#and youre telling me he can be saved by someone noticing him and caring about him and he can get through it and be loved and try to heal
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kurishiri · 2 days ago
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Premium END ┊ Wrapped in a Wicked Romance —Darius Vogel—
꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to narrative flow or characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!
— cw: depiction of drowning and near-death experience. p.s., i left a new years message in the end!
——Care to see what said ‘most unfortunate’ future is as well?
—— Alleyway ——
(…was what Darius said. It’s almost like…)
(Whatever is approaching upon that gentleman would be his most unfortunate future.)
Looking on at the gentleman’s back down the alleyway, I felt my skin stand on edge.
The gentleman, who appeared to be of high social status with his refined attire and fine mustache,
walked toward the poor district, playing into the premonition of his fate.
(Why here, of all places? It hardly fits him...)
While I held my own doubts, we chased after him, not flinching once from the darkness, and——
—— Sewer ——
(...Whoa.)
Upon stepping inside, we were greeted with the roaring sound of flowing water.
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And from the waterway flowing on one side, I could pick up a pungent odor.
Darius: This smell is awful. My nose may as well wrinkle up from it.
D: I have a really good sense of smell, so just being here’s enough to make me dizzy.
(Come to think of it, while looking for the mille feuille, it looked like he was sniffing it out...)
(So he found that patissiere through his sense of smell?)
While thinking so, all of a sudden, I heard the gentleman’s voice from up ahead.
Gentleman: Whoa——
A group of rats gathered at his feet surprised the gentleman so much, his foot slipped...
(Ah——!)
His form fell in, as though he were being sucked into the flowing waterway.
When we ran up to him, the man was writhing, bobbing up and down within the dirty waters.
Gentleman: P-please...help me...gh...
The gentleman, seeming desperate, reached a hand out to us.
Kate: Darius, we have to save him, or he’ll end up drowning... wait, what are you doing?
Darius: Just curious about a little something.
Darius didn’t approach the man, instead reaching for the bag the gentleman was holding and started to rummage through it.
Kate: Why in the world are you interested in a bag when another person is here needing to be saved!?
Darius: That man was fated to die by drowning in this dirtied water from the start. So I’ll need to see this out to the end, whether he’s a human worth living if we’re going to save him, you know.
D: ——See, look here, I found something pretty interesting.
Kate: Wh...
He took out one sharp knife after another from the bag.
And they weren’t the type used in the hospital, nor were they steak knives, nor those used by chefs.
Darius: This one’s got blood too. He probably used it recently to stab someone, I’d say.
Kate: W-what in the world...
Darius: This man is a killer.
What came out of Darius’ mouth was shocking, but he said it in such an indifferent tone.
Darius: And from the way these were used, I can tell this man’s been killing for the fun of it for a long while now.
D: And behind those fancy clothes he’s familiar with the part of town where the poor reside in, so I’d say he aimed for those who lived around here.
D: After all, if they were to disappear just like that from existence, no one would think anything of it. Insignificant, weak humans through and through.
D: Let’s see, some place like an orphanage, for example. It’s possible there were countless children who’ve been targeted by him.
D: And on top of that, he seems to be of high status in society — what a waste for society though — so it would probably just be covered up as an accident.
D: And so here we are——we have a choice to make.
Kate: A choice?
Darius narrowed his eyes, and as though imposing judgment, he pointed at the drowning man.
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Darius: Of course I mean the choice about whether we lend a helping hand to this serial killer here.
D: What his fate will be... oh, oh, I know. I’ll let you decide his fate.
D: I’m reaaally curious what sort of choice you’ll make.
With a beaming smile, he stepped on the gentleman’s head.
Gentleman: Guagh— p-please...sa...ve...
Darius: As one of Crown, would you condemn an evil that can’t be judged? Hehe... well, Kate? What’re you going to do?
Kate: Darius, please, stop this.
Even now, it seemed as though the gentleman’s hand would slip from the edge of the waterway, and I quickly grabbed his hand.
Darius: Hmm, so you’re going to save him. Are you sure? There might be even more victims then.
Kate: Of course I don’t want that——
(So that’s why...)
Kate: If you want to be saved, then promise you won’t kill anyone else, and turn yourself in to the police.
When I turned to the gentleman and said this, he clung onto my hand, nodding over and over.
Darius: I’m here thinking he’s just nodding so he can get help. You must be an extreme goody-two-shoes if you honestly believe it.
While listening to Darius, who was speaking from above, I put more strength in to pull the gentleman’s hand.
Kate: I don’t know if those are his true feelings or not. But— I do want to believe it is.
(I have no consideration for a serial killer. But...)
Kate: Besides that, atoning with life is far more suffering than doing so with death... so, I won’t let him take the easy way out!
K: As Crown, that is how he should be condemned.
Darius: .........hmm.
D: So when all’s said and done, you believe him, huh. Humans really are foolish ones, aren’t they. Well, not that that’s any news to me.
Darius shrugged and——
Kate: Hold tight on my han... ah——
Darius: Pulling him up by yourself wouldn’t be very feasible, no?
Holding the gentleman’s arm, he pulled him out of the waterway.
Kate: hah, hah... Thank you for helping out, Darius.
Darius: Well, if you were to fall in the water and drown too, I’ll be lucky if Victor leaves it at a lecture.
D: And you seem quite important to Lord Rex too, and I’d rather not be hated by my king over something so trivial.
Kate: But even so, the fact remains that you did help me, so I want to properly give you my thanks.
Darius: Hehe, you’re so earnest it amazes me.
As for the gentleman who was drowning——while shivering, he said...
Gentleman: ...I’ll go turn myself in now.
Perhaps scared out of his wits from coming face to face with death, he admitted to his own sins and left.
Darius: A shame I couldn’t see a more grand condemnation.
As proof he wouldn’t kill more people, the gentleman had left the bag behind, which Darius kicked.
The bag and the knives inside then sank to the depths of the waterway in a matter of moments.
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Darius: Let’s head back now. My clothes are all muddy and it feels awful.
(Oh, I didn’t realize, but his white clothes are...!)
Kate: I-I’m so sorry... because of me...
Darius: Indeed, ‘because of you’ is right. It’s because you chose to let that man live that I now look so terrible.
D: So take responsibility for it.
Kate: S-so you say, but how...
Darius: Oh, so I can decide that? Then I’ll give you a fitting punishment.
In the front was the captivating smile of an angel, and in the back, the roars that reverberated from the waterway.
Darius: Stay as my lover until the day ends.
With nowhere to run, I couldn’t help but shrink back where I stood——and still smiling, the angel wrapped me around with his graceful arms, which resembled the wings of a bird.
Fin.
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← prev epilogue -> bitter
NOTES: happy new year, friends! 🥂✨ first off, i just want to say a big big biiig thank you to those who have left comments, asks, and messages to me! i’ll reply to them soon, but i just want to say thank you for now /gen it’s really comforting to know and get a sense of reassurance that — yes, people do read what i do, that i can have a positive impact on others’ days, and that people enjoy what i translate. i’m sorry if i did worry anyone, and i also value any discussion on the matter too. but i hope we all have a lovely 2025, and that whatever resolutions you and i have, i hope we can fulfill 🤍🤍
masterlist 🪽 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍
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evieelyzabethh · 3 days ago
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Part 2: yanderes viktor and jayce, what would the boys' relationship be like before their transformations in season 2 with the reader, would they hold debates in front of the reader just to see what would "win" the reader's attention?
And now in season two, what if one of the boys finds the reader, maybe the reader was being hidden by her protection (I really imagine Heimerdinger or Ekko helping the reader hide from the yanderes), well, what if Jayce finds him first, What will he do? ideas: maybe he would create a hextech chain or a hidden cell where he would claim he was protecting the reader, he would be raving about the reader and kiss them, he would have a house acting like a newly married couple?
And if it was the yandere Viktor, meeting the reader first, what would happen? What if the reader was immune to Viktor's arcane magic and therefore couldn't transform him or anything. What would he do?
And if your rival discovers that he has the reader and tries to “save” him, what would happen? (it can be in both situations, where Jayce is with a reader and Viktor steals his reader... and Viktor is with the reader and Jayce steals his reader).
((( Sorry for so many questions, if it's difficult or if you want to rule something out I understand! )))
I'm gonna split the last two questions, what each would do if they got to reader first, into their own little fics, so here I'll just answer the first question as well as set the scene for what eventually follows in season 2. At least in the timeline of the original yandere post, Jayce and Viktor are pretty normal about reader pre-apocalypse. Though, if they were yandere before shit hits the fan, thoughts and prayers for what they're gonna do to you after the fact. Thats a fic in of itself. I don't even think they'd really compete for your affections before everything goes down. .
