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ziminy · 12 hours ago

Text

Nightshift rewritten pt1

Having Gojo and Geto as roommates was a problem

Tags: smut, mdni, college au, roommates (obviously), f!reader, rich kid Gojo, the reader is a bit shy and introverted, jealousy, Gojo and Geto are playboys, mästurbation, getting caught, humping, kinda mean Geto (cuz I like him like that *bite lip*), a little bit of misunderstanding but they fuck at the end because of it so we're good, fïngering, thighs fuckïng, the reader have boobs, praises, teasïng, Gojo having a (not so) little crush on you,

Author's note: Personally, I believe that those two can't pull even if their lifes depends on it, 100% zero play. But I like to be delusional so I'mma just close my eyes.

Pt2 Pt3 masterlist

roommates masterlist

You knew that living in a dorm had more disadvantage than benefits, but you didn't think that you'll fight with your roommate the first day you moved in. You lived in a shitty place filled with shitty people, so you couldn't understand why she was trying to cause problems instead of trying to maintain the peace.

You were both adults, you should have think rationally and at least ignore each other. But no, she decided to bring guys over, fucking them in there, sometimes even when you were in the room asleep. One time waking up to her getting fucked in her bed since she decided to be so loud for the whole floor to hear.

She would throw her trash into your side of the room just to not clean, and start arguments left and right because it was fun for her.

What made you snap was when she started stealing your stuff. It started with small stuff like a few pencils here and there, or supplies that you payed money for it. Until she started stealing your clothes and wearing them, showing them off like you didn't know who the right owner was.

You had enough of her, so, you packed your stuff one time when she wasn't there and moved them into the back of your car, spending the next few days at a friend. One more day in that dorm and you'll sure commit murder.

You were embarrassed of your situation, can you believe your really ended up like this? Not having a place to call home and wandering around looking for a place to stay, even your friends were helping you and it made you feel more guilty.

Couldn't you had seen this problem before it happened? You were so excited at first, still remembering the way your heart was beating while sitting in front of the dorm, admiring the building and day dreaming about how wonderful your life would be. And now your hitting your head against every single wall you see, cursing yourself out for being such a fool.

"I know a guy that can help." one of your friends said, trying to reassure you. "We'll figure it out, don't worry." if you weren't surrounded by good people you would have quit and go home. However, you didn't expect to meet that guy the same day. He appeared a few minutes later like he knew he was needed. "Y/N, this is Satoru, the guy I told you about."

"Hi." you kept your words very minimal, trying to study his appearance and figure out what kind of person he was before you decided to accept his help or not. But can you blame yourself when your trust have been broken?

He was tall and well build, broad shoulders and a cocky smile on his face. His white hair was matching his shirt, and it was making him shine under the sun light, attracting all the attention to him. Round glasses on his face, a big designer logo could be seen on the sides of it. He didn't said a word, tilting his head to the right and looking down at you.

You looked the total opposite of him. While he looked like he was bathing in the blood of virgins maidens to remain forever young, you looked tired, like you haven't been able to sleep in the past few days at all. You hair all over the place, not wanting to cooperate with you today and the more he looked at you the more defects he can find. However, you catch his attention.

Even if you looked like a lost puppy left out in the rain, you looked so cute. It only made him feel like he could fix you, shower you with affection and get you at your best. Or, he could give you a few issues that you'd never be able to recover from. Or even worse, you end up fixing him, make him realize how much of an idiot he is and make him to finally settled down.

"Have you found anything yet?" your friend asked him, seeing how both of you looked at each other without saying a single sentence.

"Find what?" he couldn't take his eyes off you, mouth half open as he's still thinking about the possibilities.

"A place for Y/N?" if he's being honest, he totally forgot.

"You can stay at my place." he said, still being affected by your gaze. All that he can remember is the color of your eyes and your lips.

"I can?" you asked, not sure that you heard him right. Will your problems end up this quickly or was he fucking with you?

"Yeah." he said without even thinking.

"Let me see the place first and I'll give you an answer after." now he was finally coming back to his senses.

What have he done? Like, seriously, what did he just say? He can't believe himself, letting himself being swiped off his feet by some girl he just met for the first time.

And now he couldn't help but feel anxious, trying to remember in what state did he left the house, or what if you don't like it.

But he took you there, showing you his not so humble abode and presenting you every single room in the house. Talking about the lore and stuff that happened in there. A few parties here and there, how he ended up buying a new couch or how he got his TV broken. You know, just normal stuff.

"Then.. When can I move in?" you asked when he walked you out, expecting you to say that you'll think about it, or how you're thinking of another place. Anything but the words you just said.

"Whenever you want." he said, still not believing how smooth everything was going.

"I already have all my stuff ready, I can bring them here any time you're free." even better.

"How about now?" he said, wanting to feel your presence for a little longer.

"Sure." and by the end of the day you're already moved in, now unpacking everything in your room.

You were finally at peace. You had a place to stay, your own room and the guy you're living with is a busy person, so he won't even be there most of the time.

That night you finally managed to get a good night sleep. Placing your head on the pillow and shifting into the dream world instantly, dreaming about fluffy clouds and jumping from one to another, even biting some of them to see how they taste.

Everything was so peaceful, enjoying your time, walking around with cute stuffed animals by your side and laughing at your hearts desire.

It didn't lasted long because you heard a loud thunder, making you turn around to see someone far away, looking in your direction, waiting for your next move.

"Don't go, don't go." the squeaky animals said, trying to stop you from going in that person's direction. But you didn't listen, you kept walking forward, getting closer and closer to the mysterious figure.

You didn't even payed attention to the stranger, being more curious of why that place was different from the rest, why it's was so off settling. You looked back for a moment, still seeing the cute stuffed animals calling you back, but once again, you ignored them and turned your head away, continuing waking forward, now finally trying to see who that mysterious figure was. But to your surprise, the whole place became dark. The white clouds now black, the comfortable atmosphere now being suffocating, and the individual walking forward, getting closer to you.

You took a step back, trying to breath, but the closer he got, the more intoxicating the air became. "You're trapped now." a masculine voice could be heard from the person in front of you, leaning down to whisper those words in a mean manner right in your ear.

You gasped for air, finally waking up from whatever that dream was supposed to mean.

You were sweating, clothes sticking to your body and your head was hurting. The whole room was spinning and you couldn't help but think about what just happened.

It must be from the stress, all that negative energy building up, making you feel vulnerable. And now that you finally had time to rest, all that anxiety finally caught up with you. Yes, that must be.

You didn't even question the guy outside your room, waiting for you to get out and make a move.

"What's with all those boxes?" a masculine voice could be heard from outside your room, but it didn't belonged to the white haired man. After all, how could you forget his voice? It was haunting you even hours after you met him.

"About that." now, you could recognize that voice, there was no way it didn't belonged to Gojo.

"You what?" the other person said out loud, making you open your eyes. It was dark outside, who was making so much noises late at night?

You turned around in bed, looking for your phone and turning it on. It was 3 in the morning, tomorrow was a work day and no matter how much you think about it, there shouldn't be a commotion happening. Especially at this time.

Should you go and see what's going on? But it didn't sounded like you needed to get involved. In fact, your presence wasn't even required from the way the other guy was insulting Gojo. It was none of your business, whatever he did, he did it. You're not a witness since you only got here today, you don't know anything about that guy besides his name and the fact that he owns this place.

You'll see what happened tomorrow, it can't be that bad. And even if it was, it was none of your business.

So, the next day you got out your room. For once you managed to wake up early on your own accord, and you decided to see what happened last night.

You doubted that he would be there, especially this early. But the white haired man was in the kitchen, sipping something from his cup with another guy sitting a few chairs away from him.

"M-" you open your mouth, but you couldn't say a word when both of them turned to look at you. You cleared your throat, embarrassed at the way your voice cracked. "Good morning." you bite your lip, lowering your gaze and cursing yourself internally for making the moment awkward.

"Did you sleep well?" Gojo was all a smile, looking at your bed hair, happy to see you in such way.

The one next to him didn't looked happy tho, and if the way he cleared his throat to catch everyone's attention wasn't enough, then he doesn't know what more he needed to do.

"Ah, right. I forgot about you." Gojo laughed, but he was welcomed with his friend looking even angrier than before. "So, like, I don't know if I told you before but I share this place with my friend."

"You didn't mention this before." you said, making the dark haired man to raise an eyebrow, looking at you for a moment and then looking back at the one sitting at the table.

"Well, I said it now." the white haired man tried to excuse his behavior.

"Did he scammed you too?" the long haired man asked, shaking his head in disappointment. "How much did he ask for rent?"

"Not a lot." he told you to pay less than 50 bucks, per year. You were about to run from there when he said that, but then he explained to you how he doesn't need any money and how he's doing this to help you. Which was even more suspicious. "He told me that I can stay here for free." you said, remembering about how he didn't even wanted to accept money at first until you said you'll leave.

"Oh, really?" the dark haired man looked at his friend, still as unhappy as before.

"You're not even paying rent so why are you complaining?" Gojo rolled his eyes, annoyed at how Geto was acting.

"Are you asking me for money?" the way the man said that sounding threatening, like he ready to fight for real.

"Are you going to pay me?" they both stared at each other, questioning each other like they didn't already knew the answer. "Then why do you keep arguing about this?"

"It would have been nice to know before hand that someone is moving in."

"I'm sorry about it." you said, playing with the hem of your shirt. "He showed me the place yesterday, I already had everything packed and he said that I can just move in." the dark haired man just sighed.

"Well, whatever. It's already done." you knew it was crazy too, but you were desperate. But at least now you got to meet your other roommate.

This sounded so bizarre, it was too convenient for it to be a coincidence. Meeting some gorgeous guy, moving in with him the same day and then meeting another guy who's just as good looking as the other. And besides that, Gojo was filthy rich too, which makes this situation even more unreal.

Was this one of those situations of how I met your mother? Or was this some sort of prank and you were going to appear on tv for the whole world to see how stupid you are?

You'd believe it if at the end of this someone appears out of nowhere talking about how this was a big elaborate scheme to take revenge on you. Because there was no way this just happened out of nowhere.

Well, anyway. Now that you know who your roommates are, it was better to stay out their way. Mostly to not embarrass yourself in front of them. One wrong move and you'll throw yourself out the window, it was better to not test the waters at all to save some face and dignity.

And like this, a week passed. The house was as quiet as ever, your presence wasn't even felt and it's like both of them forgot you even existed if it wasn't for the shoes at the door.

It was Friday night, 11 something, almost midnight when you sneaked out your room, making your way to the kitchen. You were hungry, and if you didn't eat anything in that moment you feel like you'll pass out.

All the lights inside the house were turned off, it didn't feel like you were living with anyone. But you understood their schedule at this point. They were always out, only coming back home to sleep for a few hours and then disappear as soon as they wake up.

So, you didn't expect someone to walk in 10 minutes after you sat down at the long dining table. You were enjoying some leftovers and what else you found in the fridge, watching some funny video on your phone and giggling at it.

You almost choked when you saw Suguru walking in.

"It's you." he said, not even looking surprised to see you. But you on the other hand was dying, trying to swallow the food so you could run from there. "I haven't seen you these days." he walked to the fridge, opening it, then turned around to look at the table you were sitting at. "That was mine." you looked terrified, how comes you didn't thought about this before? "It's alright, don't worry. Satoru takes my food all the time." he said and walked towards you, sitting down next to you and taking something from the table to eat.

His friend whined the whole week about not being able to see you. He haves no idea what classes you were taking or at what hours, and now Satoru couldn't even talk to you in his own home.

Geto didn't understand what he saw in you. You were the total opposite of the women he hangs with. He knew his friend inside out, how could he not especially when they have the same type.

You didn't showed off, you didn't wear revealing clothes that made your body pop out. No, you were comfortable, wearing baggy clothes, not even bothering to doll yourself up for them. You weren't faking your personality and you weren't afraid of showing how you felt. You weren't trying to please them in any way, heck, you didn't even looked in their direction.

"You know, I wanted to talk to you about something." he said, seeing how you were trying to escape from there.

"Hm?" you tilted your head, deciding to stay for a little longer to hear him out.

"Me and Satoru shares our chores here. We don't do them everyday as you can see, but we do them once or twice a week." what a dull excuse. "Let me know what you wanna do next time." he doesn't believe shit he's saying.

"I see.." you didn't believe him either, did you? "I didn't know."

"Give me your number. I'll make a group chat so it would be easier for us to talk." Gojo better be grateful for all the work he's putting in.

"Alright." you gave him your number without thinking much about it.

"This is my number, and that's Satoru's. You can just save mine, forget about him." the dark haired man looked at you with the side of his eye, pointing at the phone numbers from the group chat he just added you in. He was testing you, to see what you'll say or do. "Just joking." he said when he saw you weren't reacting. "He'll be sad if you don't add him too."

"I don't think he will." you said, saving their numbers in your phone. Ah, his poor friend, you didn't even knew how you got him acting up in hope to catch your attention.

"Want to see how he'll react about it?" you shook your head. Right, you were a pacifist after all, what did he even expected. "Anyway, are you going anywhere this weekend?" you shook your head again, not having any plans and wanting to rest more. "I'm going to a party tomorrow. Why don't you come with me?" you looked displeased at his words, he noticed the way your nose scrunch.

"I don't like parties." of course you don't. He already knew the answer, but he was hoping he could get under your skin, play with you for a moment just to see his friend's reaction.

"Don't you get bored inside all day?" he would. He feel like he's suffocating staying in the same place for too long.

"Not really. I'm more comfortable here than outside." he really doesn't get what Gojo saw in you. You're so.. bland. You were too domestic.

"Well, the party offer is still available. Text me whenever you change your mind." he'll prove that you're the same as others. You just need a little bit of pushing, and he'll push you over your limits as much as it's needed.

But you didn't texted him that night. He waited and waited and he didn't got a single message from you. And the next day you had the audacity to appear in the kitchen, wanting to talk to them.

"About what we talked yesterday." you said, looking at the visibly annoyed man, and then at Gojo who was half asleep.

"What did we talked about yesterday?" the white haired man said, only remembering about the party he attended last night.

"I could do the groceries next week." you planned on going out to buy a few things anyway, so you're basically killing two birds in one stone.

"You're sure? There's a big list of things you have to buy." the dark haired man said, trying to push you into asking for help.

"Yeah, don't worry. I have a car, it's not like I'm carrying them from the store here." what a disappointment.

"Wait, what are we talking about?" Gojo finally came to his senses, seeing you appear out of nowhere and talking so casual, for once you didn't looked tired or scared to be there.

"Our chores. Suguru told me about it." all Geto did was to look at his friend, trying to telepathically talk to him, but his face said more than enough. Play along, that's all he had to do.

"Then I'll do the laundry." the dark haired man said, a smile appearing on his face. "And Satoru is doing the dishes."

"What, why me?" this was absurd.

"Because I'm doing them today."

"Anyway, I'm glad we managed to settle this." you said, turning around and ready to go back to your room.

"You could have texted, that's what the group chat is for after all." well, yes, but it was better to do some stuff face to face.

"What group chat?" Gojo was so far behind with this.

"Check your phone." that's all the dark haired man said, making his friend to get his phone out immediately.

"Anyway, I'll go now." and you disappeared from there.

Your life was supposed to be peaceful, wake up, do your usual stuff and then go back to sleep only to wake up and do the same thing again. Some would say that it's boring, but that's how your life is, and you don't want to change it.

However, the devils outside your room said otherwise, texting and texting even though it's not necessarily. Asking if you want to go out, or some other stuff that involves too much physical effort. You get it that they're trying to be friendly, but there's some boundaries and they don't seem to mind stepping over that line.

Your roommates are working full time trying to get you out your room. Sending you risky texts (nothing out of pocket, just stuff they wouldn't usually say), being extra extra nice with you, talking to you in a baby voice and if you're being honest, it's annoying. But you didn't said a thing, trying to help them save some dignity, knowing they probably don't even mean those words.

The stupid might not be so stupid after all. They been observing you, studying you, your likes, your dislikes, your body movements and you as a person. Their study so detailed that it had been a month and a half since you moved in, and now they're putting their plan in action.

It was almost midnight when your phone buzzed, your oh so lovely house mate Suguru send you a text. "Got some takeouts" and a photo of your favorite attached. You recognize the package, it was from your favorite restaurant. "Was on my way home and passed by that place, got something of what they still had left" he texted again. Lies, him and Satoru been placing orders left and right for all kind of food, the ones you like especially.

You thought nothing of it, walking out your room with a smile on your face as you went to taste whatever they have got home.

The next day it was Gojo's turn. Getting home a lot earlier, a bag with some black boxes inside, the name of a fancy restaurant written with gold on them.

"Y/N." he called your name, a smile on his face as he waited for you to come running to him. "Y/N." he said your name again, but you seemed nowhere to be found. God, what were you doing to him.

He left the bags in the kitchen, getting out of there and walking towards your room, opening the door without a warning and looking at you who sat in the bed.

You looked at him, looking a lot more relaxed than when he first met you. You were finally getting some sleep, and he feared that some random fucker would try to steal you from him.

You blinked a few times, eyelashes moving prettily, eyes as big as ever, and he had to mentally slap himself to keep his composure. Forget about the food, he wanted to eat you.

"I-" he took a deep breath, trying to figure out why he came to your room in the first place. "Got some takeouts from this restaurant I've been to." he had no idea what he was saying, he couldn't even hear himself. The way you look at him got him mesmerized.

"Okay." you got up, walking towards him, then into the kitchen.

The package looks expensive, and so did the food. You couldn't help but stare in awe, wandering if you're even allowed to look at it in the first place.

"Got invited to this restaurant that just opened." the white haired man said, looking at you eating. He's indifferent about the food, all he cares about is what you think.

"I see." you could only nod, taking a bite of another thing, tasting it and debating which one tasted better. "It's good." you said.

It didn't matter how much your stupid roommates would try to lure you out, if it wasn't food then it wasn't working. But they kept trying and trying, and they always failed.

Invitations to the movies, parties or even just a walk outside, you'd always decline. It didn't matter if all you had to do is cross the street, you'd say no. A part of you being too embarrassed to go out with them, I mean, what would people say if they see you together? Just look at them, you'll attract all the attention and that's terrifying no matter how much you think about it. Or what if people think you're fucking them or something? Oh god, what would your roommates say?

It wasn't like you wanted to keep that distance, it's just.. they're intimidating. The way they look down at you, corner you at the dining table and sandwiches you between them. The man spreading was real, taking all the space you had, making you feel so so much smaller. They would even take the air from your lungs if it was possible.

Was it wrong to say you liked it? How both of the men bend down to talk to you, or just look at you. Broad shoulders that were double your size, big chests that made you look down way too many times than you'd like to admit. It made you feel bad every time you think of it, but at the same time was it really your fault when they were some nymphs?

They don't seem to do a move, and even if they did, you couldn't figure out if it was some sort of hidden hint or if your overthinking it. They were nice, they were good roommates, but sometimes you wanted more than just little hello's here an there. You gotta do a move, but for the moment you have to think of a plan.

"You're home?" you said, walking into the kitchen and looking at the two men who were still in pyjamas.

"We're not going anywhere today." the dark haired man said, taking something out the fridge and walking next to you, wanting to go back to his room. "You're going somewhere?" he asked, looking at the dress you had on, making his friend look up his phone.

"I'm going out with my friends. I'll be back late." how did the tables turned. "Anyway, see you later." you walked out of there, finally going out for the first time in days.

Everything was going good so far. The weather was nice, you were having a great time, and so did your friends. But just like always, something haves to come up and ruin your mood.

"Y/N, you live with Gojo and Geto, right?" a friend of yours asked, finally letting everyone know of your living situation.

"Yeah." you said nonchalantly, not seeing why your friend should bring your roommates into the discussion.

"It's true? Spell the tea, and don't miss a single detail." another person said, but you weren't even sure of what to say.

"Which one have you slept with?" you saw your soul leaving at that question. "You haven't?"

"You didn't? Why?" you weren't sure yourself.

"We just live together, nothing more than the same old small talk." but you couldn't deny that they were tempting.

"You could have done it everyday since you live with them."

"Why are we talking about this?" you asked, confused on why you got in this situation in the first place.

"Don't you know?" you shook your head. "They're known for sleeping around." they are? Who could have guessed? You thought they had zero game.

"They're always out to party, in fact, you can't even call a party party if they're not there." one of your friends said, finally answering why your roommates were out all the time.

"They're so popular, there isn't a single person who doesn't know who they are." this have to be an exaggeration.

"So like.. About them.. You know, fooling around." you can't help but be curious. "How much are we talking about it?"

"I heard they take home a girl everyday." you never saw a single girl in there?

"I heard that they don't sleep with the same girl twice." what eccentrics.

"Haven't you heard about that girl that slept with Gojo three times? She's basically calling herself his girlfriend." what? He's in a relationship?

"No way. I saw him two days ago at a party. I almost went home with him." huh? Even your own friends?

"And you didn't invited me?" your other friend gasped then started laughing.

You were curious, just curious. And this cliche of a plot only got you in your thoughts. So, basically, your very hot roommates who seemed out this world had their own planet where they bang everyone but you. They go party all night and then leave with god knows who while you're at home in your room doing what you usually do.

It was none of your business, and yet you can't help but feel bad. What was wrong with you? Do you not have any kind of sex appeal? Was this why Gojo even asked you to move into his place? Because he knew he could leave you be? He should be happy that you looked in his direction to begin with.

More questions appeared, and you kept sulking for the rest of the day, even when you got home.

You shouldn't had asked, you should have minded your own business because now you can't help be sad. Why couldn't it be you?

"I'm back." you said while opening the front door, wanting nothing more than take a shower and then sleep for as much as possible.

"Welcome back." you heard Suguru's voice while you were taking your shoes off. "How was out?" tiring, but he didn't needed to know.

"Fun." you said, pushing your shoes to the side, out the way so no one would trip over them. "Got takeouts." you bought some without even thinking. It became normal for them to get something home that you did it without thinking twice.

"I'll get them." he got closer to you, picking the small bag from your hand.

He looked at you with a blank expression. You tried to mimic his face, not wanting to let anyone know about your foolish feelings, this jealousy that was eating you inside. And he picked it up fast, realizing you weren't feeling well.

"You're alright?" he tried to mask any kind of concern, not wanting to show that he cared.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?" you couldn't even smile, even if you wanted to.

"Did something happen while you were out?" that's the only explanation he could came up with. Why else would you feel bad if it wasn't that?

"It's just the weather. Don't worry about it." why was he asking if he didn't cared about you? His dumb pity wasn't making you feel any better.

"You can talk to me if you want. I'm always free for you." he talks like he's not free for others as well.

"It's alright. I'll go take a bath and then I'll feel better."

"If you say so." honestly, he was so annoying.

You walked away from there, to your room when you remembered about that bath. Some warm water and the smell of your body wash would work so good in that moment. So, you turned around, going towards the bathroom.

You were so tired, still in your thoughts, overthinking about this whole inexistent situation that you didn't heard the water running.

You open the door, expecting to see an empty bathroom, but instead you saw that somebody was inside. Back towards you and taking a shower, you could recognize that white hair anywhere.

For a moment you froze in place, your body refusing to cooperate with you when you kept yelling internally to run away from there. Your eyes however still worked, and it wander for a little. It traveled from his head, to his neck, and then on his bare back that was exposed to you. He extended his hand, grabbing the closest bottle that was next to him, your shampoo, and putting some in his hand, making you silently gasp.

Forget about your bad mood from earlier, now you were mad at the fact that Satoru was using your shampoo, next thing you know that he's using your towels as well. What if the other man was using your stuff as well? Was that why his hair was looking way too good lately?

You ran out the bathroom, going back to your room, too angry to even change clothes. You just jumped in bed and fell asleep, hoping to wake up and forget about everything that happened.

The next day came, and you woke up a lot earlier than usually. You were hungry, thirsty and your head hurts. You didn't even drank any kind of alcohol yesterday and yet it felt like you were feeling the worst hangover ever know to mankind.

With small steps you walked out your room, eyes still closed as you were trying to find your way to the kitchen.

"Morning, sleepyhead." that colorful voice, as much as you liked Gojo you really couldn't handle his teasing at the moment.

"Mm." you hummed something, looking for some water.

"Do you feel better?" the dark haired man could act like he doesn't know a thing, but instead he chose to embarras you.

"You drank too much yesterday?" Gojo asked, feeling left out by the fact that you went out to drink and you didn't think of inviting him. He wasn't that much of an alcohol fan but he could have come as emotional support.

"Didn't even seen a single drink yesterday." you said, opening a bottle of water. If you would had looked in a better conditions, you would have looked believable, but no. Your hair was in all directions, you looked tired than you should be, and your dress had seen better days.

