”

Your friend called after her to come back and apologize as the door to the flat slammed and she disappeared from your sight. You never wanted to see her again, hoped she got hit by a cab or a bus on her way home. When you realized how evil that sounded, you hoped she failed her next test or assignment instead. That would kill her in its own way. And, god, you were just so angry. Because you’d given in again, and to someone who’d said such awful, unforgivable things about you no less.

“I’m so sorry that she said all of that…” your friend attempted to comfort you again as you retreated into your room to change into some clean clothes and aggressively shove your books into your bag. “I’m gonna talk to her. Get her to apologize. And, look, you don’t have to pick up extra hours at work. I know you hate that job. We’ll figure something out, ok…”

You were just about to sadly assure your friend that she didn’t have to go that far. That you’d just take some additional shifts but that the moment you could get out of the lease, you would.

But then your roommates insults came back to you, echoing around in your head until the sarcastic slander turned into a mischievous motivation.

Why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent?

There were apps for that, ones that you could specifically swipe through profiles of wealthy men looking for young, cute girls like yourself until you matched with one. You knew other girls who’d done it, who’d gotten a pair of diamond earrings or a five star dinner date out of it at the very least, if not a casual relationship.

If they could do it, then why couldn’t you?

Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.

What she’d said about the hookups and the favors weren’t true. You just had a natural talent for getting what you wanted from men, young or old. You knew how to look up at them through your long lashes and give those cute little giggles when they said something that wasn’t even really that funny. You knew which skirts or dresses to wear that drew them to you, made them lose their train of thought as they ogled your appearance, wishing— dreaming— that you’d let them close enough to see what was underneath.

But you always knew when to pull back, when to leave them wanting more.

You were a bit of a tease, sure, you couldn’t deny that. But you weren’t a slut like your roommate seemed to think you were, letting anyone with a dick just stick it in without any effort.

Because, despite the fact that you lived in a shared flat and not a palace, you were a princess, too perfect and pretty for just anyone to have.

You needed someone who would cherish you. Someone who knew how to treat you right in all the ways you deserved.

And while a random man from a sugar daddy dating app wasn’t necessarily in it for the long haul, you did have a feeling someone drawn to that sort of relationship might like to show off— whether it be by his wealth or the pretty girl under his arm— and maybe play the part of a gentleman when taking you out on dates.

So yeah. Later that day during a break in between classes you’d downloaded the app, set up your own profile, and started swiping.

Your roommate could just go fuck herself.

With the way she only had time for her textbook, you figured it was the only way she was ever getting any.

But you’d find someone, even if it was just out of spite, and not only would he help you pay your rent for the remainder of the lease, but he’d do something that showed your roommate that girls like you were smarter than they looked.

Because you could make a man’s bank account bend to your will, so long as your body was willing to bend to his. And that wasn’t a skill you could learn in any classroom.

***

Once you’d returned home to the flat, you’d gone straight to your room, completely ignoring your roommate the same as she was ignoring you, the tension between the two of you thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Your gaze was glued to your phone while hers was glued to her required reading, and while she was probably thinking that you were slacking off again, you were actually hard at work.

Because you’d already gotten five matches an hour after you’d begun swiping through photos. Now you were studying, trying to figure out which option was going to be your best bet.

This was actually a little harder than you’d thought it’d be, if you were being honest. When it came to looks in your final five, you were spoiled for choice. However, it was the messaging aspect of the equation where things got a little… complicated.

There was one man— a Viscount, as his profile very clearly stated— who had long, silky blonde hair and was shamelessly flaunting his abundant status and wealth, each of his pictures displaying himself surrounded with exotic scenery from a vacation or posing wearing luxurious designer brand clothing with a foreign fashion week in the background.

But his propositions to you through your texts weren’t as elegant as his image implied.

Right away he wanted to know if you could meet for sex. He’d asked if you were a virgin— which you didn’t disclose to him and instead talked around with playful replies and winking emojis— and had given you his hotel suite number as he was currently staying in The Langham in London.

He was rather insistent that you pay him a visit and you were starting to get a bad feeling about him, like if you agreed to meet with him and actually went through with it you might not return to your flat after all was said and done.

And not in a he’s swept me off my feet and we’re flying to Mykonos way.

More like a he’s going to kidnap me and lock me in some weird sex dungeon kind of way.

You decided to unmatch with him, crossing him off your mental list of potential men, and moved onto the next one.

The second suitor was also on the younger end of the spectrum, like the Viscount, though still older than you. His name was Charles Grey, and you found him rather striking with his silver-blue eyes and sleek white hair. He looked like trouble right off the bat with that sly smirk and side glance that he hosted in most of his photos, but he appeared to keep himself on a little tighter leash than your first match.

In his messages to you, however, he seemed pretty uninterested despite the fact that he’d obviously found you attractive enough to swipe right. He seemed like he wanted you to show the most effort and you really weren’t into that. You were old school in the way that you wanted the guy to pursue you, not the other way around. He didn’t seem to drop many hints about wanting to meet either. Perhaps he was just toying with you, wanting you to beg for his company so he could decide how far he was going to string you along before finally giving in and making it appear as if he was doing you a favor.

Either way, there was no chemistry there and even less luck in having him pay your bills, so again you moved on and started from square one.

Your next two potentials were what you’d actually expected upon first downloading the app— being that they were older than you. Much older. Old enough to actually be your father, but you weren’t opposed to the idea so long as they treated you right.

One was named Chris Heathfield. He worked for the government— a high ranking position, he’d been quick to let you know— and resided in an ostentatious manor bordering the countryside. But even in his profile photos he was flaunting how many women he liked to have around at all times, so many it was practically a harem. The man was clearly a womanizer, and perhaps you were naive to think that any of your potential choices were any different, but you didn’t exactly want to have to compete with other girls right out of the gate.

Chlaus— he’d given no last name— seemed to be far more genuine and gentlemanly than Heathfield. He had a kind yet enthusiastic smile, like he could enjoy even the most mundane of activities if he was in the right mood.

He traveled a lot and actually wasn’t even currently in the country, as he’d politely informed you in the messages you’d exchanged. He’d even apologized if he’d wasted your time though admitted that, when he did return to London sometime in the future, he’d still like to meet with you if you were still interested. He’d complimented you, told you that he liked your smile in the photos you’d posted, and you’d actually been sort of disappointed that he wasn’t currently available.

Either way, you thanked him for his cordial decency and then was forced to migrate towards your fifth and final match of the day.

Unlike the others, this one had yet to message you. All you had to go by was his profile photos, all of which added a new element to his sinister yet alluring beauty.

He had long, silver hair and piercing green eyes, alabaster skin with a scar cutting a diagonal across his otherwise handsome face. You’d noticed him instantly among the others, so unusual and curious yet still the most enticing.

Perhaps it was the danger of the unknown that drew you to him. Perhaps it was that he was one of the few you’d encountered during the initial phase of swiping that, while still about a decade older than you, wasn’t actually old like Heathfield and Chlaus. And his name had caught your attention too, or at least the alias he’d given himself while using the app.

Undertaker.

