#and for those whose names were not mentioned when they appeared

[simplegenius042]

A very late WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @cassietrn

Tagging @strangefable @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @minilev @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @nightbloodbix @derelictheretic @deputyash @deputy-morgan-malone @inafieldofdaisies @ec-10 @ladyoriza @vampireninjabunnies-blog @voidika @onehornedbeast @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @henbased @neverthesameneveranother @chazz-anova and @strafethesesinners

Here are three WIPs, each from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Read below the cut.

TW: Harsh and heavy cursing, mentioned/implied character and general death of NPCs (either it be a time loop or a cybernetic homicidal monster around nine or ten feet tall and very pissed off). Implied mentioned sexual content, mentions of abuse and fantastical racism (against ghouls, Jericho leave Gob alone!). Mentioned prostitution and fantasies of murder (illegal but understandable).

First WIP is for the time loop/"Groundhog Day" FC5 AU fic called You're Almost Like Family where the Seeds are stuck in a, well, time loop. And whenever Silva (or the Seeds themselves) die, well, the days are reset. Funniest part is, none of the Seeds know that they are all in a loop, just their individual selves. Snippet below:

[John] slammed the entrance to his chalet shut, causing the blonde figure sorting his papers in his lounge to jump. The documents slipped out of her hands as she stood up with a hand to a holster, only to calm down when she realized it was him.

Noticing that the reports laid scattered on the floor, Nadi gave him a stink eye, gesturing to the papers.

John would have been apologetic if he simply didn't have time for this. Ironic given the predicament he was stuck in.

Sooner or later, the Deputy is going to end up dead, and he'll be back at square one... again.

The thought reignited his frustration, but he reigned in enough to examine his number two.

Nadi was a loyal member of the project, more faithful than Jacob's hound, and while they did butt heads sometimes, he was grateful for her presence and for her strategic input. Admittedly, John knew that without her, the Deputy would have gotten to him sooner rather than later.

I would have preferred not to have to had died to appreciate it.

"Once you finish with those, come meet me upstairs in my bedroom. There's something I need to discuss with you," John ordered smoothly, making his way to the stairs.

He didn't notice the confusion etched on the blonde's face, for John was already making his way up the stairs to his room.

It's times like these I wish I could have a shot of tequila, he thought to himself, walking over to the open bedroom window and closing it shut, pulling the lock down.

Next, he grabbed a torch light and shined it at the closet. Hearing nothing, he walked towards it and opened the doors. Empty.

Finally, John turned off his torch, knelt down, and swiftly rolled it harshly under the bed. Hearing no grunts, he looked under.

She's not under there... good.

John exhaled a huff of air, and sat on the edge of his bed as he put his hands over his face.

It was exhausting. Though John knew by the end of today, or the next two if he was lucky, the Deputy would be killed by something or another and he would be back at square one, he really needed to figure out how to reach out to her, without being shot.

Going to her too early leaves her shooting first and questioning the morality of it never, and trying to go to her late only ends up with her being killed by whoever it is she seems to have evoked the wrath of. Not that he thinks she doesn't entirely deserve it.

He needed guidance, and from his last conversation with Joseph, his brother seemed content with sitting by and letting God do his work.

And he tried. To wait it out. To let God do His work. But if the sign that John seemed to be getting was that leaving the Deputy to her own accord only leads to her death, and back to the morning of Joseph's arrest.

And it wasn't like Jacob, or worse, Faith, were going to be helpful.

John had figured out quickly that his intervention was needed for the Deputy to even get through another day. And while the Father may not have understood what he told him, John deduced that this was a test from God.

A test against his sloth. A test towards his patience. A test meant to prove that John was worthy of entering Eden. And what better way than to save the life and soul of another? Especially one as sinful and wrathful as the Deputy?

Which is why he waits for the only other faithful member of the project, his trustworthy second-in-command.

A knock on the door shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand, and he made his way to the door.

Opening it, Nadi stood there, the blond looking at him with expecting brown eyes.

John pulled her inside, earning a yelp from the young woman, and closed the door behind her.

Here's a WIP for a collection of short fics from different character perspectives throughout my Fallout fic series A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. It is still under heavy editing, but I've got a good grasp on where to take it. Snippet below:

In the five of the twenty four hours she's been awake, Nova had expected more-or-less the same day as before.

Walking around and offering her body to anyone who came into the saloon had not been a life she pictured for herself as a little girl, but it was one that paid well.

Well, it would have been if Moriarty didn't continue to take a cut of her and Gob's pay any time a customer gave them a generous donation.

That and the amount of times Moriarty had utilized her services with no intention of paying her, but she supposed it was a better alternative to being kicked out of Megaton. Given Moriarty still had that power.

She drew in the smoke from her cigarette, and surveyed from her post as Gob gave another orange bottle of whiskey to Jericho, the ex-raider sneering at the ghoul, his disgust evident all over his face.

Thankfully he didn't make a scene, slamming the small bag of caps on the counter as he left through the door.

Gob stared at the bag, string noose tied tightly around the bag, not immediately grabbing it. Nova could take a guess that Gob was lamenting over the debts that he owed Moriarty. Debts both the prostitute and the ghoul bartender wordlessly knew their boss was unlikely to pay.

Gob snapped out of it though, giving a miserable sigh, and dragging the bag away from the counter for Moriarty to pocket later, turning his attention to the damn radio that never seemed to play at the right time.

It pained Nova to see Gob like this. He was a real sweetheart with shitty luck, and she knew that the only upsides in his life were the hope of one day paying off his debts, however unlikely that was, and the Gravity News Radio host screaming out "fighting the good fight", whatever that entailed.

She was also painfully well aware of his crush on her.

Though she never had minded his appearance to the point she'd hang out with him in public, given how much she knows the ghoul is actually a decent guy, she had her limits, which was rare given her current standing under Moriarty.

She hoped he could find some semblance of happiness, whether that be with a person or a life long after Moriarty was rotting in the ground. But it wouldn't be with her.

If things were different though...

Nova looked away from Gob, shaking the thought away. It didn't matter on the what ifs, right now she had a job to perform.

She could ponder a different time.

Just as Gob began to smack the radio, a risky action given Moriarty's repeated threats on treating his property harshly, the saloon door creaked open, and Nova spotted two teens enter. One male, the other female. Both wearing what appeared to be blue jumpsuits with the numbers "101" imprinted in yellow on their backs.

Nova eyed them both. The young man was of average build, short auburn hair cut neatly with a few strands springing out from the harshness of the wasteland most likely, and light brown eyes on the lookout for anyone and anything.

The young woman on the other hand had dark hair tied in a pony tail, was a little chubbier than her counterpart, and her hazel eyes were more focused, trying to narrow down a specific person.

They glanced back to the door, whispering amongst themselves, though not too quiet that she couldn't catch their words.

Amongst the harsh gravel Gob spat out at the poor radio, and the chatter amongst the patrons, Nova could decipher the words "here" "back outside" and "think she'll stay?" in hushed voices.

And finally Jennifer putting murder on her mind to the back burner as she remembers to drop, duck and cover my WIP of Sonya's Push. Snippet below:

Breathing heavily as she pushed her way through the audience as they gazed upon the newest arena fight between beasties, the bruises formed from her fight with Malvolio's bitch protesting against her movements.

The blonde looked back to the closed elevator door on the other side, paranoid that Malvolio's Beastie would burst through at any moment.

The speed of it had been abnormal, disappearing in a blink and being nothing more than a flicker of movement when it had slid down to the hall. The movement of its tail daggers swift and deadly, like her own claws. The red in its one eye, more robotic than flesh.

Why had Dicko approved such a thing? It barely counted as a beastie with the mass of metal it was made of! Jennifer huffed, and around the arena, looking pass the patrons in search of Dicko.

Her blue eyes spotted the Englishman on a lower circle, himself seated down on his VIP sofa that she once shared with him, disheveled but celebrating his escape with a glass of disgusting champagne, like the pig hadn't just left her to die to that one-eyed mech of a beast. As if the reason it was free in the first place wasn't because he allowed his creep of a "buddy" onto his premises, or the fact Sir Enigma might be a fucking alien in addition to a Darwinist with no care for the fact "handing control" did not mean "releasing the Beastie from its brainwashing bullshit".

She felt the razor claws pushing through her fingertips as she glared at the man from across the arena, anger and betrayal clouding her mind.

Those fantasies of killing him while in his bed resurfaced, and she oh so wanted to enact them now, with the sofa as an acceptable exception.

She wanted to get her claws through his throat before the Beastie could make its way down to the arena. She tried to move pass the cheering audience, making her way around to the other side to get to the stairs.

However much she tried though, a block of people just refused to move aside, and she was tempted to slice her way through if it weren't for the guards.

Ding!

...Or the faint noise of the elevator door that echoed throughout the arena, deaf to everyone but her.

Frozen in place as she looked back, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that would no doubt tear them apart.

She pushed people aside to get a solid look. Enough people disbanded to show the doors opening to reveal the empty box of the elevator.

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion, mouth gaping open and shut, lips stinging as the cut on her upper lip made contact with her bottom one. She desperately searched for any sign of the beast, the monster made of steel, the relentless creature that stalked and hunted her not moments ago.

Upon still seeing nothing, she let out a mirthless laugh as she turned her back to the elevator, shaking her head as she focused her attention on Dicko once more, the man a ring below talking with one of his guards.

It was with this focus that she noticed a... shift on the stone barriers that kept the audience at bay.

Large spots on the stone cracked, small dusts of powder dropping down as an unseen pressure was placed on the stone. She saw more of this dust from the next ring up, and then the next, and the next.

Up and up and further up until it stopped at the final ring. Then dust slowly dropped down from the roof, unbeknownst to the audience too invested on the violence happening between the two wild beasties below them. Not that the fight between those Beasties were anything special unlike what she saw from her hunter mere hours ago.

Jennifer felt some familiarity with this, words exchanged to her by the madman who released the Apex from its prison, a far too fond explanation on how the creature could "rush so fast it would be merely a flicker to the human eye!"

"...Or match its environment to disappear right before you," Malvolio explained, grinning at her with all his teeth.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she barely registered the outline of the beast that had adjusted its steel to uncloak itself while hanging from dark and dank ceiling. Red optic looking down to the cheers in the rings and the Beasties fighting under it.

She saw the tail split in three, and immediately followed her gut by making distance from the open space of the barriers.

She had just dropped flat onto the floor to curl up and cover her head when the she heard the wind and patron's necks crack in one simultaneous whoosh.

[kareenvorbarra]

read the beginning of a popular book out of curiosity and something happened in the first few pages that made me realize it might be least For Me book ever written

[gyuuberryy]

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Keep Moving Forward

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You're determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he's just some guy that's taller than most people right? He's probably harmless! Well, he's a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Just want to say a massive thank you for everyones lovely comments on the last part, I can't believe how many notes that has now 😱 I've got a taglist so if you want to be added or removed (I just stuck down everyone that commented or reblogged the last one with tags/comments) lemme know! Also I've got my own version of what König looks like and I've been including details so hopefully you like my thoughts on him 🥰

Part 2 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

A forbidden crush, a whole unit of men watching out for any missteps and a job that required you to be on your A game - it all sounded a bit like a bonkers netflix plot, but no this was your life now. You were desperately trying to hide your little (massive) König crush, while trying to get through your days and it was going horribly. The universe was working against you. 

König kept appearing for one. Now that he knew you weren’t talking to him just to fuck with him, you’d been meeting more and more and talking for longer each time. In fact, you’d come to learn a lot about the man in the short amount of time you’d spent together and unfortunately for you, nothing about any of it turned you off.  In fact, you were only falling harder for him. 

Every touch, every grazed hand when you were reaching for mugs and brushed sides when you sat together on the couch - they were driving you crazy. Not to mention catching little details about him here and there, painting a mental picture that rivalled the mona lisa. 

You’d caught a glimpse of a scar that snaked up from his lip and a few that marred his hands and arms, you’d noted bruises that carried back from missions and most of all you couldn’t help but think of the little birthmark on his left hip that he’d exposed when he’d been reaching for tea. You thought about running your fingers along them often, kissing them all better. 

You’d learned that it was pretty much pointless to make movie references to König because he barely took time to watch them. He was much more of a doer, he didn’t like to sit still for long and most film runtimes were over an hour and a half, which was no good for him. And so you’d slowly gotten a peek into his more active hobbies. Hiking, rock climbing and skiing, only to name a few. The man was an athlete that rivalled most of the soldiers you knew.  

“And this was the view from top!” he’d proudly said after he showed you another picture from one of his hikes.

“Woah, no wonder your legs are like tree trunks,” you’d murmured, raking your eyes over his thick thighs.

“What was that?”

“Oh! Just- you must get a good workout climbing all those hills.”

Just one of the many times you’d let your appreciation for him slip. You could barely help it most of the time, he had your words fizzling out like some kind of mentos and coke explosion. The highly trained soldier in you died the minute you were in a room with him. 

It was when he grabbed you that you finally went stupid for him. König was - as Captain Price had described him - a mammoth in many regards. You’d already taken note of his verging on monstrous height, but you’d come to learn a lot more about his strength. He could lift you like you were little more than a lap dog.

How had you come to find this out? Well -

“Watch out!”

Your head had been completely in the clouds, busy catching up with messages from your family, when suddenly you were in the air. You gasped as you felt a pair of hulking arms pick you like an apple from a low hanging branch and squeaked when you looked down and came to notice the pile of vomit that lurked below your flailing feet. Gross. 

Then you’d come to the slow realisation of exactly whose arms were wrapped around you. Suddenly the rising feeling of nausea was replaced by hordes of stirred up butterflies.

“Are you ok?” 

You blinked, still shocked that König was holding you like you were nothing.

“Uh- ah- yeah! Yup! All good, big guy!”

You’d hurried out your reply, sputtering out your words like a leaky tap. You felt like an idiot. Then the feeling intensified when he put you down and turned you to face him. In fact, you felt like someone had placed a heat pad to your face after running a marathon.

If he could lift you that easy when you were limp, imagine how easy he could lift you up against the wall and-

“Are you sure you’re ok? You look…not so good?.”

You gulped and offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and then - to make matters worse - a double thumbs up (who did that???). You silently cursed in your mind, but covered up your embarrassment by staring back at the sick pile for a second and then facing König again.

“Ew…thanks for saving me from that! I would’ve been throwing up as well if I’d had to clean that outta my shoes.”

“Any time, friend!”

Friend.

It stung a little, but then you had to remind yourself you were both supposed to be acting professionally, this was a base afterall, and quickly righted yourself. Friend would do fine in a setting where Price would have your head for even looking at König a little flirtily. Especially when the resident gossips had continued to grass you in for any interactions they caught. 

-☠️-

“That was some amount of whitey those new recruits left all over the hallways yesterday,” Soap had remarked after finishing a set of pull ups. 

You hummed in agreement, remembering back to being lifted and growing quiet as you thought about Königs bulging arms. It had been a recurring thought for the whole twenty two hours since it had happened. Not that you were counting or anything, especially not being obsessive by any means. It was just that the electricity that had been sparked by that touch had been racing around your body and now you were stuck replaying the scene over and over in your head like an accursed rerun. 

“English, Soap,” Ghost grunted, from a nearby bench. 

“There was a lot of puke all over the place yesterday,” Soap sighed, rolling his eyes at the Lieutenant. 

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Did you hear sneaky almost stepped in it?”

“Ooft, that’d be a shite shift cleaning that off.”

“I know. Luckily little sneak got airlifted to safety,” Ghost said slyly, giving you a pointed look. “Got snatched away by a certain giant before they stepped right in it.”

You froze in your spot, just about to curl a weight upwards before letting it crash out of your hands and onto the floor. That fucking, no good old dear prick! How had he heard about that? You hadn’t thought anyone else had been around when it had happened. 

“Careful, sneak. The German’s not here to stop that from stubbing your toe,” Ghost chuckled.

“He’s Austrian actually…And how did you know about that?”

“Oooh! Austrian,” Soap snickered.

“Well I do apologise. You should know by now that I hear about everything when it comes to our unit, sweetheart.”

You hated that. Whenever Ghost patronisingly called you sweetheart it made your blood boil and clouded your thoughts like a thick red mist. Though, there was nothing you could do about it. He wasn’t someone you could wage revenge on without being thoroughly outgunned in all respects. Plus, it would only make you look more guilty. 

“Well, you didn’t even know what nationality König was so you don’t know everything,” you muttered.

“Well, now that you’ve filled me in, I can go tell Price you were getting lifted up by the big Austrian cunt that he told you to stay away from,” he countered smugly. 

“What! I can’t help who snatches me out of the air from nowhere,” you hissed. “Have you seen the size of him? I can’t exactly stop him.”

He tisked. 

“Well then, soldier. Sounds like you need more training. C’mere, we’ll practise getting out of holds!”

You yelped as Ghost had come crashing toward you and dove out of the way just in time to miss his outstretched arms. Even if he was smaller than your new companion, Ghost was still built like a tank - and he would pin you down like a mouse under the wheel of a 4x4 if he caught you. 

“Stay away from me!” you’d squealed, running away from the gym. 

“Oh now you’re suddenly averse to getting grabbed!”

-☠️-

Essentially, you were discovering a new level of hell every day. Your entire unit had cottoned on to your little thing with König and now there was no escape from the jokes they made. Well that is until Price came along and no one was quite enough of an asshole to mention your activities to him. You all knew the consequences of getting his back up and it wasn’t worth the stress for anyone. 

Though, not everyone was aware of that - König himself for one. Unluckily for you, you’d found yourself in the kitchen with Price and Soap and just as the kettle was put to the boil, who should walk in but the Austrian giant himself. 

“Evening,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the kettle. 

Soap looked up from his phone as he noticed König and widened his eyes before searching you out and giving you a sly smile. Oh lord. You knew he was going to love watching you squirm. 

Suddenly your heart was thudding like a samba drum and your mind was racing to find your self restraint. Don’t let Price see you turn into a nervous fucking wreck! You repeated that over and over like a mantra, turning it over in the sands of your mind as if you might find some calm that way. 

“Evenin’” you smiled, feeling your voice lilt.

Oh god. 

You smiled at König as he approached the counter and promptly scampered away to the table, hoping that by keeping some distance you wouldn’t be so transparent. Fat chance considering the stupid smirk that was all over Soap’s face as he pretended to batter his eye lashes behind Price’s back. Asshole!

You knew you looked guilty as hell, even if you were walking away from König. However, any chance of not being caught ogling by Price was worth taking. So you figured you’d stare at your phone instead and prayed to all the gods you knew of that König was busy and he’d have to leave again after getting himself something to drink. 

Why didn’t he ever go out for food? There was a perfectly nice pub just over the road and he could easily go there instead of looking over you all the time - putting you in grievous danger of toilet duty. You’d have to tell him about it sometime, and hope that he’d ask to go with you. 

“Anyone else want a brew?” Price offered, in the midst of pouring his own cup. 

You looked up from your phone screen, darting your eyes over to the captain. Answer him! Speak normally!

“Oh! Yes, me please.”

Maybe that was a little more polite and nicey-nice than usual, but at least you were coherent. That was something, a small victory.

“Coffee for me, Price,” Soap grinned. 

You breathed out a small sigh now that Price was distracted by Soap and let your eyes wander over to König, resting your chin in your hand. He was so big, he towered over the two other men by a few heads at least. He could pin you down like a lion and there’d be nothing you could do about it, nothing you’d want to do about it. 

“That’s the wrong one.”

You jumped as König’s accented voice interrupted the thankful silence and widened your eyes as you watched him turn to Price. What was he doing? You sucked in a breath and watched as the two men became locked into an exchange and silently hoped a rogue sniper might take you out. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Price asked, frowning deeply as he stared at the masked man.

“That’s the wrong tea,” König supplied helpfully. “Sneaky likes this one.”

As if correcting Price on his choice of tea wasn’t enough, König went to the lengths of picking a bag of your herbal stuff out. He dropped it into the mug and stuck the other bag back in the back, tilting his head as Price stared at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well then…thanks for the advice,” he finally said, turning to stare you down. “It’s never nice when you expect one thing and get the other.”

You were in deep shit. 

He was giving you the ‘I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again’ look. You gulped and slumped in your chair, feeling like a tiny child that was about to get reprimanded. Price was going to learn all about your involvement with König soon, the game was up. 

“Oh yeah, no problem!” König said, sounding like he was smiling under his mask. 

That idiot! 

Though, in fairness to him he knew nothing about the toilet duty thing. He didn’t even have any idea that you weren’t supposed to be interacting with him, especially when you’d gone so out of your way to do it over the past month. It wasn’t his fault, but at the same time you could strangle his beautiful massive neck for what he’d done. 

“Sneak, would you mind coming with me for a moment? I think we should have a little chat,” Price smiled. “I’ll bring your tea.”

He was probably omitting that he was going to dump it over your stupid head, you thought worriedly. This wasn’t good at all. 

You gulped and nodded at him, slinking out of your chair like a dog about to take a beating. Though, you continued to follow behind him just as dutifully - Ignoring Soap as he gave you a little wave off and a snarky smile. You knew as soon as you’d left that he was messaging the group chat right then, and the whole 141 would know that you were getting pulled up for speaking to König. 

He lead you down the hall and into an empty meeting room, setting the two mugs down on the table, they hit the wood like death knells, and pointed to the chair in front of him. It all felt very formal, like this was going to be one of the worst telling offs of your life. 

“Don’t look so scared, kid.”

You bit your tongue and chanced a look in his eyes, seeing the glint that lingered within them. He didn’t look furious, but he didn’t look like he was going to offer you a cuddle and kind words either. It made you sweat a little less, but you weren’t dumb enough to completely untense your body yet. 

“Y-you’re not annoyed that I’ve been speaking to König?” You asked, chancing your luck.

“Oh, I’m annoyed, but I’m not going to kill you for it,” he laughed humorlessly, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’re going to shit yourself.”

“I think I might,” you said, biting your lip and fastening your shaky hands around your warm tea cup. 

“See, that’s why I’m concerned about this…relationship you’re building with König. I worry about you.”

You frowned, thoroughly surprised by his reaction. He was being a damn sight more sympathetic than you were expecting. This wasn’t a bollocking, this was an intervention. 

“You don’t have to worry. We’re just friends - strictly platonic! We talk and have tea together, nothing more than that,” you explain breathily, hoping it’ll appease the captain.

He strokes a hand through his beard and eyes you warily. He’s clearly unconvinced. His jaw is set into a worried line. 

“Hmm.”

He doesn’t give much away. 

“Really, I’m not trying to take things f-further.”

You stutter like a liar. Really, that is what you’re doing if you’re honest with yourself. You might not be asking König out on dates and braiding flowers into his gear, but you have been shamelessly flirting with him and getting into close proximity with him at the slightest chance. Plus, Price practically knows you better than your own parents, he’d be able to tell when you were acting differently, like you were in terminal stages of puppy love. 

“Look, he’s not part of our unit, so really it’s none of my business, I can’t actually do anything about it - as much as I’d like to,” he says, glowering for a moment. “I just think that he’s dangerous and I don’t like the thought of you getting close to him. For all I know, he’s nice enough to you, but when he’s on the field that man’s an animal. There’s something wrong with him.” 

You gasp a little as he says it, shocked that he’d say something like that to you. What did he mean there was something wrong with König? Sure, you thought, he was quiet and intimidating but he was so polite and cheerful when you’d gotten to know him more. It’s not like most people were their best selves on a battlefield - it was in your training to leave all that behind. It was hypocritical to judge Königs actions given your experience with the 141 out on missions. 

“What do you mean there’s something wrong with him?” You finally asked, curious to know just what Price meant. 

“He takes too much pleasure in the work he does. He’s sick when he’s out there- like letting a rabid dog out of its cage. I worry about you getting involved with him and being at the mercy of a man like that. You wouldn’t have any chance against him, Sneak. I’ve seen him crush bones like they’re twigs, he’d snap you like a toothpick.”

You can feel your pulse in your ears, can hear it working away like a jackhammer. You don’t know how to respond. The fact that Price is this worried for you really does concern you, but on the other hand König has never given you any reason to be scared of him beyond that first encounter you’d had with him. Then again, you reasoned that that surely wasn’t the real him - that was guarded walled up version of him. Right? 

“I see,” you sighed, not able to come out with more. 

“I know you won’t want to take my word for it, and you’re going to keep doing whatever it is you're actually doing. I just want to know that you’ve been warned and you’re going to be careful.”

You took a breath and looked away, roving your eyes over the assortment of chairs on the other side of the room. Sure, you could take his warning on. Though, it didn’t feel like it was going to stick, not when you thought back to his arms wrapped around you and making you feel like a precious gem. 

“I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind,” you acquiesced. 

“Good soldier,” Price smiled, leaning over and patting your shoulder.

You swallowed thickly and stood up, feeling your breathing return back to normal. Well that was it then. You weren’t going to be killed on sight and you didn’t have to worry about staring down the bowl of a toilet for the rest of your miserable life. 

You both stepped out the doorway and into the light of the hall. You felt dizzy on your feet, but relieved that you were getting away without any punishment. Well, other than the fact that König might be someone to worry about rattling around in the back of your mind, that is. Then again, you had a sneaking suspicion that you’d forget all about it as soon as you were in his company again…

“Remember what I said, Sneaky! Otherwise I’ll let you think about it some more while you’re on your knees scrubbing toilets,” Price said over his shoulder, taking an indulgent sip of his coffee afterwards. 

You stopped in your tracks and shared a look with Soap, who’d poked his head out of the kitchen to check on you. Well, maybe you weren’t going to completely forget Price’s warning. His lingering threat would keep you on your toes. 

-☠️-

“It seems a little late for you to be out walking,” you noted.

You watched as König whirled around, and went wide eyed when he looked like he might hit you. His fist was drawn back and just when it looked like he was about to swing it - he stopped and let it fall flatly to his side. As soon as he’d scanned his eyes over your shrinking form he went limp immediately. 

“Scheiße! Where the hell did you come from?” he cursed.

You took a moment to recover but eventually found your heartbeat returning to its regular rhythm and swallowed, relaxing your shoulders soon after. That was close. You assumed he’d have known you were sitting there on the wall, he always seemed to have a hyper awareness of you as if he was some kind of bat. Though his echolocation must have failed for once, you’d been too obscured by the untrimmed tree branches that had surrounded you, most likely.  

“I-I come out and sit here sometimes, its nice to look at the stars.”

König regarded the wall you were sitting on, just a low down thing made of worn stone and his head followed where it stretched down the road. It cut off the pavement from the small scatty park inside. Then when he looked back at you with his twinkling azure eyes, those eyes that had you forgetting all about the near miss that just happened, you finally got to take him in properly. You watched him as he settled next to you on your makeshift seat. 

Two things struck you all at once. Firstly, König was wearing a neck warmer instead of his usual sniper hood, probably so he wouldn’t scare any civilians more than a hulking giant like himself normally would, it was drawn way up to the bridge of his nose, but nevertheless you knew it was him under there. And next - the mess of shaggy dirty-blonde hair on top of his head. You had to fight the urge not to ask if you could run your hands through it. It was like putting a moth in front of a thousand watt bulb. You ached to feel the fuzz of his faded sides and get to rearrange the chaotic locks above that sprawled in every direction.

“You’re staring.”

You bit your lip as he said it, and looked away guiltily. Oh fuck. It’s not like it could be helped though, this was the most you’d gotten to see of him. He was always so covered up and burdened by gear you could barely make out the man from the material - and now you were getting to see what was basically a visual buffet of König. It wasn’t fair. You could look at every inch of him that he’d let you see all day. 

“Sorry,” you finally breathed out. “I just- uh was surprised is all.”

“Why?” he smirked, eyes crinkling as he stared right back. 

“Didn’t think you’d be blonde,” you say, thinking blessedly quickly. 

“What is it they say? Blondes have more fun?” he chuckled, coming to sit on the wall next to you. 

You snorted and looked away from him again. Even though you’d been talking for a while now, his silly humour could still surprise you, especially when you recalled the way everyone acted around him, as if he’d bite them if they got too close. It was like getting to see a tiger roll onto his stomach when no one else was around. 

“How come you don’t wear that around the base?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

“Why would I? I can wear my hood there without getting questioned about it.”

“But isn’t it less stuffy with the neck warmer?” You ask, crinkling your nose at the thought of being trapped under that heavy material all day. 

“Yes, but it’s as though I can physically feel people's eyes cutting into me when I wear this - or nothing. The staring is too much.” 

You pause for a second and laugh at yourself, feeling a little more embarrassed.

“...Like I was just doing to you there.”

König laughs a little with you, but after a second he shakes his head and breaths out into the frigid night air. The skies had been dark for a little while by that point and the light of the moon was bright and shiny, reflecting in König’s eyes like a gleaming pearl. It was probably the first time you ever recalled admiring the moon that much. 

“I didn't feel like I was being dissected by you, no.”

You felt a little tingle run rogue down your arm. So he didn’t mind you looking at him? You smiled a little wider to yourself and tried to conceal it with a scratch of your cheek. 

“Really? Why’s that?” You asked, feeling a little brave. 

“You stare at me all the time, I’m used to it.”

Instantly it felt as if the air had caught fire and was charring you into oblivion. He’d caught you? Why hadn’t he said anything before? You opened your mouth ready to come up with some kind of silly excuse, too flustered to think of something good. Though he interrupts you before you can get a sound out. 

“I didn't mean to embarrass you, I find it endearing,” he soothed.

“What? Why?” you ask dumbly.

“The way you look - with your wide doe eyes…” he says trailing off. 

Now he cant look at you. His head turns away. You can't speak either, so you're both left frozen in place.

“The way you’re looking at me now,” he finally says.

“Maybe I just can’t stop staring at your messy hair,” you chuckle, trying to awkwardly change the subject. “Someone should fix that for you.”

“Does someone want to?” he asks, his brows setting as he tilts his chin. 

Oh no. You bite your lip feeling like your body’s going to astrally project onto another planet. Was this really happening? Did he actually just give you permission to touch him, no, run your hands through his hair? 

Part of you wants to laugh him off and prevent any embarrassment when he turns around and says he was kidding, says you’re a weirdo for wanting to touch him like that. Your mind starts going down avenues of all the awful things he could say about the little freak that looks at him too much, but then the sane part of your mind kicks and acts as a buffer stop, halting the run away anxiety train. König would never do that to you. 

You were far too used to dealing with Ghost and Soap, and all of their stupid teasing. But even then, not even they would do something so cruel. 

“I do,” you murmur. 

König nods and leans forward and closes his eyes, giving you what little advantage he can with the amount of height he has on you. At first, you’re incredulous that you’re in a real life scenario and not locked into a fantasy seven layers deep, but you quickly give up that idea and decide to tentatively reach out. You’re too excited not to take the opportunity. 

Your hand shakes a little at first as you make contact with his soft hair, and immediately you think of the devil dog your neighbour used to have when you were a kid. It was a huge old thing that barked like a foghorn, but once it got to know you, it would roll over and present its downy fur and you could spend hours at a time running your hands through it. Now, though, it’s not the scary shepherd you’re taming, it’s König. 

