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[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[nishimuramp4]

untitled #2

synopsis: you're the one responsible for riki's ostracization in school. but after you catch your boyfriend cheating, it's him you use for comfort.

content warnings: dubcon veering towards noncon, public sex, humiliation

wc: 3.5k!

it wasn’t like you had hated him from the start. on the contrary, when riki had walked into homeroom in october, a month after the school year had started, you had actually found him attractive enough. he was tall, with pouty lips, a scowl that you would soon learn was permanent, and dark hair that fell into his eyes. his eyes, which you couldn’t stand. their gaze was disconcerting; they held a quiet sort of power, a hidden well of dominance. it made your skin crawl. 

you had watched him from the back of the classroom. the tables in your classroom were clustered into tables of six. you and your friends always took the back of any room, so you could get away with sneaking a hit of the ubiquitous vape that got passed around. riki, after mumbling his name to you all with his head bowed, had shuffled to one of the empty seats at the front. 

“new kid’s not bad,” yiyeon had said. she twirled a mechanical pencil between her fingers, her eyes running over the back of his head. 

���he needs to get his ass on the basketball team,” sungho had said, garnering a few chuckles from the others. your boyfriend, heeseung, didn’t say a word. he was sitting beside you. he, too, was staring at the new kid. unlike yiyeon, his curiosity stemmed from a source you recognized well. insecurity. a transfer student with handsome features, height that rivaled heeseung, a low, rumbly voice, and the faint beginnings of self-assurance. 

you had snapped into action quickly. “he’s all right,” you had said, glancing at heeseung for approval. he was still unmoving, eyebrows creased in annoyance. unwilling to let things continue, you had scoured your desk. finding a small white eraser, you waited until the teacher had their back turned to the class before throwing it at riki’s head. he rubbed the spot, reached down, picked up the eraser, examined it. it had bothered you that he didn’t immediately turn around to see who it was. 

finally, riki slowly looked behind him, one hand still on his head. you gave him a sarcastic smile and a little wave, which finally made heeseung laugh. “careful,” heeseung had said, ruffling your hair, “he’ll get a crush on you.”

“please,” you said, emphasizing the pronunciation of your words so riki could read your lips. “incel over there wishes.”

sungho slapped the table, fighting off a laugh. “he does look like an incel,” he had said, gesturing at riki. “school shooter-looking ass.” riki had been wearing a large black hoodie over a pair of camo pants that day. you remembered it well. 

“school shooter,” lee, a girl you vaguely suspected was trying to steal your man, said with an overly effusive laugh. “he really does, though.”

heeseung had grinned at you as though you had made the joke, and you beamed at him. riki had turned back around, head hunched and shoulders bent. 

you hadn’t intended on bullying him, necessarily. things just happened that way. he happened to have the locker near yours, so you would tell him to eat shit and threaten to slam his face into the metal. he happened to share the same gym class as your boyfriend, so you’d break into his locker and cut holes into his uniform. apparently he was broke, like a lot of the students here were, so he had to walk around wearing tattered clothes. how were you supposed to know? 

the incel comments weren’t your fault, either. you had made the first move, but riki perpetuated it by always wearing baggy clothes, lumbering down the hallway with his headphones over his pierced ears, by mumbling when he spoke. 

once, you had tossed your milk container on the contents of his locker. you had had a shitty day, and your friends were all busy that lunch break, so you had been wandering the halls aimlessly. now you got to see riki’s hands lock up, his mouth gaping as he stared at his soiled belongings. 

“it’ll reek,” you had said, crunching the carton in your hands and tossing it inside his locker. it landed on his wet school binders. “you’re used to smelling like shit, so this should be nothing to you.”

riki’s lip had trembled, but not out of fear. no, this was the indignance of a child that had been spanked, knowing that an injustice had been dealt but lacking the strength to do a thing about it. “why do you do this?” it was rare for riki to speak, so hearing his gravelly voice surprised you. you masked it with an easygoing shrug. 

“why not?” you had replied breezily. 

“why me?” his voice had a cloying, pleading tone that warmed you to your bones. it pleased you so much, you nearly reached out to pinch his cheek. then he looked at you, and his eyes frightened you. there was that steely resilience again, that iciness underneath a countenance best described as “simpering.” it disturbed you, enough that you took an imperceptive step back. 

“because,” you had said. “i just don’t like you.”

riki had looked up to the ceiling, biting his lip, before looking down at you again. “you don’t even know me.”

“don’t need to,” you had said, wiping a drop of milk that had landed on your sleeve. 

students streamed by the two of you, ignoring the spectacle. for the better. you hated an audience. it was heeseung who liked to have all eyes on him, who liked to command attention, assert himself. you were comfortable being his girlfriend, lavishing in the privilege of getting to blend in. people were like nails: if they stuck out, they needed to be hammered into submission. 

“you’ll get yours,” riki had said softly, crouching down to examine his binders. the surety with which he said the words disturbed you, so you slammed the locker beside his, just to see him flinch. 

“you keep believing that,” you had said. “you keep believing that bad things happen to bad people. childish dumb-fuck.”

“they do,” riki said, and you resisted the overwhelming desire to wrench some of his hair into your hands, twist it, make him scream, make him cry. you couldn’t make a scene. heeseung would hear about it, anyways. 

instead, you crouched to riki’s level. “then you must be a bad person,” you had said. “bad things just keep happening to you, huh?” 

there was a small droplet of milk resting on his lip, stray spray from the carton you had thrown. he had noticed you staring at his mouth and wiped it off himself. “like i said, you don’t know anything about me.”

“ooh,” you had said, mockingly raising your hands in the air. “look out. tough guy riki.” riki stood up, having finished his assessment of his binder, and you realized just how tall he was. you quickly scrambled to your feet. “see you around.” with a final bang on his locker, you had left, the memory of his stare lingering in your head. 

of course, you loved bothering him. there was something satisfying about seeing a guy so tall, so broad, flinching when you threw something at him. when you walked by him, you reveled in the way he would avert his gaze, awaiting the next cruel taunt. it didn’t help that you were constantly flanked by your friend group, including heeseung. besides being tall, heeseung had long since developed a reputation at the school. the best parties were at his place, he organized the bonfires in the woods at the school, he had an older brother who could get his friends weed. being his girlfriend awarded you with social capital you wouldn’t have on your own.

which is why you almost fell apart when you walked into the parking lot after school and saw heeseung sucking face with lee against his car, a beat-up honda civic. a part of you wanted to confront him, but you knew that a public confrontation would turn into a private fight, and possibly a breakup. you didn’t know if you wanted to break up with him. the three of you had all had academic obligations which required you to stay later after school, so the plan was to finish up, have heeseung drive you to his place, pre-game, then go to a party at sungho’s. you had finished up a little earlier, so you had wanted to surprise heeseung. instead, you watched as your boyfriend of six months and a girl who had previously referred to you as her friend made out with each other in broad daylight.

spinning on your heel, you stormed into the school’s building, searching for a place to cry. you had to recollect yourself, find a way to regain control of yourself. the bathrooms were no good: at any given time, there was a cluster of girls in them smoking or vaping or passing around a plastic bottle of vodka. a teacher might come into an empty classroom, and the last thing you needed was to bare your soul to someone who loathed you as much as you did them. 

finally, you decided on the computer lab on the second floor. it was still open at this time, and it was very rarely occupied by other people. it was hardly a lab, a collection of 12 computer monitors organized into two rows, back to back, in a classroom tucked into a corner of the school. 

you spotted a mop of straight hair. riki.  of course he would try to hide out where no one could find him. he was drawing, using something on a computer screen as a reference. riki wasn’t the best in academics, and the ostracization from others had prevented him from ever getting involved in sports, but you could begrudgingly admit that he was a good artist. he was supposed to receive some stupid school award for it. 

the tears that had been threatening to spill mere moments before dissipated as you closed and locked the door behind you. riki looked up at the sound. you loved the way he cringed, tried to make himself seem smaller, shrinking himself in his chair. 

striding over towards him, you snatched up his sketchbook and flipped through it. unfortunately, there was nothing you could say about his art, so you would have to lie. “looks shit,” you said. maybe you could rip a few pieces out. instead, you put the book down on the table and scrutinized riki. he was looking at you warily, his sharp eyes analyzing your every move. 

“they’re not shit,” he said. 

“you wouldn’t know. you have bad taste in just about everything.”

riki must have been feeling pretty confident from that little award, because he met your gaze and said, “so do you.”

you walked closer to riki, who was sitting in the blue plastic chair. he straightened out his posture, hands clasped together. first heeseung, now riki was getting cocky on you? “and what makes you say that?”

“your boyfriend is pretty ugly,” he said, and his eyes widened like he couldn’t believe himself. 

your blood boiled. the disrespect towards your boyfriend, the reminder that he was hardly your boyfriend right now, the fact that riki thought he could say that to you. you grabbed his hair and yanked his face towards yours, relishing in his sudden fear. if he had maintained his new persona, you would have done something drastic. 

“you think you’re better than heeseung?” you hissed, jerking his head again. he yelped quietly. “answer. you think you’re better than heeseung?”

riki’s eyes were squeezed shut. all the better for it. “yeah,” he mumbled. “i do.”

still clutching his hair, you reached under your skirt and tugged your underwear. riki stared at your panties, jaw slack and eyes hazed over. you slipped them off and shoved them into your hoodie’s pocket. then you swung your leg up, resting your foot on the desk. “prove it. prove how much better you are.”

riki had this stupid look on his face. “what?”

you didn’t have the patience for it. you brought his face towards your pussy. “eat me out,” you said, “or i swear to god i’ll get heeseung and the others to jump your scrawny ass.”

riki tried to pull his head away, but you yanked at his scalp, eliciting another cry from him. “i don’t know how,” he said.

“first time seeing pussy? you really are an incel,” you said. the hand that wasn’t in riki’s hair rubbed at your clitoris. “you see this? you just have to lick this. it’s not rocket science.”

haltingly, riki’s pink tongue poked out before he retracted it and looked at you. “i’m not…i don’t…”

twisting his hair, you said, “do it or heeseung will fuck you up. that’s a promise.”

with a little whimper, riki kitten-licked your clit. it had been a while since heeseung had properly eaten you out, citing a lack of interest, so you were responding more to riki than you cared to admit. you couldn’t let riki catch wind of any pleasure you were deriving from this, so you clamped your mouth shut. still, every inexperienced lick caused frissons to dance through your body.

riki tentatively reached out to hold your hips in place, and you flinched as you felt his large hands on you. you thought about pulling his finger back so he would let go of you, but he licked your clit in just the right way and the thought escaped you. you bucked your hips into his mouth. “faster,” you ordered. 

he sped up, lapping at your clit. riki’s grip on your hips settled, and you bit back a moan. then riki pulled his head away from you, and you sputtered. “the fuck are you doing?” 

“am i doing it right?” absent-mindedly, he wiped some of your arousal off of his face with his sleeve. then he looked at the wet streak and frowned. 

you groaned in frustration and shoved his face towards your pussy again. “shut up.” 

riki returned to licking at your clit, experimenting this time. he flicked his tongue against the small nub, something you hadn’t even known you liked. “you watch a lot of porn?” he didn’t answer, thankfully, so you continued pressing your cunt into his face. “i bet you do. gross coomer, holed up in your fucking room.”

his tongue was wide and agile, and you almost hated yourself for how quickly your orgasm was approaching. you gritted your teeth and fixed your eyes on the top of riki’s head. if you looked away, you were admitting defeat. 

when you came, it was a full-body orgasm. waves of pleasure trickling from the center of your body down to your very fingertips.  “how does my pussy taste?” you taunted, blinking slowly so that the stars flooding your vision wouldn’t overtake you. it had been good, too good. you lifted your leg off of the table and straightened up, even though all you wanted to do was take a nap. 

riki’s face was coated in your arousal, and you found that the sheen complimented his pretty, plump lips well. “find out,” he said. he made a rough noise at the back of his throat, stood up, and spat in your face. 

you spluttered, wiping your face and smearing any liquids on his clothes. “are you fucking crazy?”

riki shrugged, rubbing your juices off of his face with his sleeve again. “maybe.” 

“i’ll kill you,” you said, stepping away from him. “i’ll fucking kill you.”

to your evergrowing annoyance, riki’s gaze was as imperceptible and cold as always.

you didn’t kill him. instead, you stewed about the incident for a week straight. heeseung was acting sheepish around you now, burying his head into your neck and giving you soft, warm little kisses. lee didn’t make eye contact with you, talking to you with such sycophantic fervor that even you felt embarrassed. annoying. if they were going to cheat, then do it wholeheartedly. 

you didn’t bother riki for the entire week, and you could tell it was starting to bother him. you would catch him glancing at you curiously before whipping his head away when he saw you pick up on his staring. freak probably got a crush on you after you made him eat you out. or maybe he thought you really would have heeseung jump him. it only served to benefit you. you had a surprise to give him at the assembly, and you wanted to catch him off-guard. 

the assembly was held in the school gym during homeroom. the students crammed in the bleachers, talking amongst themselves. normally, you would have skipped along with your friends, but you told them that you had to be there. you had given them your pissed-off face, so they had dropped the issue. 

while you filed out of the classroom with the rest of the students, you trailed behind riki. seemed like he was really proud of himself, between the accolade he was about to get and his act of defiance yesterday. when you entered the gym, you sidled next to him. he looked at you uneasily. 

“let’s sit together,” you said. it sounded innocent enough, but you knew that riki would understand the threat behind your words. his head whipped around the gymnasium, and without an escape plan, he sighed. 

“fine,” he said. “where?”

“back row,” you said, nodding your head at the far corner of the bleachers. you all but shoved him towards that spot, settling down beside him so that he was caged between the sides of the bleachers and you.

for the first fifteen minutes of the assembly, you hardly moved a muscle. the principal was talking about school announcements, a topic so banal your eyes would have glazed over had you not had revenge on your mind. creeping your fingers towards riki’s thigh, you ghosted your hand over his crotch. he flinched, whispering, “what are you doing?”

“shut the fuck up,” you replied. “don’t make any noise.” you mimed a knife being dragged over your throat, and riki swallowed. 

with that, you started rubbing him over his baggy blue jeans. he tried to fold his legs, preventing you from touching him, but you pinched and pulled at his inner thigh until he spread his legs again. he was big, bigger than you thought, and you didn’t bother hiding the fact that you were ogling his bulge. it made you smile, knowing that no one else had touched him like this. his very first handjob, and it would be sloppy, messy, and very public. 

riki squirmed under your grasp. “please stop,” he whispered. you looked up into his face and saw that, for once, that sharp, cold gaze of his had been replaced by desperation. instead, you pressed your hand down harder, drawing your touch out to an agonizing degree. riki let out a shaky, pained moan. “stop,” he pleaded, one hand gripping his thigh. his knuckles were turning white.

“fine,” you said, lifting your hand off of him. “i stopped.” you crossed your legs and smoothed your skirt down, smiling at him. 

shuddering, riki leaned his head against the back of the bleachers and closed his eyes, panting heavily. to your delight, he actually canted his hips into the air, ever-so-slightly, at the lack of touch. 

“you want more, don’t you?” you asked. 

“no,” he whispered, “no, no, i don’t…” but his lips were twitching, and his bulge was so prominent it was almost obscene. he was a complete virgin, would probably cum in a minute if you kept going. his foot bounced against the bottom of the bleachers. 

“are you sure?” you dragged your knuckles over his clothed cock and riki squeaked. 

“i hate you,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “i fucking hate you.”

“aw, you’re using big boy words,” you cooed, running your hand over his crotch again. riki grunted and looked away from you, his teeth gritted. briefly, you glanced around the auditorium, making sure that no one was looking at the two of you. thankfully, everyone was either focused on the announcements, looking at their phones, or whispering to each other. you softly kneaded riki’s bulge, and he let out a shaky little sob. his foot stopped bouncing, and his breathing quickened. you stroked his entire length, noting that he might feel good after all. if heeseung ever pissed you off, maybe you could have fun with riki.

his cock twitched under your hand, signaling his imminent release. riki covered his mouth with his hoodie’s sleeve, eyes scrunched shut as he finally came. you could have crowed with laughter, seeing the way the front of his jeans dampened. today, riki had opted to wear a hoodie that cut off at his hips, meaning that there was no way to hide the offensive stain. 

riki’s name was called for him to receive his award, and you did let out a small giggle as you watched him hastily unzip his hoodie and wrap it around his waist in a feeble attempt to hide the cumstain. there he went, plodding down the stairs. 

you had won, for now.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sweet Treat

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You bake one of your favourite fall treats for your coworkers but one of them takes it to mean more than it does.

Characters: Tony Stark

Note: this is the fourth of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The leaves feel more vibrant as you walk along the autumnal street. Clusters sit at the base of street poles and the brisk wind nips at your cheek and nose. You tuck your chin into your woolly scarf and hug the container of treats closer. 

You stifle a yawn. Your exhaustion is well worth the output. You spent most of the night baking. It’s a hobby for you and now that you have your first steady job, you have the funds and the space to do it. And as the newbie in the office, it felt right to add a bit of warmth to the office culture. 

To be honest, you’re trying to fit in. Since you started your desk job, you’ve felt that pressure. It’s all new to you and you feel like every day is a learning experience. Everyone else seems so settled and sure. It’s not like a retail gig where you’re all just trying to get through another day. 

As you get to the front door of the building, your met with a familiar face. Rhodey flicks two fingers in a half-wave and drawls out ‘morning’ as he opens the door for you. You thank him and enter the lobby. 

He trails you along the polished tile and you both stop before the metallic doors of the elevator. He taps the button as you tap one heel impatiently. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. 

“What’s all that?” He asks. 

“Oh, it’s a surprise.” 

“A surprise?” He wonders. 

He’s always nice. He interviewed you and helped you on your first day. He’s too busy for you to run into each other very much, but he’s always pleasant. 

“Yes, you have to wait until you get upstairs to find out.” 

“Oh, maybe I should see if I can beat the elevator,” he kids and looks at the door to the stairs. You chuckle. The doors ahead of you slide apart. “Ah, nevermind, seems like fate is on my side.” 

He gestures you in ahead of him. The ascent is smooth enough. You’re never a fan of the rising sensation that makes you woozy. You step off thankfully, clutching the container firmly to your stomach. 

“Well, I should find my desk,” you say. 

“Hey wait, what about the surprise?” He asks. 

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you face him and slide your arm under the container. You peel the corner of the lid back with your other hand and smile, “apple pastries. Hope you like ‘em.” 

“Homemade?” He asks as he reaches for one. 

“Sure are,” you chime. “I have napkins in my bag but my hands are kinda full.” 

“Nah, I don’t mind a mess,” he sniffs the dessert, “think this will go well with my coffee.” 

“Let me know if you like it,” you smile. 

“Oh, you will know. I might just try to sneak a second,” he says and turns to head off towards the executive offices. 

You shut the container and wade through the desks to your own. You put the container down and strip off the layers of your scarf, gloves, hat, and coat. You finally get yourself set as Marissa shows up. 

“Do you smell cinnamon?” She asks as she wiggles her nose and plunks her insulated cup down. 

“Yes, I do,” you take the lid off and gesture to the container. “Want one?” 

“Hm, apple?” She asks and you nod. “What’s this all about?” 

“I don’t know. I made them so I thought I’d share.” 

“Huh, that’s sweet,” she remarks dryly as you offer her a napkin. “Enjoy that optimism while it lasts.” 

Your cheek twitches. You notice that about the people here. Even if something good happens, they’re suspicious about it. They want to know why or the expect something horrible to follow. 

As more people shuffle in, you offer them a pastry. Everyone seems to like them so far. Yet, you still have lots to go around. 

You get up and Marissa glances over, “any more?” 

“Well, yeah, I was going to go offer them to the managers.” 

“Oh,” she darts her eyes way. “Good luck.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing, just... interrupting for a pastry... kinda... non-productive.” 

“Oh, right,” you pout, “maybe I could just leave them in the breakroom.” 

“Probably a better idea.” 

You’re disappointed. You know the execs rarely go that far. Still, she’s right and she would know better than you. 

You take the container and pass between the other desk. As you pass the hallway to the exec spaces, you nearly collide with someone else. He barely seems to notice until you squeak and save the desserts from spilling. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you eke out as the man struts by only to scuff to a halt.  

He turns back to you, a pinch between his brows and a tick in his cheek. You clamp your mouth shut as his dark eyes penetrate you. It’s him, Mr. Stark, the big boss. You’ve never seen him this close-up. You panic and look around as a hush falls across the office. 

“Would you like one?” You ask out of sheer helplessness. You offer up the container and his eyes slowly descend. His expression doesn’t change. 

