#if you have any requests they are welcome :)

[heliosunny]

Hello!! hello! i love all your works!!! and how much you post per day???? pls take breaks between writing if you can!

i read the streamer!jing yuan one...

if requests are open can i request sunday with the same scenario?

i imagine he'd never play any otome games on his own so robin would have to coerce him into playing the game. i also see him to be the type of player who'd clear every route and have things down to a T ...

but what if there was one route he never finished? the hardest route to trigger and the one with the most bad endings cause the favourability bar is super fickle?

but the payoff is worth it once he somehow???? manages to trigger a yandere event hehe

Yandere!Streamer Sunday x Reader

Game Loading… Welcome Back.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before settling in for another long night. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

When Robin had first forced him to play, he’d scoffed at the idea. Him? A dating game? No way. But somewhere along the way—after countless hours, multiple endings, and way too much money spent on DLC—he’d become obsessed. His competitive streak wouldn’t let him quit until he had 100% completion.

And yet, one route remained unfinished.

Yours.

You were the hardest love interest to win over, your favorability bar more unstable than any other. No matter what he did, one wrong move could send it plummeting. He had watched others fail, seen forums filled with players begging for hints. No one had a clear guide. No one had reached the true ending.

Tonight, that would change.

“Alright, chat” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t care how long it takes—I’m finishing Y/N’s route tonight.”

“Sunday, you’re too deep in, bro.” “At this point, Y/N is your real partner.” “No way you’re getting the true ending. It’s cursed.” “Watch him fumble and lose favorability in five minutes.”

He exhaled, ignoring the teasing comments as the title screen faded, and the game resumed where he left off.

This was it.

Carefully, he selected his next dialogue option, choosing words with precision. Your sprite appeared, and for the first time in all his failed attempts, the favorability bar twitched upward.

[Favorability +5]

“That’s new” he muttered, brows furrowing. Chat exploded with excitement, theories flying in real-time. He leaned in, hyper-focused. The background music softened, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then, the screen flickered.

“What the-?”

Your expression on screen shifted. Subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft smile you usually wore seemed… off. Before he could react, a new dialogue box popped up.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“?????” “This isn’t in the script, bro.” “GOT THE SECRET ROUTE?!” “ABORT. ABORT.”

Before he could click anything, the screen distorted. Pixels warped, the background dissolving into a mess of static. A sudden high-pitched ringing filled his headphones.

Then—darkness.

Sunday had always been good at games. He could grind through any RPG, master mechanics, and break down any system with enough time and effort. But Ethereal Reverie: Fated Bonds was different.

When he stumbled upon your route, he had been hooked.

You were different from other love interests. You're the ultimate challenge. And Sunday loves that.

In the world of Ethereal Reverie, you were the kingdom’s renowned scholar and strategist, sought after by nobles and rulers alike. Your mind was your greatest weapon, and you wielded it with precision. Unlike the other characters—who were knights, royals, and adventurers—you had no need for physical prowess. Instead, you navigated court politics, warfare, and intrigue, always three steps ahead of everyone else.

Most players never even got past your acquaintance phase. Your favorability was infamously fickle—one wrong move and you'd cut ties with the protagonist entirely, locking them out of your story. It was said that only a handful of players had even managed to trigger a romance flag, and none had reached the true ending.

Sunday was determined to be the first.

But now, as he stared up at you—no longer a 2D sprite but a living, breathing person—he realized he had made a grave mistake.

“Sunday.”

His breath caught in his throat. You knew his name. That wasn’t possible. His in-game avatar had a preset name—Caius—the default protagonist. But you weren’t looking at Caius. You were looking at him.

Sunday barely had time to process what was happening before another voice called out from behind you.

“Lord Sunday, you’ve finally arrived.”

What?

It wasn’t just you.

He turned his head sharply, eyes darting around. The grand stone courtyard he had landed in was familiar—ornate fountains, banners bearing the royal crest, and intricate marble pillars. This was the capital’s royal palace, the heart of the kingdom.

He knew this place. He had seen it countless times in the game.

But this wasn’t the protagonist’s usual starting point.

And then the pieces clicked.

His ornate outfit, the way the NPCs were addressing him, the "Lord" title—

This wasn’t his usual avatar.

The game hadn’t just dragged him into the world. It had assigned him a new role.

A dangerous one.

There was only one person in Ethereal Reverie who was constantly at odds with you. One person who stood as your rival in the court’s deadly political game. The one strategist whose name was whispered with both admiration and fear—

Lord Sunday, the Grand Strategist of the Northern Territories.

He had become your greatest enemy.

Why the hell did the game slot me into the villain’s role?

“Lord Sunday. I hope you’re ready. We have much to discuss.”

He had spent a month obsessing over you, trying to understand your thought process, learning every intricate detail of your route. He knew how dangerous you could be.

And now, he was trapped inside the game—forced to be your rival.

The tension in the grand hall was suffocating.

Sunday sat at the long, polished table, hands clenched into fists against his lap as his brain scrambled to keep up. Across from him, you stood poised, arms crossed, your expression carefully neutral—yet he could see the sharpness in your gaze, the unmistakable glint of contempt.

You hated him.

Which was funny, considering he had spent weeks trying to get you to like him.

“This is reckless” you said coldly, turning away from him to address the gathered nobles and military officers. “If we march our forces north under such a thinly-veiled deception, we risk stretching our supply lines too far. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Sunday barely heard the murmurs of agreement that followed. His mind was still caught on the fact that you were speaking to him like he was an actual person. Not a scripted character, but as though he had always been here—as though this world had been real from the start.

And worst of all?

His name, his role in this world, had come with pre-existing relationships—and every single one of them pointed to you absolutely despising him.

He could feel the weight of the stares on him, waiting for his rebuttal. He had no choice but to play along.

“Stretching our supply lines?” he scoffed, leaning back into his chair, “What, do you think my forces can’t handle a simple flanking maneuver? Or do you just enjoy opposing me on principle?”

A flicker of irritation crossed your face. “I oppose stupid ideas on principle.”

There it is.

You had always been like this in the game—blunt, tactical, calculating. You didn’t suffer fools, and apparently, he was a fool in your eyes.

Fine. If that’s how this world saw him, he’d use it to his advantage.

“The southern front is already stabilizing” he continued smoothly, gesturing to the map. “If we strike before the enemy fully regroups, we force them into a defensive position and eliminate their supply routes. You can’t tell me you don’t see the logic in that.”

You narrowed your eyes, and for a moment, Sunday swore he saw something flicker across your expression.

Then, your lips curled into a humorless smile.

“Oh, I see the logic. I also see the arrogance of a man who plays at war like a gambler throwing dice.”

A collective oof rippled through the court. Even Sunday felt that one.

The tension between the two of you was so thick it could be cut with a blade.

“Tell me, Lord Sunday” you continued, “when was the last time one of your little schemes didn’t end in absolute disaster?”

That was a loaded question.

And one he definitely didn’t know the answer to.

Because he had no idea what his past self had actually done in this world.

What the hell did my predecessor do to make you hate me this much?!

Sunday knew when to back down. He had spent the past month failing your route over and over again, watching his choices backfire, and seeing your favorability bar plummet to zero in an instant. Pushing you wouldn’t work.

So, he changed tactics.

For the next few weeks, Sunday did what he did best—he studied you.

Not in the obsessive, love-struck way he had before. No, this time, he played the role the game had given him—your rival. A nuisance at court, a persistent thorn in your side, someone you could never quite get rid of.

But somewhere along the way, he started slipping into your life.

When you left the palace on a diplomatic mission, your caravan mysteriously found safe passage through bandit territory—unaware that Sunday had bribed the local mercenaries to keep them away.

When you spent long nights buried in military reports, a second set of documents would appear on your desk—already summarized with the most critical information highlighted.

When an assassination attempt nearly succeeded in the dead of night, your would-be killer was found dead in an alley the next morning. The guards claimed they had no idea who had done it.

And your favorability bar?

It didn’t move.

No matter how many times Sunday secretly lent a hand, no matter how much effort he put in, you remained completely indifferent to him.

It was infuriating.

It was addicting.

But then, Kristiana betrayed you.

And Sunday knew—this was it. This was where he had to step in.

Kristiana—your most trusted friend, the one person you had allowed yourself to rely on—had sold you out.

For what?

Power. Influence. A higher seat at the table.

Sunday had seen the signs before you did.

But even he hadn’t expected it to be this cruel.

By the time you realized, it was too late.

The palace was in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire. You had been accused of treason. Fabricated evidence, falsified reports—all of it meticulously crafted to erase you from power.

And it would have worked.

If Sunday hadn’t stepped in.

When you were dragged into the throne room, stripped of your titles and power, the nobles stood like vultures, watching your downfall with thinly veiled amusement. Kristiana stood at the front, her expression unreadable.

And then—

Sunday spoke.

“...What an interesting turn of events.”

His voice was lazy, amused, and every single person in the room stiffened. Because Sunday never spoke at these gatherings unless he had something dangerous to say.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at?”

He ignored you.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are we really accusing the kingdom’s greatest strategist of treason?” He chuckled. “How convenient. And Kristiana, of all people, is the one bringing it forward?”

Kristiana lifted her chin. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Is it?”

Then, before anyone could react, he threw a stack of papers onto the table.

“What—” Kristiana’s eyes widened.

Sunday grinned. “Because I have evidence too. And mine says you’re the traitor.”

Kristiana paled.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

He turned to look at you “I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was quieter now, softer, just for you. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

And for the first time since you met him, since he arrived in this world, your favorability bar moved.

All eyes were on Sunday. It was infuriating how effortlessly he controlled the room.

He had just turned your execution trial into his own personal stage.

Kristiana’s hands trembled as she stared at the documents he had thrown onto the table. Papers filled with her secret dealings, her correspondence with enemy factions—detailed proof that she had orchestrated everything.

You didn’t know whether to feel furious or relieved.

Kristiana quickly schooled her expression, regaining her composure. “This is absurd” she said sharply, eyes flicking between Sunday and the king. “Lord Sunday has always opposed Y/N. He has no reason to support them now unless—”

Her gaze snapped to you, then back to Sunday.

“…Unless he’s playing a game of his own.”

She was right. Sunday was known for strategy, deception, manipulation. He wasn’t a savior. He was your rival. You thought.

This wasn’t kindness—this was tactics.

Kristiana latched onto that, her voice rising. “Your Majesty, can’t you see? This is just another one of his ploys! He—he’s aligning with them to further his own agenda!”