That’s all it said.

Not a first or last or really any name at all other than that morbid moniker.

The closer the clock hands approached midnight, the more you were starting to think he’d changed his mind about you— reconsidering whatever it was that had caused him to match with you to begin with— and you were just about to start over with a new batch of wealthy strangers when all of a sudden…

You were notified that you’d received a new message and quickly went to check it, pausing when you saw the preview of the text lighting up besides the arcane name.

Hello, Undertaker’s first message bubble read, plain and simple.

Hi, you typed back in return, adding your favorite smiling emoji afterward.

How are you doing this evening?, he asked next. You told him that you were fine, just sort of bored. Are you in London currently?, he further inquired.

Yeah, you responded, feeling kind of good about the conversation so far, though you tried not to get too far ahead of yourself. You told him you attended a university in the area and then feared that maybe you shouldn’t have said that, remembering stories about girls being stalked by people they’d met over dating apps.

But, much to your relief, Undertaker merely asked what you were studying, seeming to keep things professional for now, if that was a word you could use in this context. You answered and then there was a short lull in the conversation.

You were starting to think that maybe you’d lost him on account of pointless small talk until he came back with another message.

I’d very much like to take you out some time, he said. Is there any specific day or time that you’d be free this upcoming week?

You couldn’t contain your beaming smile.

You felt like you were in high school again, growing giddy over a new crush.

How about this weekend? You suggested. We could meet at the British Museum around noon, if you want?

You watched eagerly as the three dots of the speech bubble that showed he was typing pulsed lightly on the screen. He replied, I’d like that very much, before going on to fix the more specific details.

He asked if he could drive you around after that, bring you to dinner that evening, and to this, while in your head you were thinking nothing but different variations of the word absolutely, you responded with a slightly teasing, Well, we’ll just have to see how things go at the museum, won’t we?, followed by a playful winking emoji.

Back in the study of Undertaker’s ornate gothic mansion, he chuckled to himself while lounging in one of velvety armchairs. He also couldn’t shake the devious grin that had found its way onto his pale face.

Like you, it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be with someone in any form of intimacy. He was used to filling his schedule with all work and no play and he’d been wanting to change that. What better way than to do it with a cute girl he could pamper?

I’ll see you then, Undertaker typed back, adding a smirking emoji, and you felt your stomach flutter with excitement. With half your face buried in your pillow as you lay sprawled out on your bed texting with the mysterious, monochrome stranger, you tried and failed to hold in a giggle.

See ya~!, you concluded, clicking your screen off and then flipping onto your back to stare at the ceiling as all sorts of scenarios of what this weekend could hold began to play in your mind.

And the more you fantasized, the more your cute, girlish little giggles morphed into something darker, something borderline evil as you thought about how your bitch of a roommate might’ve just shot herself in the foot with the comment she’d made before walking out the door that morning.

I win, you prematurely proclaimed to yourself, a crooked smirk devilishly pulling up one corner of your glossy lips.

I always win.

***

Waiting for the weekend had felt like forever, despite it only having been a few days away, but now that it was here, the mixture of nerves and excitement was steadily filling you to the brim.

You hadn’t told either of your roommates where you were going or what you were doing today. When your friend had told you how nice you looked in your cardigan and cute pastel purple dress and white platform sneakers, you’d simply thanked her, giving no hint of the occasion or who you were meeting with.

You hoped he liked it, at least noticed the effort that curling your hair into perfect ringlets with half pulled up into a ponytail and tied with a silky, cream-colored bow took.

But the longer you stood outside the museum, despite arriving a little early, the more you wondered if you were going to end up getting ghosted and be forced to stroll through the exhibits alone while trying to hide your disappointment that, in the end, you really hadn’t been good enough.

If that happened, you’d have to admit defeat and take those extra shifts at work after all.

You were leaning against one of the pillars, pulling your cardigan tighter over your shoulders as a chilly breeze blew by and staring down at your shoes, gaze tracing the way your laces zig-zagged over each other and dreading what was seeming more and more likely to be you having gone out of your way for nothing with each passing minute until—

You heard a rich, low voice speak your name, causing you to look up with innocent confusion for a second until your stare landed on the tall, silver-haired man standing before you.

He was dressed simply but nicely, in all black with a blazer and turtleneck and shiny oxford shoes, pale hands resting inside his pockets as his steady emerald eyes studied you with slight concern.

You felt yourself start to blush when you realized he’d left you speechless, cracking a small smile as you straightened your posture from the pillar and shuffled a few steps closer to him.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” you replied cheerily, hoping that your voice wasn’t shaking too much. “You made it!”

He drifted a little closer, his shadow looming over you, and you felt your heart drumming against your ribcage, his aura so powerful and unsettling yet his smile appearing calm and kind, trying to put you at ease.

“Of course,” he nodded slowly. “Now…” He gestured his hand towards the front doors. “Shall we?”

You followed after him and pretty soon found your hand in his, praying that your palms didn’t start to sweat from how nervous you were, though his hands were actually pretty cold, so you thought maybe that would help.

Undertaker’s hands were big, yet slender— long, pale fingers brushing gently against your skin as your little grip was swallowed up in his loose fist.

And his face— god…

You’d thought he was attractive in the photos, but in person it was on a whole other level.

You’d never seen someone as gorgeous as him before. Not in real life, at least.

He was like a prince of darkness, somber and eerie qualities colliding with something charming and lovely. Like a rose bush— so many thorns and winding vines to keep others at bay, yet blooming with striking flowers, vibrant petals opening under the light of a full moon only for those he deemed worthy enough to be let into his garden.

It was hard not to blatantly stare at him.

You didn’t want to be weird, didn’t want him to think maybe he should revoke his invitation to drive you around and take you out to dinner after this, but you couldn’t help it, sneaking private glances whenever you could. It appeared you weren’t the only one, what with the eyes of nearly every person you passed as you two strolled through the museum catching on him as well.

But it wasn’t just him who they were staring at, Undertaker realized with a hint of pride. He knew the crowds were just as captivated by the pretty girl by his side, the contrast between his ghostly appearance and your sweet, honey-suckle softness a rare sight to behold.

Undertaker also found it hard not to stare at you long and hard like one of the famous paintings, scanning the curves and lines of your profile and figure when your attention was turned to a particularly unique exhibit.

He traced the form of your silhouette from the top of your head, down the dip under your chin towards your neck and collar bones, over your breasts and stomach to your hips, your exposed thighs, all the way down to your shoes and back up again.

He knew instantly that he was going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you. Undertaker was an intense man— dangerous in ways that you had yet to know about— and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

Not when you were exactly what he’d been looking for for so long.

Not when you were so perfect with that adorable little lilt in your giggle and the way those doe-eyes of yours looked upon things with an indescribable wonder.

Because Undertaker wanted something to protect that wasn’t just all his abundant wealth and status and one of a kind mansion decor. He wanted something— someone— who would be waiting for him at the end of a long day or a particularly harrowing business meeting. Someone he could wrap his arms around and feel their beating heart, feel the way their chest rose and fell with the steady breaths of life.