When it comes to Jayce, he's willing to swallow his feelings and let Viktor have you. He's more perceptive than people give him credit for, and he knows that Viktor would never ask him to back off. He likes you a lot actually, he thinks you're wonderful, but he also knows that Viktor doesn't just fall for anybody. Jayce is someone who is quick to be smitten but also someone who loves where they water. Jayce would've had an easier time finding someone else and seeing his friend happy would've made him happy enough to get through it.
He's sappy and naive. You can't tell me he isn't the type to believe in love at first sight or true love. What if you were Viktor's true love? He couldn't possibly take that from him, especially when he feels like he's taken too much already. Though the effectiveness is debatable, his intentions are very clear. Everything he does is to protect those close to them, to take care of them. He has some white knight tendencies because of this.
As for Viktor, he notices Jayce's crush and it's such a conundrum for him. He is someone who wants notoriety, he isn't content to being the man behind the curtain and getting you would be a small gain in the right direction. It's not that he thinks of you as some trophy, but functionally, you would serve as such to his ego. He likes you outside of that, he'd want you regardless of if Jayce did, but he would be lying to say that it doesn't bring him some joy knowing that he is finally in a position to take something from him.
The one thing stopping him from taking action is his conscious. I don't think he's self-aware enough to recognize his pride as his fatal flaw, but he recognizes enough and is frankly disgusted that he even thinks of you as a means to feed his ego. Egotistical nonsense is Jayce's thing, it's a Piltover thing. He's better than that. He wants you but it's always been an internal conflict of does he want you for the right reasons. Funnily enough, their predicament before the war is the exact opposite from the after; both of them waiting for the other to take you.
Long story short, no I don't think they would hold debates in front of you. Any sort of competition would be very implied, and reader would have to be a mind reader to get what was going on. Jayce has definitely brought it up before, and Viktor would much rather spend his time focusing on work then the juvenile nonsense that is competing for the same person. The one time they discuss it; Jayce is trying to help Viktor work up the nerve to ask you out and Viktor admonishes him for assuming that he needed any sort of charity from him. He detests the idea that Jayce is just 'giving' him you, who's to even say that you like Jayce back. Who is he to even give you away. All you would be present for is awkward stare offs as you're convinced that they are telepathically communicating about you.
While you don't know exactly what is going on, you can sense a rift forming between the two of them. When you do leave, it's before the council blows up, and it's not even because of the problems between the two scientists. I personally have always disliked the trope of the girl leaving the love triangle because she's breaking them apart, I think if a friendship is so easily broken up by a girl it was never that good of a friendship to begin with. Your leaving is spurned by the same catalyst that causes so many problems in the show; growing tensions between the Undercity and Piltover (I could make a whole other post on why class consciousness should've remained the main conflict of the show but I digress).
If we wanna get specific, you left after finding out Viktor's involvement with shimmer, which I think would lead to a big argument between you and him, though you are angry at Jayce as well. You see the writing on the wall. While everyone likes to stay in their comfortable bubble and pretend that Zaun's problems are only their own, you know better. You were always iffy on Hextech, especially the idea of it being used for weaponry, though unlike Viktor, you actually had an idea on what it could be used for. Why not make ocular implants, prosthetics, or use it for air filtration, something that doesn't have the potential to continue the cycle of violence. Why is innovation always presented as something that's going to change the world while only being used to cushion the comfortable? And it bothers you that Viktor never says anything, but you know how he is. He thinks politics is a hinderance to improvement. He thinks that's where innovation goes wrong, when it gets into the hands of politicians. His usage of shimmer really is the catalyst for you leaving and the argument that ensued after the fact. He demanded you not say a word about it to Jayce, and you kept that promise. You left. And absence sure does make the heart grow fonder.
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ask-miasma-ghoul · 2 hours ago
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The anger in Miasma's face slowly gave way to shock, and then silent despair. Although Jim couldn't look him in the eyes, his own stayed glued to Jim's.
He finally backed off soon after Jim finished with that heartbreaking sentence. He sat upright silently, moving to let his legs rest off the side of the bed, staring at the Bible he had thrown across the room. His tail wasn't wagging, nor was it swishing in anger. It just laid there beside Jim.
"... I think... " Miasma murmured.
"... I... Am the type that I have always hated... The ones who dont listen to anyone else's point of view because it doesn't match their own. Religious. Not faithful... My faith is there... But it is outweighed by my hate. And I did not realize it until I am face to face with you."
Miasma stood up and walked towards Jim's Bible and notebook, picking it up and dusting it off. The pages were bent, and it hurt Miasma to look at it and know he did that. He sat back down, this time away from Jim, putting the book next to him.
"Jim... I... Yes. My anger stems from... Jealousy. Envy. Greed... I am honest when I tell you I hate that you are finding your comfort in someone that will lead you astray. It breaks my heart and... It's not just because I'm... In love with you. I want you to have a better afterlife than me. I don't think you will find it with him. But... If you can sit here and tell me that the way he makes you feel is more of a priority than what comes next... I can't... Do anything about it. I wish you could feel how I feel. Maybe you would understand why it drives me to such anger."
"I did not know that when I started calling you, it made you feel good. I didn't think you'd care about what I would have to say. I treated you like my savior, and what savior would notice one insignificant little smudge like me? There are probably hundreds out there who feel you have saved them. I don't know whether I think too highly of you or I think too lowly of you, but either way... I'm sorry. It is about faith, not religion, and I am wrong to treat you and talk to you based on your title and not you as a human, especially when I am always the one lecturing others about that."
Miasma swallowed the lump in his throat, his tail coming around to lay in his own lap as if he were trying to take up as little space as he possibly could.
"It truly boils down to how I feel about you. On a personal level. I didn't think you would know what I was saying. You are smarter than you look... Hah..."
Miasma blushed again, but it was not the same giddy and nervous blush he had before. It was a blush that scorched him to his very core. He wanted it to go away.
"... If you are with him... You will be around here often. And that hurts me... To see you with him... But... Maybe we can just have our Bible studies. Unless you don't want to be around me anymore, I... Guess I understand that too."
With everything that had been going on at the beginning of Jim's stay, it was difficult for him to sleep fully. And it proved to be a rational struggle, because the sound of shuffling slowly grew closer until it was right outside Copias door.
There was a gentle tap at first, and then a long drag to the bottom of the door.
Another piece slipped under the small crack st the bottom. Who could that possibly be?
This time it read simply:
"Open up."
Considering the last interaction with the ghoul, it was a risk opening the door. Who knows what he was planning to do... So early in the morning when everyone was sleeping...
Jim sighed and walked over to Copia’s dresser, slipping on the first button up he saw. He didn’t bother to button it up, he just wanted to feel a little more put together.
He walked over to the door, glancing over at Copia sound asleep before opening it just a crack.
“What do you want…” Jim mumbled, feeling tired. He couldn’t quite see outside the room. “Make it quick. And quiet, I don’t want to wake him up.”
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hecksupremechips · 8 months ago
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Fucked up how happy I get whenever I make content of Shinjiro Aragaki being actually loved and getting to heal and learning to love the little things in life and getting to express himself. What’s up with that
#persona#shinjiro aragaki#hes the only one i really respect here#its like so annoying though that i even care like whats wrong with me why does this bother me so much#just cuz i see myself in this character and also feel like shit and idk when he doesnt even get to live doesnt get to recover#and this is treated as a good game with a profound theme and this is treated as good writing#its hard not to be hurt when its like. im barely hanging on man#and youre telling me he can be saved by someone noticing him and caring about him and he can get through it and be loved and try to heal#but this is treated as some sorta disservice to the narrative and that you cant have the theme work this way#its like. but this is the only way i can even feel anything about this theme this actually makes me wanna try#seeing the character going through mental issues like mine die just like. it makes things suck idk#and its like why do i even care like this shouldnt matter but idk its like#if he can make it then why cant i#and im just really attached to this and i really really want to make my fic of him exist cuz. nothing is going good for me rn#but if i can make this one thing thats important to me where someone gets to recover then maybe ill feel less helpless#its what im trying to tell myself so i can stop feeling like im. idk cringe or something cuz im emotionally attached to a fictional#character and the wellbeing of this character feels like motivation for me#i just wish i wasnt so damn desperate about it 😩#anyway can someone please slap me with a fish so i can stop being insecure about my writing and just fucking do it
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eideticmemory · 20 days ago
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SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID
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Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!
Word Count: 5.5k
Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.
Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.
Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.
Finally, he thought, someone gets it.
And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."
"I...I give a shit."
You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."
Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"
"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."
"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."
He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.
Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?
He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.
You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”
He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.
"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.
"Thanks.”
That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.
The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.
"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."
You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.
A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.
“Close call today, huh?” he says.