To your surprise, he steps closer. He reaches into the container and takes one of the pastries. He examines it then turns away without a word. You stare after him in fear of your livelihood. 

You wait until he’s gone and scurry into the breakroom. You put the container on the counter and catch your breath. Oh gosh. You just blew it, didn’t you? Over something as stupid as desserts. You shouldn’t be handing out treats like Santa Claus, you should be working! 

You put your head down and march out. You go directly back to your desk and sit. You feel eyes on you. Marissa wheels closer. “Told you. Don’t bother the big guys.” 

🍏

The windows are dark as you finally log off. It’s no coincidence that you’re the only one left in the office. It might be futile but you hope the extra work might save you from the fallout of your unfortunate run-in earlier. 

You cross the office floor and dip into the breakroom. You claim the empty container from the counter. You’re happy that your hard work didn’t go to waste, at least. 

You return to your desk and snap the lid on. You gather up your coat and pull on your hat and scarf, leaving your gloves in your pocket. You pack up your bag and sling it on your arm, clutching the container against your hip.  

You push your chair in and turn. You nearly shriek, instead swallowing it to a squeal, as you find someone else standing across the space. You put your hand to your chest and gasp. 

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you,” you gulp. It’s Mr. Stark. Great, you don’t think you’ve done enough to stop the inevitable. 

He comes closer, sliding his hands into his pockets as he approaches. He’s silent as he measures you with a long gaze. The silver at his temples twinkles against the darker strands. He stops at the corner of your desk. 

“You all out?” He nods to the container. 

You flinch, “um, yes, sir.” 

“Too bad. Tasty,” he says. “And that little heart in the pastry... nice touch.” 

“Oh,” you’re surprised by his praise, expecting a full remonstrance. “Thank you. I... I just thought it was cute but, er, sorry, I don’t mean to chatter. I should go.” 

“Yeah, me too,” he says, “another late night.” He clucks and glances around the empty office. “You know, that really... made my day. Not much to look forward around here.” 

Your brows rise and you smile, unsure how to respond. 

“Feel like I owe ya more than a thanks,” his forehead lines as he tilts his head, “and I gotta grab something to eat,” he checks his watch and sighs, “all my meetings went long so could I pay you back?” 

“Uh, sir,” you wonder. 

“You like shawarma?” He intonses. 

“Shawarma?” You repeat, surprised. 

“I know, I know, a guy like me is supposed to live off caviar and fine steaks. You ever just get the craving for something....” he pauses and pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Nasty?” 

You chuckle, “um, sure. I sometimes order fast food.” 

“So? Unless...” he hesitates, “you’re busy? Looks like you’re running behind too.” 

“No, sir, that’s very generous. Um, I... yeah, I could... I could go for shawarma,” you agree, relief flowing over you. You don’t think he’s going to fire you unless it’s a trick. 

“Great, let me just grab my jacket.” 

🍏

Dinner is delicious, though a bit awkward. Your guilt isn’t lessened as Mr. Stark insists on paying for it. You tell him you can handle it but you don’t argue that much. He’s still your boss. 

You pull on your jacket as you leave the restaurant. He holds the door for you. You’re already mentally preparing to tuck into bed. 

“That was nice. If I don’t have some business lunch or dinner, I usually eat alone,” he scoffs as he comes up beside you. 

“Oh? Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” 

“Just as much as that special treat you made me,” he says. 

“Uh, yeah, well, I like baking--” 

“You know, no one ever offers me stuff like that. They all just get quiet when they see me. Can’t even look at me,” he grumbles. “But you smiled at me.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s... they’re just intimidated, I’m sure. Because you’re so smart,” you say. 

“What about you? You’re not?” He asks as you stop next to his sleek red car. 

“No, I am,” you admit. “I’m the newest person in the office, everyone intimidates me.” 

He looks at you long and hard, “really?” 

“Well, yeah, I’m still learning how to do everything.” 

“Who?” He asks. 

“Who?” 

“Who’s being mean?” He growls. 

“What? No, sir. It’s not—no one’s mean. I didn’t say that.” 

“Because if someone’s messing with you, I’ll happily have a special meeting with them,” his expression darkens. 

“No one,” you avow. “Sorry, I must’ve said it the wrong way.” 

“You did nothing wrong,” he counters. 

“Right, er...” you peer over your shoulder, “I should go catch a bus--” 

“A bus?” He echoes. 

“Sure, it’s almost nine o’clock,” you look at your fitbit. 

“My car’s right here, get in,” he says. 

It’s a command and you’ve pressed your luck far enough. You nod and thank him as he opens the door. You sit in the low seat and hug your bag atop the empty container. He shuts you in and strolls around to the other side. 

As he sits in front of the steering wheel, his cologne clogs your nose. It’s definitely expensive. You squirm in the seat. You’re tired and a bit impatient to be home. You still have to go to the office early tomorrow. 

“Well, thanks for the ride,” you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes instead. 

“Lease I can do,” he says. “Where do ya live, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart? The epithet tweaks your ear but you try not react. You worked in retail, a lot of men love that word. You give him your address. 

“Really? All the way over there?” He asks. “Girl like you shouldn’t be done there,” he tuts. 

“It’s not that bad,” you assure him. 

You drag your hand up your cheek, trying to wake yourself up. You’re exhausted. You’re so used to the 9-5 that you’re ready to flop into bed. 

You zone out at the engine hums. The soft motion of the turns lulls you and it isn’t until you’re halfway in the other direction to your apartment that your instinct kicks in. You sit up and look around. 

“Where are you going?” You ask in a panic. 

“I live closer, sweetheart. You can crash at mine,” he says. 

“Your-- no, Mr. Stark, I can’t do that. If you don’t want to drive me, I can get an uber.” You pull on the zipper of your purse and he hits the brakes. You lurch forward as he reaches over and clasps onto your hand. 

“You don’t need to do that,” he says. 

“Mr. Stark?” You babble. “What’s going on?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why won’t you take me home?” 

He’s quiet. His eyes fall to his hand and he lets you go. He grips the wheel again but doesn’t go. He sighs and tilts his head back. 

“You gave me that pastry. With the little heart.” 

“I gave them to everyone--” 

“No, but you gave one to me.” He insists. 

“Sir,” you sniff. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Please don’t fire me.” 

“Fire you--” He turns to look at you, “no, no, no.” 

He fixes his gaze straight ahead and presses on the gas again. He rolls forward and turns down another street. You unzip your purse and once more, he stomps on the brake. You lurch forward and the seat belt digs into your chest as your bag falls onto your feet. 

“Don’t touch that phone,” he snarls. 

“Sir,” you sit back, rubbing where the belt bit into you, “sorry.” 

“It’s just... I can’t see where I’m going with the glare,” he exhales shakily. 

“Okay,” you whimper. 

He drives on. You don’t move. Your heart is racing. You don’t understand what’s going on. 

He enters the nicer neighbourhoods. Where the houses have that modern boxy feel, tall glass windows for walls, and iron gates around trimmed hedges. Their residents spends as much time there as their vacation homes on the next continent. 

He hits a button and steers toward one of the gates as it slides open on a motor. He rolls through as you sink into yourself. This must be his house. You’re still spinning with the suddenness of it all. From the office to dinner to this. One moment stoic and silent, the next smiling and kind, and now... 

As you look at him, his eyes are so dark that the swallow the glow from the dash and the security lights mounted on the house. He shifts into park and kills the engine. You twiddle your fingers and watch him. He reaches over and presses the button on your seat belt. 

You wince and look away as he trails his touch up your arm and to your shoulder. He walks his fingers up over your collar and along you neck. He traces the curve of your jaw as you shiver. 

“You gave me something sweet, baby,” he grabs your chin and makes you look at him again. “I just wanna return the favour.”  

He leans across the space between your seats and pushes his lips to yours. You murmur and grab onto his wrist. You feel the tendons tense as he squeezes you tighter. His mouth parts from yours and he presses his forehead to yours. You’re locked in his hold, paralysed.  

He hums and licks his lips, “You taste just as good.” 

[earlysunshines]

watch me take my time 

park jihyo x fem!reader ; fluff, smut ; read tutor perks first! this is pt. 2

synopsis: surprising the woman you're dating with tea and pastries turns into a steamy evening, and a more sentimental morning after

warnings: mommy kink ; jihyo receving, reader giving ; jihyo in control for the most part ; smut! ; smut :3 ; and smut ; cursing ; fucking on the couch!!! ; face riding ; yeaahh anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread, as always lol 

a/n: hey! i wasn't sure what to do for a part two, i never know. i didn't really expect tutor perks to get THAT much attention. anyway, I just went with whatever I felt like, i hope you guys like it. lmk what you think!

the parking garage was quite mesmerizing, adorned with lush greenery and meticulously planned layouts. it was a stark contrast to the parking spot on campus that was a fifteen-minute walk from the main campus. compared to the $225 spot at your university, this was undeniably better.  

“is this the right place?” sarah, your roommate, asks. “because if it is... you coined a whole sugar mommy.” 

“oh shut up.” you say, blushing. sarah laughs at you, then gives you a little hug. 

“whatever, get out my car. i have to go see my girlfriend.” sarah says jokingly, to which you respond with a roll of your eyes.  

“yeah yeah, see you, love you, bye.” you mutter before getting out the car and shutting the door, watching sarah wave at you teasingly. 

walking towards the actual building — littered with plants and the beauty of the exterior catching you off guard — just the sight of it was enough to make you nervous. still, you manage to open the door and step in, feeling intimidated almost immediately just from seeing everyone inside the lobby. 

the corporate image time ten was right in front of you: men in suits tailored to perfection exuded an air of confidence as they made way through the bustling lobby, their attention divided between important phone calls and firm handshakes with other mirror images of themselves. meanwhile, women clad in sleek blazers formed clusters, their conversations punctuated by polite laughter and the occasional sip of coffee.  

it was safe to assume that you didn’t really fit in, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water in the moment. so, while clutching a bag of pastries and a cup of iced tea from your shift at work, you made a conscious effort to blend into the background as you walked up to the lady behind the desk up front. thankfully, that wasn’t too hard given everyone had been occupied with their own things. 

the lady, a shorter looking woman with hair tied up professionally, looked at you unamusingly. she raised a brow as you looked at her, putting a finger up to pause you in place since she looked like she was preoccupied with a phone call.   

you balanced the small brown bag of pastries and iced tea in one hand, then moved over to fix the tote bag on your shoulder. the lady finished her call, then turned to you and spoke in a monotoned, uninterested tone. 

“hi, how can i help you?” 

“hi, um, is jihyo here? she’s still working, right?” 

“and who are you?” she asks, looking offended that you even asked that question.  

taken aback, you grow a little bashful and respond, “y/n l/n, i'm a...” you clear your throat, “friend of hers. she said if i wanted to stop by, now would be a good time.” 

“yeah, alright. you expect me to believe you that miss park said you could stop by?” 

“excuse me?” you say, immediately feeling belittled by her tone and look at you. “what do you mean by me? is there something wrong?” 

the lady lets out a noise thats a mix of a laugh and a scoff. she sighs, looking down at her desk and pointing down at a paper before responding.  

“miss park is a very busy woman, you know that, right? i have to make sure that this is an urgent thing, otherwise, you can see yourself out the door.” 

the condescending tone in the desk lady's voice grates on your nerves, sparking irritation within you. you resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead fixing her with a steely gaze as you suppress the retort bubbling up inside you. 

"i get that jihyo is busy, seriously," you reply evenly, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. "i'll call her right now if you need confirmation. i have her number and everything. she even texted me—" 

"she what?" the desk lady interrupts, her expression shifting from dismissive to incredulous. "you-- you have her personal number?" 

"of course i do, it's jihyo we're talking about," you respond matter-of-factly, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the surprise evident in the woman's reaction. 

"i didn't think—wow," the desk lady stammers, clearly caught off guard. she clears her throat, attempting to regain her composure. "miss park doesn’t give anyone here her personal number. s-sorry, i'm a bit taken aback. i'll have someone escort you. i'm sorry for the inconvenience, miss—" 

"it's y/n," you interject, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the sudden shift in demeanor from the desk lady. it's almost amusing how quickly she seems to have changed her tune, now treating you with an unexpected level of deference.  

the desk lady nods and begins making arrangements for your escort, you can't help but feel a sense of validation at the realization of just how highly regarded jihyo must be. the fact that you have her personal number suddenly feels like some sort of badge of honor, you must be lucky to just know her or interact with her casually—especially in bed, that must be better than any trophy or award. maybe even better than a grammy or something. 

a tall, frail older man is by your side in the next minute. before you leave, the lady smiles at you – maybe a little forced given the unnatrual expression – then picks up the phone again, seemingly dialing a number. 

the man leads you to an elevator and presses the second to last button, indicating the 11th floor. as the elevator ascends, you stand beside him, taking note of his impeccable posture and the condition of his suit. not a single crease in the fabric, he had to be some kind of perfectionist.  

when the elevator doors slide open on the 11th floor, the man steps aside and gestures for you to exit first. his actions are formal, almost ceremonial, and you can't help but feel a sense of significance in the gesture. despite being just a girl who's clocked off work, you find yourself appreciating the unexpected treatment. you’re not against any of this treatment, however. 

once you step out of the elevator, the man gestures for you to follow him down the corridor. as you walk, you can't help but be captivated by your surroundings. the corridor is lined with large windows that offer expansive views of the city, bathing the space in natural light and providing a breathtaking backdrop as you continue through the building.  

the floor itself is decorated with tasteful elegance, oozing an air of professionalism and refinement. everything is thoroughly arranged, from the sleek furniture to the artful accents that adorn the walls. it's a space that balances functionality and cliche professionalism with an aesthetic appeal, creating an atmosphere that feels both welcoming and authoritative. if this is just one of the floors, you can’t even imagine how wonderful the rest of the building is. maybe jihyo will get to show it to you sometime. 

passing by the employees that type away or take calls, he leads you to a room that has large windows, displaying the blinds that block whatever – or whoever – is inside. a sign is plastered on it that says park jihyo, indicating that this is right where you wanted to be. 

he knocks on the door three times – somehow sophisticated and professional – then says in his deep voice,  

“miss park, i'm sorry to interrupt. you have a visitor.” 

silence takes over for a bit before the door is opened, revealing a tired looking jihyo in her blazer and slacks. she doesn’t see you at first, sending daggers at the man covering you before saying in a stern tone, 

"chang, you know i'm busy with emails—" jihyo begins, her voice trailing off as she catches sight of you standing in the doorway. immediately, her demeanor softens, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

clearing her throat, she regains her composure and gestures for you to enter her office. "ah, y/n, come in," she says, her voice warm and welcoming. turning to the man, chang, she nods in appreciation. "chang, you're dismissed. thank you for escorting her." 

chang nods respectfully and takes his leave, leaving you alone with jihyo in her office. as the door closes behind him. jihyo wastes no time in closing the distance between you as soon as the coast is clear. 

her hand finds its way to the nape of your neck, pulling you close with a gentle yet firm touch. you feel a rush of warmth as her lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. her smile is evident even in the midst of the kiss, and you can't help but mirror her expression, returning the affection with the curve of your own lips. 

you pull away, lips inches apart. jihyo smiles at you sweetly. 

“what are you doing here?” 

“you said you would be relatively free, i just got off work. i got you something to eat, figured you’d be hungry and... i wanted to see you.” 

it's been almost three months since your first – very intimate – night with jihyo. the two of you continue to see each other, both intimately and regularly. dating jihyo has been pretty nice, though both of you have times where you don’t have time to see each other, so it’s nice to have moments like these. 

as the weeks turn into almost three months, your relationship with jihyo continues to evolve. jihyo asked you out on proper dates, rather than her eating you out, she wanted to eat something else and get to know you better.  

despite the demands of your respective schedules, the two of you make a concerted effort to see each other as often as possible. whether it's her inviting you over when her nephew isn’t around to evenings spent curled up together on the couch or having wine and a conversation. every moment shared with jihyo was precious 

dating jihyo has brought a sense of joy into your life, a feeling of being understood and cherished in a way that you've never experienced before, none of your high school relationships made you feel this way. and while there are times when conflicting schedules and obligations pulled you apart, those moments only serve to make the time you spend together even more precious. 

“you’re so sweet honey, come, sit.” jihyo says thankfully, guiding you to the large couch that gives you an even better view of the city. 

you sit next to her and place the goods on the table, then immediately. she rests her head against your shoulder. a smile plays across your lips, and slight worry seeps into your skin. jihyo must be tired, judging from how limp she is against you, so you grab her hands and hold them gently, rubbing her knuckles and letting her relax a bit. 

as you sit down next to jihyo and place the goods on the table, you can't help but notice the fatigue etched into her features. she leans her head against your shoulder, a smile plays across your lips as you feel her weight against you, but a slight twinge of worry creeps into your heart. jihyo must be exhausted, judging from how limp she is against you. without a word, you reach out and gently take her hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with hers. 

you begin to rub her knuckles soothingly, hoping to ease some of the tension that seems to have taken hold of her. her fingers are a little bonier, hands noticeably more mature given the slight age gap between the two of you. a ring is around the base of her middle finger, something expensive looking with a small apricot-colored gem in it. in the warmth of your touch seems to relax her, and you can feel the tension slowly melting away as she leans into your embrace.  

“you seem drained, was work exhausting?” you ask, turning to face her. 

“just some really incompetent men and everything has been getting on my nerves. lots of deadlines that need to be met and some of my employees have been slacking.” jihyo sighs, “things are getting better, though. i made some... arrangements that should have things back in order.” 

“i see.” you say, playing with her fingers. you press a kiss to the top of her head and reach for the iced tea, moving the straw to her mouth. “this should give you some energy, it’s the house tea, something peachy and sweet.” 

“aw, you’re too kind, doll.” she says, pouting her lower lip before taking a sip. she takes a few more sips before grabbing the drink from your hand and setting it down on the table, then pecks your lips. “you’re seriously a gift, darling.” 

almost three months and her little petnames still make your heart race, you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to them. 

“sweetheart, if it’s not too much, could you massage my upper back? there's a lot of tension, god, it’s killing me.” 

“of course.” 

jihyo turns away from you so that her back faces you, and you place your hands on her tense shoulders. squeezing lightly to get her accustomed, she immediately relaxes into your touch, sighing as you massage her. she moves her head down so you can reach more of the stiff areas, and once your thumbs add more pressure, she lets out a louder sigh, more of a groan that makes you giggle, and leaving some room for imagination to other ways that can make her sound like that. 

as jihyo turns away, her back facing you, you instinctively place your hands on her tense shoulders. with gentle pressure, you begin to massage her muscles, hoping to provide some relief from the tension that has accumulated there from whatever she’s been up to all day. 

at first, jihyo tenses slightly at your touch, but as you continue to knead her shoulders, she gradually relaxes into your hands. a soft sigh escapes her lips as she leans into your touch, allowing you better access to the stiff areas of her muscles. 

you adjust your position slightly, moving your hands to target the areas of greatest tension. with firm yet gentle pressure, you work your thumbs into the knots, eliciting a deeper sigh from jihyo's lips. the sound is more of a groan, and it sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a playful giggle. 

“good?” 

“ah- great.” she says through gritted teeth. she moves her hair over to once side, then asks, “can you get this side for me?” to which you respond with a hum. 

as you continue to massage her shoulders, you can't help but let your mind wander, imagining other ways to draw out this genre of sounds from her. but for now, you're content to focus on the task at hand, providing jihyo with the comfort and relaxation she so desperately needs. and as you feel her muscles begin to loosen beneath your touch, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you're able to provide her with some relief.  

however, this doesn’t necessarily mean that your mind is completely free of other intimate scenarios. 

jihyo gets a little louder, failing to suppress the groans that slip past her lips. your hands slow down, instead, you start to slide your hands down her back and around her waist, gently placing them on the sides. leaning closer, you place a chaste kiss on the skin that isn’t covered by her hair, smirking into her. 