And you were so warm, so fragile.

He wondered if you had anyone to protect you or if somehow you’d managed to navigate this cruel world all on your own thus far.

And you’d opened up to him a little bit as the two of you got talking during your leisurely stroll through the museum. You’d told him that, while you didn’t have a terrible relationship with your parents, things had been rocky here or there. You’d told him that all they’d ever wanted for you was to attend university, that they’d pay for your tuition and even let you pick which one you would go to so long as you passed your classes and graduated on time.

But you’d never felt like they listened to you, like you could truthfully talk to them and share your troubles. Hence why you left home at the very first opportunity that presented itself. You’d thought getting away and meeting new people would help you find someone you felt you could really be honest with and rely on. Though, so far, it hadn’t been exactly what you’d expected…

“Well, I consider myself a very good listener,” Undertaker promised with a gentle smirk as his grip around your hand squeezed a little, drawing your gaze up to meet his once more. “I’m quite good at keeping secrets as well.”

You didn’t know what to say, could only gape at him in that doe-eyed way of yours that he was quickly becoming addicted to. He would turn it into a game, seeing how many times he could get you to look at him like that, like he was the only thing in your entire world.

Forget money and power.

What Undertaker wanted was you wanting him, needing him.

But soon enough you snapped out of it, shaking your head a bit as if to clear your daze. Then, as you neared the final exhibit, you finally gained enough courage to inquire, “So… Undertaker, huh? I’m guessing that’s not your real name…?” trying to tread carefully, not wanting to pry too much, but unable to hold in this curiosity any longer.

The mysterious man sighed out a breathy chuckle. “In my line of work,” he began, “it can be rather dangerous for one to expose their true name. So I keep mine hidden.” He paused then, as if expecting you to ask more questions or make a comment. When you just seemed to be willing to listen, he went on. “Does that bother you?” he asked with a small lift of an eyebrow.

You shook your head, glancing back up at him as you stopped before the final exhibit on your loop through the museum. “No. I mean, I won’t lie. I did find it strange at first. But you seem like you have your reasons, so…”

Your sentence trailed off as you became occupied with the art piece in front of you, lips slightly parted as you stared ahead, giving Undertaker yet another opportunity to study your face.

But this time he was staring at you with a little more than admiration for your appearance. This time he looked upon you like you were the first person he’d met who seemed to understand him in some way, to accept him as he was.

Because even his closest confidants had wondered why he couldn’t just tell them his real name, why he refused to tell anyone no matter what.

And you’d just dropped it after that, respecting his wishes to go by the moniker and moving on like it wasn’t odd even in the slightest.

He felt himself migrating closer to you, lowering his lips in hopes of meeting yours, but then stopped himself when he thought perhaps it was still too soon for that. He’d wait until the moment was right, whether that was today or tonight or days, weeks, months from now.

Because he didn’t want to mess this up. Not with you. Not when he’d finally managed to find someone who, despite his appearance or his name or the fact that he always seemed to be alluding to something darker and much more dangerous than he let on, didn’t seem to hold it against him.

And he wasn’t going to let you go. He’d do anything to make you stay, to keep you all for himself.

If it was money you were after, he’d give it to you. If it was him taking you on vacations then so be it. If it was someone who could take care of you and provide, that would be easy.

Whatever you wanted or needed, all you had to do was say the word and he’d make sure you had it.

In the beginning, he’d give it to you for free. Though, there would reach a point when he’d want something in return, though he knew he couldn’t force that on you. At least, not the first time.

“That was fun!” you smiled as the two of you exited the museum, your fingers now interlocked in a more romantic and intimate gesture. It only lasted a mere minute before your touch broke and the two of you were standing across from each other on the sidewalk, but it was long enough to send that warm feeling fluttering in your belly again. “Thanks for taking me.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Undertaker replied. He hoped that you weren’t just being polite and wished to go home now. He still really did want to spend more time with you. Whether that was over dinner or not was irrelevant now. He’d sit on a park bench and attempt to get to know you better if that’s all you’d give him.

When you sort of just seemed to stand there and look up at him with a smile, no sign of searching the curb for where you’d parked a car or gotten off at a bus stop present in your expression, he hesitantly asked, “Did you… walk here or…?”

“Oh!” you snapped out of your daze, hypnotized by his brilliant emerald stare and that scar etched across his face yet again. Through a nervous chuckle you said, “Yeah, actually, I did… I live sort of in the area and I don’t have a car so…”

“I’m parked nearby,” he began, already taking a step in the direction where he could see his vintage vehicle from down the street. “I can drive you home if you’d like to return or we could continue on to another location?”

You considered this, though you already knew that you didn’t want to go home. When you smiled and nodded and told him that you’d like to continue enjoying his company, he put an arm around you and guided you towards his car— a 1953 Rolls Royce Dawn Drophead— and you expressed your marvel at the spotless obsidian automobile.

“Allow me,” Undertaker offered as he grabbed the door for you, letting you slide into the passenger's seat before closing it and coming around to take his place behind the wheel. The roof was down and you felt a new wave of excitement wash over you, never having ridden in a convertible before.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you honestly didn’t even care. As Undertaker skillfully wove in and out of traffic and the wind blew through your hair, your exhilarated laughter sounding off beside him as music blasted from the radio, you felt alive.

And so did he, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

And you, well, you were actually starting to thank your roommate for giving you this idea in the first place.

***

The luxury department store was one that you’d seen in passing since moving to the city but never had the nerve to step inside of.

Not until today, that is.

Among some of the signs that decorated the storefronts of the extravagant shopping mall were names like Gucci and Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Tiffany and Chanel.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing— all the beautiful designer clothes and handcrafted jewelry— the handbags and the belts and the shoes that were perfectly placed on display lining the windows and walls of each store.

“Do you enjoy fashion?” Undertaker asked you as you ooed and awed at all the options, his hand finding your shoulder as he gently rubbed a thumb over some of your soft, exposed skin, your cardigan having been courteously taken by the greeter at the entrance of the store for safekeeping while you tried on clothes.

He already knew that you did. Had found you on social media soon after matching with you and done some digging.

You were a wannabe fashion influencer, and given the fact that you didn’t have access to exclusive items just yet, your style and taste spoke for itself, even if it was on a budget. Not to mention, for a girl who was sharing a cramped flat in London and struggling to pay her rent, ten thousand wasn’t a number to laugh at when it came to followers.

“I do!” you replied enthusiastically, looking up at him with another one of those cute little smiles and a giggle that captivated Undertaker every time. Then, as his arm fell to cradle your waist and hold you a little closer, you shyly admitted, “I’ve never worn anything as nice as this before though…”

The ebony clad man chuckled. “Well then,” he prompted playfully, “we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

Your eyes widened once you realized what he was getting at.

Your first instinct was to turn down such a pricey offer. If this were anyone else, you would’ve. But then you were reminded of the circumstances under which you’d met and that perhaps it would be rude not to let him spend some of his abundant wealth on you.