“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.
But he does, “All thanks to you.”
You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”
“Oh, anytime.”
He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”
You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to a profiler.”
You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.
“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”
You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”
“So?”
“I’m just…stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.
“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.
You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”
He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”
“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”
Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”
“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”
He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”
“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”
You giggle, “Did you rig that?”
“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”
“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”
Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”
When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.
You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.
You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”
“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.
“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”
“No, take it.”
“I can’t.”
“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”
You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”
“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.
He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.
You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”
His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”
Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.
“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”
The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”
He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.
You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”
They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”
The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.
“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.
“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.
“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.
Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.
“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Mhm.”
As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”
“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.
“Well, it makes sense now.”
“What?”
“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”
Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.
As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”
“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”
“Mm. How altruistic of you.”
“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”
“I guess.”
“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”
And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.
Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.
You don’t acknowledge it, though.
That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.
You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”
“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”
“No. Care to help?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, great.”
“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”
“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”
He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”
“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.
Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”
“Or not enough.”
You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”
Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”
“But the detergent?”
You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”
On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.
“Are you looking at my lips?”
He nods, “Mhm.”
“Can you read them?”
“Mhm.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”
Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.
Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.
“Listen, Einstein.”
“I’m listening.”
“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”
“Who was shitting on your relationship?”
“Stop it.”
“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”
“And that’s not fair.”
“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”
“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”
“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”
You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”
There are no more card games on the jet for a while.
And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.
You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.
Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.
“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”
You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”
He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”
“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad.”
There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.
“Well…happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope it’s a great one.”
“Thank you.”
And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.
This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.
“And here you come
with a shield for a heart
and a sword for a tongue”
Happy Birthday, [y/n]
Spencer
You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.
You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.
Then he pulls out that fucking ring.
The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.
You’re sick.
Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.
When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.
He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.
Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.
Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.
You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”
Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”
You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.
He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.
And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.
“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?
Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.
Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.
He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.
Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”
“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.
Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.
“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.
He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”
“Hm?”
“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.
“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.
You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.
Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.
You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.
“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”
You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”
“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”
“Supernatural element.”
“Yeah!”
“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”
“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”
“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.
It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.
Author’s note:
Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚
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moyazaika · 3 months ago
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tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.
he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—
“the whole world knows you did it!”
“are you ashamed of yourself?”
“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”
that gets his attention.
“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”
a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”
he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.
“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”
cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.
“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”
he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”
when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.
-
the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—
“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”
“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”
he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.
it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.
and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.
a man’s got needs, y’know?
he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.
he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.
in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.
he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!
you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡
he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.
the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.
yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.
there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...
and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!
so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—
so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—
so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?
your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.
he makes sure of that, personally.
-
“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”
the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?
“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.
shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”
“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”
“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.
“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“
you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—
“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”
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extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?
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luveline · 8 months ago
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would you ever write about hotch pining after r because he thinks she’s interested in someone else but then she confesses to him that she’s only ever had eyes for him 🥹
You’re shocked Hotch will let them look at him, honestly. When was the last time you saw Hotch receive medical attention? He doesn’t seem happy about it, suit jacket folded in his lap, his shirt cut in three places, most noticeably the left sleeve. 
“His arm is definitely broken,” Spencer tells you. 
“Do you think he’ll let me give him some comfort?” you ask, the two of you with your arms crossed against the side of the second ambulance, where Morgan undergoes a similarly reluctant checkup for his bloody temple. 
“No. You can always try, though. He’ll appreciate the effort.” 
You ready yourself with a deep breath and begin the short walk. It feels long then suddenly over at the same time. The only thing between you and Hotch now is a shoe’s width and the EMT securing his temporary sling. 
“They’re making me an emergency appointment,” he tells you. 
You fight the urge to rub the toe of your shoe into the ground. “Are you in pain?” 
“No. They gave me tramadol.” 
Hotch pushed you hard out of the way of a brawl and took blows meant for you in turn. He never lets you get hurt in the field. At first you’d assumed him to be the overprotective boss, and careful of women in the team, but you’ve caught on now that his motivation wells from somewhere deeper. 
Hotch loves you. He won’t tell you. You have no idea why. 
The EMT says she’ll return and takes her leave. You nod to the patch of metal flooring beside him, legs too tired to keep standing, and Hotch moves over to leave a gap between you suitable for turning into. You sit down with a sigh. Face to face, this close, you can see the different colours of his iris and the scar under his eyebrow clear as day. 
“You okay?” 
“Are you?” he asks with nothing more than a single short nod. 
“I’m worried about you,” you confess. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I can take care of myself, okay? I don’t like you getting hurt in my place.” 
“I’m your Unit Chief.” 
“If it were Morgan, you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way. If it were Emily. And we both know I can hold my own.”
He doesn’t look away from your face. “I know.” 
You’re finding it hard to want to scold him. You love him, too. You appreciate what it takes for him to take a fight that was meant for you, and the sentiment behind it. You’d quite like for him to protect you, just not at work. He could glare down potential suitors or argue with people who are rude to you at the grocery store. He doesn’t need to do your job for you. 
You raise your hand tentatively to his face, ignoring his confusion as you rake the hair that falls against his forehead back up. “It’s getting a little long for you.” 
“I’ve been busy.” 
“Me too. I keep meaning to do so much stuff but we get home and I get to my apartment and I just sleep for days.” 
“I wish I did something that sensible.” 
You curl your fingers over his shoulder. Without his suit jacket, you can feel the solidness of his muscle and soft tissue clearly. You rub your thumb in a half circle. 
“Why don’t you sleep much? I wish you would.” 
His eyes flare momentarily. His only tell, a flicker of movement you can’t miss. He’s surprised by something, your question, maybe your tone. “I do sleep.” 
“Not enough.” 
“No, I guess not.” 
You press your cheek to his arm. Can’t help yourself. He’s this strong, stern guy, so used to trying to save everyone that he barely looks after himself, and it makes you sad to think he’d love you and not want to tell you, because why wouldn’t he? Something in him must stop him from acting on it, but that something isn’t in you, not anymore. “Can’t believe you got your arm broken for me,” you murmur, lips to his shirt. You let out a breath, feel the warmth of it pass onto his skin and his following shudder. 
“It wasn’t purposeful.” 
“No? That’s good.” 
“I would do it again,” he says. “I thought you’d be with Morgan.” 
“Morgan’s a big boy.” 
“As opposed to me.” 
“I want to be here with you. I’m worried about you.” You press your face further into his arm, scared to say it even though you know it’s returned. “I care about you so much, ‘n’ you never let me show it.”
“That’s not true,” —his voice climbs higher— “I thought… You and Derek are close.” 
“He’s my friend, Hotch. It’s not like that.” 
Hesitant, tender all the same, Hotch’s uninjured arm slinks around your side to hold you, to bring you closer to his side where you’re hiding. You’re much too old for this, and still you have to confess. 
“I don’t like him,” you say. 
“As opposed to me.” 
You laugh at his repetition. Too embarrassed to say anything more on the subject but wanting to cement it in his head, you raise your head and your hand at the same time, knuckle to his jawline, nudging him to one side. You lean up and kiss his cheek. 
“Please don’t push me out of the way again,” you say. 
Hotch smiles at you, a proper, soft-eyed smile. “I won’t.” 
It’s an obvious lie. 
“Maybe when we go home we can nap together,” you suggest, heart slamming considering the innocence of what you’ve suggested. 
His fingers cradle your side. “You want to?” he asks carefully. 
“You can finally get some rest.” 
He closes his eyes, resting his face against yours. 
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k9wa · 9 months ago
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⟁ A BULLET A DAY, ft. BOOTHILL.
⠀ — where teasing, annoying, poking and prodding all fall under the same category; flirting.
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⚠︎︎ more mechanic! reader, gn, boothill being an idiot, flirting, suggestive, he has fake teeth to me, something about tension + leaving him high and dry is soooo ….
from this request !
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it’s a miracle, truly, how boothill manages to be so tempting and endearing yet so utterly irritating and infuriating at the same time. 
and it’s hot, sure, but that just makes it all the more annoying, leaves you frustrated and with an odd pool in your stomach.  
boothill managed his way into your supply of bullets, happily tossing back the brass casings like a simple snack. it was a genius idea at the time, really, giving him a stomach that can store ammunition. though had you expected him to chew on the damn things instead of swallowing them— you know, like he was intended to— you would’ve just given him a little side bag to save yourself the work.
you half hoped the lead stuffing the things would seep into his still intact brain, but chastised yourself for the thought soon after having it. you don’t hate him that much. your brain should check back and try the thought again in twenty minutes. 