He sits perfectly still while you sort through all the strands, smoothing them back and fixing them into place. You swear you can hear soft groans coming from him, but they’re so quiet you could be mistaken. That, and you’re too mesmerised by the task at hand, forming his hood mussed hair into a style. 

When you’re done and his hair is mostly settled - apart from a small cow lick you can’t seem to fix - you can’t help but run your fingers over the fuzz on the side of his head. Immediately he shivers like a harsh breeze has rolled in, surprising you, but when he snaps his eyes open they don’t look annoyed like you worry he is, instead he looks ready to pin you down and take you right there against the wall.

“That felt very nice,” he said softly, blown out pupils shifting away from you as he straightened.

You’re not sure what to say, you just smile and bite your lip, keeping your eyes fixed on him. You know rightly that your pupils are just as wide as his, you can practically feel the explosion that’s going on. You want him. 

“König I… I uh-“ 

Footsteps sounding from nearby, crunching up the leaf littered pavement, interrupt all your thoughts and both of you turn your heads as someone walks up to you both. You hold in a breath, feeling like you’d scream otherwise and watch as a face comes into view from out of the shadows. 

Mercifully it’s not Ghost or Soap that marches up to you, it’s Gaz.He’d been the only one not to completely batter the dead ‘Sneaky and König up a tree’ horse. He stops when he sees you both and his eyes widen as he spots König, probably just as shocked as you were when he realised he can see his face. Though, he quickly averts his eyes and looks at you instead, awkwardly shifting his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

“Captain said to tell you we’ve got an early start tomorrow,” he says looking at you pointedly , “we’ve got a briefing at four. Said you best get all the sleep you can.” 

“Oh…do you know anything about it?” You ask, still feeling a bit breathless from before.

“From what I gather, the 141 and KorTac are heading out together, but I don’t know much beyond that,” he shrugs. 

You give a sideways glance to König and watch as he regards you the same way. That meant you’d be working together for the first time. You take a breath and look back at Gaz, finally nodding your head.

“Thanks for coming to let me know, I’ll head in in a minute,” you assure him. 

Gaz nods back curtly and turns on his heel, retreating to the base again and leaving you alone in the only silence. You finally look back at König, only once you’re sure there’s no one lurking around and looking to catch you with him, and smile softly. 

“Looks like we’ll be working together then,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Seems like it,” he replies, lowering his head. “Perhaps we should listen to the captain’s advice and head in.”

You feel a stab of disappointment tear through your heart immediately. You’d wanted to resume things from where you’d left off. You wanted to pull back the cloth from his face and kiss him under the stars as if they were watching and you were the only ones there. There were fireworks and sparklers going off in your mind, but now they were being snuffed out as you watched König stand up from your not so secret spot. 

“Come on, you need your rest,” he insists, holding out his hand. 

You raise your eyebrows, but put your hand in his and rise as he guides you up. Even with you standing, he towers above you. It’s especially noticeable as you stand so close to him, almost pressed to his big wide chest. There’s a snapping creature in your mind that distantly wishes to jump onto him and kiss him, but you beat the thought back and look away from König instead.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your head back with his rough gloved fingers. “I want to pick things back up too, but…not before a mission. We can do this again after all that. Yeah?” 

You gulp, feeling your spine light on fire with tingles. Did he just acknowledge that things were about to go further there? So he definitely felt the same as you…

“Makes sense,” you murmur, feeling your desperation roll off you in waves. 

He is speaking sense, but you don’t want him to be. 

“You can fix my hair for me again when we get back,” he teases, rubbing his finger against your jaw again. “I’m sure it will be very messy.”

“Am I your stylist now?” You smirk, feeling your mood lift. 

“Amongst other things,” he says, eyes showing the smile that was surely on his lips. 

You raise your eyebrows and just as you’re about to ask what things, he silences you with what he does next. He leans down and brings his lips to your cheek, and through his mask, kisses you. 

You freeze in place, your heart thudding like it’ll explode and close your eyes. You can’t believe what just happened. You laugh a little to yourself - letting loose a giggle and open your eyes, watching as he smiles back at you and gestures his hand back to base. 

“To be continued,” you whisper to yourself.

-☠-

Next Part Here

[morning-star-joy]

honey don't feed it, it will come back (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel x Sex Worker F!Reader

Summary: You run a brothel in the Boston QZ, devoting yourself to taking care of your girls. When the safety of one is threatened, you hire a bodyguard in the form of the surly Joel Miller to protect them. Little did you know that you were going to become his new favorite vice, and him your favorite addiction.

Warnings: MDNI Explicit Smut (oral f receiving, v fingering, Joel jacks off while going down on Reader, dirty talk, bit of a sir kink, bit of a brat tamer dynamic). Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart). Alcohol/drug use. Sex work (Joel listens to Reader). Age gap (20 years). Mentions of physical assault (towards minor characters, never from Joel. Not stated to be sexual assault but it can be inferred as such, so please take care of yourselves).

Wordcount: 9.6k (how the fuck)

joel miller masterlist

The world was fucked to all hell and back, and so what did men do in those circumstances?

“Oh fuck,” your customer was grunting as he fucked into you from behind, your hands on the headboard as it rocked against the wall to keep yourself up, breathy moans expertly leaving your lips to spur them on, even if you hadn’t felt an inkling of desire in years.

Yeah.

They fucked.

Fight or flight were often referred to in the first years following the Outbreak, a default of survival instinct that most everybody resorted to in order to survive.

But fucking was the much less talked about, incredibly prevalent third option.

It became clear in the Quarantine Zones that there was a need to be filled here, a way to satisfy that urge in a way that wouldn’t cause a barely held-together society inside high walls to erupt into chaos.

From this need, brothels made an appearance. While FEDRA had nothing to do with the establishments officially, they turned a very convenient blind eye to the street corners where women trying to make some kind of a living in the QZ took up their stations, tempting any lonely man who may wander by into a night of needed release.

It was a dangerous profession, in its own way. Contraceptives were long expired twenty years after the society collapsed, and even if a client pulled out at the best time and you were keeping track of your cycle, there was always the risk of being put out of work for around 9 months if you were unlucky.

And then came the obsession.

Clients could become far too eager far too quickly, addicted to the touch and feeling of a certain girl, mistaking lust for affection and lurking around those street corners before the night even came or, worse, outside the brothel doors.

You’d experienced it first-hand and through other girls, but it wasn’t until one of the younger ones came to you with a black eye and bruised jaw that you had had enough.

“Who did it?” you said in a low tone, breathing deeply in and out through your nose as you tried to control yourself, reigning yourself back in from the need to grab the gun you kept tucked in the top drawer of your rickety old nightstand and find who the fuck had laid their hands on one of your girls in such a way.

After years of being in the business, you had gone from only taking clients to keeping a watchful eye over the other women who made the same living you did. Your glory days were mostly behind you, but you still had your reputation, even after the incident that left you with a jagged scar that stretched vertically across the right side of your face, from above your eyebrow, down across your eye to just below your cheekbone.

Those clients you did still have preferred to fuck you with you facing away from them now, but you weren’t complaining. Not seeing their ugly faces as they used you to cum helped you dissociate, focus your thoughts on how well you were going to eat the next few days because of a few minutes of sacrifice.

The young woman whose lip was trembling as you held her hands gently in yours now was hardly past her early twenties, a sweet young thing who you had taken under your wing when she confessed needing a way to get some extra ration cards for her little brother who had gotten sick recently.

You had snuck Isabel some of your own ration cards with each of her payments, not caring that you had a bit less to eat each night, especially when she had come to you a couple weeks later with a bright smile and the news that her brother’s health had improved.

Now that smile that could light up the whole goddamn QZ was nowhere to be seen, an abject horror darkening her gaze, making her angelic face gaunt as you reached up to gently hold it, tilting it so you could assess the extent of the damage.

Her eyes, a deep honeyed brown that had drawn in the most clients your brothel had seen in years, were avoiding yours as you searched for her gaze, and you gently directed her face back towards you, voice softer as you implored her, “Isabel. Please, talk to me, babygirl.”

A choked sob was the first sound to leave her mouth then at the sound of your genuine affection. The world may be fucked, but protecting these girls was your purpose. And the thought of not being enough to protect them, for one of them to come to you like this…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as her petite form collapsed against yours, holding her close as you smoothed a hand over the tangles in her hair, gently combing them out with your fingers as your other hand rubbed at her back. “It’ll be okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Even as you assured her, a fear was creating pressure in the back of your mind, causing the first of many sleepless nights as you tried to figure out how to make sure this could never happen again.

You sat at your little makeshift desk in your tiny room on the top floor of the brothel, a cheap cigarette you had just gotten from a couple smugglers perched between your fingers as you slowly exhaled the smoke, staring down at your incoherent scribbled notes.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the desk, standing to cross over to the small window on the wall, gazing out in paranoia to make sure there were no dark shadows lingering nearby, waiting to get a hold of one of your girls if they didn’t want it.

Glancing back down at the lit cigarette, you pondered your few options.

FEDRA was not a viable source for protection. Yes, they turned a blind eye on your activities, but they would never risk their image by offering guards for your girls. Besides, you didn’t trust anybody in one of those uniforms within an inch of your life.

Fireflies weren’t a fucking option either. Those jackasses were so far up the proverbial ass of justice that they couldn’t see the actual struggles of the real people around them, subjecting them to be collateral in whatever useless statement they were making lately.

The cigarette was raised halfway to your lip when you paused, staring down at it as you suddenly had a small epiphany.

Who did you know that had not an ounce of a moral code, but a strong work ethic and determination to get the job done for a good deal that promised a stack of ration cards?

A smirk curled onto your lips then as you brought the cigarette back to them, placing it in your mouth as you took a long drag, exhaling it towards the window and watching it fog up the glass as you realized exactly who you were heading to.

“We don’t do protection,” your smuggling contact was saying, her voice as gruff and no-nonsense as always, and you sighed, meeting her sharp green eyes straight on as you shifted to cross your legs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Tess,” you said flatly back, your voice not harsh, but definitely firm, calling her out on her bluff even as you saw her ever-present guard dog shift a ways behind her at your tone. “You’ll do anything for a good trade. And I have that.”

“I don’t wanna fuck your girls,” Tess dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the thought away, and you rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t help a smirk, glancing at your associate with a small hint of mirth that matched her own.

“I’m not offering that,” you replied honestly, slowly drumming your fingers at the small table you were both seated at in one of the back alleys where these deals tended to go down. Public enough to avoid a shootout, but private enough to avoid FEDRA breathing down your backs. “My girls get paid for their work. So would you.”

Tess raised an eyebrow then, leaning in just a fraction, and you knew that you had captured just a fraction of her attention.

Good. You could work with that.

“What are we talking?” she asked in a low tone, voice still disinterested, gaze still closed off, but you knew that would change when you laid out the conditions of the deal.

When you did—offering a heft of ration cards (that they didn’t need to know was almost your entire cut of the brothel’s proceeds) for an able body to keep watch at your brothel during active business hours—Tess leaned back again, eyes flickering over your face as she processed the information.

“You know I’m good for it, Tess,” you implored, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into your tone now as you meet her gaze, hoping she would hear what you were asking for, woman to woman. “And these girls…they need it.”

She frowned then, sympathy flashing over her face as she glanced over yours, hearing what went unsaid.

Tess began to turn her head slightly over her shoulder, though she didn’t bother sparing a glance back as she called, “Joel.”

That was the first time you think you’d heard the name of her silent, watchful companion.

You knew that they were a package deal, but whenever you met with Tess, he lingered in the background, making sure you didn’t lay a hand on her.

Good, you thought to yourself, glancing over at him as he pushed himself off the wall and strolled over just at the unspoken order she gave for him to approach. If he’s who she has in mind, hopefully he does the same for the girls.

It was also the first time you really got a look at the man who Tess finally introduced you, explaining to the both of you how this was going to work at the same moment.

With those thick arms that could be around your neck as fast as you could blink, hardened dark eyes that were already measuring you up and calculating at least six ways to take you out before you could even open your mouth to say hello, you knew that just the sight of him in your brothel would strike fear into the depraved hearts of meeker, cowardly men.

He was older, too. Maybe had twenty years on you, and if somebody had lived that long in the apocalypse, they had to know how to get their hands fucking dirty if they needed to.

“I’ll take him,” you said back to Tess after appraising the man who would be your brothel’s bodyguard, your attention only pulled back to the hunk of muscles when you heard him scoff at your words. “There a problem?”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he grunted, expression flat as he stared at you, and you arched an eyebrow, unamused by his comment that came right after you and Tess had agreed to the terms of the deal.

“Hate to break it to you, but a bodyguard is nothing but that,” you replied as you gracefully uncrossed your legs, rising to your feet as Tess collected their first payment from you off the table, pushing it into her front pocket as she rose from her own seat as well. “Muscle that can drop a man at a moment’s notice.”

You watched as Joel’s strong jaw ticked, your other eyebrow rising with the first as you stepped around the table, getting closer to the man than you probably should, watching as his tense shoulders bunched up even more around his ears when you approached. 

“And now, you’re my muscle, Mr. Miller,” you said in a perfectly conversational tone, a practiced smile pulling onto your lips as Joel glanced down at them briefly before looking back into your eyes, his gaze narrowing as you added, “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Spinning on your heel, you strolled away from the smugglers towards the exit to the alley, but not without saying back over your shoulder before you got too far, “First shift’s an hour after curfew. Don’t be late.”

There was the sound of low grumbling behind you, followed by the smooth low tones of Tess’ voice, and you didn’t know why you felt the urge to laugh at that moment.

You didn’t know why, because you hadn’t laughed in years.

But you brushed that feeling aside, heading back towards your establishment to ready your girls for the change that would be coming in their worlds tonight, hoping that it would give them the peace of mind you all so desperately needed.

Whether you would be able to relax all depended on if Joel Miller could actually do his job.

He could.

One of the very first nights Joel had taken up station in the main hallway in the brothel that led off to private rooms, he had proven his worth, and then some.

You had been down the staircase in an instant when you heard the loud crash, heart racing in your chest, breath quickened from panic as you rounded down to see what had caused the loud sound.

Some thumps and bumps were common in an establishment like yours, but that sounded very much like a body not only hitting the ground, but being thrown down onto it.

What you saw then was an image that etched itself deep into your brain for the rest of your days.

Joel, your brand new, stoic bodyguard who hardly gave so much as a grunt to you or any of the girls he was hired to protect, had a half-naked man pressed to the old floorboards, knee digging right into his back to pin him down, a large hand keeping a tight grip on his neck to stop him from moving.

But what got your attention even more than the struggling client who Joel was snarling at as he roughly kept them down, was the girl who was standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself and subconsciously shifting to stay behind the bodyguard, eyes wide and relieved at the sight of him catching the out of hand customer.

You walked towards the scene that had drawn spectators in the form of clients and workers alike, peeking their heads out into the hallway to watch as you slowly knelt down in front of where the bastard was pinned so roughly to the ground that you weren’t sure he could even breathe.

Good.

You glanced up at Joel then, meeting his hard gaze with one of your own, and you gestured with a jerk of your chin towards the staircase leading down and out of your establishment that he could throw them out.

After rising to your feet, you paused next to Joel, watching from the corner of your eye as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking them to their feet and halting in his task only when you briefly laid your hand on his shoulder.

“Let him know not to come back,” you muttered under your breath, sending a sidelong glance full of unspoken things towards Joel, a tiny smirk curling onto your lips as the whimper of fear from the sick bastard and your bodyguard’s short nod let you know you’d been heard.

You walked straight towards your girl who had nearly been treated in a way you would not tolerate towards any of your women, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her against you, letting her sink into your warmth as you addressed the rest of the brothel that everything was fine, to resume their activities while Joel shoved the guy down the stairs as they started to beg for mercy.

Luckily, there weren’t many similar incidents after that one, letting you know the investment into a well-abled bodyguard for your girls had been more than worth it.

Because more than the concrete evidence of their safety, it was the palpable shift in energy at the brothel that reassured you that you had made the right choice not only in having a bodyguard, but in who you hired.

Joel never really warmed up to anybody, but all the girls had certainly grown fond of him. There were more than a few crushes on the emotionally unavailable older man who stood like a statue in the halls, ranging from innocent love to lustful fantasies.

There were a handful of times one of your girls had offered their services to him, some even trying to get him into a room free of charge, but Joel turned down every one—interestingly enough, it was never without kindness. Each time a proposition was offered, the detached bodyguard would give a slight shake of his head, mumbling a “no thank you, ma’am” in that deep Southern drawl that soon made almost every girl in that building buckle at the knees.

The fondness your girls had for Joel Miller became ingrained in the way the brothel functioned, and you knew that you couldn’t get rid of him even if you wanted to, even if that meant continuing to share a large portion of your personal livelihood with him.

And maybe you were crazy, but you thought that maybe Joel had a bit of warmth in that tiny, shriveled up heart for your girls, too. Sometimes he’d eye a client up and down before giving the girl with them a respectful nod and a polite murmur of their name as a greeting, and you didn’t know why the familiarity of the stoic man warmed your own barbed wire heart, but it did.

Maybe it was because after all the shit they’d gone through to survive long enough to reach this point, they deserved to experience an ounce of genuine kindness from a man, without having to think about what they had to offer him.

Still, Joel irritated you. Any hint of kindness he had for your girls was never shown towards you, but you didn’t let it get to you. You were his employer, and the only times you ever really interacted with each other were the few short seconds it took him to head up the stairs to your office, collect his payment with you and leave.

Besides, you weren’t exactly the most gentle with him either.

You’d taken up a habit of poking fun at your bodyguard, a little teasing here and there about things like his face getting stuck if he never unfurrowed his brow, a comment that only made him scowl further, the sight pulling forward again that urge from deep within your bones to laugh.

But you never laughed, even as you smirked up at him before turning on your heel and going on about your work keeping the place running smoothly.

That work mainly involved management and finances, but when you began to realize you soon wouldn’t be able to keep supporting yourself with keeping Joel on as a bodyguard, you knew you’d have to start doing something a little extra.

Time to go back to your roots.

For all his time working at the brothel, Joel had never seen you take a client.

In fact, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you in the hallways, only to check on a few of the girls from time to time.

But most of the time you were holed up in that small office upstairs, the one he entered for a minute or two at a time, long enough for you to gather his payment and give it to him so he could be out of your hair—or, more accurately, to get you out of his.

Because fuck, you were irritating. You knew exactly how to get on his nerves, and Joel suspected you actually enjoyed doing so, for whatever goddamned reason.

Still, the job paid well. He was living with a bit more comfort in the QZ than he ever had before with those cushy extra ration cards.

And besides, he was actually, maybe a little bit attached to the girls who worked these streets. They were kind, just making a living in the best way they could, and needed somebody to protect them.

Maybe there was also a part of Joel that needed somebody to protect.

He had to admit though, for all his aggravation towards your mere existence, Joel did respect you. You were the person who kept this place up and running, the one who looked after every need of each woman, the lady who had cared for them enough to search for a protector to keep them safe.

Joel had honestly assumed that you didn’t do sex work at all, just judging from how you were never in one of those rooms.

But tonight, you were walking up the staircase from the base floor instead of down from your office, drawing Joel’s attention and subsequent confusion when he saw what you were wearing.

Gone were the baggy jeans you usually wore around the brothel, replaced by thigh-highs that enveloped soft skin he had never seen before. There were just hints of lace at the top of the hosiery from where the tight black dress hugging your curves rode up with each step you took.

It had to have been one of the least scantily clad outfits he’d seen down these halls, but something about the sight of you wearing it caused a lump to form in Joel’s throat, an itch curling inside his veins that needed to be scratched when you turned your head back, offering a sly smile different from any you had sent him towards somebody behind you.

When you ascended to the top of the stairs, Joel saw the man following you, his back stiffening for more than one reason.

The first reason was that he knew this man. Not personally, but he had seen them around—on wanted posters, specifically. They were a higher up in the Fireflies, one who had their eyes on every covert deal around the city, a puppet master pulling the strings.

But it was clear now that you were pulling his, a coy batting of your cunning eyes tugging him after you down the hallway, your body turned slightly towards him in a way that accentuated every curve of your body in its side profile, illuminated in the lowlights of the hall.

When you passed by Joel, eyes meeting his as they shifted into something darker—not lustful, but with clear intent—he knew the other reason he had suddenly snapped to attention.

This man was your customer.

That look you had given Joel, it was an unspoken order to keep you safe in case anything went south with this considerably more…“exclusive” customer, for lack of a better term.

You didn’t spare another glance back as you moved to a door at the end of the hall, one Joel didn’t think he had ever seen another girl enter, slipping into the room as the man followed behind you, and the door quietly clicked shut.

Joel stared at the spot where you had just been in the hallway, feet frozen to the ground until he slowly stepped forward, moving down to lean against the wall next to the room you had entered, following your silent order to stay close and keep an eye out for trouble.

All his time working in a building full of the sounds and smell of sex at every moment, Joel had been unbothered. The moans, the grunts, the cries of “oh fuck” and “I’m coming!” that would echo through the halls, the overpowering scents of sweat and cum when a door next to him would open and a satisfied client would walk out—he couldn’t give less of a fuck. It neither bothered him, nor turned him on to any degree.

But at the very first soft, breathy moan of yours that drifted through the thin wall his back was pressed to, Joel’s breath was catching in his throat, entire body stiffening at the alluring sound.

A few seconds later, there was another moan, longer than the first, and Joel’s head tilted back, resting against the wall as his jaw clenched to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn’t care, he told himself.

Joel had never cared before, he didn’t care now.

But it had never been you before.

You, the stalwart image of the establishment, all business and no pleasure, putting every other person’s needs before your own.

So at the thought of you giving into pleasure now, satisfying your own needs as the sounds of slow, rhythmic squeaking of a bedframe carried towards him through the door, your whimpering echoing the steady echo of skin slapping against skin—

“Fuck,” Joel whispered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly loud moan of yours that reached his ears that had tuned in through the walls, and he snapped his eyes back open, straightening back up and realizing with a quiet groan from the movement how painfully hard he had grown in his jeans at the sounds of you being fucked.

He reminded himself then that this was your job. There was no guarantee you derived any real pleasure from it—to think that you did was a delusional male fantasy, and made him no better than the rest.

But his dick wasn’t listening to logic, only growing harder in his pants with the more lewd sounds that you made, and Joel sucked in a deep breath, rubbing a large palm over his face and shaking his head to himself.

You were no different from the others.

Just another girl to protect.

Joel didn’t want you.

“Oh, god, yes!” you were gasping in between keening moans now, and Joel bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling the chapped skin break and bleed a bit as his hand twitched at his side, the urge to do something about the erection straining against his pants so incredibly strong.

He could do it. None of the other girls were close to finishing with their clients. Joel could pull his cock from his pants right now and fuck into his own hand as he listened to you having sex, get himself off from the sounds you were making, imagining he was thrusting into you instead of his palm as you—

“Yes,” you whimpered, the sounds of skin slapping against skin rapid now, the bedframe inside your room slamming against the wall as you repeated yourself louder and louder, higher and higher, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Then you were crying out at the same time your client did, and Joel grunted, hips bucking up into his palm at the same moment he realized his hand had drifted there, subconsciously seeking relief from the ache of burning desire before he snapped his hand away.

“Fuck,” he huffed, shaking his head sharply and cursing himself at how he had nearly jacked himself off at the sound of you having sex without even realizing what he was doing. “Get it the fuck together.”

But his erection hardly eased up even as the minutes passed, and Joel had to fold his hands together, trying to casually hold them in front of the obvious bulge constrained by his jeans when your door opened.

The client walked out first, and Joel stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him, jaw clenching painfully once more as the man walked down the hallway, glancing back to send you a wave as you leaned against the doorframe, bending forward out of it to wiggle your fingers back towards him in goodbye.

Joel’s eyes snapped from how relaxed the gait of the man now was before looking over at you, sucking in a sharp breath at the tattered silk robe you were wearing, seeing the dip of your collarbone down to the soft curves of your cleavage, nearly catching a glimpse of the tempting pillows of your tits from the way you were leaning forward before he forced his gaze away.

You were watching him now—he could feel the familiar intensity of your gaze on him, and Joel resisted the urge to swallow thickly, struggling against the lump in his throat as you pushed yourself off the doorframe.

He expected you to head back up towards your office, preparing himself to keep his gaze off you when you walked past him in that temptation of thin fabric, when you surprised him by speaking.

“Want a smoke?”

Joel froze, his head tilting towards the sound of your voice subconsciously before your words even dawned on him.

When they did, he glanced towards you from the corner of his eye, seeing you were watching him with a thumb pointing back over your shoulder towards the room behind you.

The room you had just fucked a client in.

Oh fuck.

Joel cleared his throat, brows furrowed deeply as he looked back at you, and he half-expected you to make a comment about it like usual, but you were simply watching him with an impassive look, not a hint of emotion or motive he could try to decipher.

Before he knew what he was doing, Joel nodded, feet automatically moving after yours when you walked into the room.

“You can close it,” you said over your shoulder as you walked towards a nightstand next to the bed where—

Joel spun around, trying to control how rapidly he was breathing as he grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him before slowly turning back to face the room again.

He had never actually been in one of them before, but he still should have expected the smell to be so much stronger in one—especially right after it had been occupied.

Still, the scent of sex pulled his attention right back to the bed you stood next to as you perched a cigarette between your lips—one he thinks Tess got you, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind—and Joel’s eyes lingered on dark spots on the mattress, forgetting how to breathe for a moment before your voice brought him back.

“Mr. Miller?”

His head snapped forward, eyes meeting yours to see you looking at him in a question he didn’t know that you were asking.

“Huh?” he mumbled so eloquently, wincing internally as your lips twitched into a small smirk around the cigarette in your mouth before you pulled it out, blowing it into the heady air of the room, nicotine joining the smells of sex and making the space tighter, hotter, before you paced towards a window on one wall.

“I asked if you wanted one,” you said slowly, and Joel just then noticed how scratchy your voice was—from the cigarette, the moans you were making not that long before, or maybe both.

“Uh—no,” Joel shook his head, watching with bated breath as your smirk towards him grew. “No thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as you beckoned with the cigarette held delicately between your fingers for him to join you at the window. 

Joel did, almost automatically, cursing himself internally at his blunt eagerness to be beside you while you lifted the window to let some fresh air in, and he turned, resting his back against the open window pane, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you instead of observing the room any longer.

Not all that fresh, considering the perpetual staleness of the QZ air, but it did cut down on how overwhelming the aroma of sex currently was in that room.

If somebody was going to break the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you, Joel had expected it to be you, so he was surprised when the quiet words fell from his lips, “Didn’t know you took clients.”

You huffed out a laugh then, the stream of cigarette smoke leaving your plump lips in puffs with the action.

“The Mistress has to earn her keep somehow,” you muttered, pulling in another drag of nicotine to blow back out the open window, and Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you.

“The Mistress?” he repeated, eyes flickering over your face as he recognized that name in an instant.

Being a man in the Boston QZ, it was impossible not to hear about The Mistress. An elusive sex worker who was very selective about her clientele, but even still, the stories about her stretched far, the name representing the countless fantasies of every horny man who dreamed of a chance to get their cock wet with her.

His recognition must have been noticeable in the tone of his voice, because you lazily rolled your head back to look up at him, smirk growing fully across your lips, swollen from whatever you had been up to, and Joel nearly swore under his breath as he felt his cock stirring in his jeans again.

“You act like you’ve heard of me,” you murmured, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you placed the cigarette between them again, and Joel’s brain short-circuited for a moment before he could find the words to reply to you.

“I just—” Joel cut off, brows furrowed as he shook his head, as if trying to jumpstart his mind, get it to string coherent thoughts together again but Jesus fuck why were you looking at him like that, with dark hooded eyes he’d never seen from you before. “I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I didn’t think—”

“Why not?” you interrupted him before he could finish. The cigarette was back between your fingers, gesturing with it up towards the scar that stretched down one side of your face. “Because of this?”

Joel frowned then because, to his own surprise, he was offended that you would think he’d care about such a thing. That he’d judge your attractiveness off something as inconsequential as a scar, especially in such a time where such marks on your skin were proof of hard-earned survival.

Attractiveness. 

No, no, oh, fuck.

“Just didn’t know it was you,” Joel muttered gruffly, shrugging in a way that he knew must have looked incredibly stupid as he turned his face away from you, only to see the mess of shabby sheets on the bed, and those same dark stains on the fabric.

“Oh, so you have heard of me,” you were nearly goddamn purring the words now, in the same moment his mind was recalling those sweet, sweet moans you were making, the ones that had left your lips and resulted in the cum stains he was now staring at. “What have you heard?”

“They say you have the ti—” Joel cuts himself off again, feeling blood rushing towards his cheeks and somewhere lower, somewhere he should not be feeling any heat as he realized what he was about to say without thinking.

That you have the tightest, hottest cunt you could get in the whole QZ.

“They say I…?” you trailed off as you quietly repeated his words, and Joel’s attention flashed back to you to see you drifting closer to him, one arm crossed over your chest to prop up your elbow as you smoked your cigarette.

The way your arm pressed to yourself pushed your cleavage together to make an alluring dip, lifting your tits so they were almost spilling out of the open collar of the silk robe. Although the fabric was faded and tattered from the years it had survived, it may as well have been the richest texture in the world with the way it caressed your soft skin, taunting Joel as he struggled to look away.

When you shifted just an inch closer, one of the sleeves of the robe tumbled down your shoulder, and Joel sucked in an audible breath as more of your body was revealed, tempting him with how bare you were under that flimsy fabric.

He tried to look back up towards your eyes then, he really did, but the sleeve slipping down to hook around your elbow nearly revealed half of your chest to him. The only thing keeping him from seeing one of your tits completely was the way your forearm was pressed against your nipple.

Was it a peak right now? Were you as aroused as he was? Did you need him like he needed you?

Joel finally pulled his eyes up to yours, and when he saw the smug, knowing look in the heat of them, his desire flared into a fever pitch.

“They say you make sex an art,” his voice rumbled out from deep within his chest, and Joel hardly recognized it with the way his every word was coated in a thick need. “That your body feels like heaven, and you taste even better.”

You laughed at that, head tilting back with the action, and Joel was as distracted at the gentle, husky cadence that left your soft lips—how soft exactly, he wondered—as he was focused on the curve of your exposed neck as it led his eyes down your collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

There was a thin layer of sweat there, he just realized, and he wanted to dip his tongue between the soft pillows of flesh, tasting and tracing you, when your words pulled him out of his fantasizing that was quickly spiraling out of control the longer he was in this sex-tainted room with you.

“Those men don’t know a single fucking thing about how I taste,” you muttered, not bitterly, but simply matter-of-fact as you gazed out the window towards the dark lit streets of the QZ, taking another long drag of the cigarette.

Joel’s brow lifted, glancing over your side profile, noticing the way the deep red lipstick you had been wearing was almost completely faded, smeared a little at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, and coupled with the confession you had just made, he struggled with a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn’t name—or didn't want to, as it would surely become dangerous if he dared to entertain it.

“Seriously?” Joel found himself saying, and you turned back to him, your own eyebrows arching at the odd tone of his voice—almost appalled, but not towards you. “None of them?”