"Where have you been last night?" Gojo's voice was too serious, and even his smile disappeared. Geto would have put the same question if he didn't saw you yesterday.

"Here, where else?" it's not like you had anywhere else to go. "Fell asleep the moment I sat in bed."

"What happened yesterday anyway?" Geto asked, trying to find out what got you in that mood.

"Did something happen yesterday?" why was Satoru the last one to find stuff?

"She came back yesterday looking sad."

"Did someone did something to you? Is that why you look like that?" seriously, Gojo was over reacting.

"Fell asleep without changing." you were too relaxed about this. While the men were concerned about something bad might had happened, you didn't even seemed to care. "Was too tired yesterday."

"And why is that?" they're too insisting, and you didn't understand why. This is only ruining your mood. If they don't care about you why are they acting so nice? Now you can't but overthink again.

"It's nothing, really." everyone could see the sudden change, from tired you looked a lot sadder now.

"I'll deal with it, just tell me the bastard's name." you wanted to laugh but you were afraid Gojo might actually do something.

"It's not like that."

"Then?" the dark haired man crossed his arms to his chest, leaning against the wall as he looked at you.

"I heard something I didn't like." that was all? They thought someone was bullying you or picking on you. "I mean, I don't know if it's the truth but it makes sense and that's what I don't like."

"Then don't listen to it." you shook your head.

"I had my speculations and now everything is confirmed." you could only sigh.

"Is your boyfriend cheating on you?" boy who?

"I'm not in a relationship." that's reassuring.

"If you don't like the truth just close your eyes. It's easy to ignore what you don't like to see." that explains a lot of their strange behavior, but at the same time you didn't want to do just like Suguru just said.

"It's hard to ignore it when it's right in front of me." what would they know when they're the cause of your distress? "Honestly, I feel much better knowing that I was right. Now I can avoid causing problems." somehow, neither of the men liked how that sounded. "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower and then go back to sleep." why did you even consider their opinion was a mystery, but you do feel better about yourself knowing that you're just being delusional. Live the way you did before meeting them, easy.

You're playing with their feelings, and yours as well. While they're all open for your opinion, and actually growing to have a soft spot for you, you turn your back on them.

What more did you needed from them? They're trying their best to understand you, they've been so understanding and holding back way too much, but you still don't get the hints.

But they also don't get your almost non existent hints. I mean, can their actions be counted as hints? But perhaps that's what's wrong, the fact that no one is actually trying to imply something.

Can this situation get fixed? You refuse to get out your room until you sort your thoughts out. It got to the point where no one have seen you in a week already and Satoru is so close on kicking your door down to drag you out of there.

Frustration keep building up, from both sides. And it manifested in different ways for everybody. While you went out a little more than usually, trying to enjoy some fresh air, your roommates were out getting from bed to bed, making their name more known that it already is.

It didn't lasted long for you though, and soon you went back being a lazy cat. Your social battery drained quicker than you thought, but not theirs. And one day you woke up with strange sounds in the middle of the night.

You were sleeping peacefully when it happened. Being long gone in the dream world when you felt like you were being dragged out of it. Confused, you looked around, trying to understand the situation, what exactly was going on. You got out of bed, walking back and forth in your room, thinking only the worst about this situation.

Your neighbor is hurt, and those sounds are because of it. Or worse, someone broke into the house and your home alone because of course you are, what do you even expect from the two men who lives under the same roof as you.

You open the door slightly, still paranoid, but you were trying to understand what was going on.

You picked one of the house slippers you had next to your bed, ready to hit who ever came close to where you were.

Feminine moans, and you still couldn't figure it out if it was pain or something else. But you finally understood what was going on after a while.

Who dared to wake you up because they couldn't keep it down? Right, how could you forget about how promiscuous those two guys were. What if you come home with a guy one day? At least you had the decency to think of going to a hotel or something, not here where everybody could hear.

Your mood is ruined once again. Can you believe the audacity? How could you have dream about banging one of them, or both? The thought is still nice, and you're not crazy enough to pass such an opportunity, but still.

It was almost noon when you woke up the next day. And as much as you didn't want to see those guy's faces, you were curious about the girl. What did she had and you don't?

Shy, you got out your room. Opening the door of your room softly and walking as quietly as possible.

You walked past the living room when you saw what a mess it was, making you stop in place and reconsider what happened. Maybe somebody did broke into the house yesterday?

Cautiously, you walked towards the couch only to see Gojo sleeping peacefully on it. A blanket over him and it wasn't even covering him. He was also not wearing a shirt, and you could only imagine how he was feeling in that moment. After all, it was always cold in the morning.

Feeling a little bit of sympathy, you decided to do something good for once, even if he was annoying at times. Lowering yourself, you grabbed the blanket and dragged it over him. What happened last night did ruined your mood completely, but this was his house. Your jealousy can be put aside for a moment.

"Mm." he groaned, turning around to face you. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times and looking at you, then blinking a few more times and trying to figure out if you're real or not.

"Did I wake you up?" your soft voice only made him feel guilty, for everything he did. For the fact that he open his door for you with not so clear intentions and the fact that he kept looking at girls who resemble you in a way or another. Just like he did yesterday, meeting someone who looks too much like you in the dark, bringing her home and fucking her on the couch because he didn't want to bring her into his room, and for you to hear. Good thing he stopped himself from bending her over the dining table, right on the spot you like to sit at or else he wouldn't be able to even look at you right now. "Sorry."

"I was awake." he's not even sure if he got any sleep at all.

"I thought you might be cold." the only thing he's feeling at the moment is stupid, and somehow regret but he's not really sure about that.

"I'm not." he said, finally getting up, sitting on the couch and looking around to see if the place looked the same as he remembers. The blanket fell off him, revealing too much of him. You could see his bare back, and a bit of his thighs which were just as naked as his upper body. He looked at you, noticing the way you were trying to figure out why there was so much skin showing. "I'm not wearing any clothes." he answered to your unasked question. "I'm naked." the look you had on your face was something he haven't seen before, and honestly, this small interaction alone was doing more to him that anything he had done for the past few weeks.

You took a few steps back, making him laugh.

He rested his back against the couch, he wasn't even looking at you but he knew exactly what expression you had. "Why did you ran? Don't you wanna see more?" all he got in response was the sound of you walking away, hurried steps getting out the room and leaving him alone once again.

He's not good at communicating, and he's trying to mask that by a goofy facade, hoping you and everyone else won't notice. But man, it kinda hurts. He can't explain why, since he doesn't know why. He just feel dumb, useless for doing things he doesn't want to and still expect stuff to be the same, or even better.

Can you forgive him? He'll try to do better from now on. Either this or he'll bring girls over and over in hope to catch your attention.

"I'll go out, doubt I'll come back until tomorrow." Geto texted in the group chat.

"Me too :(" Gojo also sent something. "Don't miss me too much." you looked at the texts, and you can't be more thankful. You needed some time alone, like, all alone. Just you,the whole house for yourself and the sound of nothing.

"I'll stay home. I don't have any plans for today or tomorrow." and you're happy with your life.

"Don't get too crazy while we're out." the only wild thing you can do is take a cold shower instead of a hot one.

"I won't." and now you were waiting.

Your day was peaceful, watching a movie and then scrolling on social media. You didn't even noticed when it got dark outside, and now you're bored.

You have the whole house for yourself, you're all alone. No one is here besides you.

You're used to them being out, but now it just feels different. You were alone, and you didn't liked it. It was a shame to not have company on such a beautiful night.

Was it wrong to say you craved for some human touch? To feel the warmth of someone else, and perhaps the embrace of said person. It doesn't even have to be something sexual, or romantic. It can be just a simple interaction, no words needed.

You didn't even realize when you started rubbing your thighs together, your body feeling too hot for your own good. And the more you think about it the more it bothers you.

You're alone right now, aren't you? No one is there to disturb you. You can just.. indulge yourself, I guess?

With a quick movement, your pants were somewhere in the room, your shirt up your body, revealing your breasts and your panties to the side. Some porn playing on your phone and it wasn't much for help. That was until you saw one particular video, a man that seemed familiar in a way or another over a much smaller body. Your pussy twitching at the realization of who that man looks like. It looked just like one of your roommates and you were so ashamed for being turned on, but you couldn't help but look for similar stuff.

You needed more of them, anything that resembles your roommates, you needed to see it. It can be the hair, the body, or the way they just fuck. Anything that sparks something in your head, anything that screams them. You can't help but moan just thinking about it.

With a hand between your legs, you tried to mimic the movement of who ever was on your screen, moaning quietly when your imagination was going too wild.

Lost in your own world, you didn't even heard the front door opening, or the steps that were getting closer to your room. You didn't got a text that would warn you about someone coming home, so you weren't worried. Instead you were focused on that orgasm that kept building up, it was so close and you're trying really hard to keep your mind focus, away from those roommates of yours.

The man outside your room froze in place, your door was slightly open and he had a clear view of your bed and your little alone time. He could say something, but at the same time he didn't want to. Seeing you in that situation was too fascinating. Like, who would have thought the little angel that keeps herself from the world would do something like this?

It got him curious, what were you watching? What got you like this in the first place? The moans you leave out from time to time, not sure yourself if you should let them out or not.

What got him to almost open the door and get in your bed was when you came, holding back a moan that he just knows it would get him weak in the knees. You were trembling, eyes closed and biting your shirt to not let anything you might regret out. And you kept going even after you came, this time looking more desperate than before.

He couldn't keep it like this, he haves to do something. So, without thinking, he turned on his phone.

"Something came up, I'll be back in a few minutes." you got a text, looking at the name of the person that sent it and then letting out the moan you were holding back earlier. Suguru.

It only got you feeling more fucked up than you were already. Letting go of your phone and focusing on that annoying aching from between your legs. "Fuck." you cursed without realizing. Letting out small please as you tried to cum at least one more time before he 'came back'.

To his disappointing, you didn't came a second time, putting your clothes back on quickly and trying to make it look like nothing happened. He had no choice but to walk back to his room and try to sleep this off or else he won't be able to leave you alone for the rest of the night.

He couldn't sleep at all, thinking about your reactions, how his text got you moaning harder than before. What were you watching? Was it something he should be aware of? But he couldn't just take your phone and look at what you were looking.

He refuses to live with this information and let you go off easily. You had to pay for your actions. I mean, how could you not ask for help? And how could you let him see you like that when you didn't planned on letting him have any.

So, imagine how surprised he was to see you act like nothing happened the next day. Making him think there was something wrong with him for staring at you way too intensely. But he got a plan. You had to give up at some points, and he'll just help you give up sooner than later for your own good.

"I'm on groceries duty this week?" the dark haired man asked, already knowing what he he'll do.

"Yep." his friend said, looking in his phone.

"You're coming with me, Satoru." he said, a smile on his face and all he could think of was the sweet taste of your pussy on him.

"Why?"

"Just do it. Don't ask so many questions." and the two guys were off.

Now, Geto's plan would work only if you do as he planned. All he haves to do is deny you for a few days, cockblock you and leave you hanging just enough to become dumb for him. Then he haves to act like the knight in shining armor and help you, since he's a gentleman.

That's why he got Gojo with him, leaving him in the middle of the store and running home just to see what you'd do. And to his surprise, you were acting just like he wanted you to. Stuffing yourself full of your fingers, all in a hurry to release yourself from the previous time you couldn't. A hand over your mouth, trying to not let anything out, to not get too comfortable with this. But it was so hard, and you couldn't help but let a few sounds out once in a while.

He really doesn't get you. Why not asking for help? Both of the men were easy, a few nice words or just a nod and they'll be all over you. Heck he's the easiest person he knows. Give him a pretty look and he'll fuck you just the way you want. So why do you keep refusing to acknowledge them, or him at least?

He gulped, biting his lip before he open his mouth. "I'm back." he said it in a quiet tone, to make it look like he was further away than he actually was.

He loved this, the panicked look on your face and trying to gather your composure. Oh , he'll enjoy playing with you.

At first he would just pop out of nowhere, making sure you don't get any time alone, at least without acknowledging his presence. But now he would invite himself in your room whenever he walked past it. Slightly opening the door to catch a glimpse of whatever you were doing. It didn't matter if it was in the middle of the day or at night when he was supposed to sleep.

He can see how frustrated you were, and he couldn't be more happier than this.

"I don't wanna go." Gojo whined, looking at his phone only to sigh. "They'll force me to stay over the night." he pushed his phone far away from him.

"Then don't go?" you didn't understand why he was complicating himself when he could just stay home.

"Another of your family gatherings, huh?" the dark haired man said, making you realize that it was more than it looked like.

"Ah.." you scratched your neck. "We'll miss you." if he had to go, he had to go.

"I wish that I could take Y/N with me, but they'll never let go of it if I take someone with me." the white haired man groaned.

"Good luck." you can't really say much since you don't know how his family was like.

"Are you doing something tonight?" Geto asked, looking down at you and waiting for an answer.

"No."

"Really? Because you look very busy to me." you didn't understood his words. "Why don't you watch a movie with me then? I don't have anything better to do."

"I also wanna watch a movie." the white haired man whined.

"We'll watch when you come back." his friend said, but he wasn't really sure of that.

"I mean, sure." oh, if you only knew what your sweet roommate actually had in mind.

The time went painfully slow. But now it was dark outside once again. And Suguru could feel his palms sweating. What if everything goes as he wanted? He knows he kept thinking about it, but he can't see himself in an adulterous situation with you.

You're just there. You don't do much, you don't talk much and he's used to that. He's used to think about it, always putting what if in front of his day dreams. He was making fun of his friend for being such a dork but now look at him, actually concerned about this whole situation. What if nothing goes as he planned? Or what if it does?

Fucking without any feelings, that's what he's used to. But now this got him thinking that he should run to the closest flower shop to get some roses. Maybe some candles too?

"Suguru, are you awake?" a soft knock on his door woke him up from his thoughts.

"Y- Yeah." his voice betrayed him. "I didn't even noticed the time." he lied, finally opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

"What are we watching?" you moved your eyelashes so prettily. He's afraid he won't last that long next to you, especially since you're alone.

"I don't know." he didn't think that further yet.

In the end, you turned on the TV on a random channel, watching whatever it was on. A movie about a man trying to be a hero, the same old generic plot, with the same over the top acting and action. Lots of explosion and lots of unnecessary stuff. But it was the perfect movie for your situation.

No love included, no sweet words or couples. It was enough to make the two of you forget about the awkwardness between you two. Or so you thought. Because halfway through the movie the female lead appeared. And some time later the two actors were getting it on.

You couldn't help but stare in disbelief, the sex was so dry that you're surprised they let the scenes in the movie. On the other side of the couch, your roommate was trying his best to not look at you or else he might do something out of pocket.

You, however, didn't feel the same as him. So you turned your head towards him, looking at how uncomfortable he was. "You're alright?" don't look at him, don't look at him, don't- "This movie is stupid." you laughed, thinking that's what he wanted to say as well but he decided not to. "Wanna watch something else?" right, how did he not think of that?

Taking the remote, he changed the channel. And this one was even worse. Without any warnings you were looking now at two other actors making out like there was no tomorrow. And as much as he wanted to see your reaction, he changed the channel without hesitating.

Third time with luck. No explicit actions, just two actors out in the city, walking next to each other.

"I always wanted to tell you this, ever since I first met you." the male actor said, looking at his costar a bit too lovingly.

"I also have something to say." the female actor said, looking a bit shy and red in the cheeks.

"You go first." the male actor said, biting his lip and holding back whatever he wanted to say.

"Do you think this is a spy movie?" you asked, trying to alternate the plot even if it was obviously what was going on.

"I like you." one of the actors said and it made you sigh.

"Never mind." you shook your head.

"It would have been funny it if was." at least he was on the same page as you. And once again, he changed the channel, for your own goods.

"Thanks god it's ads." you could finally breath in peace.

You watch some cartoons and then change the channel again when it got too boring. The movie from earlier where those actors were confessing their love was now filled with obscene scenes. And unlike before, they actually looked they really were in heat. Touching each other like there's no tomorrow, the kisses looks so real that you won't be surprised if they actually start fucking. Even the moans sounded real.

Not wanting to look at that for any longer, you turned off the tv, breathing heavily and hoping you don't look like you're affected by it.

You gulped, wanting to see how the man next to you was doing, but at the same time you didn't want to look because you knew this was going to be a long night the moment you gave him any attention. And he was feeling the exact same, not daring to move an inch because he knew he couldn't keep his hands away from you for much longer.

Curiosity got the best of you, and in the end you ended up turning your head towards him, at the same time as he looked at you.

No one said a thing. The silence was too audible, but somehow comfortable.

"Come here." he said, resting his back against the couch and waiting for your move. You'd probably run, like you always do. That's what he expected you to do, but imagine his surprise when you got closer, looking at him with big eyes and waiting for his next command. He's not convinced yet, I mean, this was too good to be true, there haves to be a catch. "Here." he pat his lap, waiting to see if he could have you for the night or not.

You got on his lap, your legs on either sides of him and your hands on his shoulders. His hands travelled on your hips, moving them up your body, grabbing one of your boobs for a moment before he let go. He dragged you closer, lowering his head just enough to get a better look at you before his lips touched yours.

He's testing the waters, trying to see what you allow him to do, where your boundaries were before he'll let you have more of him.

But you didn't pushed him away no matter what he did. He could explore your body freely, there was no forbidden zone, he could touch all of your body and that only made him greedier.

All the shyness from earlier evaporated, all the awkwardness and doubt went out the window the moment the kiss became a much deeper one. Now you were eating each other out, hands all over the place and dragging the other closer whenever one got a little away.

"Let me take it off." he got away for a moment, taking your shirt off with a single movement. His lips were now on your neck, going down to your breasts and biting them, leaving marks all over the place.

This wasn't his usual style, marking his territory and making out. He usually just gets to the business. And he been lying if he said he didn't like what he's doing now.

One of his hands went to your ass, dragging you closer, moving yourself right on his hard cock that wanted to escape from his pants. He's about to lose it but at the same time he wants to take his sweet time because he haves a feeling that you'll run away from him tomorrow.

He guided you at first, moving you on him so both of you could get some friction, a little bit of relief before the big thing happens.

He kissed you, again and again. From your lips to your neck, sucking on your nipples and then back up. He wanted to know he been there before anyone else or at least before his absent friend.

You moaned quietly, letting out sounds bearly audible, holding back anything louder than that. But it was alright, he'll make you louder later.

The image of you stuffing your pussy with your fingers, desperately to cum was now playing in his mind.

He wants to try that, his cock is twitching just thinking about how warm and wet you must be.

He got you off him, getting up and looking at your disappointed face. "Take off your pants." he tried to keep his words minimal, but it was more than enough to get your face change in a instant.

Your actions holds more power over him than you think. It got his mouth watering just looking at you.

He took you in his arms, walking towards your room, almost kicking the door down so he could get in faster. He placed you at the edge of your bed, taking your panties off and stuffing them in his pocket, not even caring if you noticed him or not. Then he took his shirt off.

Pushing you in bed and hovering over you, placing your legs over his thighs so it would stay open. With a finger, he traveled in between your folds just to see how wet you were. How can he hold back when he haves you like this? He doesn't even think he can put his dick in just yet, who knows when he'll lose his composure and fuck everything up. One moment inside your warm pussy and it's over for him.

"Stop staring, it's embarrassing." your small voice didn't helped him with the demons inside of him.

He bite his lip, getting two of his fingers slowly inside your pussy. It was hard to hold back whatever words he had to say, he especially didn't wanted to let out any praises after you played with his feelings.

You feel a lot better than he expected, and his bars were already high. Somehow you manage to always exceed his expectations. Can you blame him when he started to move his fingers deeper and deeper? He just wanted to see how far he could go, see where your sweet spots are so he could give them the attention it needed.

Curling his fingers to see how you'd react, moving in and out at a fast speed only to slow down and curl his fingers again. You almost started crying when he started rubbing your clit. He was so focused on torturing you, showing you that it was better with him giving you what you needed than doing it yourself.

And when you came it wasn't even better, he kept his hand movement, overstimulating you just to show you that he can. But you too could play his game, tugging at his shirt to drag him closer to you and kiss him, making him stop for a moment. Ah, right. You probably wanted more than just his fingers after all this time he kept tormenting you.

He took his fingers out of you, making you feel empty. Now focusing on kissing you. The way he takes everything so slow was annoying, and you tried to grab his shirt, to get it off him. But that only made him laugh. "I'm not going anywhere." he said with a smile on his face, surprised at how impatient you were.

He can't say he doesn't get it, because he understands how you feel perfectly. And as much as he wants to tease you more, he can't. So he did as you pleased, taking off his clothes. Your eyes on him the whole time.

He got on top of you once again, getting in between your legs and staring at you. His cock resting on your lower stomach, just to get an idea of how much he could fit inside and man, looking at the size now you're a little scared, but still very much aroused.

As much as he wanted to turn a blind eye on this, he couldn't. Not when he sees how you look at him. Guess he was right about not being able to go all the way in today. He'll have to take small steps and he's afraid he doesn't have that much time.

So, he pressed your legs together, placing them over his shoulder, getting his cock in between your thighs. "You can't handle it." his words didn't made you happy. I mean, even if it was true, wasn't he supposed to suport you? Compliment you and tell you how good your doing, that you can take it.

He moved his hips slowly, ignoring the expression you're giving him and focusing on the friction. God, next time he'll get his hands on you he won't leave you alone.

You calmed down, now examining his face, his movement and how you could see the tip of his cock every time his pelvis touched the back of your thighs.

An idea appeared in your head, and you flexed your thighs, looking at the way he groaned, gripping your skin harder.

"You like it?" you were curious, just wanting to know how he feels, but he interpreted your words differently. "Should I do it again?" are you mocking him? Because if you continue like this he'll make this harder for you.

Your eyes had something innocent in them, like you were genuinely curious about his pleasure, yet he refused to believe it. I mean, you had him in such a desperate state, there was no way you weren't laughing at him.

"Close your eyes." he placed a hand over your eyes. He was feeling too embarrassed for his own good.

"I like looking at you." you tried to take his hand away. "You're cute." all he did was to groan in response. "Let me look at you, come on." you spend way too much time thinking about this to not be able to see him.

"Stay put or I'll fuck your pussy so good you'll forget your own name." he kept barking something between his teeth. But you didn't listen to his empty words. You wanted to see him in action not just talking.

"Come ooon." you whined, not listening to his threat.

Instead of any more words, you were met with him spreading your legs and his cock right against your pussy. You wanted to look at him? Then look.

Your heart was beating way too fast, and he wasn't even paying you attention. Slapping the tip of his cock against your wet folds, rubbing it up and down, and the slapping your poor pussy again. Taming brats was one of his favorite activities after all.

No matter how much he wants to show you that he's not just talk, he's true to his words. He'll let this slide this time.

So, to show you that he can still give you something without his cock deep inside of you, he got his body closer to yours. Pressing his thick length against your pussy, right onto your clit, and moving his hips slowly for you to get used to this feeling.

You did know your place after all, and yet you liked pressing his buttons. Lucky you he enjoyed your company or else he wouldn't have taken your teasing that lightly. But the more he thinks about it the more it gets on his nerves.

He started to let some of his weight into you, pressing his pelvis into yours harder, moving his hips faster. His hot breath against your ear, letting nothing but filthy sounds out, moans just for you to hear. And he was met with your nails into his back, dragging him closer, wanting to feel more of him on you, your legs wrapped around his waist and you wished nothing more but to see him from a third view, to have a better look at his back and just him in general.

Your moans, he wanted to eat them up. He was trying his absolute best not to kiss you in that moment. Because if he does, it's most likely he'd get used to it, and he doesn't want that.

"Suguru." the way you said his name got his cock twitching. "Kiss me." he groaned. You'll be too spoiled if he fulfills every single one of your requests. "Please?" he had to bite your shoulder in order to keep a moan from coming out.

Stop playing with him, for fucks shake. Can't you see he's unwell? Look at the way he's moving his hips, always doing what makes you feel good. He's not acting like his usual self. He's not selfish, he's not seeing this as a quick way to get off then say goodbye. All you could do in that moment is not give him attention, make him feel indifferent but instead you want more of him and it pissing him off because he wants more too.

"I want to cum inside you so bad." he let his thoughts out, too lost on how wet your pussy was, leaking out so much that it got on his dick without doing anything.

"Don't." you shook your head, not wanting to deal with any surprises.

He let you have unnecessary request, and yet he's not allowed that much? Perhaps you're the greedier one here. And he too can be mean.

Without much warning, he smashed his lips against yours, devouring you as his cock rubbed against you harder, in a much friendless pace. Trying to suck the soul out of you, muffling any sounds you might let out.

One of his hands on the side of your thigh, rubbing it up and down and sending chills down your spine. His tongue in your mouth and you can't hold it together for much longer.