“y’know what’d be real neat, buttercup?” boothill’s legs were kicked up lazily on your workbench as he sat next to you, waiting for you to finish a small modification on his revolver. “spikes in my boots.” he lifted a foot up, rolling his ankle a bit. “you know, them retractable ones. be able t’a have some real fun with those things.”
you snorted, his efforts to dodge his synesthesia beacon as entertaining as always.
“since when do i take requests?” you asked, eyes focused down on your work— far too used to his antics to lift your head anymore.
“since when d’you deny gettin’ to tinker with me?”
he brought his feet down to the floor and leaned forward on his thighs, the denim of his pants tightening around them. “what, gonna make me say please and thank ya now?” 
you truly wanted to reply, say it wasn’t a half bad idea and that you’d look into the upgrade. until he started shaking a few bullets around in his palm like they were fucking almonds.
now boothill noticed the clench of your jaw, and oh how he revelled in it. he’s fully aware how the crunching of brass and lead peeves you, ie. you telling him to knock it off an hour ago— (“it ain’t hurtin’ nobody, is it now?”—) but you’re just so darn cute when you’re ticked off. he’s gotta push your buttons just a lil bit. 
“somethin’ the matter?” the way his sharp teeth gleamed through that damn grin weren’t doing anything to help. 
he took a bullet between his thumb and forefinger, the shiny gunmetal digits pinching the ammunition as he held it up next to you. “d’ya care for one, sugar plum?”
fine, you thought. two can play that game.
you tore your attention away from the old steel revolver, finally turning to look at him. boothill prepared for an insult, one he’d tell you was ‘flatterin’ and all,’ but it didn’t come.
you leaned towards his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his that glowed a familiar and faint red. 
then you took the bullet between your tongue and top front teeth, gently pulling it out of his hands with your mouth.
his smirk actually dropped— you’d think someone stuck an infected usb into his ear with all the ideas that flooded the forefront of his brain, making his circuits just tingle with excitement. something about the hot single mechanic in his area.
you turned back to your desk, removing the bullet from your teeth and twirling it between your fingers idly as you gave a once over to his revolver, as if nothing had happened.
boothill blinked, chuckling gruffly with a shake of his head as he slumped back in his chair, flicking another bullet into the air with his thumb and catching it in his palm with a gentle clink! the cyborg gave a low whistle as he kicked his feet back up.
“ain’t you somethin’,” he drawled, earning a chuckle from you. “y’sure know how t’keep a man on his toes, don’t ya buttercup?” 
“i dunno what you mean, boothill.” you only offered a hum, willfully ignorant to boothill’s colourful imagination.
“oh i’m real sure y’don’t.” he shook his head, another chuckle rumbling his chest and sending a shiver down your neck.
“say,” he leaned towards you, his shoulder to yours, feeling a little lucky and dropping his voice to a knee-weakening purr, “if that pretty mouth a’yers likes metal, i’m more’en happy t’a—” 
“all done.”
all bets go down the drain. boothill deadpanned as you clicked the barrel of his gun into place and handed it back to him, standing up to stretch your arms.
“shops closed for today,” you fold them, leaning back against your bench. “you better get a move on before i have to kick you out.”
boothill’s eyes trailed up your figure, taking his sweet time finding your face. the cowboy raised an eyebrow into a cocky arch despite him swearing his body was on the verge of its cooling protocol. 
“you keep woundin’ me, sugar.” 
“i dunno what you mean, boothill.”
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⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?
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usedpidemo · 6 days ago
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Savior (aespa Karina)
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“Someone help me. Please!”
“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”
“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”
“Help!”
It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.
Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”
“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.
Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.
“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”
That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.
Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.
The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.
“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”
“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.
All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.
“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”
“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.���
Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.
None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.
And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.
After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.
“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”
She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.
Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”
“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”
“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”
Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”
Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.
—————
One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.
Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.
“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”
“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment. 
“What will your family say about this?”
“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”
Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”
—————
The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday. 
“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”
“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”
“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”
“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”
“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”
“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.
“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”
While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”
“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”
“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”
“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”
“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.
When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.
“Please tell me you’re not going to—”
“I will.”
“Oh, God dammit.”
“Karina, please.”
—————
Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—
“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”
Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.  
During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”
She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”
“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”
“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”
Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.
Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.
There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.
—————
You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.
Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal. 
Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.
It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.
“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”
You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.
“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent. 
“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”
You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has. 
The purity in this girl’s heart is something else. 
Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.
“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.
“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”
“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”
“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”
“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings. 
“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”
“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye. 
“What is it?”
“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.
“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”
“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”
Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”
Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.
After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”
You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.
Empathy overrides every other thought.
“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.
“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”
“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”
“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”
Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.
“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.
“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”
Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”
“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.
“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”
Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.
“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”
“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”
“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”
“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.
Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.
Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”
Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”
You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—
“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss. 
That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word. 
You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.
The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.
Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.
“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”
“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening. 
“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.
“That’s all the time we need.”
—————
Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.
You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.
Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”
It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.
Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties. 
Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.
“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern. 
Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.
“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.
“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.
The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”
“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”
Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.
“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest. 
“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.
There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”
“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”
“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”
“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”
Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.
Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours. 
It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.
Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.
Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.
Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts. 
Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”
“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”
“Always.”
Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.
The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain. 
“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”
You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer. 
Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.
This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.
It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right. 
Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her. 
As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between. 
“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”
It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.
Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best. 
Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you. 
It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.
“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”
A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt. 
Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen. 
It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left. 
“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”
Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop. 
Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release. 
Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.
“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”
Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.
“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone. 
“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state. 
“Can you do something for me? Please?” 
She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”
Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”
“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”
“Oh right.” 
“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”
You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.
“Karina, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.
Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.
“Just keep being kind.”
—————
In the days ahead, it was about saving face. 
Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.
All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever. 
Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.
“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”
“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”
“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”
“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”
“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”
Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—
“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.
“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.
“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting. 
You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger. 
You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.
It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.
You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.
In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.
All it takes is a few key words.
“Hey. I missed you.”
—————
There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.
Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:
“Take me like you fucking missed me.”
Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.
Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest. 
All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.
Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.
And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.
A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met. 
You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.
Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.
“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger. 
“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.
“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”
“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”
The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.
“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”
Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”
She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”
And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.
The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten. 
It’s already half past midnight.
“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”
“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.
“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”
Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”
“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”
She laughs—heartily.
—————
The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.
Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.
Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.
You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.
When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”
She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”
“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”
“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.” 
You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.
“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.
“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”
“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.
Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.
“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.
Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”
“So we’re friends?”
“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”
“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”
“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”
Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”
You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.
“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?” 
With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.
As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.
Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.
Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.
—————
(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.
Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)
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hanniebaeee · 5 days ago
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Something Like Love
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Han Jisung x fem!reader
Warnings: kissing, suggestive MDNI
Genre: friends/friends with benefits to lovers, fluff
Summary: You've been in love with Minho for so long, but he's already in a relationship - a really toxic one. And your best friend Jisung, who is also like your best friend with benefits, is your only source of comfort. And it looks like there's more cooking here than just benefits.
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Your favorite fuzzy blanket did absolutely nothing to cushion the blow of watching Hana shove her tongue down Minho's throat in her Instagram story. You’ve watched it three times now (you didn’t even know why but you liked torturing yourself). 
Why does he stay with her? She was bossy and such a narcissist! Jisung noticed the pout on your face and sighed, plopping down beside you.
“Put that away,” He said softly, wrestling the phone off your hand and tossing it aside. 
You looked at him and saw him giving you that look. The one that made you wonder why you even want Minho in the first place.
You huffed, throwing your head back dramatically.
“She was literally eating Minho’s face like it was her last meal. And he looked so miserable, Ji. Miserable!”
Jisung raised an eyebrow as he popped open the wine bottle.
“Maybe he likes being miserable. Some people are into that. Like you and this whole ‘pining after your taken best friend’ thing.” Jisung teased, and you glared at him. 
But he just grinned, handing you a glass of wine. 
“Don’t.” you bit out. 
“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? That you’re wasting your time on Minho when you could be -”
“Jisung.”
“Fine, fine.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but there was that glint in his eye. That Jisung glint. The one that promised things you didn’t want to think about right now.
Because Jisung? Jisung was safe. He was your comfort zone. The guy who knows exactly when to show up, exactly what to say (or not say), and exactly how to make you forget about Minho.
Like right now.
He set his wine down, leaned back, and patted his lap. “Come here.”
You hesitated, because you know where this is going. It wasn't like this was your first rodeo. But tonight, with Minho’s stupidly gorgeous, miserable face burned into your brain, you didn’t have the energy to resist.
You climbed into Jisung’s lap, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly.
“Let it go, babe” Jisung said softly. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. But you can make out with your incredibly sexy boy here to forget about him.”  
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”  
“Ridiculously good in bed,” he shot back, leaning in closer.  
“Why am I even friends with you?”  