Your lips pulled back then, showing teeth in a grin that was nearly predatory, and Joel’s pulse raced as you answered with your own question, “You really think any man still alive wants to pay to go down on a woman?”

“I would,” Joel said in a heartbeat, and you blinked, surprise flashing through your eyes, and Joel hated the way his stomach flipped at the knowledge of catching you off-guard, as you were usually the one doing so to him.

“You’d pay for sex,” you repeated slowly, and although it was a question, you said it in a flat tone, disbelieving as you glanced up and down his body. “You. Mr. ‘I hate everybody and wish they were all fucking dead’ Miller?”

What surprised him the most out of everything tonight was the way you just made him laugh.

The sound was pulled from him so easily, tugged from his lungs towards you, and he sucked in a breath, as if trying to pull the sound back in as a dark look twinkled in your eyes from where they had fixed on the front of his jeans.

“Maybe you would pay for it, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, and Joel stiffened, his mind filling with a variety of curses in every language he still knew as you surely noticed his erection that still hadn’t fucking gone away.

Your eyes flashed back up to his, long eyelashes fluttering as you leaned forward, and Joel struggled to breathe as the forearm still covering the nipple of your almost completely revealed breast grazed against his chest.

“How would you prefer to take me, sir?” you asked breathily, and Joel’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, brushing with your own nearly exposed chest with every fast breath he took as he tried to reign himself in, even as you started fucking seducing him. “Are you a fan of foreplay? Would you take your time and go slow with me?”

Your head tilts oh so slightly, hair tumbling down in a way that begged Joel to wrap it around his fist, as you continued to mercilessly tease, “No, I don’t think you’re one for taking it slow. Are you, Mr. Miller?”

Fuck, if you kept calling him that, he was going to lose his goddamn mind and take you right against that window sill if you would let him. He’d pay you all the fucking food rations in the world for a taste, just a taste of how sweet you’d drip for him when you came.

Because if Joel was fucking you, you were going to come.

“You like it hard and fast,” you whispered, your arm finally dropping from your chest, and Joel swallowed down a strangled sound as he finally saw half of your chest completely, your nipple hardened in the air before you pressed it against him and fuck, oh Jesus fuck, “I bet you’re rough too. Big man like you, you like to be in control. Probably gets off on taming brats, hm?”

Goddammit if you didn’t shut up he was about to show you just how well he could tame you, shutting up that pretty mouth by making you come again, again, and again, until all you knew to do was cry out for him every time he wracked your body with pleasure.

“But you’re not a missionary man,” you shook your head as it tilted the other way, bringing your face to hover inches away from his neck, and Joel shivered, actually fucking shivered when he felt your breath caress his skin as you teased, “You like a cowgirl, don’t you, Joel?”

That was the first time his name fell from your lips.

And at the sound of it, Joel lost any ounce of self-control.

His hands were on you in an instant, enveloping your waist in his large palms as he pulled you flush against him at the same moment he turned to push you against the wall.

You gasped, the dwindling cigarette falling from your fingers, and Joel lifted a foot to stomp it out, using his knee to nudge your legs apart with the motion. When his hips nudged against yours, erection pressing against the spot between your open thighs, he moaned at the feeling of your heat against the impossibly tight fabric.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the robe you wore was completely open now, and your exposed cunt was pressed right up against his clothed erection, but his entire mind was focused on the way you also moaned at the same time he did.

“You keep running your mouth like that, I’ll show you how fucking good I can tame a brat,” he growled into your ear, one of his hands easily lifting your hip, dragging your folds across the bulge in his jeans, and he sighed as he felt wetness seep against the fabric. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, baby? Just from talking about how I’d fuck you?”

“I-I–”

Suddenly, no words were falling from your lips other than incoherent stuttering, and Joel smirked as he ducked his face against your neck, licking a path along the curve of it, groaning in need and irritation at the salt of sweat from your previous sex that still clung to it.

“Did you come for him?” Joel growled the question against your jaw, now directing your hips to grind against him in a way that put pressure to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft moan that left your lips—it sounded different than the ones he heard you make before, quieter, a bit huskier as opposed to so high-pitched—before he nipped at the skin just below your chin. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and Joel loosened his grip on your waist just a bit, wanting to see if you still chased that friction he had been providing against your clit.

When you did, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, Joel smirked against your jaw before asking his next question, “When’s the last time a man made you come, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips to fan across his face, and Joel pulled back, looking down at how blown-wide your pupils were, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face as you muttered, “I—long. Too long.”

Joel wanted to smile at how you were already struggling to form full sentences before he had even started with you, but the anger he felt at you going so long without feeling an ounce of pleasure from being with a man made his jaw tick as he frowned deeply instead.

“Do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel murmured, his calloused thumb finding your bottom lip to gently pull it out, caressing the wet inner part of your lip while he searched your gaze. “I need you to answer me, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything unless you want me to.”

“Yes, Joel,” your voice nearly broke with the husky whisper, head bobbing in an eager nod, but Joel still waited to hear you say it clearly before he began. “I want you. Want you to make me come, please.”

A shuddering breath left Joel then, and he returned your nod, brushing his thumb across your lip again before pulling it back and leaning down to replace the digit with his own lips.

You were both moaning from the first moment your lips touched, kissing in a way that was much like how you always acted around each other—a battle for dominance, adding gasoline to the fire, but with an underlying respect that neither of you could shake even if you wanted to try.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled when you allowed him access to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it with a quiet moan that you echoed with your own. “Taste so good already, sweetheart.”

Every time he tried to pull away, you brought him back in with your lips chasing his, trapping him in another hot kiss, passion he didn’t think he could ever feel again building between you until he needed to taste more.

Joel finally tore himself away from your mouth fully, hands finding the opening of your robe to make sure it was pushed open completely, giving him access to every inch of your soft skin as he pressed kisses down your neck towards the perfect, perky tits that had been taunting him since you leaned out into the hallway.

His large palms cupped them, fingers stroking the soft flesh as he pressed them around his face, groaning into your skin at the feeling of being surrounded by them before turning his face to lap a path up the curve of one with his tongue until he reached that goddamn nipple that had been pure torture to nearly catch a glimpse of during your entire conversation.

Joel flicked his tongue over it, hips nearly bucking up as you gasped at the sensation, back arching to press further against his tongue when he flattened it against the stiffened peak. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, your fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as you pushed his face further against you, and he moaned through a mouth full of your breast, teeth grazing against the sensitive peak before he pulled back to quickly do the same to the other.

Despite your teasing, he would take his time with you eventually. But tonight he was desperate, a drowning man gasping for air—but no, even that wasn’t accurate.

You were not the air Joel needed, but rather the unfathomable depths that he was drowning in.

He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, grunting quietly at the pain that ricocheted through his old bones at the action, but he couldn’t care less as he found himself facing your hot, dripping cunt.

Joel leaned forward, letting his breath fan across your sensitive folds as he lifted two fingers to run across your wet entrance, dragging the digits up to where you clit was already swollen with the need to be touched, to be pleased by him, and he smiled to himself at the sigh you exhaled above him from the sensation of his touch.

His fingers slid back to your entrance, dipping the rough pads of his fingertips into you just enough to collect more of your desire, spreading it along the lengths of his thick fingers as he swiped them up to your clit and began to rub in slow, tight circles.

You gasped quietly, hips rolling into his gentle ministrations, and Joel smiled against your skin when he ducked his face forward to press soft kisses along your inner thigh and up.

“Gonna take care of you, darlin’, don’t you worry,” Joel murmured against the mound of trimmed hair above where his fingers were slowly working at you, his lips moving down to replace them as he added breathlessly, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Your hips bucked against his face when his tongue found your clit, a louder, breathless moan tearing from your throat at the heady sensation of his hot, wet mouth sucking around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel,” you gasped, nails scraping against his scalp as you grabbed his hair tighter, and he groaned around your clit at the feeling, pulling a delicious whine that sounded so much more real, more feral, more needy than the perfect, practiced ones you had made through the wall. “I—oh, fuck, that’s so good…”

He hummed around your clit before flattening his tongue against it, alternating motions until he found the rhythm that made you grind yourself against his face, and his palms found your hips to pull you up against him further, encouraging you to ride his tongue until you found your high.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured in between the moments when he’d suckle your clit, teeth gently grazing it as he resisted the urge to palm himself at the steady stream of moans and muffled curses that were echoing above him. “You can do it, come on. Soak my face, wanna taste your sweet cum.”

When you did just as he told you, Joel thought he really did see the gates of heaven, a sight he was convinced would never grace him after the lifetime of hell he had lived and caused.

He lapped up every gush of wetness that dripped from your folds in your release, dipping his tongue inside your entrance to drink you up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing gently to prolong the waves of your pleasure.

Once the gyrations of your hips against his lapping tongue slowed, Joel pulled back from your cunt, your release glistening on his mouth and down his chin as he gazed up at your slack-jawed expression.

Your head tilted down, gaze meeting his as a lazy smile curled onto your lips, and Joel tried to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the sight combined with the feeling of your grip loosening on his hair, fingers combing gently through the strands.

“Good?” Joel mumbled, turning his face to press a soft kiss on your inner thigh, and your head dipped down in a nod, humming in satisfaction as Joel smirked against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth opened, teeth gently nipping at your soft flesh, pulling an endearing squeak of surprise from you as he rasped, “Not done with you yet, though, sweetheart.”

When his tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers went back to your entrance. This time, when he dipped one fingertip in, he didn’t stop, sinking into your tight, wet heat until the first knuckle, smiling against your swollen bundle of nerves as you rolled your hips into him at the sensation of his digit slowly filling you.

He gave a few slow pumps of his finger when he had sunk it in completely before pulling it out, chuckling around where he had sucked your clit back into his mouth at your whine at the loss of his finger before he added it back in with another.

“Fuck, can you feel you squeezing my fingers, darlin’,” Joel grunted against your cunt, lapping desperate licks against your clit, eating you out with increased fervor as his fingers pumped you faster at every mewling moan that left your lips, encouraged by the rolling of your hips to curl his fingers until he found the spot that nearly made your knees buckle.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, giving you support to stand while keeping you pressed to his face, not allowing you a moment of peace as his tongue worked mercilessly at you until you were coming around his fingers this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel was whimpering against your cunt this time as he continued to fingerfuck you through your high, sucking at your clit and drawing out every aftershock, his arm around your waist the only thing keeping you up now as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, fingers tugging at his hair again, and he pulled back to look up at you, his fingers stilling inside your cunt, but not sliding out of you just yet.

“What is it, darlin’?” he rasped, breath trembling as you stroked his lips with your thumb, collecting your own release combined with his saliva on it before raising it to your mouth to suck on, pulling a moan from Joel’s throat at the sight.

“Want you to touch yourself, sir,” you murmured, and Joel’s eyes widened, his fingers finally slipping out of your heat, reaching down to fumble with the button of his jeans at your permission he didn’t even know he was desperate for. “Make yourself cum just from the taste of me.”

“Jesus—” Joel couldn’t even finish whatever he was going to groan out as his hand wrapped around his cock once he pulled it out of its fabric constraints, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief of finally, finally doing something about the erection that had plagued him since he guarded you outside the room while you worked.

“Mouth on my pussy, Joel,” you ordered, and he was diving back into your folds without a second thought, sloppily thrusting his tongue inside your wet heat as his hand pumped his cock, your release still coating his fingers spreading across his length as he felt himself already rapidly approaching climax. “That’s it. You like the taste? You wanna come because I taste so good?”

Joel was nodding against your pussy, groaning into your folds as he lost any rhythm towards making you feel good now, but you didn’t seem to care, your hand in his hair still keeping him pressed to your cunt as you encouraged him this time around, “Do it then, Joel. I want to watch you cum for me.”

If you said anything else at that point, Joel couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing through his head as he came harder than he had in years.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt an orgasm so intense, his vision darkening at the edges as he sucked mindlessly at your wet folds, hips bucking up into his fist as his cum shot out to paint the wall behind you before leaking out steadily over his hand.

You loosened your grip on his hair, allowing him to pull back with a gasp, sucking in air he needed to not black out as Joel’s blurry vision focused back in on your face above him.

There was a small smile on your face, satisfied in more ways than one, and Joel couldn’t help but match it with his own half-smirk as he focused on catching his breath before slowly pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Mm,” Joel moaned quietly as his lips met yours in a lazy kiss, one he wasn’t sure who initiated as he mumbled against your mouth, “Heavenly.”

You laughed then, and he felt himself brighten at the sound, though he tried to ignore it as you gently pushed him away from you.

“Come on,” you sighed, straying away from the wall towards the door on shaky legs while you tied your robe back up, making yourself decent enough as he tucked his dick away and zipped up his jeans. “I’ll get you your payment for today.”

There was a brief moment where you made sure nobody was lingering in the hallway before beckoning him out, and you both made your way towards the staircase towards your office while Joel tried to ignore the foreign thrill at the chance of being caught with you after what you had done together.

When you passed his payment to him, he counted out a generous portion before holding it right back out, earning a scoff from you at the offer.

“You’re not paying me for making me come, Mr. Miller,” you said with a sly smirk, and Joel tried to ignore how oddly disappointing it felt for you to resort to calling him that after tonight. “That wasn’t work.”

Joel slowly arched his brow, but nodded at your insistence, tucking his payment in his back pocket before rumbling out a quiet question of, “One-time thing?”

It wasn’t an offer, nor was he insisting that you did or didn’t do it again.

In fact, he was secretly hoping it would happen again, and Joel felt the treacherous anticipation for even more of you when your exhilarated gaze met his.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

[sttoru]

𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.

⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.

“what is a successful marriage?”

that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.

it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.

you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.

his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.

unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.

your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?

but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.

even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.

it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.

however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.

he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.

daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.

after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.

you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.

‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.

“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.

a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.

that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.

you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.

you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;

“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.

that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.

after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.

you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.

a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”

your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.

you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.

shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”

that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.

you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.

you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.

“hi, good m—”

“location.”

the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.

you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.

fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.

a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.

he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.

you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.

“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.

toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”

you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.

your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.

“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”

you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.

“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.

“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.

you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.

your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.

toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;

“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;

“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”

toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.

“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”

toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.

“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,

“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”

there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.

“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.

“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.

“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.

“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”

toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.

there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”

that was about 50.000 dollars.

your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.

daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.

“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.

one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.

those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.

“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;

“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”

there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.

but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?

toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.

that’s what he tells himself.

“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.

you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.

you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.

toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.

of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.

“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.

“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”

toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”

you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.

“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?

this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.

without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.

toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.

he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.

your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.

well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.

a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.

“i knew it.”

a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.

your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.

daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.

“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;

“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”

two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.

“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.

toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.

the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.

if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.

but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.

daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.

“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“

“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.

despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.

you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—

“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.

daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”

a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”

it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.

assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.

toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.

but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.

his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.

daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—

one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.

your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.

everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.

divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.

but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.

and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;

“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”

killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.

“tha’s enough.”

everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?

in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.

something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.

after that: utter silence.

you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.

you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.

a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.

you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.

it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.

“d-daisuke..?”

a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.

your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.

it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.

you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.

it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.

the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.

there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”

with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”

toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.

usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.

“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.

you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.

toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—

it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.

it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.

“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”

toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.

it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.

yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.

“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.

“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”

toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.

he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .

“c’mere.”

toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.

toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;

“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”

toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.

you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.

his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.

he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.

“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”

there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.

he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.

he doesn’t kill for love.

toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.

and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.

“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.

he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;

“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.

the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.

now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.

“what is a successful marriage?”

well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.

🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 14: Kinich x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7622

Warnings: Afab!reader, brat taming, hair pulling, bdsm elements, blowjob, piv, creampie, mentioned choking

A/N: I like Kinich a lot, actually. That's it. Send tweet.

⭐

Kinich had always thought you a rather strange one, but the full extent of your oddity is something he discovers quite by accident. 

You’re talking to someone whose name he does not know and doesn’t care to learn when he walks into the outpost. He was only there to pick up a few supplies, a simple errand that should have seen him in and out, but instead he finds himself dully watching the back and forth exchange with a mild pang of interest. 

Quickly enough he ascertains that you seem to be upset about something. 

Shortly thereafter he manages to piece together the situation enough to understand what’s going on. You were angry because the person in question — a gruff looking man from the People of the Springs, given his attire — had tried to swindle you out of your rightly deserved mora. As far as he could tell it sounded like you’d already given him the goods he’d wanted but he was now refusing to pay the full amount you were asking for. 

It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence when Natlan was such an expansive nation and the various tribes largely operated independently of one another, a simple fact that sometimes resulted in tension forming between the different factions. There were those few among them who didn’t think their neighboring peoples deserved top mora for their services just because they didn’t come from the same background. Even Kinich had run into this situation a few times before, but he always walked away instead of entertaining it. 

You don’t have that same luxury when your livelihood depended on trading goods for money though. There wasn’t going to be someone else who was willing to pay extra for a bag of flour to make up for the loss of income this man was responsible for, which meant you’d have no choice but to eat it in the long run. 

And that was all the information Kinich needed to know. 

Not stopping long enough to give it any further thought, he steps forward just as you really start to lay into the guy, aggressively jabbing your finger at his broad barrel chest where you’ve got him partially backed up into the corner. A’jaw belligerently questions what he’s doing but Kinich just ignores him as he usually does. He was much more focused on you and the fact you looked like you were moments away from having a full on conniption. 

“And another thing, you big dummy! You come in here demanding to buy up almost all of my stock of — eek!” 

Outright jolting when Kinich suddenly appears next to you, you snap your head around to look over at him. 

“Wh - oh, it’s just you. Don’t sneak up on me like that! Can’t you see I’m a little busy right now?” 

“I can. Let me take care of it.” 

You do a quick double take. “Huh? What are you even talking about? This has nothing to do with you!” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it from here.” 

The unknown man awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing between the two of you as if he isn’t quite sure which person to focus on anymore. “Uh …” 

“Dammit, Kinich.” Hissing a dangerous sound, you turn on the saurian hunter with a vengeance to snap at him now. “I don’t need your help with this — this shady, two-bit con man. I’ve got it under control!” 

“Well, I think that might be a little unfair - -“ 

“Shut up!” 

Practically spitting like an incensed, angry cat, you jerk back around to look up at the swindler again. It’s not lost on Kinich that he’s quite a bit bigger than both of you and he could have easily caused you physical harm if he’d so wanted. Whether because he simply wouldn’t or because he couldn’t when there was a witness present, it seemed that luck was on your side today regardless. 

You’re halfway through the motion of lifting your hand as if to snatch at the front of his shirt when Kinich abruptly reaches over to grab under your chin. A startled squawk of surprise bursts out of you as he firmly yanks your face back around to look at him, leaving your fingers to harmlessly arc through the air at the distraction. 

Wide eyed and trembling with impotent rage, you flash your teeth at him in warning. “Kinich - -“

“I said I will handle it for you. Do not argue with me again.” 

The following few seconds see a truly unexpected change in your demeanor. At first you look genuinely shocked at not only what he was saying but the way he was saying it as well. He’d never had any reason to drop his voice to that strict tone of command with you before so this particular reaction was at least somewhat understandable. But then a strange gleam comes into your eyes and your expression abruptly relaxes to almost pouty resignation, and he feels something within him subtly shift. 

But by far the most surprising part of it is the way you docilly drop your gaze as if you couldn’t quite look him in the face anymore, which was so unlike you that it almost makes him wonder if he’s done something wrong. 

It’s also at complete and total odds with the unrestrained anger you’d shown only a moment ago, and the difference is so stark in fact that the man standing before you two starts to fidget. 

“Ah, maybe I should just go - -“

“Yes. Let’s step outside for a moment.” Kinich says, forcing himself to snap out of the curious trance he’d fallen into staring at you. Removing his hand from your chin, he glances up at the taller individual to find that he looked uncomfortable enough to comply with just about anything if it meant he could escape from this strange atmosphere that’s fallen over the outpost. Good. At least he wouldn’t have to resort to physically dragging him out. 

“Hehee, you’re in for it now!” A’jaw snickers, floating up to tauntingly wag his butt in the man’s face. “I hope you’re ready to get your teeth knocked in, because that’s exactly what’s about to happen if Kinich is willing to step in free of charge! Trust me, you won’t like him when he’s angry!” 

That outcome does not come to fruition. 

Kinich merely talks to the guy outside of the storefront and luckily he doesn’t need to resort to violence to get you the mora you were owed. If anything he seems eager enough to hightail it out of there that he probably would have paid double the asking price if necessary but Kinich only takes what was needed to cover the man’s bill. The tiny dragon lord is very disappointed by this peaceful end to the confrontation once everything is said and done. 

Stepping back into the store, he finds you still standing next to the counter with your attention fixed on a seemingly random spot on the ground. It looks like you’re lost deep in thought over something so he doesn’t say a word about what just happened as he walks across the creaking floorboards to place the handful of mora down in a neutral spot where you could retrieve it whenever you were ready. 

And he almost turns to walk right back out but thinks better of it at the last moment, pausing a few feet away to peer over at you. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

“You didn’t hurt me.” 

Oh. 

He turns that over for a moment, trying to pinpoint the source of your unusual behavior. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” 

Oh. 

Now he was really lost. 

But before he can parse it any further than that, you reach out to pick up half of the gold coins sitting on top of the counter before turning away completely. “Take the rest. Consider it payment for helping me out. Thank you, Kinich.” 

Silently, he watches you shuffle into the back of the store, disappearing through the doorway to leave him standing alone in the front with only a grumbling A’jaw for company. You were definitely acting strange, he quickly decides. He’d never seen you so subdued and passive, as if something he’d said or done had flipped a switch in you. Usually you were what most would call a spitfire but this was the exact opposite of that. Like you were more inclined towards servility than you let on, at least when someone used the right tone of voice with you. 

Kinich takes the payment you’d left for him and leaves, and he spends a very long time pondering over this conundrum. 

He spends so long thinking about it, in fact, that it’s not until a few days later that he realizes he’d forgotten to get the supplies he’d needed. 

It almost comes as a shock that he would allow himself to get that distracted by the confounding situation and your equally confounding behavior, but there was no denying a certain interest simmering in the back of his mind now. Something told him you’d liked that little exchange with him even for as brief as it had been, and he was feeling just compelled enough to test it out some more. 

So he returns to the outpost late one evening, shortly before you usually closed up shop, and your glowering attention immediately snaps up at his entrance. 

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to — oh. It’s you again.” 

“I forgot to buy what I came for the other day.” He says simply, giving a vague gesture at the store at large. “Do you mind if I grab a few things real quick?”

“Help yourself.” You quickly respond, a little too quickly if he’s being honest. 

But Kinich pretends not to notice it for the time being as he walks around to gather up the short list of items he needed. A new coil of rope, a whetstone for his blade, a jar of candied yams, as a treat. 

Meanwhile, left to his own devices, A’jaw floats away from him to hover in your general direction. 

“Do you know in whose presence you’re standing, little human wretch?” 

“Well, I’m sitting down, for starters.” You snip back at the small dragon. Evenly matched tempers right there. “And we’ve been over this before. You’re the self proclaimed ‘Almighty Dragonlord’ or some such nonsense. I don’t need another introduction.” 

“Nonsense!” His tiny voice audibly rattles with untapped rage. “You dare to speak to me that way when I could all too easily flatten your puny human settlement to dust! Show me some respect before I make you!” 

“Hah! I’d like to see you try it, fish bait.” 

“Why you - -“ 

Kinich’s ears perk up at that exchange. So he wasn’t just imagining things then. Anytime someone tried to force you to do something you didn’t want to do your claws would come out full force and you were clearly far more inclined to challenge them than roll over in defeat. That still didn’t explain why you’d reacted the way you did when it had been him issuing the command but at least he was starting to get a better understanding of the situation. 

Obviously you weren’t scared of A’jaw, not that he could really fault you for that, and you’d said you weren’t scared of him either … 

Decisively turning on his heel, Kinich walks over to where you’re sitting behind the front counter so he can put his things down for you to tally up. You huff a final sound of annoyance at the so-called dragon lord before reaching over to grab the jar of yams, plainly eager to get both of them out of your store. 

“I could make you do it.” He says so abruptly he almost manages to surprise himself and you suck in such a ragged breath it sounds like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over your head. 

At the same time the jar slips right out of your hands to clatter loudly against the wooden countertop, nearly rolling straight off the edge of it but Kinich is quick. His hand snaps out to catch it in the palm of his glove before it can fall to the floor and he reaches over to carefully set it in front of you once again. Unfortunately you’re too busy glaring at him to notice or thank him for the save. 

“Make me do what, exactly?” You hiss up at him, eyes narrowed to such dangerous slits he idly wonders if he’s miscalculated something along the way. 

“Show respect. Not to A’jaw, since he doesn’t really deserve it anyway. I mean me.” 

A series of flustered, incoherent sounds escape your mouth while you struggle to come up with a response to that before at last settling on, “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Oooh, and what’s this I smell?” A’jaw croons, nudging his way into the space between the two of you. “Could it really be that my sweet little Kinich has finally gotten to that age? Do you like her? Heehe — hey!” 

Snatching the dragon out of the air, he carelessly tosses him over his shoulder so he can look at you unimpeded. In all honesty he’s not entirely sure what it is that’s making him approach you like this but the deeply flustered look on your face seems to be reason enough for him to continue. He’d enjoyed seeing that softened expression when you’d relented to him a little too much not to. 

That’s not how you’re looking at him right now, of course, but he’s sure he can change that if given half a chance. 

Instead you seem to be rather conflicted about what’s happening, equally torn between being angry at him (something else he couldn’t really fault you for) or giving in to the temptation he presented. That at least he could see clearly in the way you hesitantly regard him as if you were weighing your options. He’s admittedly a bit relieved that he hadn’t misjudged that particular angle of this situation. 

And at last you heave a mildly bothered sigh through your nose. “Fine. I’m game. Show me what you’ve got.” 

He slowly blinks. “Right here?” 

“No, not here! Someone could still come in. There’s —“ A quick glance at the ticking clock on the counter. “Five minutes left until the doors get locked. Can you watch the shop for me, A’jaw?” 

“What? Do you think I’m some sort of measly peon for you to - -“ 

Following Kinich’s lead, you completely ignore the ranting dragon in favor of standing up so you can come around the counter and grab his hand. He’s a tad surprised at your forwardness as he shuffles after you into the back of the shop but at the same time he knows he probably shouldn’t be. You were fierce for your size and pretty looks, so it made a certain amount of sense that a casual encounter such as this wouldn’t have you wilting like a wallflower. 

Apparently that kind of behavior was reserved for a specific tone of voice only. 

And you waste no time plastering yourself to him as soon as you’ve got Kinich in the small attachment to the store where you lived, fully stepping into him as your hands come up to thread into his hair. 

Tugging his face down, you’re suddenly kissing him with an unrestrained hunger that almost manages to catch him off guard. He hadn’t exactly expected this but you were just headstrong enough for him not to be truly surprised by it, and his stomach tightens with the sharp surge of arousal he feels at having you pressed against him so tight. But rather than matching your enthusiasm tit for tat, he takes your face in his palms to make you slow down. 

Groaning a frustrated sound when he eventually pulls back to look at you, your eyes flutter open to pin him with a questioning look. “What? Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“Relax. I’m not going anywhere.” He tells you in a steady voice that seems to make you more confused than it puts you at ease. 

Carefully dipping his face close again, Kinich watches you rattle an huffy breath and eagerly lean forward as if to meet him halfway but he uses his hands on your cheeks to just keep you held out of reach. It’s clear you wanted to crash your mouth into his and likely take control to set the demanding pace you wanted, and he wasn’t going to allow that. 

“So impatient. Do I have to make you take your time as well?” 

You suck in a slow breath at that, fidgeting against him now as if your anticipatory excitement had just ratcheted up another notch. Batting your eyelashes at him rather sweetly, you rove your gaze up to look into his eyes with a decidedly needy look. 

“Are you going to hurt me, Kinich?” 

He stiffens slightly at that. “What? No, of course not.”

“It’s okay if you want to.” You tell him rather dreamily, swaying slightly in his hold. “I like it rough so I wouldn’t mind. You could just choke me a little bit if you want me to behave.” 

Kinich can’t help the frown that tugs at his mouth. “I don’t need to put my hands on you to make you obey. You’re going to listen to me because you want to.”

“Oh?” Giggling a delighted little sound now, you rock back to really look at him, the glint of challenge in your eyes shining clear as day. “And why would I do that? It’s a lot more fun being bad, you know.” 

“Do you really believe that?” 

You start to open your mouth to respond but hesitate at the unfaltering way he looks at you, brilliant green and serpent yellow starbursts boring straight through your exterior defenses. He isn’t sure what, exactly, passes through your mind in that moment but whatever it is, it makes you nudge your chin up in defiance. 

“And what do I get for being good?” 

“I can show you?” 

At your stilted nod, Kinich sighs carefully through his nose as he drags one of his hands further up to tangle in your hair. Once he reaches the back of your skull he closes his fingers around the root and experimentally tugs to test your reaction. Just as he’d expected, you hum a pleased little sound and tip back into the gesture, small smile curling across your lips now. 

It immediately vanishes however, morphing into an open mouthed gasp when he gives it a harder pull to yank your head back at a vulnerable angle. He keeps the tension in his arm steady and controlled to apply just enough pressure that leaves your neck bent in a submissive pose, mindful not to overdo it and hurt you. Only then does he lean in and close the distance to fit his mouth over yours, claiming your lips with the steady yet demanding push and pull of his. And you react beautifully, shuddering faintly against him as you start to kiss him back. Slow at first, just like he’d wanted, but you quickly become too excited to wait any longer. 

As soon as you start to get too pushy and demanding, he pulls back to leave you whining softly into the air again. If he’d been a lesser man, someone who was far more easily ruled by his emotions, he all too quickly would have given in to the desperate way you proceed to groan his name at him. 

“Kinich!” Like an oath and a curse all wrapped into one. 

He doesn’t care about that though. Not when he now had a point to prove, and he wanted to see you looking so soft and tame for him again. 

“Don’t rush it, little mačka. You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you, okay? I don’t plan to leave you wanting but you need to show some patience.” 

Whimpering quietly, you stiffly bob your head in a brief nod. The motion tugs on your hair, as well as his hand where it’s still gripping onto it, and he uses that leverage to smoothly pull you in again on a controlled trajectory. You bounce slightly on your toes to indicate your excitement but otherwise let him take the lead and guide you into it. 

But he pauses when his lips are only a hair’s breadth from yours, letting the moment hang for a drawn out beat to test your ability to listen. He’s quite pleased, almost strangely so, when you simply hover there against him, clearly wanting Kinich to hurry up and kiss you, yet you don’t try to take it by force or make him do it. You merely wait, somewhat roughly breathing in the same air you and him swap between each other before he finally deigns to speak. 

“Be patient.” He tells you one last time, reminding you again before he closes the distance to press his mouth firmly into your trembling lips. 

Groaning a low sound, you carefully kiss him back with a noted effort to match his pace instead of barreling in full force. He can tell by the tension running through your body that it’s a difficult thing for you to do, settling into this sedate rhythm rather than demanding he give it to you hard and fast, but you do an excellent job of keeping yourself in check this time. 