Wrapping your hands around him, you left out a broken whine, that only got to him. You were so close to your release, he could practically pull that orgasm out of you if he's trying a little bit harder. But he'll be merciful tonight, mostly because he'll lose his mind if he doesn't.

You didn't lasted much longer, and seeing you cum makes him want to cum. And man, he came all over your belly, breathing heavily and resting his head against your shoulder.

"You did good." you said, going with your hand through his hair.

For a moment, he allowed you to praise him, closing his eyes and bathing in your scent and you kept petting him. But it didn't lasted for long because he came back to his senses, getting off you and helping you clean yourself.

He still can't believe he came that hard from nothing. If he stayed in your arms for any more longer he would have screw everything up. Even if he wants to leave you alone, run out your room and don't look back at it at least until tomorrow, he stayed. Watching you fall asleep before he left quietly, doing the walk of shame to his room and rethinking his whole life and everything he did wrong until then.

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kayla-and-the-moon · 1 day ago

Text

baby, it's cold outside-! ᥫ᭡.

❄️plot: it's christmas eve and peter just really wants you stay, is that a crime?

❄️pairing: gn! reader x tasm!peter parker <3

❄️tw! : nothing just peter being a sweetpea/ best bf ever / darling dork. (dunno if minimal smooching counts as a tw-)

"god it's storming out there."

in your defense when you'd walked over here, the snow had been light, but now it seemed like the entirety of the world behind the window was a turbulent flurry of white. you'd come here to drop off some Christmas cookies your mom had baked, the problem was what was supposed to be a quick visit had turned into a couple hours.

of course you had one person to blame for that.

peter was practically engulfing you, his arms winding around your midriff and his face burying in your shoulder. you can feel the bastard's evil little grin against your sweater before he gives a hum of faux innocence.

"geez, that's really unfortunate", he tuts, his chin propping up to look at your unimpressed roll of the eyes in the window reflection, "I guess that means you'll have to stay huh?"

"pete, my dad would murder you."

"i think he'd murder me if I let you go out in this weather. so eitherway it's a death-death outcome, sweetheart."

it's honestly unfair how the nerd could turn you to all disarmed and smiley with a simple, dopey wisecrack of his. you have to stifle a snort of laughter before you turn to him with a brow raise. peter isn't deterred, but maybe even more motivated, and only just continues to look at you like you hung the moon itself.

"what? i'm just looking out for my girlfriend" he shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face belies those innocuous brown eyes of his.

you're almost persuaded to stay, but there's that niggling pinch of responsibility at the back of your mind, and you're once again looking outside as if your stared hard enough the sky would clear. no such luck, god, you wished the universe loved you enough to put its snowy tantrum on pause.

"it's not that bad, and my mom might get worried," you try reasoning, already picturing your mother's hysteria wondering if the multiple thugs lurking in new york's alleyways had taken you prisoner ,"really I should go-"

"you'll get pneumonia," he simply states with a pointed quirk of his brows, "plus we can always call."

"you know as well as I do that the cell service is unequivocally wrecked right now."

"then we'll call in the morning, your mom probably knows you're here," he counters, his fingertips drawing a path over your arms, "plus, I think she's caught on you're Spiderman's personal favorite civilian"

this brings a chuckle to slip from you, shaking your head at him.

"you're very pushy, peter parker" you roll your eyes, your arms crossing stubbornly over your chest.

peter can see right behind your facade though, and in all truth, he's feeling giddy as ever. he thinks he's the luckiest guy on earth when you grace him with that sweet smile rivaling sunshine.

"i'd just like to call it opportunistic," peter beams, the satisfaction evident in the glimmers of golden lamplight in his gaze.

"c'mon baby, don't make me beg here" he implores. lord, it should be forbidden for peter parker to call you that, since you have very little faith that your knees wouldn't buckle right that moment.

his hands find the curve of your waist and before you can even whisper the hint of another weak protest, he's dragged you to his bed, letting you fall on his chest with an unceremonious thump. you can't really bring yourself to tell him off, because peter has a way of making you all soft, and sticky with lovesickness. instead you just lean in to press a kiss of cinnamon sugar to his lips, and it's your turn to grin as he chases you after you pull away slightly.

your fingers toy with strands of his mousey brown hair at his nape as you give a theatrically defeated sigh, "okay fine, if you insist."

it's then you wish you could steal peter's camera just to capture the glow in his eyes, at your words, because truly you wanted to save that view forever. his palms rest on the apples of your cheeks, as he gives a low breathy laugh, his nose bumping to yours.

"that took a lot of convincing."

a/n: so this may be kinda rushed, so mind the quality, BUT i miss my tasm ! peter parker ,and i rlly rlly wanted to put out a christmas eve fic, and miss idina menzel and michael buble started this war (frank sinatra too, so blame them). eitherway, hope you liked this tiny lil fic, happy holidays ❄️🎅💕 !!

#tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm! peter parker #peter !!#kayla writes ★ !#ficmas 2024 #sorta #merry christmas !!#tasm spiderman #spiderman #idk how to tag lol

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 11 hours ago

Text

Christmas Special

(5.6k words, wrote this in 24h <3 Merry bloody Christmas, guys! TW murder, I guess. Nothing too detailed, tho)

I woke up with a headache. Not a hangover, mind you. I am above getting such things, and in any case it's unfitting for a man such as I to get drunk. No, I had one of those classical headaches, the likes of which are received after a fine blow to the head.

That naturally implied another assassination attempt. How coarse. I opened my eyes and tested my bonds. There were none. Either my captors were convinced I would not run, or they were remarkably incompetent fools indeed.

The room I was held in was… strange, for lack of a better word. There were bright lights that danced across the ceiling, a roaring fireplace, and a table chock full of meats, vegetables, and grains. Yet, that was not the greatest surprise of all.

There was, for unfathomable reasons, a massive tree. Just— sitting, in the center of the room, dominating the festivities. It was gaudy with glowing lights, glittering twine, and baubles infesting its surface.

Oh, and there were people. Lots of them, in fact, all looking equally confused. We were draped on sofas, sprawled out on armchairs, resting against walls. I was, perhaps, the first of us to wake up, and I swept a watchful eye across the room.

A surprising number of familiar faces caught my eye. Hash, my darling, was there, along with her lowborn friend the vampire. And, would you believe it? There was my old nemesis, the Godhuntress herself, lying blissfully unconscious, just waiting for me to kill her.

By instinct, my hand found its way to my dagger. Some of the bloodlust must have shown on my face, for I caught a mortal boy flinch and hide behind his companion.

I was halfway to her exposed throat when said companion grabbed my wrist. “You don't want to do that,” she murmured, and her tone gave me pause. It was far too weighty to belong to a mortal, the regality in it far more reminiscent of one of us ancients.

I turned to her and showed off my best smile, the one with all my teeth. She didn't so much as blink at it. “Oh, believe me, miss. I really do. Nothing, and I mean nothing, in this world would grant me more pleasure than snuffing out the life of this vile monster. Now, how about you let me go about my business, hmm?”

She remained imperturbed. “Not happening, kid. Now, how about you tell me what's going on? I don't like this one bit.”

I shrugged and withdrew my blade. Under that strangely cold grip of hers, I sensed a power I did not want to mess with. “Damned if I know. Last I remember, I was in bed, sleeping.”

“Your kind sleep?” She sounded skeptical. “Actually, what the hell are you?”

“I could say the same of you, miss,” I replied. “But I suppose I'll go first, shall I? I'm a forest spirit, and you may call me Hans.” I left the last portion of my name unspoken, for no one as versed in inhuman dealings as I would ever give my name freely. A damned shame that mine was so short, however. Two syllables was not a great deal of room to make aliases with.

“Katherine, and I suppose you could quantify me as a demon.” She paused. “You don't look like a spirit to me. How old are you?”

I crinkled my nose at her. “Old enough to handle my own, Miss Katherine. And you're one to talk, wearing the face of a little girl. Don't the humans call that pedophilia?”

“No, you're pedo-bait. I'm jailbait. There's a difference, pipsqueak.” The smile was slipping off her face. “Or maybe your little-boy brain is just too underdeveloped to understand that?”

I didn't take the bait. “Fortunately for us, that's not the case. And if you'll excuse me, I'll go find someone more cordial to chat with.” The Godhuntress was stirring, and much as I wanted her dead, a fair fight with her was not one I would win.

The demoness Katherine let me go, turning back to her mortal boy-toy. I beelined to Hash, the one soul in that room I trusted wholeheartedly. “Wake up, my dear. We've got trouble.”

At that last word, he bolted awake. “Trouble?” He surveyed the room. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Trouble.”

The two of us watched as more and more people got up. The vast majority of them were humans, gangly and pock-marked and over-solid, though I did catch glimpses of spirits and others of our ilk here and there. Katherine was attempting to interrogate the Godhuntress, something I wished her the best of luck with. If I was fortunate enough, perhaps they would get into a fight, and at least one of my problems would be solved.

“We should try to investigate,” Hash whispered. “Someone must know something, yea?”

“If you are so inclined, do it yourself.” I pursed my lips. “I think I shall wait for them to come to me. And sample the food, while I'm at it.”

“Are you crazy? We don't know where it's from. We don't know what it's made of. We don't know jack shit, and you want to play it cool? Have you finally lost your marbles? The only kind of person who would act so casually in this scenario is-” He stopped in his tracks. “Oh. So that's your game. I like it. Dangerous as fuck, but that's life, isn't it?”

“Yes, that is life. Now hop to it, my love. Between the two of us, I think we can get a grip over this crowd in no time.”

Hash gave me a final nod, and strolled off. The first thing I did was grab a glass of wine. Everyone looked more suave like that, and it gave me an excuse to put myself in the center of the room. Several curious eyes followed me as I picked up a plate of venison on the way back, and it was not long before the first of my visitors followed.

She was a young woman, something I sensed would be a common theme in the hours to come, with a spear in hand and an unquenchable rage about her. I swirled my drink in its cup and waited for her to speak.

“Hey! Creepy little boy.” In my own name, was I going to have to be called little boy all evening? “Tell us what's going on, or I'm gonna shish-kebab you with my spear.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” I replied, pretending to be preoccupied with the vortex within my flute of wine. That glorified stick of hers was hardly sharp enough to pierce a slice of bread, let alone me. “Why would you think I know anything at all, dear?”

“Because you're the only person who looks even slightly at home here? Everyone else is freaking out, and you're just sipping a drink. What are you, one of Santa's elves? Krampus' stolen children? Why are we stuck in a Christmas celebration?” She waved her spear around threateningly.

That was interesting. I did not know what Santa or Krampus were, but I did know the elves, and I knew I could not hope to pass for one in my life. “Maybe,” I said, winking. “Or maybe not.” With luck, she would elaborate.

The girl seemed to only grow angrier at my words, leveling her spear at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hash watch me with alarm. I shook my head slightly, warning her not to rescue me. It would be for the best if we did not show our hand yet.

“Come on then. Aren't you going to stab me already?” I spread my arms, offering her a clear view of my chest. She narrowed her eyes, and for a moment I felt a genuine flash of fear. Beneath that gaze was something that writhed and fed on rot, something old as time itself and hardly less conquerable.

And then it was gone, as an old man grabbed her weapon and pulled it from her grasp. “Athena! What the hell are you doing?” He was followed by another human boy and… a summoner?

Yes, a summoner, or something akin to it. I had not seen one of her kind in a very long time. The plot thickened. I have the newcomers a lazy smile, and they responded by tensing up.

“What on earth are you?” That was the summoner, pushing angry little Athena behind her. “You're not human, that's for sure.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Athena snapped, wrestling her spear back. “That thing knows something. I'm sure of it.”

The summoner met my gaze, piercing me right through. “No he doesn't,” she said, before I could recover. “He's bluffing.”

“Excuse me?” I pushed myself out of my chair, going nose to nose (or nose to collar, as the case was) with her in not-so-faux rage. “I know plenty, little mortal. For starters-” Pulling her down by the scruff of her tattered shirt, I whispered in her ear. “I know your little girl is cursed. I know that you are a witch, and a good one at that. And, I know that you really do not want to go back to where you came from, so how about you enjoy the food and leave me be, hmm?”

That last line was nothing more than an educated guess, but it paid off. They were too scruffy and thin to have been living in safe conditions, and I caught sight of more than one open sore on them.

Gears turned in the summoner's brain, wondering if it was worth the cost to call my bluff. Eventually she stepped away from me. “My apologies, sir,” she said, nodding politely. “We'll leave you be.”

I grinned. “Thank you very much, little one. Go try the venison, if you feel peckish. I find it delightful.”

Athena opened her mouth to argue some more, but the summoner gave her a warning glance, and she left with naught more than a glare at me. Settling back in my chair, I took another sip of the wine.

“Hey, you're Hash's boyfriend, aren't you?” On the list of things I did not want to be called, that somehow ranked below ‘creepy little boy'. I turned to see Hash's vampire friend, still wearing his Smiley Mart™ shirt. What was his name: Dane? Dale? Dave?

Yeah, Dave sounded about right. “Hello, Dave,” I said, turning back around so I did not have to look at him. “Is there something you want?”

“Hash told me to come find you. She said you could use my help?” He stepped around so I was facing him once more. “I really don't know what to do, honestly.”

I sighed. “Go interrogate someone,” I told him, more to get him off my back than anything else. “Actually, go keep an eye on some people for me.” I pointed out the Godhuntress, who was flapping her wings in an attempt to get a mortal girl to stop poking them.

“Is that who I think that is?” Dave's eyes widened. “You think this was her doing?”

“Hmm? Of course not. I want you to tell me when she looks distracted so I can go kill her.”

“You're crazy,” he said. “That's the Godhuntress. You know, the greatest deity since the Creator herself? Yeah, that Godhuntress. She'll squash you like a bug.”

“Doesn't matter. I will find a way.” I clenched my glass. “She took something very precious from me, and I will take my revenge, one way or another.”

“Alright, alright. It'll be a hell of a story to tell, in any case.” He made to leave, then turned back. “Say, is that wine any good? I'm feeling rather thirsty.”

I considered it. “It is rather dry,” I replied. “But fruity, too. Take that as you will.”

“Cool. Thanks, Hash's boyfriend,” he said, and the glint in his eye told me he was calling me names in insult. Unfortunately, by the time I had registered it, he was long gone.

People were beginning to crowd around the tables, finally encouraged to touch the food. That was when I spotted someone I had thought I would never see again: Merida Ryder. And with another forester at that!

For once, curiosity got the better of me, and I trotted over to talk to her. She would not recognise me, of course. I had taken great pains to disguise myself that time, and I wondered how she would feel seeing my true face for once.

“Well, well. If it isn't miss Merida, all grown up. Remember me?” I tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around, and it broke my heart to see how she had changed. Her eyes were sunken, the lights gone from them. Merida looked down at me, and there was no spark of recognition. “No,” she said flatly.

The forester turned around, and he let out a little gasp. “You're-” I shushed him.

“Can you not see I am trying to talk to someone here? It is most lovely to see a fellow Ces-ilre, but I must speak to Merida first,” I said. “Are you sure you don't remember me? I passed you that gun, all those fateful years ago.”

She blinked slowly. “Don't. I don't want to remember.” Merida shuddered. “Go away, Hans. Thank you for your help. I absolve you of the favours you owed me.”

I am not and have never been a stranger to suffering, but it hurt to see her crushed like that. “So you do recognise me,” I continued. “What happened, Merin? You used to be so happy.”

“I grew up.”

And that was all she would say on the matter. The forester extracted my hand from her shoulder and led me back to my couch. I let him, of course, something in the hollow cavity where my heart should be aching.

“You're the Spirit Emperor,” he whispered to me, snapping me out of my reverie. “What are you doing here, my lord? And how did you know Merida?”

“Same as you, and that is none of your business,” I whispered back, slipping into forester dialect. “What is your name and clan, sirrah?”

“Kristavla, formerly of the Ko clan. My lord.”

“So you were there when… the Incident happened.” I jerked my chin at the Godhuntress, now attempting to engage a very uncomfortable Dave in conversation. Or perhaps she was interrogating him.

“No. I was attending to my fiance, my lord. The late Kitsy Te-clan.”

“Oh. I killed her, did I not?” I vaguely remembered a foul-mouthed guard who had insulted me the moment I arrived on castle grounds.

“Yes, and I thank you for it.” Kristavla shook his head. “I will not speak ill of the dead, but she was not a good woman.”

“I can imagine that.”

We sat there in silence for a few more moments. “Would you like to help me avenge our people?” I gestured again to the Godhuntress, who was being fawned over by a lich of some kind. “We may not get another chance.”

“I am not one for vengeance,” Kristavla said. “But you are a friend of my friend. And so I will. For you, my lord, and for our people, may their remains soak the earth.”

“Thank you. Be on your way, friend,” I told him. “Speak with the vampire in the demeaning costume—” I had to approximate a word for Dave's Smiley Mart uniform— “and see if you can isolate and weaken her. From there we shall make the kill.”

Kristavla nodded, and slipped away. Taking his place (for it seemed I would have an endless supply of supplicants today), was a lean, sly doctor. Her red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her skin was dry enough to resemble scales.

“Hello, Spirit Emperor,” she hissed. “Fancy seeing you caught up in the Christmas web.”

There was that word again. Christmas. “Care to explain, doctoress?” I offered her a seat. She was about as human as I, with the way she moved, though I could not tell what on earth she was.

“I am an Oracle,” she rasped, as though reading my mind. “And my people arranged this felicitous meeting.”

I froze up. “I see. And why should I believe you?”

She laughed, a sound that had more in common with the death of a small furry animal than anything friendly. “Your name is Hans-el Ko-clan. You killed and ate your parents to save the Goddess of Dreams. Your lover is a shapeshifter who will not tell you its true name, and you hold a grudge against the fallen angel they call the Godhuntress.”

“All very impressive,” I agreed. “ But any old fool could have worked that out with the right background knowledge. Tell me something nobody knows.”

The Oracle grinned, revealing red and raw gums. “Careful what you wish for, little boy.” She shifted closer, and I could smell the blood on her breath. “You claimed the throne by mimicking the magic-thieving spell the Godhuntress used on your dear friend. You helped the renegade Merida start the civil war in Palioden by orchestrating a situation in which she had to kill her sister using a gun you provided. And, as the topping on this pie, your worst fear is-”

“No!” It came out louder than I expected, and more than a few heads turned our way. “I believe that you are an Oracle. Please, do not continue this.”

The Oracle leaned back, victorious. “Good boy,” she murmured, proving that there was, in fact, a nickname I could dislike more than ‘Hash’s Boyfriend'. “Now, I suggest you stop hiding in this little corner and get to moving the plot forward, will you, dear? You ought to be an active protagonist.” She pushed me off my chair. “And be grateful we didn't send you the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present or Future.”

Before I could ask her what the ghosts, or even Christmas, were, she was gone. Not gone like a ghost walker, or like a teleporter. Gone entirely, as though she had never existed in the first place. I shook my head to ward off the strange feeling, and got up. It was unwise to disregard an Oracle's warnings.

I was about to approach a random person, when someone once again came to me. For once, she seemed perfectly normal. “You look like you know what's going on,” she said without preamble. “Care to explain?”

“Unfortunately for you? I do not,” I informed her, pausing to pick up a few jellies and put them onto my plate.

“Well that's not very polite of you, seeing as I know what Christmas is and you don't,” she replied, taking a few jellies of her own. “And I hear you killed your parents too. We've got that in common, at least.”

That gave me pause. She didn't look like a mage of any kind. “And how did you do that, little girl? With a knife? A pillow to the face at night?”

“A death ray, actually. I'm Mara. Nice to meet you, Hans,” she informed me, sticking her hand out. “You're the talk of the party, you know. They say you're an Emperor.”

“And just who might this ‘they’ be?” Blasphemous gods above, did she ever shut up?

“Well, Visitor over there, and his buddy Aida. They're from Palioden, which a few little birds tell me is a land in your world. Which, if you can't tell already, I'm not from.”

“What?”

Mara giggled. “You heard me, Mr Spirit Emperor. I'm not from your world. And if I eavesdropped right, they-” she pointed at Athena's crew- “aren't either. The creepy girl who stopped you from killing that goddess too.”

“The Godhuntress isn't a goddess,” I snapped. “She's nothing but a grandiose genocider. And how did you know about me and Katherine? Everyone was asleep.”

“I happen to be really good at pretending to be asleep. Picked up the habit in kindergarten.” I tiptoed to pick a cream puff off the top of its tower, and she helped lift it down for me.

“Thank you. So what do you want, Mara-murderer? A boon? As you have ascertained, I know naught more about this place than you.” Finally, that was a lie. The Oracle had provided me with some excellent information.

“I want to help you kill that bitch. The Godhuntress, or whatever her name was.” Mara's eyes glinted with bloodlust.

“Why?”

“She disrespected me,” Mara snarled, cracking her knuckles. “I was wondering what she was, and I poked her wings, and would you believe it? That fucking bitch slapped me. Me! No fucking warning.”

I was deeply surprised to hear that the Godhuntress had not done worse than a mere slap for the insolence of grabbing her wings. But any aid was welcome aid, especially from someone as adept at spying as Mara appeared to be. “I see. Let's team up, shall we?”

“Excellent.” She rubbed her hands together. “I know that pretty elf girl and the convenience store dude are on your side. Is the other spirit with you too?” I nodded. “Mmkay. I'll tell them everything I know, and report back.”

“Certainly,” I replied. Mara let out another disturbing giggle, and ran off. There was something deeply wrong with that girl, I decided.

I drifted down the table, plucking up more desserts as I went. The talk of the party, was I now? I could certainly see it. More than one person parted way to let me pick out my food, and I saw a distinct wariness in their eyes. Then again, it was but my dues.

I passed by a Luxatian Crusader in full armour, and she nodded at me. “Spirit.”

“Knight.” For once, I was having a normal encounter. For once, nobody was questioning me about Christmas, or Santa, or Krampus, whatever they were. For once-

The knight unsheathed her sword.

I moved to dodge the blow, but it never came. Indeed, she was not so much as looking at me. Her eyes were trained on someone else, instead. A lich.

“You,” the knight snarled. “Iraela Foundling. The Lich-Queen. I swore an oath to defeat you. And now, I shall.” Ah. It seemed I was not the only one with a grudge to satisfy.

The Lich-Queen blinked, and eloquently croaked out, “What?”

“I am going to watch your unlife spill out onto my blade, foul beast. You killed my family, my entire village. I watched your ghouls eat my sisters. They were six years old, Lich-queen. I had to run while they begged me to save them.” Tears sprung to the knight's eyes. “You are a monster of the foulest kind, and a fog shall lift the day you die.”

“A monster? Damn right I am a monster,” the lich announced. “I am the monster humanity made of me. Your kind declared me cursed, broken, unlovable. All I did was listen to their words. You should have known it by now: a child not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. And all I ever wanted to feel was warm.” She threw her arms wide. “Go on. Slay me. Continue your precious little cycle of hatred. One day, the people I saved, the ones your family scorned, will avenge me.”

A glint in her eye told me she had no plans of going down so easily.

The Crusader spat on the ground. “Spare me your lies, Lich-Queen. Your pretty words will not sway justice.”

I sighed. I knew what kind of woman turned herself into a lich, and it was hardly the sort who a mere knight could defeat. If nobody stopped that fool knight, she was going to get herself killed.

In a flash, I was standing behind the Crusader, barely reaching her underarm. A quick knockout spell later, and she was down, keeling over like a metal doll with its strings cut.

The room had fallen silent. Everyone, even the Godhuntress herself, watched me. I resisted the urge to declare my undying hatred of her, and instead gave a cheery wave to the room.

The Lich-Queen let her arms fall. “Say, might you be the Spirit Emperor?”

I nodded. “The one and only. And a little bird—” I prodded the unconscious knight with my foot— “told me you were the Lich-Queen. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And I yours.” She offered her forearm, and I took it. “I actually knew your predecessor: Sucsu'anane.”

That name belonged in our history books. Sucsu was old, and infamous. “But that would make you the first Lich-Queen,” I murmured. “You- It was you who started the Runic wars! It was you who caused the shifters to die out!”

I was staring a legend in the face, a woman who had caused horrors long before my time, horrors that echoes for all eternity. “By the false gods, it is good to meet you! What an honour, Lady Iraela. What an inspiration you were to me.”

I might have spread the flattery on too thick, but Iraela lapped it all up. “Why, you're too kind. Let me tell you: ruling is all in the flair. Why, for my coronation…”

I let history's greatest disaster lead me by the arm to a nice corner, where she proceeded to chatter my ear off. For once, I shall spare you the details. Suffice to say, I learnt more about the history of the Deadlands than I ever wished to know.