Sunday let out a low chuckle.

“Now, now, Kristiana.” His tone was almost mocking. “If that were true, wouldn’t it make you the fool for not realizing it sooner?”

Kristiana’s face burned red with rage.

And you didn’t know what to believe.

Sunday’s interference had saved you. But why?

You weren’t friends. You weren’t allies. You were enemies.

“Your Majesty” Sunday finally said, turning to the king with that same, insufferable confidence. “With all due respect, I think it’s clear who the real traitor is.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Kristiana. The weight of the court’s murmurs filled the air.

“Guards” the king ordered. “…Take Kristiana into custody.”

“Wait—!”

The guards moved instantly, seizing her arms before she could react. She thrashed against them, screaming your name—screaming that you would regret this. That Sunday would betray you, too.

And maybe she was right.

You didn’t even notice how tightly your hands had curled into fists until you felt the sting of your own nails against your palms.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Kristiana’s struggling form, the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice carefully neutral.

Sunday smiled.

“I’m resigning from my position as Grand Strategist.”

The room erupted.

“You—”

Sunday’s smirk didn’t waver as he turned his back on them all. “Figure the rest out yourselves. I’m done.”

And with that, he walked away.

Sunday had abandoned his entire career.

For what?

You didn’t know.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of alcohol and warm food hanging in the air. It was quieter than usual—most of the patrons had already retreated to their rooms or stumbled home.

Sunday sat alone in the corner, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of dark liquor. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a sluggishness to his movements.

His fingers tapped idly against the table as he swirled the drink in his hand. Resigning had been necessary. The position was a leash, binding him to forces he had no control over. And if he wanted to truly be close to you— if he wanted to get everything he desired—

He had to start over.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stood at the entrance of the tavern. Unlike in the palace, where your every movement was calculated, here, in the dim light of the inn, there was something… different about you.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, “What, no gloating? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me jobless and miserable.”

You sighed, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Kristiana was a problem,” he said simply. “I dealt with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, he considered telling you the truth. That you were the reason. That, in another life, he had spent weeks chasing after you, memorizing every dialogue choice, failing and failing just to see you look at him with something other than cold indifference.

That this was all a game to him once—but now?

Now, it was his reality.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just tired of playing the role they wanted me to?”

Your brows furrowed, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“I should just let you waste away here, but…”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you reached into your coat and slid a folded letter across the table.

“…I need a strategist.”

His fingers brushed over the letter as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful precision. His eyes scanned the contents—an official contract, under your seal. The offer was clear: a position within your faction, under your personal command.

He had to bite back the grin threatening to form.

Staying in the palace as Grand Strategist kept him shackled to the court’s politics, unable to act freely. But working under you?

That gave him access to everything.

To you.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I accept.”

And just like that—

He had slipped right back into your life.

The first few days of having Sunday around were... strange.

You weren’t used to having someone constantly at your side. At first, you thought giving him a position as your personal servant was just a way to keep him under control—make sure he wasn’t scheming something behind your back. After all, he was your enemy.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now, he was everywhere.

You barely had a moment to breathe without Sunday inserting himself into your routine. If you so much as reached for a teapot, he was already pouring your tea. If you sighed after a long day of dealing with incompetent nobles, he was magically at your side, hands on your shoulders, pressing into the knots of tension like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Why are you still here?” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sunday, standing beside your desk, completely unbothered, merely hummed as he flipped through the reports you had been working on. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm. Clearly.” He held up a document, tilting his head. “Like this mistake right here?”

You snatched the paper from his hand, scanning it quickly—only to freeze when you spotted the minor miscalculation. Your grip on the paper tightened.

Sunday smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the document down before rubbing your temples. “I should fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in. You had been working since morning, and the strain was finally catching up to you.

Without a word, Sunday moved behind you.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension with practiced ease.

“…You’re tense”

You gritted your teeth. “Maybe because someone keeps breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled, his fingers working at the tension with slow, deliberate pressure. It felt annoyingly good. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this.

“You know” he said, “I think I’m growing on you.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet, he didn’t stop.

---

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Secret route triggered. Remaining lives: 4

Sunday gasped as his consciousness was yanked back into existence. One moment, there was nothing—just the cold, suffocating embrace of death. And then, suddenly—He was back.

He jolted upright, hand instinctively clutching his chest. He could still feel it. The sharp pain. The blood. The sheer betrayal.

You had killed him.

Not out of hatred. Not out of revenge.

But because you thought he was scheming against you.

The memory was blurry. He remembered standing in your office, your cold, empty gaze, the guards stepping forward—your blade piercing through him.

This was new. The system had never interfered like this before. He had suspected that this world wasn’t entirely real, but for it to suddenly have rules about death?

The message had been clear:

If he died four more times, he was gone for good.

And there was only one way to stop that from happening.

He had to figure out why you had killed him.

-2nd life-

This time, Sunday was careful.

He stayed out of sight. He watched. He listened. He took note of everything—the way the guards moved, the shifts in your behavior, the whispers among the servants.

And yet, despite all his caution, he still died.

A dagger in the dark.

Slipping through his ribs as he passed through the halls alone.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 3

-3rd life-

He wasn’t alone this time.

He stuck by your side closer than ever, watching you, watching your people. And still— The moment he took a sip of wine, his throat locked up. His vision blurred. Poison. As his body collapsed to the floor, he saw the wide-eyed horror on your face, the way you rushed to his side.

The way you whispered, "Who did this?"

But the system was already pulling him back.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 2

---

When he came back again, Sunday finally had enough pieces.

He had overheard the murmurs between the palace servants. How they whispered in dark corners, how they spoke of him as if he was a threat. How someone had been spreading lies about him to you.

You had always been calculating. If you believed he was plotting something, then that meant you were given evidence.

Fabricated evidence.

And just like that—he knew.

Someone in your inner circle wanted him dead.

And if he didn’t fix it soon,

he would die for real.

Sunday had two lives left.

This time, he didn’t act recklessly. He smiled at the servants. Charmed the guards. Pretended he didn’t know that any of them had already been responsible for his previous deaths.

And most importantly?

He stayed close to you.

It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions.

The whispers in the halls, the stolen glances between certain attendants, the way they avoided his gaze whenever he passed. Someone had been feeding you lies about him.

Twisting the truth. Painting him as a traitor.

And the final piece clicked into place when he overheard a conversation outside the grand hall.

“Has the master grown suspicious?”

“Not yet. But if that man continues to cling to them, we’ll have to push harder. The evidence is nearly ready.”

Evidence.

They think they can manipulate me?

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

He had to move carefully.

But even knowing what he knew, he still miscalculated.

Sunday had been following the movements of one of the suspicious attendants, gathering clues, trying to find solid proof before he confronted you—

When he felt the cold press of a blade against his throat.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

The blade sliced.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅.

-Last chance-

Sunday woke up shaking.

This was it. One life left.

The moment he was revived, he went straight to you.

He didn’t wait for the lies to spread again. Didn’t wait for another chance to be stabbed in the dark.

He had to make you listen. So when he found you in your private study, brow furrowed over a new report, Sunday did something he had never done before.

He dropped to his knees.

“What are you—?”

“Someone has been feeding you false information about me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who exactly is behind it, but I have proof that some of the palace attendants have been manipulating you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ve overheard them talking. The whispers in the halls. The fabricated ‘evidence’ against me.”

“Tell me,” he said, “what did they show you?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tightened over the report in your hands.

Sunday saw the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind worked behind that carefully unreadable expression.

For weeks, he had been watching you—learning you. Every minute change in your stance, the flicker of your gaze when something unsettled you. And now?

You were unsettled.

Good.

That meant he was getting somewhere.

“Tell me, then.” Your voice was composed, but he could hear the tension beneath it. “What do you think I saw?”

“Something that made me look like a traitor.”

He pressed on.

“Documents with my forged signature? Secret meetings I never attended?” His voice lowered. “Maybe even an intercepted message—words twisted just enough to convince you that I had been plotting against you all along.”

Sunday exhaled slowly. “You didn’t question it because it made sense, didn’t it?” He tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Because I’ve always been your biggest obstacle. Because I’ve always been the one who stood against you.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t deny it, either.

He needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and you could still see him as a threat.

“But even after all that… you let me stay by your side.” He tilted his head, watching your reaction. “Why?”

“You were useful.”

“Liar”

Sunday sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. You don’t trust me. Fine. But at least trust yourself.” His voice softened. “Think about it, really think about it—was there ever a time I actually betrayed you?”

Sunday leaned back slightly, voice steady as he gave his final push. “If you still want to kill me after thinking it through, then do it.”

You stared at him.

Seconds passed.

Then, your fingers loosened over the report in your hands.

You set it down.

“…Who?”

“Let me find out.”

And this time, he wouldn’t die before getting his answer.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday wasn’t lurking in the shadows or biting his tongue. No, this time, he moved freely.

You hadn’t explicitly told him to investigate, but by not ordering him to stop, you had given him permission.

And he would take full advantage of that.

Sunday wasn’t stupid. The moment he started looking too closely, his enemies would know.

So he laid a trap. He spread a rumor. A whisper in the halls, planted through a careless slip to an eavesdropping maid:

“The master is growing suspicious.”

It took less than a day for the rats to scurry.

Late into the night, Sunday followed a group of attendants as they snuck through the palace corridors, slipping into a secluded study.

He pressed against the wall, listening.

“The fool is still alive.”

Kristiana.

Your former best friend.

“No matter. The next attempt will not fail” she continued. “Their trust in him is wavering, but it is not broken. We must strike before it is too late.”

A second voice—one of your high-ranking advisors—spoke up. “Then we must act now. The documents are already prepared. A few words from our informant and the master will be forced to execute him. This time, there will be no hesitation.”

So that’s how they did it.

Forcing your hand. Setting you up so that killing him was the only logical choice.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The room fell silent.

Kristiana’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I shouldn’t be alive either, and yet, here I am.” His gaze flicked over the forged documents on the table, then back to her. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The advisor paled. “You have no proof—”

���I don’t need proof, because you’re going to confess.”

Kristiana scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward, “I am still standing here.”

“And that means I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Sunday let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow:

“I wonder what will happen when I tell the master.”

Kristiana was a skilled manipulator, but even the most cunning fox could be outplayed. Still, Kristiana wasn’t the type to surrender without a fight.

“You assume Y/N will believe you.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

Kristiana clicked her tongue, fingers twitching toward the hidden dagger at her belt.