Such a good job in fact that he soon rewards you by deepening the exchange, using his hold on your hair to tip your neck a little further to one side. His tongue comes up to brush over your lips with a coaxing swipe and you obediently part them for him, allowing Kinich to slip inside and truly taste you. 

Clearly you weren’t used to submission without a certain amount of force being involved and that worries him slightly. Just what kind of relationships were you accustomed to? He didn’t like the thought of anyone choking you to bring you to heel, least of all himself, but you seemed to be responding well enough to his gentle yet firm guidance that he didn’t think it was an entirely lost cause. He just needed to show you that being good netted even better results for you than the reverse. 

Finally pulling on your hair to walk you back a step, Kinich at last disengages from your mouth to leave you breathlessly gasping in the aftermath. 

“Where is your bed?” He murmurs, bringing his other hand down to brace along your waist and steady you. 

“Over there.” Your voice sounds thick and almost intoxicated as you vaguely nod to the right. 

He could see that the two of you were standing in a small sitting room that connected directly to an equally small kitchen but there wasn’t a whole lot in the way of available surfaces for him to set you on in here. Nothing that looked particularly appealing to him in that moment anyway. So he makes careful work of guiding you towards the doorway on the right side of the room where you’d indicated, dropping his hand to loosely grip the back of your neck instead. 

Sure enough there’s a comfortable bed waiting inside which is where he steers you, indicating that he wanted you to sit. You do this without a fuss and he moves to situate himself between your knees while he works on pulling off both of his gloves before setting in to unfasten the belt that keeps his coveralls in place. 

Attentively watching him the whole time, you visibly hesitate until he moves to kick off his boots and you can’t quite seem to keep quiet any longer. “Should I undress too, or …?” 

The fact you’d even asked brings a small smile to his face. Obviously he was getting somewhere with this if you were seeking his approval first before acting on the impulse. 

Leaving his coveralls to loosely slouch around his narrow hips, he shuffles close to nudge your feet apart and settle against you like that. “I’ll take care of it. You’re more eager than I thought you’d be though. Have you given this much consideration before now?” 

“It’s not exactly that,” You murmur, head tipped back to look up at him where he’s standing over you. “But you said you could make me respect you and … make me be good. I wanted to see what you would do.” 

“And how’s that coming along so far?” 

Pulling a quick face at him, you let your mouth curl into a slow smile. “Better than expected. I’m not used to being such a passive participant though, or being handled so carefully for that matter.”

“Mm. Maybe that’s part of the problem then. If no one’s ever taken the time to show you a gentle hand I guess that explains why you act the way you do.” 

You prickle just ever so slightly. “Which is?” 

“Exactly that. You’re always ready to challenge someone and throw your weight around, like you’ve got something to prove. But I’m starting to suspect you actually want to be good, you just don’t know how yet.” Drawing a barely audible breath to ground himself, Kinich leans down to put his face in yours and look you right in the eye. “Well, I’ve got news for you. You’re not nearly as tough as you seem to think you are. I saw the way you reacted when I took that tone with you the other day. It’s one thing if you really do just enjoy a bit of choking and whatever else, but to assume that’s necessary to make you behave?” 

He gives his head a slow shake which you eagerly follow the motion of with your gaze, as if you were transfixed on him. 

“Like I said,” Kinich continues. “I don’t need to put my hands on you to make you listen. I’m not going to hurt you. Not today and not ever. I don’t need to. May I?” 

Blinking out of your trance, you glance down when he nudges his folded over belt at you. He can see uncertainty reflected in your expression for all of half a second, indicating that you weren’t quite sure what he was planning to do with it, but you still nod your head all the same. He’s not sure if it simply meant you trusted him at his word or if it was that troublesome self flagellating streak rearing its head again, but he makes a mental note to address it later after he’d made his point. 

Carefully reaching down, he takes both of your wrists and guides them back behind you. Stilling like that, Kinich gives you a brief moment to process what he wants to do, allowing you a chance to change your mind, but when you don’t protest he gets to work securing your arms in place. Leaning over you like that puts his face so close to yours the two of you are once again left swapping oxygen back and forth, and you issue a faintly dreamy sigh as you intently peer up at him the whole time. 

Pausing to test the give of his belt once it’s tied in place to ensure it was snug but not too tight, he sedately straightens up again. You’re left squirming in place, eagerly watching when he reaches for the front of his pants so he can nudge them down to pool at his ankles and leave him standing in only the second skin of his black top. 

His cock had started to flag in the interim between when he’d first stepped back here with you to making the move to your bedroom and then getting you situated, but it gives a weighty flex in the air now as he steps out of the coveralls to kick them away. You give your lips a salacious lick but he sees that look you give him, quickly reaching out to thread his fingers in your hair before you can swoop in and take him into your mouth.

“Remember what we talked about earlier?” He gently prods you, tipping your head back to make you look him in the face. “You’re going to be patient and take what I give you, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” You whisper up at him, fidgeting slightly as if to grind your pussy on the bed but it’s clear the effort doesn’t do you any favors. Good. He intended to make you wait until he decided you’d earned it. 

Rumbling a low sound of anticipation, Kinich takes his other hand and curls it around the twitching width of his length to point it at you. At the same time he pushes on your head just enough to give you the go ahead and you slowly lean in to press your lips against the meaty tip of his foreskin. Noising a low hum at the taste of precum, you roll your eyes upward to look at him for further direction which pleases him a great deal more than he would have thought it would. He wasn’t usually the sort who was all that into power games but the way you peer at him from under the fall of your lashes … it’s enough to have him quickly filling out again. 

“Focus on the head for right now.” He murmurs, angling your neck just a pinch to the side, encouraging you to nuzzle your mouth up into it. 

At his command your lips gradually part and your tongue comes out to lightly lave over him with deliberate little kitten licks that make his cock subtly bounce. And you quickly have to straighten up, scooting to the very edge of the bed when it stiffens to stand straight into the air, turning rigid and hard the more you work your tongue over him. The expansion of his length naturally pulls the foreskin taut over the glans, giving you a chance to dip inside and taste the source of that salty discharge directly. 

Groaning a soft sound as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip, trying to nudge the foreskin back a little further, Kinich slowly lets up his loose grip on the shaft in favor of reaching down to idly massage over his balls. He’d make sure to have you show them some attention as well before this was over but he makes a concerted effort to take it as slow as possible. It was a good test for you, especially when he could tell you were struggling against the urge to take more of him into your mouth. 

It’s obvious you want to, from the way you softly moan around him to the not so subtle bob of your head to accompany the suction you apply, as if you thought you could tempt Kinich to action if you just sucked his cock well enough. It’s decidedly bratty behavior, he abruptly realizes as he watches you, and the fact you’d still think to test him even now seems a testament to just how stubborn you really are. But the fact you’re still going along with it and playing by his rules seems to him a good sign all the same. That meant he could work with you and probably even train that bad etiquette out of you, or at least put a leash on it. 

Issuing a rattling sound of pleasure at the thought, Kinich takes his hand off his ballsack and reaches up to palm the side of your head with it. Using the grip he’s got on your hair for leverage, he stiffly rocks his hips forward to slide deeper into your mouth. He only goes a third of the way though before pulling back to repeat the process, steadily fucking into the wet, warm space between your lips with halfhearted little jabs. The abrupt increase makes you noise a plaintive sound around him even for as slight as it is, and you make a vain attempt to push back on his hands. 

It’s no use though. His arms are like solid iron where they’re locked in place around your head, and you have no choice but to take it while he drags his cock over your tongue to further activate your salivary glands. His attack on you is twofold, because aside from reinforcing that you're at his mercy like this it also has the added bonus of making spit bubble out from between your lips to dribble down your chin. Even from his elevated position over you, he can see the glistening strings of spittle starting to run out of your mouth and he moans another shaky sound at the visual. 

“Gods, you look so perfect like this. And you’re being such a good girl too. How do you like having that cock in your mouth, huh?” 

A largely muffled sound tumbles out of you but he quickly smothers it the next time he shoves his stiff length over your tongue. Between that and all the spit forming in your mouth, you gag slightly and the resulting cough makes a fresh sheet of drool come rushing out of your lips. 

Deciding to be nice and give you a short reprieve, Kinich nudges back just enough to slip his cock free and leave you sucking in a haggard mouthful of air. As he tips your head back to make you peer up at him again, still struggling to catch your breath, he’s struck by the plain look of flushed submission that stares back at him. You were so soft and malleable for him in that moment that he almost doesn’t even believe it. Were you really the same spitfire he knew? 

“Kinich …” 

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? I thought you wanted me to be rough with you.” 

You give a breathless laugh at that, pinning him with a needy little pout. “That’s not what I’d call being rough. It’s just frustrating.” 

Just as he’d hoped it would be. “And why is that?” 

“You’re still being so gentle with me.” Whining softly, you rock slightly to the side but he’s quick to straighten you back up again, making you sit nicely on the side of the bed even when you try to slouch away. “Please, Kinich. I promise I can handle it.”

Watching you fitfully writhe in place, trying again to grind your pussy on the bed, he can tell that it’s not necessarily impatience he was seeing — or at least not the pushy kind you’d exhibited earlier. Now it’s just that you’re so excited by what’s happening and the way it makes you feel that you wanted more of him. All of him. Perhaps there was even some nervous anticipation at play too, when you had no feasible idea what he was ultimately going to do with you. 

The end result has you looking so sublime and wanton that he feels compelled to give in, to reward you for listening as well as you have. He knew it wasn’t easy for someone as temperamental and stubborn as you to do, and that it would take time spent working on this to see you truly give in to the subservient side of your personality. 

But he still has a point to drive home, so he gently tips your face upward to make you look at him again, even when your heavy eyelids droop with an inviting flutter. 

“I already told you I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” 

“Mhmm.” Humming in agreement, you briefly nod your head for him. 

“Good girl. You certainly deserve a reward for being so nice for me, but I want you to complete the task I gave you first before that. Think you can do it?” 

Rousing slightly at his soft, coaxing tone, you nod again with a little more conviction this time. “Yes. I’ll do it.” 

He graces you with one of those small, exceedingly rare smiles before leaning down to kiss you. The taste of himself lingers heavy on your tongue, and he groans a faint sound into your lips at the salty bitterness. 

Kinich is quick to pull back though, and he readjusts his hold on your head and in your hair so he can wrangle you around how he wants. You breathe out a shuddering exhale as he gets you pulled back into place so he can shuffle tighter into the space against the side of the bed to press his cock along your mouth. Giving you a short moment to kiss and nuzzle at it, he then directs your face a little lower to press you into the dangling weight of his balls. 

You don’t need any further instruction than that, rumbling a hungry sound when you deliver a lingering peck to one teste before sucking it into your mouth. It’s his turn to let out a faltering sound now while you carefully swish it back and forth over your tongue, nudging at the sensitive flesh just enough to make his toes curl. 

This is another moment where he’s sure that if he’d been any less in control of himself he would have given in to the urge to shove you back and mount you like a frenzied beast. He’s very tempted, truth to be told, and he’s relatively certain you would like it too, but he refrains. Both because he wanted to set the example and to help temper your own eager arousal a little bit. 

And it seems to work given the very docile way you take your time with it, just idly sucking on his balls with the full brunt of your attention focused on this task rather than allowing yourself to get distracted by your pussy. He can imagine you’re not used to that either, and it’s easy for him to guess at what kind of men you’d been with in the past based on that observation, but he can’t bring himself to hold it against you. 

It’s not like he was really all that different, considering his own past and the kinds of relationships he’d grown up with. In fact, it was probably more surprising that he hadn’t turned out in a similar way than if he had. All of the signs were likely there. 

But there’s a small part of him that hopes his poor attempts at stoppering whatever these self-destructive behaviors are, if that’s really what it is, will have some sort of positive impact on the future. It was the best he could do given the scope of his own circumstances. 

And when he finally pulls your face away to leave a glistening string of spittle stretching between your mouth and his balls, wetly gasping as you glance up at him with such a vulnerably needy look in your eyes, he feels certain that it will. You deserved better than being forced to bend and submit under duress. This was much better for you, and his own heart as well. 

“Are you ready for your reward?” He gently coaxes you, knowing the answer already but still making the point to ask even if only to reinforce that you had the control here without needing to be pushy about it. 

Just as he’d expected, you quickly bob your head in a shuddering nod. “Yes, Kinich. Please. I’ll be good.”

“I know you will.” That was really all he asked of you. 

Breath rattling in his chest now, he eases back from you just enough so he can bend at the waist and nudge you into lying back against the bed. You comply with a delirious little mewl, squirming slightly on top of your bound warms while he grabs at the hem of your breezy dress to hike it up the length of your body. 

As more and more of your body is revealed to him, so soft and femininely curved, he realizes in a distant sort of way that it was going to take every ounce of his willpower to take this slow instead of losing himself in you. Wide set hips perfect for grabbing, a band of pudge around your middle to give him something to press into and a perfect pair of heavy tits dotted with stiff, attention seeking nipples just begging to be tweaked. It was almost too much, and his cock achingly twitches between his legs, threatening to spill over into an early orgasm if he wasn’t careful. 

He realizes he’s softly panting now, as if he’d just finished running fifteen miles straight and he couldn’t quite catch his breath when he moves to situate himself between your bent legs. You’ve got him so worked up he’s not entirely sure how long he can last, but you seem to be in a similar state of high strung arousal considering how your head almost drunkenly lolls back against the sheets. 

Quickly relieving you of your panties — damp, he can’t help but notice — Kinich hooks his forearms under your knees and leans over to brace his hands on the bed, forcing your thighs into a wide spread that leaves your bare cunt fully exposed to him. Whimpering a frazzled little sound, you glance down just long enough to look at the weighty bob of his cock angling towards your defenseless pussy and it makes you go absolutely wild, writhing underneath him with a shuddering gasp. 

“Please, Kinich! Please, I need it! I need it, I need it …”

“I know, I know. Just relax for me, alright? You’ve been such a good girl for me, of course I’ll give you what you want.” Leaning down, he presses a lingering kiss to the corner of your trembling lips where he stays for a drawn out beat so he can internally collect himself. 

Then he pushes up to hover over you, his head hanging low to attentively watch your expression when he begins to lower his pelvis. The sticky head of his cock presses into your equally sticky cunt and wetly skirts across the satiny flesh, making you sob a wordless, broken mewl of desperation. He tries again, angling his hips back and then slowly pushing straight down in time with the internal flex he gives the muscle. That does the trick, and he catches at your entrance where he immediately starts to slide in, and your pussy greedily welcomes the fleshy glans in with a tiny little click. 

Your face twists up in pure bliss at the gradual stretch to your inner sleeve as he feeds more and more of his length into you, hissing in sharp edged relief. He can see your toes flexing just at his peripheral but you’re perfectly trapped like this and completely at his mercy. You can’t even wrap your legs around his waist to leverage yourself or pull him in closer when he’s got them pinned open with his arms. So you just helplessly tremble through the process, wailing a steady stream of stricken noises into the statically charged room. 

And then his pelvis is pressing flush to yours, the dark, coarse curls of his pubic hair intermingling with yours. The sight is enough to make him shudder, groaning a heavy sound even as he makes a valiant attempt to stave off his release, at least until you can cum first. It just seemed like the right thing to do in his cloudy mind, and when he starts to move he doesn’t think it’ll take you very long to find your climax. 

Not only was your pussy completely soaked and readily accepting the continuous slide of his cock, squeezing him tight to try and suck him in even deeper, but your shrill, feminine moans quickly take on a dire tinge once he starts up in earnest. Keeping his thrusts slow and steadily drawn out to make sure you feel every single inch of him that drags against your guts soon has you plaintively sobbing underneath him, begging Kinich to go faster, harder. He doesn’t, of course, and he just takes his time gradually winding you up tighter and tighter until you feel like a wet, trembling vice around him. 

He isn’t sure how much time he actually spends fucking you, far too focused on staying his own release to keep track, but the moment he feels you start to tip over the edge he lets himself go as well. He’d been holding it back through sheer force of will this entire time and as a result it only takes one single slide of his flexing length into the palpitating embrace of your cunt for him to reach his breaking point, the two of you cumming together with a series of seething, masculine groans and girlish squeals. 

In the aftermath when you're both still trying to catch your breath and come down from the high, Kinich looks down at you — really looks at you, and he realizes that this completely satiated, relaxed expression was somehow even better than the submissive one he’d been fishing for. He wanted to see it again, a hundred times more if he could manage it. That meant he’d have to keep coming back then, if you would have him. He hadn’t thought this through quite that far. 

But the way you groggily moan his name, so soft and sweet that it makes his cock give one last shuddering twitch inside you, makes him think that you probably will. It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind or what he’d expected to come of this, yet that doesn’t register as much of a problem for him. 

After all, there was still training to be done.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[luviwon]

PHONE SEX | k.sn

kinktober day 12! back to the masterlist here!

☆ dating app stranger!sunoo x dating app user!reader

; “lonely at night? don’t worry, ‘call a lover’ will bring you the company you need in just a couple of seconds”. out of curiosity, you downloaded the dating app mentioned in the ad, just to say goodbye to boredom. i mean, it’s not like you’ll end up moaning a stranger’s name tonight, right?

genre ; smut

taglist ; @blushbunini @moonpri @blackp1nkfan @mitmit01 @pasteltheghost16 @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @mlywon @lhspeachie @seraphira @kaykay11sworld @winuvs @yuniesluv @shhth @rizzki09 @mylettterstoyou @d-dilemma @aanniikkas @hooneyz-luver @laylasbunbunny @nyfwyeonjun @minniesverse

it was a typical friday night, and you had just gotten back from your part-time job, the slight exhaustion from the week settling into your bones. your apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of the city outside barely making a dent in the silence. you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, looking for something—anything—to keep your mind occupied.

you hadn’t planned on doing much tonight. maybe watch a show, order some takeout, and call it a night. but the familiar feeling of loneliness crept in, as it often did on weekends when the world outside seemed to be buzzing with life, while your space remained still.

a notification popped up on your screen: an ad. “lonely at night? don’t worry, ‘call a lover’ will bring you the company you need in just a couple of seconds.”

you stared at it for a moment, unsure of how to feel. it was kind of absurd, right? a dating app promising to cure loneliness in seconds? still, curiosity tugged at you. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—downloading one of those apps. but something always held you back. maybe it was the thought of putting yourself out there, or maybe it was the fear of what you might find.

but tonight, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched. you had nothing to lose, after all. with a sigh, you tapped on the ad, and the app store opened up. call a lover. the name made you roll your eyes a bit, but your fingers moved on their own as you clicked ‘download’.

the app installed in seconds, as promised. you opened it, greeted by a sleek, minimalist interface. it asked for the usual—name, age, a profile picture. you hesitated before uploading one, the weight of the decision pressing on your chest for a moment. but then, you shrugged. what’s the worst that could happen?

as you filled in the details, your mind wandered. was this what you needed? company? or was it just the boredom talking? either way, the app was there now, on your phone, waiting for you to make the next move. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what was out there.

you had been scrolling through the app for about half an hour now, and the initial excitement had started to fade. call a lover wasn’t exactly living up to its promise of instant company—it felt more like sifting through a pile of disappointments. most of the profiles were either guys with empty bios or ones that made your skin crawl a little.

there was “jo young, 32, looking for sneaky link,” which made you cringe. another one had no picture but proudly declared, “married, but it’s complicated 😉.” then there was a guy named “hunk4u,” whose profile was just a wall of shirtless selfies, and his bio? “here to make your nights better ;)” as if the wink emoji made it any less sleazy. you swiped left on them all, growing more frustrated by the second.

was this really what dating apps were like? you wondered. was this what people were settling for?

you were about to close the app and chalk the night up to a failed experiment when a small pop-up appeared on your screen.

someone requested a call.

you blinked, staring at the notification for a moment. it took you a second to remember what that meant—someone wanted to talk to you, but the app gave you ten minutes to review their profile and decide whether or not to accept the call.

curious, you clicked on the profile. the username was toxicology. the profile picture wasn’t much to go off—half of his face was visible, just enough to show he was your typical easy-on-the-eyes asian guy, dark hair falling just slightly into view. his expression was neutral, not the usual forced smile or weirdly intense stare you’d seen on other profiles. it was…intriguing.

his bio was short and vague, but there was one detail that caught your attention: “art student.” your heart skipped a beat. he studies art too? you couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of interest.

you glanced at the timer—five minutes left to decide.

on one hand, it could be just another guy with nothing much to say, or worse, someone pretending to be something he’s not. but on the other, the idea of talking to someone who shared your passion for art was tempting. maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

you took a deep breath, staring at the profile picture again, trying to imagine what his voice might sound like, what kind of conversation you’d have. something about him made you curious.

with five minutes still on the clock, you clicked the green button to accept the call.

the line clicked, and a soft rush of static filled your ears, followed by a faint sound—maybe wind or the rustling of fabric. you could feel your heart pounding a little harder than it should. it was strange, talking to someone you hadn’t even seen fully, someone who was essentially a stranger. but there was a pull, a curiosity that kept you from hanging up.

you cleared your throat, deciding to break the silence. “hi.”

there was a pause, and then a low chuckle filtered through the phone, smooth but light—not the deep, gravelly type you’d expected. still, it hit differently, like it had weight behind it, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. it wasn’t harsh or mocking, but something about it unsettled you, as if he knew something you didn’t.

you frowned. “what’s so funny?” you tried to keep your tone steady, but a hint of irritation slipped through.

“you have a cute voice,” he said, his voice almost lazy but with an edge that made it linger in your ears. “unlike your profile picture.”

your breath caught for a second. cute? unlike my picture? that wasn’t exactly what you expected. you were suddenly hyper-aware of how you sounded, how you were presenting yourself. was he already judging you based on the tiny glimpse of you he’d seen online?

“are you saying i don’t look cute?” your voice came out sharper than you meant, defensive. the last thing you wanted was to feel judged by someone you barely knew.

there was a brief silence, followed by that same faint chuckle, softer this time. “no,” he said slowly, letting the word roll off his tongue in a way that made your chest tighten. “i’m saying you look hot.”

the air seemed to shift. your grip on the phone tightened as you processed his words, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. his voice wasn’t deep, but there was an intensity to it that wrapped around you, making it hard to focus on anything else. it was smooth, intoxicating, just like his username—toxicology—something that lingered and got under your skin in the best way possible. it wasn’t over-the-top, but the subtle confidence was enough to throw you off balance.

your mind raced. the compliment was bold, unexpected. he didn’t sound like the type who threw words around carelessly, which made the impact of them even heavier.

“oh,” you managed to say, trying to steady your breathing. hot. it wasn’t the kind of compliment you were used to, especially not from someone who’d only seen a tiny part of you, but something about the way he said it made it feel more personal, like he meant it. it left you wanting to know more about him, this guy who managed to throw you off guard with just a few words.

“didn’t expect that, did you?” his voice cut through your thoughts, soft but teasing, as if he could read the way you were processing everything.

you shook your head slightly, even though he couldn’t see it. “not really,” you admitted, feeling your pulse race a little faster, the conversation already taking a turn you hadn’t prepared for.

you took a breath, trying to regain your composure after his bold compliment. his voice was still lingering in your head, like the subtle warmth that came from a low flame, and you were torn between wanting to know more and not wanting to show that he had rattled you so quickly.

“so,” you began, attempting to sound casual, “what’s an art student doing on an app like this?”

there was a brief pause on the other end, and then you heard something—a faint click followed by a soft inhale, like the distant sound of someone taking a drag from a cigarette. it mixed with the soft rustling of wind in the background, adding an edge to the quietness between you. you weren’t sure, but the thought crossed your mind: was he smoking?

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he let out a slow exhale, and you swore you could almost hear the faint curl of smoke escaping his lips. “what’s anyone doing on here?” he responded lightly, the flirtatious undertone unmistakable. “same reason as you, maybe… curiosity?”

you narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling like he had turned your question right back at you without really answering it. “curiosity, huh? so you’re just here… what, to talk?”

his laugh was quiet, almost too soft to catch. “maybe. or maybe i’m just waiting to meet someone interesting.”

you could feel his words sink in, another layer of subtle flirtation in his tone. he had a way of answering without giving anything away, always leaving you wanting more. it was frustrating in a way, but also part of what was drawing you in.

“you’re avoiding the question,” you pointed out, feeling the need to steer the conversation back into your control. “how often do you do this? talk to strangers like this?”

there was a beat of silence, the wind picking up a little on his end. “not often,” he finally said, his voice quieter, almost thoughtful this time. “but something about you felt… different.”

you weren’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way he said them, but it made your stomach flip. the mix of flirtation and something almost genuine was disarming. “is that right?” you asked, trying to sound skeptical, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

“mm-hmm,” he hummed, another soft inhale following. “so what about you?” he asked, effortlessly flipping the conversation again. “why’d you accept the call?”

you hesitated, feeling the tables turn. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the edge of your phone. “maybe i just wanted to talk to someone different too.”

another low chuckle, then the wind shifted slightly again. you could almost picture him outside, leaning against a wall or standing somewhere with that easy confidence. the sound of his cigarette briefly filled the silence again, making the moment feel more personal, as if he was just letting you into his space a little more.

“okay, fine,” you said, deciding to take a different approach. “i’ll keep it simple. what’s your name?”

he paused, and you wondered if he’d avoid this question too. but this time, after a brief second, he answered. “sunoo,” he said, his voice carrying just the slightest edge of softness, as if sharing his name was more personal than all the other words he’d said so far.

sunoo. you repeated it in your head, trying to match it to the voice on the other end of the line. it felt like something had shifted between you, like the conversation had just gotten a little more real.

“sunoo,” you echoed quietly, letting the name settle between you, wondering what else he was hiding behind that voice.

sunoo let the silence hang for a moment, his name still lingering between you. then, with that same teasing edge, he added, “better remember this name for later tonight.”

you frowned slightly, unsure of what he meant. “later tonight?”

he chuckled again, the sound low and smooth, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice. “you’ll figure it out,” he said softly. there was a faint crunch through the phone, like he’d just stepped on something. you realized it was probably the sound of him extinguishing his cigarette on the pavement.

you blinked, still unsure if you were supposed to understand whatever he was hinting at, but decided to brush it off for now. “so, what’s your major?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation back to something more neutral, though the curiosity in your voice was still clear.

“sculpture,” he replied casually, as if it was nothing. but there was a subtle pride in the way he said it, and you could tell it was something that mattered to him.

your eyes widened a little, surprised. “really? i’m a ceramics major,” you said, feeling a small sense of connection bloom. “we’re in kind of the same world.”

sunoo hummed thoughtfully, clearly catching onto that connection too. “see? we’re meant for each other,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make the line sound half serious, half playful.

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “meant for each other, huh? you sound pretty confident.”

“i just call it like i see it,” he replied, the smirk still evident in his tone.

the more he spoke, the more you found yourself intrigued, not just by the flirtation, but by the easiness of it all—like he knew exactly how to keep you on your toes without being too much. there was a magnetism about him, something about the way he could switch between casual and intense so effortlessly that left you wanting to know more.

“how about we switch this to a video call?” sunoo suggested casually, his voice smooth and confident, like he was just offering to grab coffee or something equally simple.

you froze for a second, the words taking a moment to sink in. a video call? already? your heart skipped a beat, the idea of showing your face to him—this guy you barely knew—feeling a bit too real, too fast. “a video call?” you repeated, a slight edge of surprise in your voice.

“yeah,” he responded, completely unfazed. “unless you’re not ready for me to see how cute you really are.” his tone was teasing but confident, like he already knew you’d say yes.

your breath caught at the boldness of his words, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. you’d been fine with a voice call, but video? that was something else. your mind raced. you hadn’t exactly prepared for this—you looked fine, but not video-call ready. still, a part of you was curious. maybe this isn’t such a bad idea, you thought, biting your lip.

“give me five minutes,” you finally said, hoping your voice didn’t give away your nervousness.

“take your time,” sunoo replied smoothly, but then, with his usual flirty tone, added, “don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll look just as good as your picture—if not better.”

you rolled your eyes, even though your heart was racing a little faster now. “we’ll see about that,” you muttered, trying to sound more relaxed than you felt.

you hung up quickly, rushing to the bathroom mirror. your reflection stared back at you, and you sighed, grabbing some makeup and fixing your hair as fast as possible. why am i so nervous? you wondered, even though you knew the answer. there was something about sunoo—his voice, his confidence—that made you want to impress him, even if you barely knew him.

after a few minutes of quick touch-ups, you took a step back, giving yourself a once-over. not bad. you smoothed your hair, took a deep breath, and returned to the couch, grabbing your phone. your fingers hovered over the video call icon, the nervous energy building up in your chest.

okay, you told yourself, closing your eyes and taking one more calming breath. just be yourself.

with one last deep inhale, you pressed the video call button. the screen went dark for a moment, and you waited, heart pounding as you prepared to see the face behind the voice.

the screen flickered for a second before it stabilized, and then you saw him—sunoo.

he was indeed outside, just like you had imagined, standing in front of what looked like his apartment building. the soft glow of a streetlight illuminated the scene, and there he was, leaning against the wall in a black jacket that hugged his frame perfectly. His hair was messy, slightly tousled from the wind, just like in his profile picture. but now, you could see the rest of his face, and—shit—he was even more handsome than you’d expected.

his lips were plump, the corners lifting in a slight smirk as he stared right back at you, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, taking you in just as much as you were observing him. you didn’t say anything, too busy scanning every detail—his jawline, his skin, the way his dark hair brushed against his forehead. it felt surreal, finally putting a face to that smooth voice.

and then, with that same teasing confidence you were starting to associate with him, sunoo broke the silence. “make sure you don’t fall for me so fast,” he said, his smirk widening just a little. “not that i would complain.”

you blinked, finally snapping out of your daze, but your heart skipped a beat at how casually he said it, like he knew exactly how much he was affecting you. and maybe he did, because he kept watching you with that smug, lazy look that made it hard to think straight.

before you could even come up with a response, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, sliding it between his lips in one smooth motion. you watched, utterly captivated, as he flicked his lighter open, the small flame reflecting in his eyes as he brought it to the cigarette. the moment it lit, he took a slow drag, his gaze never leaving yours, the tip of the cigarette glowing softly in the dark. he exhaled, the smoke curling lazily into the air, mixing with the breeze that ruffled his jacket.

and, god, it was hot. ridiculously hot. there was something about the ease with which he moved, the way his fingers played with the cigarette, his lips wrapping around it, that made your pulse race.

you tried to swallow the sudden rush of nerves that hit you. was this guy real? because standing there, with his cigarette and his half-smirk, sunoo looked like he’d just stepped out of some sort of daydream, except he was right there in front of you, very real and even more attractive than you could’ve anticipated.

“you’re quiet,” he said after a moment, the smoke drifting out from between his lips. “is it because i’m even hotter than you thought?”

your breath caught in your throat at his question, and you felt your cheeks warm, even though he couldn’t see how flustered you were on the other side of the screen. you tried to find your words, but all you could do was stare. everything about him—his casual posture, the cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, the way his lips curved up in that smug smile—was pulling you in, and you couldn’t help it.

sunoo’s free hand brushed through his hair, pushing the dark strands out of his eyes as he looked at you through the screen, and you swore your pulse quickened at the simple motion. the way his fingers ran through the messy locks made it look so effortless, but it was everything to you. he leaned back against the wall, watching you with an intensity that made it hard to focus on anything else.