“Because I’m the only one who puts up with your Minho obsession and gives you orgasms on the regular.”  
You slapped his arm, but he caught your hand, tugging you closer with a smug grin.
“Come on,” he murmured, voice dipping. “Let me take care of you.”  
And that’s how it always is with Jisung. No questions. No strings. Just heat and comfort and the kind of laughter that made your tummy ache.
—-
Later, when you were lying in bed, thoroughly spent, he ran his fingers through your hair.
“You know, I’d treat you way better than Minho ever could.” Jisung teased. 
“Please. You’d annoy the crap out of me within a week.” you snorted. 
“True,” he admitted with a grin, kissing the top of your head. “But at least I wouldn’t make you cry.”
And damn it, if that didn’t make your stupid heart skip a beat.
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You weren’t entirely sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was the way Minho had looked at you, all big, sad eyes and that faint pout you couldn’t resist.  
Jisung smirked like the devil himself as he whispered, “We’re gonna regret this so hard, aren’t we?”  
Of course you did. 
The Christmas market was magical, with the twinkling lights, the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine, and obviously, the company of your friends - but Hana managed to suck the joy out of it faster than the Grinch with a vacuum cleaner.  
The mulled wine was too hot. The fudge was too sweet. The carols were too loud.
You gritted your teeth, gripping Jisung's arm so tight. Why the hell were you all letting her lead the way?! 
Hana stopped in front of a stall selling silk scarves and picked up a bright pink one. 
“Oh this would look good on me,” She announced, and Minho winced before gently saying, “It’s not really your color,” 
“Stop thinking about strangling her with that scarf, love.” Jisung whispered in your ear. 
You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth as Hana shot you a glare. “Something funny?”  
“Nope,” Jisung said smoothly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Just enjoying the festive spirit.”  
“Can you not be so clingy?” Hana snapped at Jisung after she saw him move a strand of hair off your face. “It’s so… obvious.”
“Hana please-” Minho tried. He did.  
“Obvious?” you repeated, voice colder than the December air.
Hana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a condescending smirk.
“I mean, really. Do you need him to hold your hand all the time?” 
It took everything in you not to lunge at her, and only Jisung’s firm grip on your wrist stopped you from doing something you’d regret.  
“Relax,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “She’s not worth it.”  
“I need to use the bathroom,” you hissed, yanking Jisung on your way, brushing past Minho.
“Why does he need to go with you?” Hana called after you, but you didn’t even glance back.
You stormed through the market, weaving past stalls until you found a quiet corner near a stand selling candied nuts. The scent was almost enough to calm you down. Almost. 
“I swear to god, Sungie, I’m gonna -”  
Before you could finish, Jisung spun you around and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “She’s not worth the jail time.”  
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but your anger was already starting to melt under his touch.
“I just - ugh, she’s so -”  
“I know baby, I know,” Jisung said with a little chuckle.  
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself. 
“You’ve gotta let it go, babe. And honestly…” He grinned, his lips brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re way cuter when you’re happy.”
“You’re so smooth,” you murmured, but your hands were already fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.  
“And yet, here we are,” he teased, before finally kissing you.  
It definitely wasn’t the first time, of course, but it always felt new with Jisung. 
When you finally pulled back, your anger had dissolved into something softer, something sweeter.  
“You good now?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.  
“Better,” you admitted, resting your head against his chest.  
“Good.” He kissed the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from the world. “Now, let’s get back out there before Hana convinces Minho to buy her that ugly scarf.”  
“Do we have to?” You groaned.
“Hey, you dragged me here,” he pointed out with a grin.  
“You’re supposed to be on my side!”  
“I am,” he said, tilting your chin up to kiss you again. “Always.”    
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The Christmas market outing hadn’t been great, but dinner was starting to look even worse. You all sat at a cozy little restaurant, candlelight flickering over the table while festive decorations twinkled. It should’ve been perfect. 
But then there was Hana.  
Minho had been eyeing the beef stew on the menu with excitement.
“I want to try this,” he said, but Hana barely looked up from her phone.
“That’s too heavy. Order the grilled salmon instead. It’s better for you.” she said, her bossy tone dimming the mood instantly.
Minho’s expression faltered as he said, “I kind of wanted the -”
“Salmon,” Hana interrupted, snapping her menu shut with finality. “Trust me. It's better.”  
You gripped your menu so hard you were surprised it didn’t rip in two. You wanted to stab her with the fork. No wait, you wanted to slap some sense into Minho.
But before you could actually do anything, you felt Jisung's hand on your thigh, his long fingers squeezing gently. 
“Salmon it is,” Minho muttered, deflating like a popped balloon. 
When the waiter came to your table, you watched Minho order two of those damn salmon.
 “I’ll have the beef stew, please.” you heard yourself say.
Jisung immediately chimed in, “And I’ll take the gnocchi.”
You snapped your head toward him, because you've been wanting that gnocchi. He winked at you and said, “It’s called teamwork, babe.”  
Your heart did a weird flip. Damn him and his perfectly calculated sweetness. Your eyes moved towards Minho, who was now clicking some pictures of Hana, and then to Jisung's hand on your thigh.
You placed a hand on top of his and squeezed tight.
—--
The food arrived a short while later, and Hana’s sharp eyes immediately darted to the beef stew in front of you. 
Without a word, you pushed your plate toward Minho.
“Here. Trade with me.” you said. 
Minho blinked, startled.
“What? No, I can’t -”  
“Minho,” you said softly, “it's ok, I want you to have it.”
He hesitated, glancing between you and Hana, whose mouth had tightened into a thin line.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his cheeks pink. 
“Positive.” You smiled, even as your heart twisted.  
Minho hesitated for another moment before switching plates with you.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice full of something you couldn’t quite place.
Before you could start on the salmon, Jisung slid his gnocchi in front of you and took the salmon for himself.
“Sungie, you didn't have to-” You stared at him, half smitten and half exasperated.
“It's for the greater good, you can thank me later,” he said cheerfully, digging in.
Hana’s glare could’ve frozen molten lava, though.
“Do you two always make everything about yourselves?”
Jisung leaned back in his chair, giving her a shit-eating grin.
“Mostly yeah.” he said, and you didn’t miss the way Hana’s eyes narrowed.
As you all fell silent, focusing on your food, you couldn't help but feel a weird pull in your heart. And it had nothing to do with Minho. And everything to do with this messy haired boy sitting beside you.
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The cold air bit at your face as you and Jisung stepped out of the restaurant, the distant glow of holiday lights softening the edges of the night.
Now, you were walking side by side through the bustling city streets, holding hands. Snowflakes fluttered down, catching in his messy hair, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.  
You stopped walking, your breath clouding in the cold air. “Why are you so good to me, Sungie?”  
He stopped too, surprised at the abrupt halt and the unexpected question.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, making him look absolutely adorable. 
“Because I’m a mess,” you said, half-laughing, half-starting to cry. “Because I keep dragging you into this whole thing with Minho and I feel like I'm so damn selfish…you don't deserve this, Sungie-”  
“I'm doing this for me, not for you or anyone else. Can you try to accept that? I like being with you, ok?” he interrupted, his tone light but his eyes giving him away.  
Your stomach dropped. 
“Relax,” he added quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into that familiar smirk. “I’m just saying… I care about you. That’s it. No strings, no expectations. We agreed on that.”  
It was so Jisung - offering everything without asking for a damn thing in return. And it made you want to cry and kiss him all at once.  
So, you did the latter.
You stepped closer, gripping at his jacket tightly to pull him down to meet your lips. His breath hitched as you kissed him, soft at first, then deeper as he kissed you back.
His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as the world around you faded into nothing but the warmth between you two. 
When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, he let out a breathless laugh.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“For being too good for your own good.” You smiled, your hands cupping his cheeks.
“Oh? Are you planning to ‘thank’ me properly?”  he asked, raising an eyebrow, his grin turning wicked.
You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you whispered, “Take me home then.”  
---
The second you stepped into his apartment, your back hit the door as Jisung kissed you like a man possessed. His hands were busy pulling your jacket off you, followed by your sweater and everything else. 
You sighed as you felt his lips and hands everywhere - as if he couldn’t get enough of you. 
“Been waiting for this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough. “You have no idea.”  
“Then show me,” you shot back, tugging him toward the bedroom.
He chuckled, both of you stumbling into his bedroom, and onto his bed. Clothes were shed, and he was settled in between your legs as he hovered over you.
As your eyes met, you saw something you didn't before - the softness of his gaze, a longing. And it made your heart flutter. Neither of you acknowledge it, and the rest of the night was a blur of soft whispers and sweet love making.
Jisung wasn’t just good - he was great, knowing exactly what you liked. And he did give, over and over again, until you were left breathless and completely exhausted.  