“Let me guess. This is the part where you try to silence me?”

He didn’t give her the chance.

Before her blade could even leave its sheath, guards swarmed the room.

Her face twisted in shock as soldiers restrained her, yanking the weapon from her grasp.

Sunday turned, finally meeting your gaze as you stepped into the room.

You weren’t looking at him, though.

You were looking at Kristiana.

“…Why?”

Kristiana let out a breathless laugh. “You still don’t get it?” Her smile was sharp. “I was never going to let you win.”

“Take her away.”

[Favorability +20]

For the first time since entering this world, Sunday saw the notification appear.

All this time, he had been serving you, watching you, following you. He had given you his loyalty, his time, even his own life. And yet, only now, after clearing out the people who poisoned your ears, did the game decide to acknowledge his efforts?

Still, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he watched you.

You had been silent since Kristiana was taken away. You stood there, alone in the now-empty study, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“…You were right”

Sunday blinked. “What?”

“About Kristiana. About the lies.” Your jaw clenched. “About me being too blind to see it.”

“…You trusted her,” he said simply. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was careless.”

“No. It was human.”

[Favorability +10]

This time, he really did laugh.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

For the first time since Sunday entered this world, things were peaceful.

Kristiana was gone. The whispers had died down.

And you stopped looking at him with suspicion.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but that was fine.

Because you let him stay.

He continued to serve you, just like before.

When you were tired, you didn’t push him away when he set down a cup of tea beside you.

When he disappeared for a few hours, you caught yourself wondering where he had gone.

[Favorabiliy +5]

It was slow.

But it was happening.

Of course, he knew this peace wouldn’t last forever.

Kristiana might be gone, but her knowing smile haunted the back of his mind.

Something else was coming. The true storm. And Sunday would be ready.

The palace halls were silent.

The mourning drapes hung heavy over the grand windows, blocking out the golden light of dawn. Even the servants moved quietly, their usual whispers and hurried footsteps replaced by a solemn stillness.

Your father was gone.

The weight of it pressed down on you like an iron chain.

He had held on as long as he could. Even in his final hours, he had smiled at you—his tired eyes filled with warmth, his hand resting weakly over yours.

“You will be alright.”

His last words echoed in your mind.

But you weren’t.

You could barely eat. Barely drink. Barely breathe.

The world around you blurred. People came and went, offering condolences, yet their voices were distant, as if muffled by water.

And through it all—

Sunday remained.

----

You didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way Sunday silently turned away envoys, nobles, and officials, intercepting their letters before they could reach your hands. Marriage proposals. Political alliances disguised as heartfelt offers. Opportunists circling like vultures, waiting for the moment your grief would make you vulnerable.

Sunday burned them all.

Every request. Every demand. Every veiled attempt at stealing you away.

They didn’t deserve you.

And if anyone thought they could force your hand—

Well.

They would have to go through him.

-----

The night was cold.

You sat by your father’s desk, the candlelight flickering against the tear-stained letters before you.

You hadn’t touched the meal that had been left for you.

“You need to eat.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. Gently, he placed a cup of warm broth beside you, the steam curling into the air.

Still, you didn’t move.

“…He wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.”

For a moment, Sunday thought you would ignore him again.

But then, slowly, you reached for the cup. The broth sat warm in your hands, but you barely tasted it. It was just something to do. A distraction. A meaningless action to appease Sunday so he wouldn’t pester you further.

You had expected him to leave once you took a sip.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Sunday crouched beside you, plucking a small piece of softened bread from the untouched plate.

“Here.”

“I can feed myself.”

He didn’t argue. He simply held the bread near your lips, gaze steady.

“You’ve barely eaten in days.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and took a small bite.

The moment the food hit your tongue, you realized how hungry you truly were.

You had been so caught up in grief, in the crushing weight of loss, that you had ignored your own needs. But now, your body reminded you—loud and clear—that it was starving.

Sunday didn’t say anything as he picked up another piece and lifted it toward you.

And without thinking, you let him feed you.

The warmth of his fingertips, the way he wordlessly knew when to offer you water, the way his gaze never once wavered from yours.

For the first time, you actually looked at him.

He had always been there, hadn’t he? Lingering in the background, watching over you, handling things before you even had to ask.

And now, up close like this, he wasn’t that annoying.

Actually… he was— Handsome.

The thought struck you so suddenly that you nearly choked on your next bite.

Sunday blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “Careful.”

You coughed, hastily grabbing the cup of water he handed you. Heat crept up your neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure.

“What’s wrong? Finally realizing how charming I am?”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But he only chuckled, satisfied.

[Favorability +5]

You didn’t see it. The tiny, nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air—like a system notification only meant for him.

“What?” he said. “Did I get more handsome just now, or are you finally acknowledging that I’ve been devastatingly attractive this entire time?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments while feeding me?”

“Multi-tasking is an important skill.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he plucked another piece of bread from the plate and held it up, smirking, “you’re still letting me feed you.”

You froze, only just realizing it.

You could argue, push him away, reclaim some of your dignity… but you were still hungry. And honestly, this was the first real conversation you’d had since your father passed.

…It was nice.

So instead of answering, you simply huffed and took another bite, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if I had known all it took was feeding you to make you behave, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

“I take it back. You’re annoying.”

“Too late. You already let me in.”

-----

Sunday should have been pleased.

You were recovering. You were finally eating, standing tall once more, resuming the duties your father left behind. He had worked for this. Stayed by your side through the worst of it. Protected you, fed you, shielded you from the opportunistic nobles who sought to take advantage of your grief.

And now?

Now you were back to work.

And he hated it.

Not because he wanted you to remain weak—no, he would never wish that on you. But because now, he had less control. Before, when you were withdrawn in your chambers, he was the one managing things. The one turning away suitors, handling your food, ensuring your safety without question.

But now?

Now you were surrounded by people. Officials, nobles, potential threats.

And worst of all—

You were talking to them. Laughing with them. Standing too close to them.

Sunday’s fingers twitched as he watched from the shadows of the court hall.

He couldn’t stand this.

His jaw clenched as he watched you tilt your head toward one of your advisors, listening intently to whatever nonsense they were feeding you.

You weren’t even aware of it, were you? How vulnerable you were in moments like these.

What if someone whispered poison into your ear? What if they sought to turn you against him?

His mind spun with all the possibilities—his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface—

And then, a soft chime.

A faint glow only he could see.

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: 𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Favorability: 40%

40%. It had never been this high before.

But if he had learned anything from playing this game before—

40% wasn’t enough.

Sunday’s mind was already calculating his next move when another chime echoed in his ears.

[System Assistance Available]

His eyes widened slightly. Since when?

Before, the system only interfered when he died. It never offered him anything—no guidance, no tools, nothing. But now?

He focused on the faint glow only he could see, willing the system to respond.

[Query Registered: Assistance Requested]

A loading screen flickered in his vision before a new window appeared.

[Available Items – Secret Route]

Whispering Veil – Conceals the user’s actions from others for a limited time. (1 use)

Falsified Letters – Alters the contents of incoming messages before they reach the recipient. (3 uses)

Echo Crystal – Records and replays conversations to the user. (1 use)

Subtle Influence – Temporarily shifts favorability by +5% in a critical moment. (1 use)

Locking Key – Prevents an individual from leaving a designated area for 12 hours. (1 use)

These were cheats. This world had been working against him for so long, making every step toward you a battle. But now?

Now he had weapons.

The Falsified Letters were already useful. How many proposals had he secretly turned down for you? With these, he wouldn’t have to intercept them—he could alter them entirely.

The Echo Crystal was perfect. He would find out exactly what these scheming nobles were saying to you behind his back.

But the Subtle Influence?

Sunday’s fingers twitched.

A guaranteed +5%?

It took him months to raise your favorability even this much. He could get closer right now.

…But no.

Not yet.

[Item Acquired: Echo Crystal]

Let’s see what these people were really saying.

Sunday gripped the Echo Crystal in his palm, feeling the faint warmth of its magic pulse against his skin.

Slipping out of sight, he activated the crystal. A shimmer of light pulsed from its surface before fading, leaving only a soft hum in his ears.

“We need to act soon.”

Sunday’s eyes narrowed.

The voice was familiar—one of the noble councilmen, Lord Arventis. A well-spoken official who had spent the past weeks pretending to be loyal to you.

Another voice joined in, one that sent a sharp chill through his spine.

Kristiana.

“Y/n's regaining their strength” she murmured. “If we don’t secure their hand in marriage or weaken their standing, soon they'll become untouchable.”

Sunday’s fingers curled tight around the crystal.

These leeches. These pathetic, scheming rats.

They weren’t just trying to manipulate you anymore.

They were planning to seize control.

Sunday exhaled, slipping the crystal into his sleeve as he stepped out from the shadows.

He needed a plan.

And this time?

He wasn’t playing fair.

It took two days.

Two days of watching, listening, gathering proof.

Every word spoken behind your back, every noble secretly conspiring against you—Sunday had it all.

And now?

Now, it was time to remove the pieces from the board.

One by one, carefully, subtly.

The Falsified Letters were the first to be used.

Kristiana? Lord Arventis? The others who sought to control you?

Every letter they sent—every request for a private meeting, every false plea of loyalty—was altered.

You never saw their real words.

Instead, what you received were poorly veiled insults. Demands. Mockery disguised as diplomacy.

Your anger was immediate.

Within hours, you had your court questioning their intentions.

Within a day, Lord Arventis had lost your favor.

And Kristiana?

Her carefully woven web of deception began to unravel.

Sunday watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

When you looked at him that evening, your gaze lingering just a little too long—

Sunday saw it.

That flicker of realization.

That first, fragile crack in your walls. He didn’t need the system to tell him this time. You were finally seeing him.

Sunday had been waiting for the right moment.

The Locking Key wasn’t something to use carelessly. It was a tool meant for control, for ensuring that no one could interfere with what was about to happen.

It happened without warning. The door, which had been perfectly fine just moments ago, let out a soft click.

You frowned, standing up to test the handle, only for it to remain firmly shut. “…Strange.”

Sunday, who had been silently refilling your tea, glanced up in feigned curiosity. “Something wrong?”

You jiggled the handle again. “The door isn’t opening.”

His lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh?”

You turned to face him, your exhaustion making you more irritable than usual. “Did you do something?”

He blinked at you, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why would I lock us in?”

“Then what, the palace just decided to trap me here?”

He hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You shot him a glare, but deep down, you knew there was no use fighting it. You were tired—too tired—and the energy to argue with him simply wasn’t there.

The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The grief, the stress, the endless work… it was pressing down on your chest, your body begging for rest.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brought them to your temple.

Sunday noticed immediately.

“Sit” he murmured.

You resisted. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, something shifted. A strange warmth settled in your mind—a pull, a quiet lure, almost like… magic. It was subtle, like a whisper, telling you that you should just listen to him. That for once, you could stop fighting.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You collapsed into the nearest seat, but the hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, your body aching as you tried to relax.

Sunday sighed. “You’ll never rest like that.”

He moved forward, taking the empty space beside you—no, not beside. Right behind.

Before you could react, his hands were on your arms, guiding you gently but insistently. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

He pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve moved. But your exhaustion made you weak, and your body—traitorous, selfish—sank into him instead.

His warmth seeped into your skin, his steady breathing oddly calming as your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers brushed against your wrist before settling at your back in a silent reassurance.

“…Better?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, then—reluctantly—nodded.

“You’re finally listening to me.”

You hated the way your face warmed.

[Favorability +30]

Sunday felt the chime before he saw the number.

Thirty. Thirty?

That was insane.

Nothing he’d done before—no silent loyalty, no favors, no devotion—had ever made your favorability jump this high.

He had expected a modest increase, maybe five or ten points at most. But this?

This was a breakthrough.

His mind raced, replaying every second leading up to this moment. The exhaustion, the quiet lure of his voice, the way you had naturally leaned into him without fighting.

And then it clicked.

You liked skinship.

Or rather, you found comfort in it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, of course. You were still too stubborn, too prideful to say it out loud. But your body?

Your body didn’t lie.

It was something subconscious, something deeply ingrained in you that even you didn’t seem aware of.

All this time, he had been carefully balancing between too much and too little, afraid of pushing his luck. And yet, the answer had been right in front of him—literal physical closeness.

Of course, he couldn’t abuse it recklessly. You were quick to irritation, your temper flaring if someone overstepped.

But if he did it right…

If he played this carefully…

Then he had just unlocked his greatest weapon.

His arms tightened around you slightly, as if testing the waters, but he didn’t push further. For now, he let you rest against him, let you trust him.

And when your breathing evened out, when the tension in your muscles melted completely, Sunday only smiled to himself.

Checkmate.

----

The next morning, when you drowsily shuffled into the dining hall, he was already there, waiting. He handed you a steaming cup of tea, but instead of simply setting it down, he took your hand in his, guiding your fingers around the cup.

[Favorability +5]

A test—and a success.

You barely reacted, too groggy to care. But it worked.

At midday, when you were busy drafting letters and reviewing reports, he appeared by your side with an ink-stained cloth.

Without a word, he took your hand and gently wiped the smudge off your fingers.

You stiffened for a second but didn’t pull away.

[Favorability +7]

And so, the pattern continued.

Each day, a small touch here, a silent act there. Never enough to raise suspicion, never enough to cross a line, but just enough to nudge you closer.

[Favorability +2]

At 84%, you had stopped questioning him.

At 87%, you had stopped fighting it.

And now?

90%.

The notification chimed in his ears.

You still didn’t notice.

But he did.

And now, the only thing left to do…

Was push you past the threshold.

---

Sunday had been playing the game well. He had spent days getting closer, learning your preferences, adjusting his every move to keep you comfortable while steadily increasing your favorability.

But what he didn’t know—what he never could have anticipated—was that the more you grew attached to him…

The more possessive you became.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A lingering glance here, an oddly fixated stare there.

Then it got worse.

And today?

Today, you were seething.

You stared at Sunday across the dining table, your fingers gripping the silverware a little too tightly as you cut into your meal.

He was being too calm.

Like he had nothing to be guilty for.

“So.”

Sunday barely looked up from his plate. “So?”

“I heard you were with the maid today.”

He paused for a fraction of a second before responding. “…I was.”

That made your grip tighten.

You placed your utensils down with a little too much force. “You were seen with her at the market.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “She was just getting supplies. I needed to ask about—”

“Flowers?” you cut in, your tone sharp.

His lips parted in realization. “…You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you lied. “I’m simply asking why my personal servant was out shopping for flowers with another woman.”

Sunday stared at you, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

You weren’t supposed to be like this.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

Because the way you felt at that moment—the way your blood boiled at the idea of him entertaining someone else, at the thought of him being kind to someone that wasn’t you—it was irrational. Terrifyingly so.

“…You think I was flirting?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Something flickered in his gaze before he let out a small breath. Then, he placed his utensils down and leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

“If I wanted to flirt, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”

You should have let it go.

You should have brushed it off, laughed, changed the subject.

But instead, you found yourself gripping the edge of the table, voice quiet but trembling with something unfamiliar. “…Then don’t do it.”

Sunday’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, he saw it.

The hint of something deeper in your eyes.

This wasn’t just a favorability boost anymore.

This was dangerous.

And for the first time…

He wasn’t sure who was hunting who.

[Favorability: 96%] → [Favorability: 94%]

Why?

He had been so careful, every action calculated, every touch measured. You were supposed to be getting closer, not slipping away.

Just as he was about to summon the system, a knock echoed through his room, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.

“Who were you talking to?”

For a split second, panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to relax, plastering on his usual lazy smirk.

“Talking? I was just thinking out loud.” He leaned back, stretching as if nothing was wrong. “Why? Miss me already?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

“…Let’s go for a walk.”

Sunday blinked. “…A walk?”

You nodded, stepping further inside. “You’ve been inside all day, haven’t you? A change of atmosphere would be good.”

His mind raced. He needed answers from the system—but with you watching him like a hawk, there was no way he could summon it now.

“…Fine.” He stood, brushing himself off. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me carry all your shopping bags, I’ll protest.”

You scoffed. “As if I’d waste your time with something so trivial.”

(But if it meant keeping you outside longer, he wouldn’t have minded.)

The air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against the streets as you and Sunday wandered through the bustling town. You had led him to a small ice cream stand, insisting that since it was his first time out in a while, he should try something sweet.

Sunday wasn’t really one for desserts, but the moment he saw the way your eyes lit up as you tasted yours, he found himself taking a bite of his own without complaint.

“What do you think?”

Sunday tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… tastes better than I expected.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just say you like it, you know.”

“And give you the satisfaction of being right?” He smirked. “Never.”

You huffed, taking another bite of your own, and he had to force himself to look away before he stared too long.

Then, it happened.

You took a step forward—and slipped.

Sunday’s body reacted before he could think.

In an instant, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him just before you could hit the ground.

The ice cream you had been holding slipped from your grip, landing pathetically on the pavement, but neither of you reacted to it.

Because at that moment, you were way too close.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin.

Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric. You weren’t moving away.

[Favorability +3]

“…You okay?”

Sunday swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.

He was the one who caught you—so why did it feel like he was the one about to fall?

Sunday wasn’t sure how long he held you like that.

Seconds? Minutes?

It didn’t matter.

Because all he could focus on was the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath hitched slightly as you realized how close you were.

Your hands were still resting against his chest, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his clothes. His arm, firm and unmoving, remained around your waist, securing you in place.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“…Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want me to?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to where his fingers pressed into your side, then back up to his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t need you to.

His other hand lifted instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Sunday had spent so long trying to read you, to predict your reactions, to find ways to win you over. But right now?

You were looking at him like you were the one figuring him out.

Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to rest lightly against his collarbone. The touch was hesitant but intentional.

You weren’t pushing him away.

If anything, you were leaning in.

His grip around you tightened slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. He could kiss you right now.

And then—

“Ah! Your Grace!”

Both of you froze.

Sunday barely had time to react before someone practically materialized beside you, bowing so quickly they almost fell over.

“It’s an honor to see you again! Thank you for your generosity the other day—our village has been thriving because of your kindness!”

Your entire body went rigid.

Sunday could feel the way your muscles tensed, your hands jerking away from him like you had just realized what was happening.

The warmth disappeared.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You coughed, taking an awkward step back. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’m…glad to hear that.”

Sunday clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

He turned his head slightly—only to see you blushing.

Not just a small, embarrassed flush—a full-on, heated, flustered mess.

Sunday blinked.

You? Blushing? Over him?

His heart nearly stopped.

And that was before he felt the warmth creeping up his own neck.

His ears burned.

You glanced at him briefly, eyes darting away almost immediately when you realized he was already looking at you.

Sunday almost cursed out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing you again. “…We should keep walking.”

You nodded way too fast. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

The villager beamed, bowing once more before stepping aside.

And as the two of you walked off—still visibly flustered, still awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze—Sunday let out a small breath.

Maybe that damn favorability bar was a nightmare to raise.

But right now?

He didn’t even need to check it to know that something between you had changed.

Sunday woke up with an immediate sense of wrongness.

For one—his arms didn’t move.

For two—his legs didn’t move.

For three—you were straddling him.

He blinked, slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His wrists were tied to the bedposts. His ankles were similarly restrained. And above him, sitting comfortably atop his waist, you were smirking down at him.

“…I must still be dreaming”

You chuckled. “Oh, you’re awake? That’s good. I was starting to think you were just pretending.”

Sunday squinted at you. “Why. Am I. Tied up.”

You shrugged, tilting your head in mock innocence. “I thought I’d do something different today. Y’know, entertain you.”

His lips parted, a dumbfounded expression flickering over his face.

Entertain him.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

Your fingers drummed along his chest, your weight warm and solid against him. “You seem awfully close with the maids these days. I thought perhaps… I should remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Sunday stared.

“Excuse me?”

You smiled, leaning in slightly.

The warmth of your breath tickled his cheek. “You’ve been talking a lot with them, haven’t you?”

You were jealous.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train.

The hours he had spent gathering information—asking the maids about your favorite foods, your daily habits, your preferences—had backfired spectacularly.

And now here you were, pinning him to his own damn bed.

Sunday had never, in all his life, imagined the ‘Impossible Route’ would turn out like this.

You leaned in even closer, lips dangerously near his ear. “…You should be more careful. People might think you’re plotting something.”

His jaw clenched.

His heartbeat thundered.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you were enjoying every second of it.

Sunday inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

You hummed in thought, fingers lazily tracing the outline of his collarbone. “Mmm… I don’t know. I think I like you like this.”

Sunday's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, he flexed his wrists and ripped free of the bindings.

Before you could react, Sunday flipped you over, pinning you beneath him.