So you did what you were best at. You looked cute and acted on your best behavior as the two of you traveled from designer to designer, trying on all sorts of outfits and showing yourself off to him as you did so. He seemed pleased, with both you and what the mall had in stock that day, and had even purchased some items for himself along the way.

“How about this one?” he asked as he lightly ran his long fingers over the satiny fabric of a dark blue babydoll dress, one with a low back and cute puffed sleeves and a bow tied around the waist to hug your form.

Your wardrobe mainly consisted of pastels and light neutrals, a few darker colors thrown in but not many that you wore that often. Even so, if this was what he liked, the least you could do was try it on for him.

When you came out of the dressing room, holding out the flared skirt a little bit as you twirled, something in Undertaker’s chartreuse gaze changed. He’d liked all the others, sure. They’d suited you just fine. But this one…

This one made you look like Undertaker’s perfect little doll, one that he’d designed and dressed personally.

“You look beautiful,” he commended, just like with the other dresses you’d modeled for him, but then added through an awestruck sigh, “Absolutely gorgeous…” that made you stop for a moment and stare at him, blinking those innocent doe-eyes of yours, suddenly aware of just how intensely he was looking at you.

If you weren’t mistaken, you might’ve read it for pure adoration.

But you two had barely just met, so it couldn’t really be that, could it?

“D-do you really like this one?” you asked through a timid grin, turning halfway to look yourself over in one of the mirrors again, little fingers adjusting the way the bow looked in the back.

“I think it’s marvelous,” Undertaker replied coolly, stuck in a dream-like daze as his eyes slowly scanned up and down your figure once more. “But do you like it?”

You considered yourself, making sure that the garment lay right over your body, wondering if the shade looked too dark on you, but slowly, surprisingly, it was winning you over.

You nodded and began to smile again. As you turned back to face him you said, “I do like it.”

“Shall I buy it for you then, as one last treat?” he asked next. He’d already treated you to quite the expensive spree, so you fumbled for the price tag to find out just how much more you’d be depleting his bank account, but before your view could land upon the number, Undertaker was at your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he quietly reminded you, “Don’t worry about that. It’s on me, remember?”

“But…” you stalled, looking up at his looming form.

“No buts, princess,” he lightly chided, turning you around to face the mirror again as his chest pressed against your back, taking your other hand in his and holding your arms up and out a little bit as you surrendered to his grasp, like a pretty butterfly splayed out beneath the glass of a display case. It was the first time you were really noticing just how small you were compared to him. It sent another wave of that sweet, dangerous fluttering roll through your stomach, the thought of what he’d look like while on top of you flashing through your mind as you fought the urge to squirm. “You look stunning. Worth all the money in the world. So what do you say? Would you like to wear this to dinner tonight?”

Dinner. That’s right. He’d invited you to dinner.

You had no idea what kind of restaurant it would be, but with the kind of money he seemed to be so keen to spend on you, it was bound to be one with a dress code.

“O… ok…” you muttered shakily as you watched him moving his hand about you through the mirror, chilled palms gliding down towards your elbows then back up to your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine when they found your waist and savored the trip down to your hips, resting there as his long fingers lightly pressed into your soft skin.

And it was taking every ounce of patience Undertaker had not to pull you into one of the big dressing rooms, shut the door, and have his way with you against one of the plush couches there. He’d watch your reflection writhe and arch as he hiked the expensive dress up and ran his touch down to the most tender parts of you. He wanted to know what your underwear looked like, if they’d be as cute and delicate as you were, if your bra and panties would match.

He was willing to bet they would, even if it was just for this special occasion. And even as he discarded them to the floor, exposing you to him fully, your face hot and red from embarrassment and anticipation, you’d still be his adorable little doll, his good girl, his perfect, pretty princess as he sunk into you and felt you pulse and squeeze around him in the most delectable way.

He wanted to know what sounds you’d make— what sounds he could force you to make against your will as he thrust deeper into your tight, wet warmth. Were you the kind to beg? The kind to cry? Did you want him talking dirty to you or would the skillful path of his touch across your skin be enough to make you wet for him?

God, he wanted to know. And he was determined to find out. But not here. Not now. It still wasn’t the right time for that. Besides, you’d only just put on the dress. He wanted to admire you in it for a little longer.

So the two of you moved up to the check out desk, you still wearing the dress after Undertaker had told— not asked, told— the saleswoman who’d been assisting you that you’d be walking out with it on. When she’d announced the amount of money that was due, you’d nearly flinched at the number. Meanwhile, Undertaker had simply handed her a shiny black credit card without batting an eye. He’d paid and she’d snipped the tag, which you only then noticed didn’t even have a price on it, but instead merely held a scancode that was meant to alert the anti-theft alarm if anyone tried to exit the store without paying.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered nervously as you exited the store with him, the lilac dress and cardigan you’d started the day in folded neatly and placed inside a bag that swung from Undertaker’s hand. “I-I’ve never worn something this nice. I promise to take good care of it.”

That dark, almost ominous chuckle escaped Undertaker’s lips again, his free hand finding you once more and lightly tugging you closer to him, as if he was afraid you’d stray too far and wander off. “There will be plenty more where that came from,” he promised, and you felt your face begin to blush, though you couldn’t exactly place why. “Now, shall we find you a pair of shoes and some jewelry to go with it?”

***

You now wore an entirely different outfit than before, your white platform sneakers and delicate gold heart necklace safe inside their own bags from when they’d been replaced by shiny, chunky-heeled, black mary janes and a diamond choker, dangling, teardrop earrings to match.

Every reflective surface you passed, whether it was a shop window or the glossy black surface of Undertaker’s vintage car, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself.

You almost couldn’t recognize yourself all wrapped up in this new aesthetic, not accustomed to such dark colors adorning your figure, but there was something about it that did suit you, to your surprise. Undertaker made sure to remind you of it as he’d caught you examining your glittering jewelry in the front mirror of the passenger side as you two pulled into reserved parking at the fancy restaurant, causing one more shy smile to spread across your lips before he came around to open the door for you and tossed his keys to the young valet.

This was an establishment that Undertaker frequented, as he hadn’t hesitated to request his “usual table”, the hostess giving a charming, “but of course, right this way,” before guiding the two of you through the candle lit dining hall, your date lightly tugging you along by the hand as you craned your neck to gaze up at all the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a live piano player performing soft jazz from a slightly elevated platform at the center of the room.

After taking your seat and being informed that your waiter would be over shortly, you found yourself feeling out of place once again. Because, sure, you looked like you belonged here, but as you tried to read over the menu— most of which was in French— and didn’t recognize a single thing, the insecurities that you were an imposter began to creep back in.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Undertaker suggested, taking the menu from your fidgeting grip and folding it back up, placing it on the edge of the table. Normally you’d hate it if a date ordered for you, oftentimes becoming cocky and picking something you didn’t even like. But now, you were sort of relieved. Besides, it seemed like Undertaker had a much better idea of what you’d like based on impression alone than any of your previous admirers.

After a quick survey asking what kinds of foods and flavors you preferred and if there were any particular textures or other aspects that would ruin the night’s culinary experience, Undertaker began nodding to himself, iridescent eyes scanning one of the pages until he landed on something he thought you might enjoy.