“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  
“For what?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.  
“For being you.”  
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Christmas Eve at Jisung’s place was always so chaotic. You both celebrate together when you couldn't travel back home for the holidays. 
Currently his living room was a mess with half-wrapped presents scattered across the floor, the scent of gingerbread in the air, and Jisung humming Christmas songs off-key. 
This year, though, Christmas came with an unexpected guest.  
Minho stood awkwardly in the doorway, a small bag in his hand and a defeated smile on his face. He looked exhausted. 
Hana was officially out of the picture. The breakup had been messy and so damn difficult, but Minho had finally done it. 
Jisung wasted no time pulling him into a tight hug. And you did too, because he needed all the hugs and love you could give because the poor man has been through a lot.
Minho slowly relaxed, even cracked a few jokes.
But it wasn’t until later, when the three of you were cleaning up in the kitchen, that he finally let the mask slip.
“You were right about her,” Minho said quietly, leaning against the counter as he dried a glass.
You glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter, surprised by the softness in his tone. 
“Minho -”  you began, but your eyes fell on Jisung, who quickly left the kitchen, leaving you alone with Minho. You didn't know why, but it absolutely shattered your heart to see him slip away like that. 
“No, let me finish.” He set the glass down and turned to you. “I shouldn’t have dragged it out. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I was scared to let go... I liked her so much, I kept thinking she would change…but deep down, I knew.”  
You stayed silent, giving him space to continue.  
“And I knew about you,” he admitted, his voice even softer now. “That you… liked me. I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I never thought of you like that and I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've said something.”
You exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter.
“Love is weird, Minho,” You said quietly. “It's messy and complicated, and you don't have to feel bad about anything. Because you're ok, I'm ok… we're good.”
Minho’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing yours on the counter. 
“You and Jisung? I think it's great. He is such a nice guy, and it's so obvious that he loves you so much.” Minho said, giving you a grin. 
You smiled gently, your cheeks heating up.
“I think so too,” You whispered. “I’m glad you’re here, Lino…I’ll finish this up, you can go to bed. Get some rest, yeah?”
Minho nodded, pulling you into a quick hug before leaving the kitchen.
Your heart raced as you thought about what Minho said. You've been trying to decide how to bring it up with Jisung for a while now. But you were so afraid, because you know you wouldn't survive the heartbreak if you ever lost Jisung. 
He was everything to you. He made you feel wonderful - like the most special girl in the world. And it felt great. 
So you walked into the living room with wobbly legs, where Jisung was sitting by the Christmas tree, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. The fairy lights reflected off his skin, making him look impossibly soft and adorable. 
When he saw you, his lips curved into that familiar, heart-melting smile.
“Hey,” he said, setting the cube down. “Everything ok?”
“Sort of.” You grinned, crossing the room to him. Without a word, you slipped into his lap, your arms draping around his neck.  
Jisung’s eyes widened slightly, his hands instinctively settling on your hips. 
“Uh… not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes darting towards the guest room where Minho was. 
You leaned in, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. 
Your eyes meet as you said, “I love you, Sungie.”  
His mouth fell open, and for a second, he just stared at you, completely shocked.
“You… what?”  
“I love you,” you repeated, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I have for a while now. I just didn’t realize it until - well, until recently.” 
The disbelief melted from his face, replaced by a slow, utterly pleased smile.
“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.
You laughed, pressing your lips to his forehead, before saying, “I love you.”
“Good,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “Because I’ve been waiting to hear that for a really long time.”  
And then he kissed you - soft at first, but quickly deepening as his hands slid up your back. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, humming softly as his tongue caressed yours.
“I love you, baby,” He whispered against your lips. “God, I love you!”
You giggle, pressing kisses to his cheeks. 
“So,” he said, “How exactly do you want to ‘celebrate’?”  
You grinned, pulling him down into another kiss. “I have a few ideas.”  
This was your Christmas. And it was perfect.
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Tags:
@moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix
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dcxdpdabbles · 30 days ago
Note
I reread Dauntless Matchmaker recently and I love it, could you please make another part? Either that or another part for One Hell of a Bellhop, Legal Compensation, or Mr Flavors Soda, any of the above would be great, your choice ^-^
Danny skips up the stairs towards Wayne Manor's front entrance with a binder, a few notebooks, and his laptop tucked away in his carry bag. Humming under his breath, he raises his hand to knock. Before he can touch the wood, the door swings open to the beaming face of his fake boyfriend, Tim Drake.
"Hi!" The other gasps breathlessly. He adjusts his cardigan from where it had fallen off his left shoulder. Danny has noticed something about Tim. He was always so nervous and clumsy. The poor thing was taking his heartbreak badly.
"Hi, Tim." Danny grins. He holds up his NASA theme bag with pride. "I brought the stuff!"
His boss' brother lets out a string of nervous chuckles that slowly dissolve, coughing when he chokes on his spit. Alarmed, Danny started smacking his back in hopes of helping. He wishes he could say this was a one-time thing, but Tim, unfortunately, does this often.
"Master Tim?" Alfred calls from down the left hallway.
"I'm fine! Everything-cough-hack- everything is fine!" Tim screams back, entirely red and looking a tad bit mortified. Clearing his throat, he straightens to full height, back pin straight and looking every bit the young gentleman of his standing. "Shall we move to the viewing room?"
Danny knows he's only trying to save face, so he only smiles and steps inside. As they had agreed on two weeks ago, Danny loops his arm through Tim's, pressing himself close to the other's side, just as Alfred walks by.
The aged man seems pleased to see them so affectionate, which Damian said Danny had to play up because otherwise, it would not be believable. Tim only dated men and women who showed their care through physical touch, and he was often seen holding hands or looping arms with his partners.
As it is, Tim does his part well, beaming up at Danny. He was taller after hitting a second growth spurt, but sadly, he seemed to take after his mother rather than his father. Danny was only two inches taller than Tim.
On the other hand, Jazz grew like a weed. Once it became apparent, she took after Jack in height. Dan's appearance gave Danny hope that he would break the six-foot mark in a few years—you know, if the madness and devouring Plasmius didn't affect his development too much.
"What are you showing me today?" Tim asks as they stride past Damian. The younger boy makes a face, the same one Danny made whenever Jazz brought over a boy, and they were being sickly sweet. He offers his boss a smile in return, watching those intense green eyes roll.
"I brought evidence of why Yetis' healthcare is far superior to ours." Danny pats his bag with a satisfied smirk. "Nothing beats Frostbite."
Tim melts. "That's amazing. I can't wait to hear all about it. Then we could go get dinner. How does Divine Palace sound?"
"The upscale restaurant? I would need to change before I'm allowed in there. It has a dress code, doesn't it?"
Tim snuggles closer. "You can borrow one of my suits."
"You know it's bad luck to wear someone else's clothes?" Danny tells him they have just arrived at the viewing room. The projector is set up, and Danny is waiting to plug in his laptop. A sizeable plush couch is pushed in front of the large empty wall, where Tim plans to curl up and watch Danny's presentation.
Meeting someone who adored all the educational information about Ghosts and their culture was lovely. Danny's parents were more interested in the aspects of biology and anatomy than the sociology and anthropology he studied.
After he finished his slide show—sadly without pictures as ghosts disrupted the camera—he would show Tim his notes, which the two could flip through together on the couch. Since his PowerPoint lacked images, Danny settled for some drawings and blurry photos he had stored in his binder while exploring the Zone.
He started it when he was fourteen, gradually growing over the years.
"Why's that?" Tim asks, throwing himself on the couch and crossing his legs underneath him. He places his elbow on the meat of his thigh and leans his head on his hand, his eyes never leaving Danny.
They seem to be shining, utterly captivated by the Halfa.
"It makes it easier for ghosts to overshadow you," Danny answers promptly, unzipping his bag to take out the materials from his bag. He had to look away from his friend because the way he was staring was making him a bit flustered.
"Overshadow?"
"It's another way of saying possession, but it's more politically correct." He responds, plugging in the wires to his laptop and watching the lock screen of his computer appear on the wall. "My sister's first boyfriend attempted to do that to her. Gave her some of his girlfriend's stuff so she could form around her and use Jazz as an anchor to stay on this plane."
"And you saved her before he could succeed," Tim sighs adoringly.
Danny puffs out his chest. "I did!"
Tim pressed a button on the side of his couch. At once, the thing expands, pushing the backrest down and expanding the bottom until it forms an even flat surface. Danny initially thought it was a recliner, but apparently, rich people had couches that could turn into beds in seconds.
He lays flat on his stomach, kicking his feet and leaning on both hands as he smiles like a loon at Danny. "That's amazing."