“what are you doing honey?” she asks softly, turning her head just barely to catch you in her peripheral.  

instead of responding verbally, you press longer, lingering kisses along jihyo's neck. with each gentle caress of your lips, she begins to relax further, her body responding to the intimacy of your affection. 

sensing her movement, you feel her hand come to rest lightly on your head, her fingers tangling softly in your hair. the sensation sends a shiver down your spine, a warmth spreads throughout your body as you continue to place kisses along her neck. 

slowly, almost imperceptibly, jihyo begins to turn toward you, her movements guided by the gentle coaxing of your lips against her skin. as she shifts, her hand remains on your head, the gentle pressure of her touch grounding you in the moment. with each kiss, you feel the tension melting away from jihyo's body. 

finally, when she’s turned towards you, you catch her lips with your own. jihyo hums into the kiss, her hand moving from your head to the base of your neck, then to your shoulder. 

you pull away briefly to mutter, “feeling better?” to which jihyo responds by pulling you in by the hem of your jacket, closing the distance again. 

as the kisses between you and jihyo grow soft and slow, a familiar heat begins to build between you. your tongues meet again, this wouldn’t be the first time for sure. 

feeling a surge of need coursing through you, you subtly shift your position, guiding jihyo down until she's reclining on the couch. with a smooth, fluid motion, you position yourself on top of her, your body pressing against hers, heat radiating off the two of you. 

in this moment, you find yourself taking control – in contrast to how it usually goes. as you deepen the kiss, your hands roam freely over jihyo's body, tracing the curves of her figure before sliding your hands under the edge of her shirt. she gasps at the feeling of your fingers on her skin, leaving you to kiss the corner of her mouth and trail down. 

with jihyo beneath you, her body yielding to your touch as you trail kisses down to her neck, you feel a sense of power and satisfaction wash over. you nip gently at her neck – careful not to make any noticeable marks – while she claws at your clothing. 

“baby-- darling, god,” she groans as you nip at the right spot with your teeth. she lets you indulge for a few minutes more, clearly enjoying it as much as you do before halting your actions as you slide your hands up closer to her chest under her shirt. 

you pause, pulling away and looking at her with confusion, “sorry, too much?” 

“never too much,” jihyo assures, placing a hand on your cheek while she catches her breath. “my employees are outside.” 

your eyes widen, then you get the message and mutter, “oh.” 

jihyo giggles at your response before lifting her head up to kiss you deeply again, pulling away with a noticeable sound made from your lips parting. “you’re adorable.” she says before grabbing your phone out your pocket and checking the time briefly. “my nephew isn’t home, so how about we get situated at my place? i should’ve left the office thirty minutes ago.” 

“anything you’d like.” 

- 

with jihyo’s purse in your hand, you follow her into the house. the lights are off and it’s clear that no one’s home, leaving many possible opportunities for the two of you and even more scenarios to run through your head.  

“have you had dinner? and don’t say you’ve had those pastries, that’s not enough darling.” jihyo says lightheartedly, though stern enough to let you know she’s serious. she places her purse on the counter and takes off her blazer, which reveals the shirt hugging her figure neatly. she's looking through the purse now, back faced you and you can’t help but check her out briefly. “if not, i'll order takeout.” 

“that’s perfect.” you respond. jihyo turns towards you and grins, walking over and pecking your lips. 

“yeah, i'll grab us some wine. order anything you’d like, love.” 

“i’ve been craving bento bowls, is something japanese fine?” 

“anything is fine, i'm starving even after that scone.” jihyo giggles, “also, it’s almost six. i have a little work call to answer, but after that we have the rest of tonight and the weekend if you’re not occupied with classes.” 

“perfect, i'll just order for pick up then and then i'll be back in time for us to eat and whatnot. sound okay?”    “that’s lovely, then i'll have to find my favorite wine for us. the best for the best.” 

you giggle before pressing your lips against hers again, pulling away just barely before she closes the distance again. her arms rest on her shoulders as she pushes you closer, then she deepens the kiss. 

without thinking, you move yourselves over so that jihyo’s against the counter, your hands sliding under her shirt yet again and lips sliding down to the soft skin on her neck. she groans at the feeling, tilting her head back to give you more access to her as she tightens her hold on your shoulder. 

“later tonight,” you mutter in between kisses, rubbing circles on her skin under her shirt. “let me help you relax, yeah?” you nip at her skin lightly and she lets out a sharp breath, hand moving to the side of your neck. “let me do the work this time, you deserve to sit back for once.” 

“y/n--” jihyo begins, but is cut off by the sound of a phone ringing against the counter. she groans in frustration; this is the angriest you’ve seen her. her brows furrow and she tenses her jaw as she picks up the phone, then looks at you apologetically. 

“you should take that.” 

 jihyo sighs, then kisses your nose. “you should order dinner.” 

“mhm.” you mumble before kissing her jawline, removing your hands from under her shirt and jihyo whines just barely. her skin seems colder now that your hands aren’t on them, tracing patterns and rubbing up and down the landmarks.  

- 

jihyo gave you the keys before you had left, so you didn’t have to ring the doorbell or anything – you assumed she’d still be on that work call. 

as you enter the room, you find jihyo standing against the counter, her posture tense and her expression drawn with frustration. she's wearing something different: a cropped t-shirt and comfy sweatpants instead of her work attire. with one hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose, while the other holds a phone to her ear. she listens intently, her brow furrowed in concentration, as she navigates the seemingly irritating conversation on the other end of the line. 

one arm crosses defensively while her gaze remains fixed on some distant point on the wood floor. to her left, on the smooth marble countertop, you notice two glasses and an unopened bottle of white wine.  

“yes, i already have my employees on it.” you hear her say, tone stern yet level. “look, according to the results and feedback we’re doing fine, so i don’t understand why this meeting is still in session. i know you want to be secure, but doubting me won’t secure what’s already set. everything is fine, so go talk to samuel if you really want to bicker with someone who can’t do their job. he's been slacking with his unit; i've seen the data. goodbye.” 

a small “ugh” is muttered under her breath before she places the phone down, then looks over to see you standing in the entrance of the hallway. a smile tugs at her lips immediately upon seeing you. 

“two teriyaki salmon bentos for the struggling college student and her beautiful, older, hardworking, hot older woman.” 

jihyo snickers, laughing at your stupid little titles. “calling me old?” 

“well maybe... i’m into that though, so stay old.” 

jihyo rolls her eyes at you, then watches you pull out the to go bowls out onto the table nearby. she walks over herself and brings the glasses and the wine bottle over. before she takes out the cork with her tool, she places a kiss on your cheek and mumbles against you a soft, “thank you.”  

you grin and kiss her back before going back to the kitchen to grab utensils, and then back to the table to sit down next to your lover. 

grabbing the boxes and handing jihyo a spoon, you ask, “how was your day? work seemed rough.” 

a sigh leaves her lips, her aura radiating exhaustion and irriation, yet she stays calm and content before your eyes.   

“just a lot of deadlines and dreadful people to deal with today, but it’s over and you made me feel better.” 

“i’m glad.” you say, putting a hand on her thigh. “let’s eat, maybe you’ll be less exhausted.” to which jihyo responds with a nod and a kiss to your knuckles.  

the sliding door in front of you two gave a great view of the setting sun, which made dinner quite romantic. jihyo shared more about her day, though it was mostly complaints mixed with frustrated grunts and groans when bringing up the men she had to face. you on the other hand, shared some small anecdotes from your shift and your roommate's own drama to jihyo, which she enjoyed listening to. before you knew it, dinner was finished – bowls clean and all, barely any remnants of the food left – which urged you two to throw away the plastic containers and head to the couch to sit and sip on wine. 

jihyo sat beside you and swirled her wine around before sniffing, then took a small sip. you did the same, eyes lighting up from how good it was, which made jihyo laugh. and then the two of you went on to talk about more small things, ranging from what annoyed each of you during the day and things you both looked forward to.  

the next thing you knew, your head was against jihyo’s shoulder, and your now empty glass was set on the table with hers.  

“at least the day is over, hyo.” 

she snickers upon hearing the name, then turns to you with a smile.  

“hyo?” 

“sorry, don’t like that name?” 

“no, i love it. it's cute.” she assures, “adorable.” 

“yeah?” you say, grinning. shifting yourself up to sit up right, you brush a strand of hair behind jihyo’s ear. “any plans tomorrow?” you ask, staring at her lips blatantly. 

“no, what are you up to darling?” 

you giggle and run your hand down to her jaw, placing your thumb on her lip and applying subtle pressure. 

“let me help you relax tonight.” you simply answer, smirking devilishly. “seems like you need it.” 

in no time, your lips make their way over to hers, you kiss her slowly and savor her. she places her hand on your shoulder, gripping slightly as you deepen the kiss.  

your hands find their way under jihyo’s shirt again in no time, though at first, your fingers simply brush against her skin before doing anything big. you're taking your time exploring her, finding out which area on her rib makes her kiss sloppier or her breath shorter. you feel her responding to your touch, her movements becoming more urgent, more fervent. 

jihyo's hands roam over your body in tandem with your own explorations, one hand in your hair and the other on the base of your wrist. you're both consumed by the heat of the moment, kisses with more tongue, breaths heavier, and jihyo’s groans getting louder. it's perfect. 

you create a gap between the two of you after pulling away, your own breath heavy. jihyo looks at you: red, puffy lips and peach colored cheeks from the intimacy.  

looking down at the edge of jihyo’s shirt, you silently ask to take it off by playing with the edge of the fabric. 

“take it off.” she says lowly, almost an order. 

nodding, you slip the shirt off, gazing at her clad chest. 

you've seen her naked before – more than you can count on one hand – yet, she still manages to leave you in awe.  

“fuck, you’re beautiful.” you sigh, immediately making your way over to her neck. “i could have you like this all day.” you groan against her skin, right before sucking near her pulse point so harshly to the point where she moans your name out, subconsciously gripping your hair and tugging so roughly it hurts your scalp.  

blindly, you start to unclasp her bra, discarding it somewhere in the room – you could care less where it landed – and tending to the new area exposed. 

a brush of your finger on her nipple already has it perked up, making her groan loudly. saying it’s music to your ears would be an understatement, it’s better than any symphony. 

“y/n, baby,” jihyo moans, feeling a wetness pooling down in between her legs. “ah-”   

your mouth lands on her chest, then down to her tits. you press a chaste kiss to her tits, making her look down at you with furrowed brows and parted lips. with full eye contact, you travel to the swell of her breast, finding your way to her nipple and swirling your tongue around. the way you suck on her sensitivity is enough to make her groan right in front of your face. the way her mouth gapes and oh, how lovely she sounds; you could get used to this for sure.  

and later you pay attention to her other breast, treating it with the same care and evoking more lewd sounds from the older woman. the way she folds under your touch, twitching and slowly losing herself while she’s weak to you; jihyo could use more rest days, especially ones that have hours dedicated to you indulging in her. 

moments later, after earning at least a song’s duration of jihyo’s indescribable pleasure seeping from her lips, you decide to look at the mess you’ve made.  

marks of pink ranging to a darker red – even a near purple – are littered all over her skin, from her neck to all over her chest area. you bite your lip at the sight, rubbing your finger along a few of the hickeys. 

“y/n, baby,” jihyo starts, looking at you intensely. “shirt off, down on the couch now. don't make me ask twice.” she orders breathlessly, narrowing her eyes and expecting immediate obedience – which she receives without question. 

despite how much you’ve riled up and left her, she still has that natural authority. there's absolutely no way you could disobey her, at the end of the day, no matter what you’ve done to her; you belong to jihyo now, no doubt. 

“yes ma’am.”   

as you slip the shirt off in one motion, jihyo uses that short duration of time to slip off her comfortable pants, discarding them and slipping her panties off. she watches you – who's watching her in return – you're propped up by your elbows as you watch her sit on your lap, feeling your pussy throb just from the feeling of her bare cunt on the denim covering your heat. 

“good girl, always. you know how to listen to me, glad you know your place.” 

“of course.” you say, looking at her with desperate eyes. 

“you know how i've told you about today, yeah? it was so difficult, so many incompetent people. you’re going to listen to me, okay? you're gonna let mommy use you just like the good girl you are, got it?” 

taken aback by the new title, you hesitate to respond, too entranced by the sight in front of you: jihyo completely naked, on your nap, with her hands resting on your abdomen to hold herself up. when she doesn’t get a response from you, she grinds harshly against your lap, earning a pathetic whine from you. 

she presses her hand down on your abdomen harder, earning a sharp breath from your lips. 

“you answer me when i talk to you, i won’t say this again.” 

“y-yes, sorry.” 

she leans closer, her face above yours and gaze sharp. “yes who?” 

with no hesitation, you correct yourself. “yes mommy, i'm sorry, i'll be a good girl from now on.” 

jihyo smiles, pleased to say the least. 

“down on the couch then honey, on your back.” she says gently, though there’s still that stern tone.  

you gulp, then nod. jihyo smiles as you set your head down, putting your arms off to the side so your hands can gently caress her thighs. she gets up on her knees, repositioning herself so that her cunt is hovering above your chin, then stroking your cheek lightly. you look at her with puppy eyes, silently begging for her to let you get a taste; she gets the message almost immediately, then sets her cunt right above your mouth. 

your hands reach for the sides of her waist, moving her down just an inch so you can get a taste of her arousal.  

she groans again, throwing her head back before looking back at you with creased brows: your cheeks are red, your eyes are closed, and you’re humming against her while you eat her out ravenously. the last time you had eaten someone out had been a while ago, and jihyo’s been the one fucking you to oblivion since the first night with her. you're following her body, sliding your tongue up her folds and sucking on her clit once you reach. she gasps and grips your hair the way you like it, rough and demanding. her nails dig into your scalp, and you let out a little moan yourself, turned on just as much as you are when she’s doing everything to you. 

attentive to the sounds she’s making, you keep doing what earns the more pleasing reactions. she's griding against the flat of your tongue, forcibly pushing your mouth into her wetness the more you indulge. she's moaning louder, her deep, mature voice growing breathy and higher pitched the more you please her.  

and then she shifts your lips over to the left side of her clit, so you suck and lick and groan until the living room is filled with the sound of squelches of her pussy and your mouth coming into contact mixed with moans that fade into nothing as they’re caught in throats. jihyo's cursing more and more, holding you in one spot with that one hand gripping onto your hair like there’s no tomorrow whilst she grinds herself on your tongue and completely uses you. 

“y/n, y/n darling, honey, fuck, ah-!” she cries out, shaking until she isn’t, propping herself up with one hand on your hip bone and the other loosening her grip on your now disheveled hair. she grinds slowly now, still stimulating the aching between her legs whilst you clean up all her climax with your tongue.  

slowly, you take your time licking up her folds, savoring her. a press to her clit later and you're pressing more on her inner thigh until she shifts herself off your face and back to your lap.  

she runs a hand through her hair – some strands sticking to her forehead.  

you catch your breath, then sit up a little bit, jihyo still in your lap.  

“feeling better?” you ask, your hand settling on her explosed ribcage before moving up to cup the bottom of her tit.  

“much better.” she grins, fixing the hair she’s ruined. strands fall over your face, she runs a few fingers through to fix it up again.  

laughing, you lean closer to press a kiss to her lips, smirking once you part away. 

“y/n,” jihyo begins, twirling a piece of hair with her fingers. “you’ll be a good girl, right?” 

you nod. 

“good, because the night isn’t over.” she says menacingly, looking at you with darkened pupils. “on the ground, on your knees. you're gonna eat mommy out until she’s satisfied, got it?” 

“yes ma’am, yes mommy.” you say, immediately switching positions.  

jihyo watches you move over to the ground, the visible patch of arousal apparent on your denim as you kneel. she traces down the grooves of your torso, indulging in the sight before sitting back and spreading her legs.  

seeing her like this, you lick your lips. you're like an obedient puppy, eager to receive her approval and eager to serve her in any way she sees fit. 

jihyo raises her brows at the sight and smiles devilishly at how pathetic you look. she gives you the green light after relishing your submission.  

“eat.” 

- 

just like every other morning, you’re stuck in jihyo’s bed half naked. some sports bra covers the upper half of your body, and boy shorts hug the skin just below your waist. the older woman’s hands are wrapped around your waist, one hand sitting on the exposed hip bone that pops out, and she’s warm against you, her chest rising and falling against your back. 

shifting subtly in your place, you turn over to face her.  

her face is bare, no makeup on and it’s just jihyo before you. she's rubbing her hands on the exposed skin on your hip, mumbling something groggily under her breath. it's been a while since you’ve seen her like this – it's been a bit since you’ve been alone with her, really alone, just the two of you and no one else or worry of interruption. 

“mm, honey,” jihyo mumbles, and you can’t tell if she’s awake or asleep while saying this. “closer.” 

“okay.” 

you find your nose in the crook of her neck, smelling faint hints of lavender while you press closing. she rubs your shoulder with her thumb, tracing patterns and shapes you can’t really put a name on. the sun hits her eyes, you hear a little groan, and then a little yawn that gives you the hint that she’s fully awake. 

a hand finds itself tangled in your hair, then massages your scalp. “did you sleep alright?” jihyo asks, voice gentle and caring as she holds you. 

“i slept great, you?” 

“wonderfully.”  

a kiss is pressed to your forehead and fingers play with the rim of your boy shorts. a soft smile plays across your face, you close your eyes and breathe out. 

“sweetheart.” jihyo hums, tapping your shoulder.  

“hm?” 

“i realized i've never really, fully expressed how thankful i am for you.”  

upon hearing jihyo’s sentimental words, you pull away from where your face had been nestled, face to face with jihyo now. 

“what?” 

“i haven’t been that, well--” jihyo’s face flushes – to oyur surprise – she looks down at your clad chest, then back at your eyes. “relaxed. you helped me unwind, thank you.” 

you can’t help but giggle, finidng all of this so cute. jihyo had been ordering you around last night, moaning so loud the neighbors probably heard. you can still feel a little ache in your scalp from how roughly she was pulling at your hair; everything about the night before was so lewd. it's funny how vulnerable and cute jihyo’s being right now, letting her heart do the talking. 

“you’re adorable, hyo.” you sigh, looking at her with admiration. “i’m glad i was there to help, and i'm looking forward to helping out whenever you want.” 

“y/n.” jihyo begins, placing her hand on your cheek and looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “will you be my girlfriend?” 

giggling again upon hearing the seriousness in her voice and the adorable look on her face, you nod. 

“of course.” 

- 

- 

at the end of the weekend – a beautiful sunday evening, the sky painted hues of pink and purple – you’re in your desginated spot: the passenger’s side of jihyo’s car. 

both of you sit in silence as jihyo exits the freeway, some pop song playing on the radio. her hand is intertwined with yours, elbows sitting on the little compartment that seperates the two seats. she's humming along and it’s music to your ears, you’re smiling ear to ear as you watch her. 

sunglasses sit on the crown of her head, her side profile staying in its place while the scenery behind her flashes by as the car moves forward. she's beautiful. 

once you reach your apartment complex, jihyo parks somewhere close.  

“don’t move, just stay there.” you warn her, sounding all serious and looking at her with raised brows. 

“darling, what?” she asks, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she giggles once you leave the car hurriedly, rushing towards the other side to open her door. 

“miss park.” you say, putting your hand out. jihyo laughs, amused at your little gesture. she takes your hand and steps out, rolling her eyes at you. 

“you’re unbelieveable.” 

“well, after seeing how scared everyone was at your work place the other day, i feel like i should treat you better.” 

“you’re my girlfriend, not my employee y/n.” jihyo scoffs, then kisses the back of your hand.  

once you make it to your apartment, you knock on the door, waiting for the familiar face to open the door for you.  

sarah opens the door a few seconds later, eyes widnening upon seeing you and jihyo right in front of her – hands holding and all.  

“oh my god you really did manage to get with her.” sarah says in disbelief, making you roll oyur eyes and the little comment making jihyo snicker. “you’re jihyo? wow, oh my god, you look so young – i mean, you are, like--” 

“i get what you mean, thank you.” jihyo responds lightheartedly, smiling at the woman in front of her.  

the two of you step in and sarah is still examining jihyo, baffled by how unreal she looks – and wow, your descriptions and rambles about this woman did not prepare her for this meeting. jihyo sets herself down on the couch and sarah pulls you to the side quickly before the two of you join her. 

“oh my god when you said older woman i didn’t expect godly cheekbones, jawline sharper than a knife, and fucking luxury to show up holding your hand.” 

“she’s amazing.” 

“ugh, you’re drooling.” sarah sighs. 

you smile at your roommate like a proud little kid, pushing her lightly before joining your now girlfriend on the couch.

maybe majoring in education was worth it, you think to yourself as you watch sarah grin at the two of you from across where you’re sitting. despite your dreadful research papers, essays, and mock lectures – all of it was worth it if it meant meeting jihyo.  

sarah puts a leg over the other, leaning back against the smaller seat in your living room. 

“you know, y/n has been gushing over you since like, the first time she tutored your nephew. she's kept me up at night just talking about--” 

“sarah!” 

[sixpennydame]

dark side of the moon⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ [chapter 2]

Pairing: Yakuza!Levi x F!reader

Word count: 6.2k

Newly out of prison, Levi is thrown back into life in the yakuza.