Your back hit the mattress, your wrists caught in his grip. The tables had turned.

“My turn.”

You barely had time to blink before he leaned down—and stole your lips.

Your mind went blank.

Sunday pulled back just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes, his lips still hovering over yours.

“Next time you try to trap me” he murmured, “make sure I can’t escape.”

And then—

The door swung open.

“…Oh.”

Sunday didn’t move.

You didn’t move.

The servant froze in place.

A long, suffocating silence filled the room.

“…Should I come back later?”

You shoved Sunday off of you so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“GET OUT.”

The servant practically tripped over themselves trying to flee.

The door slammed shut.

You and Sunday sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Your face? Completely red.

Sunday, meanwhile, simply grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“SHUT UP.”

You avoided him for the rest of the day.

Which, really, was adorable.

Every time Sunday entered a room, you’d suddenly be very interested in a random document or an irrelevant piece of decor. The moment his eyes met yours? Immediate retreat. He’d never seen you so utterly defeated before—it was addicting.

And that blush? That frustrated, completely flustered look?

He wanted to see more of it.

You tried to act like nothing had happened the next morning. You sat at your usual spot, drinking tea as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely obliterated your composure.

Sunday casually poured himself a cup and sat across from you, resting his chin in his palm.

“So.” He smirked. “That was quite the reaction yesterday.”

You choked on your tea.

Coughing violently, you shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Finally, you set your cup down with a soft clink and exhaled sharply.

“…Fine.” You looked at him, shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line. “I admit it. I lost that round.”

“Round?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Still by your side.”

You faltered. Your fingers curled slightly, as if hesitant to say what you were thinking. Sunday watched as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

Then, with clear reluctance, you muttered—

“…I suppose I don’t mind.”

He almost forgot how to breathe.

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the way your tea swirled in your cup. But Sunday could see it—the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The soft flush still lingering on your ears.

[Favorability: 100%]

His heart skipped a beat.

You finally looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you staring?”

Sunday blinked. He schooled his expression just in time, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“…No reason.”

But inside?

Inside, he knew.

He had won.

And he would never let you go.

[fangdokja]

Which other yan blogs do you like the most? Got any recs? ❤️

From Smut to Storytelling: A Comprehensive Guide to Tumblr’s Yandere Content Creators

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

Since I focus on high-quality, impactful works, I will not be including every blog I’ve ever read but rather those that have stood out over time. My goal is to provide a strategic breakdown of each blog’s strengths and key appeal points for different reader preferences.

Before proceeding, it’s important to note:

These recommendations are specific to Tumblr. If you are looking for erotic horror or truly intense horror narratives with a realistic risk of death or severe, permanent consequences for the protagonist, I recommend exploring AO3 instead. Even then, such content remains scarce, which is why I primarily create my own.

I do not engage in networking. My interactions with content creators and readers are purely based on personal enjoyment, and I do not expect or seek anything in return. My reviews are not influenced by personal relationships or mutual support. These are purely objective evaluations of writing and engagement styles.

Every blog has its strengths and weaknesses. While I focus on strengths here, I am aware of areas where improvement is possible. However, I refrain from sharing critiques unless requested, as my primary intent is to highlight what each blog excels at.

Best Blogs for Socialization, Networking, and Friendliness

For those looking to engage with friendly, social, and network-oriented yandere content creators, two blogs stand out:

@yandere-romanticaa

@suiana

These two blogs offer distinctly different yet complementary approaches to social interaction, content creation, and audience engagement. Below is a comprehensive breakdown of their strengths, characteristics, and what to expect from them.

1. @yandere-romanticaa – The Genuine, Passionate Creator

Social and Networking Strengths

Most Genuine Approach to Networking: Unlike many content creators who network primarily for exposure, @/yandere-romanticaa engages with others purely for enjoyment and natural connection. There is no sense of transactional networking or expectation of mutual benefit. Her interactions with both authors and readers appear completely sincere.

Balanced Communication: She interacts regularly with her audience without overwhelming them. The communication is neither excessive nor lacking, making her blog an ideal space for both active and passive engagement.

Warm but Not Overbearing: While welcoming and social, she does not force interactions. Her friendliness feels natural rather than performative.

Content and Writing Approach

Fandom-Centric Yandere Writing: Unlike many yandere-focused blogs that primarily produce original content, she focuses on fandom-based yandere writing, including characters who are not commonly explored.

Writes for Herself, Not for Trends: She does not chase popularity or tailor content for mass appeal. Instead, she creates what she enjoys, which results in more genuine, passion-driven content.

Diverse Character Selection: Some of her chosen characters are lesser-known or underrepresented in yandere content, offering a fresh perspective for readers seeking variety.

Overall Blog Atmosphere

Welcoming and Comfortable: The atmosphere is inviting to both new and returning readers. While she does not engage in forced networking, she remains open to discussions and interactions.

Relatable and Transparent: Many readers, even those with serious personalities, may find aspects of her self-expressive content relatable.

Consistent but Not Overly Structured: While her blog has a general sense of organization, it does not follow an overly rigid structure. This flexibility allows for a more relaxed experience.

Who Should Follow?

Those looking for a genuine and friendly content creator who interacts naturally.

Readers who enjoy fandom-based yandere content, whether mainstream or lesser-known characters.

Those who appreciate creators who write for themselves rather than for engagement metrics.

2. @suiana – The Chaotic, Lighthearted Entertainer

Social and Networking Strengths

High Engagement and Accessibility: @/suiana actively interacts with her audience in a way that feels casual and approachable. Her blog has a similar social dynamic to @/tonycries, making it ideal for those who enjoy an open and relaxed community.

Effortlessly Humorous and Entertaining: Her approach to audience interaction is playful and unpredictable. She does not follow a traditional structure when engaging with readers, which results in a unique and entertaining social experience.

A "Laughter to the Soul" Experience: Unlike many yandere content creators who focus on darker themes, her presence is lighthearted, often comedic, and unpredictable in a way that feels refreshing rather than forced.

Content and Writing Approach

Chaos-Driven, Unstructured Content: While some authors adhere to strict formatting and structured writing, @/suiana embraces spontaneity. The lack of rigid consistency in her writing reflects her personality—free-spirited, lively, and unfiltered.

Meme Culture Integration: A significant portion of her content is influenced by meme culture, making it more digestible and engaging for casual readers.

Light and Easy-to-Consume Yandere Content: Rather than producing heavy, deep psychological yandere narratives, her content leans toward entertainment and humor, making it ideal for those who want something less intense.

Overall Blog Atmosphere

Informal and Fun: The atmosphere is chaotic yet welcoming, making it suitable for readers who enjoy casual interactions without pressure.

Highly Interactive: She frequently engages with her audience, creating a dynamic space where interactions feel personal rather than distant.

Unstructured but Authentic: The unpredictable nature of her content means that followers never know what to expect, adding to the blog’s charm.

Who Should Follow?

Readers who enjoy humor, chaos, and lighthearted yandere content.

Those who prefer highly interactive blogs that engage directly with the audience.

People who don’t mind lack of structure and enjoy spontaneous, unpredictable content.

Conclusion

Both @/yandere-romanticaa and @/suiana offer unique and engaging experiences, but their styles cater to different audiences.

If you prefer a genuine, naturally social creator who focuses on fandom-based yandere content, @/yandere-romanticaa is the ideal choice. She does not network for clout but engages sincerely with others, making her blog a strong recommendation for those seeking real interactions.

If you enjoy chaotic, lighthearted, meme-filled, and interactive content, @/suiana provides an experience similar to @/tonycries but with her own quirky twist. Her blog thrives on humor, making it an entertaining space for casual engagement.

Ultimately, both blogs offer friendly and welcoming environments, making them excellent recommendations for those looking to connect with others in the yandere community. The best choice depends on whether you prefer structured fandom yandere writing with organic socialization or spontaneous, humorous, and highly interactive content.

Best Blogs for Long-Form Content and Committed Readers

For those who appreciate long-form storytelling, detailed character studies, and in-depth analysis, two standout blogs in the yandere community are:

@darkbluekies

@cinnamonest

These blogs offer rich, immersive content that rewards committed readers willing to invest in well-developed narratives and detailed exploration of character psychology. Below is a comprehensive breakdown of their strengths, writing approaches, and the overall experience they provide.

1. @darkbluekies – The Classic Long-Form Storyteller

Core Strengths:

Long-Form Narrative Structure: Unlike many yandere blogs that focus on short drabbles or rapid content bursts, @/darkbluekies prioritizes fully developed storylines. This allows for deeper immersion and a stronger emotional impact, making her work well-suited for those who prefer slow-burn narratives rather than quick gratification.

Character-Driven Stories: A major highlight is the focus on characterization. The characters feel like actual people rather than plot devices, which is a testament to strong writing. Silas, in particular, is a great example of a well-developed yandere whose actions are dictated by internal logic rather than mere trope execution.

Commitment to Depth: Her approach allows the plot to "simmer," which is a major strength for those who enjoy binge-reading after the buildup. The detailed nature of the writing ensures that when events unfold, they feel meaningful rather than rushed.

Consistency in Writing Quality: The prose is polished and demonstrates a commitment to careful execution rather than surface-level writing. There is no reliance on shock value or overused tropes without justification; instead, every element is deliberately placed for effect.

Ideal Audience:

Readers who prefer slow-burn yandere fiction with fully realized characters rather than instant gratification.

Those who enjoy structured, thought-out narratives over quick headcanons or one-off scenarios.

Readers who prefer to binge-read rather than consume sporadic short content.

Why It Stands Out:

Many yandere blogs prioritize high-volume output, focusing on quick drabbles or low-investment posts. @/darkbluekies, in contrast, values long-term engagement and immersion, making her blog ideal for those looking for deeper storytelling rather than surface-level content.

2. @cinnamonest – The Analytical Dark Smut Specialist

Core Strengths:

In-Depth Character Analysis: This is arguably the most valuable feature of the blog. @/cinnamonest takes a methodical, research-based approach to yandere characterization, deconstructing characters from multiple angles while ensuring their portrayals remain as accurate as possible to their original source material.

Comprehensive Character Profiles: Unlike general fandom posts, which often apply a one-size-fits-all approach to yandere characterization, her work focuses on precise and well-reasoned breakdowns. These analyses are particularly useful for understanding how different characters would realistically behave as yanderes without distorting their personalities.