Danny bites his lip, trying to be modes,t but it's hard when he's being praised by someone like Tim Drake.
"Well, it's just what a good brother does. All I really had to do was use his bad luck against him, and really, Jazz sort of snapped out it when he tried to punch me," He babbles while scrambling to log into his account. He needs to do something before he bursts from all the giddy, mushy feeling in his chest. "It was nothing compared to when I had to win a pie-eating contest against Baker."
"Hmm?"
"Baker is a pasty theme ghost that is shockingly powerful. He locked me in a battle for five days before I convinced him to switch to a food theme contest." Danny laughs, shaking his head at the memories. "I was stuck in bed for a day with the biggest stomach ache, but I won that day. And victory was sweet."
Tim swoons.
Just as Danny is booting up the presentation, his superhearing catches the whispers of Tim's other siblings from the hallway. Damian had instructed him not to let anyone else in the household learn the truth of his contract because it would eventually get back to Alfred.
After meeting the man, he completely understands the paranoia.
"Who is that?" He's pretty sure that's the oldest Dick.
"Tim's new obsession." Answers Steph with a smirk in her words. "Apparently, he's some paranormal-obsessed conspiracy theorist."
"Why does he always go for the crazy ones?" Jason sighs dramatically.
"Have you seen Danny's biceps? Were it not for his health issues, I would have thought Tim found a secret off-duty hero."
Danny hastily focuses on his first slide, trying not to show his fear. Tim continues to watch him kick his feet and play with some of his hair. He has a habit of twirling his hair. Tim almost always does that whenever Danny sees him.
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evilminji · 8 months ago
Text
Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?
Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆
But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.
So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:
Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.
When will it ever end!
He's... he's honestly used it.
Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.
It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.
His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.
(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)
But THEN...
The Accident.
And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.
Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."
When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.
"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"
How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.
When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...
They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.
Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.
...
.....
He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.
He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.
But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.
His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.
It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.
But...
But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.
Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!
Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?
Breakfast blend? And a bagel..
N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?
......oh.
It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.
Tea.
He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.
He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.
The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.
They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)
Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.
The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.
The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*
*sighs in medical professional*
Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.
👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.
He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.
And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.
His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.
But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.
They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.
It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.
He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?
Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.
Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.
She's not WRONG... but hey D:<
Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.
She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.
Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....
Sam?
Oh FUCK ™.
By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.
>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.
Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!
Wtf!
Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?
Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?
"The Zone".
In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....
It stays untouched for MONTHS.
Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.
Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.
Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.
There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?
Anyone who tries to cause trouble?
Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.
Which off course!
Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.
After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.
@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes
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saetoru · 1 year ago
Text
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.
contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3
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it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.
satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.
suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.
you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.
“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.
he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.
“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”
“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.
“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”
“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”
“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”
he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”
“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”
“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”
“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”
gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.
riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.
for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.
you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.
“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.
“everything,” he whispers.
he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.
“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”
“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”
“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”
“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”
your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.
“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”
“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”
“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”
he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.
suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.
“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”
“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”
“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”
he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.
you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.
“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”
somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.
“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”
“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.
people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.
“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”
“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”
“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”
“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”
“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”
“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.
“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”
he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.
“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.
“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”
“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.
“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”
and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.
“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”
“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”
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he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔
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unknownplane · 2 months ago
Text
The Court Jester Part 3
Yandere Batfam x GN Reader
Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 4
The Joker came closer, almost inspecting the job (Y/N) had done. His eyes run over the Bat.
"Good job with the knots, my little Jester. That will keep him there for as long as we want!" The Joker exclaimed with a large grin. "Now, how did you get him here so fast! I must know!"
"I can't tell you, Dad! It would ruin the game. And we love the game!" (Y/N) explained. (Y/N) went up to the Joker and side hugged him. Bruce saw this and started struggling.
"What have you done to them! They said you 'Trained' them! I know you! Tell me now!" Bruce screamed.
The Joker's smile widened as he saw the Bat struggle. "Peanut, would you be so kind and get your dad something to drink? I am absolutely parched." The Joker said with honeyed words.
"Of course, dad!" (Y/N) said, jumping at the opportunity to please their dad. They ran out of the room hoping to get a drink as fast as possible.
"Look at them. I'm so proud of their growth. You know they were so sad when I first met them. They were only 5. They were looking for someone to talk to. Can you believe it, Bruce Wayne, ignoring one of his own while still taking in new kids. Can you imagine how that felt?!" Joker laughed unknowingly rubbing salt in Bruce's wounds.
"It was perfect, you know. Them being in such dire need of affection and not caring who it came from! A perfect opportunity for me to step in and take them away! At first, they resisted. Fought so hard not to succumb! They even called out for you. Did you know that!?" Joker confessed, stunning Bruce. Even after all he did, you still called out to him? You called for your dad, your real dad.
"It took a while to get them like this. Lots of training. Brutal, really. Though nothing I haven't done to you and your birds, just in a shorter period of time." Joker stated as if he was talking about weather and not torture. This shocked Bruce, remembering all the things the Joker did to his family. "How are they alive?!" Batman questioned.
"That's the funny thing, Bat! No matter what I did to them, they wouldn't die! They would get injured, but only a few seconds would pass, and then it would completely heal! I even cut off an arm, and as you can see, they have both now! Amazing, isn't it!" The Joker exclaimed. This stunned Bruce. (M/N)'s child was Meta? No. He would have noticed.
"Now, what is taking that child so long?" The Joker said brazenly.
With (Y/N)...
(Y/N) scrambled around looking for a bottle of water when someone came up behind them. They were suddenly grabbed and restrained. "The fuck!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "Relax it's just me. I'm here to save you." Jason whispered assuming (Y/N) would stop fighting when they heard it was him. (Y/N) struggled to move surprising Jason giving them a little wiggle room. (Y/N) jabbed their elbow into Jason's stomach pushing him back into a coughing fit.
With Jason off them, they turned around. "You aren't supposed to be here, Hood." (Y/N) stated glaring. They move their hands to their hip and pull out a small stick. They hit a button, and it enlarges to become a marotte.
(Y/N) swings at Jason as he tries to dodge, not wanting to hurt his sibling. This goes on until something pierces (Y/N) in the back of their nape. They start slowing down until they pass out.
"Took you long enough." Jason said flatly, going over to (Y/N). "They were putting up more of a fight than we all thought. I needed to get a clean shot." Damian claimed. He was lying to himself. He just wanted to assess how his older sibling fought, and from what he could tell, if they were taking this fight seriously, it wouldn't have ended well. "Let's just get them out of here. The others are waiting." Jason said, knowing that when he got to the manor, he would finally get to be the sibling they needed.
Giddy, he picked them up as if they were the most precious thing in the world and started leaving. "I'll go help dad." Damian said flatly as it seemed like a chore.
With Batman...
"Why? Why would you do those horrible things to a child?!" Bruce questioned. "For fun." The Joker spoke with a wolfish smile.
The door crept open, catching Bruce's eye. He saw his youngest creeping in the room. "You know I believe this is one of the only instances in which I would be willing to kill you." Bruce said, letting Damian he had permission to try and kill the Joker. "Really! I pushed you to that level with this one joke!? How wonderful! I will have to keep this in mind for later! Now, if only that bra -" a sudden gunshot stopped the Joker from finishing his sentence.
Blood rushed from the left side of Joker's face as he fell to the ground dead. "Where is your sibling?!" Bruce questioned with urgency. "They are on their way home with Hood. If we leave right now, we should be able to get there at the same time." Damian informed Bruce. "Good now untie me so we can leave. Your siblings got a mean knot." Bruce commanded.
-------------------------------------------------------
@cooki3dough @asillysimp @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @redkarmakai @horror-lover-69 @bat1212 @wisefuncherryblossom
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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months ago
Text
Stray Kids Reaction || They Get Teased For Hickeys
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‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024
‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST
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CHAN:
Fans had easily spotted the faint bruise on Chan’s neck during a live he was doing and instantly the comments began to flood with all kinds of questions. You smirked from Felix's hotel room where you were hiding out while Chan spoke to some of the fans.
Your relationship had been out in the open for a while now but you still weren't allowed to be in the room when he went live.
"Chan-oppa, is that a hickey?!" Was quickly flooding the comments and soon twitter was overrun by the hashtag #ChansHickey you were almost sure it was going to be trending by the time the live finished and you couldn't help but giggle. Usually, the two of you were careful when it came to leaving marks on him, you left them mostly in spots that weren't to be seen but earlier you'd gotten a little too into your session and left one right on his neck.
Chan immediately rubs the back of his neck and laughs awkwardly as he reads the comments, his cheeks starting to burn bright red as he whine a little.