Series Content/Warnings: mafia/yakuza AU, flashbacks, slow burn, mystery, cyberpunk, sci fi, non-binary Hange Zoe, eventual smut, dark content, graphic violence and sexual content

Author's Note: A huge thank you to my beta reader @bitchymanlet - you were such a big help through this!

next chapter/masterlist/AO3

“Inmate 012025, Ackerman. It’s time.”

With a loud thud, the heavy, titanium doors slide open, and bright light fills the small cell.

”Hands against the back wall. Make it quick.”

Levi stands up and walks to the back of his cell. With a sigh he raises his hands and presses them against the wall.

Immediately a guard grabs his arms and places them behind his back, before clicking the cold cuffs around his wrists.

“Don’t give us any trouble now, Ackerman.”

As if he would do something today, of all days.

The two guards lead him down the corridor, past all the other cell doors; Levi can feel the other inmates staring out from the tiny window on their cell door. Their eyes follow him, wild and predatory.

But Levi Ackerman had never been their prey.

One of the guards presses a code into a keypad and another heavy door opens. There’s a series of offices, all behind thick-plated, forcefield glass.  The three men move toward a desk where a woman with blue hair, deep wrinkles and uninterested eyes types in the air. With a blink of her eyes, the screen before her disappears.

”Ackerman, Levi?”

Levi nods and the woman takes a device that scans his eye, confirming his identity. 

“Hold out your right hand.”

He does so, while she scans another device over his wrist. There’s a sharp sting, and then the glowing tattoo of his inmate number - 012025 - was gone.

“That takes care of the detection device implanted inside your wrist,” she informs in a monotone voice.

Levi touches the silver button behind his left ear. “What about my cerebral comm system?” 

“It’s been completely deleted. You’ll have to have someone reactivate it.”

The woman moves to a back room and returns with a large vinyl bag.

”Here are your belongings. You can change there.” She gestures to a door just outside their office cluster. 

Levi takes the items, walks to the room and closes the door. He steps out of the grey prison jumpsuit and stands there in just his underwear, looking at the stack of clothing he hasn’t seen or felt in almost five years: a black t-shirt, black combat pants, boots, socks..

He puts on each item, and wonders if he’ll feel different - if he’ll revert back to the man he used to be before he was put behind titanium bars.

But he doesn’t feel different. He doesn’t feel….anything.

When he finishes dressing, the guards walk him to the outer gate of the prison. The forcefield comes down and Levi takes his first step outside as a free man.

”You’re late. I’ve been waiting out here for over 30 minutes,” comes a voice from behind him.

Levi turns to see a tall man with sandy brown hair leaning against a cherry red vehicle. “I thought you’d done something to get another year added to your sentence.”

”Tch, as if I had any say in what time they’d release me.”

”You look like shit.”

”Takes a piece of shit to know one.” 

Both men glare at each other, then the tall one smirks. “Good to see you again, Levi.” He pats him on the shoulder.

”You too, Farlan..” Levi replies warmly.

”Come on, let’s get you out of here.” 

The car’s engine purrs as Farlan weaves in and out of traffic. Levi is enveloped by the leather seat, the glow of the neon accents inside reflecting off of Farlan’s dark suit coat.

”Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” Levi says.

“The last few years I’ve been managing all our legit businesses, making sure they look good on paper. At least good enough that nobody will snoop around further.”

”So you’re a paper pusher,” Levi remarks. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

”Beats fixing the books for underground gambling rings,” Farlan answers defensively. “It’s the same concept though, just a different arena. I’m suited for this.”

Farlan had always been smart. He knew how to work the angles and how to get people to let down their guard.

They’d met at the orphanage they were both put in during one of Neo Tokyo’s efforts to, “alleviate the growing population of homeless children littering the city’s streets.” Farlan had convinced Levi that his calorie bar - the only thing they received for dinner - was infested with invisible larvae and that if he gave it to him he'd get another one. Finally figuring out he’d been conned, the next day he punched Farlan in the face and took his daily ration. 

They’d been friends ever since. 

During their teenage and young adult years with the Ackerman clan, everyone knew their names. They had their hands in almost every backalley operation - from gambling to fights and everything in between.

And if Farlan had been the brains of their operation, then Levi was the brawn. Farlan could shake people down through intellect, and when that didn’t work, Levi would beat them to a pulp. Together, they were feared and respected.

They had been equals. But now, after five years, Levi felt left behind.

“So where are you taking me? I need a shower.” Levi scrunches his nose at the musty smell emanating from his clothing.

”To your apartment. I made sure they didn’t touch anything. It’s all there as you left it.”

”Probably a dusty mess…but thanks for looking after the place.”

”Wasn’t that hard. Not like you had much stuff in there.”

”…and Isabel?” Levi asks tentatively, afraid to know the answer.

”Still functioning, and still entirely devoted to you. She could barely contain her excitement today.”

Levi felt a rush of relief. He never thought he’d feel any sort of affection for an android, but Isabel was different. She was a friend and comrade, and had saved his ass on more than one occasion, stitching up his cuts and gashes from a fight or standing beside him during a back alley brawl. But he was often surprised by how human she behaved sometimes, tearing up when she’d see a dead animal on the side of the road, or stealing food to give to a needy family. 

Sometimes he thought she was more human than he was. 

The buildings grew higher and higher the closer they got to the city center, their reach seeming to pierce the orange-red sky of the late afternoon. The next thing he knew, Farlan was pulling up to his apartment building, both of them entering the elevator decorated with layers upon layers of graffiti, and finally walking down the hallway and standing in front of his apartment door. 

It was finally hitting him. He was free.

”I bought you some suits, hopefully they fit. Though you do look like you’ve bulked up a bit.”

”Not much else to do in prison but exercise. I tried to train as much as I could, too. I wanna get back into the ring.” 

“After all this, you still want to fight?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just…nevermind. Take a shower, get dressed,” Farlan hesitates. “Oyabun wants to see you this evening.”

“Oyabun…” Levi repeats, the word turning sour in his mouth. “Your professionalism is getting on my nerves. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m some new recruit.” 

“That’s who he is, Levi. He deserves our respect.”

Levi grimaces. “So Kenny’s pulling my leash already, huh?”

”Levi.. I know things were…strained between the two of you before, but he kept you protected while you were in prison.”

”Bullshit.”

”Believe what you want.” Farlan waves his hand in surrender before walking towards the door. “I’ll be back this evening.”

”Don’t bother, I can drive there myself. Where’s my bike?”

“It needed some tuning up since it’s been out of commission for so long. Isabel’s getting it ready for you.” Farlan turns to grin at his friend. “So you’re stuck with being chauffeured by me just a little longer. See you in a few hours.”

The door shuts and Levi is surrounded by silence. It’s a different sound than he’s used to; even though it’s the space he lived in for years, it feels unfamiliar and new.

His eyes scan the room; it really was exactly as he left it. Always the minimalist, his small sofa nestled in a corner across from a dining table with two chairs. No pictures, no books; the only personal item was an antique ceramic teapot and two cups.

”Petra.”

Suddenly, the lights fade up in the room, as if the apartment itself was coming to life.

”Welcome back, Levi,” the female voice resonates in the space, “it’s good to have you back. I haven’t been activated in such a long time.”

”Yeah, I’ve been…away.”

”Shall I prepare you some tea?”

”That’d be great,” Levi pulls off his shirt, “but I’d like to take a bath first.”

There’s a chime of recognition and then, “The bath water is ready. Please relax, sir.”

”Thanks.”

Levi had always felt prompted to treat Petra respectfully, even though he knew she was just an apartment AI - an assistant built into almost every home in Neo Tokyo. But it was so rare for him to hear a kind word from anyone in his life, so hearing her voice made him feel like he was being reunited with an old friend.

He takes off his clothes and turns on the shower, taking a sponge to wash away the dirt and grime from his body and hoping in some small way, that it might wash away some of the memories as well. 

But those proved harder to get rid of. He knew only time could do that.

He finally sinks into the steaming bath water and a heavy sigh escapes his lips; he can feel his muscles relaxing with the heat, years of built up tension slowly melting away. The Martians of Neo Tokyo knew what an important resource water was, but now Levi felt it in his very bones. 

Stepping out of the bath, he looked at his naked body in the mirror. He was bulkier than he was five years ago, Farlan was right about that. His lean, muscular frame, useful for street fighting and cage matches, was now replaced by more defined arms and chest; it was noticeable now, even beneath the tattoos swirling on his body. 

A giant eagle, designed in the classical Japanese style, stretched across the length and width of his back; its wings outstretched and talons out, as if attacking prey. A red moon shone from his right shoulder and clouds wrapped around his torso, swirling up his abs and around his pectoral muscles. Over his left pec was the Ackerman clan crest, the Japanese character for power, 力, encased inside a circle.

That had been his first tattoo, when he was initiated into the Ackerman clan as a teenager. That felt like an eternity ago now.

His yakuza tattoos covered many of the scars Levi had received throughout his life, but there were new scars from his years of incarceration. He collected them all like badges of honor; evidence that he’d survived another day.

He found his electric shaver and erased the light stubble growing on his face, then decided to shave his undercut again, just like he’d always had it. But this time, he kept his hair slightly longer than it had been before. He slicked it back with a comb, exposing the sharp features of his face - flawless, except for one scar running through his right eyebrow, breaking it in two and barely missing his eye.

He’d forgotten how he'd received most of his scars, but that one…

…he’d never forget that night.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walks to his bedroom.

”Petra, I’ll take that tea now. Green jasmine.”

”Right away,” she responds. 

As Farlan had promised, there were several suits hanging in the small closet. The yakuza were old fashioned, and clan members always preferred the look of the classic, tailored suit, in contrast to the bright and bold fashions prevalent on the streets of the city. Levi scans each one and decides on a dark navy blue suit with a white shirt. In a drawer are several ties, but he decides to forgo them and instead keeps the top two buttons undone, slightly exposing his chest tattoos that start just under his collarbone.

If Kenny wants him to wear a suit then he’ll do it his way.

He rummages through another drawer and finds his gold earring stud. The hole in his ear has grown smaller but he pushes it through, wincing just a bit as it breaks through skin. He welcomes the pain, though. Pain has always made him feel alive.

“Your tea is ready, sir.”

Levi takes the tea cup from the food preparation compartment and eases into a chair that’s facing his balcony window. How long has it been since he’s had a steaming cup? Tea wasn’t the type of contraband that could be obtained in prison, no matter what an inmate had to trade. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip, breathing in the aroma.

”These are imported leaves from off-planet. Where did you get them?”

Petra blinks on. “Mr. Church wanted to make sure that you had the best for your homecoming.”

Levi’s lips turn upward into a faint smirk. 

Farlan.

He guesses his old friend can afford things like this now. No more slumming it like they did when they were kids. He’d made his way in the world, and now Levi wanted to as well.

But first things first…

He finishes his tea then grabs his suit jacket. “Petra, I’ll be back later,” he says to the room, before stepping out of his apartment and into the city streets. The sun was just starting to set, creating a copper glow to the sky as it reflected off the high rise buildings and skyscrapers. Neo Tokyoites filled the sidewalks, bustling from one place to the next, but no one drifted an eye toward Levi as he walked along the city streets - just another face in the crowd. 

The city hadn’t changed much since Levi had left it, but even if it had, he could make it to his destination with his eyes closed. He takes a right, then a left, turning into a narrow alley and scaring a cat or two before arriving at an unmarked door. 

He knocks once, a pause, then two more quick knocks.

There’s commotion on the other side of the door, as if someone is scrambling towards it. Then it bolts open.

“Aniki! I knew you’d come!”

A small red-headed young woman throws her arms around Levi’s neck, practically throwing his body across the alley. 

“See? Didn’t I tell you he’d come right away?” she boasts as she pulls him through the space Levi had once used for training. His punching bag was still there, gathering cobwebs in the corner, along with his other training equipment, but the rest of the room was now littered with electronics and various tools.

And sitting in another corner was Farlan, scrolling through his comm device as he lounged in one of the only chairs in the entire space.

“Isabel knew you wouldn’t stay in your apartment for long, so I thought I might as well just wait for you here. Saves me a trip, anyway.” Farlan smirks.

Isabel can hardly contain her excitement. “The trio is back together, just like old times!”

Old times…Levi thinks as he looks around the space. Everything - and he’s sure everyone - has changed, but it’s a relief to see that Isabel is still the same. 

Levi puts his hand on the top of her head. “Glad to see that Kenny didn’t get rid of you once I was arrested.”

“What? No way! Farlan got me out of there the moment you were busted. He’s been getting me steady work ever since, working on bikes and cars, even some augments here and there.” Her face beams, “Kenny may have thought me a useless android, but I’ve been making my own way.”

That also gave Levi some relief. Throughout these past years, he’d wondered what had become of the spunky little android he’d saved from the wrecking yard. 

Levi had always had a soft spot for things that were considered broken beyond repair. 

“Isabel, I need you to reboot my cerebral comm connection.” 

“Oh yeah, yeah, not a problem.” Isabel takes his hand again and leads him to a part of the room with a computer connected to a multitude of cables. 

Levi sits on what looks almost like an examining table, leaning his face into the light above. “You’ve got quite the set up here.”

“Since I’m not a certified augmentation android, I have to stay under the radar, so most of my clients come from Farlan or from word of mouth.” 

Isabel rolls her chair over to Levi. “Just turn your head to the right for me…” One of her small hands finds the silver button behind his left ear and with one swipe of her tool, pops it out.

 “Let’s see what I can do here..”

There’s a slight sense of pressure as Isabel sticks a cable into the port, connecting Levi to her computer. She rolls back over to her station, clicking her keyboard methodically.  

“All your contacts are still here…at least they didn’t try to wipe your memory for names and information.”

“Oh they tried,” Levi remarks, “but it didn’t work. Seems my Ackerman genes are good for more than just kicking people’s asses.”

“I bet that pissed them off,” Farlan adds, still scrolling through the air with his pointer finger as images only he can see moves across his eyes.

“Almost there..” Isabel says, intensely concentrated on her computer screen.

There’s a few more clicks of her keyboard, and then Levi feels a slight jolt of electricity through his head.

“And that should be it.” Isabel rolls back over the Levi, disconnecting him and replacing the silver button. “You should be connected to your old contact list now.”

“Thanks.” Levi pats her head again and she grins from ear to ear. 

“I’ll have your bike ready for you tomorrow.” The red-head responds while Levi gets up from the examining table. Farlan gets up, giving both of them a look that says it’s time to go. As Isabel walks them to the door she puts a tentative hand on Levi’s arm.

“Aniki…once the word is out that you’ve been released, people are going to wonder when you’ll start fighting again.” 

“That’s a good question, and one I’m about to get an answer to,” he responds. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The Ackerman Clan headquarters was housed in a nondescript, four-story building, just on the outskirts of the entertainment district. The only thing that made it stand out from the other business buildings was the Ackerman crest emblazoned next to the door; no other signs were needed, and inhabitants of Neo Tokyo didn’t have to be fluent in Japanese to know its meaning…

Power. The word that’s synonymous with Ackerman.

Farlan pulls up and the door to his car lifts up automatically. “Oyabun is in his office - I assume you remember where everything is.”

“You’re not coming in.”

“Nah, not this time. Kenny wanted to meet with you privately, and I have a meeting to get to, anyway. I’ll see you later this evening.”

Levi steps out of the car, straightening his suit jacket before stepping up to the door. The moment he touches the handle the door unlocks for him.

At least he knows he hasn’t been completely shut out of the organization.

There are voices coming from the second floor - new recruits, most likely, being made to clean and prepare dinner for the evening. Levi remembered the hierarchical structure well; it was something he’d also had to go through in his teenage years. But unlike the others here, he wasn’t recruited into this clan.

It was something he was born into.

The elevator takes him to the top floor, which was reserved entirely for the clan’s leader. Levi walks through the empty reception area and knocks on the office door.

“Come in,” a low, gravelly voice answers.

Behind the door is a room split in half; the front part serving as a reception area and in the back, a broad desk surrounded by pictures of past leaders. The man behind the desk grins broadly then stands up, gesturing to Levi to come in. His face shares many of the same features as Levi: a sharp profile and even sharper eyes of a stormy grey hue. He’s taller than Levi, however, and leaner, with a powerful aura that fills the entire space.  

“Look who’s back from the dead,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Levi scoffs at the phrase, but it’s true; the last few years in prison made him feel like a corpse, a half-life that dragged on and on. In a way, he has been resurrected.

“Kenny…” he says sharply, “you wanted to see me.”

”Of course I did! It’s not every day that I can celebrate the release of my nephew from prison.” He gives Levi a once-over. “You survived with all your limbs, that’s good. And you look strong,” he frowns, “but not any taller.”

Kenny laughs at his own joke and then offers for Levi to sit, but he refuses, standing in front of the broad desk with his arms crossed. 

“And no better sense of humor either,” Kenny deadpans before sitting on the edge of his desk. “Always so serious. But no matter…let’s get right to business.”

At that, Levi finally sits, though he’s on edge and alert, not sure where this conversation might go.

Kenny walks behind his desk where a katana sword is displayed. He picks it up and slowly removes it from the sheath.

“You know, Levi, we Ackermans have been feared for our strength for generations, even before we were yakuza. This power has shaped us into what we are today. I’ve been preparing you to take on this role someday, but you’ve been a pain in my ass from the beginning: disobedient, disorderly, and headstrong. That fire in you needed to be beaten into submission.”

Light glistens off the katana as Kenny moves about the room. “I let you do those cage matches because it gave you a purpose and kept you compliant. But when you started earning huge sums of money, and weren’t paying your dues to me and your brothers - well, that just wouldn’t do.”

Kenny stands in front of Levi now, the katana held loosely at his side. “I hope your time in prison taught you a thing or two about respect, Levi. What I say, goes. Always.”

He pauses, as if expecting to get some sort of reply from Levi, but gets none.

“You were supposed to lose that match - that was the deal we’d set - not beat the humanoid within an inch of his life. You lost me an incredible amount of money, and respect from the Reiss Agency. So you needed to be taught a lesson.”

Levi’s hands ball into fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He takes a deep breath before he responds. “Consider the lesson learned. When can I start fighting again?”

“Fighting?” Kenny laughs. “You think I’m gonna put you in the ring again after that stunt you pulled? Abso-fucking-lutely not. It’s time you started preparing for a bigger leadership role.”

Levi grits his teeth. He wants to grab that katana Kenny holds and slice him right down the middle. 

He could do it - he’s strong, probably stronger than Kenny now. He could do it and finally be free. 

He takes a breath. No, this isn’t the time.

Be smart…

Kenny presses a button on his desk and a few seconds later, a tall, blonde woman enters.

“Sir,” she says in a stern, serious voice.

“Levi, you remember Caven. She’s my wakagashira now.” He grins. “The title you should have had. I suppose you’ll have to usurp her someday.” Levi can tell that it gives Kenny no greater joy than to think of the two of them fighting for the role and for his approval. 

Caven’s eyes slide towards Levi, her body on edge, as if Kenny could call for them to fight any minute. Kenny laughs. “But that’s a problem for another day. Caven, introduce Levi to the new shatei - he’ll be in charge of them now.”

At that, Levi stands up. “What? I don’t want to be in charge of some brats.”

“Oh, but you will, Levi. Because what I say goes.” Kenny’s eyes darken and his voice lowers. He walks towards Levi, looking down at him, the katana still in his hand. “Got it?”

Levi looks away, wordlessly conceding to Kenny’s demand. He turns to follow Caven out of the office.

”I guess this is when I’m supposed to welcome you back,” she says coldly.

”Don’t bother. We don’t have to pretend that we like each other.”

They both walk down the stairs to the second floor. “I’m not sure what you mean, Levi. You’re my brother. We’re all family here - or did you forget that while you were in prison?” 

Levi clicks his tongue at the statement. He always thought the yakuza’s obsession with family laughable; if this was supposed to be a family, then it was the most dysfunctional one he’d ever known. 

Not that he’d really ever known anything else.

The brief times he’d ever felt the true bonds of family was when he was with Farlan and Isabel, or as a small child, when it was just him and his mother. But those years were fading from his memory with every year he grew older.

“Speaking of which,” Caven opens the door to the second floor, where there are clattering and raised voices coming from the living area.

”I told you to clean this place up!”

”I did! Why can’t we just have androids do this?”

”There are no androids here, idiot. Oyabun is against it. Now hurry up, our brothers are gonna be here soon.”

Caven pinches the bridge of nose and gives a heavy sigh. “Connie! Jean! Get out here.”