“So…” he began, swirling the vintage red in his glass as he gazed over the rim at you and your fizzy fruit drink. “Tell me about yourself…”

You had to stifle a laugh. It seemed so cliche, yet held an air of authenticity that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d shared a few things about your personal life and interests as you’d been walking through the museum— like the music you liked and a really good movie you’d watched recently and a little bit about what you’d been studying in school— but when posed with the question now, your mind suddenly went blank.

“Why don’t you tell me about you?” you playfully suggested, idly twirling a strand of your hair as you sipped the magenta dragon fruit drink up the glass straw teased between your teeth. “I mean…” You recrossed your legs as you leaned in a little closer, raising one skeptical eyebrow. “I feel like you already know plenty about me.”

Flashing a coy smirk, Undertaker traded you an amused grin. You hummed out a mischievous, lilting note as you awaited his response, tempted to brush the toe of your shoe against his ankle to see what would happen if you flirted more openly.

Because— aside from the obvious fact that he had plenty of money and had already spoiled you beyond your wildest imagination— you did like him. You liked the way he looked at you, soft and caring rather than hungry and expectant like most blind dates tended to go. You liked that he paid attention to little details like grabbing the door for you and offering you his jacket when he’d noticed you pulling your cardigan tighter around your shoulders on the walk from the museum to the car. You liked that he was sophisticated but not arrogant and also that he carried this sense of protection over you.

That last notion made you once again wonder what he did for a living. Someone as mysterious and secretive— so secretive that his own colleagues didn’t know his real name, as he’d casually mentioned while skirting around the question about his job earlier— as him could be involved in all kinds of nefarious activities.

Maybe he was a hitman, or a smuggler of rare, foreign gems.

He could be a conman or a cult leader or a curiously eccentric artist.

He was a book with thick binding, yet every page you flipped to was blank.

But you wanted to know him— wanted to get to know him— if he gave you the chance.

“I told you earlier that I’m good at keeping secrets,” Undertaker said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “But the real question is… are you?”

You took a moment to think about that. You thought you were. Because, as good and eager as you were at collecting gossip, you had never been one to spread it.

Not unless absolutely necessary, that is, and even then it was only to your closest friends when it concerned them directly.

“I can keep a secret,” you promised, both of you searching each other’s eyes for a minute before your food arrived and the tense, exhilarating moment was temporarily put on hold while you smiled and thanked the waiter.

Between the first bites of your dinner, Undertaker strategically spoke of his work, dropping hints that it was classified and dangerous and underground. You listened intently, nodding along as if you were slowly but surely decoding the hidden messages woven throughout his cryptic words.

Then, after he seemed done divulging all the details he could without giving it all away, you looked at him with a slightly cocked head, eyes squinted cynically as you smirked and said, “So… You work for the FBI or something, right? Or— no—!” you excitedly changed your guess, “The CIA?”

Truthfully, you didn’t really know the difference, but based on what he’d told you, it seemed like some kind of secretive, high-profile government intelligence.

“No, not quite,” Undertaker chuckled, unable to fully contain just how absolutely adorable he found you. “Though, I may have crossed paths with some people in that profession before.”

You let out another giggle, thinking he was merely toying with you just for amusement’s sake, but, despite his lighthearted tone, Undertaker was being deathly serious. If only you knew how many times he’d been investigated by all kinds of intelligence agencies, both domestic and foreign. How he’d evaded each and every one of them and their prying questions, killed the ones who got a little too close. Because his security and control over his organization was air tight, locked with a key long thrown away, buried six feet deep somewhere along with the life he’d left behind in pursuit of something bigger and better and far more brilliant than he could’ve ever imagined at the start.

He’d have to protect you from their scheming, sinister ways soon too, if you allowed yourself to be kept by him. Only then would he have to disclose more of the truth to you, make sure you really understood the gravity of it all.

But, for now, that could wait.

For now, he could continue to let you believe you lived in the perfect fantasy among glittering crystal and sparkling champagne— a fairy tale of his own dark and twisted design.

After dinner had concluded and Undertaker had left a generous tip to the kind waiter, you two had returned to his shiny black car that was already waiting for you upon exiting the restaurant. Climbing back inside as he closed the door behind you, you once again caught your reflection in the side-view mirror, having forgotten the drastic change of appearance from when you’d first walked out your front door this morning.

Undertaker’s earlier compliment returned to you. “Absolutely gorgeous” he’d called you. At the time, you’d just thought he was being kind, simply repeating a line he probably used on all the pretty girls he’d taken out.

But now you saw it too.

You were gorgeous. Exquisite. Divine.

And it made you wonder…

How long had it been since you last thought that about yourself? Since you’d last believed it?

“Now…” Undertaker began the moment he was back behind the wheel, looking over at you with one hand resting on the gear shift. “I can either drop you back off at your flat or—” He reached over and gently brushed a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand, tender. “We can return to my estate to continue enjoying each other’s company.” He put the car in drive and began to slowly roll away from the curb. “It’s up to you.”

You had to fight back the urge to immediately blurt out a damn near desperate sounding “yes!”, your cheeks heating as you gave a cute little smile and nod and responded with a much more reserved, “I’d like that very much.”

Undertaker smiled too— one of those soft, charming, doting grins that made you feel like you were special, as naive as it might’ve been.

“Well then, in that case,” he said, merging back in with traffic and zipping skillfully through the city’s narrow streets, “Why don’t you play some of that music you were telling me about earlier. It’s a bit of a long drive.”

***

You’d texted your friend, let her know you wouldn’t be back tonight, that you’d met someone and wanted to keep things going.

She’d asked you if you were ok, reminding you to be safe, and when you’d assured her things were going great, she sent you back a cute winking emoji and a playfully supportive, “go get some, girl!”.

Your phone was almost dead at that point, so you decided to slip it into your purse and focus on the scenery passing by out the car window as your favorite album continued playing. The lights of the city gave way to the quiet, serene darkness of the countryside beyond London’s looming architecture, the little pond of your usual stomping grounds expanding into a vast ocean of tall trees and vacant roads.

The closer you approached to Undertaker’s residence, the more you began to see mansions and manors sporadically spotting the fields, each one protected by its own unique, intricate gate or wall of manicured hedges.

Each one you passed was grander than the last, and you started to become a little nervous about what you were blindly stepping into.

Your mind went to a few darker places as well, like, if he wanted to hurt you, out here, no one would hear your screams. And, even if you did manage to escape, you could never hope to make it back to the city on foot before he caught you, acres of open land and who knows what else lurking in the shadows ready to trap you out in this valley of silent luxury. 

“It’s just up ahead,” Undertaker informed you, pulling you from your anxious spiral. When you turned your attention back out the windshield, you saw the distant lights that dotted the driveway, a cage of winding, iron wrought bars curling around the perimeter of the magnificent gothic mansion.

You weren’t sure how long your mouth had been hanging open before you realized and closed it, but as the gilded gates parted and Undertaker pulled around the horseshoe driveway to the opulent, double front doors, your jaw dropped once more.