"Hickey? What hickey? This is just...um...a mosquito bite!" he tries to deflect, but the blush on his cheeks only fuels the teasing from fans and Felix - who was beisde him - nudges him,
"Hyung, mosquitoes in September? Really?" He giggles, making Chan turn an even brighter shade of red.
MINHO:
It only took one fan to notice a mark on Lee Know’s neck during a video call, and they had boldly asked him,
"Is that a hickey, Minho-oppa?" Lee Know smirks, raising an eyebrow, he was always confident when it came to your relationship and it had recently been announced to everyone.
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Why, you jealous?" He winked mischievously, sending the girl into a frenzy as she giggled and blushed wildly at him. Hyunjin chimes in from the background, 
"Don’t let him fool you. He probably did it to himself!" He yelled only before Lee Know threw a cushion at him, laughing, 
"I wouldn’t waste my time." He grumbled before turning his attention back to the fan and answering the questions that she had for him which were now all about you.
CHANGBIN:
Changbin didn't tend to overanalyse his photos before posting them online which was why fans had spotted the suspicious mark on Changbin’s neck during a gym selfie he posted instead of himself.
"Bin, you might wanna check your post." you giggled as the boys gathered around your phone to see what you were giggling over. But it didn't take long for them to smirk at each other,
"Binnie baby is growing up." Chan laughed loudly and Changbin frowned trying to find his phone. Minho was smirking even more,
"You know, I think the cat out of the bag now." He chuckled darkly as Changbin began to read through the comments under his phone.
"Binnie, you didn’t tell us you were getting stronger in other ways," one fan teases. Changbin immediately denies it, rushing to comment under his pic.
"It’s just a bruise from working out! You guys are imagining things!!" You laughed harder as everyone began to tease him for denying it when it was quite clearly not that kind of bruise.
"at least @ your partner so we can congratulate their handiwork" a comment stated and it only got worse from then on.
HYUNJIN:
Fans instantly spotted the hickey on Hyunjin’s neck during a dance practice video, and it became became the talk of the comments and twitter. It was insane how quickly it had spread and how fast STAY had managed to get the hashtag #RedLightHyunjin trending online. Everywhere you went you found more and more comments about the mark.
"Hyunjin, care to explain that mark?" one comment reads and you smirked looking over at your boyfriend who was shaking his head at you.
"What can I say? I’m just irresistible," he says dramatically, sending a playful wink toward you before you roll your eyes at your boyfriend. Chan threw a pillow in his direction while Jeongin pretended to gag at him,
"Someone save me from this cringe!" The maknae cried out to the other members but Hyunjin just blew you a kiss and winked once again making you groan at him.
JISUNG:
It wasn't Jisung's fault that he'd walked in on Chan doing a live, he hadn't realised what was happening until it was all too late.
"Oho, Jisung-ah, what’s that?!" Chan teases, laughing loudly and pointing out the mark making him whine. Jisung dramatically gasps, pretending to faint on camera,,
"It’s a vampire attack! I barely survived!" He flops onto the couch, hand over his heart as the others burst out laughing. Felix shakes his head,
"Hyung, vampires don’t leave hickeys," to which Jisung responds with an exaggerated sigh,
"Clearly, I met a special one." He smirks staring at the camera and winking which only made the fans worse with theories and memes.
FELIX:
It was during a fan sign, then a fan hands Felix a picture of him from a recent event, pointing out a mark on his collarbone. It was circled in red ink and Felix could feel the blush tugging on his cheeks,
"What's this, Lixie? Did someone get a little too close?" The fan giggled and  Felix’s eyes widened as he quickly looked down, tugging his shirt up.
"W-What? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!" He’s blushing from head to toe, and the fans erupt into laughter. Each of the boys smirked down at him, and he grumbled at them not to say anything. Han seemed to ignore him though as he leaned over, grinning at the younger member, 
"Don't worry, Felix. You’re still our sunshine...just with a little extra heat." He winks but the playful comment only makes him more flustered and the fans who were within ear shot all squealed and started giggling at one another.
SEUNGMIN:
On a variety show, one of the MCs jokingly points out a mark on Seungmin’s neck, the cameras automatically zooming on on the hickey and dramatic music played on set.
"Seungmin, what’s that? Did someone leave their signature on you?" Without missing a beat, Seungmin coolly responds,
"Well, some of us are loved," flashing a cheeky grin that sends the crowd into laughter. Your relationship had been announced almost two years ago and people were finally warming up to the fact that the boys weren't meant to be single men all of the time. Hyunjin - who was sitting across from Seungmin - dramatically gasps acting as though he was offended by his comment, 
"I’ve never been so betrayed!" clutching his chest in fake shock, making Seungmin roll his eyes before he glanced in your direction behind the cameras and grinned to himself. Already coming up with a plan to make you pay for the huge hickey etched into his skin.
JEONGIN:
The poor innocent child had no idea you'd left a mark on him until fans caught a glimpse of a hickey on Jeongin’s neck during a live stream and started flooding the comments. 
"Jeongin-ah, what’s that on your neck?!" Jeongin glances at the screen, confused, before looking in a nearby mirror. His mouth dropped open and he whimpered a little,
"Wait, what?" His eyes widen, he touches it trying to remove it thinking that maybe he'd somehow smudged makeup or ink onto his skin but once he realised what it actually was he covers it immediately.
The comments continued to bombard him with questions and comments about the mark and he felt himself blushing more and more as he whined at them all,
"Looks like our baby is growing up!" Jeongin blushes furiously and quickly finds a way to end the stream so he can come and talk to you about marking him.
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@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @s3ungm1nxxl0ve
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starkwlkr · 10 months ago
Text
it’s nothing new | sebastian vettel
part 1 part 3
REQUESTS ARE CLOSED
update: i decided to make this into a series, thanks for reading! you can read it here!
“hello?”
“mark, hi.”
“y/n? it’s been a while. how are you?” the aussie asked. it had been years since you spoke to mark, but he always kept you updated. he sent messages about how everyone in the paddock was doing, which you appreciated him for.
“i . . i’m okay. is this a bad time to talk to you?” you asked. you suddenly remembered about time zones.
“it’s alright, i always have time for you. what’s going on?” he questioned.
“so i am at my sister’s house and i didn’t want to sleep the whole flight so i decided to read your book.” you replied. “it’s a beautiful book, mark.”
“thanks.” he knew there was more you wanted to say. “are you mad?”
“mad about what?” you asked. “what you wrote about sebastian and i? is that what you’re talking about?”
“well yeah. i tried to contact you several times. you wouldn’t answer my messages so i assumed you changed numbers. seb told me he didn’t care if i wrote it in—”
“mark, i’m not mad. i’m far from it. i just want to know if it’s true. did he tell you everything? the night he won the title, i mean.” you asked. you remembered that night clearly. you didn’t finish the race, but that didn’t stop you from celebrating with sebastian.
“he would never lie about you, love. i told him to tell you, just to get it off his chest but he wouldn’t. you were with someone else, it was wrong.” mark explained. “you know the day you announced your engagement, he hated himself for not telling you sooner. maybe things would’ve ended differently if he had.”
maybe . .
“does he hate me?”
there was always that possibility. but when it came to sebastian, he would rather die than say he hates you.
“he could never hate you even if you did throw a shoe at him and call him a cunt.” mark chuckled. “he still loves you, you know, he asks about you all the time and i have no idea what to tell him.”
“well maybe i could tell him myself . . do you have his phone number?”
after you were given seb’s number, you noticed he never changed it. you weren’t sure why, but you decided to text him instead of calling.
y/n
hi seb, it’s y/n. i know it’s been so long and i’m sorry for how things ended. i hope you’re doing great. i’m not doing too good right now. my marriage is ending so i have that going for me. i’m staying with my sister and her family. anyways, i hope you don’t mind me messaging you. mark gave me your number but turns out i still have it saved. speaking of mark, i read his book on the flight, it’s very interesting. i’ll leave you alone now, thanks for caring about me all these years.
after you sent the message, you didn’t expect a reply. it was as if he was waiting for a message this whole time.
seb
hi y/n. i hope you know i never forgot about you after all this time. i’m sorry about your marriage, i really am. i don’t mind at all that you message me, i never changed my number in hopes that one day you would. as for mark’s book, i hope you’re not mad, but if you need to know, it’s all true and i wouldn’t change anything. being with you made me happy and everytime i hear your name, i’m reminded of the joyful memories we shared. i have something to tell you, only a few people know. i plan to retire at the end of the 2022 season. it would be nice if you would come to abu dhabi for my last race. i understand if you can’t make it. take care and i love you always. (it’s nothing new at this point)
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@hc-dutch @lightdragonrayne @multiplefandomwritings @woozarts @jggykhug09090 @neivivenaj @kissesandmartinis @barnestatic @avythef1addict
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