Two young men emerge from the room: one on the smaller side, with silvery grey hair and a buzz cut; the other tall and lanky, his light brown hair growing slighting over his undercut. 

They both look at each other then at Levi, mouths slightly agape. Caven clears her throat, clearly disappointed at their sudden lack of manners.

”Connie, Jean, this is Levi. He’ll be your big brother from now on and will prepare you to be a true member of the clan.”

”Levi… Ackerman…we heard all about you,” Jean says, bowing deeply. When he sees Connie still standing there staring, he pulls him down as well. “It’s an honor, sir…uh, aniki.”

They both stay in a bow and Levi shifts uncomfortably. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

”Take them around on neighborhood patrols and payment collections. You know, standard stuff.” Caven raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve forgotten the basics.”

Levi gives Caven a cold look, then walks over to his new younger brothers, their bodies still at a ninety degree angle. 

“Ok, that’s enough. You don’t have to bow to me.” Levi looks around the space as they stand up. “You were cleaning?”

Jean rubs the back of his head nervously. “Yeah…then we were gonna start cooking dinner after we finish this…”

Levi’s discerning eyes continue to survey the room, seeing every hairball and clump of dirt left behind. “Oh, you are nowhere near finished.” He hangs up his suit jacket. “You. Baldy.” His finger points at Connie. “Go get the mop. Jacques – ”

“...it’s Jean, sir..” 

“-- get a rag and start wiping everything down.”

“But we just cleaned —,” Connie interjects, but when Levi glances towards him, his mouth clamps shut.

“I’ll leave you all to it, then,” Caven says, sauntering away. “Good luck, you two.”

Connie and Jean immediately start their tasks. Levi rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

”I’m sure you’ve heard lots of things about me, but one thing you should know right now: I do not tolerate filth.”

”Yes, aniki!” They both answer.

”I’ll start on dinner prep. You two join me when you finish here.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s not long until other clan members start ambling into the building for dinner. Levi hears their voices before he sees them, and the corners of his mouth curl into a slight smile.

”It smells cleaner in here! Could it be?” 

A tall man with long, blonde hair strides into the kitchen. “If it’s not the man himself! Oi! Levi’s back, everyone!”

“Pipe down, Eld, the whole damn neighborhood can hear you,” Levi chides, before shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Shit, I don’t believe my eyes. Levi!” Another man enters, patting Levi on the back generously. 

“Gunther..”

“It’s about time they let you out..” comes a lackadaisical voice from the back. Levi turns to see a third man, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. 

“Well you know, Oluo, I had to get back here and beat your ass back into shape.”

Eld and Gunther laugh, but Oluo frowns. “Come on, Levi, I’m a lot stronger now. You’ll see.”

Levi feels a bit uncomfortable with all this attention on him, but it’s expected; these are men he’d known since they were new recruits. He’d done jobs with them, showed them how to take a punch and even give them when needed. It’s amazing how much they’ve changed in just these few years.

He wonders what else has changed in this organization. 

“I see you’ve met the little brothers,” Eld says, grabbing Connie and putting him in a headlock.

“I’m in charge of them, actually.”

“Damn,” Oluo laughs. “Hope you two are up for it.”

“Up for what?” Jean asks.

Oluo smirks as he sits down with the others at the table. “For the daily ass beatings you’re gonna get if you don’t keep the damn place spotless.”

Everyone laughs except Connie, Jean, and Levi, who looks at his two little brothers. “They are right about that.”

Connie and Jean eat their food quietly, listening to the stories being told around the table by the others about Levi. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably; he doesn’t particularly like being talked about like he’s some history report, but he’s content enough to listen, especially as the conversation shifts to updates on the clan and its newest exploits.

Hours pass with more stories being told and alcohol being drunk, until Caven walks through the door, a serious look on her face.

“There’s been a disturbance at Club Azure. Some members of the Jaeger Clan are causing a scene and harassing the hostesses. Levi, Kenny wants you to take care of it.”

Before Levi can even respond or refuse, she’s on her way out the door, but stops, glancing at him behind her shoulder. “And take Connie and Jean with you.”

“Fucking Jaeger Clan, thinking they can mess around on our territory,” Gunther says, his hands balling into fists. “Unfortunately for them, Levi’s back.”

Without a word, Levi gets up from the table and grabs his jacket.

“Those Jaegers won’t know what hit ‘em,” Oluo adds. 

“Come on,” Levi finally says to his two brothers, who scramble away from the table and file behind him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Levi hadn’t realized how much time had gone by that evening until he stepped out into the brightly lit streets of the entertainment district. Signs flashed and holograms coaxed patrons to step inside their clubs, while drunks stumbled around them, yelling about which bar to hit up next. 

Pachinko parlors, night clubs and host and hostess bars lit up every corner of every block; and when these institutions closed in the early morning light, there was still entertainment to be found in the sex clubs and soap lands. 

And every one of them was protected by the Ackerman Clan.

“Does Hange still own Club Azure?” Levi asks as they make their way to the club, an easy walk from the clan headquarters.

“Yeah,” Jean answers, “but I’ve heard times have been tough over there.”

“Tough for a lot of the clubs these days, I heard,” Connie adds. “Members of the Jaeger Clan have been busting shit up around here recently and scaring customers away.”

Levi wants to ask more about this Jaeger Clan, but they’ve already arrived at the doors of the club. By the time the three men enter, there are raised voices amidst the smooth jazz music.

“We got ourselves a non-aug!”

Levi hears a voice say over the others. He looks over to the source of the noise and sees a man - probably no more than nineteen or twenty - being slapped by one of the hostesses.

“Don’t you touch me,” the woman says.

A few seconds later, he sees the man backhand the woman.

And that’s when something ignites in Levi.

“Stay here,” he says to Connie and Jean, wasting no time in walking toward the disturbance. The man grabs the woman’s face hard, saying something about not fucking with the Jaeger clan.

“Oi.”

From then on, Levi goes into combat mode, the rest of the world fading away as he throws the man across the room. He senses the rest of the men gathering around him; he deals with them one by one, barely breaking a sweat.

The leader reaches for a weapon in his jacket, but Levi is faster, his knife in his hand in the blink of an eye.

Even in the heat of the moment, his breathing is calm, his heartbeat is steady, and his concentration is laser focused. He feels his strength coursing through him.

The feeling of his fist against skin, his punches sending a resounding crack across the room…

This is who he is. This is what he does.

He blinks a few times when he sees them scrambling away, the room incredibly silent, until - 

“Thank you so much, um..”

You’re in front of him suddenly.

Your dress does little to hide every curve of your body, and every bit of skin that is revealed shows not a single tattoo or augmentation. He blinks a few more times to focus on your face, and it’s like time stands still. Tears have formed in the corners of your eyes, probably from the force of the blow to your cheekbone, but your eyes are still bright, undefeated. 

No longer able to hold your gaze, he gives you his name and turns away. 

Why is his heart beating so fast?

When he reaches the bar he turns around to see you being whisked off by another hostess.

“Whew! Well that was not how I wanted this evening to end.” Hange says, leaning against the bar and looking at Levi. “And when I called Caven, I had no idea you were gonna show up. I didn’t even know you were out of prison.”

“I just got out today.”

Hange laughs and pours him a drink. “I bet this wasn’t the welcome you had in mind.”

“Who’s that girl? The one that got hit.”

“That’s Luna. She just started here today. Guess you two have something in common there.”

“She’s not augmented?”

“Nope. Pure as snow. Not that I’ve ever seen snow before.” Hange pours a drink for themself and downs it in one gulp.

“Where is she from?”

“Earth… Why do you want to know so much about her?”

That breaks Levi from his concentration on you. He doesn’t answer, but instead shifts on the bar stool and takes a swig of his drink. 

“It’s natural to have those urges, Levi. You’ve been in prison for so long,” Hange’s voice has a teasing lilt.

“Fuck you, Hange.”

“Not even on a good day, Levi. But she might.” Hange gestures to the dressing room where you’ve been taken.

Wanting to get away from the conversation, Levi gulps down his drink and stands up. “I’ll take my guys and search the perimeter of the club to make sure they’ve left.”

“My hero, just like old times!” Hange yells out, as Levi and the other two walk towards the exit of the club. “Don’t be a stranger!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hange has a new girl working at Azure.”

It’s the first thing Levi says to Farlan when he picks him up the next morning. He hasn’t been able to think about much else since last night.

”You’re not usually interested in the products.”

“She’s from Earth.”

”So what?” Farlan counters.  “There’s lots of Earth refugees here; in fact, many of them work in that sweatshop Kenny has, making fake….”

”She’s not augmented. At all. Not one mark or change.”

Farlan looks up. He knows where this is going. “That’s not a rarity for Earthlings, Levi. It’s a coincidence.”

“What if it’s not?”

”What difference would it make now? What’s done is done, Levi. You can’t change the past.”

”That’s easy for you to say.”

”Look, I know you want answers, but you’re not gonna find them in some girl from Earth. You have a chance to start things over. Don’t stir shit up.”

But it was too late. Levi’s curiosity had already been piqued. His gut told him there was more to you than what you seemed, and he wanted to know what that was.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Glossary of terms:

Oyabun - title given to the leader of a yakuza group

Aniki - “older brother”, used to refer to someone who is considered a superior

Wakagashira - a lieutenant, works directly under the Oyabun

Shatei - “younger brothers”, they work under the more experienced “older brothers” (kyodai) of a yakuza clan

Pachinko Parlor - a mechanical game like pinball, used for gambling

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[deanssluvr]

request: you and joost met from a mutual friend or something and had a lot of chemistry but you get on so well and get eachothers humour that after a little drunken making out you decide to just be friends cause you don't want to risk losing eachother. you become like inseparable best friends and tell eachother everything like even about hookups and stuff, but then when you get an actual boyfriend and start spending more time with him doing a lot of the stuff you and joost usually do together he realizes hes jealous and wants to be that for you and subtly tries to break you and your bf up and get with you

late arrival

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

warning: making out. mentions of alcohol and infidelity. rpf. (please don’t read this if you’re not into that stuff).

word count: 4.4k

a/n: I tried keeping this short but it kinda just took on a mind of its own. hope y’all enjoy. not proof read. (don’t repost this outside of tumblr)

song inspo: Heart To Heart - Mac DeMarco

You and Joost first met at a small gathering hosted by a mutual friend. Your day had been spent mostly in the comfort of your bed catching up on whatever show you were watching. Nothing had been planned that day. That was until your friend Thalia texted you about a party she was throwing. Of course, she apologized for the last-minute plans, but you were more than happy to accept the invitation. She texted you that a friend of hers had flown into town and she wanted everyone to get together for some drinks and fun. Anything was better than rotting in bed any longer. Then she said everyone was going to start showing up in 2 hours. With that you rolled out of the comfort of your blankets, the cold air of your apartment making you shiver slightly. You stepped into some slippers to avoid the cold and threw on a jacket you found on a chair nearby. Now that you were warmer, you walked to your closet to pick an outfit. For this occasion, you decide to dress up a bit. There was a dress that was just sitting in your closet that seemed perfect. You had never worn it because it was quite short and you didn’t go anywhere where you could wear this. But now seemed like the perfect time.

You were doing some finishing touches on your makeup in the bathroom. Although you weren’t doing much makeup, you wanted to look presentable for these new people. The alarm you set up had begun to go off, startling you a bit. You were quick to shut it off. You returned to your room to spray on some perfume before searching for your purse. You’d thought you’d left it on your desk, but it wasn’t there. This started a search around your room that lasted 10 minutes. As soon as you found it, you had a short-lived celebration as you realized you were already late. After one more quick look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and left your apartment.

You didn’t know what to expect as you pulled up to the house, but it wasn’t what you saw. The last time you were here for a celebration it was something small, but you can tell from the outside that the house was packed. You could hear the music get louder with each step you took towards the door. Instead of knocking, you just texted Thalia that you were here. Within seconds she opened the door. Though you were late to the party, you were still welcomed with open arms. You had only knocked two times before Thalia opened the door.

“Oh my god! I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up.” She sighed in relief and hugged you tightly, which you returned. “Come in! I want everyone to meet you.”

She grabbed your arm, dragging you into her house. The house was lively with colorful lights emitting from different points of the house, lighting the space. The speakers pumped out bass-heavy beats, making the floor vibrate with every pulse of the music. The air buzzed with the mingled sounds of laughter and animated conversations. You both passed up the living room had a cluster of people in it. From the brief you got, you could see that there was where the dance floor was. You both walked a bit further until you reached the kitchen. It was currently the quietest room in the house since there were no speakers and everyone inside was having conversations amongst themselves.

Suddenly you were a bit nervous to meet these people. They didn’t notice you both walk in as they were too interested in their conversation. You take a quick look around the room. The kitchen was lit with the same lights as the rest of the house, but it was less intense making the room slightly dimmer. The kitchen wasn’t as crowded as the rest of the house. But there was a group of five people talking amongst themselves. A guy and a girl were there and his arm was around her. Probably a couple you thought to yourself. Two guys were having some sort of passionate discussion. Then there was a single guy leaning on the counter, a drink in his hand. He had quickly caught your attention. He was laughing at some joke, but his smile was charming. Thalia broke your trance by clearing her vice trying to get their attention. It didn’t work.

“Hey guys!” she raised her voice, quieting the group. “This is my friend I told you guys about.”

All eyes were now on you. You gave everyone a small wave before telling them your name. You were now standing next to him and felt yourself become more nervous. Everyone introduced themselves. It only took one of the guys saying something for another conversation to start. They started arguing about a bet one of them lost and people were chiming in giving their two cents. You were just laughing along with them. Soon everyone was talking amongst themselves, leaving you to try a strike up a conversation with Joost. The nerves you felt when you first arrived came back Words were coming up blank to you. Joost leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, I'm a nice guy. Just relax." You smiled and felt your nervousness dissipate. You asked him about himself and where he was from since Thalia never told you. He told you about his home and his music career. That caught you off guard since Thalia also failed to mention that he was a musician.

________

The night was going by in a blur. It felt as though only a few minutes ago you were taking your first shot of the night, and now, a few drinks later, you were amongst the crowd in the living room, dancing against Joost. The bass of the music was pounding in your ears and you moved your hips against him following every beat. His hands were rested on your waist, keeping you close to him. You felt your legs shake and your heart flutter. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment and forgetting everything else. All you could focus on was the beat of the music and the touch of Joost's hands. You felt a rush of pleasure as Joost's lips brushed against your neck. He turned you around and pulled you flush against him. Your faces were just inches apart and you could feel his breath against your lips. He leaned forward closing the space between you both, but then moved his lips to your ear.

“Let’s take this somewhere more private.” His breath brushes against your ear sending goosebumps across your skin.

He took our hand in his as he walked you both past the crowd and upstairs. Anticipation built with every step you take. Once you reach the top, he leads you into one of the guest rooms. He opened the door and moved to let you in. The room was dimly lit, with only a small bedside lamp lighting it. The room was very clean and you could smell Thalia’s air freshener. Joost quietly closed the door. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to you to come to him. He takes both of your hands and gently pulls you on his lap, straddling him. His hands find the sides of your waist as he looks up at you. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. Lust. One of his hands comes up to caress your cheek.

“You are so beautiful.” he smiles. You were pretty sure that the alcohol was influencing this moment, but you didn’t care. He leans in, connecting you both in a kiss. It was sweet at first, but then it became hungrier. His tongue brushed over your lip, begging for entrance. You parted your allowing for him to explore your mouth. His hand went into your hair, entangling themselves. He pulled you closer and your chests were touching. But this wasn’t enough for you. You needed to feel him. So you start to move your hips looking for any sort of friction. He groaned into the kiss.

“So needy.” his voice was low and sultry in your ear, making you even wetter. He didn’t stop you. Instead, he let one of his hands drop to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and encouraging you to continue. You bit your bottom lip hard as felt his bulge under your clothed clit. He pulled you into another messy kiss as you still grinded on his hungry cock. Then he pulled away, breathless and chest heaving as his eyes blazed with lust.

“I’m gonna fuck you so goo-” You were both interrupted by the door being swung wide open. It was Thalia. You watched all of the color drain from her face as looked between the both of you with utter shock on her face.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” she quickly covers her eyes. “I was just looking for the both of you because we were about to do karaoke. But I uh. I see that you’re both busy. Sorry.”

She awkwardly left the room, leaving you and Joost alone again. You couldn’t help but giggle causing him to chuckle.

________

It had been a few days before either of you reached out. You spent a lot of time contemplating texting him first, but couldn’t think of what to day. It didn’t help that you got even more busy with work recently. There were many unsent messages that you deleted after giving it some thought. Since he didn’t seem to want to reach out, you assumed that maybe you misinterpreted your time together. These thoughts blocked you from texting him any further. You thought that would be the end of it until you received a message from him one afternoon. A week after the party.

Hey it's Joost from the party.

You were happy to have heard from him, and a part of you was also relieved that he reached out. You texted him back, too quickly. He invited you out to lunch which you were happy to accept. He took you out to a brunch spot that was downtown. The weather was warm since the sky was clear, and it made you appreciate choosing to walk to the place. You had arrived quite sooner than you expected. You looked down at your phone, checking to ensure you had the right place. When you stepped inside, you glanced around. The restaurant was small and cozy and each table was full. As you glanced around you saw Joost, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee. You smiled, feeling excited and happy. You walked over to the table and when he noticed he smiled at you and stood up to hug you. He held onto you for quite some time before letting go to let you sit. He asked how your day had been and you filled him in on all the details. You both chatted for a while, catching up on each other's lives. Finally, you ordered your meal and you enjoyed an intimate dinner.

As you both finished up your food, you knew that meant that it was coming to an end. And you both knew that there was something you both needed to discuss that you’d been avoiding the whole time. The party. More specifically the kiss you shared. You didn’t want to leave before talking about it, so you spoke up first.

“So we should talk about the party.” you were fidgeting with your hands under the table. “About what it means for us.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Yeah, we should.” he looked away and outside the window before looking black at you. One of his hands reached out to capture yours in his. “I really like you and I'd love to get to know you even better.”

You smiled with relief.

“I’m so glad you said that. I like you a lot.” his thumb caressed the back of your hand. He gave you a tender smile and it broke your heart into pieces to tell him the rest of your thoughts. “I just don’t think I’m ready to do long distance and you don’t deserve that. But I really want us to stay friends.”

You watch as his smile fades, but quickly replaces with a softer smile. There was a moment of silence between the both of you as you anticipated his response. Even after what you told him, his hand never left yours.

“I understand that.” He went quiet again, trying to find the right words. “I would love to stay friends with you, but I’ll also wait until you’re ready.”

You smiled at his words. He took it better than you had expected and it relieved you. You were terrified of losing him. There was more you wanted to say, but no words were coming to you. Luckily the waiter came by to give you the check. Of course, Joost picked it up without giving you the chance to even offer. As you both left the restaurant, he asked if he could walk you home. You thought he’d want nothing to do with you after this, but you were happy that he still wanted to spend more time with you.

This ended up being the first of many hangouts between the both of you. He took you to many spots that he’d found online like an arcade, an ice cream shop, or a local carnival. He even walks you home from work a few times. Those walks soon became the highlight of your week. Together you can talk for hours, but you also enjoy the comfortable silence. The banter between you both still flows easily as if you’ve known each other for decades. The time that you spend with him is the most fun you’ve had in a long time. All of this made you fall for him even more as time went on and made it even harder when he had to leave.

The day he was supposed to leave was quite difficult, mostly for you. There had been a pit in your stomach since the day you told him you couldn’t be with him. No matter how hard you try to justify it with yourself, it never works. You had made a mistake and you feared it was too late to fix it. You and Thalia drove with Joost and his friends to the airport to see them off. The moment it was time to part ways, he turned to you with a slightly sad expression. You wanted to tell him that you changed your mind or felt differently, but you knew it was too late. You felt regret stabbing you in the heart. So instead you just said goodbye to him with a heavy heart. You hugged him tightly and he promised to keep in touch. You then waved goodbye as you watched him board the plane.

________

It had been a few months since you’d last seen Joost and a lot of things in your life had changed. You moved into a new place which was much larger than your last place and closer to your new job. You were also now in a relationship with someone new. He was nice, easy on the eyes, and was a good cook. You both met at your new job. He made working much more enjoyable for you, so after a few weeks you decided that you would both try dating. He took you to a bunch of your favorite places, plus a bunch of places where Joost used to take you. You knew that he only took you there because they were fun, but it couldn't help but make you think of Joost.