Dark Smut & Psychological Depth: While she does write fanfiction—including dark smut—it maintains the same level of intellectual engagement and structural integrity as her analysis work. The psychological depth in these works makes them feel purposeful rather than just shock-driven or formulaic.

Commitment to Accuracy: Many blogs impose personal interpretations on characters that contradict their canon traits. @/cinnamonest instead grounds her assessments in the actual source material, making her blog one of the most objectively reliable when it comes to character-based discussions.

Ideal Audience:

Readers who enjoy analysis and intellectual breakdowns of yandere characters rather than just surface-level tropes.

Writers who want to study character profiles and deepen their understanding of yandere psychology.

Readers who appreciate accurate, well-thought-out interpretations of characters as yanderes rather than generic fanon distortions.

Why It Stands Out:

There are very few yandere blogs that take an analytical approach rather than an emotional or trope-based one. @/cinnamonest bridges critical analysis and fan engagement, offering content that is both intellectually satisfying and narratively compelling.

Conclusion: Two Different Strengths, One Common Thread

Both @/darkbluekies and @/cinnamonest excel in long-form, immersive, and substantial content, but they serve different purposes:

@/darkbluekies is the go-to for structured narrative-driven yandere fiction, where storylines and characters are developed over time.

@/cinnamonest provides analytical depth, offering breakdowns of yandere characters with objective accuracy and structured thought.

For readers who value long-form engagement, well-constructed narratives, or intellectual analysis, these two blogs are among the best options.

Blogs with the Best Overall Writing Quality (Plot, Style, Pacing, and Timing)

⭐Fang Dokja's Personally Fav Fanfic Blogs: @/yanderenightmare & @/yanderedrabbles

In assessing the best overall writing in terms of plot structure, writing style, pacing, and timing, two Tumblr blogs stand out:

@yanderenightmare

@yanderedrabbles

Both of these blogs consistently deliver short, impactful, and highly engaging content that makes them ideal for readers who prefer bite-sized, yet immersive yandere fanfiction.

While long-form writing is a different experience, short-form content requires a precise balance of storytelling, character impact, and pacing efficiency. These two blogs excel in this area, maintaining quality while keeping stories digestible.

These blogs excel in concise, well-crafted stories with strong pacing, making them ideal for readers who prefer high-impact short-form content.

1. @yanderenightmare: The Gold Standard of Organization & Precision

1. Blog Organization & Readability

Among all the Tumblr fanfiction blogs, @/yanderenightmare has the cleanest and most structured format. This is a highly underrated strength, as blog clutter can significantly affect readability, ease of access, and long-term engagement.

Separation of reblogs from main content: Unlike many fanfiction writers who mix reblogs, asks, and external discussions into their main page, @/yanderenightmare keeps everything separate. Readers searching for purely original content will not have to filter through unrelated posts, ensuring a smooth reading experience.

Minimal wasted space: Every post has a clear function—whether it's a story update, an announcement, or a clarification ask. There is no unnecessary filler or excessive personal discourse that disrupts the content flow.

Content-focused approach: This kind of tight content curation is rare, making her blog the most efficient for readers who want to consume content without distractions.

2. Strength in Timing, Pacing, and Narrative Flow

A major factor that makes @/yanderenightmare’s writing stand out is her precision in story delivery. She has an innate sense of pacing and timing, knowing exactly when to introduce tension, escalate conflict, and deliver resolution—all within a short-form format.

No wasted words: Every line contributes to either character development or plot advancement, making her writing compact yet immersive.

Worldbuilding without unnecessary exposition: She manages to incorporate background details and setting depth without long-winded explanations, making the stories more engaging.

Impactful endings: Short-form writing requires a strong conclusion, and she consistently delivers memorable final lines that leave a lasting impression.

3. Classic Yandere Characters & Entertaining Worldbuilding

Beyond pacing and organization, her characters have a classic appeal that resonates with hard dom, non-con yandere fans. While shorter stories often limit depth, her characters remain vivid and recognizable through subtle but effective characterization.

Classic yandere themes executed well (possession, control, obsession).

Balanced mix of worldbuilding and action, ensuring that even shorter works feel immersive.

Distinctive writing voice that sets her apart in the genre.

For readers who prioritize clean blog organization, strong pacing, and an engaging, distraction-free experience, @/yanderenightmare is the best choice.

2. @yanderedrabbles – The Titan of Short-Form Yandere Fiction

Strengths in Writing and Story Execution

Pioneer in Short-Form Yandere Fiction: @/yanderedrabbles is widely recognized as one of the most well-known and respected short-form yandere fanfiction blogs.

Perfectly Executed Bite-Sized Content: Each piece is designed to be short yet immersive, making her works ideal for on-the-go reading without sacrificing quality.

Strong Narrative Cohesion in Limited Word Count: Despite the brevity, her stories manage to maintain solid plot structures, clear character motivations, and immersive tension, which is difficult to achieve in short-form writing.

Content and Writing Approach

Easily Digestible Stories Without Excessive Complexity: Unlike long-form writers who focus on drawn-out plot development, @/yanderedrabbles excels at delivering immediate impact, ensuring that each short story leaves a lasting impression.

Consistent Theme and Style: Her writing style remains reliable and easy to recognize, making her works ideal for binge-reading.

Classic Non-Con Dom Yandere Characters: Her portrayals of yandere characters align with the dominant, possessive, and obsessive archetypes, making them a go-to for fans of intense yandere dynamics.

Overall Blog Atmosphere

Quick and Readable Content Structure: Her blog is designed for readers who prefer fast but engaging stories, making it one of the best choices for those who don’t have time for long-form narratives.

Perfect for Re-Reading: Due to the short nature of her works, they are highly re-readable, making it easy for readers to return to their favorite pieces without needing to commit to an extended story arc.

Classic Yet Evergreen Writing Style: Even though her works have been around for a while, they remain just as relevant and enjoyable as when they were first posted.

Who Should Follow?

Readers who prefer short, easy-to-consume stories with satisfying plots.

Those who enjoy classic dominant yandere characters without unnecessary narrative complexity.

Fans of fast-paced but well-written yandere fiction that can be read in one sitting.

Conclusion

Both @/yanderenightmare and @/yanderedrabbles provide top-tier short-form yandere content, but they excel in different areas:

@/yanderenightmare is the best choice for readers who value structure, pacing, and a clutter-free reading experience. Her blog’s organization and efficiency make her stories easy to consume, while her pacing and timing create a strong narrative impact.

@/yanderedrabbles is ideal for those who want quick, re-readable, high-quality yandere fiction without unnecessary complexity. Her stories are designed for immediate enjoyment, making them perfect for on-the-go reading.

For readers who appreciate structured storytelling and a well-organized blog, @/yanderenightmare is the best fit. For those who prefer classic yandere short-form content that is fast and impactful, @/yanderedrabbles is unmatched.

Both blogs cater to short-form yandere fiction readers while maintaining a high standard of writing, pacing, and readability, making them essential follows for fans of the genre.

Other Notable Mentions

Anime Short-Form / Easy-to-Consume Content

1. @animeyanderelover

Overview:

One of the most beginner-friendly yandere blogs, specializing in short-form, anime-themed content. This blog serves as a foundational entry point for those new to yandere works, offering easily digestible content that does not require deep emotional or psychological investment.

Strengths:

Wide Variety: Covers a broad range of anime characters, including both mainstream and lesser-known figures, ensuring continuous content expansion.

Accessible Writing Style: The writing is light and easy to follow, making it suitable for readers who prefer casual consumption rather than long-form, intricate plots.

Frequent Updates: Due to the short-form nature of the content, posts are frequent, offering a steady flow of material for casual binge-reading.

Ideal For:

Readers who are new to the yandere genre and want introductory content.

Those who enjoy anime-based yandere scenarios with a mix of mainstream and niche characters.

Readers who prefer quick, on-the-go consumption rather than long narratives.

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2. Niche Manhwa / Long-Form Yandere Content

@cassanderasblog

Overview:

A blog dedicated to niche manhwa-inspired yandere content, typically centered on dominant love interests who regret their past actions and attempt to reconcile with the reader. The storytelling aligns with the classic "angsty ex-lover redemption" trope, making it appealing to those who enjoy emotionally charged narratives.

Strengths:

Manhwa-Inspired Writing: Content structure resembles plotlines commonly found in manhwa, making it a strong fit for readers familiar with the genre.

Regret & Redemption Tropes: Appeals to readers who enjoy dominant characters with a softer side, seeking atonement.

Longer Narratives: While some readers might find longer posts less digestible, those who enjoy immersive storytelling will appreciate the depth.

Ideal For:

Readers who prefer manhwa tropes and structured narratives.

Fans of regretful dominant yanderes seeking reconciliation.

Those who enjoy character-driven emotional development.

@forbidden-sunlight

Overview:

A blog known for its manhwa and isekai-inspired yandere works, offering a balance between soft yandere romance and meaningful, long-form storytelling. Compared to others, this blog’s tone is less intense, making it a good choice for readers who enjoy subtle, nuanced character interactions.

Strengths:

Soft Yandere Dynamics: Unlike more extreme depictions, this blog’s approach is gentle yet persistent.

Long-Form but Easygoing: The writing is lengthy but maintains a light, introspective tone, making it ideal for relaxed reading sessions.

Manhwa & Isekai Tropes: Content often integrates classic tropes from these genres, such as reincarnation, fate, and noble settings.

Ideal For:

Readers who prefer soft yet devoted yanderes.

Those who enjoy long-form narratives with a more poetic, slice-of-life feel.

Readers looking for meaningful but not overwhelmingly intense yandere content.

────────────

3. Smut-Centric Yandere Blogs

@yandere-daydreams

Overview:

One of the most well-known blogs for yandere smut content. It has built a reputation for its expansive collection of erotic yandere scenarios, covering a wide range of settings and character dynamics.

Strengths:

Extensive Archive: A large body of work spanning multiple years, making it ideal for binge-reading.

Diverse Smut Scenarios: Offers various approaches to yandere relationships, from slow burns to more intense dynamics.

Consistently High-Quality Writing: Each piece maintains a strong level of execution, ensuring reliability in content quality.

Ideal For:

Readers seeking an extensive archive of yandere smut.

Those who enjoy a mix of character-driven narratives and explicit content.

Fans of darker romance with strong erotic tension.

@youryanderedaddy

Overview:

A blog that focuses on short, easily digestible yandere smut with an emphasis on dominant, bullying love interests. The writing often includes scumbag male leads, which aligns well with more aggressive and sadistic yandere portrayals.