“This is…” you sighed out in awe, your face practically pressed to the passenger-side window to get a better look.

“It’s not to everyone’s taste,” Undertaker shrugged, suddenly modest. “But it’s home.”

You turned to face him, looking completely incredulous with your brows knit together and your slightly parted lips turned down into a gentle frown, as if you were offended on his behalf.

“No, it’s—” Your hand reached forward to rest atop his on the gearshift. You were unaware you’d even done it, but for Undertaker, the soft, reassuring touch was driving him insane. Because you were just so sweet, so genuine. Far more than anyone like him had ever experienced or deserved. Every second that passed with your skin on his, the more addicted he became.

All the while, you continued with a bout of stumbling compliments. “It’s amazing! I mean— It’s just so beautiful. I—” What remained of your sentence tapered off into sounds of sputtering nonsense, unable to articulate what you really meant, how impressed you were with every single thing he’d shown you so far, but luckily, Undertaker got the gist.

“I appreciate the praise,” he chuckled weakly, taking your little hand in his cool, comforting grasp. Slowly, you watched as he raised your hand to his lips, placed a chaste kiss to the back of it, then gave you another one of those loving smiles, the scar peeking out from his curtain of silver hair shining in the moonlight. “Would you like to come inside?”

***

The high ceilings and wide halls echoed eerily with every tap your heeled shoes made across the black and white checkered marble flooring. The house had been dark before Undertaker used his phone to activate the lights throughout the lower floor, priceless antiques and imported, one of a kind art pieces illuminated by crystal chandeliers and golden sconces. 

However, for all the ornate wealth that glittered and shined throughout every new space of the open floor plan you passed through, you noticed something strange…

For a house of this size, this status, there didn’t appear to be a single housestaff member in sight. Not a maid or a cook or a butler.

“Ah…” Undertaker contemplated when you asked him if you two were alone here, the question coming out a little more nervously than you’d intended. “Well, I suppose I can’t be too careful these days…” He explained that he could only trust a small, select group of people, though, when it came to his home, he preferred to manage it himself. “I find help to be a bit redundant,” He said, flashing you an almost apologetic grin. “Besides, I enjoy doing things like cooking and gardening. It’s a nice retreat from the usual chaos of my life, so I don’t believe in giving that up to anyone else, even if they are deemed a professional.”

You could respect that, actually.

Plus, it made you curious to try his cooking, especially after experiencing how refined his taste was.

Anyway, after going through the first floor, the two of you headed upstairs to conclude the tour, finishing at the master bedroom.

“Your house is very nice,” you complimented, trying hard not to eye the bed too obviously, all those fluffy, goosedown comforters and egyptian cotton tempting you. “It…” You searched his eyes, loving the way they shimmered like emeralds in the dim light, then smiled as you said, “It suits you.”

Undertaker thanked you for your kind words, running one of his palms from your shoulder down to your hand before intertwining your fingers with his again, this time with nothing to interrupt the intimate gesture.

“You look good surrounded by all of it, darling…” Kissing your hand again, he used his thumb to gently smooth over the knuckles of your delicate little fingers, dwarfed in his grasp. “You make the place feel more like home.”

***

He moved slowly, cautiously, as if approaching too quickly would spook you and send you skittering like a startled alley cat. And you were nervous— not scared, but definitely nervous— as your heart hammered in your chest and your hands began to tremble.

He leaned down to give you a kiss, soft at first, testing to see how far you’d let him go. When you seemed to reciprocate, he came back for another, this one a little more daring as he rested his hands on your waist and held you there, his tongue slipping into the heat of your mouth. But again, you didn’t pull away.

His grip on you became tighter, causing you to suck in a short gasp as he kissed you deeper. You could feel a devious smirk spreading across his lips as a hum of a chuckle vibrated in his throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low, seductive tone, brilliant gaze scanning you while his hands kept purchase on your hips.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes now, were too embarrassed by how red your face had probably gone, how hot your body felt just from something as simple as kissing, unable to deny the chemistry that was swimming between you two.

But when he lightly took your chin in his hand and guided your face upward, you let him, that piercing, chartreuse, half-lidded stare sending a shiver through your entire body. You felt tears threaten to well in your eyes and at first you didn’t quite know why.

Was it because you were just so nervous, so embarrassed?

Was it because you really were scared, unsure of whether you wanted to trust this man that you’d just met or not?

Or was it because you hadn’t told him that you were a virgin and knew where this night was likely headed?

If you did tell him, would he stop? Would he decide this interaction was over and call someone to take you home?

You didn’t particularly want to end things here. You were willing to go further, you thought, but perhaps it would be to your benefit to mention it to him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Undertaker cooed as he stroked his thumb along your jaw, his soft grin never fading. “Come on… You can tell me.”

“I-I…” you began, feeling more and more like you were going to cry.

“Yes…?” he urged you, silver brows lifting with slight intrigue.

“I, um… Well…” You averted your gaze off to the side. “I’ve actually never…”

You couldn’t say it.

Even if you wanted to, the words wouldn’t leave you.

“Never what?” Undertaker pressed, tone still silky smooth and looking at you in that sinisterly seductive way of his. Despite the fact that he’d already caught on though— call it his craving for control, or just the fact that he thought you were cute— he needed to hear you say it.

“I-I’m sorry…” you stuttered, feeling as if you were already proving to be a disappointment. Tears welled to the brim of your lashline now, sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. But you had to say it. You had to admit to him the one secret that no one else would probably believe about you. “It’s just… I’m actually… I’m actually a virgin and I—”

Your tears spilled over, racing each other over your cheeks until Undertaker lifted one of his hands from your waist and gently wiped them away, his smirk gone now as he cast a gaze of genuine concern upon your adorably pathetic face.

You were shaking even harder now, both from fear of rejection and frustration at yourself for not being able to contain your emotions. But still, that didn’t seem to bother the man in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he soothed in a calming whisper, bringing you in closer for a comforting embrace, lightly combing through your hair with his pale, slender fingers. “It’s alright. There’s no need to be upset…” You buried your face further into the expensive fabrics of his coat, feeling safer the closer you were to him. “I’m going to take good care of you…” he then whispered in your ear. “I just need you to trust me.”

The only response you gave was a weak nod as you nuzzled further into him, little hands gripping his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms and rocked you gently until your nervous quivering subsided. When you finally found it in yourself to look back up at him, big doe-eyes so innocent, so adorable, Undertaker’s adoring smile returned.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asked you then, voice still feather soft and strangely attentive, as if he was willing to do anything to keep you like this. Keep you all for himself.

But to his question, you just nodded, swallowing down some more of your worries as you tried to stay calm. He was lovingly stroking the soft skin of your cheek with the back of his knuckles, taking in as much of you like this while he still could before he had you panting shallow breaths and clutching the sheets for dear life as you trembled and writhed beneath him.

He’d like you just as much in that state, but it had been so long that he’d found a sweet little princess who truly was as her image implied. Because for so many others, it was merely performative, a trap set to ensnare wealthy men like him who had a type they could imitate.