Recently Cole has been acting strange. He told you that he got a second job to pay off a loan. You were kind to offer to help, but he told you no. He reasons that he wanted to pay it off himself. When you asked him about this job, all he said was it was a security gig. So you left it at that. Now every day after work you’d part ways. He’d go to his second job and you’d go home alone. You seemed to spend less and less time with each other anymore. As you walked home, you were reminded of the way Joost used to walk you home. The way his hand would softly slip into yours as he’d listen to you ramble on about work. Now the walks seemed colder and lonelier. You missed it. You missed him.

Throughout your relationship with Cole, you posted pictures of your dates on your Instagram. You enjoyed sharing with your friends and family the places you visit and the things you do. What you didn’t know was that Joost has been stalking your account since he left. He likes seeing what you’ve been up to. But recently he’s dreaded looking because of your new relationship. He’s not the type to get jealous, but it annoys him every time he sees you post about it. Not just because of your relationship but because he's taking you everywhere he used to take you.

Joost one day decided to look up Cole on Instagram to do a little digging. He found his main account and looked through it. Seemed normal. Just pictures of him with family, friends, and you. You clicked on one of the pictures that had you in it. You were at the ice cream parlor he took you to and you were smiling at him. It was the same beautiful, gentle smile you gave him. He missed seeing you, being with you. He went back to the search and saw that there was another account. When he clicked on it he realized it was a second account. But all the pictures were very different from his main account. It was pictures of him at various clubs with many different people. Mainly women. In a lot of these pictures, he was getting very close to these women. They were all over him. And then he saw a video of him making out with one of these women. He was completely shocked and beyond pissed. He was cheating on you and you had no idea, but he was gonna make sure you knew exactly who you were dating. So he sent you the account along with an explanation.

You and Joost had kept in touch since he left. You sent silly photos to each other, talked about each other's day, and had the occasional conversation about how you both missed each other. He told you that he would be in town in a few days. So when he texted you out of the blue one night, it didn’t seem off. Until you opened the text. It was the link to what you thought was your boyfriend’s account. Technically it was, just wasn’t the one you followed. When you click it, it brings you to a bunch of pictures of your boyfriend with multiple other women. Many of them showcased these girls touching him in various places. But a certain video of Cole making out with another woman. You wished you could say you were surprised, but you saw this coming. You ignored him coming home late, the smell of perfume that wasn’t yours, and the second job he was very vague about. You didn’t even feel like crying over him. Instead, you went and packed all of his things, which luckily wasn’t much, and put it in a box and set it outside. You sent Cole a quick text with the account attached.

don’t bother coming here tonight.

You set your phone on silent for the rest of the night and decided to just go to bed.

________

The day came when Joost came back into town. He was performing at a local festival. Of course, he invited you along with Thalia to come. The sun dipped low over the sprawling fields of Randall Park as the rhythmic pulse of guitars and drums echoed through the air. It was the opening evening of the Harmony Festival. The lineup promised a diverse array of genres, from indie rock to electronic beats, ensuring there was something to captivate everyone. The festival kicked off with an amazing performance by a local indie band. You had heard about them through some of your friends and they were phenomenal in person. Their infectious energy spreads like wildfire through the crowd. The lead singer's raw vocals intertwined with the wailing guitar solos, drawing cheers and applause that reverberated off the surrounding hills. As the evening progressed, the energy shifted with each new act. A soulful jazz ensemble transported listeners, while a DJ set on a neighboring stage had people dancing under a canopy.

The sun soon set and the performances hadn’t let up. The lights from the mainstage cast beautiful colors over the venue while small lights that were littered all over the place created a warm atmosphere. The crowd hadn’t thinned out much even as it was getting later. You and Thalia were getting drinks at a booth near the main stage. She told you that his performance was going to start in a few minutes which prompted you both to speed walk towards the stage. She looked worried as the crowd was huge and feared that you wouldn’t get a good spot. You refused to watch from the back, so you grabbed Thalia’s hand and made your way through the crowd as politely as you could and made it near the front. Since you had worked all week, you hadn’t been able to see him since he got into town. So seeing him on stage, in person, was wonderful. His energy on stage was incredible. Though you didn’t know his music, it still made you want to dance and move to the beat. You loved every song he sang. You watched as he was just being himself and having fun on stage. He was a natural performer and you could tell he was enjoying himself. You could feel the excitement from the crowd and you knew everyone was having a great time.

After the performance, you Thalia quickly left the crowd to go meet Joost backstage. Once again Thalia held onto your arm as you weaved your way through the thick crowd. You let Thalia lead the way after you were free from the crowd. You were thankful it was cooler now that the sun had set because the body heat within the crowd was terrible. You both decided to stop and get something else to drink before continuing. However, you weren't the only ones with that idea as the line for the booth had at least 30 people. You both agreed that it would take way too long and continued on your way. Two guards didn’t seem too keen on letting anyone in, but Thalia flashed them your badges and they stepped aside to let you in. Your heart began beating faster as felt nervous about seeing him in person again. You thought about finally telling him how you feel, or maybe just thanking him for saving you from a shitty relationship. Either way, you weren’t sure if you’d even be able to get a sentence out. You both walked past a few other performers before finally finding him. He was talking to another guy. You got a good look at him while you both waited for him to finish up. Not much had changed about him other than his hair was a bit longer.

Thalia was quick to get his attention once he finished up. He turned around to find the source and smiled when he saw you. He was over and hugged you tightly. You had missed his touch since he left, so being in his arms again made you melt into him completely.

“I missed you.” You felt your heart flutter and you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. You felt all the tension melt away as you two embraced.

“I missed you too.” He let go and gave you a warm smile. It made your heart flutter and all of the memories of the time you spent together came back to you. You needed to tell him how you feel. “Can we talk? Please.”

“Of course.” You told Thalia that you’d be back. He took your hand in his and walked you over to a more secluded area of the festival. The small lights that decorated the venue lit your path as you walked. You both walked for a while in silence just enjoying each other’s company. His hand was still holding yours and it was warm compared to yours.

“I wanted to say thank you for showing me the truth about Cole.” You looked at him, giving him a genuine smile. Though it's not what you wanted to say, it was a start.

“Yeah, he was a piece of shit.” You felt his grip on your hand tighten, and his eyes weren’t meeting yours anymore. “He didn’t deserve you.”

Once again it was quiet again before you muster up the courage to say something. You stopped walking, stopping him. He looked at you with confusion.

“I was wrong.” He still looked confused but also intrigued. “The last time you were here I told you we couldn’t be together. I was wrong. After you told me how you felt, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was so focused on not ruining our friendship. And when you left it made me realize how much I miss you and how much I care about you. I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you."

You looked at him trying to read his face, but his expression was unreadable. It made you nervous. What if you were too late and he moved on? His hand reached up to rest on both sides of your face. He pulled you close and closed the distance between you. The kiss was gentle and sweet and exactly what you needed. He pulled away, looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes.

“I told you I’d wait for you.”

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 2 / 4

Mistress takes you to a very special night out, reminding you of your place in your unique relationship as she pushes you right into the center of attention.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Humiliation. Exhibition(ism). Bondage. Dildo gag. Blindfold. Public groping. Forced orgasm. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.5k

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

The ride in the back of the car is a blur. You sit next to Mistress, her hand between your thighs as she fingers you lazily, her eyes fixed through the window, away from you, and you're just a toy to play with, to pass the time as the car weaves through the busy streets, the driver not saying a word, oblivious or used to whatever happens behind him.

She makes you clean her fingers afterward, after edging and teasing you, and you seem to know the drill. You can't come unless she tells you to. It's a heavy thing in the back of your mind, engraved in your brain, and while you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the urge to let go, you let her handle you like that, because it's her right, isn't it?

Your mind is still hazy, filled with a strange kind of cotton that pushes on any thought that may come in the way, of protest, of confusion, of fear and shame. Those flicker up, occasionally, like fireflies, only to be squashed by something else, by the dizzy spell making your head spin, the throbbing heat in your stomach, the tension in your muscles, whenever she touches you. It doesn't matter then, it's only her fingers under your coat, on the little sliver of skin as she guides you through a crowd of people, the warmth of her body next to yours, her dominating presence as she meets strangers and talks to them, smiling, all professional, and you're just a girl beside her, small and unassuming, or so you think.

The lights are bright as you enter the building, warm air hits your face, makes you blink. Someone takes your coat, her hand is around yours as she pulls you along, the sound of your heels echoing through the vast room. Confusion fights through the fog in your head as you turn your gaze this way and that, finding strangely familiar sights in front of your hazy eyes.

You're in a gallery of some sort, a giant room sectioned off into smaller rooms, high ceilings vanishing into darkness, low hanging lights getting dimmer the further you go. There are large prints on the walls, but you can't quite make out what they portray yet. People wearing elegant dresses and expensive looking suits stand in clusters in front of them, holding champagne flutes, talking amongst themselves. Some turn their heads to you when you pass, a strange expression on their blurry faces.

You follow Mistress, her hand tight around yours, your heart beating faster. She guides you through various rooms, all filled with large photographs spanning the walls and people in front of them, and it's when you reach the last room, where the lights are slightly different, that you notice what they show.

It's you.

Similar motifs like you've found in your roommate's desk, pictures of your body, your holes, your glassy eyes, your lips strained around a gag, your hands bound behind your back, your skin marked by intricate rope patterns. You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks, your ears, your entire head flares up in shame as you realize that you're not just her muse (for her to take pictures of she can enjoy on her own, hidden away in her room), but a canvas for every single person in this city and beyond to marvel at.

You feel sick, your stomach cramping up badly as you squeeze her hand, your own shock fighting to get past the cotton in your head. This can't be happening. Your eyes flicker over the groups of people standing in front of blown up pictures of your cunt, stuffed with various toys and items, a whole wall full of unflattering close-ups that lead into a full body shot of you tied to a bed, wrists and ankles held by cuffs, arms and legs spread, as thin metal chains hang from the ceiling, attached to the little clamps that are holding your nipples and your pussy lips.

You ache just looking at it, your breasts tensing up. Your gaze wanders further, to the next wall, this one dedicated to your ass and various things being shoved into it. You feel like crying, and it gets only worse when you realize there are TV screens mounted between the pictures. While the photos show a moment captured in time, the screens show videos of how those moments came to be: you see the white-gloved hand and how it moves various objects in and out of your holes, a sickening motion, in and out, and you notice there's even sound, overlapping moans and whines and lewd squelching noises, echoing from a total of six TVs arranged around the room.

Your stomach drops, your throat tensing up, you can barely breathe. And the people in the room seem to realize that it's you who is being portrayed like this, and they stare at you, some with neutral looks, some leering and excited, some with disapproving or arrogant scowls. You press closer to Mistress as she stops in the middle of the room. She looks at you then, a soft smile on her face. You feel like fainting, it's all too much, but then she reaches her free hand up to caress your warm cheek, and you freeze, staring at her, the panic in your head pausing under the touch.

“What's the matter, pet?” she whispers. “Don't be shy now, you're a star, my dear,” she adds, leaning down to brush her lips against your ear. “They are all here for you. Just for you...”

You frown slightly, trying to focus on her instead of the noises around you, the sounds coming from the TVs, the chatter and laughter and hushed whispers. Your heart is beating in your throat, right against the tight collar, your muscles clenching around the plug and around nothing, your body seemingly adjusting to your surroundings while your mind still fights whatever is going on here. You cling to the tall woman in front of you, your eyes pleading her to take you back, take you away, stop this humiliation.

But she only tilts her head, her thumb moving along your bottom lip, before she says something that makes you freeze, both in shock and in the strangely familiar urge to please.

“On your knees.”

And you do as you're told. Of course you do. You go down, perched on the balls of your feet with your heels pressing into your rear, and you square your shoulders and fold your arms behind your back, pushing your chest out, looking up at her with your eyes glazing over and your mind going empty.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my dear guests,” Mistress then raises her voice, her gaze still fixed on you as she addresses the people around you. “Welcome to another night of sinful sensations, tantalizing touches, unknown urges and frivolous fun. Please gather around, don't be shy,” she adds, finally looking away from you and around the room, beckoning the strangers closer, her arms spread wide as she smiles her beautiful smile. “The show will begin shortly. My assistants will bring you an assortment of objects, and I ask you to choose one each, and wait your turn. Oh and don't forget to take a pair of gloves, we don't want to leave any compromising evidence, now do we?”

She laughs, and several people join in, while you kneel before her, focusing on her, trying to ignore the shuffle around you. Your heart is thundering in your chest, your head spinning out of control. And despite the humiliating nature of whatever is happening, you feel your arousal drenching your underwear, a sticky slick that rivals the hot tears burning in your eyes. Your chest rises and falls as you breathe rapidly through your nose, your lips pressed into a thin line to keep them from trembling.

The hand on your elbow startles you, but it's only Mistress as she urges you into a standing position again. She gives you a gentle nod, and you follow on shaking legs as she walks to a strange contraption in the middle of the room, some sort of bench in an X-shape, right in the center, surrounded by the pictures of you, by the videos of an anonymous hand shoving phallic objects into your holes, the sounds that echo from the screens pointed directly at you, a weird garbling of moans and helpless cries, overlapping in a disorienting fashion.

A horrible vertigo grips you as you stumble forward, gently pushed by the woman behind you, and before you know it, you end up lying on your back, a soft cushion beneath you, your head hanging off the edge while your legs are raised up, your limbs fitted perfectly into the shape of the bench-like thing. As you look up, you realize there's a large mirror right above you, and you meet your own frightened gaze, eyes wide, pupils dilated, a strange gloss in them that could either be tears or something else entirely. While your legs are spread (and tied at the ankles by a pair of unknown women) and your arms are arranged in a T-pose (with your wrists being tied down as well), the rest of your body is secured by a large leather strap spanning over your stomach.

You struggle slightly, testing your restraints, but nothing budges. Though instead of fueling the panic settling in your belly, you feel weirdly relaxed, soothed by the way you cannot move, knowing you can't escape. And in the back of your cloudy mind you also know: you don't want to anyway. Your gaze wanders to the tall woman standing next to you, smiling down, a camera in her hands.

“You're doing great,” she says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “My good girl.” Her praise burns through the uneasiness, silences the distress to some extent. Her hand moves around your head, lifting it slightly as her eyes move away from you to something you can't see from your position. And you don't have to, you can feel it.

It's a gag, and as soon as it comes into your view, you feel your heart accelerating. There are two dildos attached to it, one pointing inwards and the other pointing outwards, and the mere idea of having that thing in your mouth and down your throat makes you tense up badly. A whine escapes you before a sigh sounds from beside you. Mistress puts her camera down and steps closer, taking the gag from whoever wanted to shove it into you. She meets your eyes, and even though she's upside down, you calm a little when you look at her.

“You can do this, pet,” she says as she moves the tip of one dildo against your lips. “You've done this before. Many times. You like having things down your throat, remember?”

Her words sink into your muddy mind, burning through the doubts, and even though it feels like an impossible thing to do, you part your lips and allow the object into your mouth. She smiles at you, slowly pushing the silicone toy deeper, it teases the back of your throat, and to your own surprise slips right past your gag reflex, stretching your throat, bulging your neck, sitting tight against the collar. You stare up at her, tears burning in your eyes as she fastens the leather strap around your head, keeping the gag in place.

“Good girl,” she coos, caressing your warm cheeks. “You didn't even gag. I'm so proud of you.”

A weird warmth settles in your stomach, as you watch her, the other dildo attached to the gag slightly obscuring your view. Its sight should disturb you, knowing what it is for, but you're eerily calm, focused on breathing through your nose as the object in your throat just sits there, pressing on your tongue, with saliva already dripping past your lips (the wide leather band of the gag sits loosely against your mouth, allowing you to part your lips and let it drip), and you know you'd only make it worse if you panicked now.

And somehow the image of her riding your face like this gives you a strange kind of comfort, definitely distracting you enough to ignore whatever happens around you. Subdued voices echo through the room, it's eerily quiet, apart from the continuous moans and whines coming from the TVs, sounds you made before, apparently, and you realize you won't be able to make them tonight. Closing your eyes for a moment, letting the tears press past your lashes, you focus on them, trying to imagine (remember) the scenarios that caused you to sound like this.

You've only seen the pictures, you have no memories of doing any of those things, so you can only assume what it must feel like to be stuffed and used like this. Your body, however, seems to remember it just fine. Arousal pools in your core, drenching your thong, perking up your nipples that strain against the fabric of your bra and top, while goosebumps ripple over your bare arms.

There's more shuffling around you, but you don't want to open your eyes. You can't. It doesn't feel real if you keep them closed, not as intimidating, and it's easier to handle, or so you tell yourself. It's actually strange just how calm you are, strapped to this weird table/bench with your arms and legs spread and tied to individual parts of it, allowing people to stand between them and right next to you, and you can feel them, their warmth and presence, anticipation in the air. Your heart beats faster.

Suddenly you flinch, eyes flying open, a muffled groan escaping you that almost makes you gag around the dildo in your throat, as you feel hands stroking along your arms, in an almost sensual way, synchronized left and right, and the touches end when they shove an object into each hand. You don't dare to turn your head so you look up at the mirrored ceiling, and you realize they've put a pair of thick black dildos into your hands. With how your wrists are tied, you cannot move them, only open and close your fingers around the toys.

You frown slightly, and your confusion is answered when Mistress' velvety voice echoes through the room. “Ladies, some of you are in for a surprise tonight. There are numbers on the base of your selected toys, and if these range from 1 to 5, you are invited to have a special seat on our special Toy. Yes, only the ladies, sorry gentlemen, you can still watch, and if you grabbed one of the special toys, I ask you to give it to a woman of your choice, if they're willing, of course. This is a night of sinful sensations, but consent is of utmost importance.”

Her words sit heavy in your stomach, and you wonder if you really consented to this as well. You can't remember. But then again, there's nothing you can do about it now.

She continues, her voice louder as chatter and shuffling fill the room. “Ladies, if you like, come closer and assume your positions. Dim the lights, please.”

Around you the bright lights turn down, but there are still two spots directed right at the center, illuminating your body and enough of your limbs, but when a bunch of women approach the table, you can barely see their faces. They are guided to your hands and feet, and while the dildos in your clammy hands make sense, you wonder what's the special seat by your feet, until you realize they're probably supposed to sit on the pointy tips of your high heels.

A strange heat crashes through you. It's one thing to imagine Mistress using you, but complete strangers, getting off by humping your shoes of all things and riding the toys you're holding for them? But then nothing seems to surprise you anymore after walking into a gallery filled with pictures of your body, where a willing audience waits for a night of debauchery (and willing and eager they seem with how packed the place is). You're still glad when you see a familiar face looking down at you (upside down again) as Mistress approaches your head.

She caresses your cheeks and wipes a bit of drool off your chin as she smiles down at you. Her hand then moves to the dildo attached to your gag, and the sudden touch moves the one in your throat, pushing it a little deeper. Tears burn under your lashes, but you force yourself to remain calm, breathe through your nose, ignore the obstructing object stuck in your mouth. You see her gliding her fist over the phallic toy, the motion somewhat soothing as you focus on it.

“My dear guests, you came here for a special adventure,” her voice fills the quiet room as she starts talking to the people gathered around the table. You keep your eyes on her as she speaks. “This is art, my friends. Art found in devotion, in submission, in using a canvas of flesh and bones, using it, expanding it, stretching the limits of what's possible, of what's right, of what's conventional. I invite you to explore your own limits tonight, find pleasure in using this devoted pet of mine.”

You blink slowly, mesmerized by her words, but they still poke at the buried confusion and doubts in your mind. That little voice of protest, though, is quickly squashed again by the overwhelming cotton filling your head, a strange sort of excitement mixed with fear and uncertainty, held together by a warm feeling like a caress, a praising word, a soft smile, a gentle touch. It's enough to ignore the meaning behind her words, as straight-forward as they may be.

“You may use her in any way you want, within the confines of the scene. Use your toys, arrange her however you like – ask for assistance if necessary, this table can be moved, allowing you access to both of her holes. After the first round, we will turn her around, so make use of her perky little breasts while you can. Oh, and if you'd like to cut off her clothes, my assistants will provide you with the necessary tools. But enough instructions. I invite you to enjoy yourself. This is art, my friends,” she repeats, her voice rising. “Use it!”

The air changes around you, allowing those doubts to come back after all. More tears gather in your eyes. You feel strangely heavy, pushed into the soft cushions, your restraints cutting into your skin, the dildo in your throat pressing against your airways, making it even harder to breathe. Panic settles hot in your stomach, while cold sweat covers your skin. And no matter how woozy and dizzy you feel, you can't completely ignore the fear crashing through you. But it's not only fear, it's bated anticipation. What will happen next? What will these people do to you?