Strengths:

Short and Concise: Ideal for quick consumption without long plot build-ups.

Dominant & Bullying Yanderes: The characters often embody possessive, aggressive traits, appealing to those who enjoy such dynamics.

Unique Settings & Plots: While the core themes remain consistent, the scenarios are varied enough to remain engaging.

Ideal For:

Readers looking for quick, intense yandere smut.

Fans of dominant, borderline cruel yanderes.

Those who prefer shorter narratives over drawn-out emotional arcs.

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4. Yandere Art & Storyline-Driven Illustrations

@lan90

Overview:

An artist-blog that pairs concise yandere narratives with illustrations. The balance between visual and textual storytelling makes it an engaging experience.

Strengths:

Art & Story Integration: Unlike purely text-based blogs, this one enhances the reading experience with visuals.

Short, Plot-Driven Works: The narratives are brief yet well-structured, making them easy to follow.

Dopamine-Boosting Content: Due to the fast-paced storytelling and art, it provides quick enjoyment.

Ideal For:

Readers who enjoy art-based storytelling.

Those looking for short, engaging yandere content.

Fans of aesthetic, well-drawn yandere character depictions.

@danijaci

Overview:

Primarily focused on Genshin and Honkai: Star Rail content, this blog blends lighthearted yandere scenarios with comedic elements, making it a refreshing departure from purely dark content.

Strengths:

Fandom-Specific Content: Appeals to Genshin & HSR fans.

Comedic & Lighthearted: The inclusion of humor makes the scenarios more approachable.

Strong Art Quality: Even for non-yandere content, the artwork is consistently well-executed.

Ideal For:

Fans of Genshin Impact & Honkai: Star Rail.

Readers who enjoy a mix of yandere and comedic elements.

Those who appreciate both text and art content.

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5. Yandere Recommendations for Manga, Manhwa & Games

@ystrike1

Overview:

This blog serves as an information hub for yandere content across different media, including manga, manhwa, and video games. It functions similarly to the Male Yandere Reddit community, providing updates and recommendations on yandere-related works outside of fanfiction.

Strengths:

Highly Updated Recommendations: Ensures followers stay informed on new yandere-related media.

Covers Multiple Mediums: Unlike blogs that focus solely on fanfiction, this one extends to games and original works.

Curated for Yandere Enthusiasts: The content is tailored specifically for those interested in discovering new yandere characters and series.

Ideal For:

Readers looking for yandere content beyond fanfiction.

Those interested in manga, manhwa, and games featuring yanderes.

Fans of structured, update-based content rather than narrative-driven works.

Final Thoughts

This list is structured to help readers find content that aligns with their specific preferences. Whether you enjoy social engagement, in-depth storytelling, short but impactful narratives, or smut-heavy content, each of these blogs brings something unique to the table.

Again, these reviews are purely objective. While I have my personal preferences, this breakdown is based on the strengths each blog demonstrates within their respective categories. If you are new to yandere content on Tumblr or looking for specific types of stories, this should serve as a comprehensive guide.

♡ A/N. This took so long to do ughhhhh. Hope it helps though.

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5 [you are here]. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is rese

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Oh my lovely Bucky writer. I'm in great need of some protective Bucky vibes, with a sick or hurt reader who hides it to not make a fuss, she's afraid the others think she's too weak to be in the team, cause she's new. But Bucky noticing her being hurt or sick and goes all in full blown protective mode. And takes cares of her 🥹😪 and makes sure that she can trust him. 💔 Reader is like “I’m fine—“ and then Bucky cuts them off and says “if anyone give you shit for not coming to the meeting, I’ll beat their asses” 😭

It’s Ok To Feel Weak Sometimes » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You catch a cold, but you don’t want the team to think you’re weak and Bucky assures you that it’s ok to feel weak sometimes.

Warnings: none except Fluff

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You woke up with a stuffy and runny nose and a sore throat. You sighed loudly before getting out of bed. You walked in the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Your cheeks are rosier than normal. That was more than enough to tell you that you have a cold. You decided to be in denial about it. You blew your nose and took some allergy medicine. You got dressed for training and put your hair in a messy bun before making your way to the gym.

The allergy medicine cleared your sinuses, but that didn’t last long. You were breathing through your mouth the whole time you were training. You pretended to be fine and you straightened your posture out any time an Avenger walked in the gym. When Bucky walked in the gym, he automatically knew something was off with you. It’s like his superpower.

“Doll?” Bucky says.

You jumped, not knowing someone was in the gym. You turned around to see Bucky standing a few feet away from you. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Good morning, Bucky.” You say, your voice hoarse.

“Good morning, doll.” He says.

Bucky walked closer to you. He studied your appearance. Your nose is red and runny, along with your cheeks. He can tell your nose is stuffy from the way you’re breathing.

“You have a cold.” He says.

“No I don’t. It’s allergies.” You lied.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. He knows when you’re lying.

“Try again and don’t even think about lying to me.” He says.

“I’m-” A harsh cough left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

Bucky winced at the way the cough sounded. That was enough to tell him that you also have a sore throat.

“You’re going back to bed.” He says, wrapping his arms around you and gently walked you out the door of the gym.

“I’m fine-” Bucky cut you off before you could say anything else.

“If anyone gives you shit for not coming to the meeting, I’ll beat their asses.” He says.

“Ok.” You mumbled.

Bucky took you back to your bedroom.

“You put your pajamas back on and I’ll make you some tea.” Bucky says.

You smiled and nodded. Bucky went to the kitchen to make you some tea while you changed back into your pajamas. You put on a shirt that belongs to Bucky that may have gotten “mixed up” in your laundry and a pair of sleep shorts. You got back in bed and under the blankets and turned the TV on while you waited for Bucky.

“Here’s your tea, doll face.” Bucky says as he walks in your room.

You sat up as Bucky handed you the cup of tea.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome, doll.” He smiles back.

Bucky put his right hand on your forehead to see if you have a fever and you do.

“Doll, you have a fever.” He says.

You groaned and pouted.

“I know.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll get you some medicine.” He says.

He went in your bathroom and searched in your medicine cabinet for cold medicine. He found it with ease and brought it to you.

“Here you go, doll face.” He says, handing you the cold medicine.

You took it and washed it down with the tea. Bucky took his jacket off and kicked his boots off before getting in bed next to you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him.

“Why didn’t you just stay in bed when you knew you were sick?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, playing with his Army dog tags. “I didn’t want anyone to think I’m weak since I’m the new girl and all.” You say quietly.

“It’s ok to feel weak sometimes.” He assures. “Wanna know something?” He asks.

You looked up at him and nodded.

“During my days as the Winter Soldier, I felt weak sometimes. Most nights, I stayed awake and stared at the wall or the ceiling. I just hated the fact that they used me as a weapon.” He says.

“Really?” You asked.

“Mhmm.” He hums.

Bucky telling you that made you feel less weak. It’s helpful to know that.

“Thank you for telling me that, Bucky. I feel better knowing that.” You say with a smile.

“You’re welcome, doll. Now, get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.” Bucky says softly, kissing your forehead.

You snuggled yourself against Bucky and laid your head on his chest. A combination of the cold medicine and the sound of his heartbeat made you fall asleep. Bucky dozed off a little bit after you did.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sleeping, but Bucky woke up before you. Instead of getting up and accidentally waking you up, he scrolled through his phone and watched TV to keep himself occupied, keeping the TV on a low volume so it didn’t wake you.

Meanwhile, the Avengers were in the conference room, waiting for everyone so they can start the meeting for an upcoming mission later this week. Everyone was in the conference room, except you and Bucky.

“Where’s Barnes and Y/L/N?” Tony asks.

“I don’t know. I seen Y/N in the gym this morning.” Natasha says.

“I’ll go look for them.” Steve says.

Steve stood up and left the conference room. He looked in every room you and Bucky might be in. You two weren’t in the lounge room, kitchen, or the gym so he went to Bucky’s bedroom, but neither of you were in there. That’s when his enhanced hearing heard the sound of your TV playing. He opened the door to see you sleeping in Bucky’s arms.

“What are you guys doing? We have a meeting.” Steve says quietly.

“Y/N has a cold and I’m taking care of her.” Bucky tells him quietly.

“Oh ok. I get it. I’ll update you guys later when she’s awake.” He says.

Bucky smiles and nods, loving how understanding his best friend is.

“Steve?” Bucky says.

“Yea, Buck?” Steve asks.

“Y/N is going to need the next couple days off.” He says.

“She can have the rest of the week off and so can you.” Steve smiles.

“What about the mission?” Bucky asks.

“Sam and Natasha can fill in for you two.” He says.

“That sounds good. Thank you, man.” He says with a smile.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles before leaving your room.

Steve closed your bedroom door quietly so he didn’t accidentally wake you up. He went back to the conference room.

“Did you find them?” Wanda asks.

“Yes and Y/N has a cold. Which means Sam and Natasha are filling in for Bucky and Y/N.” Steve says.

As the meeting started, you stirred in your sleep. You rubbed your eyes and stretched. You looked at Bucky to see him still next to you, making you smile.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky coos, kissing the top of your head.

“Morning, Bucky.” You giggled softly. “Who were you talking to a little bit ago?” You asked curiously.

“Steve was wondering where we were and he gave us the rest of the week off. Sam and Natasha are filling in for us on the mission. He said he’ll keep us updated.” He explains. “How are you feeling?” He asks, moving your hair out from your face.

“Better than I was this morning.” You say.

Bucky put his right hand on your forehead to see if you have a fever or not.

“I think your fever is gone. You don’t feel as warm as you did earlier.” He says.

“That’s because I have my favorite person taking care of me.” You smiled. “Thank you, Bucky.” You say.

“You don’t have to thank me, babydoll. I love taking care of you.” He says, kissing your forehead.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 5

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, virginity loss, 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: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

Note: Friday at last and my house guest is away for a couple days.

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. 💖

Bucky plants his feet as the bike comes to a stop. You look up at the duplex and your insides get all swirly. You're home and still giddy. You've made up your mind. It's now or never.

He shuts off the engine and waits for you to get off first. You hang onto his shoulder for balance as you hop down. He gets off without much effort and heaves a dark sigh. He hesitates and you do too.

"That was awesome, Bucky," you shimmy. 

"Mm," he drones and flinches, moving toward the saddle bag. He unbuckles it and takes out the cookies. "Don't forget these."

You take them reluctantly and he hauls out his bag of groceries. He wraps one arm around it and lets the flap fall open. He faces you as you clutch the box to your chest. Don't let him do it. He can't send you away now.