“speechless, huh?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement, the smoke curling around him as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. when he exhaled, his lips parted slightly, and he let the smoke escape in a way that felt way too deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to respond before you completely lost yourself. “you… really are confident, aren’t you?” you managed to say, trying to sound unaffected, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

sunoo chuckled, the sound vibrating through the phone. “confident? maybe,” he said, his voice dipping into something smoother, something more intimate. “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

he shifted slightly, tilting his head as his eyes scanned you through the screen. then, with an almost absentminded gesture, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. it was a quick motion, but it felt like slow motion to you, every small movement somehow captivating you even more. his lips, already plump and perfectly shaped, gleamed slightly under the soft light, and your mind blanked for a second.

“you keep staring,” he noted, his tone almost playful but with an edge that made your stomach flutter. “i wonder what you’re thinking about.”

your throat tightened, your heart pounding louder in your ears. what was it about him? he wasn’t doing anything particularly over-the-top, yet every small movement, every glance, seemed to have you hooked. and he knew it. there was something so intoxicating about the way he moved, the way he let his hair fall back into his eyes before pushing it back again with a small, almost careless groan that had you biting your lip.

“you think i look good, don’t you?” sunoo’s voice broke the silence again, softer this time, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “go ahead and admit it. i don’t bite.”

you exhaled shakily, trying to regain control of your thoughts, but it was impossible. his eyes, his lips, the way he carried himself so casually yet with this undeniable attraction—it was making it harder and harder to resist.

“i… yeah,” you said quietly, almost surprised at how easily the truth slipped out. “you do.”

his smirk grew, and he took another slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling lazily in the air before he flicked the ash away. “see?” he said smoothly. “you’re falling for me already.”

you wanted to deny it, to say something back, but the way his eyes bore into yours through the screen made it impossible to argue. every small movement, every teasing word, was drawing you in deeper. you were falling—maybe not fast, but definitely falling. and somehow, you were okay with it.

sunoo took one final drag from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, the ember glowing softly as it hit the pavement. with a slow, deliberate motion, he stepped on it, snuffing it out beneath his shoe. then, without missing a beat, he looked directly into the camera, his smirk still playing on his lips.

“but you see,” he began, his voice dropping an octave, the words coming out slow and intoxicating, “i’m not a bad guy. so i’m not going to reject your attraction to me.” he paused, his gaze holding yours through the screen. “in fact, i’ll reward you.”

your heart stuttered, a sudden wave of heat rushing through you as his words settled in. reward me? the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. before you could even process what he meant, sunoo turned and started walking inside, leaving the cool breeze of the street behind him.

you watched, utterly captivated, as the camera shook slightly with his movement, his steps echoing in the hallway as he entered his apartment. it was simple, dimly lit, with warm tones that made everything feel a bit more intimate. he didn’t say anything as he walked into his bedroom, the door shutting softly behind him.

your eyes stayed glued to the screen as sunoo casually shrugged off his black jacket, tossing it to the side with a nonchalance that only added to his appeal. he sank down onto his bed, stretching out in a way that made him seem almost too comfortable, like he was completely at ease with how much power he held over you in that moment.

the soft light from a lamp in the corner bathed him in a golden glow, casting just enough illumination to show his face and the outline of his figure, but leaving enough in shadow to keep you guessing. his tousled hair fell perfectly into place, and as he rested his head against the pillow, you caught sight of his sharp jawline, perfectly defined. when he turned slightly to reach for something off-camera, the veins in his neck became visible, standing out against his smooth skin, and you couldn’t stop the sudden rush of attraction that surged through you.

how is he so effortlessly hot? you thought, feeling your pulse quicken. there was something about the way he carried himself—his confidence, his ease—that made it impossible to look away. every small detail, from the way his jaw flexed as he moved, to the subtle shift of his body against the sheets, had you feeling like you were on the edge of something dangerous.

“you’re still watching, aren’t you?” his voice broke the silence, soft but tinged with amusement. his eyes flickered back to the screen, locking onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

you swallowed, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. you hadn’t even realized you were still staring, so completely caught up in every little detail of him that it felt like you were under a spell.

“don’t get too shy now,” he teased, his lips curling into a grin. “i told you, i’m not gonna reject you.”

you couldn’t tear your eyes away, wondering why you felt so drawn to him, why his every word, every movement seemed to pull you deeper. sunoo had this aura about him—calm, confident, and undeniably attractive. it wasn’t just his looks, though those were part of it. it was the way he seemed to understand exactly what you were feeling, how easily he seemed to read you, and how much he enjoyed keeping you on edge.

as he shifted slightly on the bed, his fingers brushing through his hair, the soft light caught the veins on his neck again, and you couldn’t help but be fascinated by how effortlessly alluring he was. your pulse raced, and you found it hard to keep yourself still, your body reacting to every small thing he did. this was more than just attraction—it felt like you were falling, slowly but surely, into something you couldn’t quite control.

sunoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back into his pillow, a lazy grin stretching across his lips. “if you tell me something you really like about my appearance,” he began, his voice dropping low and teasing, “and you talk about it without blushing, then i’ll give you something more to blush about later.”

your breath hitched at his words, and you couldn’t help the warmth rising to your cheeks. he’s really playing with me now, you thought, feeling your heart race faster than before. but despite the nerves bubbling in your chest, you were determined to play along—at least, to try.

“okay…” you started, though your voice was already trembling slightly. stay calm, don’t let him get to you, you reminded yourself. your gaze flicked back to his lips, those plump, teasing lips that seemed to always carry a smirk. “your… lips,” you said, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. “they’re really—” you paused, trying to find the right words, but your mind was going blank under his watchful gaze. focus, you thought. “they’re, um, really soft-looking. and, uh, perfectly shaped.”

sunoo’s grin widened, clearly amused by how flustered you were. his gaze never left yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken under the intensity of his eyes. keep going, you told yourself, though it felt like every word was making it harder to stay composed.

“they’re the kind of lips that… you could… get lost in,” you continued, though the way your voice faltered made it obvious you were struggling to hold it together. why is this so hard?

sunoo chuckled softly, his eyes darkening with satisfaction at your reaction. “you’re cute when you’re trying to keep your cool,” he teased, his voice rich with amusement. “but you’re not doing too well, are you?”

before you could even attempt to respond, he reached up with one hand, casually tugging the collar of his t-shirt to the side, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone. the movement was slow, deliberate, and unbearably hot. his skin was smooth, masculine, the curve of his collarbone leading down toward the rest of his chest, just barely visible beneath the fabric.

your breath caught, your gaze glued to the new glimpse of skin, and your thoughts scrambled. oh god. the sight of him was already making it impossible to think straight, but now… you were done for.

“wanna see what’s under?” sunoo asked, his tone both playful and seductive, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you. his fingers trailed along the edge of his collar, just enough to hint at more, but he didn’t pull the shirt down any further. instead, he looked straight into the camera, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “keep your voice stable. don’t stutter… princess.”

the way he said that last word, dripping with confidence and a hint of something darker, sent shivers down your spine. your lips parted, but no words came out at first. how am i supposed to stay calm after that?

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “i can’t…,” you started, your voice barely a whisper, “i can’t focus when you—”

“oh?” sunoo interrupted, raising an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “then maybe you should stop thinking so much, hmm?”

sunoo’s smirk only deepened as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “well, if you think my lips are hot, then I think you’re hot too,” he said, confidence oozing from every word. “so I’ll show you more, too.”

before you could even process what he meant, he reached down and pulled his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. your heart raced as you caught sight of his toned torso, the defined muscles of his abs catching the dim light. he adjusted the camera slightly, angling it just right so that both his face and his chiseled body were framed perfectly in the screen.

you felt your breath hitch as he moved his hand softly against his abdomen, tracing the lines with his fingertips as if he were painting a masterpiece, drawing your attention to every contour. how is he this perfect? the sight of him was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but cross your legs, the heat pooling in your cheeks intensifying.

“like what you see?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance, and you could only nod, utterly flustered. the words were stuck in your throat, and you cursed your inability to form a coherent response.

sunoo leaned back against the headboard, a casual yet alluring posture that made him look even more appealing. he licked his lips slowly, the motion deliberate and enticing, and you felt your heart race at the sight. “you know, I could get used to this,” he said, his tone light yet full of promise. “just you and me, talking like this… but with fewer clothes. what do you think?”

your mind raced as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was a losing battle. everything about him was magnetic, drawing you in deeper and deeper, making it harder to focus on anything but the thrill of the moment. this is unreal, you thought, feeling both excited and a little overwhelmed.

“are you going to keep staring, or do I need to give you a little more incentive?” sunoo teased, his eyes glinting with mischief, and you could feel the tension in the air shifting, thickening with possibility.

you bit your lip, feeling the heat radiate from your body. “maybe a little more… incentive wouldn’t hurt,” you managed to say, trying to sound brave, even as your heart raced in anticipation.

sunoo’s smile widened, his confidence filling the room like an electric current. “well, in that case…” he drawled, and you leaned forward, unable to pull your gaze away from him, your pulse quickening at the thrill of what was to come.

sunoo tilted his head, his expression playful but intent, as if he were carefully considering his next move. “you know,” he said slowly, “if we’re really going to get to know each other, I might need to see a little more from you, too.”

you felt your cheeks flush again at his words, the implication hanging heavily in the air. “more from me?” you echoed, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, his gaze unwavering.

even though uncertain at first, it was only fair to give him his part. after all, you’ve been staring at his abdomen constantly for a good time, why not reward him back? with some second thoughts but full of adrenaline, you let your phone down on the bed, pulling your shirt over your head and getting rid of it instantly. the cool air hit against your skin, though your chest was still covered by a laced black bra. you raised the phone back to your face, an impatient sunoo with an everlasting smirk on his face, waiting for your return.

“let me see, princess” he told you on a suave tone, his mouth slightly open, enough to give the right vibes for a sexy boy portrayal. you bit your lower lip and so you lowered the phone down, less confident than he were, only showing your chest before the camera, your face unable to be detected anymore. you looked down at the phone screen, taken by surprise when sunoo found it hard to stay still himself, even though he acted like the most flirtatious fuck boy until now.

“fuck” he whispered, his tongue moving slowly along his top lip, a sudden hunger growing within him. “don’t hide them, princess, let them free. i will take care of them” he winked at you, his smirk never leaving his face. your cheeks started burning again, as you swallowed down and kept the camera at the same angle. using your free hand, you cupped your left breast gently, feeling the material of the bra against your palm. the brunette moved the camera and showed more of his abs again, trying to give you the confidence you needed to show him more.

i mean, better be equal, right?

your fingers wrapper around the side of the bra, pulling it down on the side, exposing a hardened nipple for the camera. sunoo couldn’t help but keep biting his lips, feelings his abs all along, although you did notice his hand going lower and lower each time. and that turned you on so much, seeing how much your body made sunoo feel, you could swear his trousers looked tighter on him already.

but you couldn’t tell just now for a fact, as the angle was not quite it, and the light did not do it any justice.

but there was only one way to find out, and that was giving him more. so with a burst of initiative, you moved you bra under your boobs, pulling both of them out, hanging so prettily for sunoo. “they look so perfect” he whispered, but you heard clearly his words, which made you giggle. that was the last drop you needed to gain enough confidence, moving the phone more to capture both your chest and your face. “i was right to say you are hot, princess” he winked, his hand nowhere to be found anymore along his abs.

“do you want to do something fun together?” he proposed, his voice lower than before, almost like he wanted to draw you even more to him, aware of how much he is hypnotising you. you nodded in response, sunoo immediately pulling down his trousers and lowering the camera again. he was only wearing a pair of boxers now, the shape formed in the middle almost making you choke on your own saliva. he looked big, maybe TOO big inside his boxers, and you could only fantasize about what’s kept inside.

his hand brushed softly against his bulge, triggering to grow even more, although his eyes were fixed only on your tits, your hardened nipples and your collarbone area. he was hypnotised himself. “play with your tits for me, princess”, then a moment of silence set in as you left another bite mark on your lips, your index fingers making some circles around your bud, creating a heat pool between your legs, which have been crossed for so long now.

“you must be so wet seeing me like this” he chuckled, slyly moving his hand inside the boxers, wrapping it around his length, still not in the view for you. and that made you impatient, you really wanted to see more, to see how he is pleasuring himself at the view of your chest, to see the result of his attraction for you. so you pushed your shorts lower down too, a pair of purpleish panties covering your needy pussy.

much more confident this time, you moved the camera lower, surprising sunoo with your sudden pride, showing off your wet cunt. your panties were already proving the brunette what a good job he’d done, the wet stain visible to the camera. sunoo smirked, uncontrollably, and unable to cover his cock anymore, he pushed down the boxers and let his dick stand up freely.

“oh my-“ you started, pupils growing 10x more. he was big INDEED, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t want him to stretch your tight pussy out all night.

“tell me, princess, will this even fit inside you?”

you gulped, surprised by his question, almost like you still didn’t get used to his dirty talk. but not even years would get you prepared for such a thing, as his voice made it hotter everytime, and every flirting line he said, felt almost too real, too directed to you like he meant it.

and maybe he did.

“i don’t know” you answer honestly, not sure if you could even take him without waking up all yours neighbours with your screaming.

“then take care of your pussy for me, princess”

with a natural move, sunoo started pumping himself, his hand going up and down his length, almost in sync with your trembling fingers who pressed hard against the fabric. your cunt was finally receiving some attention, even though you wished in despair it was his hand that did the job. his hand looked absolutely perfect in the dim light, his soft veins making you swallow.

“take them off” sunoo urged you, and you followed his words, throwing them somewhere in the corner. “do you have any toys, princess?”. you shook your head, letting him know you don’t own such things, even though you were planning to purchase some, “then grab your hairbrush”

following all of your lover instructions, you made yourself cum with the brush, while he never stopped pleasuring himself.

[sebastainstansupremacy]

Before he Cheats

'Before he Cheats' inspired by Before he Cheats by Carrie Underwood

Pairing - Toxic!Rafe x Toxic!Reader

Warnings - 18+, mentions of; drug use, alcohol use, abusive behaviour, toxic relationship, sex, degrading?

Word Count - 1455

Note - I write so many fics and never post them so decided to share one. Couldn't resist my first short one being a toxic Rafe one because of course he's an angry, jealous and psychotic boy. But so are you!?

No one thought anyone could match Rafe's quite literally bat-shit-crazy attitude, but you could. The two of you were the epitome of toxic love. A constant cycle of screaming arguments; things being thrown from one to another, both verbally and physically; cheating on one another in a hopes to make the other jealous, which always worked; the endless debate of whether you were a couple or not; and in those very few moments you both saw sense which ended in extremely hot, steamy, rough make up sex. 

The thing was neither of you could be apart, you would never find another lover. It was easy enough to find a quick fuck, someone to make the other envious, but there wasn't a person in the entirety of Outer Banks that would be willing to see past your psychotic behaviours, or your ex's. You may be the hottest little thing in Figure 8 with all puffy, pouty lips and dark siren eyes, but the risk of their life if they came within an inch of Rafe was not worth it.

And so, here you were again - seething. You saw red, nothing but rage coursing through your veins, staring at him from across the bar not taking a single interest in the cute guy trying to converse with you, tempting as it was. Instead watching your current 'ex' or 'boyfriend', after the argument you two had the night prior which left your voice horse and his face still lingering with a slightly pink stain of your hand print on his cheek, flirting with some bleach blonde bitch wearing a skimpy little top which did nothing for her small tits. 

You felt bad for the girl, sure she'd get a quickie out of him; he'd take her to the bathroom, not before purchasing a greasy condom that that had probably been in the machine longer than he'd been on earth, give her a half arsed fuck leaving her unsatisfied but most certainly wanting more from him. Which he could never give her. 

Your eyes squinting so violently at her, you might have actually broken the glass of cheap cocktail she was trying to seductively sip on. Rafe on the other hand was doing a very good job at pretending you didn't exist, probably the combination of whiskey and coke making him disoriented. It'd be a miracle if he could even hear anything the bleach blonde was saying to him but he could definitely feel her hands, the ones covered in chipped white nail polish, getting a little too frisky for your liking. 

Though the second you felt a pair of large hands getting a little too frisky on your own waist, a small smirk appeared on your face. Two can play at that game, Cameron. It didn't take long for your tongue to be slipped down the throat of the handsome guy, who name you hadn't asked for or hadn't heard when he had been attempting to chat you up. He'd whispered something about pining you down in the back of his car and giving you a ride. 

Your cunt already dripping wet, not at the thought of getting fucked by this hot guy (that was a bonus) but at the sight of Rafe all red faced with those veins on his forehead slightly bulging due to the fact that he was furious that you were being satisfied by another man. Slipping effortlessly from the stool you had been sat at, the alcohol you had been consuming, a little too quickly, washing over your being and giving you that last bit of confidence to really piss Rafe off. 

Hands pulling you towards the exit of the dimly lit bar, your head turning once more to look at Rafe, whose interest had finally peaked, his eyes glaring over at you in disgust. You flash him a petty smile before leaving, door slamming behind you. That was his cue to take little miss desperate to the bathroom and fuck his anger away. 

Led there in the back of this random guys car, seemingly unsatisfied. It was over before it began, pretty boy all putty in your hands, or pussy. Cum dripping down your thigh as you sat up to pull your lacy red thong up, the one Rafe loved so much. You were kinda hoping it'd been his seed filling you up. 

"We should do this again sometime", he whispered in your ear, a little too close for comfort now you had what you wanted from him. You didn't respond, just a small 'hmm' escaping your wet lips. His phone shoved into your hands, clearly wanting your number. He wasn't getting it. And so you typed your name into the contacts app followed by a phone number, it wasn't yours. It was Rafe's. 

You knew that would stir up a storm but you didn't care, you found it hilarious. The thought of Rafe receiving a text from some random number asking if he wanted to come over and fuck. The reaction would be priceless. For about 2 seconds, before he was all up in your face shouting and screaming, smashing his phone against the floor in a hissy. 

And with that, you slid out of the door of this random guys car, blowing him a kiss and winking. "Text me sometime" you joked, you loved watching these desperate men fall at your feet, it was too easy. Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at the post sex sticky feeling between your legs, you decided it was best you left, went back home and slept away your drunken state. 

As tempting as it was to stride back into the bar, drag that little bitch off your man and demand he give you a real fuck so you didn't have find it else where; a rare rational thought crossed your mind that making a scene was not the best coping mechanism. You could deal with it another day, when you were sober. 

But you loved to make a scene, get Rafe all riled up. Only because you know he'd fuck that bratty attitude out of you, even if it was only until you rode out your high then you'd be back to your usual spiteful self. And when your eyes landed on his shiny Range Rover sat all pretty and pristine, an evil smirk crossed your face.

It wasn't like you were doing something so unforgivable, he'd done the same to your car a couple months prior. Slashed your tires so you couldn't leave in the mist of an argument, shouting something about 'facing the consequences of your actions'. Days later you had 4 fresh new tires, curtsy of his truly. 

And if he hadn't replaced them your dad would have anyway. It was no secret that just like Rafe you were a spoilt little brat, receiving anything and everything from your wealthy parents. Their only child, meant you were a pamper princess, they didn't help feeding into your delusions. They were wrapped around your fingers.  

You were doing he a favour really, he shouldn't drive in his state even though he usually would. So you took the pocket knife which was tucked away in your purse, a gift from Rafe that was 'for your own safety', ironic really using it to slide a long, deep scratch into the side of the black car. Slashing a hole in all four of his tires. Contemplating smashing the glass or the headlights, but that could wait till a later date. Maybe you'd use his own golf clubs to do that.

You left the pocket knife neatly sat on the hood of the car, just to make it extremely clear it was you who had ruined his prized possession. Not that anyone else would dare do such a thing to Rafe Cameron, but you would because it didn't matter what you did he'd always come crawling back to and vice versa.

One last look at the mess you'd caused before swiftly leaving the scene of the crime. Ruining him always left you with adrenaline coursing through your blood, maybe it was the feeling of excitement and anticipation you felt wondering what would happen next. How he'd react. More times than non it was anger.

By the time you had showered off the regret of hooking up with another random stranger and led down on your bed, the room still slightly spinning, your phone which you had thrown onto the floor earlier, flickering on 1% had hundreds of missed and texts from Rafe. You didn't bother to call him back just shooting him a quick text watching the blue bar slowly deliver the message before the battery gave in and the entire screen went black.

You; maybe next time you'll think before you cheat :/

[stellar-skyy]

INSULT TO INJURY — Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: What is Arlecchino to do, when her child comes home injured? ii. CWS & NOTES: Injuries, mild descriptions of blood, mentions of violence, nothing particularly graphic. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. hurt/comfort. they/them pronouns used. 0.9k words. iii. A/N: HI THIS WAS FINISHED IN MY DRAFTS AND I DID NOT NOTICE... this was a suggestion from @romaritimeharbor!!

Arlecchino was by no means a traditional parent, but she did share common qualities with those who were. She kissed her children’s hair when they were sick, wiping the sweat off their forehead and tucking their sheets extra tight. When they sought comfort, she would hold them close to her chest, even if her affection was rare and only offered away from all other eyes. They appeared in her thoughts constantly, even in the most mundane situations; occasionally she would find herself wondering if Lynette would enjoy a particular brand of tea, or if Freminet’s diving skills had improved in the past months.

Those outside of the House of the Hearth could never imagine a soft side to a cutthroat woman like Arlecchino, not after witnessing her ruthless ways. All they saw was the terrifying Harbinger that cut through hoards with her scythe, taking down each and every one who stands in the way of the Fatui. They would be mistaken to dismiss her as soft-hearted, but even more so to proclaim her heartless. It is simply that her heart beats for the Hearth, and nothing more. 

When she settled into the role of Father, she vowed that even if the Fatui wouldn’t treat her children with love, she would. However strict she appeared, her love for the House of the Hearth was poured through every drop of blood shed in the name of the security of the Fatui. The Fatui were the foundation holding up the orphanage, and so long as it remained strong, so would their home. 

It was one of her most notable traits, and one that many parents held; she would do anything to protect her children. 

So when [Name] turned up at her office, bruises peeking out between the rips in their shirt and bright splatters of blood dotting their arms, she didn’t scold them for walking in without knocking. She stood, moving mechanically over to where they lingered in the doorway. She swept her gaze down their body, taking note of each and every injury. And as they looked up at her, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, she brushed her hand across their face to rid the hair sticking to the blood across their forehead and hissed, “Who did this to you?”

“I–” Whatever rasping words were almost spoken broke off in a fit of coughing. A low cry of pain spilled out, and their hand clutched their side. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino looked out through the hallway, spotting a child half-hidden behind the corner, unsubtly trying to spy on the situation. They squeaked, as she caught their eye and barked out an order. “You! Go to the medical wing and bring back a first aid kit, and several ice-packs. Now.”

They scurried off, the sound of tiny footsteps growing quieter every second. Once they were inaudible, she looked back at her other child, whose eyes were drifting shut slowly. A quick touch on their shoulder sent them flinching backwards, eyes flying open. 

“What happened?” She asked, ignoring the way they shrunk into themself at the question.

“I failed. I was ambushed, and they–” They shuddered, once again gripping their side. Arlecchino took note of the way they winced each time they moved too sharply; bruised ribs, if not broken. “I’m sorry, I just came to report on what happened.”

“You’re injured, [Name].” Arlecchino stressed.

“I know,” They said quietly. They didn’t even seem to have enough energy to fight the tears that have begun dripping down their cheeks. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be better.”

I don’t want you to be better, her mind screamed. I want you to be okay. Arlecchino bit her tongue hard to stop the words from pouring out. It would be unbecoming of the Director to show such earnestness in front of one of her children, especially one who had clearly suffered a failure. She may love them, as she does all of her orphans, but she was raised in the Fatui as well. She knew the cost of failure all too well.

“You will be.” Arlecchino stood back, letting them lean against the door frame again to stop themself falling over. “I’m sure you understand that there will be consequences to this.”

“I do.” 

“Excellent. You will be dismissed from all missions for the next six weeks.” Six weeks, that was just long enough for injured ribs to heal, if she recalled correctly. “You will be required to remain in the House for that time, and any outings must be approved by me before you leave.”

They stared at her, eyes wide.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father.” They said quickly.

She didn’t ask any more of the person who had left them in such a state, but they did cross her mind as she wrapped bandages around their arms. She could almost see them now, celebrating their victory over the Fatui. How proud they must be, to have sent one of the Knave’s own agents fleeing. 

A barely noticeable grimace tore her attention away, and she forced her hands to loosen the bandages around their arm. In her quiet fury, she had begun to wrap them tighter than a tourniquet, much to their discomfort. 

For that moment, she dismissed the assailant to the back of her mind, and turned all of her attention to her child.

They would come later, and then, they would learn the true meaning of fear. 

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[lees-chaotic-brain]

swapped! (todoroki x reader)

summary: after you get hit with a strange quirk, you swap bodies with your long time crush and hero partner todoroki shouto. somehow, every single thing that could possibly go wrong goes wrong and chaos ensues. idea dump here

genre/content warnings: afab reader, reader has some sort of telekinesis quirk for plot efficiency (i got lazy sorry), suggestive, periods, reader is implied to have a heavy flow but it's really just for the plot to ensure maximal crack, mentions of blood, swearing, fluff, crack, todoroki is a little shit (when is he not)

wc: 5.9k (oopsies this is my longest fic to date)

note: this is for @andypantsx3's pretty boy summer collab! (sorry it's late andie) it is also one of my sponsored fics for @ficsforgaza's fundraiser! i couldn't fit all the scenes i wanted into the fic without ruining the flow, so go check them out and sponsor them if you want to read more! also everyone needs to go say thank you to @thelov3lybookworm for giving me the push i needed to stop making excuses and find solutions so i could post. thanks girl <3

i'm not sure how i feel about the ending, but i think it's as good as it's going to get! since i haven't written in a little while and things have been tough, likes, reblogs, and comments would be so so appreciated, and will help me get the next fic on my list done faster!!!

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The first thing you notice when you finally emerge from the depths of your slumber is how comfortable you were. Everything feels just right, your pillows are cool against your neck, and your sheets hold the perfect amount of warmth; enough to keep you cozy, but not so hot that your sweat is creasing the silky sheets and making you feel sticky and gross.

The second thing you notice is the very large, very male hand sprawled on the pillow next to your head. A deep male voice lets out a surprised cry as you jerk back, the hand moving with you.. It takes you several moments to realize that it had come from you. 

Your bare feet thump against the wood paneled floor as you stumble out of bed disoriented and realize where you are for the first time. Namely, not in your bedroom.

Glancing around in confusion, you wonder what the hell happened, and how you ended up somewhere so nice.. The space itself is fairly bare, but you can tell that all of the furniture inhabiting it is expensive. From the sleek wooden dresser to the geometric modern light fixtures to the insanely high thread count of the sheets, everything screams tasteful luxury. 

Where are you? You definitely feel asleep in your own bedroom. Reaching up you rake your hair out of your face and freeze. Instead of the familiar texture and length of your own hair, you’re greeted with short, silky soft strands that definitely did not belong to you.

Mussing your hair to make sure you’re not imagining things, you glance down, and for the first time notice some inexplicable things.For one, the ground is a lot farther away than it normally is, and for two, last time you checked you did not have washboard abs, or a male anatomy.

The entire situation was confusing, and you were still slightly sleep-addled. Despite that you knew that you needed to find a mirror. A quick glance around the room located one in the corner and you hurry over to it. 

Sliding to a stop you grip the edges of the little stand, frost spreading from your right hand to cover the wood while you gaped at your appearance.

Intense heterochromatic eyes stared back at you, shock filling them. Your hair was a unique mess of red and white strands, the two colors mussed with sleep. With those distinctive features, plus high chiseled cheekbones, a jawline that could cut stone and a slim yet unfairly muscular body there was no doubt about it.

You were Todoroki Shouto. At least, that’s whose body you’re currently inhabiting. His very shirtless body. 

BZZZZZT BZZZZZZT

Saved from having to fight your urges to poke at his abs by the noise, you jump, swinging your gaze around in search of the origin.

BZZZZZZT BZZZZZZT

A simple black phone flashes on the otherwise empty nightstand (does he seriously not even have a lamp??), the caller i.d. sending you scrambling across the room to the phone. 

Fumbling in your haste, you manage to swipe and pick up the incoming call from your cell phone.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute. There were only two ways to get into your phone. The first was the password, but even you forgot it most of the time. It sat safely tucked away on a post it in the safe you store all of your important documents in. The second was through face i.d. and the only person who could unlock your phone with their face was you. And since you were in his body, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that he….Lifting the phone to your ear you speak hesitantly.

“Todoroki? Is that you?”

“Y/N?”

It was unnerving to hear your voice saying your name from the other end of the phone,

“What happened?!” You’re a little mortified to hear the hysteria lacing your words, but you can feel the panicked adrenaline flooding your veins as your body goes into fight or flight.

“I believe that the quirk we got hit with yesterday caused us to switch bodies. However, it is highly unlikely that it is permanent so it will be fine.” Even though it’s your voice, something about knowing Todoroki is on the other end was reassuring enough that some of the tension bled from your shoulders.

“That’s good.” You sigh, rubbing your face. There’s a mildly uncomfortable throbbing coming from your lower half, and you absentmindedly reach down to rub at it, forgetting you weren’t in your own body. Brushing against a bump in your gray sweatpants, you shiver as a familiar feeling spreads through your lower stomach and something twitches.

“Todoroki?” Your voice suddenly gets a little higher, the hint of hysteria from before returning to the normally deep monotone. “We have a problem.”

“What is it? Is something wrong?” 

Ignoring his questions, you stare in growing horror at the very obvious tent in the front of the sweatpants you were wearing. You have no idea how you didn’t notice it earlier, but now that you’ve seen what’s going on down there you can’t help but be extremely aware of the uncomfortable pressure. 

“Y/N? Please explain what’s going on. I’m growing concerned.”

“I-” You splutter, unable to form a coherent sentence. Finally you gather your wits enough to say something. “It’s uh, it’s hard.”

“What do you mean? What’s hard? Oh...” He trails off into embarrassed silence.

“OH?” You can’t handle this. “What do you mean ‘oh?!’ Do something!”

“Like what?” He sounds a little defensive. “What am I supposed to do from here?”

“I don’t know!” You’re shouting now. “But you have to do something! How am I supposed to sit here with your massive boner?!”

There’s a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and you jump. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He answers a little too quickly, but his voice still retains his usual impassivity. “Anyways, returning to the problem at hand. It will go away on its own after a little while. Unless you would rather handle it yourself-”

“No!” You wince as you practically shout into the phone. “I mean, no it's okay. I feel like that would be unprofessional.”

You can hear the amusement in his voice as he responds. “I feel like this entire situation is rather unprofessional. After all, I did see your breasts this morning.”