“Let me tell you something, Hans,” she said, interrupting her own monologue.

“Hmm?”

“I heard you knew a shifter named Hash. Well, I met him too.”

That made me perk right up. I'd known Hash was older than I, but that old? Fascinating. What else was he hiding from me?

“Don't trust him. He betrayed us all. We would have won the war, if that little bastard hadn't run off to the elves and spilled the beans. We could have been great, Hans-el. Our peoples, the vampires and the spirits and the ghouls, could have ruled the world. But Hash was soft. Do not let that softness corrupt you,” she warned. “It will rot you from the inside, and when your enemies scoop your guts out, they will not so much as give you the gift of eating you alive.”

“I know,” I replied. “My mother was soft, and it brought her naught but suffering. Our people revile it.”

“And yet you love him,” Iraela commented wryly. “That alone tells me enough about you.”

I did not dare lie and disagree. “Yes, I do. But Hash can take care of himself, now. He's slippery as hell.”

“Yes, that much I have seen from tonight's festivities. But that is the point, is it not? He will slip your grasp and betray you, just as he did the shifters. One day, you will make a cruel choice, a choice for the greater good, and his soft little heart will push him to betray you. All because you weren't hard enough to cut him off.”

I stood up, suddenly reminded of my conversation with the Oracle. My greatest weakness indeed, I thought. “That may be so, my lady. He may betray me, and leave me dead in the gutter. But that is a risk I am willing to take.” I brushed invisible dust off my skirt. “All you are is a woman who failed to rule the world, Lady Iraela. At the end of the day, all you have is your love's blood on your hands and a heart you wrenched out of your own chest. Even if I lose it all, at least I loved, and was loved in turn. For someone who went on and on about needing to feel warm earlier, you just do not seem to understand that, do you?”

Iraela laughed. “So young,” she whispered. “So young and so foolish. They'll make mincemeat out of you, little Emperor. And I'll laugh at you from my grave.”

I strode away from her, back stiff and fists clenched. I could take insult all day, but this? This firm condemnation? It stung. It stung like my father's whippings. It stung and I wanted to never think of it again.

I was still standing about, willing emotion away from me, when Mara tapped me on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said, grinning. “Buncha tables appeared. I grabbed one for us. Your little vampire friend got dragged off to hang out with the rest of his kind, but it seems I'm free to roam.” She laughed maniacally.

She led me to a table. Hash, my Hash, my brilliant, softhearted friend, grabbed my arms and all but pulled me by his side. “Check this out: That vampire's got a tan!” He pointed a woman in work clothes, conversing animatedly with Dave. “Apparently, she's a field researcher. Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can,” I agreed numbly.

“Oh, and this Christmas thing! Mara told me all about it. Apparently, they eat turkey and give gifts and celebrate this saint of theirs. I don't have a gift for you, but I figured this might do!” He pointed at the Godhuntress and lowered his voice. “I cut a sleeping rune onto her piece of turkey while I was carving it. She doesn't know know to use the cutlery, so when she bites into it, the spell will activate, and it'll be your chance! Whaddya think?”

He really was sly. “Brilliant, my love,” I whispered, my mind still on the Lich-Queen. “What else did you find?”

He scrunched his nose up and thought. “Um, the God of Evil's here, and he's a pretty chill guy. The Godhuntress' daughter's here too, and she's got an axe to grind with dear old mum, too, but I convinced her not to do anything drastic. There's some poor blue fellow in the corner, and he's got some kind of curse. I didn't go too close, but he seems… different from the rest of us. When we're done, we should go investigate.”

Beside me, a man in a strange vest sat down. “Hello there, lad,” he began, only to fall silent when he met my eyes. “You're no child. You're a monster.” He stumbled back, clutching his hand to his chest. “Maya? Let's find another table.”

Hash barely hid back laughter as he all but fled the scene, the girl he called Maya giving me a wry smile and nod as she followed. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The others. Look over there. No, not at the demon-girl. The blondie and the redhead next to her.”

“I recognise the others at that table,” I told him. “Kristavla and Merida.”

“Yeah, Kris was helping us out earlier. The redhead? Apparently an infamous mind-mage. She fuckin conquered an entire city, all on her own. And the blond girl's a spell-snapper. Ugly combo, if you ask me. They're from the same era as us, but Nyctomachian.”

“And them?” I pointed at Athena and the one-eyes summoner. “They damn near called my bluff.”

“Yeah, they bothered Dave real bad too. Something tells me they're not gonna harass us again, though.” He grinned at me. “A certain someone may have implied that he was the reason they even ended up here.”

I wanted to facepalm. “Damnit, Hash. That was exactly what I told them too.” I looked over at them, deep in discussion. The old man met my gaze, and held it with the kind of defiance that promised trouble. “Ah, what the hell. We can deal with them later. For now, let us celebrate.”

I drank more wine, this time watered down (for no man of my stature should ever get drunk), gossiped with Hash and Mara, and bided my time.

The Godhuntress took her spare time sipping drinks and eating appetisers. For a moment I suspected she knew of our devious plan, for she avoided her turkey for far too long. Then she lifted the fateful piece of poultry with more grace than it deserved, and bit down.

I was by her side before her head hit the table. My reputation preceded me, for the others at her table, a rather foolish spirit and his mortal friend, scrambled back. Gasps of shock and horror resounded as I readied my blade.

It was quite a shock to realise those noises were not for me. I glanced up from my goal for one fateful minute, perhaps compelled by the strings of Fate that the Oracles pulled, and caught sight of what could only be described as a cryptid.

He came from the chimney, white and red despite the soot. A full white beard hung limply from his chin, and his deep voice resounded throughout the room. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry bloody Christmas, fools!” He pulled out a massive sack and grinned at the room. “You're all bad apples, the lot of you! Coal for everyone!”

Everyone except me dodged the sudden hail of coal that followed the opening of his sack. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He leered at me, icy blue eyes piercing me like the fangs of the last Oracle I met.

I lifted my knife, aiming it at the dazed Godhuntress' throat. A glimmer of recognition dawned upon her face, but I did not let her recover fully. Down went my blade, swift, brutal and twice as just as any executioner's axe.

And what a merry, bloody Christmas it was.

#writing #writeblr #my writing #writerscommunity #creative writing #asks #fantasy #spilled ink #short story #Christmas Special #I think I did a better job of it than last year

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thewritetofreespeech · 7 hours ago

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Could I request Yuji, Megumi and Inumaki with a reader who is a former delinquent?

“Is it weird being back at your old school?”

“I guess,” [Y/N] agreed. “A lot has changed since I was last here.”

“Oh hells no!!”

“Or…maybe not….”

Yuji & [Y/N] turned around to see an older faculty member marching over to them. A vein nearly popping out of his balding head. “You aren’t allowed on the properly anymore, you hooligan!”

“Hooligan?” Yuji repeated.

“Wishful thinking, Baka-sensei.” The man growled. “I was never ‘banned’ just asked to not return the next semester.”

“Next semester?”

“Which implies you aren’t supposed to be here! I’ll talk to the principal and have you removed by the police!” The teacher threatened.

“Go ahead. He called us.” [Y/N] jeered at him. “Look, if you want me gone, talking is just prolonging our stay. Let us do our jobs and we’ll be out of your hair. What’s left of it.”

The man seemed fit to burst. Rather than argue, however, he just marched back off angrily. Arguing with himself in a mutter as he left. “Who was that guy?”

“An old teacher of mine.”

“What was he going on about? [Y/N]-chan…were you a bad student when you were here?”

[Y/N] chuckled. “I was, perhaps, a bit more spirited than most. I didn’t commit murder or anything.” Yuji was concerned that that was the part the listed as concern. “Come on, let’s find this curse and get out of here.”

“You think you know a person….”

It wasn’t often that they got time off to hang out around the city. In fact, they weren’t supposed to have time off now. But since the mission had ended early [Y/N] insisted on stopping at a local fast-food place to get milkshakes. As a reward.

“Oh man, I missed these. Did you used to get these when you went to school around here Megumi?”

“No.” He told them as he sipped his vanilla shake. “I can’t say that I have.”

Besides money being tight when he was a kid, this area was run by another school’s gang at the time. Though Megumi wasn’t officially in a gang, just a lone wolf taking his anger out on everyone, he still knew better than to come on this side of town.

“Well, you were missing out.”

“Oy! Sea urchin head!” Megumi turned around to take note of the shouting. Realizing very quickly that a teen from a small group was pointing & talking to him. He didn’t know whether he should be confused or just offended. “What are you doing on our side of town?! I know you went to Saitama East, and you have no business being here!”

“I don’t go there anymore.” Megumi told the other teen calmly. “And, I’m just here with a friend.”

“A friend hn?” They repeat with a spit. “Well, that friend isn’t welcome here either. You gotta lot of nerve stepping your crew on our turf! So why don’t you….” The young man’s bravado died down quickly, and Megumi realized he wasn’t looking at him anymore, but past him. “[Y-Y-Y/N]-sama!”

“Yes,” they chirped as they came out from behind Megumi’s frame. “Do I know you?”

“N-N-No! I was a year behind you in middle school!” The teen began to recall the terrifying tale of [Y/N] the Slayer. How they defeated every foe that challenged them. How they single handedly brought all the other clubs and gangs at their school to heel. How they even drew the lines in the city between Saitama East and their school. “Your legend still lives on [Y/N]-sama! We still follow your creed!”

“Creed?” [Y/N] replied in confusion. “Oh…that. I didn't really mean it. I mean, it’s good to have rules. That no honor among thieves crap is for short timers. Hopefully you boys learned a thing or too. Like apologizing when you’re wrong?”

“We’re sorry!” The group unanimously shouted at Megumi. Startling him a little. “We didn’t know that you were with [Y/N]-sama. Please forgive us!”

“Uh…it’s ok…”

“Please let us buy you a new milkshake for the trouble!”

“Thanks…I already got one though. You can…go though.”

“Thank you sir!”

The group then ran off with their tails between their legs faster than his Divine Dogs, and Megumi turned to [Y/N]. “I seem to make an impact on people.”

“I guess.” Megumi agreed, as they left before more adulators showed up. “I didn’t know that we were both so much trouble in middle school.”

“Aww…I think it’s cute.” [Y/N] cooed as they linked their hands. “Like a modern-day Romeo & Juliet. Only with middle schoolers. And no suicide.”

“Who’s the Juliet in this story?” He asked, and [Y/N] laughed at his joke.

“Uni, uni.”

[Y/N] turned to Toge when they heard his voice and saw him pointing to a wall with a bunch of graffiti on it. “Oh, yeah. They don’t really clean this place up that much. This stuff has been here for years.”

“Bento?” He asked. Meaning ‘who did it?’.

“It was a lot of students when I was here. Some just wanted to tag to be rebels. Others, I guess, just wanted to be remembered somehow.”

“Bento?” He asked again. Only this time meaning ‘who did this one?’.

[Y/N] smiled. “I did.” Toge seemed surprised and they put their finger to their lips. “It was a long time ago. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Bento?” ‘why did you do it though?’.

“I don’t know. I guess I was bored. Or…maybe I wanted to be remembered. Before I came to Tokyo High, I still always somehow knew my life would be short. I suppose I wanted a piece of me in the word.”

Toge could understand that. Their lives were usually short. Only the strong, or the clever, or just the downright lucky made it to old age. Who would remember the youngsters when they were gone?

Toge then fished around in his pocket and pulled out a marker. He then walked over to the wall and scribbled a little figure next to [Y/N]’s tag. A small little salmon nigiri with a ghost beside it. “Salmon.”

[Y/N] smiled at him. “I guess we’ll both be remembered then.” They then walked off. Their art and their memory resting into the stone. Maybe one day they would be able to come back and see it. Maybe not. But, it would always be there.

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downtowncannibal · 2 days ago

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Some of my fav quotes so far, or ones I think have a sense of importance to them.

Some tacky/silly, but some I gen like and have written down!!

"Guys like him were everywhere. They were a Brotherhood, where no woman told them what to do. The White House held men like him for the past 5 years, breaking and entering after dark, just like him." (Damn right.)

"He was hot under the collar, with a fire in his loins." (Light of my life, fire of my loins ass sentence)

"Girls didn't like him, though; not a single one, ever. It was as though their defenseless species sensed the threat he posed, the predator in the wild. He despised the objects he desired."

"Billy was misogyny made flesh."

"Making moist memories."

"Billy's hate added weights on his shoulders and in his head. With violence and murder, the weight was momentarily lifted. Normally he has a slouch, but after murder he stood upright, broad shouldered, at his fullest height. Powerful, triumphant." (I really like this one, there's something about it that's like. Just makes so much sense.)

"Eventually, he would let each girl see him. And they would understand what he was, and that their time was up. It was imperative that they feared him first, that was where he got his greatest pleasure. When he felt most powerful. What made him a man."

"But he had to admit, he enjoyed the smell when they wet themselves in fear or death."

"And you are little, aren't you? A little man with a teensie-weensie weenie like a Vienna sausage, all cold and slimy!" - "the only thing fat will be your lips if you ever come around here, creep. Why don't you find a wall sock and stick your tongue in it that'll give you a charge. Then stick your dick in it, it'd probably fit." (the real DIVA 💜)

"Though tipsy, Barb was more self aware than others realized. She knew everyone saw Claire as the virginal innocent, while she was the resident ornery lush. Barb would play the bitch, the role life had cast her in, and she would revel in it. Whatever reputation she had had been shot long ago. Her wide-eyed ingenue doing days were already over, but she could occupy the severe character roles like Betty Davis and get all the best lines."

"Despite the Mrs of her name, there has never been a Mr Mac. She didn't like men much and would certainly never live with one. There were reasons for that. Those reasons she never shared with anyone, and nobody asked. The Pi Kappa Sigma house was her all female Kingdom and she was the queen. Their domain was unspoiled. What more could she ask for?" (I'm kind of wondering if this is implicative? Perhaps not, but seems a bit. Also may just be a reason for Billy to hate her more.)

"As her vision went dark, she hooked onto competing sounds. There was the meowing of Claude, who have been trying to warn her. He'd even drawn blood. If only she'd gone out to bandage the wound in the bathroom. She hoped Claude would survive because she would not."

"This was The Moaner aspiring to be The Murderer"

youtube

"Billy wanted to be her first, her one and only. It was important that he ruin her before any other man could. Nobody could ruin a girl like him."

"He softly sang her a lullaby, one with special meaning. Hopefully she was paying attention, because there would be a quiz later."

"He understood Dracula's allure, how women beared their necks so he could suck out their lifeblood. What he did wasn't much different

"A light snow began to fall outside, but Claire's bulging eyes could not see it. She was Billy's plaything now, his toy, at least until he got tired of her. Billy like to break his toys, smashing them to pieces in a tantrum."

#If you are wondering why MOST of this is Billy is because a lot of what's happened so far with the girls is mostly just movie accurate-#dialogue or info on their parents #Theres this added on char named Mugsey and I think her and Barb are in love /j #so far I have mixed feelings on this but that might change #im only 5 chapters in #I have a lot I like about it and some I really don't but we'll see!!#billy lenz #BC BOOK LIVEBLOG #Youtube

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regonold · 5 months ago

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Danny x ra's but their a fresh from a nasty breakup and danny is just going through the breakup motions watch your favourites eat ice cream cry all that jazz but in gotham why?

Because i want the bat's to come across this guy crying on a roof eat ice cream and comforing him trying to get him off the roof and when they ask what his boyfriends name is he juat says ra's fucking al ghul

"It's not fair" he whines "why are tge hot ones always the leaders of some murder cult"

I just want the bat's trying to wrap their head around the fact that this twink was sumhow dating ra's and presumably dumped him because he was the head of a murder cult and HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny has been dating ra's for years thanks to clockwork #he sent him vack in time to do something that took a couple years and during it he met ra's a dated him because well he was lonly #the next time clockwork sent him to a time past that ras should have been old and decrepit but instead he still had his young self #and he was just a bit to hot so danny went duck it o got an imortal boyfriend who's a hippie #but now he finds out hes a murder head guy #come one why's the hot ones always crazy

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britcision · 7 months ago

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Someone confiscate the Kabumisu Rapunzel AU from me, I am not starting a long form anything until my DPxDC novel is done but also I am ONLY capable of doing it wrong

Because:

Kabru MUST be Rapunzel. Mandatory. Milsiril is not letting that little bitch out of her tower. (Also his Main Character Energy)

Mithrun has less than zero drive to do anything ever up to and including wandering around in lonely tower infested woods to find said lost princess

These can only be resolved by Mithrun also already being inside the tower and then we’re into Beauty and The Beast territory too with the Forbidden Room but instead of Cursed Flower there is Cursed Hottie

Tbh Labrumisu would solve this problem where’s my threesome shippers we need ONE (1) character with some goddamn initiative

(Sadly still can’t be me I do not ship Laios in general he’s just not got that Ship Juice)

Milsiril just has such perfect villain vibes and okay I’m selling myself on the Labrumisu because if Laios comes in to kidnap one of her babies (and her broken former coworker) there’s a 50-50 on whether Milsiril just decides he’s young enough to adopt

This is now a main character hoarding situation Falin and Marcille have to come rescue Laios and also his boyfriends from the crazy sword elf and her army of dolls

Which is why I can’t write this one.

Look at that.

Look what happened in like 5 bullet points.

The rails have been OBLITERATED but also it’s just got such good legs someone take this idea and run with it to somewhere very different and much simpler than I am capable of

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #kabumisu #labrumisu #rapunzel au #seriously someone lock kabru in a tower #and let his bf(s) rescue him #holy shit mithrun somehow falls out the window and lands on laios #and kabru has to heist his ass back in before milsiril finds out #but oh who’s that charming and handsome man passing this wet fucking cat back through the window #maybe… maybe we leave the tower…#maybe we have an adventure… mithrun has so many stories of adventure…#(he tells them so badly with all the minor side details laios falls asleep before the first monster appears)#laios touden #kabru of utaya #kabru dungeon meshi #captain mithrun #mithrun dungeon meshi #mithrun falling out the window HAS to be kabru’s fault #he sneaks into Forbidden Room and shenanigans ensue who is this sleeping beauty #this sleeping beauty who just woke up and stared RIGHT through your fucking soul #kabru flails mithrun weighs about as much as a wet goddamn towel despite being all sinew and he’s right out the window #kabru: …………….. okay so on the one hand he can’t rat me out for being in here now #kabru: on the other hand I JUST THREW A GUY OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW WE ARE 50 STORIES UP I AM A MURDERER 😭😭😭😭#mithrun: *casual deceleration teleport*#go back inside? mithrun does not know her #he landed on a man it’s fine #laios: … it’s ACTUALLY raining men 😱😱😱#kabru sticking his head out the window: NO WAIT I NEED THAT SPECIFIC MAN BACK BEFORE MY MOM GETS HOME

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madegeeky · 10 months ago

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Never thought I'd see a cop show be so fucking liberal and thoughtful as to acknowledge that a person who is diagnosed with psychopathy is not, by default, a serial killer. They have "persistent antisocial behavior, impaired empathy and remorse, and bold, disinhibited, and egotistical traits" (Wikipedia) but none of that means that they are going to (or have) become a serial killer. (The show uses the word "psychopathy" so that's what I'll be using.)

The basic premise of the show, which is the Korean drama Bad Guys, is that a detective uses 3 prisoners to help him fight crime, usually people who have killed repeatedly. There's the mobster, the hitman, and the aforementioned psychopath, Jung-moon.

It later turns out that Jung-moon has been framed for the serial killings that he went to jail for. He was framed, in fact, by the detective he is now working for because, well, he was a psychopath so that meant that it had to be him, even if there was no real evidence.

But it is wrong and the show specifically states that. It was wrong, the show says, that this was done to someone no matter what they were diagnosed with. It was wrong, the show says, that the detective assumed the worst of Jung-moon because of his diagnosis. It was wrong, the show says, that Jung-moon was sent to prison for years. It was cruel and awful and wrong.

And the show never refutes that Jung-moon has psychopathy! Never! No one ever calls it into question, tries to say that he didn't do the killings because he's not obviously not a psychopath. He has psychopathy but he still didn't deserve to go to jail or be treated the way he was treated. The psychopathy is never used as a reason to make it better or understandable that he was sent away.

They even have the detective apologize to Jung-moon! "I branded you as a psychopath, blaming everything on you," says the detective. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." There's no attempt to make excuses, to pretend that there was another reason he thought it was Jung-moon. He straight up just admits that that was the only reason he targeted Jung-moon. And he acknowledges that this was wrong and cruel of him.

The detective then gives Jung-moon his gun and tells him that he deserves to be shot by the other man. And Jung-moon puts the gun to the detective's head and says, "I can't feel the emotions you fee. Because I can't feel those feelings, I wanted to learn them. Whether it's blame, sadness, happiness, I learned from you for the past couple months." And then Jung-moon doesn't pull the trigger. He's a psychopath. He has low empathy and low self-control and he still doesn't kill the detective.

I just wasn't expecting such a nuanced, respectful, and kind look at a character diagnosed with psychopathy from a silly little cop drama which is basically just a mystery with cops being overly dramatic and a fuck ton of fight scenes. It was just incredibly refreshing to see.

#geeky talks #geeky talks bad guys (2014)#now jung-moon did indeed kill people #but by the laws of cop dramas they were totally acceptable killings #(he walked in to find his parents' dead bodies #and killed the murderers that were still there)#also i don't think i once called him by his real name while watching the show #he looks like a kpop star so i called him kpop the whole time #but it felt wrong to try to make a serious post and call the character kpop #so i went and looked up his name so i could actually use it #any way the tv series is on tubi (which is free)#i've linked it above if anyone is interested #although for some reason on tubi it says it came out in 2024 when it came out in 2014 #i dunno what that's about but just a heads up #i tried so hard to make this shorter but that's just not the sort of person i am so here it is

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eyivibyemi · 1 year ago

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✧ I won’t really write descriptions for these, but see original post tags for explanation/commentary on the song snippet ✧

#This was literally just off the top of my head improvising words that rhyme (as is obvious from me rhyming the word #'on' with the word.... 'on' (what's going ON my name is ON' etc. lol) but after actually thinking about it this kind of seems a little #sinister?? why is his name on the news? why is he fleeing town? makes me think of of some guy who's killed #someone or is finally getting caught for his crimes so one last stop before he flees town is he returns home to his husband (who he #calls Hummingbird sometimes I guess) and is like 'erm... tee hee.. I can't tell you why but I shall leave. farewell' etc.#also 'I guess I could show you' having a bad implication like.. yeah I COULD show you the dead bodies and evidence of my crimes #but I will spare you from that and simply let you live in ignorance (at least until you see the news at 10.. but I will be long gone by #then.. eating green beans somewhere lol).. ANYWAY.. 100% unintentional but you could actually almost read some sort of meaning #out of this one. until the green beans part ghhbjb.. I try so hard for everything to just be meaningless gibberish #that has no connection but I suppose sometimes a connection can be made. alas.. a perhaps accidentally Dark seeming song snippet #OR alternate theory. uhh... actually his name is on the news for a good reason. he donated all his money to charity and now #he's fleeing town just because he's embarassed to be publicly recognized.. a shy philanthropist OR an evasive murderer #BOTH versions of him like green beans. which is the truth? up to listener interpretation lol.. Also I #still find it immensely funny for some reason to do this lower sounding style of singing. which not that I really care about like having a #Broad Range or something since I don't think it'd even be possible to have one in my position (as someone #with zero musical/vocial training/etc.) BUT because part of what I find fun is like.. experimenting with all different sorts of sounds #and also doing choir type stuff. So then I do want to be able to sound like multiple people.. if that makes sense? I want to have a really #high voice and the a really low voice and have them sing together and it sounds like a duet or something when it's really just one person.#etc. Thus have a passing interest in learning to adopt different singing styles if I can. because then that's funny and I can do a wider #variety of things like it's all different characters or something as if all the song snippets are done by different people or etc.#(maybe just part of the nature of it being experimental).#And the low voice is always the goofiest sounding to me and very 'fake' seeming I guess #like blatantly is just someone putting on an affect or whatever but still in a kind of fun jokey way lol #beepo tag

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osaemu · 1 year ago

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GOJO SATORU: HUNGRY FOR MORE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!gojo x detective!reader: fucking the serial killer you're supposed to be arresting might be the best (or worst) decision you've ever made. PART 2 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, public sex (in an alley), p –> v, orgasm denial, fingering, he cums inside, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, lil' bit of dumbification, hair pulling, squirting, dirty talk, manipulation/coercion, mentions of murder (he's a serial killer what did u expect), non-sexual mentions/usage of guns, probably more. 3K words.

author's note: wrote this instead of writing my research paper and studying for my math final. if this flops i will actually become the serial killer /j. anywaysss tagging @satoruhour @screampied @satorena.. and yes, the "season 2 coming soon" in the banner means something ;)

“looks like your little killing spree’s gonna have to come to an end,” you muse, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow at the man across from you. he grins back at you, and it’s almost unsettling—he looks a little too smug for a killer who’s just been caught.