Of course the pictures and videos all around you give you enough hints, but you felt weirdly disconnected from those. This, however, is real. The gloved hands touching your body are real, the dildos between your fingers are real, the warmth of people standing close but in the shadows is real. Hushed voices fill the room, so many strangers, and you can only hear them, see their hands and the objects they chose in the reflection above you (and some of them make you really anxious).

You want to swallow, but you can't, your saliva running mercilessly past your lips and over your cheeks, and with how your head is angled back, it gathers warm and hot in the shell of your ears and in your hairline. Your fingers twitch around the hard silicone in your grasp, your hips jerking slightly when you feel hands rubbing along your inner thighs.

You know you should be freaking out, but again, you can't. You are so calm it scares you, only letting your body react to what's happening, while your mind has become silent, shut up by whatever is swirling through your system, numbed by whatever was in your water. You blink slowly, focusing your eyes on the dildo protruding from the gag, wondering what it will be like to have someone ride this thing when it's attached to your face like that.

You don't seem to have to wait long when someone steps up to your head, but before you can take a closer look, you feel something soft being put over your eyes, taking another sense from you, a blindfold, and you'd sigh if you could, both slightly relieved you don't have to look up a stranger's crotch as they ride you, but also weirdly disappointed that you cannot look up a stranger's crotch as they ride you. With the room plunged into darkness, all you can do now is listen, listen and feel.

For now they all just seem to explore your body, hands sliding along your sides, up and down your legs, over your clothed chest, some are tickling you, or trying to, as you find yourself unable to react to those teases in your armpits or against your ribs. You're glad you're too far gone to care, because you just know it'd be torture otherwise.

It's almost relaxing, in a way, to be stroked like that, caressed and touched, but as it happens all over your body, all at once, you find yourself quickly overwhelmed by it too. Not being able to see who touches you and where makes it all the more intense. Breathing harder through your nose, your throat working around the dildo stuck in it, you try to focus on the steady beat of your heart, slightly erratic, but not as panicked as it should be.

It almost lulls you for a moment, drowning out the hushed voices around you, the noises of past-you being stuffed full and moaning about it, but when you feel something cold dragging between your breasts, you flinch nonetheless, this time straining your neck, triggering your gag reflex. Your body jerks, your throat clenching around the toy, spit and bile shooting up your esophagus, filling your already filled mouth. You gag again, and panic crashes through you as you can't seem to get rid of all that saliva.

Luckily you feel a pair of hands on your head, turning it so it can drip past your trembling lips, easing the pressure in your throat. Tears burn in your eyes, soaked up by the blindfold. Something like a wet cloth wipes over your cheek, and you relax slowly.

“Easy, pet, everything's alright,” you hear Mistress' soft voice close to you, calming you instantly. “You're doing great. No need to panic.” Her hand moves along your neck, teasing the collar, pressing slightly onto the object in your throat. “Just breathe, it's fine... you can do this. Like you always did, okay? You love this, remember?”

You don't, but you feel too dizzy to fight that sentiment. Your head feels lighter, breathing works, but it's a struggle nonetheless. It helps to be praised and reassured, though, and you focus on the fact that Mistress is right there, looking out for you, making sure you're doing okay. It's a warming sensation in your belly – that almost distracts you from the colder sensation of something gliding under your top and bra.

It feels like metal, and when you hear a quiet snip-snap sound, you know it's a pair of scissors, cutting away your clothes to expose you to your surroundings. As if being strapped to a table and wearing a dildo gag isn't humiliating enough, you realize you are now naked in front of a bunch of strangers whose hands don't miss a beat before they grope at your freed breasts, squeezing and kneading, palms pressing down, fingers pinching your nipples until they hurt.

You let out a muffled whine, squirming against the onslaught of touches, but they keep going, pulling and poking, the squeaky surface of their latex gloves rubbing harshly against your skin. As they do, the scissors move lower, and the same snip-snap sound comes to your ears when your panties fall away. At least they leave your garter belt and stockings, giving you the illusion of still wearing something. But now your cunt is out in the open, and the first hands seem very eager to explore it properly.

Suddenly the table beneath you moves, and you feel your blood shooting into your head as your hips are being lifted while your head is lowered even more. Vertigo grabs you, sending shivers down your limbs, increasing the head spinning and stomach clenching. In this new position, your rear hangs off the edge of the cushion, allowing the bystanders to grab your ass and grope more of your soft flesh. Most of them do, but some go straight to the exposed base of the butt plug, pulling and poking it mercilessly.

You keep squirming, the strap around your stomach holding you down but not enough, allowing you to circle your hips in a grinding motion that seems to entertain the people around you. While the voices have been hushed before, you can now hear snippets of what they're saying – and you somehow wished you wouldn't.

“Look at her, so eager.”

“Can't wait to be stuffed, huh, little slut?”

“Wonder how many she can take. Did they say there was a limit?”

Your breathing quickens, rapid puffs through your nose, chest rising and falling faster against all the hands gripping at you. Your stomach flutters against the tight leather strap, your thighs trembling slightly, toes curling in your shoes. Between all the comments, laughter and other noises, you suddenly hear the faint clicking of a camera, and you just know that Mistress is in the midst of producing a new line of degrading pictures of you.

Somehow, you couldn't care less about that. Being exposed to a room full of strangers, groped and touched and poked at, feels much worse than having aesthetically pleasing pictures taken of your body, though to have lasting evidence of this experience isn't too nice either. But there's nothing you can do anyway, so you focus back on trying to get enough oxygen into your burning lungs, trying to fight the vertigo making your head swirl, just trying to live through it all.

While your nipples are being pinched, your boobs pulled into two different directions, sending sparks down your body, you feel a gloved hand on your throbbing clit, poking and prodding, giving enough pressure to make your thighs twitch, but not enough to ease the tension in your lower stomach. You try to move your hips, find at least a bit of relief, but instead of allowing you the motion, you feel a stinging slap on your mound, then three more in rapid succession, causing you to gasp and ultimately gag around the dildo in your throat as various pains crash through your body, making it jolt against your restraints.

Your head is being supported again, turned to the side to allow the spit to drain from your mouth, as you hear a low voice above you. “Gentlemen, if I may remind you, impact play is not on the agenda until round three. Please be patient.”

You hear hushed voices in response, shuffling noises growing louder before they disappear. You vehemently ignore her mentioning something about 'round three'. A new hand comes to your cunt, much gentler, a soft stroking rhythm of gloved fingers that ease your rapidly beating heart. You relax again, leaning into the hands holding your head before they leave you too. You hear the shutter of the camera again, much closer, while the hand on your center starts parting your labia, slowly rubbing up and down, and you can't help the muffled moans slipping past your gag.

Your hips undulate against the stroking fingers, and this time, they allow it, leaning into it, letting you decide how you want to be touched, at least to an extent. Your hands claw at the dildos you're supposed to hold, the special seats that have yet to be claimed, as you feel your stomach tensing up, the friction of the fingers against your clit the relief you have been looking for all night.

They move with you now, slipping between your slick, poking at the sensitive bud, and you feel your heart accelerating, your breath stuck in your throat, your muscles tightening, your back arching against the leather strap, you're so close, so close, and you almost expect to be left hanging again as it drags on and on, but then... finally... the fingers pinch your clit so hard you can't even handle all of your body's reactions.

First you inhale sharply, on the verge of screaming, tilting your neck in a way that makes you gag, and as your stomach jerks, your hips buck up, your legs kicking in their restraints, toes curling painfully, your muscles contract, clenching hard around nothing and around the plug in your butt, and you come, violently at first, convulsing uncontrollably, before you're swept away by a wave of pleasure that crashes through your body gently, a reverberating tingling from the top of your head all the way down to your cramping toes.

“Well done,” coos a voice in your ear, a hand stroking your sweat-slick face. “And congratulations to the lady who was the first to make her come. If you like her to return the favor, you may choose a special seat now.”

Your breaths are still labored through your nose, but barely any oxygen seems to make it into your lungs with how the gag sits in your throat and how your heartbeat throbs in your jugular, right against the collar, further tightening your neck. Your head is really spinning now, as does the room, seemingly. You're almost glad you're bound the way you are.

But despite the warming feeling of your orgasm, there's something cold sitting deep in your guts. Did you even have permission to come? You can't remember Mistress mentioning anything like that. But then again, she did just praise you for it, didn't she? It's a strange fear that overcomes you, it doesn't really make sense, it's just a feeling, a distant memory of... pain? Of disappointment and shame? Whatever it is, it makes you furrow your brows under the blindfold as new tears seep into the fabric.

Suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your head, someone unfastens the blindfold, and as soon as it's gone, you blink helplessly into the light projected at you. Another light flashes next to you, and you realize you've been photographed. The thought makes it all worse, causing you to really start crying now. A vulnerable moment like this, forever captured and burned onto whatever medium she is using tonight.

You sniffle pathetically, and as you do, you realize that your nose starts stuffing up. Your eyes widen, your breaths hectic as panic grips your limbs. Not good. You look around, trying to find Mistress, but she's moved on to stand by your side focused on the fluttering of your stomach and the way your cunt glistens, her camera clicking away furiously. You see shadows all around you, and white-gloved hands reaching for you, still groping your soft flesh wherever they can.

You try to speak through your gag, but not even the muffled noises you create are loud enough to get through the hushed chatter around you. You struggle on the table, trying to get anyone's attention, while you get dizzier and dizzier, less and less oxygen making it through your nose. Your last resort is to make yourself gag, hoping that someone would notice and help you in your predicament.

Lightheaded as you are, you turn your head, try to strain your neck, force the dildo deeper into your constricted throat, but your muscles seem too lax to react, your gag reflex silenced like the rest of your body. You can barely move, you feel so weak.

Something moves against your twitching fingers, something warm and solid and slightly wet, and you see the shape of someone straddling your bound wrist, skin and soft fabric brushing your cold hand that's tight around the base of the dildo you're supposed to hold. You try to move it, but whoever assumes their special seat right now is more focused on their own enjoyment than your growing distress.

Tears burn in your eyes, saliva coats your cold skin, you feel heavy. The noises around you grow quieter until everything is just gone. No more lights, no more hands, no more lewd sounds echoing through the room. Just darkness. And no air.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: So, uh, sorry? I don't know where this vision came from. My mind is deep and dirty, as you know. I hope the night of sinful sensations, tantalizing touches, unknown urges and frivolous fun (aka STUF²... I feel so clever XD) didn't traumatize you too much, because, uh, the next chapter may be even worse. And don't worry, we're getting to the wlw smut soon enough, I promise! (Oh, and Reader is fine, of course!)

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[interiorergonomics]

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[nyaagolor]

I think people have a skewed understanding of what Higurashi's plot is. While it IS a horror series, most people claim it's about girls killing each other. This is false. I would like to set the record straight and list a few things that Higurashi is ACTUALLY about:

How the power of friendship is strong enough to defeat anything, including but not limited to fascism

Guerilla Warfare

Why the mob is an effective way to break a bureaucratic stalemate

The correct and incorrect ways to de-escalate 1. someone experiencing delusions, 2. a hostage situation, and 3. a bomb (at the same time)

How cops can and will make any situation exponentially worse

What NOT to do with a desk chair

How to lose your medical license in three easy steps

Why Cluster A girls absolutely fucking rule

and most importantly:

Mentally ill lesbians in time loops

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

GUYS I THINK I FIGURED OUT THE FILING SYSTEM FOR THE STATEMENTS IN FR3-D1

Ok so. so. As I am rapidly beginning to figure out the ARG stuff might just be important to our understanding of the overall story of TMAGP. And so I started digging through all the wonderful detective work the folks who participated did (their data and thus a decent bit of the ARG are still preserved). I'd like to draw your attention to one file in particular (I might make more posts with more ramblings as I think about more stuff but for right now):

klaus.xls is an excel sheet that they were able to dig up in the ARG which seems to contain partially corrupted data regarding, to my best guess, incidents. I was particularly interested in this file because that name came up in episode 4's transcript as the name of the person Lena had a disagreement with/seemed to be threatening. I have thoughts about this as well but it will be a separate post.

This data might actually be internal to the OIAR, and if what I'm guessing is correct, then this data actually corresponds to FR3-D1 entries! Using this, I think I've been able to dissect the case names (for example, we're going to use episode 1's magnus institute case)

CAT23RAB2155-10042022-09012024

A lot of the information on the leftmost data cluster seems to correspond to what's in the table, so:

CAT23: Category 23. There were only a few categories in the Klaus data that weren't 1, 2, or 3 so I'm guessing inputting multiple numbers means this incident could either be category 2 or category 3 (or someone thought this case needed a very very high category shared by almost nothing else).

RAB: Rank A/B. This we know means the ranking is either A or ranking B. I have not, however, managed to determine what the difference between Category and Rank is, so if someone else has thoughts on that I'd love to hear them. Based on other case titles the R is not always part of this section, only in cases where multiple rankings are specified. This also places this case very high in the ranking system, as most cases in the Klaus data appear to be rank C or B (with only a single S and two As, one of which is a dual A/B).

2155: This section is always a four digit code. It corresponds to the TSHU column of the Klaus data, which is also always a four digit code. If I had to speculate, I believe this is the internal code for the case category (which are all laid out in that giant binder on Sam's desk). I wish I knew specifically what each one meant but I figure we'll have to watch the numbers and see.

10042022: It took me a minute on these number strings, I'll be honest. There's nothing approximating them in the Klaus data, but then I noticed that the second string contains "2024" at the very end in every statement thus far recorded. Then it dawned on me: these are dates. This first string corresponds to report submission date, I think: this report was submitted to the OIAR on the 10th of April 2022. This then means that:

09012024: Corresponds to the date of filing. Sam filed this case on the 9th of January, 2024. This also allows us to go through and see that the episodes seem to be following the time passing between episodes for us almost 1:1, with most cases being a few days before when we receive them.

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 842 | Part 1 of 2 |

-

“Gather ‘round, class, and watch carefully!” Professor Flitwick called out, an uncharacteristic gleam in his eyes. His voice came out slightly squeakier than usual, which Evan attributed to excitement—for the professor was certainly excited about whatever today’s lesson held for them.

Not that Evan couldn’t guess what all this commotion was about.

“Five chocolate frogs says we’re going to try to cast a Patronus today,” Barty said, leaning over to speak into Evan’s ear. His breath ghosted over Evan’s skin as he did so, which had him repressing a shiver. He gathered himself.

“I’m not taking that bet,” he responded, just as Flitwick finished climbing onto a stack of books and turned to face the class.

“As you all know,” Flitwick said grandly, “we’ve been studying the Patronus charm for the past week. Today, we put our studies to use! Now, pay attention to how I pronounce the incantation, and to my wand work. Everyone ready?”

Flitwick was certainly getting a big head from having the entire’s class focus trained on him for what was probably the first time ever, but even Evan leaned in just a bit more to see better. He couldn’t stop his curiosity from growing, because the Patronus charm was definitely the single most interesting thing they had studied all year—which was certainly saying something, since this was their NEWT year.

Clearly well-practiced in teaching this lesson to a rapt audience, Flitwick waited until the moment was practically swelling with anticipation before casting the charm.

“Expecto patronum!” he said, clearly and forcefully, holding his wand just so.

And suddenly, a rushing force of power was coming from Flitwick’s direction, bright light consolidating into a hard shield.

Students cried out in equal parts awe and fear, some moving to shield their eyes. Next to him, Barty breathed out a little, “Wow.”

Evan found that he shared the sentiment. Something that powerful was incredible by itself—add that to the intent and feeling that Evan knew was behind the charm, and, well. It wasn’t any surprise that students were already bunching together in little places, each and every one eager to start trying to cast their own Patronus.

Perhaps sensing this, Flitwick cut off the spell with an abrupt flick of his wand, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the murmurings of the class.

“Students!” he called, to mixed success. “I don’t expect every one of you to get it today—in fact, I expect very little of you to be successful right away, but I believe that with enough practice, every single one of you should get it within a week or so. Now gather into groups and start casting the charm, and remember what we’ve been studying!”

With that, the level of noise in the classroom reached a loud buzz as students clustered into groups and started taking turns. Occasionally, the overexcited voice of a student could be heard exclaiming, “Expecto patronum!” which, depending on the level of success the student reached, was either met with laughter or noises of approval.

“Well, what do you say, Rosie? Shall we have a go?” Barty’s grin was sharp and exhilarating, and even if he had wanted to, Evan was physically incapable of saying no to Barty when he was like this.

“We shall,” answered Evan, moving away from their two desks so that they could have more room. “And remember, we’re supposed to think of clear, happy memories.”

Barty waved a hand at him. “Right, right. Just let me think for a second.”

“I’ll go first if you want me to,” Evan offered. He already had a memory in mind, a nostalgic one from fifth year that had been the very first thing he thought of when Flitwick said “happy memory.”

Barty nodded. “Okay, you can go.”

With a harsh swallow, Evan pushed back the sleeves of his robes and raised his wand. Calling to mind blue skies, a warm breeze, and the laughing faces of his friends gathered around a picnic blanket, he said, “Expecto patronum!”

A warm feeling shot through his body, and he gasped as a few wisps of light came out of his wand. But just as soon as they had come, they were gone, scattered to the chaos of the classroom.

“Did you see that, Bee?” Evan asked excitedly. Truly, he hadn’t been expecting to manage anything on his first attempt, so it had come as a a bit of a shock.

Barty smiled. “I did!” And then, growing quiet and a bit more serious, he asked, “What did you think about?”

“I thought about that day in fifth year, when we had that picnic out in the forest.”

Barty nodded somewhat distractedly and said, “Right.” His eyes drifted off to the side, and he frowned ever so slightly, a crease appearing in between his eyebrows as if he was thinking hard about something.

And then all at once, before Evan could fully register what was happening, Barty’s expression cleared and he raised his arm. With a focused expression on his face, he echoed what Evan had just said not a minute ago.

“Expecto patronum!”

-

(Part 2 is here)

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 2)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

Your fingertips were raw from constant nipping, the consequence of a nervous habit that resurfaced whenever your textbooks lay sprawled open like the wings of a fallen bird. Molecular biology had become your latest adversary in the quiet battleground of your small, well-lit room. Your eyes darted across diagrams and text while your brain fought to corral the stubborn facts into memory. They spun around, lines at a time, before coiling into helix lattices. You stared at the wall, watching as the facts floated across your vision like cell clusters inside the vitreous.

“Adenine pairs with thymine,” you muttered under your breath. You chewed on what was left of your nail, wincing slightly at the sting, but it was a pain less sharp than the prospect of failure. The glasses perched on the bridge of your nose slipped down, and you pushed them back up with a knuckle, not daring to smear the pristine lens with sweat-glossed fingers.

The sudden buzz of your phone shattered the stillness. It vibrated against the wooden surface of your desk insistently, the noise disproportionately loud in the silence. Cillian was the first person you thought of, and with him in mind, a wave of anxiety rolled through your chest. If it was him, calling you out for one of his impromptu gatherings, how could you say no without igniting his subtle ire?

Sighing, you ignored it. If he said anything, you would pretend to have been asleep.

“Focus,” you scolded yourself, yet your hand betrayed you, reaching for the device. The screen lit up, casting a glow on your tense features as you swiped to read the message.

‘Hey Y/N, can we meet? - Rian.’

It wasn't Cillian. Relief mingled with curiosity, loosening the tight knot of worry in your stomach. But why would Rian want to meet so suddenly? A simple inquiry, yet it stirred a flutter in your heart that felt oddly like hope.

Your fingers hovered over the reply button, pulse quickening at the possibility of an impromptu meet-up. A meet-up meant stepping away from the books and into a moment that was unplanned, untailored, something you hardly allotted time to.

"Sure, where?" you typed back, thumbs almost slipping on the screen in your haste. You pressed send before the seeds of doubt could take root, before you could convince yourself to decline for the sake of study or appeasement.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

You found him waiting on O’Connell. The bridge was pulsing with Dublin's lifeblood, tourists snapping photos, street performers drawing crowds, locals weaving through it all with purposeful strides.

You saw him, but you were distracted, mesmerized by the crowd indifferently swimming around, swallowing you whole. You wished you could've delved into all of their psyches; mentally or otherwise, it was impossible to know what was wrong with someone. Some people were saints. Some were the worst people alive. Some were average. Some knew what they were and longed to appear otherwise. You were delighted by humanity’s infinite potential. Whether good or bad, humans held an even capacity for both. Someday, you would have to save the life of someone who didn’t deserve to live. You wondered what kind of person you’d become then, when your morals were upheld by a code.