There must be something wrong with your hearing because there’s no way he just said what you thought he did. In such a nonchalant manner at that. “Wha-What?” Embarrassingly your voice cracks as you rack your brain, frantically searching through your memories of the night before. Then it hits you. 

“You went to bed without pants, a shirt, and a bra last night.” He informs you matter of factly, and you must be going crazy because there’s no way that that’s smugness you’re picking up from him. “Judging from the temperature of your apartment I’d say that your air conditioning is broken. You should probably get that fixed.”

You’ve completely forgotten about the boner you’re currently sporting due to the mortification of it all. Of course the one time the two of you switch bodies it just has to be the day your AC broke and you went to bed in nothing but a pair of striped cotton undies.

A small part of you mourns that you weren’t wearing something sexier, but the larger part of you is screaming that he is your boss. Sure you’ve been friends for years, and you have a not so little crush on him, but you are his subordinate. This was going to make things so awkward in the office. Hopefully once this is all over you can go hunt someone with a memory erasing quirk down to wipe his mind. But maybe not yours. You kind of want to remember the toned planes of his abs and the impressive bulge in his sweats. 

Giving yourself a shake you chastise your internal voice. Absolutely not. That would be an invasion of his privacy. In fact, you should put on a shirt right this second to respect his privacy, not that he didn’t walk around with half of his hero suit burned off from time to time. Wait. A thought suddenly occurs to you.

“Wait. You have a shirt on now, right? You put on a shirt before calling me.” You laugh nervously, because of course he has more common sense than that. It’s not like he would just sit on the phone with you while your tits were hanging out, right? Right??

“Well no.” Your heart falls out of your ass and you accidentally sear a handprint into the edge of his nightstand at his casual answer. “It’s uncomfortably warm in here and without the use of my quirk I am unable to regulate my body's temperature. Aside from that, I don’t know where you keep your shirts so I prioritized calling you to discuss the situation over going through your personal belongings.

That all sounds perfectly reasonable and you would have fallen for it except for one little thing. “Todoroki. I know for a fact that I was too lazy to put my laundry away yesterday and there is a stack of clean t-shirts sitting on the end of my bed right now.” 

You hear rustling -is he still in your bed?!- as he leans forwards to check. “Oh. You’re correct. My apologies.” There’s more rustling and the sound of fabric sliding over skin as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. “It’s on now.”

“Thank you.” You pointedly ignore the fact that he did not sound the tiniest bit apologetic, filing it away to revisit later. For now, the two of you need to discuss what to do next. “I appreciate it. What’s the plan now though? I think we should meet at the agency as soon as possible and go from there.” 

“I agree.” He seems to lack the sense of urgency currently consuming you as he hums in agreement. It’s incredibly annoying. “We should probably give each other directions on what to do, and where to find the things we need.”

On second thought maybe it’s better that he’s calm and thinking clearly because that was an excellent idea. “That’s smart. I keep a pad of paper and a pen on my nightstand to jot down reminders if you want to use that. Where do you keep your paper?”

“Check my bookshelf.” The telltale sound of paper flipping told you that he found the notepad as you crossed the room and stopped in front of the simple wooden bookcase. “Where is it on your bookshelf?”

“I think I keep a notebook and a pad of paper on the middle shelf.” He sounds distracted and a little uncertain, but when you stoop down to check (it’s weird being this tall) you find a simple yellow legal pad and a black pen. “I got it.” 

“Okay.” The sound of a book closing accompanies his words and there’s a hint of some unidentifiable emotion lacing the two-syllables. 

Not thinking much of it you shrug it off, sitting down down at his desk and listening as he tells you where keeps his car keys, hero suit, and other necessities. You ask a few follow up questions, jotting down what cabinet he keeps his cologne and deodorant in, before launching into your own instructions.

“The first thing you need to do is start the coffee machine. Trust me. My body will not be happy unless you give it at least three cups of coffee or like two big energy drinks before 9 am. Next…” After you’re sure he has understood the importance of caffeine, you move on, explaining where you keep your clothes, car keys, and shoes, as well as where you parked your car. 

“Don’t worry about makeup or hair products or anything while you’re getting me ready. I know there’s a lot on my bathroom counter but it’s not necessary. But you do need to go into the first drawer on your left when you’re standing at the sink and grab my anxiety meds. They should be in an orange prescription bottle. Only take one. And please for the love of god do not forget to put a bra on. You got all that?”

“I believe so. Is there a specific outfit you want me to wear or should I just choose?” You stop and think. Left to his own devices there’s no knowing what he might put you in (his first hero costume proof of his abysmal sense of fashion) so it would be best to give him some guidance. “Could you just wear a casual sweater and some jeans?” 

“Yes. Let’s get ready and meet at the agency in about an hour. If that works for you.” There’s not much writing on the yellow legal pad, the black scrawl of your handwriting barely taking up half a page. Okay. It isn’t that much. You can do this. “That sounds good to me.”

“Oh, I also think it might be best if we kept this from the general employees at the agency for the time being just to reduce drama. Is that okay with you?” 

“Of course.” More than okay actually. Some of them were aware of your not-so-little crush on him, so it would spare you some teasing and interrogation.

There’s a couple seconds of awkward silence, and you get the feeling he wants to say something more, the tension crackling through the speaker of his stupidly expensive phone. Opening your mouth, you start to say something then realize you don’t really have anything to say. The awkward silence persists a couple seconds longer before he wishes you goodbye and hangs up.

Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick. You didn’t even realize that you had started clicking the pen open and closed, a nervous habit of yours. Sheepishly you place the pen down on his desk and stand. Sure the vibes were kind of weird at the end there, but it’s not like anything worth making you nervous happened. The situation might not be ideal, but it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. You could handle it. The worst part was already over. You just had to meet him at the agency, figure out what to do with the rest of the day, and wake up in your own body tomorrow. Piece of cake.

Gaping in horror, you realize that this was not, in fact, going to be a piece of cake. 

Getting ready had been easy enough so you had arrived at the agency a few minutes before your agreed meeting time, which fortunately/unfortunately put you in the perfect position to witness the walking shitshow.

You had been idly sipping at a cup of coffee, marveling at how many packets of sugar it had taken to make it acceptable to his taste buds when he staggered in, catching the eye of pretty much everyone in the lobby.

Hunched over weirdly, he staggered in, wearing a pair of jeans that rode just a little too low to be professional and a very white, very sheer shirt that was meant to be layered over an undershirt. Or, at the very least, with a sturdy, modest bra underneath.

Alas, you can only stare in abject horror at the sight of what everyone else would assume was you stumbling in, your nipples visible from across the room, the bra that should have been on your body clasped in one hand. 

You’re pretty sure you disassociated for a few seconds from sheer mortification, standing there unmoving for several seconds. Once you had processed (and gone through the seven stages of grief multiple times) you were bolting across the floor, seizing his (your?) arm and dragging him down the hall and into the family bathroom where no one could see.

Slamming the door shut behind you, you shove Todoroki/yourself into the small space, wincing as you watch him stumble in your body. Did you always seem this weak and small in his eyes? The sound of the lock clicking as you shut the door reminds you of the current situation and you turn on him, rage emanating from every pore of your being.

“I. Thought. I. Told. You. To. Put. On. A. Bra.” You’re hurt, and seriously pissed off, neatly trimmed nails digging into your thighs as you grip your pants. Humiliation courses through your body, pulsing behind your eyes in tears that you will not let fall, no matter what. “Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to embarrass me-”

“No.” It’s disconcerting watching yourself speak and move, but subtle mannerisms remind you that it’s Todoroki you’re looking at, not yourself in the mirror. “I wouldn’t do that to you, I swear.”

“Then what is this?” You wave your hand at your body, flinching at what others must be whispering about you. “Do you want people to think I’m some sort of crazy person who goes around practically flashing people at their workplace? Someone who has no sense of decency?”

“Of course not.” His tone is as even as ever, but you can tell that he feels bad. “People here know what type of person you are. I’m sure they’re more concerned than anything.”

The fabric of his blue hero suit unscrunches as your hands drop to your sides, chest heaving as you take a deep breath. “I hope so.”

There’s vulnerability in your voice, and for a second you find peace in the quiet of the moment before he ruins it. “Besides, I’m more worried about my reputation than yours right now.”

You look up indignantly. “Why? I did everything you asked, and I’m fully dressed so I’m not sure why you’re complaining.”

He winces as your voice raises (maybe the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet) but he hides it quickly. “I mean, from their point of view, they just watched me forcibly drag my subordinate off and locked myself in a bathroom with her. They probably have all sorts of unseemly ideas about what I’m doing right now.”

You freeze. Shit. You hadn’t even considered what it would look like to the others. “I’m so sorry. We can explain this to everyone. Like you told me, everyone here also knows you, and that you would never do anything inappropriate.” 

“It’s fine.” He gives you a genuine, yet slightly strained smile. “I’m not too concerned. However, your body doesn’t feel great.”

���What’s wrong?” You reach out and touch his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” Glancing down, you sigh. “First things first let's make you decent. You literally brought the bra. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“The best way I can describe it is it’s similar to the time I accidentally ate Bakugou’s extra spicy curry, except it’s not in my stomach. It’s more in my abdomen. And I meant to wear it, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it on.”

“Okay. I can help with that.” You motion for him to lift his arms. “Take off your shirt.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Is now really the time?” The bathroom is silent as you give him a death look. “It’s my body. There is quite literally nothing about the body you are currently inhabiting that I do not already know about. Now, shirt. I’ll help put the bra on.”

Understanding that you were not in the mood, he hurriedly pulls the shirt off, and you’re presented with the sight of your bare torso. Ignoring the strange intimacy of the moment (it was literally your own body you had no idea why you felt weird) you help him slip his arms into the straps, then motion for him to turn around. 

He complies, and that’s when you see it. The relatively small, but somewhat noticeable stain on your crotch in the back of your pants. That’s why he wasn’t feeling good. Your body started your period.

The clasp of the bra dangles in your hands as you stare at it, evaluating your choices. One. You could pretend like nothing is happening but chances are he’s going to have to pee at some point during the day so he’ll find out eventually. Plus the stain wasn’t small.

Two. Be the mature, rational adult you are and calmly explain the situation. After all, there was nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a perfectly normal, perfectly natural, biological function that comes with being a female.

And three. Just leave and go crawl into your bed until this nightmare is over. Let him deal with it himself. 

Option number three was looking pretty good there for a moment and you were calculating how fast you could escape the agency without drawing attention when Todoroki spoke. 

“Everything okay? Why aren’t you doing the hook things?” Snapping out of your trance, you clumsily clasp the back, taking several tries to get all the hooks in the same row. Patting it, you tell him to put the shirt back on before taking a deep breath. “Hey, Todoroki?”

Wisps of hair emerge from the neckline of your shirt, followed closely by your head as he pops into your shirt. “Yes?”

“So like, it’s going to be okay and I swear I’ll help you and I’m sorry you have to deal with this but please whatever you do, don’t freak out. Promise?” He tilts his head slightly, regarding you with confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you say it’ll be okay I don’t see why I would feel the need to freak out.”

His calm response puts you somewhat at ease, and you just rip the bandaid off. “My body just started it’s period. With you in it. That’s why your abdomen was hurting. It was period cramps. Don’t worry, I’ll get you some advil soon. There’s a small stain on the back of your pants, but it’s not bad yet. However, it’s really heavy on my first day so we’re going to need to get a tampon in and a pad on asap.”

A blank stare is your only response. “What…is a tampon? And what does heavy mean? Also, does it always hurt this bad?” A small furrow appears between his brows, and you can tell he’s overthinking.

“Normally it’s only this bad for a few days, but I’m used to it by now.” You reassure him, grabbing a tampon and pad from the free dispenser on the wall. “And to answer your question, a tampon is basically a fancy roll of material that goes up there and absorbs the blood.”

You’re doing your best to remain calm and unbothered on the outside, but on the inside you’re losing your mind because there was absolutely no way that you were about to teach your crush how to insert a tampon into your cooch because you managed to swap bodies on the worst possible day.

He looks at you pensively as you approach him with the hygiene products. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

You pause, considering. How did you want to do this? It would be weird for you to put it in yourself, even if it was your body. The packaging crinkles in your hands as you turn the items over in your hand. The easiest route would be to have him just put the pad on, but you also didn’t want him to deal with the mess and discomfort of sitting in a pad. 

“Alright.” You clap your hands, the sharp sound echoing off the clean linoleum floors. “We’ll get a pad on first, then we’ll try the tampon. Ready?”

“Yes. How do I do that?” Okay. You can explain this. It’s not that complicated. “First things first, pull down your pants and underwear and sit on the toilet.”

A rustle of clothing and the click of the toilet seat against the porcelain bowl told you he had complied. “Wait, but like, don’t look okay. Keep your eyes averted.”

“Understood.” You choose to ignore the amusement in his voice, instead grabbing another pad and giving him a demo. Feeling guilty about the waste, you rip open one of the packages and pull out the pad. It’s thick, and made of cheap material like all free pads in public bathrooms tended to be.

Holding it up so he can see you demonstrate peeling the tab and unfolding it before peeling the sticky back off and showing it to him. 

“Basically you just have to remove the covering and stick it to the bottom of your underwear. Make sense?”

He nods, so you pass him the pad and watch him carefully peel back the appropriate backings and smooth it into the center of your panties. His eyes gleam at you hopefully as he looks up, and when you tell him he did a good job you could have sworn he preened. 

“Good job Todoroki.” A subtle frown pulls at his lips. “So for the tampon-”

“Shouto.” He cuts you off, looking disgruntled. “Call me Shouto.”

“I-What?” Thrown off guard by the sudden demand request you blink at him. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to what’s going on right now, but you’re my boss. It doesn’t seem right for me to address you so casually.”

“But you call me Shouto while we’re at work.” He stubbornly refuses to give the point up, clinging to it like a dog with their chew toy. “How is it any different?”

“Because-” You give him an exasperated look. “Some idiot decided to make his hero name his first name, so when he’s at work his co-workers are forced to use it. I don’t call you Shouto as in Todoroki Shouto. I call you Shouto as in Pro-Hero Shouto. That’s the difference.”

“But we’ve known each other for years.” He’s very matter of fact, clearly missing the point. “I would say we’re close enough for first names.”

He’s unbelievable. Of all the things to focus on right now why on earth is he choosing to argue over how you address him? “Of course we’re close. I consider you a good friend. But I wouldn’t say we’re close enough where it’s appropriate for me to address you by your first name when you’re my boss.”

“I’m currently in a bathroom with you right now, in your body, sitting on a toilet with no pants, on your period. I don’t see how we can possibly get any closer.” He had a point, and you just wanted to get this whole disaster sorted out as quickly as possible so you conceded. “Fine. Shouto. Now, will you please listen to me so we can get this over with and go on with our day?”

Using demonstrative hand motions and trying not to show how flustered you were you explained how to put the tampon in. Finally you finish, and hand him a tampon. He unwraps it, then hunches over in an awkward position trying to see what he was doing.

A red flush crawls up your neck as he quite literally examines your pussy, your insecurities running rampant, thoughts you’ve never had before occurring. Like, what if it looks weird? You didn’t exactly have a huge frame of reference, and all of your past experiences were horny hookups so you literally had no idea what it looked like from his point of view. He was probably repulsed by it. If everything that already happened hadn’t ruined any chance you had with him this was the final nail in the coffin.

A quiet splash cuts through the silence of the bathroom, interrupting your downward spiral. Looking up, you lock eyes with Todoroki, who’s frozen guiltily on the toilet.

“What just happened?”

“I, er, well I’m not sure.” Your eyes narrow. “What was the splash?”

“I did my best.” He sounds defensive. “I had a hard time finding…it…and it’s not easy to line it up and I think I did it wrong because as soon as I put it in it kind of just…spat it back out?”

Gaping at him, you’re at a loss for words before a loud, unflattering cackle rips itself out of your chest. The self-consciousness caused by the strangeness of the moment and being in the presence of your crush fading away as you reverted to treating him like you did in high school.

“Oh-Oh my god!” You’re doubled over, almost crying with how hard you’re laughing. “You can’t find it. You can’t even find the hole. You must be so popular with the ladies.”

As you laugh, a strange sensation builds in your stomach, and next thing you know it feels like you’re getting sucked into a vacuum and shot out the other end. Your vision goes black and fuzzy, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom hurting your eyes when you finally open them.

When you finally open them and find yourself staring into the unimpressed face of one Todoroki Shouto that is. 

Seeing his face again instead of staring at yours is a relief, but it’s also unfortunate because now you are the one perched on the toilet, your pants hanging around your ankles and a tampon floating around in the toilet water beneath you. 

The two of you lock eyes, and you realize that now you’ve both returned to your own bodies it’s even worse that he’s seeing you half naked (don’t ask you why it just is somehow. Maybe it has something to do with him seeing it from his point of view instead of yours?). 

Embarrassment floods your face, and you yell at him to turn around, hurriedly grabbing another tampon and putting it in before using your quirk to retrieve the tampon from the toilet and dumping it into the trash. A rushed tug has your pants back on, and the two of you stand in the bathroom not moving or speaking. Finally you break the silence.

“Uh, well, anyways. I’m glad this all worked out, sorry for the inconvenience and how weird it was. I’m going to head home and enjoy my day off now. Have a nice day!”

Not giving him the chance to respond, you dart past him and out the door, ignoring him as he calls your name. Yeah right. Have a nice day? More like have a nice life. There was no way you could ever show your face around him again. Maybe you could call Kyoka up and ask her if she needed a new hero at the agency she shared with Denki.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t always go as planned, and you wake up the next morning to your phone buzzing. You called in sick the night before, partially because your cramps were really bothering you, and partially because you were avoiding Todoroki. 

Blearily, you roll over, pawing at your phone before lifting it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Good morning.” Immediately recognizing the smooth, deep voice belonging to none other than the one man you were actively trying to avoid, you do the only logical thing and hang up immediately. 

A couple seconds later your phone rings again, and this time you let it go to voicemail. The sharp trill of your ringtone reaches you through the pillow you pressed over your head, alerting you that he called several more times after that. Finally the calls stop, and you emerge from under the pillows, beating back the strange sense of disappointment rising in your chest.

Ping!

The sound of your phone chiming startles you, causing you to drop it. Picking it back up, you check your notifications with bated breath.

(1) New Message From: Todoroki Shouto

Scared to read the message, you hesitate to click on it, having no idea what to expect. Your thumb hovers over the banner, the light washing over your skin as you work up the courage to check it.

Ping!

Your phone lands on your carpet with a plop as you accidentally drop it over the edge of your bed, not expecting it to go off again.

Ping! Ping!

Cautiously, you poke your head over the edge of your bed, glancing down at the illuminated lock screen. You let out an internal screech of horror.

(4) New Messages From: Todoroki Shouto

Unable to deal with the agony of not knowing what he said any longer, you scoop your phone up and tap the notification, scanning the messages, your heart dropping further and further the more you read.

Todoroki Shouto: Did you just hang up on me?

I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes. Do you want anything?

*image attached*

Also: are these the chocolates you’re fond of? I asked my mother and sister and they told me they enjoy chocolate when they are menstruating. 

Those are, in fact, your favorite chocolates, but as much as you wanted them you wanted him at your apartment in fifteen minutes even less. The sound of aggressive tapping filled your room as you typed out a response at breakneck speed, praying to whatever was out there that he wouldn’t actually come to your place.

You: Good morning Todoroki-San. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you and hung up because I was half asleep. It’s sweet of you to think of me, but those are expensive. Also, I’m taking the day off today so is there any possible way the matter you have to discuss could wait until tomorrow? Thanks!

A couple seconds after you hit send, the little label beneath the message changed from “delivered” to “read.” Then radio silence. Anxiety bubbles up in the pit of your stomach? What does read mean? Did he agree with you? Is he still coming? Too drained to deal with the emotional turmoil this was causing you, you rolled over and pulled your covers up over your head. This was a problem for future you.

Drifting off, you were awakened a short time later by your phone chiming once, then again a few minutes later, and the sound of your doorbell ringing. Surely it wasn’t…Half-closing your eyes to shield against the harsh glow of your phone, you unlock it.

(2) New Messages From: Todoroki Shouto

Todoroki Shouto: I’m here. Open your door.

I didn’t want to tell you over text, but you aren’t responding. Bakugou says I have romantic feelings for you and I think he is correct. He also said you’ve been “a mooney-eyed moron” for me since we were in high school. If that is true and you do feel the same way, please let me in. I would like to see you and care for you while you are on your cycle.

Three dots appear, signaling that he’s typing. A couple seconds later, your phone chimes again, not even giving you a moment to process the previous messages.

Todoroki Shouto: Our former classmates also unanimously agreed that I am, in fact, popular with the ladies. I’ll forgive your comment if you let me in. The old lady who lives next door to you is giving me suspicious looks. 

You blink. Rub your eyes. Squint closer at your screen. The words didn’t change, and neither did their meaning. And Todoroki wasn’t the type of person to joke around like this. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and your pulse thundered in your ears as you realized there was only one thing left to do.

You had to get out of bed and let him into your apartment.

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @sunaraii @hotvinimon

as always, please please please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from any of my taglists. tysm for reading, and i hope you enjoyed it!!

[hoshigray]

Sit down for this one, alright? How bout a gigolo! Toji, who stumbles upon you? The reader's friends pay for his services to help ease your stress from work, and you begrudgingly have to accept the offer. And when you finally meet him, it's a night that you were not prepared for you, mentally and physically.

A/n: camgirl! reader this, prostitute! reader that; motherfuckers, if you don't slap your favs onto the field right tf now!!?? Gege himself said that Toji is a manwhore for money and women, so you know I'm running with this idea :/ Lol but fr tho, this was a prompt that has been itching me, plus I love making these scenario thingies!! I outta write them for the other JJK men when I have the time (or maybe y'all can send asks *shrugs*). All ik is that this hot dilf bastard would make a fine gigolo, I'd happily be broke ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cw: gigolo! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - age difference (reader is at least in their mid/late-20s) - implied that reader isn't a virgin, but does try new things w/ Toji - Daddy kink - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling - prone bone + cowgirl/riding positions - scratching (m! receiving) - cervix fucking - pet names (baby, cutie, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweet thing) - praise - overstimulation - impact play; spanking (1x) - Toji lowkey simping for the cute, shy reader.

Wc: 2.2k

Gioglo! Toji...

...whose been in the field not as long as his hitman occupation, yet it's a side hustle he's good at. Like, extremely good at. His age and rough appearance wouldn't have you guess that he does this sort of thing; however, men and women sigh in heavenly familiarity just from the sheer mention of his name. When you venture deep into the streets, it's no surprise to the average goer that he is [if not one of] the best gigolo in the game. The younger male escorts find it hard to compete with him, but it's pointless going up against a man of his caliber.

...who enjoys the gigs even when going with it for all these years. Money was the only reason he turned to this hustle in the first place, so, surprisingly, he's continued with this for as long as he can. Especially now that he has two kids and is well past his younger prime, he still uses his body on clients who can't get enough of him. And the number of his customers has stayed steadily high (if not increasing by the day) throughout the years.

But who is he to call this lifestyle off? Easy cash all from some good sex? Toji has no complaints about this side hustle.

...who states he has no favorites among his clients. There are the faces he'll remember — his returning loyal customers — and then the faces only there for a quick fuck and never to be seen again. Not that Toji cares about such things at all. As far as he's concerned, he's only in it for the money. So, as long as the cash looks appealing, he doesn't care what he has to do or has to do it with. Besides, you should never mix your personal life with your profession, especially with a heavily explicit and raunchy one such as this. He lived by that motto all those years and will resume doing so. No matter how hard they plea with doe eyes for him to stay longer, he'll just give them what they want; his deep verdant eyes contrasting his raven hair, his titillating smirk on his scarred lips whispering dirty words to their ears, and his muscular body that put them under his spell in the sheets.

Toji swears he has no favorites. So he thought...

...who is a name you weren't familiar with until your friends came to you, and you expressed nothing but sheer horror after they explained. Apparently, as the most stressed and workaholic person in the group, they thought it'd be a good idea to pitch in and schedule you a night with the infamous Toji Fushiguro. You've practically begged them to reconsider, pull back from the deal, bargained, anything! Even so much as calling one of them ("Please, please, please just call this thing off!" "Sorry, Y/n. He already accepted the offer, so we can't get the money back. Plus, you're gonna be in good hands, I promise! I was with him once, and my body was never the same. I saw him the second time and, literally, my puss—" "OKAY, I GET IT, I'M HANGING UP, BYE!!").

Your objections were directed to deaf ears, so to say you were nervous the night of Toji's arrival was far from comprehension. Coming home from work was hard enough throughout the entire week, becoming difficult to stomach day by day when the fateful day came. Because you never had experience with an escort or playboy before — let alone one who's supposedly well-known to your friends and the streets! Blood running cold as you constantly look at the time, your foot thumping on the ground, and your fingers fidgeting as you wait for the stranger listed to take your virginity away. And with the sudden knock on your door, your heart almost lept out from your mouth. Oh, fucking Christ...

...who surveys your entire appearance after you open the door for him. And he takes his time drinking in your pretty figure, your smooth skin, the alluring scent of your floral lotion, and the cami romper that exhibits your shoulders and thighs to his liking. He notes you avert your gaze when his eyes find their way to yours, and he snickers. Already, he knows he'll have fun with this. "Hey, cutie," Toji says, his gruff tone rare to your ears. "Y'r name's Y/n, right? Heard about you from y'r friends, said they wanted me to treat you."

You gulp before replying. "Yes, that's me...Oh! Please come in, Mr. Fushigu—"

"Toji's enough, sweetheart." He corrects you before entering inside, taking his shoes off at the front and entering the living room. "Nice place ya got. Did'ja wanna do this here? Because I was told to take you out somewhere."

You open your mouth to answer, but you meekly retract yourself. Toji notices your quiet display, chewing on your bottom lip while playing with the tied straps of your romper on your shoulder. Damn, so fuckin' cute. He walks up to you and brings a hand to lightly seize your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and you almost want to scream at the older man examining you like some treasure. "Ya nervous?" You give a shy nod. "Aww, y're a cute lil' thing, huh?"

With hot cheeks, you avert your gaze away from him again. Your modesty amused the older man, "Relax, baby. I'm gonna take good care of you, ya hear? If y're feelin' any pain or somethin', be sure to tell me." He has you turn to him again, caressing your cheek with his warm forefinger. Your lips quiver with anxiousness when you give another nod to him. And with that silent confirmation, you've accepted what happens next.

...who enjoys breaking you down as the night goes on. He has you on your bed with your back against his chest, and he does what he can to warm your body up to him. His big hands grope your breasts and tweeze your erect nipples until one slithers down to your drenched panties and forces a finger between your slick-coated folds. Your whimpers seep past your pretty lips, gasps of air exiting your system when the man kisses your neck and sucks on your skin.

"Mmmm, so tight 'round my fingers, mama," his hoarse voice vibrates his chest. You melt while he nibbles on your ear. "Spread them legs wide fr' me." With quivering limbs, you try to do what you're told, and more wails exit your mouth as he pushes his digits to and fro from your leaky chasm.

And the moment he finally has his dick inside you? Oh, Toji relishes the sensation of you around him. Fucking so deep in the prone bone position, he hammers his pelvis to your ass, and his balls smack onto your vulva coated in slick and come. Your moans fuel him to go harder and faster; the sight of you griping the sheets beneath and your ass jolting with every thrust turns him on too much.

"Haaah—Ahhhh!! Toji, oh God," it was your first time ever in this position, and it's so intense and electrifying with how harsh the older man propels himself to you. His cock scraping your most sensitive walls, you had given up concealing your screams long ago. "It's too much for—Mmmph!! 'S too muuuch..."

"Feelin' good there, princess?"

"Nmmph!! Y-Yess," drool starts to pool on the pillow you're resting on, but you're too occupied to feel ashamed of this lewd image you're exhibiting. "Feels so good, so goo—Ohhoooo!!" Your brows trench with eyes sewn shut, and your climax begins to climb quickly. With a choked cry, you come on Toji's dick for the second time that night, tears wetting the pillowcase while your cunt flutters on him as you release.

Regardless, Toji still ruts into you even when you're under a blissful haze, not until he's done with you. "Good girl, cummin' on my dick like that — Nmmph!!" He pulls out of you, spilling his load onto you, covering your asscheeks and lower back.

...who was surprised to see you again after a week, scheduling him with you on another weekend. Not like he had any objections to it, absolutely not. Because when he sees you give him a bashful smile and wave, he can't help but smirk and walk in your direction. "Well, hey, sweet thing." He'd greet and kiss your cheek before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Liked how I took care of you last time?"

You'd pull your stare to the ground yet give him a curt nod, the older man only finding your interaction adorable. "Uh-huh..." And Toji wastes no time wrapping an arm around your waist and walking with you to the nearest hotel.

And he's even more perplexed to see you two weekends after that...and the other two after that...Gradually, you've become a frequent client of his. That fact alone is enough to have him drop what he's about to do to have availability for you.

...who'd start to find himself slowly attracted to you the more you see him. It wasn't about the money when it came to you. In fact, no one knows you pay him significantly lower than the others. Can you blame him, though? When a doll like you always offers him to stay the night at your play after sex or treat him to meals sometimes, it's hard for the man to not feel some type of way about you. The two of you are aware that this relationship is founded on sex for the sake of your stress relief. Yet as the days go on, it's difficult for Toji to not fall in love and be enamored with your charming and sweet self.

Nevertheless, he'd be lying if he said the sex wasn't good between you two. Because it's quite the opposite, especially as Toji observes how sexually free you become with his visits. Whether it be you scratching on his back while he drills his dick into you, marking his tanned skin of your nails ("Oh, my God! I'm so sorry about that!" You'd apologize profusely, but he'd counter with a chuckle. "It's fine, cutie. It's not the first time I got scratched up by a kitten."). Or whether you'd allow him to convince you to try other positions — like his favorite, the full nelson.

Or, in times like this, when you'd have more confidence than before and ask if you'd ride him. And with a grin, Toji lies back and watches you bounce on his cock. An erotic image that he'd love to keep in his memory for as long as he can.

"Ohhh...Hmmm—Ahhnnn!!" Your cries as you straddle him in a desperate tempo, taking in his girth inch by inch, are music to his ears. The view of your beautiful, sweaty, hot body hopping on his dick is recorded with lustful forest-green eyes. "Ahhhh!! Feels so good, Toji, so—Ahhhh!!!"

"Not so fast there, sweetheart." Toji smacks your bare ass, prompting you to come down and lay your head on his shoulder. You look to see his eyes peer down to your teary ones."What's my name again?"

"Hmmm, sorry, Daddy," you correct yourself, your cunt twitching on his length when the title slips out. "Pleaseeee, forgive me—Eeeiiii!! Oh, Jesus..."

Toji grabs your butt with his hands, propelling them downward to match the jerk of his hips, and the tip of his length makes contact with your cervix. Choked sobs strain out from your throat as he kisses your temple. "Good girl, that's my fuckin' girl..."

Oh, fucking shit! It's coming. It's coming! "Daddy, please, I'm about to cum...Ohhhh, gonna cum—Mmmph!!" The older man silences you with his lips on yours, and you follow suit by wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the passionate kiss. The motion of your hips goes erratic with his, your orgasm coming up for the both of you with the increased speed. It's there you two succumb to climaxing, the walls of your slit clasping around his cock while he pumps the last of his essence into you. Groans and whimpers are exchanged between clingy mouths.