“i don’t think so, sweetheart,” the man responds dryly, leaning back against the alley wall, features relaxed and at ease. he—satoru gojo—has been your target for a couple weeks, and now that you’ve finally cornered him, you find yourself feeling a little… unfulfilled. usually, when you caught criminals, they begged for mercy and showed a little more emotion than what satoru’s shown so far.

also, the criminals usually weren’t this good-looking.

you maintain eye contact with satoru while you carefully reach into your coat’s pocket, withdrawing your phone and unlocking it. unexpectedly, satoru doesn’t make any move to stop you from dialing the number to your boss, instead smiling coyly as you do so.

“so, you’re one of those guys who don’t care what happens to them?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the phone to your ear. satoru shrugs and his grin only widens the longer your phone rings. ten seconds pass before your phone tells you that the number you dialed is currently busy, and satoru’s muffled laughter becomes unbearably suspicious. you narrow your eyes and involuntarily take a step back. “what’s with the smile?”

satoru scoffs and dips his head, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards you. “y’know, you’re rather brave, comin’ out to catch a serial killer all by yourself. and in the middle of the night, too.” he stops advancing when he sees you pull a gun out of your pocket and hold it up threateningly, a look of warning in your eyes. “okay, okay, relax. i’m not gonna do anything to your pretty face.”

“what did you do?” you ask suspiciously. satoru widens his eyes in mock disbelief, as if he’s completely and utterly shocked that you’d ever accuse him of anything.

“besides the fifteen separate counts of murder? not much, really.”

“i’m not an idiot,” you snap, cocking the gun and aiming it at his head. “you’re not the one in control here, satoru gojo. spit it out before i put a bullet through your skull.”

satoru laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “fiesty, aren’t we? it’s alright, i like my girls with a little fire in them.” he tilts his head to the side and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on parts of you that suddenly make you feel naked, despite the coat covering most of your figure. “put down the gun, sweetheart, then we can talk.”

you wait a second, scanning satoru’s overly relaxed face before cautiously lowering the gun. “what are you hiding?” you ask again, eyes hardening.

“a lot of things. but i think you’re talking about what i did to your boss, right?”

“you have five seconds before i shoot you.”

satoru makes a face and then rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, since you’re bein’ so pushy about it. i killed him, obviously. you’re a smart girl, shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?” when you don’t immediately answer, satoru sighs and shakes his head. “and here i thought that the girl who’d been tailing me for the past week would have a little sense in that pretty head of hers. looks like i was wrong.”

“shut it,” you snap again, re-dialing the number and letting your phone ring for fifteen seconds. when nobody picks up, you internally curse and think about what to do next. dialing 911 would be worth a try, but the look in satoru’s ice-blue eyes makes you think otherwise. despite the gun in your hand, something about him makes you entirely certain that he could overpower you, even if you landed a shot on him. and even if you just shot him right now, he’s been shown in the past to be able to function fine with a bullet through his chest. that’s how two of your subordinates lost their lives to him—by underestimating your city’s notorious killer.

so you decide to bide your time.

“ran out of options?” satoru asks smugly. he raises an eyebrow when you slide your phone back into your pocket and exhales a laugh. “you gonna wait for a big, strong man to rescue you? ‘cause i’m right here, honey, and i could be your savior.”

“that was actually the shittiest line i’ve ever heard,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face. “are you seriously proud of that one?”

“well, it worked.”

he pushes himself off the alley wall and towards you so fast that you hardly even have time to process it, and before you know it, you’re the one pressed to a wall with a gun to the side of your head. satoru’s other hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head, and his face is close enough to the point where you can feel his breath—which is unexpectedly minty—on your cheeks as he grins down at you. “you really think i’d use a line as shitty as that if i didn’t know it’d make you lower your guard? tch, you really shoulda known better.”

you use every curse word you’ve ever heard in that moment and grit your teeth, rapidly thinking through all the possible ways you could get out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind. you’re quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place, with a gun pressed to your head and with your limbs out of commission.

satoru clicks his tongue and widens his eyes at you, leaning in closer. his lips are uncomfortably close to your own as he traces the gun down the side of your face, cold metal brushing against your heated skin. “not gonna fight back? that’s no fun.”

“the fuck you want me to do?” you snap irritably, glaring up at him and curling your hands into fists. satoru tightens his grip on your wrists and cooes a sarcastic apology to you, taking his time looking you up and down again. if you didn’t value your life, you probably would’ve said worse, but seeing as you were the only person in this ridiculously isolated alley, it wouldn’t be worth much.

“i dunno. didn’t that detective academy or whatever teach you anything?”

you roll your eyes again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility of your eyes getting permanently stuck in the back of your head just because of him. “y’know, you’re not giving me a whole lot of options.”

satoru laughs. “if i did, that’d defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?”

at this point, death would be preferable to hearing his idiot talk any longer.

“so, i’m gonna be the one asking the questions from now on,” satoru continues, clicking his tongue disapprovingly when you scowl. “if you behave, i won’t hurt you that badly, ‘kay? keep that in mind.”

“thought you liked your girls feisty.”

“oh, that’s true,” satoru muses thoughtfully. “yeah, never mind, you can be a little bratty. i need a reason to fuck you stupid anyways,” he grins after a moment of consideration.

“what the fuck?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” satoru cooes, feeling his pants tighten as he watches your eyes widen. your “tough” demeanor drops for a split second, and satoru can’t help but want to fuck it off again when it returns. your scowl deepens and you frantically think through all your options again, but there isn’t a whole lot you can do at this point.

“if you wanna stay alive, you’ll be a good girl and you won’t scream,” satoru murmurs, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to yours. you grit your teeth and try to shove him away with your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much. satoru smiles against your lips and hums softly, pulling away with an almost affectionate look on his face. it’s so at odds with who he is and what he’s done that you drop your guard again, wanting to believe that he really will keep his promise not to hurt you.

satoru sees the shift in your features and smiles tenderly, all traces of his borderline-sadistic look gone. he studies your face for a moment and kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger for a second before he pulls away again. “i’m gonna let your hands go now, m’kay?” when he drops your wrists, they fall limply on his shoulders as you warily study him, eyes wide with confusion. it’s jarring, the way he just… changed personalities within the span of a couple seconds. “i’m not gonna hurt you, pretty,” he breathes, dropping the gun and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thwak. “this’ll be a lot more fun for me if you don’t resist, yeah?”

oh, fuck it.

“okay,” you murmur, ignoring every siren going off in your head. you don’t really have any other options, and honestly, nobody was going to walk by and get you out of this sticky situation anytime soon. and satoru was pretty attractive… and you could just arrest him afterwards, right?

as if he read your mind, satoru smiles and promises, “you can handcuff me after i’m done with you. just let me have a little fun one last time, baby.”

yeah, it’d be a stupid decision to believe the sweet-talker towering over you. there’s no way he’s just going to let you drag him off to jail, but there’s a reason he’s stayed out of the grasp of the law for so long. it’s hard to live a life as on-the-edge as being a serial killer, but the reason satoru’s survived for this long is because he knows how to use his words. he knows how to make a person go against every warning in their head, and he knows how to get what he wants.

which, for tonight, includes you.

“you have thirty—no, twenty minutes,” you mumble, knowing damn well that this would be the end of your career as a detective. whether or not you dragged satoru in after all this, you could never continue your work knowing you had sex with the biggest serial killer in the city.

satoru laughs and kisses you again, lips trailing down your face and settling on your neck. “haven’t i already made it clear that i’m the one in control here?” he muses as he slips his hands under your coat and tugs it off. it falls to the cold ground and bunches up around your feet, leaving you in a button-up shirt and flowy, dark pants. “c’mon, let’s get these clothes off you.”

within a minute, the rest of your clothes save for a black lacy pair of undergarments join your coat on the floor, and the chilly nighttime air nips at your skin. “i’m cold,” you mumble, feeling yourself involuntarily tense up everywhere but where satoru’s hands cloak your skin. satoru laughs in response and presses his knee to the spot in between your thighs, and something in you snaps at the point of contact.

“you really are an idiot, aren’t ya,” satoru scoffs, hand sliding down to your waist. his fingers latch on the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down, exposing your already-wet pussy to the cold evening air and his eyes. “lettin’ a serial killer fuck you in a dark alley… what kind of detective does that?” satoru spits on two of his fingers and slips them inside you, instantly groaning when he feels you clench around him. “fuck, you gotta be the tightest pussy i’ve felt in a while,” he mutters, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down shamelessly. “do you not have sex with other guys?”

“don’t have time,” you swallow what would’ve been an embarrassingly loud moan as his fingers go deeper and deeper. how long are this man’s fucking fingers?

“aw, look at you, you’re so cute,” satoru cooes, smiling down at your scrunched up face. you look back at him through squinted eyes, hips starting to roll against his fingers. it’s true—you really haven’t had time to have sex given your already-insane schedule. it’s almost like you spent more time tracking the man who’s now knuckle-deep inside you than sleeping, but the slutty part of your head tells you that it paid off.

“‘m gonna cum,” you whine pitifully, squirming around satoru’s fingers as he curls them inwards, making you clench around him even tighter. a shiver runs over your body, starting from in between your thighs and spreading all over you as satoru’s fingers move back and forth inside your soaking wet cunt. “g-gojo—”

“call me satoru, baby, and you’re not cumming until i say you can.” with that, satoru withdraws his fingers from your pussy with a pop! and grins at the way you glare at him sullenly. he mockingly pouts and licks his drenched fingers clean, tongue lapping up your essence. “heh, don’t worry, i’ll make you cum more than you knew you could once you’re stuffed with my cock.”

although you’ve determined satoru’s “promises” to be dubious at best, he fufills this one after he’s spread your legs wide open and positioned his cock at your entrance. “this might hurt, baby, but remember, no screaming.” after you nod in acknowledgement, satoru slips his tip in and watches, amused, as you try to close your legs on reflex. “uh uh, keep ‘em nice and wide f’me,” satoru tuts disapprovingly.

and true to his word, it hurts—a dull ache spreads throughout your legs as his dick goes farther and farther inside you, reaching places you hadn’t felt in a long time. satoru’s hands settle somewhere on your waist as he pushes himself deeper, ignoring your gasps and pleas for him to slow down a little. your shaky hands move to his hair and you unwittingly pull on it, somehow eliciting a soft groan from satoru’s lips, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think that of course a serial killer has a hair pulling kink—it just makes sense.

“s-satoru, it won’t fit,” you whisper, feeling satoru hit an especially tight spot in your cunt. even with how wet you are, it just feels like you can’t possibly take any more of him—he might as well be ten feet inside you, given the pain in your hips. but, as expected, satoru only smiles tauntingly down at you and murmurs words of encouragement as he somehow pushes past the barrier and gets all the way in amid your pained whimpers.

“yeah, that’s it, knew you could do it,” satoru says sweetly, voice coated with poisonous honey. now that he’s all the way in, the ache from your waist down starts to fade into pleasure, especially as satoru starts moving himself in and out to get you used to the feeling of his dick. “just like that, pretty girl. jus’ like that.”

soon enough, he sets an unexpectedly harsh pace that makes your back arch off the cold, brick wall behind you, and even as satoru tries to keep up his “cool serial killer” act, you can hear his quivering breaths as he gets close to cumming. “shit, i forgot how fuckin’ good it felt to fuck a cunt this tight—” he mutters through gritted teeth. “‘m gonna cum inside, ‘kay?”

you nod breathlessly, chasing your own pleasure and not actually listening to the words satoru murmurs in your ear. at this point, it didn’t matter—all your pathetic little head could think about was satoru’s dick, and somehow, you forget that he’s a killer when he cums inside you. it’s hot and thick and it almost knocks you over—when was the last time you felt this good, if ever?

the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum with him, nodding along to satoru’s praises on how well you’re taking him. you squirt all over his painfully hard dick and suck in a sharp breath as you do so, body trembling from the force of both of your orgasms.

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” satoru murmurs when you both come down from your highs, stroking your hair almost tenderly. you bob your head in response, face warm and eyes unable to properly focus. he stuffs his fingers back inside your puffy cunt and scoops the cum dripping down your thighs back inside, mumbling something about not letting a single drop go to waste. “who knew the pretty detective i’d had my eye on would be this good to me?” he cooes, grinning snarkily.

satoru’s earlier promise floats through your head and you force yourself to look him in the eye. “y-you said you’d let me arrest you after,” you breathe, back still pressed to the wall as satoru surveys you amusedly.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re in no condition to be giving orders,” satoru says condescendingly, pulling up his pants and grinning at you. his cheeks are still flushed red, but whether that’s from the cold nighttime air or from the heated sex, you don’t quite know. “we should do this again sometime,” he continues conversationally as he picks up your coat for you. despite the fact that you’re still naked and trembling, satoru drapes your coat around your shoulders and helps you button it up.

“but you said—” you protest, but satoru cuts you off with a raised eyebrow.

“you didn’t seriously believe me, did you?” satoru tuts, shaking his head. “i’m a serial killer. i’m not gonna turn myself in just ‘cause of a detective’s pretty pussy, baby. you should’ve known better, doll.” satoru wraps an arm around your limp shoulders and tugs you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against your own for a couple seconds before he pulls away with a satisfied smile.

he leaves you with a promise to see you soon.

12K notes · View notes

tojicide · 2 months ago

Text

SNIPER, SNIPER! ☆ LEON KENNEDY

summary. in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.

warnings. fem!reader. au. nsfw, smut, fluff. hitman!leon, ex!leon, jealous!leon, re4!leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance. porn with some plot. pet names. argument. oral sex (f!receiving), face sitting, missionary, unprotected p in v, creampie. wc. 5.3k

note. i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now :3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.

He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.

As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.

Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.

(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their heads. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)

Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.

He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.

(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.

“Aaand what’s the magic word?”

He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.

“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.

Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”

Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”

Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone, but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s brain. He’ll take it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.

It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.

And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.

“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.

“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”

“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.

Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.

Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was side and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.

You’re gorgeous, is all he can think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.

Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”

“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”

That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.

It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.

And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.

Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.

But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.

You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.

Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.

His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.

Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writing on the ground all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.

Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.

“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”

Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before she shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.

He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.

You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.

To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.

Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.

Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.

“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.

“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”

Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”

“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”

“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.

Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”

He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”

Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”

Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”

He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”

“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.

“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”

Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”

“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.

“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”

He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.

The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.

“Look…” he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job, I just need you to—”

You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.

“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”

He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.

Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.

“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”

Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”

“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”

He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”

His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.

He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now. Tell me, who was that guy?”

A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”

You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.

He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”

No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”

Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”

You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”

He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.

“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.

You huff, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”

He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.

“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.

“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.

“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”

When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.

Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you. But he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.

“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.

You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”

Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”

His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.

Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.

His trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.

One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.

“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.

He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.

“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”

“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.

“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”

“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”

He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.

Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.

“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”

You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.

“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.

He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.

Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.

And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.

(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)

“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”

He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”

It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.

“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”

Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”

“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.

“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”

Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.

His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.

You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.

“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”

“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.

With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.

“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.

You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.

It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.

His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “No need to worry your pretty little head, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”

He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.

“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.

“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”

His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.

“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”

Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”

He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.

“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”

That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.

“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.

Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”

You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Soooo corny,” you whisper.

He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.

“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.

You shake your head. “I love you.”

Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.

He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.

He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”

He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”

You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.

The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.

When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.

“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”

note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

#♥︎ tojicide #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut

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rafey-baby · 4 months ago

Text

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

18+ mdni!

c/w: outlaw!rafe being mean and manipulative, mentions of murder, violence & other dark themes, he’s also weirdly soft in the end?

wc: 2k

he's been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the oak door at 3 am— revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his big hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving as he stares down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg.

At first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.

She’s about to open her mouth and she’s not sure whether she was going to scream for help or simply stare at him with her mouth hung open in shock but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting a massive palm over her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine.

And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to even move a muscle; the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose, making her face scrunch up. And she doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blaming it on the fact that half of her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland; soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars.

And he’s just so mean, ordering her around with a gun to her head, manhandling her around to his liking, grumbling about needing to stay at her house for a bit since he needs a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught. Apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.

“I didn’t even mean to kill the guy, alright. He just kept pissing me off on purpose and I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?” He offers as an explanation that seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage. It’s loud enough for him to hear; almost as if she’s a terrified rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf, hunting down his prey.

“I’m taking a shower now, and you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do, I’m gonna have to hurt you, and I really don’t wanna do that, okay?”

She nods her head, unable to form any coherent sentences.

He takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he steps closer to her, inquiring whether she lives alone or not, to which she just nods her head again.

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night you don’t fucking open, alright?”

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.

The second he’s in her bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think; quickly coming up with a rickety plan as she listens to the water streaming down from behind the door. She waits for a moment, making sure the coast is clear before she bolts towards her bedroom, trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.

However, her shaky hands don’t help her one bit when they drop the phone; the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room.

She can’t breathe, her brain short-circuits as she bends down, reaching for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off; an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she fruitlessly tries to turn it back on and call for help but it’s proving to be harder than she thought when her lungs decide to stop working, her respiration shallow and her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her blood run cold; a shiver traveling down her spine as she slightly jumps, a faint gasp leaving her.

“Why did you just do that, huh? Told you, didn’t wanna fucking hurt you and then you go and pull this shit,” a strong hand is gripping her by her throat as he turns her around to face him.

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, unable to move.

“You don’t what, huh?” He stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seemingly entirely indifferent to her torment.

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible, making a grim chuckle bubble out of his chest.

“Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” He scoffs, cruel words mocking her.

“You’re so fucking stupid, want me to kill you, is that what you want?” He grits out as he squeezes at her neck, making her feel dizzy; gasping for air.

“No! No, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages to force out as he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.

“Anything, huh? That’s real tempting and all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you understand?”

“I won’t, I promise. You can...stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s gonna pass out soon, stars peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs starting to feel heavy. His coarse panting fills her eardrums as he seems to contemplate her offer for a moment.

“If you even think about running to the cops tonight, I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?”

She’s frantically nodding her head and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back, trying to even out her respiration.

He doesn’t say anything, silently observing her as she clears her throat, swallowing a few times as she tries to pacify her racing heart and calm the thoughts running around her head; trying to reassure herself that she’s still alive and she will stay that way if she just doesn’t rile him up anymore.

He notices how her rounded eyes look up at him as he stands before her, smelling like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo, nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.

“What’s— um…what’s your name?” Her voice is creaky when she tries a different approach once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, a nervous hesitation overlaying her precarious question.

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply dismisses her, but a small pout molds her mouth as she stares at him and he lets out a discontented sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless and he laughs at her priorities. A literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?” She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she supposes if she gets him to talk about something, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.

“You seriously wanna know?” He raises his brows.

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on shaking her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling out from his sturdy chest.

“So, uh— what is it that you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” She tries once more.

“Look, the less you know, the better, alright?” He simply states, making her let out a soft sigh in defeat.

All of a sudden, a vigorous thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.

She flinches at the sound and the sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.

“You scared of a little storm?” He feigns concern as he peers down at her.

“N— no,” she lies, forcing her face to stay neutral, hesitant about him finding out her weaknesses.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” The mocking grin on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows, wishing this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

After that little incident, he thinks that she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch.

He can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered, doted on; to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. Makes him figure he's gonna enjoy his stay just fine.

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to his own tired form, pointing his gun at him.

His softened bones feel mellow from the sleep and he lets out a sigh, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and shifts to sit on the couch cushions; teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender.

“Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Trying to be all tough now, are we?” There’s a lazy smile on his face.

“I— I want you to…leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.

And he’s trying to take her serious, he really is, but it’s proving to be a little difficult since she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should work on your pitch, I’m not very convinced, you know?” The exasperating smirk plastered on his face makes her brows crease.

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face and he thinks she looks rather adorable.

“Come on, Puppy. You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” His voice is even; she hesitates.

“Well, it can’t be that…complicated?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he really can’t keep the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. Her frown deepens.

“Why don’t you give it to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience. Would break you, you’re too soft for that shit.”

“You don’t— know me.”

“I know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet. He takes a slow step towards her and she squeezes the gun tighter in her trembling fingers.

“If I give it to you, you’re gonna— you’re gonna…kill me. I don’t wanna die,” her words are hysterical, rushed.

“Now who said anything about killing you? Look, if you give me the gun right now, I’m not gonna do anything. I give you my word, alright?” He’s towering over her, solid chest nearly grazing the barrel.

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.

“I know, Pup. But I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a contrast to her own precarious ones when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.

“There we go, no need to be so fucking theatrical, yeah?” He lowers his head in order to lock his eyes with her frenzied ones.

“See? Not hurting you, am I?”

She manages out a hum of agreement and then her waterline is brimming with water, salty droplets trickling down her cheeks as she chokes out a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“Hey, hey it’s all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” He says and then his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster and for some reason that makes her weep harder.

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind, big paw rubbing against her back. And it’s almost…comforting, she thinks as he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child.

“There you go, just let it all out and maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You Pogues can be so fucking dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form before pushing her back to stumble on her feet— setting the gun back onto the coffee table with a clank.

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gutsby · 3 months ago

Text

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

#‘HIS FIST IS BIG BUT MY GUN’S BIGGER’#‘HE’LL FIND OUT WHEN I PULL THE TRIGGER’#ms. lambert was INSANE for that #supporting women’s rights and wrongs all day long in this fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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hoshifighting · 3 months ago

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— Synopsis: After a series of graffiti attacks on your bakery, you find out Jihoon is the vandal behind it, frustrated because your shop's success has outshone his grandma's bakery. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, physical violence (reader hits jihoon with a mop, vandalism), jealousy, emotional conflict, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, semi-public sex, cock riding, overwhelming, body fluids (cum), no protection, fetish elements—being painted with grafitty during sex, claiming, mention of an enormous cock on the bakery's wall.

Your arms are crossed in a tight clutch as you stare at the front door of the bakery, the black, fresh tags sprayed across the pastel walls like an ugly bruise. It’s the same crap, just a new day. The pink and white of your shop—the delicate aesthetic that drew people in—was constantly being smeared by some low-life with a spray can. Months of this, and all the cameras ever caught was a faceless guy in a black hoodie. Useless.

With a frustrated sigh, you unlock the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary. The day needed to start, vandalism or not. You open the windows, letting the fresh morning air in. At least the floors were clean, thanks to the obsessive mopping you’d done last night. That had become a habit lately, one of the few things you could control.

You grab a bowl, dumping the ingredients for cake batter in with a bit too much force. Your arm flexes as you whip the fouet through the mix, your irritation guiding every furious stroke. It’s therapeutic, in a way—until Mingyu walks in.

“Are you... trying to murder the batter?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice as he sets his stuff in the locker. “You’re about to crack the bowl in half.”

You glance up, still scowling, but the comment catches you off guard. “Shu’up, Mingyu. You would be mixing like this too if someone graffitied your walls for the hundredth time.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he teases, walking over to grab his apron. “It’s just a little paint. You act like the world’s ending.”

“It’s not just paint! It’s every day with this. And it’s not even good graffiti. It’s just some bullshit tags that don’t mean anything.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, some people might say you’re overthinking it. Maybe the artist is just misunderstood. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning.”

“‘Eat shit’ has no deeper meaning,” you deadpan, pushing the bowl to the side. “And I’ve got a cake due at 3 p.m. Can you please help me with the fondant? I need to leave on time for class.”

“Gastronomy waits for no one,” he quips, moving to help you.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Exactly. And if I’m late, I’m fucked. So let's get this done.”

Mingyu chuckles, but he gets to work, his hands already busy with rolling out the fondant. “You ever think of just... catching the guy yourself? Stake out the place or something?”

“Yeah, because that’s a great use of my time,” you mutter. “I’ve got school, work, and now this mystery asshole. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside all night and wait to get jumped?”

“Hey, you might scare him off with your mixing technique alone.”

You snort. “At this point, I’d rather beat him over the head with the bowl.”

— // NEXT DAY // —

You’re bent over the counter, carefully arranging the pies and cupcakes in the vitrine, when the bell above the door jingles. The sound makes you straighten up automatically, pasting on your best “welcome to my bakery” smile.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” you ask, looking up to see Mrs. Yang, one of your more... particular customers. She smiles politely, her bag clutched in one hand, and takes her time approaching the counter.

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice too sweet for whatever she’s about to say next. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... the situation outside.”

Here we go.

You nod, still smiling like your life depends on it. “Yes, we’ve been dealing with some, uh... graffiti issues lately.”