Being in a crowd offered a wonderful sense of anonymity. You weren't anyone. You didn’t belong anywhere, but not one member of the numberless throng knew that. Momentarily, you were granted the chance to become anyone. Not an aspiring doctor. Not another student obsessed with owning nice things. All you wanted to be was at you friend’s side, enjoying the evening.

You stumbled through, eventually reaching Rian. His gaze fluttered to the pavement, then he moved to reach for his wallet. You snuck over, moving until you stood directly behind him. Hands creeping up to his shoulders, you pressed down, stifling a laugh when he jumped.

“Hey!”

“Shit, Y/N,” he hissed, fumbling with his wallet.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

At that moment, his stomach growled.

Laughing, you patted him on the back. He permitted your hold to linger, your arm resting across his shoulders as you embarked into the throng, mindlessly stepping. Their stroll led them to a small bar tucked into an alley. A flickering sign with streaks of balding neon designates its name, but you paid it no mind and entered. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, dimly lit with amber bulbs that cast a comforting glow over the wooden tables.

Passing a line of arcade games, you choose a spot near the front, on barstools that overlooked the street. Still, you were attracted to the machine’s blaring lights like a moth. You wanted a plush toy from the claw machine and knew that you, for some reason or another—due to a lack of skill or luck—would not receive it. As the eldest child, you were accustomed to sowing the seeds of desire yet and never reaping. But it was for the better; you were greedy and would demand more.

“What are you looking at?”

Sharply inhaling, you spun around to face him. Rian peered at you from behind his phone screen, then set it aside, face up.

“Nothing,” you said. “Those machines are really bright. It’s distracting.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, squinting. It really was blinding.

Settling at their table, Rian sank onto a stool, defeated. It creaked beneath his weight, and he winced.

“I’ll get us drinks,” said you, already rising.

His arm shot out in protest, wrapping around yoru wrist. “No, let me.”

With a huff, you tugged yourself free. “You invited me out, so it’s my treat.” Rian could not afford to squander his hard-earned cash on you.

“Isn’t it usually the other way?”

“Who cares? You’re getting free food. Don’t question my benevolence.”

Your bank account’s sum would dwindle, but someday, you’d make it back tenfold and treat Rian to something better than a shitty pub without even bothering to look at the price. This thought was your bleeding wallet’s only solace.

Reaching the bar, you ordered two pints. He swiftly delivered them from the tap. Cheering, you sipped at the froth spilling over the edge. You set a hefty glass before Rian and wiped your mouth on your shoulder.

“Sorry for the sudden call,” he abruptly said, his hands finding the security of his pockets as he spoke, “I just felt like seeing a friend today, and you’re as friendly as the lot gets.”

“No problem. I’m glad for the distraction. It feels like ages since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Yeah, really. Life gets busy. School, work, family… Between everything, It’s impossible to find a moment just to breathe.”

Not to mention how he juggled two part-time jobs, but Rian wasn’t one to complain.

Humming along, you traced the rim of your glass. You were vaguely aware that you should’ve gotten another to supplement living off of your mother’s income, but after last semester, you were reconsidering your ability to work and maintain your grades. At the very least, you’d work in the summer, and since your mother refused to take rent, would find other ways to help around the house. Maybe you should’ve already started looking for a co-op to boost your application for med school.

“It really is,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought so, too. I haven’t seen you or Connor in forever. I hate how, even though we attend the same university, it feels like we’re living in different worlds.”

Secondary school was unfounded hell, all seven layers of Dante’s inferno at once. While you didn’t recall those days fondly, you longed for its simplicity. There was a practiced ease to each day, comfort in only having to devote your time to your studies. Even now, you only had to focus on hitting the books and attending class, but because the responsibility to learn had fallen on you, you found your resolve wavering. Only the prospect of becoming filthy rich one day spurred your ambitions.

And grades too, you supposed. Most people claimed grades weren’t important, but those very same figures wouldn’t schedule appointments with a doctor who struggled through undergrad coursework. While it wouldn’t be evident upon entering an office, anyone could tell a doctor’s educational prowess through their conduct.

“Tell me about it,” you sighed, adjusting your glasses with a habitual motion. Your arm grazed the table on the way to your lap, stirring the contents of your cups. Your gaze was drawn to the rippling, amber liquid.

“Have you been keeping well with your studies?” Rian inquired.

“Trying to,” you said. You chuckled, a hollow, biting sound. “Can’t understand shit, but molecular biology isn't going to learn itself.”

“Speaking of misunderstandings,” Rian ventured cautiously, his fingers playing with the condensation on his glass. “Are you... I mean, I could be wrong, but from what I hear around campus, is there something going on between you and Cillian?”

The question struck you like a wave, causing you to inhale sharply. Your mouthful of beer went down the wrong pipe, and you choked, sputtering as you tried to regain your composure. Your eyes watered as you reached for a napkin, dabbing at your lips.

“Why would you ask that?” you managed to cough out. Bringing a hand up, you hit your chest, dislodging the liquid from your lungs.

Rian's gaze was steady, though not unkind, as he took a slow sip of his beer, buying a moment before answering. He set the glass down with a gentle thud, the sound muffled by the chatter and music surrounding them.

“I guess I’ve noticed how he's around you. It’s like… like he's always trying to keep close to you, you know?”

You studied Rian’s expression, noting the earnest furrow in his brow.

“No, we’re not anything. Only friends, and Cillian is just… complicated,” you began, voice trailing off as you searched for the right words. “But speaking of complicated,” you ventured with a cautious smile, “how are things with your girlfriend? I know you’re long-distance, but you haven’t talked about her in a while.”

Rian’s expression softened, but his eyes darted away for a moment before meeting yours again. He fiddled with the edge of a coaster, his fingers tracing the damp outline left by his beer glass.

“Ah, well, we haven’t spoken much lately,” he admitted, a note of shyness betraying his usual warmth. “It’s kind of on a pause, I guess. But it’s alright. Life's been busy. Busy, or maybe I’m not good at juggling.”

Sometimes, you thought Eve was a grand ploy invented by his madness. A girlfriend who lived in Malaysia and only met him through an exchange program last year? You didn’t recall meeting such a person, but supposedly, they struck up conversation because Rian was learning Indonesian, and they kept in contact to continue as language partners. It didn’t make sense to you, but what did you know? You were studying biomedical science, after all. You knew all the heart’s functions except for one.

“Really?” You responded with good-natured curiosity, though your mind was elsewhere. A buzz from under the table jolted you out of your reverie. You glanced down discreetly, the familiar ding of a text notification causing your heart to skip a beat. It was Cillian. Your fingertips brushed against the cold metal.

“Y/N?” Realizing your distraction, Rian’s brows knitted together.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, giving him an apologetic grin. “Just lost in thought for a second there.”

Another buzz, more insistent this time, sent a ripple of anxiety through you. You could almost hear Cillian’s voice in your head, his voice with each chime. Hey, hey, hey. Answer me. Why aren’t you picking up the phone? Your grip on the cup tightened.

Rian took a sip of his beer, his eyes not leaving your face. In the brief silence that followed, you were crushed beneath the weight of his unspoken questions, the air thickening as your phone continued like a beehive, its screen emitting a faint glow from beneath the cover of the table. You angled the device slightly, squinting to read the string of texts as you typed out a hurried response. Your thumb fumbled over the autocorrect suggestions, fingers flying too fast for your mind.

“Did I call you out at a bad time?” Rian leaned in, genuinely perplexed, the soft light casting shadows across his face. “You seem to be somewhere else.”

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you tucked the device away, hoping your smile might mask the sudden rush of guilt. “Ah, no, it's not that,” you managed to say, your voice a pitch higher than usual. “Brother’s home alone and doesn’t know how to cook. I’ll get him some Chinese after. You know how it is.”

Instead of answering, he shrugged and downed the rest of his glass’ contents in a single long gulp. Your heart clenched with gratitude. You offered a nod, a silent thank you, before redirecting the conversation to safer, shallower waters.

Across from you, Rian reached for his glass, the ice within clinking like a subtle chime. He took a slow swig to scoop any dregs into his mouth, chewed on a piece of ice, then set the glass down with measured care. His hand moved through the air as if to dismiss an irritating gnat.

“Summer brings all the pests,” he said, swatting at the air. “You shouldn’t bait flies. They’ve got germs and they’ll make you sick if they linger.”

Your mouth was dry. “I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hugging yourself, you watched the night drift past, viewing the crowd, pinpointing people to imagine the lives of. You spied yourself in the reflection, your image superimposed across the glass. Your lens reflected the light, making your eyes round discs.

What were you doing here? What were your goals with Rian?

He was always a joy to hang out with, but like all good things, he was received in moderation. He took just enough courses to be considered a full-time student and whenever he wasn’t committed to his studies, spent his precious free time trapped at a part-time job. His pay covered his tuition. His grandparents from the countryside sent him a meager allowance for food. Whenever they went out, he eyed the prices. He’d offer to pay at dinner, but no one ever permitted him to snag the check, knowing better than to take advantage of his needlessly giving nature. Without parents, he struggled more than a regular student ought to, so you tried to take care of him, the boy who was like the younger brother you’d always wanted. You weren’t doing a very good job, but Rian was nothing if not determined to squander his loyalty on someone like you.

You had sparse conversation, commenting on things between bites.  While not particularly close with Rian, he was easy to read and transparent. You soon developed a good groove in the conversation, permitting it to falter when you finally lost interest. Otherwise, you ordered chips to eat in silence and neatly stacked the trays when finished. While you wiped the table down with a napkin, Rian discarded your trash in a rubbish bin.

Checking the time, you realized y ouhad been out for just over an hour. You could’ve extended the plans. You still had a small balance set aside for discretionary spending, but the week was yet to end, and you feared that Cillian might impose an abrupt photography session, which meant visiting a new resturaunt, which would be followed by a trip to his favorite cafe.

If you’d gone out with him instead of Rian tonight, you could’ve expected to extend the excursion by an hour and for your account to be wiped. He knew all the trendy, fashionable stores, and in the company of someone like him, you felt compelled to also look your best. You could do little about your physical appearance, so through fashion, it was.

On the way out, you passed by that claw machine again. You glanced longingly at the contents. Although the quality was questionable, the little duck perched atop the lot was adorable. You paused to stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your face looked puffy and beneath the harsh lights, the bags beneath your eyes visible. The breeze had died and the night air was humid, so baby hairs stuck to your forehead. Retrieving a clip from your purse, you stalled. You scooped the strands between your thumb and forefinger, attaching the clip. You laughed at yourself. Your bangs stuck up like a palm tree.

“So that’s what you were looking at,” said Rian, slotting himself at your side. His reflection joined yours. “Want me to win it for you?”

“No. It’s all luck, no skill.”

“That’s because you’re not skilled.”

“You know these things are practically scams, right? The claws are always too weak to grab anything.”

Rian’s lips curved into a smile, his features illuminated by the neon colors dancing across his face. “Maybe,” he conceded, tucking a stray lock of wavy hair behind his ear. “But it’s still worth a shot. What if I win you something?”

“Then I’ll be genuinely impressed.”

You winced when he inserted a bill. He maneuvered the claw around, eyeing an ugly thing. You stood at the side of the machine, eyeing his trajectory. The machine gave two turns with each payment. During the first, Rian managed to snag the creature. Seized by the head, it precariously wobbled before slipping out and falling back into place. The second was just as dismal.

Rian clicked his tongue. You begged him to stop, but he fed the machine bill after bill. He shrieked with every failed attempt, yet on on the eighth and final turn, the claw held fast and secured the creature.  Your mouth fell open as the prize dangled precariously during its journey toward the drop chute, landing with a dull thud. It was still for a moment before he lifted the plexiglass and snatched it up.

“Yes! Did you see that? I beat the machine!”

Gripping it by the neck, he presented a scraggy bundle of coarse thread and lopsided proportions. You weren’t quite sure what it was meant to be. Similarly, it wasn’t the one you had your eye on earlier. Nevertheless, you profusely thanked his efforts and rewarded him with an awkward embrace.

“Let’s take a picture with your new friend there,” Rian begged. His phone, a device older than most, its screen littered with scratches, was already out of his pocket and in his hands. “I want to show off my skills.”

You grinned. “You’re going to brag about one measly win?”

“It made you smile. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“No. It’s alright. It’s just one picture.”

You hugged the toy close to your chest to muffle the furious pounding of your heart as he snapped the photo. With its head skimming your cheek, you caught a whiff of its cardboard stench and felt a hole beneath one of the arms. The material was coarse against your cheek. You gritted your teeth and grinned. You wouldn’t complain because Rian was overjoyed to provide something for you, so you chewed your tongue.

Instead of the shoddy object, you reveled in the sentiment behind it, knowing your momentary happiness was worth losing out on several lunches because he valued you more than himself.

Backing up, Rian framed the shot with shaky hands. Just as the shutter clicked, someone jostled him from behind. With a grin, he turned the screen toward you, displaying your blurred visage.

“Rian, it’s all hazy,” you protested. The lights in the back were supernovas, streaky lines illuminating your silhouette. Your figure appeared smeared across them like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged, pocketing his phone without a second glance. “It’s just a picture of us—well, you and the… Whatever the fuck the ugly thing is. I know you’ll love it. You’ve got this way of loving things no one else could.”

You would. You had to, because no one else would offer the care you did.

You could’ve deluded yourself into feeling special, but it was all for show. He was smiles and kindness, yet above all, Rian was desperate to keep others at his side as if they were pieces of art to be displayed. Such was natural for people of his nature; those who were alone and despised the fact would always try to appear otherwise, and at all costs. Rian would toil and squander his precious time and money to please you, because if he didn’t no one else would. He was an indispensable person, eager to assert his value. That was his sense of selfishness.

Knowing all that, would you still plead for the stupid toy again? Of course, and without delay. The harsh truth to the world was that that happiness could only be achieved through vanity. Humans were vain and selfish; no person was inherently selfless. Those that were, were without good reason.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[teletubbyinlipstick]

DogWood Tree

Artemis. R.

“Only do what your heart tells you” - Princess Diana

(18+ for themes of assault. MINORS DNI! You are responsible for the media you consume. You have been warned.)

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You were new to the BAU, having only been fresh out of the academy for 5 months, and an official “intern agent” for 3. It was understandable that you'd have hiccups along the way.

Yes, you had the badge, the gun, and the FBI vest you so dearly loved, but they considered you an “Intern Agent” as sort of a preliminary to see how you do with the team. See If you integrate well and adapt to a new habitat. Of course, you were allowed on cases. However, you always had to have a Supervisory Special Agent with you.

In all fairness, you were the youngest. Sometimes you need a guiding hand, not in a babying way-as you are 23 years old with a sound mind and job- but more of a young doe, wide eyed and eager to please.

Eager to impress.

Hotch and Rossi pinpointed that in you the second you walked in for an interview. Nervously playing with your rings, flushed cheeks, and every couple minutes, you'd tuck strands of hair behind your ear. It was sweet, so young and open. Could you really blame them for their instincts? They instantly took a protectiveness over you, treating you like family, almost like a daughter.

Not to mention how sweet the others are, adored with your youth and energy. Penelope gave you stuffed animals upon accidentally learning of your ever growing collection. JJ and Luke somehow memorized your coffee order immediately, and since you tended to show up 40 minutes after everyone, the two often took turns bringing you coffee.

Emily and Morgan were definitely your big brother/sister; they teased you relentlessly, ruffling your hair during training or round table meetings. Being the youngest was something they loved to tease you about. Arguing over who gets to “babysit” first. Morgan likes to hold your badge out of reach and giggle like a psycho when you inevitably climb a chair to reach it. Although the look on his face when Hotch scolds him for teasing is so worth the irritation.

The only one you couldn't quite figure out was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

An anomaly like no other, a mystery by any other name. The man doesn't say much to you outside of work. He's very warm, open, to the others, but he shuts down a bit when it comes to you. In fact, you can count on one hand the conversations you two have shared that didn't involve work. Those moments are beautiful, the soft giggles and his lips quirking up as he gazes at you with something you can't quite put your finger on.

They never last long enough for you to decipher. You can tell when he comes to himself a sudden, sharp, intake of breath before he tenses clears his throat and makes a beeline for the opposite end of the room. It's a bitter end to the brief sweetness.

You've tried to soothe the burn of whatever scorn you've caused from him, bringing him ginseng honey tea because JJ said it was his favorite. Only for him to smile strainly and leave the cup full at the top of his desk…so maybe he's weird about people touching his food and drinks…that's okay! Generosity comes in many forms, so next you tried holding a door open for him and quickly never did it again because the look he gave you made you want to crawl into a closet and rot.

It seems whatever kind favor you do for him irritates him greatly time and time again. It's exhausting and you can't imagine what you've done to warrant such…animosity. You were determined to please. To get to the bottom of this.

You were nothing if not stubborn!

Currently, the team and you are in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Having been flown out the night prior for 4 missing women reports, 2 bodies showed up downstream a river right outside a camp ground. All young, early 20s, camp counselors.

Upon landing Rossi and you were paired and sent to the camp, specifically the cluster of cabins where two of the women bunked together. In the car you both bounced theories back and forth a major one being he was a camp counselor who was rejected/humiliated by other counselors. Perhaps he was a grounds keeper, a sudden stressor has him reacting.

Rossi heads towards the front office intent on having a looj at the files. You trek on to the first cabin, Rebekah Daniel's was the first to go missing. The door was taped off caution signs covering the blood and dirt stains across the porch.

Entering the place was foul, it smelled of something awful and it was throughly trashed. A clear sign of a struggle. You do a swoop of the room where you find a snapped necklace caught under a window pane. Possibly where he had dragged them out.

Hotch calls not long after Rossi and you meet back up. Stating him and Reid might have a more defined geographical location of the unsub. You both conducted interviews with the other campers, splitting them into groups before dwindling down to one on one.

It unfortunately didn't bring much to light, so, heading back to the station you give Rossi and run through of what you found. He squeezes your shoulder, a proud grin on his face. Giving you a "good job, kid." For the effort.

It was time for the second update on JJ and Emily as they interviewed the girl's families. Something felt off the rest of the night. You couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but you were on edge and frustrated with how the interviews had gone…you're missing something. You just know it.

Now, technically you weren’t allowed to get on crime scene sites without a Supervisory Agent with you…but you had a random stroke of luck when remembering the writings on the bathroom stalls out near the campground you and Rossi had Investigated hours prior. So, really, who could blame you?

And that's exactly how you ended up running through the woods in nothing but sweatpants, sneakers, and a baggy t-shirt. It was almost 2am, your phone was gone, your jacket was gone, and most of your dignity was also gone. When you arrived, it was quiet, settled, and you were quick in getting to the stalls and snapping photos of the writing. Intending to study them at the hotel rather than in the woods…in the middle of the night. So imagine your surprise when your full force body slammed into the wall, ears ringing as a boot stomps onto your stomach. You have enough sense to latch on the leg the second time it comes down and use it as leverage to kick up into the man's groin. Scrambling up and over him crashing through the bathroom door frantically dialing Morgan's number.

You can hear him behind you. A snarl sound coming from his throat as he chases, It's predator and prey. Morgan picks up on the 4th ring.

“Yo, this better be good, kid.”

Barely managing a sharp squeal/wail when you're tackled again, phone flying from your grasp. Not hearing the frantic tone of Morgan calling your name. The man - who you now know is the unsub - grabs a fist full of your hair, his hand as big as your head as he shoves your face against the rough dirt and rocks.

“What a sweet little lamb you are. What're you doing all by your lonesome?” his voice was gravely, almost ill sounding, and you cried till your voice was hoarse struggling under him. A horrible sound of a zipper has you tensing, your left arm frees with his sudden pressure change. And you take that opportunity to pull your arm back, then snap it against the unsubs nose, and you can hear the sickening crunch of cartilage and bone. It's pitch black, and you don't notice the steep drop both you and the unsub come close to. Desperate to live and running on animal instincts, you use another pushing point on his outer thigh to create distance. You're up and on your feet, balancing on your left leg to deliver a swift kick to the head with your right when the unsub gets to his knees. motherfuckers got perseverance.

A brief glint catches the moonlight, and your eyes widen. Oh fuck.

He's got a gun.

Your delay was your downfall. In your sudden pause, it gave the unsub enough time to aim and fire. The bullet takes home in your shoulder, stumbling back, almost dazed as the ground gives way, and you plummet down a steep hill.

Oh god...

The team is gonna kill me.

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This is nothing but one big rough draft I edited where I could, but yeah, it's not meant to be perfect. I hope you enjoyed it tho! Please feel free to give advice or point out any errors! I have a whole story in my mind, I'm negl. I don't know if I'll continue it, but imma try because I have a huge idea where it goes next so....maybe expect? I'll update more if anything changes.