A wave of calm soon calms the air and your sweaty frames stick together. He resumes kissing you until your sensitive body has had enough, removing your lips from his teasing teeth. "Thank you, Toji. Thank you..."

Even out of breath, his scarred lip uproots to a smirk. "Y're so fuckin' cute, ya know that, mama?"

...who understands he's breaking his own rule when it's just you. It's never good mixing business with personal life. He was in it for the money from the start, and that mentality has done him well throughout the years. Do whatever the clients ask, take the money, and move on. Can't attach yourself to them. Now, he's found himself going against his motto; enjoying his time with you more than any of the others he's been with, looking forward to seeing you again to enjoy having you to himself. Whenever you aren't around him, it's evident that you will cloud his mind until you text or call.

But as he's stated before: as long as their cash in front of him and both parties get what they want, there's no need to have favorites...However, as long it's just you, he'll always be willing to make an exception.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

tears in pages

summary: because no matter how much time passes, cassian will never forget his first love.

warnings: angst/mentions of arranged marriage, smut, heartbreak, death, grieving and injuries

pairings: cassian x reader

words: 8k (i think?)

love. 

a word.

four letters. 

one feeling. 

infinite meanings. 

love is such a strange feeling that it can vary in so many ways. 

it can provoke so many emotions at the same time, both negative and positive. 

it can make us dream, smile, celebrate. 

it can make us suffer, cry, grieve. 

how can such a small word have such an impactful meaning? 

those who manage to have it once in their lives are considered lucky, those who find it more than once are considered blessed.

but that was not the case with cassian. 

having grown up as he did, in a place surrounded by mountains and by males who despised him, with the words 'bastard' and 'brute' used as greetings, he never imagined himself capable of witnessing such a feeling. 

how could he, when all his life he had to fight for everything, even for the bare minimum?

fortunately, cassian's life took a happy turn, when a few years later, the nose of a young heir with violet eyes and black hair met his fist. 

followed by a quiet and shy boy who had small shadows as companions. 

and a brown-eyed blonde with a great obsession for red clothes and an incredible sense of humor. 

ending with a silver-eyed creature with the age of a god and the feeding habits of a vampire. 

but that was never the kind of love that cassian felt unworthy of having. 

not the kind of love that is meant for family or that can be shared between friends. 

but the love that is reserved for that special person who appears in your life and makes you wonder how you could have lived until that moment without them. 

of the love that makes your stomach tingle with butterflies, of the blushing cheeks that make you look like a certain vegetable and of the smile that can light up the sky on the darkest night.

cassian, who thought he was nothing in life, had a big surprise when he discovered that he was actually blessed.

the question that many ask and few know the answer to: who was the lucky one to first occupy the heart of the general of the night court?

for those who don't know him, they say that nesta archeron is his first love — the mating bond that revealed itself between the two serving as proof of such a statement.

for those who know him a little better, their answers would be tanwyn — the fearless valkyrie who lost her life in the war.

both answers are incorrect.

cassian's journey in love did not begin with either of them.

with only his family as witnesses to the true answer, as they too were blessed to have cassian's first love as a friend — if not a family member.

the story begins with a human girl with a heart bigger than the world, a smile sweeter than honey and eyes so blue they could rival the sea. 

a human girl who was running away from a life she didn't want and whose escape led her to a certain general.

a human girl who stole everyone's heart, with her first victim being cassian's heart. 

her name was y/n. 

•••

he has a mate.

he had never imagined himself in this position.

cassian still didn't know how to process this new information.

he has another chance at love, but not with the person his heart still beats for.

the general found refuge in his room, where he could better organize his thoughts.

one thing he knew — he liked nesta. but loving her? that felt like a betrayal. 

cassian unrolled the paper he held in his hands. although the paper already showed signs of age, the drawing remained intact. 

cassian couldn't take his eyes off that beautiful face — the face he had been blessed to see, love, and caress. it felt like it was a lifetime ago.

"she's beautiful."

the voice startled him. he had been so focused that he hadn't even realized nesta had entered the bedroom.

"i'm sorry, i just wanted to see if you were okay," nesta moved a little closer to him, "you disappeared so quickly after the. . .the bond snapped, and i just want you to know that if you don't want me as your mate, i understand-" 

"sit down," cassian instructed, indicating the space next to him on the bed. "i have something to show you." 

nesta obeyed and watched as cassian fought a battle against himself. following his gaze, she saw what was bothering him so much. 

cassian's eyes were fixed on a small basket that was stored in the corner of the wall next to the bed.

cassian felt tears immediately invade him. 

that damn basket.

every time he looked at it, he was taken back to the past.

but he loved that basket. it was the only physical reminder of the best time of his life.

he painted it that way with his own hands after. . . it took him two weeks to finish.

that damn purple basket with white flowers. 

cassian cursed before getting up slightly from the bed and grabbing one of its handles, dragging it until it was at his feet. 

all the letters were still inside — all of them.

there were more than a hundred in all, some more intimate than others — that ones, cassian didn't dare to read again because he believed his heart couldn't handle going through it again. 

for that very reason, he grabbed his favorites and handed them to nesta.

"here," cassian's hand shook slightly, as did his voice, "read these and you'll understand everything."  

nesta leafed through all the letters in her hands, confusion showing in her furrowed brows. "what are these?"

cassian let out a deep sigh "read them. they'll explain everything." 

she nodded, and so she picked up the first letter and read it. 

•••

dear cassian, today is the third day since i've been back and i'm afraid i have to admit that i miss you already. everything remains the same around here, it feels like i never left. last night, i had an argument with my parents about what had happened. i was very vague about everything, but i did confess that there had been someone and i'm glad i did, because joffrey broke off the engagement this morning. apparently, he no longer has any interest in me now that i'm not 'pure' according to his words. he thinks he humiliated me but in fact he did me a big favor. i went for a walk in the forest this morning and it reminded me of the day we met. do you remember that day? little did we know the adventure that awaited us, and how wonderful it was, don't you agree? with love, y/n 

cassian hated patrol work. he always thought that, next to filling out reports, this was the worst.

normally, this task fell to the spymaster, but with azriel on a mission, the task fell to him.

cassian had already made several rounds and was doing the last border check at the spring court.

everything was fine, until something caught his attention. running through the trees, as if her life depended on it, was a young woman — human.

cassian was surprised. it was very rare for humans to come this far, what was she doing there?

the justification he was looking for appeared when a boy appeared through the trees.

at the speed she was running, it was impossible for this situation to be friendly.

cassian didn't know what to do — he knows he's not supposed to interact with humans, but he couldn't just leave knowing he would hurt her. 

so he did the unthinkable. 

with extreme precision, cassian landed on the ground and began searching for her, following the sound of her footsteps.

when the sound stopped, cassian did too. looking around, he couldn't find anything. his ears didn't prepare him for the body that collided with his chest, knocking the small human to the ground. 

cassian looked at her on the ground. he wonder how long it would take for her to scream and run away.

but that was forgotten when she raised her head.

your eyes, an immense blue, cast a spell over cassian, who found himself lost in them.

never had he seen such blue eyes, not even with the summer or winter fae.

cassian was lost for words and flustered. without even thinking, he reached out a hand and he had the surprise of his life when you placed your small hand in his too large one and allowed him to help you get up. 

"thank you."

cassian had to compose himself before saying, "are you okay?"

his question went unanswered as you were too busy admiring him to listen "wow, you look like a god."

"oh." cassian found himself caught off guard — again.

"so pretty."

cassian blushed. what was going on? he had never blushed before but then again no one had ever called him pretty.

before cassian could speak, several footsteps were heard before the man who was chasing you appeared before you.

you moved behind the general and grabbed his arm as a form of protection.

a human trusted him more — a fae she barely knew than the person in front of him?

cassian didn't like that. the guy paled in front of the general, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

"is there a problem?" cassian asked him.

the man began to stutter, unable to formulate a word.

"leave me alone, joffrey. i already told you i'm not going to marry you."

suddenly, joffrey looked at you and his face took on an angry look and when he took a step forward, cassian did too.

joffrey didn't have a chance to take another step, when at the general's movement, he fell to the ground before start running while shouting.

from behind him, laughter was heard. cassian turned to find you and saw you trying to hold back your laughter.

mimicking your smile, cassian pointed in the direction where the guy had been before asking, "your fiancé?"

"arranged marriage." you explained.

"um, aren't you happy?"

"joffrey is horrible. i'd be better off married to a horse than him."

a deep chuckle erupted from the male. you were undoubtedly an interesting human "you're not afraid of me."

"why would i be?" 

"because i'm a fae?" 

"i don't judge people based on their appearance."

that made him shut up and cassian realized it was true. everyone ran away when they saw a fae and here you were, sympathizing with one.

cassian watched you look around.

"i can't go back. if i do, i'll be forced to marry him."

when you reached up to brush your hair away from your face, you noticed the wound on your hand. "is. . .this. . .is this blo. . .blood?"

cassian didn't have time to respond before you passed out. he caught you and lifted you up in his arms, and that sight did something to him.

you did something to him.

and just like that, cassian did the unthinkable a second time that day and took you to velaris with him.

•••

dear cassian, i had an interesting week. i found an injured cat on my way back from the market. the poor thing had a hurt paw and was a little sick, so of course i took him home with me. i fed him, tended to his wound, kept him warm and clean, and made sure he got better. by the end of the week, he was as good as new. i don't know how, but i managed to convince my father to keep him, so now i have a new companion. i named him amren because he looks so much like her. you know what this reminded me of? when you got sick and i took care of you. it was a funny experience, wasn't it? with love, y/n

cassian felt terrible but not as terrible as he would make azriel feel after beating him in the ring for making him sick.

the shadowsinger had returned from his mission in windhaven where he had caught the illyrian flu and now all three brothers were sick.

he was going to make his brother pay, but before he had a chance to think how, his door was opened.

you walked in with a bowl of hot soup in one hand and a large box in the other.

"how is the sick boy?"

"horrible."

a chuckle ran through the room before cassian felt his mattress dip. you made him stand up a little before dipping the spoon into the soup and turning it to him.

"i can eat on my own, thank you." cassian knew how his brothers would tease him for the rest of his life if they saw him being fed by you.

"allow me," you insisted. "you took care of me when i first got here and the small lady said i couldn't get out of bed."

cassian laughed at your description of madja. when he brought you in, she had examined you and discovered that you were severely dehydrated and a little malnourished from the run in the forest and forced you to rest for a week.

cassian took care of you the entire time without ever complaining.

he pointed a finger at you before swallowing the soup. "this can never get out of here."

more giggles reached cassian's ears. how he loved that sound.

"yes, sir general."

cassian ate the soup and ended up repeating after praising your cooking skills one too many times.

board games and cards followed. when cassian's temperature rose, you placed a cold towel on his forehead and read him some poems to help him fall asleep.

a few hours later, rhys went to his brother's room to see how he was doing and was surprised when he saw the two of you.

cassian slept on your chest with his arm around your waist, and you slept with your head resting on his, one arm around his shoulders while the other still held the book.

rhys smiled, and left you two to dream.

•••

dear cassian, autumn is here. this morning, while i was in the garden reading, i had the opportunity to see the flocks of birds migrating. i spent a long time watching them and thinking how lucky they are. it reminded me of the day you took me flying for the first time and how incredible it was. what i would give to fly with you one more time. with love, y/n

"i won't let you fall."

your nervous look made cassian chuckle. the male stood in front of you as he watched you stare at the city below.

"don't you want to go see the city?" 

"of course i do!" you replied, "but humans don't fly."

a round of laughter invaded cassian, he loved the way you were so direct and straightforward. 

two weeks had passed since your arrival, and you kept talking about how you wanted to see the city.

even though it was night, cassian had told you how beautiful it is at night, leading the two of you to the balcony.

approaching you, cassian took your hand and when you looked away from him he placed a finger under your chin and forced you to look at him "you're safe with me, sweetheart."

your eyes acquired a shine that made cassian's heart skip a beat "promise?"

as he placed a light kiss on your hand, cassian promised you.

the general lifted you in his arms and took flight. your body was invaded by adrenaline, making you hide your head in the male's neck for the first few seconds. but with his encouragement, you opened your eyes.

the sparkle returned to your eyes and you felt like you were in a real fairy tale.

it seemed like a dream — the city lit up by stars, the rainbow bridge, the river under the moonlight, people dancing and singing in the streets.

you were so taken aback by everything that your eyes didn't even look away when cassian spoke. "i have an idea. do you trust me?"

"with my life."

cassian felt the weight of your words, but before he could think too much about them, he hugged you around your waist, making you fall into his embrace and stay underneath him.

cassian descended his flight and took you straight to the river where he lowered you until your hands could reach the water.

you stretched out your arms and felt the cold water tickle you making you laugh nonstop. you traveled the entire river, until cassian lifted you higher again, but you kept your arms open the whole time.

it seemed like you were really flying.

freedom and magic had never seemed more beautiful to you.

you smiled all night.

•••

dear cassian, today i was invaded by one of the best memories ever. my mother braided my hair for church and i couldn't help but blush and giggle almost the entire time. i was greeted by strange looks from her but it didn't bother me at all. how could it be when i was thinking about you? that night was special, wasn't it? i know it was for me. with love, y/n

today was one of those days.

the one that cassian just wanted to end. his mother's birthday was always a difficult day for him, and if he could, he would just skip it completely. 

in an attempt to feel better, cassian went in search of the only thing that offer him comfort these days. 

three knocks on the wooden door and a second later, cassian entered the room and upon seeing your smiling face, the tension that tormented him left his body.

you greeted him with a smile so big that it almost disarmed the general completely.

"hey, big boy." several giggles followed your greeting.

cassian couldn't help the giggles that also came out of him, as he closed the door and headed towards the bed where you were sitting.

"hey, little one." cassian was enjoying this new type of flirting — innocent and pure, true and funny, with no ulterior motives. 

you were already ready for bed. your nightgown was white and one of the straps was hanging down because you were finishing braiding your hair. 

his troat got a little dry.

"are you okay? you look a little sad." 

cassian's eyes shifted back to yours, and his heart warmed at your kindness. 

"i'm fine. it's just one of those days." 

understanding dawned on your face, "well, lucky for you, i have the best medicine for that." 

amusement filled cassian's face. raising an eyebrow, he asked "it's that so?" 

nodding your head, you grabbed his hand and led him to sit in front of you on the floor. 

cassian ignored the feeling of your bare legs on either side of his shoulders, your soft and smooth skin touching the skin of his arms. 

moments later, cassian felt his hair being combed on one side while the other was caressed by your fingers. 

the general immediately relaxed. closing his eyes, he let his back fall against the bed, filling all the space between you.

"my grandmother used to do this to me when i was little, especially when i was sad. it was impossible not to feel better after."

"were you close?" cassian found himself asking. 

"a lot, there were times when i considered her more my mother than my own mother." 

"you must have loved her very much."

several giggles came out of you. "i did, but we never used that expression." 

through the mirror, you watched cassian frown in confusion, causing you to laugh again "what do you mean?"

"my grandmother was a complicated woman. when she was younger, she didn't believe in love. she thought it was impossible to love someone more than anything." 

cassian listened attentively to every word you said.

"until she met my grandfather. she said that whenever she was with him, her heart beat faster, as if it was beating for him, and not for her. as if her heart belonged to him." 

cassian found your face in the mirror, and the smile you wore as you brushed his hair made him give a matching smile. 

you were talking with so much love, so much adoration.

"whenever she wanted to express her love for my grandfather, she would say 'my heart beats for you'. i've always loved that expression, i think it's much more sincere than the other one to be honest." 

your expression of adoration was replaced by one of surprise "i've never told anyone this before."  

cassian realized what you meant behind those words and before he could stop himself, he took a leap of confidence.

"today would be my mother's birthday." 

and so, the two of you talked all night long. 

cassian told you about his mother, about his  childhood, about the war, about everything.

you hugged him, wiped his tears, and kissed his cheeks — he blushed but you pretended you didn't notice.

you ended up braiding his hair while telling him how you wanted to be a teacher and open your own school for girls and boys because in your village only men could study.

how you wanted to help improve the future lives of those girls who were just as deserving of a good life as any boy. 

cassian found himself wondering how could you be this perfect and how lucky he felt that he was the one to find you.

in the future, when anyone asked him about the moment he fell in love with you, cassian would talk about this night. 

•••

dear cassian, i miss my days in prythian. i miss you. i don't want to be human anymore. i want you. y/n

the restaurants cassian took you to so you could sample the delicious food velaris offered, including the bakeries where cassian discovered you had a sweet tooth for chocolate cake. he found himself wiping chocolate off your chin several times.

the nights at rita's where you and rhysand did karaoke side by side, acting like superstars.

your chess battles with amren, and how she could never win a single game against you, always claiming that you were cheating.

the girls' nights with morrigan, and the shopping trips she took you on.

the reading time with azriel, where just the company of each other was enough for you.

the training sessions between azriel and cassian that brought your not-so-decent scenarios with the general to life in your mind.

the night flights in cassian's arms.

the nights when you always braided his hair so that it wouldn't get knotted while he slept.

your discovery of green herbal tea that helped cassian with his allergies.

the night you outlined cassian's tattoos as a way to help him relax after a hard day.

and your favorite. your birthday when the inner circle organized a surprise party for you and cassian gave you what become your favorite piece of clothing — a purple dress with white flowers.

•••

dear cassian, the first rain has come to my village and with it has brought back some memories. i spent most of the afternoon sitting by the window just to appreciate the view. when i was questioned from my mother about my doings, i gave her this same answer and she looked at me strangely, saying that there was nothing beautiful to appreciate. oh, cass, how wrong she is. i haven't been able to get you out of my head since the first drops touched the earth. what a special day that was for us. dare i say one of the best? i will cherish that day forever as long as my memory allows it, but i know that it will always remain in my heart. how could i forget, when that was the day i felt alive again in a long time? i just hope you felt the same way. with love, y/n

it was raining non-stop.

what had started out as a sunny day had quickly turned into a gray one.

you and cassian struggled not to slip on the wet dirt as you ran to the cabin.

the cabin by the lake that rhysand had lent you for a weekend together. you had gone to visit a fair that was taking place in a nearby village before the rain changed your plans.

cassian knew that your time together was coming to an end, and that this was rhys's way of letting you say goodbye to each other, and for that, he was grateful.

holding hands, only your laughter and the rain were audible.

looking at you, cassian saw your smile, the one he likes so much. a pang sounded in his heart and forced him to stop.

"what's wrong?" you asked when you noticed.

"i don't know what you're doing to me."

confusion fell over your face "what?"

"the things you're making me feel. i've never felt anything like this before."

the world stopped. suddenly, it was just you and him, him and you. the only audible sound was the beating of your hearts.

"my heart beats for you." he confessed, "he's been beating for you for some time now."

several tears ran down your face and your breath got caught in your throat.

this was really happening.

a big smile formed on your face "my heart beats for you, too."

a great sigh of relief left his mouth, with a smile that matched yours, the general didn't waste another moment to do what he had been dreaming of doing for weeks.

he kissed you with all his strength.

you who were stealing his heart since the day he saw you.

you returned the kiss immediately encouraging cassian to deepen the kiss, making you lean back a little.

taking advantage of this new change, cassian took the opportunity to wrap his hands around the back of your thighs, propelling you upwards, making you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

the male carried you to cabin, and then to the bedroom, whose door was opened with a kick without ever breaking the kiss.

cassian supported his knees on the mattress, lowering your bodies until your back rested gently on the surface of the bed.

his hands traveled your body, while your hands slid down the width of his back, feeling every muscle he had there under your palms.

your hands continued their path until they reached the hem of his shirt. when you showed your intention to lift it, your action was interrupted by cassian.

"wait." he asked, leaning on his knees and holding your small wrists in his too-large hands.

"is there a problem?"

your legs continued to rest on either side of cassian's legs, you showed no intention of moving.

"you're human."

your eyes dropped to the skirt of your dress, a pang of shame reaching your heart. you couldn't help but think that maybe he didn't want to do this because you would never be able to satisfy him like the females in his world.

after all, you are just a simple human while they look like goddesses compared to you.

"no, it's not that."

your eyes immediately flew to meet those brown ones. cassian approached and ran a hand over your face.

"trust me, it's not that. i've never wanted anyone like i want you, but. . . "

your hand rested on his, which was on your cheek, heating up with each movement of the male.

"i'm afraid i might hurt you. i'm much stronger than you and i don't want to hur-"

"you could never hurt me." you were quick to interrupt him and the feeling of relief that filled you was welcome.

he wants you, but he's just afraid of hurting you.

your heart skipped a beat at his kindness.

"i know you'd never hurt me, cass. it's okay, i want this." this time, you were the one caressing his face, "i trust you."

oh, if you only knew how much those three words had an effect on him.

never in his four hundred years had cassian ever felt this way about anyone.

someone who made him feel alive.

someone who gave him a purpose.

nodding, cassian was quick to kiss you again, and when you tried to take off his shirt again, he didn't stop you.

standing up, he undid his pants, button by button. you watched as his pants slid down his muscular thighs.

now in just his boxers, you took in the incredible sight of the warrior he was — his muscles, his tattoos, and those strands of hair tied in a bun while the rest remained loose.

an absolute god.

what an impossible mission it was to meet this male and not fall madly in love with him.

cassian broke the last step when his boxers joined the pile of his clothes on the floor.

you couldn't stop your gaze from lingering on his length for longer than it should have.

a chuckle from cassian broke your trance and you tried to hide your blushing cheeks as you stood up and stood in front of him with your back turned.

you felt the male's breathing get heavier as you gently slid your hair over one shoulder, giving him a view of the zipper of your dress.

cassian's hands were shaking slightly as the general began to slide the clasp all the way down, being greeted by your bare back.

a kiss was placed at the beginning of your spine, sending shivers down it, while two large hands slid the dress off your shoulders until it fell to the floor.

when you found cassian's face again, you watched as his eyes traveled over your body, memorizing every detail.

with your eyes still on his, you lay back down on the mattress. cassian followed you, resting his forearms on the sides of your head.

his fingers traveled through your hair while his lips were busy kissing you.

the kiss took another turn when the kisses strayed to your cheek, followed by your neck and down your chest until they reached your belly and stopped just below your belly button.

cassian lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question.

"yes."

he placed one last kiss on your belly before his hands grabbed the fabric of your underwear and slid them down your legs.

several light kisses were placed on the inside of your thighs as the male made another round of kisses until he reached your lips.

when his hips aligned with yours, you felt a pressure at your entrance that caused a new sensation in your belly.

cassian grabbed one of your arms, lifting and bending it over your head before intertwining your fingers with his and holding it there.

his other hand slid down your thigh until he lifted it and held it higher on his hip.

"are you sure?"

a nod wasn't enough for the male who preferred words for what was about to happen.

"words, baby."

your heart skipped another beat. could this male be more perfect?

with a look of love written all over your face, you said "make me yours."

cassian fell apart at your words and as quick as a snap of his fingers, his heart surrendered to you completely.

lifting his hips slightly, cassian pushed inside and a strange sensation invaded you.

he made sure his movement was slow and gentle so as not to hurt you, until he was completely inside.

your heart was racing as was your breathing, as you tried to get used to this new sensation that could be described as strange, a little painful but at the same time pleasant.

cassian stood still for a few seconds, using his free hand to caress your hair "relax, baby."

following his advice, your muscles relaxed and the tension disappeared from your body, leaving only pleasure.

giving the male an indication to continue, cassian moved slowly and gently with each encounter of your hips.

as you got used to it, his thrusts became deeper and more precise.

your moans mixed with cassian's grunts, your bodies moving in harmony.

your body exploded and you found yourself sailing in a sea of pleasures where each sensation left you feeling incredible.

just when you thought it couldn't get any better, cassian wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing you closer, and held both of your hands above your head as he took a few minutes to explore your chest.

sucking and biting, you were left with love marks all over your skin.

this is where you wanted to be. in this bed, in the arms of this male.

you wanted to display all these marks of love so that everyone could know that the two of you belonged together.

you remained wrapped in each other until the next morning sun came to greet you.

•••

the day you and cassian had to say goodbye is not one he wants to remember.

it was months later, during one of the parties organized by the high lord in the hewn city.

after a night full of laughter, dancing and food, an attempt on rhys's life occurred. the inner circle was quick to act but not before one of the attackers hurt you.

madja was able to heal some of your injuries but due to your human nature, the others would take longer to heal.

guilt consumed cassian, reminding him how fragile you were compared to them.

cassian could not be selfish with you and make you stay in his world just so he could be with you.

he held you in his arms, kissing you and telling how much his heart beats for you.

the next morning, you woke up in your village with the a ghost feeling of strong arms around you as last memory.

•••

my love, i'm getting married. i understand that this may come as a big surprise but this time is different. i'm ready for a life beyond my parents' reach. his name is liam, we have known each other since we were children when he lived across the house from me. i met him again when i was returning from church, i learned that he recently lost his wife to a virus in a village in the north. he returned to his parents' house after his wife's funeral to start over. we have kept in touch ever since and life has led us to take the next step. we are not in love, not even close, but we are friends, we enjoy each other's company and we both want the same thing and guess what? liam loved my idea of being a teacher and opening a small school. he is a good man, he treats me very well and supports my dreams, i think everything will be fine. i bought my wedding dress the other day and i couldn't help but think about the beautiful dresses i would find in velaris and how pretty you would look in a suit at the altar. oh, cass, how i wish it was you. how i wish it was you to whom i would say those two little words. i still have some preparations to make until the wedding day, next friday. and i already know that if he ever goes off the rails, all i have to do is describe to him an illyrian general who would be happy to settle scores with him. i miss you, cass. my heart beats for you. forever yours, y/n

cassian was nervous.

he knew he shouldn't be here, but he couldn't stop himself from coming.

a part of him believed that you wanted him here, that the mention of your wedding day had been intentional so he could come.

at least, that's what he tried to convince his brothers when rhysand and azriel tried to stop him.

the sun had set long ago, but the party continued.

cassian watched the light emitted by the windows of the small church and the music that was playing inside.

several voices laughing and singing could be heard through the thin wood.

cassian paced back and forth, wondering what he should do.

the male walked a few steps towards the church only to walk back and find his brothers coming out of the trees.

a sigh of annoyance left the general's mouth, who received looks of understanding from his brothers.

"you can't be here, cass," rhysand told him for what seemed like the hundredth time since that letter had reached his brother's hands.

"what am i supposed to do, rhys?" pain showed in cassian's brown eyes, causing a pang of pain in his brothers hearts.

"my girl is in there getting married to a guy who isn't me."

azriel approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder and lightly squeezing him. "we know, but it's dangerous for you to be here, brother. what if someone sees you?"

"i'm not afraid of them, az." cassian gave him an incredulous look, as if the male didn't know what he was made of.

"i'm not talking about you," cassian's confusion was enough for him to continue. "y/n is in there. if someone sees you and tries to hurt you, she'll step in and stop it from happening. and then what? what do you think they'd do to her if they found out you were the person she was with while she was away?"

cassian's stomach turned at the mere thought of someone being capable of hurting you.

you who radiate kindness and gentleness.

"he's right, cass. not all humans are understanding, many of them would never accept the fact that y/n chose you over one of them." rhysand added.

cassian hung his head in defeat and with a simple nod, conveyed his understanding to his brothers.

just as they turned their backs on the church and prepared to leave, a honey-sweet voice stopped them.

"cass?"

a wave of electricity invaded the male's body and a sense of relief filled him.

he would recognize that voice anywhere. even if he was at the ends of the world, he would recognize you.

cassian's knees nearly gave out when he turned around and found the most beautiful bride he had ever seen.

you were on the church porch. your hair was tied up in a bun with a bridal pin on top holding a transparent, shiny veil.

you displayed a white shiny dress that started with a sweetheart neckline whose fabric hugged your form until your hips and then cascaded down to your feet.

you were mesmerizing with the starlight completing you.

cassian forgot how to breathe.

if his time came at that precise moment, he would die happy.

"cass!" your eyes lit up as your feet carried you to him.

cassian ran to you and when you threw yourself into his arms, he held you as if his life depended on it.

he inhaled your scent, memorized the softness of your skin and recorded the sound of your laughter.

cassian would stay in this position forever, with you in his arms, safe, happy and loved.

but that was interrupted when you ended the hug and pulled away just long enough to firmly grab his face and kiss him directly on his lips.

cassian kissed you back immediately. a kiss that told him so much even without words spoken in between.

how much you missed him, how much you loved him and how much to desire to be with him.

when the kiss ended, your foreheads remained together with your hands still on each other's cheeks, as you tried to calm your hearts and catch your breath.

a light laugh from you broke the silence "i missed you."

"i missed you too, baby."

"we missed you too, y/n" rhys's voice reached your ears, making you turn in the arms of your male and look in the direction of his brothers.

azriel and rhysand raised their hands together in greeting, goofy smiles on their faces.

"i missed you too, boys," your eyes redirected to those brown who invaded your dreams "but not as much as your pretty brother here."

cassian blushed, looking away from you and hiding his face in your neck, leaving his brothers giggling and mocking him.

the small moment of tenderness didn't last long when a pair of footsteps reached the ears of the illyrians, making them go into defense mode.

cassian quickly placed you behind him while rhysand and azriel joined his sides with weapons ready.

not far away, a sharp scream broke through the garden and a small 'pum' echoed beneath your feet.

before anything tragic could happen, you stepped in front of the males, trying to contain your laughter.

"it's okay! it's liam!"

liam — the human on the ground — was in a fetal position, with his head hidden in his knees and his arms wrapped around them.

"please, don't hurt me." he begged.

"liam," you tried to stifle your laughter but failed as you helped him up, "they're not going to hurt you, you idiot."

"oh," liam let out a small nervous laugh as he adjusted his coat and pants. "well, that's good. thank you."

the males put away their weapons as they observed what was your new husband.

the smile that adorned your face at the scene that had just taken place did not go unnoticed by them.

as you linked your arm with liam's, you approached the males and made the proper introductions.

"liam, this is rhysand and azriel." you paused briefly as the three shook hands.

a look of love took over your face "and this is cassian," a brief pause, enough for your eyes to regain that shine that was meant only for him "my cassian."

the male's heart skipped a beat and began beating so fast that he only realized it when his brothers' giggles started again.

clearing his throat and composing himself, cassian ignored the two idiots on the left and looked at liam.

he didn't know what to expect from the man's reaction but it was definitely not what displayed next.

"it's very nice to meet you, sir. i heard great things about you."

"you did?" cassian asked suprised.

you were the one to answer this time "i told liam about us. he's not like the others."

liam shook hands with cassian, before stepping back and exclaiming "i'll give you two a moment alone," looking at you he continued "i'll be inside when you're ready."

gratitude and joy filled your eyes bringing tears to the surface "thank you, liam."

"of course." liam replied as he took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

already heading towards the church, liam was stopped in his tracks, with a voice he knew belonged to a general without even looking back.