Her lips purse. “It’s quite the eyesore, don’t you think? Having that sort of thing on the storefront isn’t good for business, especially with such a nice bakery like yours. People might get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want to bring my friends here if it continues.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you from the back, wide and alarmed like he’s bracing himself for whatever smartass remark is about to leave your mouth. You can almost hear him holding his breath.

But instead of snapping, you swallow it down. Barely.

“I understand, Mrs. Yang. We’re working on getting it removed as soon as possible,” you say, your voice calm and professional, even though your brain is screaming, What the hell do you want me to do? Hand-paint the walls every night?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” she replies with a thin smile, “You always do such a lovely job here. I’ll have two of the lemon tarts, please.”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing the tarts and ringing her up, every muscle in your body tense as you try not to explode. “That’ll be $8.50.”

As she leaves, Mingyu sidles up behind you. “You alright? That looked painful.”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before I throw a tart at you.”

He just laughs. “Hey, props for not biting her head off. That’s growth.”

Your day only goes downhill from there.

An order comes in last-minute, right when you're about to head out for a cake delivery, forcing you to juggle too many tasks at once. The fondant on the cake cracks just as you’re trying to finish it, and you nearly drop the entire thing when you’re loading it into the car. By the time you deliver it, you're ten minutes late, and the client is tapping her foot like you ruined her wedding or something.

As you drive away, you notice that some idiot in the parking lot nicked the side of your car with their door. The scrape is fresh, ugly, and just another thing you don’t have time to deal with.

By the time you make it to the university, you’re on edge. Every little thing is pissing you off—the late delivery, the car, Mrs. Yang’s passive-aggressive comments replaying in your head.

You stomp into the classroom, tossing your bag on the desk as you take your seat. Your friend, Jiyeon, looks up from her notes, immediately catching the “I’m about to lose it” vibe radiating from you.

“Woah, woah... Don’t talk to me,” you say, waving her off before she even opens her mouth.

She raises her hands in mock surrender, exasperated. “Okay, okay, damn. I wasn’t even gonna say anything!”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the guy sitting next to you glancing over. He’s half-smirking, like he’s amused by your bad mood. You roll your eyes as you pull your utensils from your bag.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” you snap, not really in the mood for whatever attitude he’s giving you.

He just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Nothing. Chill.”

You huff, biting your tongue. “Whatever, man.”

As class starts, you try to focus on the lecture, but it feels like everything is stacking up, one annoying thing after another. You’re counting down the hours until you can get out of here and back to the bakery, where at least you can take your frustrations out on some dough.

[...]

The bakery is finally quiet. You’ve set the doughs to rest for tomorrow, turned off the colorful lights, and now it’s just you, the mop, and the hum of the radio. There’s something peaceful about the dark bakery—like it’s resting, too, after a long, chaotic day. The floor’s slick beneath the mop as you drag it in lazy strokes, the apron around your neck, always too tight, was finally off.

It’s quiet out there too. Rush hour’s over, people are strolling by in pretty scarves, leaving their cubicles for the day. Not that you’d ever want that life. That could never be you—this was your space, your bakery. You’d rather be here, mopping your own floors than stuck in some windowless office.

Even if your apron’s been digging into your neck all damn day. You rub at the sore spot, sighing, when—

Wait.

What the fuck? You squint, eyes narrowing as some guy steps right up to your bakery window, a paint can in hand. You watch in disbelief as he starts spraying. Right on your wall. Again.

You don’t even think. You just move. The front glass door slams open so hard the bell almost flies off, the aggressive clatter echoing behind you as you stomp out, mop still in hand.

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy barely turns, but it’s too late. You’re already swinging. The wooden handle of your mop cracks across his back with a satisfying thud, and he lets out this startled grunt, almost tripping over his own feet. You swing again, harder this time, and it echoes across the empty street. Even the homeless guy across the road—the one you always give leftover tarts to—jumps in his spot, startled.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You think this is funny?!” you yell, swinging the mop at him again as he ducks, letting out an “ouch” with each hit. “You keep tagging my walls, and I’m the one paying for this shit! Do you even know how much it costs to get this cleaned? Huh?!”

“Ouch, fuck! Stop, STOP!” he stammers, arms up, trying to shield himself.

You don’t stop. You’re done with this day, done with this week, done with this punk-ass artist ruining your bakery’s vibe. “You piece of shit! You’re dead! I’m gonna shove this can so far up your—”

“What the hell?!” the guy stumbles, trying to dodge your swings, but you’re relentless.

“You think you can just waltz in and spray whatever dumb shit you want? You’re gonna clean this up with your tongue, you little—”

Before you can deliver another hit, the guy turns around, and his hood falls back. Your breath catches.

“Jihoon?!”

The guy grimaces, rubbing his back where you’ve practically beat the soul out of him, but it’s definitely him. The same Jihoon you snapped at in class today, the same Jihoon you barely tolerate during group projects. The fucker who’s been defacing your bakery.

You blink, still holding the mop in a death grip. “So it was you, you fucking idiot?! You’ve been doing this the whole time?!”

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, still smirking like this is some kind of joke. “Well... I wouldn’t say the whole time.”

“You—” You jab the mop handle at him again, making him flinch. “You’re going to clean this up. I don’t care how. Hell, you can start with your tongue if you’re so attached to your damn art.”

“Woah, woah.” He holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I mean, it’s just paint.”

“Just paint?” you repeat, incredulous. “I’ve had customers complain, the city’s sent me notices, and you’re out here calling it just paint? Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, no. They’re shit. Like, the worst shit I’ve ever seen,” you bite out.

You cross your arms, staring Jihoon down as he leans awkwardly against the wall.

“You know what? I should call the police on you.”

His eyes go wide, his posture straightening instantly. “No, no, no! Come on, don’t do that!”

You slowly pull your phone from your back pocket, waving it in front of him as you point a finger at his chest. “I think it’s about time you get what’s coming to you.”

Panic flashes across his face, and he lunges forward, trying to grab your phone, but you thrust the mop at his chest, pressing it against him to keep him at bay. “Back off!”

He stumbles back, frowning, his lips jutting out in a sulk. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I don’t wanna sleep in the cold!” His feet stomp on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, the whole thing looking ridiculous enough that anyone watching might think this was an opening scene from The Office.

You ignore his whining and start dialing, but he won’t shut up. “Please! You can’t let me go to jail over some paint!”

“You should’ve thought about that before tagging my bakery again.” You cut him off, giving him a pointed look. “Why the hell have you been doing this? And don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous dick spray-painted on the back of my shop either.”

Jihoon stays quiet for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he shifts on his feet. His hands fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you narrow your eyes, sensing something off.

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear.

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What?”

His face goes red, and he mutters again, “Only if... you let me try one of your tarts.”

You blink, leaning in closer. “What was that? Speak up, punk.”

Jihoon sighs, cheeks practically glowing. “I said... I want to try one of your tarts, okay?!”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

He nods, keeping his head down, looking smaller and more pathetic than you ever imagined he could.

“You’re telling me... you come here, paint my walls like a little delinquent, and now you want a fucking tart? You—”

You breathe in, trying to summon every ounce of patience you have left. The tarts are your best sellers—the buttery crust, fresh fruit, and creamy filling that made your bakery famous not just in the neighborhood but all over town. People raved about them, coming from across the city just to get their hands on one. Hell, students from your college made regular stops just to bring some back to class.

Your shoulders sag in exasperation, but you eventually gesture toward the door. “Fine. Get inside.”

Jihoon looks up, surprised but not daring to push his luck. You flip the lights back on, the bakery coming to life once more. Heading to the back, you grab a fresh tart from the display, muttering curses under your breath as you shout, “Which one do you want?”

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

You grab a pink plate and set the tart delicately in the center, placing it on the counter with one of your signature gold-colored forks and a neatly folded napkin. When you walk over to the table Jihoon picked, nestled in a corner, you notice him glancing around the bakery with a curious expression, taking in the space like he’s never seen it properly before.

He sits down, eyeing the tart suspiciously at first. You cross your arms and sit across from him, your foot bouncing impatiently under the table. You can’t help but suppress an inner smile—every customer had the same reaction to their first bite, and you’re secretly waiting for it.

Jihoon picks up the fork, hesitantly cutting into the tart. As soon as the buttery crust gives way, the scent of fresh strawberries and sweet cream fills the air. He takes a bite, and his eyes widen almost immediately. He chews slowly, like he’s processing the taste, his expression changing from sulky to... amazed.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing up at you, eyes wide. “This is... really good.”

You lean back, crossing your arms tighter. “Yeah. That’s what people keep saying.”

He takes another bite, and then another, clearly trying not to devour the whole thing in two seconds. His face softens, the usual smugness gone, replaced by genuine awe. He looks around the bakery again, understanding slowly sinking in. The care you put into every detail—the soft lighting, the warmth, the way the scent of fresh-baked goods fills the air. It’s no wonder other bakeries in the area couldn’t compete.

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed.

You shift in your seat, arms still crossed, and stare at Jihoon as he wipes his mouth with the napkin, setting it down with a quiet sigh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture heavy with something unsaid.

“So… you gonna tell me why you’ve been punking my bakery?” you ask, your voice less biting than before, though the edge is still there.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing out the window for a moment like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighs again. “We had a bakery, me and my grandma. It was right across the street.”

You frown, your head tilting slightly as you turn to glance outside through the window. Yeah, you remembered that place. It had that old-school charm, the kind of bakery that felt like a cozy throwback to the 60s, with its wooden benches and rustic signage. It had been there before you moved into the neighborhood. You even remembered the old lady that used to work there, always with a smile, though her hands were slow and her voice even slower. The front of the bakery had been boarded up for months now, closed and forgotten by most.

Jihoon continues, his voice lower. “Before you opened up, we did well. My grandma’s tarts were, like, the thing around here. People came from all over to buy them.” He pauses, and you see his shoulders drop slightly. “But after your tarts took off… we started losing customers. A lot of them.”

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air thickens. You swallow, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight in your chest. You remember seeing them sitting outside their shop, the once-busy bakery now quiet as yours boomed with success.

“We tried to keep up,” Jihoon says, his voice a little shaky. “But no one came in anymore. People stopped buying our stuff. My grandma and I used to just sit there on the bench, watching people line up outside your place while we were lucky to sell a couple tarts.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, like he’s mocking the memory. “She’d pretend it didn’t bother her, but I knew. I knew it killed her inside.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, guilt creeping in even though you know it wasn’t really your fault. Still, hearing it from him, the weight of their loss, makes you look down at the table, feeling suddenly small.

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask softly, the words barely escaping your mouth. “This was my dream too.”

Jihoon nods, almost like he understands, though there’s still bitterness in his tone. “I know. And it’s not like you did anything wrong. Your bakery is… well, people love it. They loved your tarts. And I guess, after a while, I just got so… mad.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “We had to close the bakery. We couldn’t keep up. And I started working in the city, doing graffiti, whatever I could to make ends meet.” He shakes his head, laughing without humor again. “And when I saw people still lining up here, day after day, it just… pissed me off. So I started tagging your walls. Stupid, I know.”

You feel a lump in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You glance back out the window, seeing the boarded-up bakery in the distance, and it stirs something deep inside. His frustration, his anger… it all makes sense now.

“I didn’t understand,” Jihoon says, his voice softer now, almost defeated. “I couldn’t figure out how your tarts were better than my grandma’s. It didn’t make sense to me. We’d been here for years. How could people just forget about us?” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sad. “But now I get it. I guess… your tarts really are better.”

The way he says it, with that empty laugh, hits you right in the chest. There’s no joy in his voice, no real acceptance, just this sad realization that his family’s legacy had been outdone by you.

You lower your gaze, feeling awful. “Jihoon…” You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt gnawing at you, but what could you even say? You worked hard for this. It wasn’t like you meant to destroy his bakery. But it’s clear now that, in a way, you did.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you mumble, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s not like I wanted to take business away from you guys.”

He waves it off, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I know. It’s just how it worked out. You did what you had to do. I just… I didn’t know what else to do but get mad at you for it.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with unsaid things. Jihoon keeps his gaze on the table, his fingers playing with the edges of the napkin, while you try to process the weight of everything he just said.

And as much as you want to feel justified—after all, you didn’t do anything wrong—there’s a part of you that can’t shake the sadness settling deep in your chest. You glance out the window again, at the closed shop across the street, and for the first time, you wonder what it must’ve been like for them, watching your bakery rise while theirs fell apart.

Jihoon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know… it’s dumb. You didn’t mean to screw us over. I just… I just miss the way things used to be.”

You breathe in deeply, trying to push down the growing lump in your throat.

The silence between you two lingers, stretching out like the stillness of the night outside. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator behind the counter, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You breathe in, thinking of something to say, and for a moment, Jihoon glances up at you, expectant. But when you close your mouth again, he looks away, fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

Finally, you place your hand on the wooden table between you, the sound of your fingers brushing the grain breaking the silence. "What kind of tarts did your grandma sell?" you ask, voice steady but curious.

Jihoon frowns, clearly taken off guard by the question. "Savory ones," he says after a beat, as if testing the waters of the conversation.

Your brow lifts in surprise. Savory tarts weren’t really your thing—you specialized in the sweet stuff. "Savory?" you lean in a bit, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Jihoon seems to hesitate, unsure of where you’re going with this, but then he starts listing them off, voice soft at first but growing stronger. "Palm heart or olives, ham, and cheese, sometimes we’d do quiches with bacon and caramelized onions, even some seasonal ones with pumpkin or sweet potato… Stuff like that."

You sit back, letting the list of flavors settle in your mind, gears turning. You’d never considered offering savory tarts before—your bakery was known for its sweets. But maybe that was part of the problem. There was a whole side of the tart game you hadn’t even touched.

"You think you could make some of those flavors and bring them tomorrow?" you ask, your tone casual as you rest your chin in your hand.

Jihoon frowns deeper, confused, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

You chew your lip for a second, glancing around your bakery, imagining it filled with the rich, hearty smells of savory tarts instead of the usual sugar and cream. "I was thinking maybe we could try something… an experiment," you say, eyes lighting up as you lean forward. "You bring the savory ones, I’ll sell them in the display, right alongside the sweet ones. See how people like them."

Jihoon blinks at you, processing your words, and for a moment, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re suggesting. "You… you wanna sell my grandma’s tarts here?"

You nod, the idea already snowballing in your mind. "Yeah, why not? People around here are crazy for the sweets, but maybe they’ve just never had the chance to try something savory. And you know I don’t do that kind of thing, so… it’d be different." You pause, watching his face, which is slowly starting to shift from confusion to something brighter. "We’ll call it a collab or something. Give them a taste of what your bakery used to offer."

His eyes light up, sparkling with excitement as the idea sinks in. The hesitation that was there before vanishes, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. "Really?" He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "You think… people would like them?"

"If they’re as good as you say they are," you grin, tapping your fingers on the table, "then yeah, I think they will."

Jihoon’s face softens, and for the first time tonight, a real smile spreads across his lips. It’s small at first, but there’s something genuine and almost childlike about it, like you just handed him a lifeline he wasn’t expecting. "They’re really, really good," he says earnestly, nodding. "My grandma used to get people coming back for them all the time. They were, like, her specialty."

"Then bring enough for tomorrow," you say, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "We’ll put them out, see what happens. Maybe it’ll bring some of her old customers back."

He looks at you like you’ve just flipped the entire script on him. The guy who’d been tagging your bakery out of spite now suddenly has a shot at redemption, and it’s written all over his face. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his excitement barely contained.

"How many do you need?" he asks, voice filled with an eagerness you hadn’t seen in him before.

You pause, thinking for a second. "Start small—maybe a couple dozen to test the waters. If they sell out, we’ll know we’re onto something."

Jihoon nods rapidly, his excitement bubbling over. "I can do that. I can bring, like, the spinach and feta ones. Those were super popular. And maybe the mushroom ones too. People loved those." He’s rambling now, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "You think they’ll like them? I mean, people around here are kinda obsessed with sweet stuff, but these… these are different."

You laugh softly, watching him get more and more animated. "I think if they’re as good as you say, people are gonna be lining up for them. And who knows? Maybe savory tarts will be the next big thing."

Jihoon sits back, grinning like he can’t believe this is real. "I can’t believe you’re actually doing this." His eyes flicker over the bakery, taking in the pink and white décor, the polished countertops, the faint smell of sugar still lingering in the air. "I thought you’d just tell me to fuck off, honestly."

You shrug, smiling slightly. "Well, I did wanna hit you with a mop earlier. But… I don’t know. It seems like the least I can do after everything."

He stares at you, his grin softening into something more serious, more genuine. "Thanks," he says quietly, and you can tell that he means it. "I… I really judged you wrong."

You wave him off, but inside, there’s a warmth spreading, something that feels almost like… relief? Like maybe this little experiment could be more than just business—it could be a way to right some wrongs.

"Just bring your best game tomorrow," you say, standing up from the table. "If your grandma’s tarts are half as good as you say, I’m sure people will love them."

Jihoon stands too, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, they will. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with that confidence again, and for the first time, it feels like you’re seeing the real him, not the guy who’s been tagging your bakery out of anger.

As you walk him to the door, you glance back at the kitchen, already imagining the savory tarts lining the shelves next to your usual sweets. This could be something big, something new—something that might even help mend the bridge between you two.

Jihoon pauses at the door, turning back to you with a grin. "Tomorrow, then. You won’t regret this."

The next morning, Jihoon arrives at your bakery with a box, the warmth of the tarts and quiches radiating from inside. You grin as you lift the lid, the smellof the buttery crust wafting out. Carefully, you place them in the display, arranging them neatly beside your sweets.

Jihoon moves towards the door without saying a word, but before he can leave, you raise your voice, “Where are you going?”

He pauses and steps back in, bending down to pick up a bucket of paint remover and a brush from outside. “Gonna get rid of the mess,” he says with a shrug, shaking the supplies in his hand.

You scoff, leaning against the counter. “Looks like hitting you with the mop actually worked.” You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed.

He freezes, his eyes widening a little, like he just remembered something. “Hey! You!” he protests, gesturing to his back. “I’m my back its black and blue thanks to you! My back its ruined.”

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Serves you right,” you shoot back, and Jihoon huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he heads outside to scrub off the tags.

As the morning rush starts, a couple of your regulars approach the counter, eyeing the new items. One of them, Mrs. Park, furrows her brow. "What’s all this?" she asks, nodding to the savory tarts.

You flash her a smile, "We’re doing a little collab with Jihoon’s family bakery. They used to sell these savory tarts, and we thought we'd give them a try here. You should taste them, they’re amazing."

Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow but picks up one of the tarts anyway. Within minutes, word spreads, and before you know it, the dozen savory tarts you put out are gone—people even leaving with extras for home. You lean against the counter, watching the buzz, satisfaction building in your chest.

As the rush dies down, you step outside where Jihoon is wiping down the wall, now tag-free. You smirk. "Sold everything," you say, watching his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

You nod. “Yeah, they went faster than I thought. Even Mingyu couldn’t keep his hands off them,” you say, pointing through the window where Mingyu is, mid-bite, munching happily on a tart behind the counter.

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at Mingyu, then back at you. "I’ve got more ready at my grandma’s place. I can go grab them now."

"Do it," you say with a grin, waving him off. “Bring a lot. I don’t think these’ll last long.”

An hour later, Jihoon returns, but this time he’s not alone. His grandma, the sweet old lady you remember from the bakery across the street, is with him. You light up when you see her.

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she gives you a gentle hug. "You’ve done so well with this place," she says, looking around the bakery.

As you help unload the box of fresh tarts, you see Mingyu’s eyes widen as he watches you set them out again, his mouth practically watering. He reaches for one, but you swat his hand away.

"Those are to sell," you scold playfully, but before you can follow up, Mrs. Lee reaches up and pats Mingyu on the head.

"Eat, eat, you’re a big boy. You need it," she says, and Mingyu, towering over her, grins sheepishly as he lowers his head.

"Yes, ma’am," he says with a boyish smile, clearly charmed.

With the tarts restocked, the afternoon turns out to be just as busy as the morning. People are coming in and out, curious about the new savory options, and before you know it, they’re sold out again.

After the rush dies down and the shift ends, you pull out the cash notes, counting how much you’ve made for the day. You walk over to Jihoon, handing him a stack of money.

"Here, this is how much we sold, minus the cost of ingredients," you say, but Jihoon waves his hand, shaking his head.

"Nah, don’t do that," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s your bakery. I’m just helping out."

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. "You think I’m not gonna pay you for your grandma’s recipes? Don’t be stupid."

He fidgets, glancing down. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles, but you cut him off.

"Come on. You think of reopening your grandma’s bakery again?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "I’ve been thinking about it. But there’s a lot to clean up, fix…"

You lean back, thinking for a moment. “Well, while you figure it out, how about you use my bakery to sell your savory stuff? We can split the profits and see how it goes. Maybe that way, you’ll get enough to fix it.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, gratitude spreading across his face. "You… you’d let me do that?"

You shrug. "Why not? People love your stuff, and I’ve got space. Plus, this way, we both win."

His lips part, disbelief still etched on his face, but then his shoulders relax, and a small smile forms. "I don’t know what to say. Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," you say, grinning. "We still gotta get through tomorrow."

He laughs, the tension that had been hanging between you since the whole graffiti incident finally easing. "I guess I’ll be back here early with more tarts, then."

"Bright and early," you reply, with a playful nod. "And don’t forget to bring your grandma too. Mingyu might cry if she doesn’t show up."

Jihoon chuckles, glancing at Mingyu who’s in the back, still wiping tart crumbs from his face. "I think you’re right about that."

As Jihoon and his grandma leave, you’re left standing in your bakery, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the now pristine windows.

The next morning, Jihoon shows up right on time, his grandma’s small hand wrapped around his arm as they step into the bakery. There’s something heartwarming about the sight—the way she leans on him, and how he effortlessly balances the heavy box of tarts in his other hand. You catch a glimpse of the pure affection between them, the kind only grandparents seem to have for their grandkids, and it makes you feel... softer.

Jihoon flashes you a quick, almost shy smile as he sets the box on the counter, the warmth of the freshly baked tarts instantly filling the room. You move to help him, opening the glass case of the vitrine. As you lean in to arrange the tarts, his arm brushes against yours, just barely. It’s nothing, really—just a quick touch—but you bite back a smile anyway. The warmth of it, the quiet ease, feels nice. Comfortable.

Outside, the rain begins to pour, pattering against the windows. It's not the gloomy kind of rain, though—it’s the kind that makes people crave warm spaces, a place to settle into with a coffee in hand. Your bakery, with its soft yellow lighting and the sweet smell of tarts mingling in the air, feels like the perfect refuge. You can already see a few people huddling under umbrellas as they make their way inside, the little bell above the door chiming each time.

Jihoon steps back, his eyes following yours as you arrange the tarts in perfect rows. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to sound casual, though your voice is a bit quieter than usual. You clear your throat. “Rain’s gonna bring people in. They’ll want something warm.”

Almost as if on cue, the door swings open with a gust of wet air, and your best friend stumbles inside, panting, her umbrella flung into the holder by the door. She shakes the rain off her coat and makes a beeline for the counter, eyes wide.

“I heard you’re selling savory tarts now,” she exclaims, nearly breathless.

You shoot her a look, half-amused. “Word spreads fast around here, hm?”

She leans on the counter, eyes scanning the new additions in the vitrine like she’s sizing them up. “You know me. I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says, grinning. Her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who’s still standing behind you. “And you,” she says, her tone turning teasing, “finally decided to be useful, huh?”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes, but you can see a flicker of amusement there. “I’m useful in ways you don’t even know,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, but it makes you smirk.

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure,” she quips, pulling out her wallet. “Alright, give me one of those tarts. Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

You grab a tart—spinach and cheese, her favorite—and hand it to her on a small plate. She takes one bite, her eyes widening dramatically. “Oh my god,” she says, mouth half full. “Okay, this… this is dangerous. You can’t sell these, I’ll be here every day.”

You laugh, watching her devour the tart. Jihoon leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed, a little smug. “Told you they were good,” he murmurs.

The steady rain outside only adds to the cozy vibe, making the bakery feel like a warm little haven. More customers trickle in, shaking off their umbrellas and ordering coffees to go with the new savory tarts. Some regulars ask about the new addition, and you tell them about the collaboration with Jihoon and his grandma. It’s casual, like you’re letting them in on a little secret, and soon enough, people are lining up to try them.

As you work, you can feel Jihoon’s presence behind you, quietly helping out where he can—refilling the display, wiping down tables, clearing plates. It’s kind of funny, actually. Not long ago, this same guy was spray-painting the walls of your bakery like a punk, and now here he is, setting tarts in your vitrine, his arm brushing against yours, acting like part of the team.