No, with you he knew it was real. And that’s why he fell in love with you after just a few hours of each other’s company.

Undertaker strolled over to the bed then, sitting down on the edge with you still in his arms.

You hadn’t said a word.

What could you say?

You knew what to expect, in the simplest sense, but still, someone like him could be into all kinds of things that you didn’t even know about. The size of him compared to you alone was intimidating, how he towered over you and how your delicate little hand could disappear inside his massive grip. But part of you also liked that— liked that he was so much more powerful than you, stronger than you could ever have a chance of fighting against.

Because even if your mind had concerns, your body was already reacting positively to the idea.

Undertaker began to position you differently and you followed his lead, moving along with him to where he wanted you to straddle his lap, his hands back on your hips now as yours rested on his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked you then, hands leisurely running up and down your sides, tracing along your waist.

You nodded again, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I-I’m sure…” you replied, hoping the crack in your voice went unnoticed.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he assured you once more, pulling you a little closer and repositioning you slightly. “You can trust me.” He pressed his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your pulse. You leaned your head back instinctively, giving him easier access as he began to suck little bruises into your skin, a new wave of shivers surging through your body at the sensation.

A few soft moans and whines escaped your throat and Undertaker’s smirk widened. He brought his lips right next to your ear and whispered, “Do you trust me, baby?”

You hadn’t even really heard what he said over the racing of your heart and the lust that was clouding your mind, pooling warm and heavy in your lower belly, but you didn’t really care. You just nodded and let the tension melt away with his kisses, which soon found your mouth again, these ones much deeper and more passionate than the first round, slow and savoring.

You soon felt something hard pressing into you where you straddled his lap, the thin lace of your panties the only thing to protect you as more heat coiled in the pit of your stomach, and you hesitantly grinded down a little on him.

His grip on your hips flexed as he pulled you down to rub even harder against his growing erection, you becoming wetter with every roll of your hips, a cute, breathy moan sneaking past your lips every time he helped you press on just the right spot for you both.

You didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. It felt too good, just by doing this, and it scared you a little how much better it might feel if you really went all the way with him. But that really wasn’t up to you anymore. Because Undertaker had you wrapped around his finger like one of his sterling silver rings now.

For the remainder of the night, at least, you’d do anything he wanted, anything he asked.

Because, for whatever odd reason— ignoring the fact that you’d only known each other for a day and you barely knew the first thing about him— didn’t even know his real name— you did trust him. And what was even more, he trusted you.

He trusted you not to leave him when this was done, and that was also a rare occurrence when it came to his previous companions.

A loud, high-pitched moan forced its way out of you as he pressed you down even harder, feeling your clit throbbing through the lace and wanting to keep you under his control for as long as possible, dangling you from the edge until he decided to let you go.

It was something Undertaker was good at— controlling his partner’s orgasms— and what you didn’t realize yet was that he could use it as a punishment if he wanted to, could use it to get you begging for mercy if ever you did something bad.

But not yet.

No, Undertaker was just getting started with you.

“Take them off,” he ordered. You stilled for a moment, looking at him with uncertainty. “Your panties,” he clarified. “Take them off.”

And, because you were a good girl, you listened. You were going to step down from the bed and discard them, but you gave a startled gasp as Undertaker decided he wanted to be the one to do it instead, quickly flipping you onto your back and leaning over you while your legs were still spread. He paused, staring into your wide eyes with his unshakable confidence before puffing out a small breath of amusement from his nose and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of the lace, slowly pulling the thin fabric down and exposing your soaked slit to the cold air of the room.

Once they were completely removed from your person, he balled your panties up in his fist and shoved them into his back pocket. You didn’t think you’d be getting them back, but you didn’t care. It would just be an excuse for him to buy you new ones anyway.

You tried to pull your legs together, face red hot with embarrassment again, but he didn’t give you enough time, effortlessly pulling you back up with him to sit just as you had before, no delicate lace to protect you anymore. But now you were nervous for a different reason. Because you were so wet, and Undertaker knew that, but you weren’t sure if he actually wanted you to ruin his expensive trousers.

“Go on,” he chuckled upon your hesitation. “It’s ok.”

“But…” you barely protested before he settled you back over his still hard cock, you wincing as the rough texture of the trouser’s fabric pressed against your clit.

“No buts,” Undertaker playfully warned, slowly rolling his hips up into you to tempt you to find your rhythm again. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? So do as Daddy says.”

At that, you felt even more arousal leaking from you, going back to grinding on him, the sensation different but better.

As you did this, Undertaker moved his hands up to where your dress hung off your shoulders a bit, pulling down the neckline until the matching lace of your bra was exposed to him, cupping both your breasts in his hands and kissing your cleavage, earning himself another one of those cute sounds he was slowly becoming addicted to.

When he reached behind you to unhook your bra, you stilled again, breathing stuttering a bit as you found yourself even more exposed, the undergarment tossed to the floor and your nipples already furled tight from the chill that permeated the entire mansion.

“U-Undertaker!” you gasped as another one of his kisses found your nipple.

Calling him that out loud still felt strange, and you almost wanted to try and ask him again what his real name was, despite him seeming so protective over it the first time you’d inquired.

Maybe you’d get used to it.

But when another whimper of “Daddy…” trailed off your lips as his tongue teased the sensitive bud of your breast, the mysterious, monochrome man seemed to like that, so you figured perhaps that ought to be the name you addressed him by.

Undertaker chuckled darkly then, slowly laying you down on your back and pulling your dress down over your hips and tossing it to the floor to join your bra, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable under him now.

Normally, he would get completely undressed before stripping away the last of your remaining fabrics, always liking to savor the moment when the most tender parts of a body were exposed to him, but tonight he’d gotten too caught up with having a new toy to follow the usual protocol.

Because you were a gift. Truly, you were.

You were a sweet girl, a good girl, an adorable, darling little doll for him to dress and undress as he pleased.

And even as you lay in anticipation for the crescendo of the moaning chorus the two of you would compose together— face blushed and body trembling, ready to arch and sway to his touch— he knew you were different from the others who’d been under him like this before.

And after tonight, after he’d had you, he’d only want you more.

Just like a prized possession or a favorite pet, he couldn’t let anyone else get their hands on you. And he’d do anything to ensure that you stayed.

“D-Daddy…?” you whimpered hesitantly as Undertaker was almost completely freed of his clothing, so many layers to get through before all of his pale white skin and deep silvery scars were on deadly display.

The slash running across his face had been a bit jarring at first, though had added to his appeal, the extra element of implied danger attracting you to him.

But there were so many more, his entire body littered with them, and you couldn’t help but wonder just what— or who— had done something like this to him. What was even capable of inflicting such lasting damage.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, positioning himself over you again and holding your wrists above your head in one large hand, his palm cold against the warmth of blood coursing fast under your skin.

What happened to you?

Who did this?

Are you ok?

All questions that you wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Instead, what came out was, “P-please be careful with me…”

Undertaker clicked his tongue through a smile, cooing at you almost condescendingly as he reassured, “I’ll be gentle, baby. Don’t you worry.”