"yes?" he asked as he found cassian's face again.

cassian looked at you — at your eyes that shone every time you looked at him and as he ran a hand over your face, he placed his hand on the back of your neck bringing you into a hug.

as soon as your face touched his chest, you wrapped your arms around his waist, one of his hands remained on your neck while the other found your waist.

your body immediately relaxed against his and cassian had to look away from you as tears invaded his eyes.

he had to clear his throat before proceeding "take care of my girl."

liam gave him a genuine smile that showed cassian he could trust him. "i will. you have my word."

with a nod from the male, liam continued on his way until he entered the church.

a simple look at his brothers told them what cassian wanted.

a moment alone with you — the last one.

azriel and rhysand placed a kiss on the top of your head in turn before leaving.

there in the middle of a garden, in the moonlight, you and cassian danced.

"my heart beats for you." you said it one last time.

"my heart beats for you, baby."

you danced together for a long time.

the dance that was supposed to be witnessed by the whole world on your wedding day.

but instead, only the stars got to witnessed it.

•••

dear cassian, today marks two months since i started teaching. the renovations were finished a few weeks after the wedding and the school is finally up and running. the first few days were difficult, many girls didn't show up because some parents still believed that education is only for boys but i think the gods are on my side. by the fourth week there were so many girls and boys that there wasn't room for one more person. many of the children had to sit on the tables and windowsills, can you believe it? the children are contagious and have such a curiosity to learn that it fills my heart with joy. liam and i have been married for six months. we found a nice house near the lake and everything is going well. we are planning a trip to the mainland at the end of the year. it will be our honeymoon since we didn't have the chance after the wedding. i hope you are all well. with love, y/n

on top of a tree planted in a garden in front of a small school, a large illyrian general struggled with his weight to stay stable in the branches.

on the general's face was one of the biggest smiles he had ever shown.

his eyes were fixed on the scene that was unfolding a few feet away from him on the ground.

in the middle of the garden, in front of a small school, there was you. — his girl.

cassian watched as you stood in the middle of a circle, singing and clapping, while the children danced around you with smiles on their faces — faces full of a happiness caused by you.

the scene brought tears to his eyes.

you were happy.

your dream had come true.

and it was at that precise moment that he knew he had made the right decision in letting you go.

•••

dear cassian, i've been very busy with school and the children. it's been rewarding to be able to be a part of these little beings who grow more and more with each passing day. liam is doing well, we celebrated his birthday a few weeks ago. we're both very happy and our relationship gets better every day. this is a very special time for us, especially now that we've discovered that our family of two will soon become a family of three. who would have thought, me as a mom, can you imagine? my little bump is already noticeable and the baby kicked for the first time the other day. i already love this baby so much. i'm happy. with love, y/n

"where have you been?"

rhysand's voice attacked cassian's mind with a tone too loud.

cassian was sitting on the couch with several empty bottles of alcohol at his feet and tears streaming down his face.

rhys didn't need an answer from his brother to realize where he had gone.

"you went to see her."

more tears ran down cassian's face, and the male took another sip before speaking.

"they were building the crib."

rhysand let out a sigh and approached the male, taking the bottle from him and grabbing his shoulder. "you can't keep doing this to yourself, cassian. you have to let her go."

"i can't," cassian began to sob, "i don't want to."

without any way of predicting it, rhys rocked back as cassian hugged him.

the high lord's heart broke for his brother — his love for you was unquestionable.

"she looked so beautiful, rhys," the sobs grew louder, "she was wearing the purple dress with white flowers and . . . and her little bump was showing."

rhys hugged his brother tightly, showing him that he was there for him.

"i want her back. i want my girl back."

cassian fell asleep crying.

•••

dear cassian, my babygirl is here. on a summer night, cassie marie came into this world screaming and kicking. she is absolutely perfect. liam and i decided to name her after the loves we lost, i hope you like it. cassie has my hair and liam's nose but somehow she has your eyes and according to liam, marie's freckles. if this isn't a gift from the gods, then i don't know what is. cassie is now four months old, she's always smiling and communicating in her sweet way. you should see her, cassian, she's so beautiful. sometimes i let myself wonder what it would be like if she had little bat wings and black hair. even after all this, my heart still beats for you. with love, y/n

on the porch of a house by the lake, sitting in a rocking chair, a mother sang to her newborn daughter.

the beautiful girl listened attentively to her mother's voice, who looked at her with all the love in the world reflected in her blue eyes.

the baby smiled from time to time, babbling here and there, trying to join her mother.

cassian watched from the shadows.

the scene unfolding before his eyes brought him peace — a peace mixed with a certain kind of pain.

unable to help himself, he also imagined what it would be like if that little girl had small bat wings and black hair.

he imagined what it would be like to be able to hold those two precious things in his arms and be able to call them his own.

cassian couldn't hold back the tears.

that was the last time he ever saw you.

•••

dear cassian, it's been so long since my last letter. a lot has changed since then. liam and i have now been married for eight years, cassie is six, wren is three and lucy just turned one. liam and i moved to a bigger house about two years ago. our children are our greatest blessings, cassie loves to paint and read, wren has developed a new obsession with bugs and rocks, and lucy loves it when i sing to her. i wish i could slow down time so they wouldn't grow up so fast. my father passed away last year after catching a bad case of the flu, but don't worry, i'm better now. i'm glad father got to meet lucy before he left us. my birthday is coming up and I'll be thirty-two soon. it feels like a lifetime ago since i met you. every time i see cassie's eyes, i see you and my heart fills with love and good memories. my heart still beats for you, cass. with love, y/n

•••

dear cassian, how time flies. i can't remember the last letter i wrote you. cassie is twenty now and has a boyfriend who liam isn't very happy with. she wants to be a teacher like me and one day when she's ready, she'll take my place at school. wren is almost eighteen and has decided he wants to be a doctor like his dad. he's been helping liam at the clinic lately. the first few days were hard, he threw up a few times but he's getting the hang of it. lucy loves nature. flowers, animals, trees, anything that involves it. she doesn't know what she wants to be yet but she's still young and has a lot of time until then. everything is going well. with love, y/n

•••

dear cassian, i'm a grandmother. last week, my cassie gave birth to a beautiful boy. the boyfriend that liam didn't like ended up proving himself to us and three years later, he and my little girl tied the knot. my grandson is beautiful, just like his mother. cassie has already taken my place at school and can't stop talking about how excited she is to go back. in a few months, it will be my son's turn to marry with girl who used to be my student. they make a beautiful couple. lucy ended up opening a bookstore and she's so happy. liam and i retired about a year ago and with all our babies out of the house and their lives organized, our house has become emptier and quieter. i'm not a big fan of this, but it's been useful because we have been taking advantage of this time to travel more, like we always wanted to. life has been good to me. with love, y/n

•••

my love, i turned eighty-three today. my family threw me a big surprise party surrounded by family and friends, it was one of the best i've ever had. i already have five grandchildren, did you know? my lucy had her first a few months ago. lately, i've been thinking a lot about the life i've built, about everything i've experienced. time is starting to pass by me, cass, i can feel it in my bones. it hurts me to say that i don't remember you anymore. no matter how hard i try, i can't remember your face or your voice but do you know what i can still remember? that my heart beats for you just as it always has. live well, cass. be happy and when your time comes, look for me in the next life. my heart will forever belong to you. forever yours, your girl, y/n

•••

the letter arrived on a gray morning.

the sun was hidden behind the clouds as if it was too afraid to come say 'hi'.

it was a strange morning, cassian thought.

despite the fact that it was already the last days of summer, pryhtian was still a few weeks away from welcoming the next season.

the inner circle was in the living room having breakfast at the house of wind.

nuala entered the room with a letter sealed that was resting on a white porcelain platter.

a huge smile immediately spread across the general's face.

after all, it was the first thursday of the month and everyone knew what that meant — a letter from you.

cassian didn't wait for nuala to cross the room to him. standing up as quickly as possible, wiping his hands on the pants fabric, cassian walked over to her.

he thanked the half-wraith, still with his mouth full, as he hurried to take the letter out and open it.

a few steps away, sitting at the oak table, his family studied with amusement in their eyes and genuine smiles.

cassian wasn't the only one who looked forward to your letters and the words contained in them — the first thursday of the month was always a day of great excitement for everyone, even for your old chess partner.

but, unfortunately, this wasn't a normal thursday.

the members of the inner circle were quick to notice this when cassian's behavior changed.

how he remained with his back turned, instead of turning around ready to share the letter with them;

how his knees began to weaken, instead of running back to the table smiling;

how his breathing became rapid and strangled, instead of letting out several laughs;

how from one moment to the next, everything changed.

cassian fell to his knees.

a second — that was all it took for his heart to stop.

a strangled sound of pain woke azriel and rhysand from their trances and they ran to their brother's aid.

morrigan and amren followed them, staying just a few steps away from where the three brothers were now on the ground.

four strong arms wrapped around cassian's body, whose chest shook with pain as his tears fell onto the abandoned letter on the floor, blurring the various words written on it.

through their brother's tears, the two males could only make out one sentence that remained untouched.

their hearts were immediately struck, as if someone had ambushed them and stolen a part of them.

tears that matched cassian's gathered in his family's eyes.

grief invaded them in the worst possible way.

you had died in your sleep.

the sun did not shine that day.

•••

she was lost for words.

she would never have imagined the depth of your love story with cassian.

now it all made sense.

the fact that he was scared by the revelation of the bond — the fact that he was insecure and afraid to accept it.

"i need you to understand that a part of my heart will always belong to her."

cassian began by saying, his eyes never meeting nesta's.

"after y/n, i never went back to being with another woma-" clearing his throat, he adjusted his position on the bed "with another female."

"for decades i couldn't even look at another female with that intention. y/n completely disarmed me."

a hoarse laugh escaped his lips "she turned my world upside down. she changed me for the better and showed me a life i never thought i was worthy of. so i need you to understand this before you make a decision about the bond."

his eyes met nesta's face for the first time.

"no matter how many years, decades, centuries pass, i will never, ever stop loving her. she was the one who made my heart beat for the first time, and even after one hundred and seventy-two years since she left this world. . .my heart continues to beat for her and it always will."

for the second time that day, nesta was lost for words.

she couldn't comprehend that kind of love — a love so deep, so true, so powerful.

she hoped that one day she could be blessed and experience it.

even though she knew that cassian would never love her like he loved you — to her surprise, that didn't bother her.

"i understand," a soft smile appeared on her lips and nesta felt relieved when cassian mimicked her, "you really loved her, huh?"

the male nodded several times before confessing out loud "more than life itself."

a moment of silence followed before cassian got up from the bed and walked towards his dresser.

underneath a set of clothes, the male took out a parchment.

on his way to nesta, he held it against his chest as if he was assimilating everything that was happening before stopping in front of her.

"she left you a letter." cassian surprised her and handed her a parchment before retreating to the balcony.

nesta stared at the parchment in her hands for a while, trying to figure out the meaning behind those words.

clarity dawned on her — not for her, but for cassian's future wife.

your consideration warmed her heart. rhysand was right — you really did have a gift for stealing people's hearts.

nesta broke the seal and a sweet smell invaded her space.

honey — your scent, nesta realized. she unrolled the letter and read it.

hello, future lady general, my name is y/n and if you are reading this letter, then i assume that cass has already told you about me. i can see that we are both lucky to have such a male in our lives. i don't know how much about our story cass has already told you but by now you must be aware that i am human. or that i was, depending when you're reading this. even though my heart beats for him, we're not meant to be, so i'm writing this letter to tell you a little bit about this amazing male that rocked my world. he's kind, honest, loyal, loving, funny, and so pretty. even though he thinks 'pretty' is a cheesy word, believe me, he likes it when people call him that. he loves flying at night, especially on summer nights. he's a big fan of music. he loves to eat, but he hates eating alone. it reminds him of his childhood in windhaven, so even if you're not eating, sit with him. he had a rough childhood and sometimes he lets those memories get to him, so on those days don't talk to him, just hug him and show him that you're there for him. he has allergies, a lot of them, so in the spring, make him a green herbal tea, it always works. he loves having his hair brushed and braided (he'll never admit it), especially at night before going to bed, that way he won't wake up with knots in his hair. and he loves kisses. in his cheek, in his nose, in his forehead, in his lips, so whenever you get a chance kiss him. it may be a little difficult at first, he has some difficulty in opening up but don't give up on him, he's worth it. please take care of my cass, he can be a little grumpy sometimes, but he's an incredible male who deserves the stars and so much more. make him laugh, make him smile, make him cry, make him scream, make him feel, make him live. make him my cassian again, and not the cassian he will became when my time in this world comes to an end. love him, appreciate him, enjoy him, protect him, accept him. make him yours. i hope your heart beats for him, just like mine still does. thank you, y/n

tears filled nesta archeron's eyes.

the female needed to take a few deep breaths for her heart to recover from what she had just read.

this letter was the only thing she needed to realize how much you had loved cassian and how easy it had been for him to fall in love with you.

who wouldn't? you seemed perfect.

she found cassian on the balcony with his arms resting on the wall and his head down.

the older archeron sister didn't even want to imagine the pain that her mate had felt throughout these years for his late love.

in that moment, nesta knew that she could never replace you, and not even she wanted that, but she wanted to do exactly what you had left in the letter for her.

to do what, unfortunately, you were only able to do for a short period of time and somehow be able to bring comfort to your soul knowing that your cassian was in good hands.

her gray eyes drifted to the letters that remained on the bed.

her eyes traveled through them but the only thing she could focus on was those pages.

the pages that were proof of cassian's grieve.

the pages that were marked by tears.

a/n: thank you for reading! i fell in love with this story even if it hurt to write some of it.

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @meul-a @avajustreads @littlelou22 @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @dark-chaos-314 @agirlwithwifiandalaptop

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because I couldn't find your blog.

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[ghostie-luvs]

Yandere! Patient <3

tw: depression,, obsessive behavior, very slight mention of sh/attempt

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who had been suffering from depression ever since he was young. His parents never tried to figure out why, only sending him to all these different therapists in hopes of helping him. Of course, they cared but they were also too busy, and perhaps, that was one of the leading causes: neglect.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who never tried hurting himself or attempting but only wallowed in the emptiness of the house he grew up in, no siblings to play with, no parents to admire, only him, and a few servants.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who during highschool, got his first ever partner. Gods, he was ecstatic! I mean, the man was touch starved, attention starved, everything starved really. He really did like the person,, so much that his love developed into a sort of unhealthy love, or so people call it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who would do anything for his new partner, go above and beyond for them..even if they didn’t like it. I mean, shouldn’t they be more appreciative of his efforts? No matter, he still loves them and will do whatever it takes for them to be happy.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ whose love only grows, progresses into a more..obsessive one. His partner always being treated with the affection he so wish he had when he was younger, with gifts, touches, anything they could ever want.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who savored the feeling of their touches, begging for more each time they pulled away, whining if you could even call it that. He needed the affection, he needed their touch and only deflated whenever he did not get what he wanted, thoughts of his childhood resurfacing.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who began to become dependent to his partner, needing them for everything. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, to eat or anything without them. He needed them, desperately. He couldn’t live without them.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who started to panic when his partner began to get distant. He wanted to ask why, wanted to figure out the problem, what he possibly did wrong. His partner gave him no room to even ask, breaking up with him, saying he was too much, and too clingy. What? Too..clingy?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who after the breakup, didn’t take it very well. He fell into the old friend of his that he had when he was young, finding no use of taking care of himself.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who was sent to a psychiatrist when his parents came back from abroad, noting his appearance and realizing what was happening again. He fought back, he told them that those damn people never helped him!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who, the day he arrived to his supposed assigned psychiatrist, felt absolutely horrible being there and only kept to himself. He knew how it would be already. They would prescribe him medicine that didn’t even work.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who, when his eyes fell on you, as you called his name and greeted him with a smile, inviting him to yours and your mentors office-you were only an assistant, only two years older than him- felt his world suddenly fill with colors. What? Soulmates don’t exist. So why was this happening and why did he feel so giddy at your welcoming smile?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who followed you into your office, making himself comfortable as you told him to sit down and tell you about himself. Why was he nervous? Either way, he did exactly what you told him and found himself getting comfortable in your presence and your smile.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who felt happy..happy in a long time at how much you’ve listened to him and treated him so nicely..just like his partner. He was excited for the next appointment, practically sulking when he had to leave, ignoring the fact that you probably prescribed him medicine on the way out, too busy with what would happen next time.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ who knew he wouldn’t be taking that medicine anyway. Why would he when he found that you were good enough, that you were the cure?

a/n: ahhh another character <3 please point out any mistakes or any constructive criticism is welcomed!! Reblogs are very much appreciated!!

please note that I am not a professional/ expert in the field of mental illnesses and reach out to one if you ever feel symptoms relating to depression or s! thoughts.

more of my works :)

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Two

For @erisweekofficial Day 2: Legacy

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Eris Vanserra carries a legacy of cruelty, a reputation forged in whispers and fear. But something doesn't quite fit anymore. You’re beginning to think that the male doesn't truly match the legend he's left behind.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, cruelty, injury, battling to death, introspection? like a lot, readers head is soooo big from these big thoughts

Word Count: 3.1k

did someone say eris week mini series???? technically can be read as a stand alone, just squint

Part One | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

When Eris Vanserra was born, his mother wept in the bathroom for hours after.

Her trembling hands muffled her soft cries as her handmaidens swaddled a newborn Eris in fine cloth. Beron hadn’t been there for most of the birth—hadn’t held her hand the way her father had held her mother’s. He came only at the end, just in time to praise the heir as he left her womb, presenting him like a trophy before promptly leaving for court business.

She was still young, felt like a child herself— at least in her own mind. So, while she loved her son dearly, his birth had cemented her fate to a male she didn’t love, a male whose hands she feared more than death itself.

His mother loved him, this Eris knew. Even at a young age, he felt that love. It burned in him like a comforting flame, the same warmth as the heavy blanket she would tuck around him at night or the sunlight that seeped into his skin on warm afternoons.

And yet, even surrounded by that love, Eris grew up lonely.

His loneliness led him to finding a home in curiosity, in sticking his pointed nose into matters that often didn’t concern him, picking out small details he'd unconsciously store for later. He was a collector from the beginning—of people, of excuses, of emotions he had yet to name.

Perhaps that was why he was so sickeningly fond of you, so starkly different from the others, equally curious, equally lonely.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn't Eris who people met first.

It was his reputation.

Eldest son of the High Lord, equal parts cunning and cruel, a loyal soldier with the venom of a viper. Anguish seemed to follow him, seemed to follow any with Vanserra blood, but there was something distinct about Eris, something divinely alluring. Terrifyingly sinful.

It was all true. So you weren't sure why it bothered you so much when your patrons talked about him, when his name was thrown into conversations surrounding the High Lord.

Your family's tavern was always filled with stories. Its dimly lit, worn wooden tables had overheard more whispered secrets and slurred confessions than you could ever count. Most nights were like this, with drinks spilling over into the laps of locals, the hum of conversation swirling in the air like smoke from the hearth. Tucked in a corner of the court’s lands, it was a place for those not high enough to feast in grand halls but not low enough to beg in the streets. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. A comfortable middle ground.

You placed a handful foaming drinks before the three males at the bar, taking a moment to analyze their appearance. They were relatively large, muscular builds hinting at some form of laborious profession. The callouses on their hands told you that they handled weapons often. But their clothes weren't nice enough to be one of Beron's men, weren't tailored enough to be one of Eris's either. Perhaps they were border patrollers, the lowest and grimiest of the forces.

They thanked you with lingering, appraising eyes as you moved away to fetch more drinks.

“I heard,” one of the them said, leaning closer to his companions, “that the eldest boy has a new game he plays with those who cross him. A real spectacle.”

The male next to him, the oldest of the three, nodded eagerly. “They say he’s got a private arena where he forces traitors to fight each other to the death. It’s supposed to be brutal—nothing but blood and screams. And Eris just sits there, like it’s a grand show.”

You clenched your teeth, turning around to face the wall behind you, forcing yourself to attend to the pile of glasses waiting to be wiped down. You tried to focus on your task, hoping to drown out their disturbing conversation, but it was no use. You could feel your grip tightening on the material of the rag, knuckles white as they continued to talk, their voices growing louder and louder with every drink they took.

It was a lie. A rumor. Nothing more.

Yes, Eris was cruel. He was manipulative and calculated. But you'd seen slivers of something else, something brighter, kinder, even. While you believed that a male should face the consequences of his actions, there was no honor in perpetuating lies that simply weren’t true.

It made no sense, anyway. Eris had done plenty of questionable things. There were multitudes of actions to choose from, many things worthy of criticism. There was no need to indulge in falsehoods. The image they painted of Eris—a male reduced to a sadistic spectator in a grotesque spectacle—seemed far removed even from him.

“A grand show?” the third scoffed. “He’s not just watching. He’s placing bets on who’ll survive, like it’s some sick sport. It’s all for his amusement. I’ve heard he gets pleasure out of the carnage. Let's his hounds ravage the bodies.”

A knot tightened in your chest and you gripped the glassware harder, cloth bunching in your grasp. Before you could register the motion yourself, you spun around, the movement abrupt enough to make the males flinch.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you sneered. The males stiffened, large angry eyes boring into yours. You continued. "Bold of you to traverse around spreading rumors of a High Lord's son. Be grateful he isn't around to correct you himself."

You blinked, the anger draining away as quickly as it had surged, leaving a wave of embarrassment in its place. You took in the male’s faces—initially stunned, then quickly morphing into anger. It was an expected reaction from those who felt their pride wounded, especially from males who had just been scolded by a low-court fae like yourself.

You straightened, trying to regain your composure as you cleared your throat.

The largest of the men leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a sneer. “Well, well, boys,” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I think our pretty little bartender might be one of the Princeling’s whores.”

You weighed your options as you stood there, hand still gripping the glass. For a fleeting moment, you were tempted to shatter it over his head. The thought of the glass breaking, of the shards embedding themselves in his skin, was almost satisfying.

But you didn't. Your father would be angry, would be disappointed above all. You needed the business.

You took a deep breath and your grip on the glass loosened.

“Allow me to apologize,” you said. “It seems I’m more sensitive about our court’s reputation than I realized. I don’t know what came over me. How about a round on the house?”

Their faces shifted to smug satisfaction as they accepted the offer with eager grins and, soon, their cups were filled once more. As they happily downed their next round of drinks, you slipped out from behind the bar.

The door’s bell chimed softly as you stepped outside, itching to find the heir that was imprinted into your mind.

Strangely enough, you knew exactly where he'd be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found him in a clearing south of The Forest House, an expansive area bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. It was a dedicated space for the hounds, adorned in various obstacles that Eris used during their training—wooden jumps, tunnels, and agility courses set up with careful precision. You'd seen the area of land a handful of times before, times when Lucien found Eris to argue or hurl curses.

You approached carefully, watching as Eris kneeled by one of the hounds, gently tending to what seemed to be a cut on its paw.

After a moment, he finally looked up, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards and a playful glint manifested in his eyes.

"Even after all these years, a vixen without a fox at her side is still a strange sight."

You gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath as your eyes roamed the face of the male before you.

It was an unnecessary jab.

Lucien hadn’t been by your side for centuries now. Though you had visited him as often as you could, the friendship you once shared had changed. He had changed. You had, too. You'd grown into your life at Autumn—managing the tavern that bore your family’s name and living vicariously through the stories that came your way.

The last time you had seen Lucien was marked by a change. You'd looked into his eyes and somehow understood that things were different beyond what had been anticipated.

"Why do you do that?" You asked. "Be a dick when you don't need to be?"

Eris stood, brushing his hands clean as the hound trotted away to rejoin the rest. He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, a scrutinizing, analyzing moment. Then he offered you a shrug, something so casual and dismissive. You were sure it would've warded off anyone else, that his disinterestedness would have begun to tired them already, turn them the other way.

"Maybe it's part of my charm," he finally responded, "Or maybe I'm just a dick."

He made no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice as he emphasized your insult. Eris had been called many things— you'd heard them, even delivered a few of the titles. But so far, you were the only one to call him two things: a dick, and a prick. Perhaps it was delusion, but you swore that he seemed to enjoy it when you said such things, seemed to smirk in a way that wasn't just cruel, but impressed.

You rolled your eyes. "Most wouldn't wear that title with such pride."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "What's the use in denying my nature?"

You sighed, a sound of frustration, of annoyance. "Do you not grow bored of your little games?"

Eris rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. He always had immaculate posture, his stature was often so perfect that it was almost uncomfortable to witness. It emphasized his wealth, somehow— emphasized his power. He towered over you even more now.

"Did you seek me out solely to criticize me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No."

"Then why?"

You still weren't entirely sure why you had come.

"Perhaps I was bored."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Do you not have any friends?"

You bristled. "I have plenty." You paused, allowing your gaze to settle on the view before you, on the open land and the animals that in the open expanse. You turned back to Eris. "It's you that doesn't seem to have any. Your only companionship recently seems to be those hounds. I'm surprised you're not running on all fours."

Eris's expression shifted. He let out a small chuckle and you fought against the twitch in your lips, cursed the warmth that blossomed in your chest. But the amusement dissipated from his face soon after, replaced be a resolve of cold indifference. His eyes seemed tired in this light.

"As much as I…enjoy our little talks," He began after a moment, "I didn't ask for company. You should find someone who wants it."

A small sense of rejection passed through your skin like a cold, morning chill. You were never foolish enough to think Eris would welcome your presence with open arms and a smile, never naive enough to consider yourself anything more than semi-peaceful acquaintances. But still, there was something deep within you that wished he’d show you something beyond the disregard he showed others.

That wasn't a fool's wish— because you knew it was possible.

You'd seen it.

Strangely enough, you had. In the stolen glances when he thought no one was looking, how he lingered after you stumbled, offered a hand before quickly retracting it. There had been flowers at your door after your mother passed of Autumn fever, an unusual number of wealthy patrons who had frequented your father’s tavern for months afterward, tipping generously despite only having a drink or two. They all adorned attire of a specific, deep green that you’d come to recognize easily—the shade often worn by Eris’s personal guard.

His name was never attached to any of it, but you could trace it back to him. You'd always wondered why he'd never taken credit, never basked in somehow proving your presumptions about him wrong.

Twenty-nine year old you, freshly bonded to Lucien after he'd stumbled across your father's tavern, would be shocked that centuries later, she'd be spending more time alongside his cruel brother than Lucien himself.

You’d had an image of Eris back then—an image painted by Lucien’s words. It was accurate, to an extent. You never doubted your best friend’s judgment, never questioned the stories of cruelty and ambition that followed Eris like a shadow. He had, indeed, made Lucien suffer. There were reasons he disliked his brothers so deeply, reasons you knew were valid.

But you were curious by nature, always craving to understand things deeply, intricately. And Eris Vanserra called to you like a riddle from an ancient tale—dangerous, alluring, and impossible to ignore.

Above all else, you wanted answers. Throughout the years, Eris had never called upon your bargain, never asked for a favor, never even mentioned the price you’d paid for that first visit with Lucien. Not once.

It unnerved you.

"I don't understand you," you said, without realizing the words had fallen from your lips.

You hadn't intended on voicing it so blatantly. You weren't quite sure how Eris would respond, how he would interpret your words. It was a tossup, really, between a snarky response or something condescending, something to make you feel silly, naive.

Silence.

Eris shifted, turning his body to look out into the horizon before him.

"Not everything in life is meant to be understood."

You paused.

Eris was complicated. Unfortunately for you, you loved complicated. It wasn't boring. It made you think, made you wonder. You gravitated towards the eldest Vanserra more often than you'd like to admit. It was easier now, you decided, since Lucien's watchful eye wasn't around. He didn't have to witness your betrayal first hand, didn't have to see as you attempted to find something in his brother. You weren't sure what that something was, but you were certain you were searching for it. You had been for years.

"That's not true. I can understand things if I try hard enough."

Eris played idly with the rings on his hands. "You set yourself up for disappointment, Vixen," he said to the empty air before him, not turning to look at you. "Why does everything need to have a deeper meaning?"

You studied his face further. Noting the lines etched around his eyes and the set of his jaw. He was beautiful. You weren’t one to deny it—all of the Vanserras were. But where Lucien had been handsome, radiating a gentle charm that made you blush with every lingering gaze, Eris was more akin to the sharp edge of the season’s chill—striking, with an air of regal severity. His amber eyes alone seemed to hold the crisp, unyielding essence of autumn itself—beautiful, but not without its bite.

"It doesn't need to," you replied. "But it often does. I think details are important."

He didn't respond as he turned to face you. You glanced up at him, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that seemed almost tangible.

"You've never lied to me," you stated. It was a statement more than it was a question.

"No," Eris replied.

His gaze didn't waver. You were almost impressed that you'd managed to hold his stare for so long. No one had ever looked at you like this before—so deeply, so penetrating. You understood now how his mere gaze could make people crumble, understood the rumors of how he only took his partners from behind, how he never made eye contact.

You pushed away the burning thoughts that arose.

"Is it true?" Your gaze bounced around his face. "Do you force your traitors to fight for your amusement? Place bets on them like animals?"

Eris's eyes flickered with something dark, but he didn't move.

"Do you think it is?" he countered.

You shook your head. You were certain of your answer, but you needed to hear his. "No. I don't."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Then it’s not," he said simply.

His expression revealed nothing more as you scanned his face. He didn't seem startled by your question, didn't seem confused at the context. He was aware of the rumors, of the stories circulating like the last morsels of food at a feast—passed around, savored, and eagerly consumed.

"It doesn't bother you? That these lies exist?"

A hint of confusion crossed his features, as if the question itself was somewhat absurd.

"Why would it?"

You blinked, momentarily retracting into yourself.

As a hound trotted up to Eris, his attention shifted. He crouched down, meeting the beast at its level. The gentle manner with which the hound regarded him, the affection in its eyes, stirred something inside you, deep within your gut. Your father had always said that a male’s nature could be understood through how animals responded to him.

Eris clearly cared for his hounds, and they, in turn, cared for him.

You found yourself wondering if, deep down, Eris was ever troubled by his reputation.

Lucien always had been.

He cursed the blood than ran through his veins, spent every moment trying to prove himself to be better than the legacy of his family— he did everything he could to avoid the curse of a wicked kin.

But then there was the male before you.

Eris, the rightful heir and firstborn son, was different.

You had always assumed he was bestowed with the legacy of the kingdom, that he was born for the role of High Lord, eagerly embracing the title and its accompanying glory. He seemed built for it, seemed to thrive under its weight.

You watched as more hounds approached him, watched as they surrounded him like a loyal fleet.

Could it be possible, you thought, that perhaps it wasn't all gifted. That it was possible Eris was burdened with the legacy of a Court?

You realized, then, that you'd never truly acknowledged that what he had become allowed for a kinder brother to grow in his wake.

The thoughts came faster, hazy, so many that your vision began to blur. It all made you itch, made you uncomfortable, made you overwhelmed and desperate for more.

None of this felt right.

You stared at Eris for a few more moments. When he stood up straight once more, about to turn toward you, you turned and ran to your horse.

You could feel his stare burning into you as you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

reader panicking when she has deep intellectual thoughts about sexy man as he tends for his dogs. shes so me fr

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