Your friend finishes her tart and slides the plate back toward you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, I gotta go before I eat the whole case,” she says, shooting you a wink. She glances at Jihoon as she grabs her umbrella. “You better keep bringing these, or we’ll have problems.”

Jihoon smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

As she leaves, you watch the bakery fill with warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of conversations. The rain taps against the windows, the outside world grey and wet, while the inside is alive with comfort. You lean against the counter, watching Jihoon’s grandma chatting with a customer. It’s kind of perfect, in a way—everything just falling into place.

After the lunch rush, Jihoon catches your eye, his expression a little sheepish. "They’re really selling, huh?"

You smile, a little proud. "Yeah. Told you they’d be a hit."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Guess I underestimated this place."

“It’s kinda nice having you around... even if you are a pain in the ass.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes but not disagreeing. “You just like bossing me around.”

“I do,” you admit with a grin. “And you’re getting pretty good at following orders.”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he picks up a rag to wipe down the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring more tomorrow."

The evening was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint swoosh of the mop gliding across the floor. You were halfway through cleaning when your foot nudged something under the counter. Frowning, you crouched down and pulled out a box—heavy, clinking inside—and when you opened it, there they were. Paint cans.

You tilted your head, staring at them, then shouted, "Jihoon! What the hell is this?"

He popped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Uh... well, I was thinking... maybe the bakery could use a little—art,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cans to you.

"Art?" you raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips. "You're not gonna draw a dick on the front door, are you? 'Cause if that's your plan, Jihoon, I swear—"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No! It wasn’t me, alright? That was one of my friends.”

Your eyebrow shot up even higher. "So you had your friends tag my bakery too?"

He suppressed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I yelled sorry, like, a million times already.”

You shook your head, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Jihoon stepped closer, eyes scanning your expression carefully. “Look, I promise—no dicks. I was thinking... something different. Something that matches the vibe here. I could paint something... that looks like you.” His gaze lingered on you, analyzing your features like he was already sketching you out in his mind.

You sat back, considering it. The idea of graffiti on your pristine bakery wasn’t exactly appealing, but there was something about Jihoon’s offer... the way he was looking at you, not like a cocky vandal but like someone who wanted to create something for you.

You frowned, arms crossed, skeptical. “You? Graffiti something that looks like me? You’re kidding.”

He shrugged, stepping back slightly. “Let me show you. I’ll do it on the back wall. Something pastel, something sweet—like your bakery.”

You huffed, but curiosity got the better of you. “Fine. But if it looks like shit, you’re cleaning it up, Jihoon.”

Outside, the air was crisp, and the dim lights of the street barely reached the back alley behind your bakery. Jihoon grabbed the cans, setting them down with a focused energy, his jaw tight. He was different when he worked on something—serious, quiet. You watched as he started to shake one of the cans, the metallic rattle filling the space.

He started to sweat after a few strokes of the spray, his arm flexing each time he pressed the nozzle. The light from the back door illuminated his face, and when he flicked his hair to the side, it reminded you of those boys from high school, the ones who all had that Justin Bieber haircut. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He stepped back, turning toward you, his eyes searching your face. “So... what do you think?”

You tilted your head, focusing on the paint. It was a pastel-colored slice of cake, detailed with delicate swirls and shadows that made it look almost real. “The... strawberry looks a little weird,” you pointed out, walking closer.

Jihoon let out a soft laugh, stepping aside. “Come help me then. You fix it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Me? I don’t know how to spray paint, Jihoon. It’s gonna look like a five-year-old did it."

He waved it off, walking toward you with the can in hand. “Nah, you can do it. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you out of the chair, placing the can in your hand. “Just like this,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His chest pressed lightly against your back, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear. His hand moved to yours, guiding your fingers to press down on the nozzle, and the paint sprayed out in a clean line. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Press gently... just like that."

“See?” he whispered, his voice right in your ear, and you could feel the concentration in his breath, how calm it was. “Not so hard, is it?”

You were too aware of everything—his breath, his hand on yours, the way his body pressed just slightly against yours, not enough to feel too much, but enough to make your pulse pick up.

His hand, now on your waist, gave you the faintest squeeze, right where your skin showed between your top and your jeans, right where your shirt had ridden up a little. It was an absent touch, almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did. His fingers were warm, the pressure light but there. Your breath caught in your throat for a second.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His hand never moved, just stayed resting on your waist, a quiet but steady reminder of how close he was. The paint kept flowing, and you realized you were barely focused on the mural anymore. It was all Jihoon. The way his body moved with yours, the brush of his breath against your ear.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, voice low, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. "You sure you're not just getting handsy with me to avoid doing the work?"

He huffed a small laugh, right in your ear, his breath warm. “You think this is me being handsy? I’m just trying to teach you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little more, just enough to feel him tense up. His hips were snug against yours, and you could feel the smallest reaction in his body, the way his chest rose sharply as you pressed back into him.

"Uh-huh,” you said, feigning innocence. “So that’s why you sound like you’re having the best time of your life right now? Not exactly subtle, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, his mouth so close to your ear that you flinched a bit. "Says the one who's shivering under my arm like I’m doing more than just helping you paint.”

You let out a soft chuckle, your head leaning back just a little, the movement making his face brush against your shoulder. You could feel his breath catch again as your body pressed back.

“Jihoon…” you said, voice dropping an octave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying real hard not to moan in my ear.”

His breath hitched, and this time, you felt it. His body tensed, the can in his hand wavering slightly as he pressed the nozzle. He was trying—trying so damn hard to stay focused on the paint, but your words were getting to him. His grip tightened on the can.

He lowered your arm, stopping the spray of paint, and you could feel the tension crackling between you both. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and then he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw as he whispered, “You keep teasing me like that, I’ll forget the painting and pin you to this wall.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the low rumble in his voice, letting your ass push against him again. You give him a slow, teasing smile, turning your head just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “And if I told you I wouldn’t mind?”

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, in a blink, he turned you around, the paint can clattering to the floor as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips hovered over yours for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, tension thick in the air. “You're playing with fire, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “Then burn me.”

His lips crashed against yours in a starved kiss, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed so close it felt like there wasn’t an inch between you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him down harder into the kiss, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders. His hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch burning your skin as he kissed you deeper, rougher, like he couldn’t get enough.

His body pressed you against the wall, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, and you could feel his cock coming to life. The slight tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, the way his breath hitched when you kissed him harder—it was all there, barely restrained.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly like the strawberries and honey from earlier, and every time you tried to pull back for air, he chased you, his lips crashing back against yours like he couldn’t stand the space between you for even a second.

Finally, when you both pulled away for breath, your foreheads resting together, you smirked, your breath still uneven. “You okay there, Jihoon? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

He chuckled, his hand still gripping your waist, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You talk too much,” he muttered, pulling you back in for another kiss before you could even think of another comeback.

You could feel the wetness of his tongue against yours, slick with saliva that started to pool at the corners of your mouth as you sucked it in deeper. Jihoon’s hand was firm, gripping the curve of your ass, his other arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

You stumbled backward in a tangle of steps, the two of you moving like you were magnetized to each other, lips fused together, completely unwilling to separate. His hand squeezed your ass hard, making you gasp into his mouth. That sound—the desperate little moan you couldn’t hold back—had him groaning too, swallowing the noise like it fueled him, pressing you harder against the door to the back of the store.

Jihoon fumbled for the handle, blindly opening it while keeping his mouth glued to yours. You barely noticed when he shoved you through the threshold, into the bakery’s quiet salon. He didn’t break the kiss, not even for a second, not until your back hit the counter and he pressed himself against you again, trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You were breathless, desperate to kiss him harder, to get more of those sweet, low moans he made when your lips connected just right. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slipping between you that you realized what he was doing. Somehow, in the heat of it all, he had already undone your jeans, his fingers deftly sliding the button free, his hand dipping lower, teasing the waistband of your panties.

"Fuck, Jihoon," you panted, head thrown back as his lips trailed along your jaw. You shivered when you felt his hand slipping under the lace, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. You felt your sink boiling, the warm air from the bakery making you sweat down your neck.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, more like moaning.

The jeans you still had on were tight, too tight, and it made it impossible for you to spread your legs the way you wanted. The friction of his hand between you was good, but not nearly enough.

You shifted against him, trying to spread your legs wider, your breath coming out in frustrated little pants. "Jihoon," you managed, voice almost pleading, "jeans... get them off."

His lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, and you could feel him smirk before he pulled back slightly. "So bossy," he murmured, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to your jeans, tugging them down with quick, rough movements, the denim catching awkwardly on your thighs before he yanked them free.

With your jeans finally gone, he spread your legs wide, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over you. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you exactly how he wanted before slipping his fingers right back under the waistband of your panties, but this time, there was no hesitation.

He slid one finger through your slick folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were for him. "God, you're soaked," he breathed, almost like he was in disbelief. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips. "Just... please, Jihoon—more."

He slid a finger inside you, the sensation making you gasp, your legs instinctively spreading wider for him. You wanted more of him, needed it, and when he curled his finger just right—not even forcing it, he felt the spongy spot, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

"Like that?" he whispered, voice hoarse as he added another finger, filling you up and making your whole body arch into him. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, each thrust deeper, more insistent.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, barely able to form words as he sped up, his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, making you see fireballs with closed eyes. "Just... just like that."

His hand moved faster, fingers curling and stroking deep inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room. Your hips bucked against him, chasing the sensation, wanting him to take you higher, needing him to push you over the edge.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, "I could do this all night... but I think you want me to make you come, don’t you?"

You whimpered. "Please, Jihoon," you breathed, voice shaky. "I need it."

His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deep, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body trembled. He could feel how close you were, could see it in the way your thighs quivered, the way your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

"Cum for me," he murmured, thumb pressing harder against your clit, feeling the nerve throb as his fingers worked inside you. "Cum all over my fingers."

You rest your elbow on the counter, arching your back in a way that makes the slick sound between your thighs almost obscene. It’s impossible to ignore. You know exactly how wet you are, and palm, right there pressing down the mound of your pussy—god, you can feel it, burning hot. Your breath hitches, and you throw a hazy glance in his direction, catching his smirk, that cocky look on his face. His lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes dark and full of heat, and that’s all it takes before you come apart.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you. Eyes squeezing shut, your body tenses, thighs trembling as your hips jerk involuntarily against his hand. You hear him coaxing you through it, his voice a low murmur, his fingers keeping steady pressure, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of you.

“There you go… good fuckin' girl. Just like that, keep comin’ for me… shit, so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, fingers slowing just enough to keep you riding the high.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you slowly open your eyes again. He’s staring at you—taking in every inch of you. The smirk on his face hasn't faltered, only deepened. There’s something dangerous about the way he looks at you, like he's already planning his next move.

“You think you can turn around for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, still catching your breath, but a wicked grin spreads on your lips. “Nah. I’ll fall to my knees and suck you off instead.” Your voice is steady despite the way your legs still tremble. His eyes widen just for a second before he sharpens a breath, a harsh inhale that lets you know you’ve hit the right nerve.

You don’t give him time to respond before you’re on your knees, fingers already undoing his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. You look up through your lashes, watching his jaw tighten as his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. His breathing’s heavy, uneven.

You run your tongue along his length slowly, collecting the sticky precum, teasing the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. He moans immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward as your lips slide further down his cock. The sound he makes is a whiny moan, almost of frustration as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel the pulse of him on your tongue, the way his body reacts to every little move you make.

He grips your hair, tugging gently as you bob your head, setting a slow rhythm that has him panting. His hips start to move, barely restrained, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Goddamn… ngh—fuck! From hittin’ me with a mop to this?” His voice cracks on a laugh, but it’s breathless, shaky. “Didn’t think you’d… suck me off like this…”

You pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lips slick, before looking up at him, smirking. “Better than the mop, right?”

His laugh turns into a groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you take him deep again. “Fuck yeah… way better than the fuckin' mop.” He’s losing his composure now, hips moving a little more desperately, the hand in your hair tightening, guiding you as you work him harder, faster.

His moans grow louder, less restrained, and you can feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer. You hollow your cheeks one last time, sucking him in deeper, tongue working every inch of him until you hear him curse under his breath, his head falling back as his body shudders.

“Shit—” His moan is drawn out, almost too much for him to handle, as he loses himself in your mouth, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably. You keep going, pushing him right to the edge, savoring every last sound he makes until he finally pulls you off, breathless and wrecked.

“Fuck... you’re gonna kill me with that pretty mouth,” he pants, grinning down at you, still catching his breath.

You pull back for a second, lips slick with spit, catching your breath before you go back in, this time with a wicked grin. His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him slowly, teasing, just enough to keep him on the edge.

“So…” you start, voice low, looking up at him with a dangerous gleam in your eyes. “How are you gonna fuck me, huh? Gonna be good to me, or…” You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, making him gasp before taking him back into your mouth, sucking harder, wanting to hear him stutter. “… or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His breath hitches, and he swears under his breath. “I—fuck, I—” His hips jerking toward your mouth, but he’s not quite there. The pressure is building, you can feel it, the way his muscles tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens.

But before you can push him too far, he suddenly pulls you off with a gasp, his cock red and leaking at the tip, his body shaking from the almost-orgasm. “Stop, stop, fuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, lips swollen as you sit back on your heels, panting, teasing. “Could’ve just let me finish you off,” you murmur, licking your lips slowly as you watch him struggle to catch his breath.

He grins, though his expression is tight, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. “Not gonna let you win that easy,” he mutters. He helps you up, hands firm but delicate as he lifts you to your feet. Your knees wobble a little from the discomfort of kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and he notices, his thumb brushing gently across the soft skin.

“They hurt?” he asks, glancing down at your knees, frowning just a little.

You shake your head, smirking. “I’ll live. But you owe me a good fuck for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You let him guide you back against the counter, his hands already sliding down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down tossing it on the floor. He pauses just for a second, eyes flicking between your bare pussy and your face, his breathing heavy.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Gonna make you scream.”

You shiver, feeling his cock press against your thigh as his hands move to grip your waist. His fingers are rough, impatient. You can barely think straight when he turns you around, pushing your chest flat against the cold countertop. The contrast of the cool surface and his hot skin makes your breath hitch, your body already aching for him.

He groans softly, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your slick folds as you grind back against him, impatient.

“Fuck—please, just—” You barely get the words out before he thrusts into you, filling you up completely in one swift movement. The stretch is intense, but it’s exactly what you needed, the delicious burn making you gasp as your fingers dig into the counter.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.”

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke.

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched. Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it.

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the “zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?”

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him.

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling.

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control.

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate.

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red.

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

“Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased.

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Text

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 4)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

7k words of a fever dream, happy Sunday, sinners ✨💦 I really hope you like it 🥺💖

You were back, unexpectedly but welcomed nonetheless. But now Alastor finds himself in a new kind of hell. There was, unfortunately for him, no killing what he felt when he looked at you.

{Warnings/Promises: Smut, Ace spectrum Alastor x FemReader, Alastor has feelings, creampie is the best nighttime snack, Angel is always the good guy, cervix punishment, mating press, Alastor demon form, Antlers go brrrr, drinking to forget, drowning (in cum)((and emotions)), discussions of murder, Alastor gets horny for discussions of murder, kinda breed kink if you squint, I saw a fan image of a hazbin hotel pool and it’s been stuck in my head for days.}

MINORS DNI (ah! Eh! I — stop. I see you. You know I see you, right? Get outta here! 🚨)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

You were quick to stifle your smile, seeing Alastor standing in front of you with his hand outstretched. Why were you smiling? You were dead. Brutally so. And, You were in hell. But the corners of your mouth kept tugging upward at the sight of the stupid fucking deer demon before you. His own wild smile, eyes half lidded as he looked at you like he knew you.

You took his hand, needing the help standing. He fingers slipped from your palm and came to rub the velvet skin of your—- ears? You smacked his hand away, taking a step back.

The look he gave you, confusion? You weren’t sure, his head cocked to the side, hand lingering a beat longer in the air. He took a step toward you and you took one back.

Alastor laughed, “Quite the welcome, dear.”

You narrowed your eyes, did he know? Did he know you dreamt of him so many nights? That you struggled daily to not see his face behind your eyelids, not hear his lilting voice in your ear?

“Long time no see, Alastor.” You didn’t mean to sound quite so bored when you said it, you weren’t really sure at all what was going on in your head. You didn’t expect to see him so soon, literally immediately upon your death. You didn’t have time to recalibrate the mixed up feelings you had created for yourself over this stranger.

You pined for months to see him again, trying so hard to push the memory of him as deep as you could. So deep, in fact, you found yourself tortured at night with fantasies of his company. Even during the day, your life was altered around him. You couldn’t listen to the radio, the odd static and reverb just forcing him back into your consciousness. You took long forest walks, thinking about hunters and deer. You wore that fucking robe for an embarrassingly long time, remembering being in another world entirely.

Alastor’s face fell, throat closing slightly as he thought he realized what was happening. You didn’t remember the time you’d spent with him. He had been enjoying lazy nights in his room and pleasurable times in the woods with a ghost. He took a step closer, maybe if he— maybe your body would remember? If you just smelled his bed, perhaps you’d stop acting so cold. If he could awaken the impressions he was sure he left on your soul, he could pick up where he left off. A comfortable companion. Kind eyes that only saw him. His name, sweet and low tumbling from your lips.

You hit the wall with your back, making distance from him. He hadn’t hurt you, but you couldn’t be sure what would happen now. Fantasies are no indication of a person’s real self. Your dream romps were just that— dreams. Fiction your mind produced to fill the gap in your life he somehow created in your short time together. Imagination fleshing out this unknown demon you couldn’t stop thinking about.

His hand fell. There was a second his smile dropped, brows knitted. It came and it went, “Well! I best go get Charlie. She is the official welcome committee of the Hazbin Hotel, after all. Follow me.” The door swung open, his long arm gesturing.

Charlie pulled you into a hug, bouncing between “Welcome back!” And “I am so, so sorry you died!” She held your hands in hers, “The hotel has gone through a lot since you left! I have so much to show you. While Alastor has your room b…” her voice carried on, but your mind stayed put. She did jazz hands at every sconce and door frame on the way to the lobby.

You had expected it, your death. You figured there was a 50/50 chance you didn’t make it out of that forest. But that didn’t make this moment any less surreal. You looked down at your body, yours but new. Your hands came to your head, fingers climbing up your skull until you found them. Two soft, tulip petal shaped ears. Were you going to be sick? The room began to spin. Charlie’s voice underwater. Was some detective going to knock on your parent’s door? Carrying a folder with your photo and bad news? Your eyes clenched at the image, your heart ballooning in your chest.

“Maybe she needs to take a rest,” his voice cut through the waters of your confusion, a spear straight to your psyche. His hand slipped up your arm, resting on your back. You shook your head, eyes blinking wildly.

“It’s fine. Please, Charlie, continue your tour.” You took an exaggerated step to your left, out from under his touch. You thought you heard him sigh. Why was he being so kind? The last time you spoke you were staring daggers at him while he carried on about doing exactly what he had promised.

Charlie excitedly presented the lobby to you, the bar, the library. Alastor walked a few feet behind you both, quiet, his shadow dancing down the hallway in front of you. It’s mouth flipping from grin to grimace and back as it watched you nod along to every detail Charlie felt you should know.

The newest addition to the hotel since you left, a large indoor pool on the second to top floor. You lingered there, watching the water reflect pink and red light from the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Pentagram City.

“Almost done! To the left is Dad’s studio. He comes and goes. Ya know, parent stuff.”

You tried to mask your concern for whatever damaged parent-child relationship she was referencing.

“And to the right is Alastor’s radio station.”

You glanced to the demon, standing near the wall, inspecting his nails. “I didn’t know he had a radio station. I just assumed-,” You shrugged, “He just sounded like that.”

Alastor felt his bottom lid of his left eye twitch involuntarily. Why were you speaking like he wasn’t there?

He bit his tongue, literally. He needed time to think, to plan how to handle this situation. Your death was early and therefore unexpected for him, too. Not nearly as surprising, though, as your loss of memory of him.

He knew though, maybe this was for the best. If you were here, if he could see you around the hotel, perhaps that desire to have you near would die down. His shadow shifted behind him before sinking into the floor. Yes, exactly. This was a good thing. His eyes glanced to you, to your little doe features, two ears and a tiny fluff of a tail. His jaw tightened, had you done it on purpose? What did it mean?

”Would you like to see it?” He didn’t recognize his own voice, because he hadn’t realized he was going to say it until it was done.

Yes. “No thank you.” You wanted to run face first into the wall. It felt like your ribs were twisting off your spine. One side lurched up—- touch him. He wants you, he felt so good. Get him alone. The other side pulling down—- fuck him. He owns you, he’s a demon. Stay away from him.

His ears turned back and down, folding into his skull. You tried to keep your face neutral as you stared back at him, breathing teetering on panting. Every time you looked at him you were in danger of spilling your guts.

“Well!” Charlie slid into the tense air between you two, nervous chuckles, “That makes sense! Because Al’s station is super off limits. So. Uhh where was I going with this.” She looked around, “Is the room ready, Al?”

He nodded, leading you both to the elevator and a few floors down.

“This floor is for our more precious residents. Not that every soul isn’t precious! But ya knooow,” she opened your door, “You’ve got Angel, Husk, Niffty, sometimes Cherri Bomb, and Alastor as neighbors!”

Yippee. You get to lie awake knowing the object of your fucked desire is just past an easily smashed wall.

There was a moment where you all three looked at each other. Charlie becoming more and more fidgety as the seconds ticked on.

“Sooo, We should let her rest, like you said, right Alastor?” Charlie began a dramatic walk to the bedroom door, taking big steps with high knees.

You needed to do this and let it be. “Actually, may I have a moment, Alastor?”

Always, Yes. “I suppose I have the time, my dear.” He twirled his microphone stand before settling it behind his back. Charlie wanted to ask you if you were sure, but the tension was rising again. She backed out of the room, pulling the door closed as she went.

Alone. Again. There was a feeling in the air, like you would either fuck or fight. Was it an animal thing? Or was it always there?

“I never got to thank you.”

His stomach turned, he couldn’t bear this again. Please, stop thanking him. Smile straining, struggling to keep it together, he nodded, “Whatever for?”

You had a strange feeling, a familiarity to the conversation. Ah, that was right. Would this end the same way as your dream? With you on your back? “You were — true to your word.” You fiddled with the comforter of the bed, avoiding looking at him. “You were gentle and you got me home safe and sound. I didn’t thank you. I was just so-,”

“Full of misplaced rage?” His head tilted to the left, eyebrows high.

“Just rage, would have been fine. It was an unfair situation that you helped get me out of.”

Alastor watched your face, only sadness to be found. Not a sight he took any pleasure in. “Well you should truly thank Angel Dust. He is the one who brought me to you, desperate to help you. Even offered me his soul! Not that it’s his to give.”

No one had told you. “Oh,” genuine surprise, “Thank you for that. Yeah, I have to thank him. I’d probably still be in Valentino’s—,” the light of the lamp beside the bed flickered, “studio.”

Looking at you, Alastor couldn’t decipher the feeling in his chest. Relief, sure. Shock, yes. But behind that, a strange tugging beneath his sternum. A pain, vague and nebulous floating over his chest. Why did you come back so soon? Why did you die so early? He wanted to ask you so many things, but if you didn’t retain any memory of your time with him, he doubted he would like the answers.

“I’m going to finish my mental breakdown now, thanks for the tour and uh, the information.” Scratching awkwardly at your arm, you went and opened the door. He paused a moment before moving. “I would like to see your radio station, sometime. If you’d want to show me.” He nodded and left. The room felt colder now, deader.

Your night went exactly how you anticipated, lying awake in the plush red blankets of your new home staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you slept, if you’d see him again. Thoughts of the overworld, family, connections. Little fits of rest came but nothing more than 30 minutes here and there.

Alastor paced his room until dawn, an animal in an unlocked cage. When you had appeared, dead and truly in hell, he thought you’d come to see him. He was embarrassed to even think it now, he had believed you wanted to be with him in earnest. As comfortable with his company as he was yours. He cradled his head, again he felt himself succumbing to the enjoyment of others. He had accepted it with you, more so than the rest, and now it was a weapon in your hands. He felt like an idiot. And he hated it. What a fool, to think you’d died to get home to him. A growl rising in his chest. Home. He desperately wanted to see Rosie, to vent the situation and find clarity. But the idea of leaving you alone in the hotel irked him. He couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe you wouldn’t be here when he returned. He could always summon you with your connection to him, but he wanted you to be there, with him, of your own volition or he didn’t want it at all.

If you’d forgotten entirely, he had two courses of action. To start over, or to let it die.