With his free hand, he reached down to run his middle fingers over your drenched cunt, massaging your clit and making you jolt when he found just the right spot.

And god, he liked to tease you, applying pressure on your most sensitive area and making you squirm and writhe and beg before letting another sinister chuckle rumble through his chest and moving his fingers lower to enter your tight, needy little hole.

You sucked in a shuddering gasp when one finger slipped in, then two, rhythmically pumping in and out while beginning to scissor inside and stretch you, making you whine and wince every so often.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he muttered in a low, velvety baritone, making that sensation in your stomach wind tighter and tighter. “You’re doing so good…”

Once he felt like he’d stretched you enough— though you were still so tight— he slightly repositioned himself over you, using his knees to spread your legs a little further apart as your body tried to pull them back together against your will.

You tried not to tense up too much, tried to stay calm and relaxed as you felt him lining himself up with your pulsing entrance and then slowly press the tip of his cock inside. You winced when he first entered you, the feeling foreign but not entirely as uncomfortable as you’d thought it’d be.

And Undertaker was keeping his promise, being as gentle as he could, aside from that fact that when you whimpered or whined or tensed he didn’t stop, just slowed down until he felt like you could take a faster pace. Your sensitive skin tore around the thickness of him, feeling like you were being split in two as your teeth clenched and your toes curled in an attempt to outlast the pain.

Once he was fully inserted, you both stilled for a moment, him helping you adjust yourself over his cock and catch your breath for a second before he began with smooth, rhythmic rolls of his hips into yours.

Once he pulled another one of those irresistible little sounds of pleasure from you, he couldn’t help but pick up speed, the rolling morphing into thrusting, trying as hard as he could to work you up to his preferred pace lest he frighten you with the intensity of which you’d get used to, eventually.

“That’s it… baby girl…” he spoke in between grunts as your cunt constricted even tighter around his cock, your eyes already beginning to roll back as you felt your limit approaching.

But Undertaker didn’t want to let you come yet.

He liked looking at the fucked-out daze that splayed across your face, even that expression appearing adorable when you were the one wearing it.

“D-Daddy…” you begged through your next breathy moan. “P-please…!”

Undertaker was getting close too, picking up the pace and feeling you tense even more under and around him, the pain threatening to outperform the pleasure if he didn’t time things just right.

But neither of you could speak now. Not even your pathetic, mewling pleas or Undertaker’s growling, whispered praises could be uttered. With every snap of his hips digging into your tender inner thighs, Undertaker conducted a symphony using your high-pitched whines and delectable moans, your sweet little voice echoing through the high ceilings and empty upper halls of the ornate, gothic mansion.

And then, finally, Undertaker let you come, your entire body tensing and shuddering as your insides squeezed harder than they ever had before around what was inside you. Then you fell limp, panting breaths hitching in your chest as you lay there like a rag-doll, head buzzing and pleasure surging.

Undertaker only made it a few more thrusts into you before he finished too, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum and moaning out as his head fell to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his labored breaths felt on your skin as the two of you lay there in a mess of trembling limbs and heavy breathing.

Your hole kept fluttering around him, the intensity fading down after a few minutes, and then Undertaker slowly pulled out of you, falling on the bed beside you and tugging you close to him, pressing you to his chest as his long, lithe arms wrapped around your shivering form.

“It’s ok, baby girl…” he whispered to you as he stroked your tousled hair, sweat sticking it to your temples, your body still trembling slightly under his touch. “You’re ok… Daddy’s got you… You’re ok…”

And you didn’t really know what to do now, didn’t know what to expect.

Would he just send you off now that he’d gotten what he wanted?

Would he even contact you again once the two of you parted ways?

After tonight, you sure hoped so, though you knew many men would just move onto the next with zero regard for the last.

But after laying there in his arms for a while, him combing his fingers through your hair and softly humming a melancholy lullaby, you had a feeling maybe he did care for you more than a one night stand.

Maybe you were being naive to entertain that idea, but you couldn’t help it. You’d been so desperate for affection for so long and now that you were finally being shown it you’d gotten attached. Lucky for the two of you, you were both attached, however silently through the night that your need for each other grew.

Before you’d even made the decision to do such a thing, you’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the day’s— and night’s— activities, but Undertaker still had work to do.

He carefully unraveled himself from around you to head into the bathroom and get something to clean you up with, back to being careful and tender as he wiped away as much of the mess the two of you had made that remained between your legs as he could without waking you.

Tomorrow morning he could give you a bath, join you in the warm water and put his hands all over you again. He could make you breakfast and watch you sit at the long dining room table while wrapped up in one of his fluffy black bathrobes, the sleeves too long for you and the oversized garment making you appear even smaller compared to him than you already were.

He wouldn’t want you to leave, but he’d have no choice, because you didn’t live here and your friends might get worried if you didn’t come back. Not to mention, he was bound to be called back to headquarters sooner or later to attend to more matters concerning the Aurora Society.

But after he’d kissed you goodbye and you’d stepped out of the jet-black Rolls Royce, he’d be planning how and when he could see you again.

You’d both be thinking about each other while you were away, always eager to be in each other’s arms again.

Before you knew it, the lease to your apartment would be up for renewal but you’d have to break it to your friends that they’d have to find a replacement for you since you were moving into a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of London. They’d be hesitant of your decision at first, warn you not to rush into things too quickly, but you’d assure them that you were in good hands, promising to stay in touch and visit them again soon.

But it became so easy to lose track of time when you were with Undertaker. Days turning into weeks turning into months before you even realized it, seasons changing, holidays and birthdays and special occasions spent on extravagant vacations filling up your schedule with the man you loved. You’d meet his closest confidants and learn more about what it really was that he did for a living. Or at least, as much as he was willing to let you in on.

You became close with Grell quickly, both of you bonding over your similar taste in music and fashion and favorite movies. You tried to be on your best behavior around William, in the beginning, quickly realizing that the serious and stoic man didn’t have a knack for entertaining his boss’s girl like his outgoing, red-headed colleague did. And then there was Ron who, though he always seemed outwardly cheerful and always ready for a good time, you couldn’t get a sure read on.

But this would become your life, your normal routine. What used to be scraping by for the month’s rent and picking up convenience store food on your way to the part time job you hated was soon replaced by shamelessly expensive shopping sprees and five star Michelin restaurants and skipping around the spacious mansion in a brand new dress while you waited for Undertaker to finish up a meeting at headquarters.

And you loved your life. You loved him.

Because things were perfect.

And, as long as you were with him, they always would be.

I mean, wouldn’t they?

***

(Hello and thank you for reading! Whether you’re coming to this fic already having read my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series or this is your introduction to it, I hope you enjoyed :)

I’d actually written the first draft of this fic about a year ago, not long after I’d started posting chapters of the main series. I wanted to give a little more backstory on the reader’s life before meeting Undertaker.

But yeah, this wraps up the series. Like I said in the afterword on the final chapter, I might write little bonus one-shots for this series in the future, but now I’m honestly looking forward to starting the new Undertaker fic I’ve had in my head for a while.

Thanks again for reading! See you soon~! <3)