He looked to his bed, remembering you lying there. Sleeping, peaceful, content. Safe. Alastor turned to the wall, knowing you lied just beyond the wallpaper and sheet rock in your own deathbed, alone. The out of place physical need for you was something he struggled with, but whatever feeling this was — far worse. You were his, yet he couldn’t have you. Couldn’t possess you in the ways he’d grown accustomed to the past year. Starting over felt tedious. But this wasn’t a feeling that would die, he knew that. He could feel that by how deep the roots of his despair sunk into his soul when you looked at him like a stranger.

He didn’t rest that night, and neither did you.

Maybe it was the deal, the connection between you and him, but no matter where you were in the hotel you could feel him. A sixth sense, his presence always on your radar. A small part of your brain power was always on him, focused on the idea of Alastor. You wandered the halls until the others woke, feeling that little string between the two of you. Taut, strong.

When you found Angel that first morning back, you took a seat beside him in the lobby.

“Alastor told me you are why I got help. From Valentino.” You tried your best to maintain eye contact, not getting distracted by his arms.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. I kinda did it for myself, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep again if I just let it happen. I’m a freak but I ain’t sick in the head like Val.” He locked his phone, turning to you, “So do you always start passin’ out mid-convo or does Charlie’s voice just do something to ya?”

You groaned, “Did she tell you that?”

“Well she panic-sang it, real worried about you. Did you get settled in yesterday?”

“I didn’t sleep, now that you mention it.” Angel laughed, taking you by surprise, “What?”

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t. Not with your co-star next door.” He winked, “I’m sure you’re happy to be here in the flesh.”

“Ugh I forgot about that. Did -,”

“Everyone see it? Yeah you’re a minor celebrity.” You took a throw pillow and screamed into it while he spoke, “But hey! At least you don’t gotta worry about crazy fans. Smiles will keep ‘em at bay.”

“Why would he do anything for me?” Pillow still over your face, you groaned, “I’m just a soul on his roster.”

“Ha I don’t think he treats just any soul the way he’s been treatin’ you. I think Husk would tell me.” Angel kicked his feet, “What a mental image! Does he have pubes? I feel like he does but they’re like, sharp? Like hostile somehow?”

Pillow down, “Ew, Angel! Hostile? How the fuck would I know?”

Angel stopped, wide eyed, “Oh is it a secret? Is that part of the deal?” A sinister giggle, “You can tell ole’ Angel Dust. We’re pals, remember? You technically owe me.” His many fingers poked at your sides, goading you.

You scrunched up your nose, swatting at his hands, “Angel, what are you talking about?”

His smile fell, now side eyeing you, he opened his mouth to ask you to stop playing coy when he heard you all those nights in Alastor’s room when Charlie burst into the lobby.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t tell you about the redemption activities!” She tossed papers onto the coffee table, “Alright, plan Stairway to Heaven!”

Angel sat back, bored the juicy gossip had to wait, your attention fully occupied by Charlie’s sketches.

Alastor watched you from the second floor balcony. Over the next few days he would always be watching, either from the shadows or out in the open. Looking at you, that carnal hunger was gone. He felt no overpowering desire to be surrounded by you. But, now and then, you’d make a small noise or sigh and he would feel a little twitch. A muscle memory reaction to you

Where the need to touch you had faded, he instead found an insatiable hunger to be near you. He had thought it would be better, you at the hotel. But it had become worse. The further you were, the more undone he felt. It baffled him. So, he stayed near. You were almost always within earshot or eye sight. If not, he at least knew where you were. He could focus on the hotel and his plans for Charlie only then.

You never looked at him, it was obviously on purpose. Even when he would take a seat beside you or across from you, you’d manage to glance everywhere but directly at Alastor. By the fourth day, he felt like he was going to snap. It was beginning to feel disrespectful.

That fourth night when you again couldn’t sleep, you found yourself at the edge of the pool. Did people in hell swim? You’d been there for nearly two hours and not a single sinner appeared. It was well past midnight, though.

The entire room was tinged pink, shadows a pretty red. The water itself looked like a sea of rose quartz. You didn’t have a bathing suit. You didn’t have anything now that you thought about it. Nevertheless, you slipped into the water and let yourself float from the edge.

What a familiar feeling, floating. The ceiling shimmered with the water’s ever-moving reflection. Mind reeling back to the green glow casting your shadow on the ceiling of Valentino’s studio. You closed your eyes, you were always sinking it seemed. Sinking out of consciousness, into a another dream, out of the woods and into the bedroom of your captivator. The only times you felt weightless— ah, right. Body held up by shadows, cameras rolling. Under him, beneath the stars, sleeping form disconnected from your mind. It was always with him. You wondered for a second if you could sleep like this. What would happen if you drowned. Could you drown?

The carpet soaked with every step you took, your body sopping wet, clothes heavy with pool water. You were dragging your bare feet to the elevator when you saw a light coming from the ajar door to Alastor’s radio studio.

He was looking over papers, monocle resting on his cheek. Alastor turned to you, taking note of your shoes in your hand and wet hair. Your ears were heavy with water, fine fur drooping with the weight. “You look like a drowned rat, my doe.”

“Don’t call me that,” you wiped your hair from your face, “I can’t sleep.”

You never struggled to sleep in his bed. “What did you do when you couldn’t sleep on earth?”

Your life already felt far in the rearview, either the effects of sleep exhaustion or your time in the underworld, “I slept… really well. Not a sleepless night I can remember.”

Alastor only hummed a response. Because all of your sleepless nights were here, with him.

“Why are you working?”

“Why are you swimming?”

“I just told you.” Your brows knitted, was this a conversation or a riddle.

Ever present smile beamed back at you, “Well then take a guess!”

You stared at him, sitting at his curved desk with all his switches and buttons. Papers here and there. Just smiling at you. “Cool, thanks for the waste of time.” You turned to leave when you heard a low sound coming from his chest.

“Why do you speak to me like that? Avoid me?” He stood, hair sharp and standing at attention, “What have I done to you to deserve your disgust?”

“Nothing! That’s-,” the problem, “I’m just tired. I don’t feel right, like I misplaced something. There’s a nagging feeling, maybe something I forgot in the overworld.”

Alastor closed the gap between you two, “I can assure you everything you need is here.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah. Of course.” Turning to leave, his clawed hand reached for your wrist. Pulling you back, your wet clothes were now soaking into his suit.

His free hand took your chin and made you look up at him. Alastor’s red and pink eyes stared into yours, grin wider than you remembered seeing it before. You fixed your gaze on the desk behind him. “Look at me.” His voice cracked with a static interference. Your eyes finally came to his, your hand now holding his wrist just below your chin. “Don’t you dare look away.” He saw it, a flash of recognition flit across your now wide eyes. There was a pulse of electricity to your core, your body remembering his voice, those words, like an activation phrase. How did he know? Your thighs rubbed together, feet barely touching the ground as he held you close.

When his lips crashed into yours, you melted for a moment. Your body relaxed into him, a small whine slipping from your mouth to his. But then something in you snapped back, remembering he was a stranger holding your leash. You pulled his hand from your face with ease as your feet came back to the ground. Tugging your wrist free, you opened your mouth to yell at him, nothing but heavy breathing came out. Again, he reduced you to speechlessness. You glanced at his face before turning; he looked wounded.

You thought you heard his shoes shuffling along the carpet as you rushed into the elevator. A bang, a thrash, echoing down the elevator shaft as you descended to your floor.

Did he think because you acquiesced to sex before, somewhat under the pressure of a worse fate, he could just kiss you anytime he wanted? Did he see you as a toy?

Maybe being a toy would be nice. Maybe a good fuck would let you finally sleep. He did hit all the right places, those shadowy appendages never letting a single need go ignored…

You slammed your door shut, angrily peeling off your clothes. No, you weren’t a possession. You weren’t an object to be taken off the shelf at his convenience. No matter how much your body ached for his clawed hands and thin waist, you wouldn’t lower yourself to being under him. Not metaphorically, therefore not physically. You curled onto your bed, naked, body humming for him. Sleep came in pieces, fractured moments of rest.

“You look like shit.” Angel greeted you when the sun finally rose and everyone mulled around the hotel. You waited until you were sure the lobby bar wouldn’t be empty, you didn’t want to run into him alone.

“How do you fucking sleep in this place? All night just screams and moans from the city.” You rested your cheek on the bar, “Husk, something with orange juice that’ll make me forget where I am, please.”

“The moans are my favorite. Speaking of moanin’ in the night-,” Angel was cut off.

“Get used to it. You sold your soul to a psychotic dick. Welcome to the club,” Husk’s tone was harsh, tilting into sardonic as he slid your drink to you.

With a huff, you sat up, “Don’t compare us. You sold your soul. I—,” you searched with your hands for the word, “was guilty of having a colossal cunt of an aunt.” A deep sip of your drink, “Fuck, he only got my soul because he made a deal with a different demon for it. Soul traded in like a used car. I’m the Kia Sorento of hell.”

Husk grumbled, “Yeah well, either way. Might as well get comfortable. We’re here for the long haul.”

Angel put a hand out to shut up Husk, scooting his stool closer to you, “So like— did Mister Wrong-Kinda-Horny have you killed?” His eyes went to your ears and back, “Is that why ya came back a little lady deer? Some kinda sex thing?”

You downed your drink and gestured to Husk to refill your glass, speaking to Angel without looking at him, “Why would he do that?

He grabbed your bar stool and swivelled you to face him, leaning in even closer, “Well, ya know…” his eyebrows raised up and down, ready to finally get the dirty details, “because ya-,”

“My little doe, just who I was looking for.” His sudden appearance startled all three of you. He was ready now, to pin down your fate. Were you going to stay at the hotel permanently or not? With his supervision or without?

“Why does everyone keep interruptin’ me?!” Angel slammed his hand on the bar.

On impulse, your own hand formed a first, “Stop calling me that!”

Alastor laughed, unhinged, a finger wiping a tear from his eye. Still, the attitude with which you spoke to him surprised him, “Oh? Why should I? You are a doe,” his microphone gestured to your head, “And your soul belongs to me. If I remember correctly, so does your body.” His eyes darkened, back bent as he came to your eye level, “But I always have video evidence if you’re unsure of the details.”

You lifted your glass and cocked your arm back to throw it but stopped. Alastor was grinning, something in his stare egging you on. He was loving this. Finally you were paying some attention to him. You were looking right at him.

Setting the glass back down, you left your stool and slipped past him, “Lucky for you, radio demon. It’s all you have anymore.” You had decided you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying his name.

Husk sunk beneath the bar, Alastor’s antlers expanding as his eyes became overtaken with black. Angel scrambled over the counter to join the cowering bartender. Alastor whipped around, spine cracking and stretching. You were in the elevator for another quick escape when you turned and saw him gaining on you, his mouth nearly unhinged, teeth sharp and numerous. His body contorted to get his truly demonic face in your eye line, back bending in half to drop his head down, “What did you say?” The air around him seemed to bend and shake, the hiss of a misaligned radio station biting at your skin.

Your finger was shaking as you pressed the ‘close door’ button repeatedly, wetting your lips you found your foothold in anger again, “Fuck you.”

You didn’t recognize the sounds you heard just past the hollow elevator doors. Something between a screech and a wail. Not a sound you’d heard any deer make before.

Shakey knees and legs melting to jelly barely carried you to your room. You collapsed against the door as soon as you entered, locking it. Not that it mattered, you knew that.

A knock shook the wood and made you yelp.

“It’s me!” You recognized Angel’s voice, “Let me in.”

He fell into your room, hair a mess and eyes wide, “I don’t know where he went but he left the hotel. Jesus Christ you have balls of steel.” He fixed his hair, adjusting his chest fluff, “Or are a total idiot.” He saw the tears swelling in your eyes, gears shifting immediately, “Oh shit, sorry. You okay?”

You shook your head no and crumbled to the floor, “I haven’t fucking slept more than three hours a night in like, five fucking days. I’m going crazy.”

“I don’t know why ya’ll are fightin’ but can’t Alastor help you out? Ya’ll are close, maybe a night in his bed will set you straight.”

Your tears streamed down your face, “Angel! What are you talking about?! You keep saying shit like we’re friends. The closest I’ve been to him was in my fucking wet dreams!” You curled into the fetal position on the carpet, exhausted, scared, confused. You’d never seen something as skin-crawling as his full demonic form. But a part of you was mesmerised by the transformation. A sick part of you, you decided.

Angel lied down beside you, facing you, eyes blinking. One of his hands wiped at your tears, “What exactly happened after you went home?”

You sniffled, “I couldn’t get him out of my head. I wore your robe. It smelled like you.”

He laughed, “I wondered where that thing went.”

“I started having these dreams, just—- really fucked dreams of him.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, “fucked how?”

Your wanted to hide your face but didn’t have the energy to move your arms, “He fucked me in the woods like his life depended on it. Best sex of my life, in my own imagination. Naturally.”

Angel sat up, he didn’t know what to ask first, “best sex?? Sorry- no. Fuck, uh, you had dreams about fucking the Radio Demon? You two never… met up?”

You rolled onto your back, shaking your head, “If he could have visited me, he never did. Trust me, I looked for any sign.”

“Uh huuuuh.” Angel nodded, “Well. His extra weird attitude makes more sense. He’s been super creepy, always just popping’ outta shadows and shit. More than usual.”

Angel looked over you, crying softly on the floor. He considered telling you, but if Alastor hadn’t he figured it was best he stay out of it. Lest he be the one fleeing into elevators.

“Have ya considered actually fucking him?” Angel couldn’t believe he was recommending anyone fuck Alastor, but it seemed like maybe it’d actually do you good.

“Why would I do that?”

Angel looked annoyed, “Because you wanna fuck him?! Get it out of our system?”

“Yes and I sometimes wonder what it would be like to drive into oncoming traffic. We all have the call of the void. He—,” you thought about the kiss, “I feel like it’d just make it worse. I’d want more.”

Angel showed you his phone, “He’s apparently eating sinners in the doom district, so, it’s your call. But maybe a good bang would get you both to chill out.” He scrolled, “Fucking hell. The best sex, of your life? Have you not had much sex or-?”

You crawled up to your bed and plopped your now heavy body down, “Angel.”

“Do you have some weird kink? Is it just really big?”

“Angel!”

“Does he go full demon and his peni-,”

“ANGEL.”

He spun his head around to look at you, “I wanna respect your boundaries but I will actually die again if you don’t explain this shit to me.”

Settling back, you groaned, “I’ve never felt so needed before. He held onto me like he couldn’t breath unless I was under him. But you see him, you’ve been here. Does that sound like him?”

Angel sat beside you, “Honestly didn’t know he knew what sex was until you came here so” he leaned back, two arms holding him up, “You guys are pretty fucked up.” You nodded. “What did he say, when you told him about the dreams?”

“Didn’t really come up.” You rolled your eyes.

He patted your thigh, “Got it. You’re gonna owe me like, a metric shit ton of drugs.” Angel pushed off the bed, waving as he left, “I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

You sat up, staring curiously at where he had just been. Tomorrow? It was only 9am

Angel spent several hours in the lobby, pretending to read and socialize with residents. He jumped from the chaise lounge as soon as he saw Alastor walking into the hotel, “Hey uh, I know you know I think you’re a freaky fuck, but I wanna just say it sucks real bad and I’m sorry.” Alastor didn’t reply or even stop walking, Angel having to jog to keep pace.

“I mean, if my fuck buddy thought our bumpin’ uglies was all just dreams I’d be super fuckin’ bummed too.” Alastor became so still so quickly that Angel nearly fell over trying to stop his momentum. He waved his hand in front of Alastor’s face to make sure he was still conscious, “uhh anyone home in there?”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to dials, residents looking up warily as the power flickered and the space seemed to distort around them, “Explain, quickly.”

“She told me this mornin’! She thinks all those nights you were bangin’ her brains out — which, from one porn star to another, sounded top notch from my room — we’re just horny dreams. She’s all fucked in the head about it.”

Alastor melted into his shadow and slinked down the hall and up the walls, leaving Angel behind, “You all owe me!”

You heard footsteps suddenly advancing on you down the hall. Spinning around, your nose nearly brushed against his, Alastor’s face already down to your level.

He leaned in to you, his mouth hitting against your cheek, “I need to speak to you in my room, dear.” His voice was clearly not asking you.

Your blood ran cold, goosebumps dancing down your neck and arms. “Why would-,”

“Now.” His arms wrapped around your waist, you pushed him away and turned to walk off but stopped. You weren’t in the hallway anymore. A bedroom. With a haughty laugh you turned to spit venom at him for such a dirty trick.

As if expecting it, he cut you off, “They weren’t dreams, my doe. It was astral projection.” He took you by the shoulders and pointed your entire body at the forest scene melting into his room. Had it always been there? You couldn’t remember seeing it before, when you arrived in hell. Just him and his smile.

You felt the blush rise from your toes to your ear tips. Both hands came to your face, desperate to hide your existence from the situation.

You remembered that grassy clearing, the tree line. Peaking in and up, you saw the starry sky you spent so many nights moaning into.

“Why-,” your hands balled into fists, “didn’t you tell me?!” You turned to him, face red. You wanted to shove him, to hit him, but your mother taught you better than to lay hands on someone first. You finished fights, not started them.

Alastor smiled down at you, like he always did, “I thought you had no memory of our-,”

You cut off him off at the head, “visits.”

He laughed, “spirited visits.” Was that a pun? You groaned.

“I, I thought it was just make believe.” The gentle touches, the sweet names whispered into your skin, the way you could taste him even after you woke. The blush burned your cheeks.

Now that you knew, now that your eyes fell on him once again with recognition, he felt you’d actually answer him, “How did you die?”

The question took you by surprise, You thought it was obvious, “I tried to kill a hunter in the woods. Well, I did kill him. But he killed me, too.”

A genuine grin spread across his lips, a cackle, “You killed a man?!” You shouldn’t have been so proud, but he looked so impressed, “Tell me every detail. Who was he to you?” Alastor’s hands came to your arms. You remembered last night, pulse quickening, and walked to his bed. You took a seat on the end, sinking softly into the plush blankets. Your hand ran over the fabric.

“My employee’s father.” The fabric was soft, the threads tiny and tight.

Alastor took a seat beside you, legs crossed, “Oh? And why him?”

A hum, “He was a bad man.”

His hand picked up yours, bringing it to his mouth. There was that loss of blood to his brain, something you effortlessly did to him. “Who says?” His own heart picking up pace. You killed. Was it egotistical to think you inspired such a thing? Did you kill for him?

You watched your fingers tremble under his lips, “What?”

“Who says he was bad?”

Your eyes searched the room for an answer, “I think anyone would agree with me.”

His smile reached his eyes, “So you decided? He probably thought he was quite alright.” He turned your wrist over, mouth pressing to your pulse point. “Did you plan it?” Your scent was familiar but different now. Skin still just as soft. He felt himself salivate. Your spell just as strong in death.

A gulp, all of those walls you struggled to keep standing turned to dust against his smirk. A stranger, a lover. Effortlessly your body shifted into a new gear under his touch. “Yeah, for a week. I waited until I knew he was going to be there. Walked the paths, bought a knife.”

“A knife,” he practically purred, “A favorite. No gun?” He pulled your arm toward him, bringing your whole body into his.

“I wanted something more… personal.”

Alastor buckled slightly, cock jumping in his lap. “You were made to be my undoing. I am sure of it. A cruel joke from heaven to distract me.” His mouth found your neck next, little nips before he chose a place and latched, sucking a bruise easily seen by others.

“This is a really fucked conversation, Alastor.” Your body softened, a small sigh coming before you could consider being embarrassed.

“For a ‘fucked’ situation, my dear.” His nose traced along your jaw. “But one you’ll find I quite enjoy.” He placed your hand on his lap. Did he see the face you made? The stupid grin? Your hand squeezed lightly on the length you felt tenting his pants, earning a moan into your cheek. Real. He was real. In your hands, now. No dreams or projection. No fantasies. No little pink toy. “Bear with me, just a little more. You’ll find my … proclivity for such topics quite important for these kinds activities.”

“You’re sick.” You turned, nose to nose smiling still.

He hummed, his own smile spreading, “desperately so.” Your hand gently traced the shape of him through his pants, “Why did you kill him? As opposed to all the other bad men?”

A question you didn’t feel you could answer, “This topic is having the opposite effect on me…” you squeezed him again.

“Fair enough,” he pushed you back onto the bed, leg going over your body to straddle you, “Then tell me how you felt? A compromise.”

How did you feel? When you killed him? “I felt strong.” He repositioned himself between your legs, “I wasn’t scared. I knew I’d succeed or-,”

“Or?” His breathing now a barely strained pant. Say it. Say it and he’ll let himself go completely.

You focused on the canopy of his bed, a red wine color much like his own coat. “Or I’d end up here, with you.” His head fell, forehead resting on your stomach. You looked down to see his antlers larger than before, no longer cute little prongs. “Alastor?”

He wasn’t an idiot.

Maybe a little roundabout, but you chose him.

Red dribbled from his chin, mind going foggy as eyes went black. His hands rid you of your clothes with delicate cuts, your body lurched up the bed by wide palms.

You chose to come back.

Your hands came down to undo his pants and belt, seeing he probably couldn’t manage himself. As soon as he was free of his clothes, he was rutting into your thigh. “Alastor”, you took his face in both hands, dials flickers to dilated pupils as you got him to focus on you.

“My little doe.”

You came home.

His head came to rest just above yours, wide and sharp antlers just out of reach. His leaking cock finally found your core, Alastor groaning into the blankets to find you already so wet. Your hands gripped his arms, nails breaking skin in anticipation.

Lined up and impatient, he pushed up into you with unmeasured force. You bit onto the flesh of his shoulder, trying to keep yourself from screaming. In those dreamlike visits, he filled you so perfectly, body molding to him. But now, you were stuffed. With one thrust your cervix was bruised and tender. The tiniest pain bled into the eye-rolling pleasure of having him back in you. With heavy breaths he thrust into you with a need you couldn’t ever remember feeling before. He fucked you like he would die without your moans spilling across his chest.

And it was true, feeling your soft cunt clenching him so tightly was a need more than anything else. A ray of light at the bottom of the Mariana’s trench. Impossible, and undeserved. You were everything he wasn't good enough to have, wasn’t clean enough of conscience to hold. An angel clipping a wing to dip into hell, you killed to sink back into his arms. Even if you didn’t say it, not yet. He could feel it in you. He had left a deeper impression on your soul than perhaps you had his. You weren’t just his by way of a deal, you corrupted yourself to his level.

He looked down at you, your eyes already wet and unfocused, mouth hanging open as every breath turned into rhythmic moans. Your soul a fresh snowfall, your adoration for him a drop of blood. His eyes shut, mind focused on where you and him merged now. Friction pulling him forward to his climax.

Your body was trembling, his lower stomach rubbing against your already swollen clit. That soft button just past your entrance wasn’t just being pressed, it was smashed against your walls with his shaft. His head dragging past it. You wanted to speak, to express how good you felt, but your tongue was frozen in your mouth. Every inhale became a gasp, every exhale was now a moan. You felt his body tighten, thrusts become shallow as his large head refused to stray far from your womb. Silently, your hands tore into his shoulders as you gripped through your orgasm. The muscles in your jaw now locked. Your legs came to wrap around his hips and draw him in, thighs convulsing as his pace didn’t stop for you to recover.

With an unmistakable mating press, his cock buried itself in your pussy. Balls deep suddenly made more sense as a phrase. Your cervix stung as his body forced more room for itself in you. The way your walls spasmed around him felt debauched, your body starved for him. Hungry as he had been. Alastor felt your soft cunt drowning in his seed and he groaned into your hair. Already spilling out, he didn’t even consider unsheathing himself from you.

You struggled to slow your heart rate, vision blocked entirely with his own heaving chest. As he softened in you, so did his form. Body reconfiguring above you, antlers now small and uncharacteristically cute.

With regained red eyes, he looked at your face.

“Are you-,” he sighed, “Asleep.” Not a bad future after all, he mused. Watching you sleep.

He considered wiping you down before placing you beneath his blanket, but it seemed like such a waste. Your head on his pillow, he felt everything in his chest settle. Like a puzzle whose pieces were all right but just not flush, his own damned soul settled flat. Everything snuggly in place.

One of his large palms came to rest on your head, a familiar place for him now, “Sleep well, darling doe. I’ll be here when you wake.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult: @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1

🎞️ TRDFAHS VHS owners: @leathesimp , @alastors-staff, @howabouticallyou , @myrunawaysweets , @karmakillz , @serendipitous-fernweh , @universal-s1ut , @anuttellaa , @sillyb0nez , @nonamevenus , @fairyv-ice , @nitnat6245 , @alicehasdrowned , @alicebaskervilleposts , @jyoongim , @lunaramune , @christinebloodwrittings , @itszzmoon , @thekanrojimitsuri2 ,

@luna-usagi-chan

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

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