"Hey, you want... want to try some? I could make us some tea."

His eyes dart to the side then he looks down at the bag. He fidgets and shifts on his feet. He looks at you and his forehead lines. He deflates just a little as you watch him with rounded, hopeful eyes.

"Sure, I should get the yogurt in the fridge though so why don't you come in?" He relents.

You could fist pump and jump in glee. You don't. You're not that lame. You bounce and smile.

"Oh, yay," you grin, "so you got everything set up?"

"Hm, not much. Still got a few things to grab," he grits.

You walk up the steps beside him and stand aside, waiting for him to unlock the door. He keeps the screen door open with his elbow then pauses before he pushes open the inner one. He sniffs.

"Go on, girl," he waves inside.

Huh, what happened to doll?

You enter as if you've discovered some ancient crypt full of treasures meant for the after world. There's a couch and a coffee table, a floor lamp behind the former. The area rug is the only piece of decor to give it any warmth. You try not to be too obvious as you take account of the barren space.

"I might got some tea," he says as he gentle touches your back and slips by. You savour the tingle along your spine.

You take off your boots before you break the threshold of the front room. You tiptoe in as you hear him in the kitchen. He sighs as cupboards open and close.

"It doesn't have to be tea," you call to him. You near the table and examine the motorcycle magazine, a sheet of paper tucked under the cover.

"Good, all I got is beer," he says. 

"Mmm," you turn as he comes close with the bottles.

"Coasters," he says.

"Oh, uh, right," you set the box next to the magazine and take two of the cork coasters from the stack. You place them down and he swiftly clanks the bottles into place.

"I know it's not much but uh, get comfortable," he says.

You pluck up a bottle and sit on the couch. You taste the malty beer. It's not bad. He paces around and nears the window. You watch his back.

You lean forward to set down the bottle and tear the seal on the box. You flip the top and pick out two cookies. You get up and approach him. You stop beside him.

"Try one," you offer.

He exhales and accepts it with a thanks. You nibble and he crunches into his. It's a bit dry by sweet.

You're nervous. You've never been this close in your life. Now you have the prime opportunity. You're in his space. You finish the cookie and smack your lips.

"Dry," you chuckle, "need to wash it down."

"Me too," he says.

He follows you as you go to grab your beer. You drink and sit. He does the same, stiffly, as he takes his beer and swigs. Your eyes stick to him. You watch his throat and the way his chest stretches the fabric of his shirt. You set the beer back on the cork and sidle closer. You're fuzzy all over.

You put your hand on his knee. He flinches and lowers the bottle. He looks at your hand and reaches to set down the beer. His other hand covers yours and he peels it off.

"Look, doll," he squeezes and clears his throat, gently laying your hand in your own lap. "There's things you don't know about me. I think you better just finish and go."

"Bucky, I... it's okay. Whatever it is."

"I'm too old for ya," he puffs. "You're young. Don't do this."

His eyes bore into yours. You pout.

"I might be young but I can make my own choices. So why don't you tell me so I can?"

His cheek twitches, "girl--"

"Please. Don't I deserve to know?"

"I don't know what you're thinking, girl. Alright? Look at us. I'm... I gotta twice your age. And you're... you're too sweet for your own good."

"Tell me," you reach for him again, petting the denim on his thigh. "I won't go until you do. Or you can drag me out."

His eyes flicker and he looks at the window behind you. His jaw squares and he shakes his head. He slaps his hand over yours again but doesn't move it away.

"I'm a criminal. I just got out and I'm tryna rebuild, but I'm not changed. Alright? You understand me," he snarls. "I'm a bad man. I hurt people. Too late for me to change that."

You search his face, "but... you haven't hurt me. And you did your time."

"Girl, don't be foolish."

"No, Bucky, you told me and I don't care. I don't care what you are. I know that you feel this too," you move closer. "Don't you?"

He turns his head and stares at the wall. You squeeze his thigh and get up on your knees. You trail your touch up to his belt and he grunts, stopping you with his thick fingers around your wrist.

"Bucky, please," you beg. "It's just us. Nothing else."

"Girl--" he pleads.

"You're not too old, you're not too bad," you slip free of his grasp and tickle up his shirt, "you're perfect for me, baby."

You bring your hand to his jaw and flutter your fingers along his beard. He shudders and you raise yourself on your knees. You lean in and press your lips to his. He grabs your upper arm but doesn't push you away. He growls as you open your mouth and slide your tongue along his lips.

His hand slides away from your arm and to your back, crawling to the back of your neck. You brace his shoulder and swing your leg across him, straddling his lap as you deepen the kiss. He groans as you hook an arm around his neck and snare him. You rock him slightly as you breathe into him, tilting your pelvis against him. 

He grips your hip with his other hand and parts from your mouth. His eyes are cloudy as he gazes up at you. The tension is his cheek pulses.

"Doll," he shakes his head, "one last chance..."

"I got condoms," you say as you sit back and reach to your cross body bag, still resting against your side.

He shivers and slackens against the couch. "You're too much."

"I know what I want," you assure him.

He stares at you and his lashes flick, He grabs the strap of your cross body bag and unhooks it from around you. He puts it on the cushion and gulps. He frames your face with his hands, his thumbs rubbing your cheekbones. He sighs. 

You reach up to curl your fingers under the straps of your tanks top and drag them down your arms. You feel him beneath you. He's hard already. You're soaking through your panties, not that there's much to them.

You push down the sheath of your top to your waist. He inhales sharply and you reach back, your chest bulging as you tug at the band of your bra. You unhook it and quickly drop it down to your wrists. Your tits pop free and jiggle as you toss your bra.

He blinks at your chest. He just sits there, paralysed. You giggle and grab his hands, putting them on your tits, making him squeeze them. He purrs and rolls his hips.

"Doll, you're... you're..." He gropes you then slips his hands down to lift your tits. He leans forward and nuzzles your flesh, pushing your chest around his face as he snarls. You got him. There's no going back.

You arch your back and cling to his head, urging him on. He nips and teethes at you, tracing your nipple with his thumb before popping it between his lips. He hums and swirls his tongue around the hard bud. It must have been a while for him, having been in jail. That sends another thrill through you.

You twine your fingers into his hair and grazes his scalp with your nails. He snarls as he continues to bounce your tits, squeezing and pawing. You never cared much for the extra weight, but now that he's drowning in them, you can't complain.

You lip your hand down between your bodies and feel along the front of his jeans. He groans and wriggles against your touch. He's rock-hard. He hisses as he pulls away and drops back against the couch heavily.

"Doll," he tenses up.

You giggle and tug at the bottom of his shirt. You push it up his stomach and over his broad chest. You mess his hair as you swoop it past his head and drop it over the back of the couch.

Now it's your turn. You flatten your hands across his pecs and moan. He growls and you drag your nails lightly down his skin, the soft hair contrasting against hard muscle. His stomach is cushier but not in a bad way.

"Baby, you got me struggling," he groans and rubs your thighs, his pelvis tilting desperately.

"Me too," you breathe.

You linger at the top of his jeans then back off of him carefully. His eyes widen. You see fear in him. You grin and turn to wiggle your ass as him. You hook your fingers inside your leggings and bend as you push them down. Your thong rides up between your cheeks. He hums as the couch springs whine beneath him.

You shiver as your nerves flurry in your chest. This is it. So close. You're throbbing. You can see the slickness in your leggings as you step out of them.

"How... why do you want me, doll? You're... you're gorgeous," he rasps.

You stand and face him again. You shake your chest at him and he brings his fist up to bite his knuckle. You feel powerful.

You slink closer to him and touch the front of your bejeweled thong, a little heart on black. "Can I keep these on?"

"Yes," he croaks and clears his throat, "yes, doll."

You grin and grab your bag. You unzip the front pocket and slide free the strip of condoms. It unfurls and you laugh. "Oops... think we'll need them all?"

He startles you as he swipes up the end and tears one off, "we'll see."

You drop the rest beside your bag and blink at him. You sense something different. He tears open his pants and raises himself off the cushion as he shoves the denim down. His dick bobs above the elastic of his briefs, the head swollen and weeping. You get even wetter as you see the veins bulging under the skin.

He rips the wrapper with his teeth. He trembles as he presses the rubber to his tip and you near him, wavering as you weigh the moment. This is your last day a virgin. You take a silent breath and lean forward to grab his shoulders. He quakes and moans as he slides the condom down his length.

You bring yourself over his lap, hovering above him as he grips himself. He frames your hip and hisses, "doll, please, please, I need you on me. I need--"

You reach down and wrap your fingers above his. He lets go and gasps. You angle his tip along your cunt and push your panties aside. You stare down at him. Your eyes cling to his and you bite your lip.

You dip down carefully. As you open around him, you grunt. You sink your nails into his trap and your eyes speckle with tears. Oh, it hurts more than you expect.

He taps your hip, "stop," he snarls.

You bat your lashes but obey, "I can take it--"

"Come on," he feels along your side. He loops his arm around you and in an instant, he has your back to the cushion. He slips out of you. 

He fishes out your bag from beneath you and sweeps it onto the floor. He knees on the other end of the couch and urges you further up. You drag yourself until your head is against the armrest. 

He bends between your knees and kneads your thighs, his eyes on your cunt. He licks his lips before he plunges in. You yipe in surprise as he laps at you, his beard tickling your lips as he pushes your legs wider.

He flicks his tongue around and across your clit. You spasm and clasp onto his hair as the sensations stir within like flames. Your thighs clench and your spine stiffen. You pout and gulp loudly as he toys with you, suckling and swiping as you squirm.

He growls into you and traces a finger along your ass up to your entrance. He spreads the wetness there before he delves inside. He pushes his finger in bit by bit then draws it back out. He adds another and urges inside even deeper.

His tongue teases you to the edge as he pushes in and out of your cunt. He hums and drinks you up, spreading his tongue as wide as he can to taste all over you. He seals his lips once more around your clit and the pressure pinpoints, pulsing faster and faster until your muscles release.

There's a sudden surge and a hot flow coursing from you, dripping down his fingers. You convulse and whimper as you wash away with your orgasm.

He kisses your cunt before he sits up. You watch him, bleary-eyed, and he wipes the glisten from his beard with a hum. He inhales so his chest puffs out and he cracks his neck.

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right," he growls.

[neeeooon]

hii idk if this has been done before but can I request for bllk boys x picky eater reader / reader with sensory issues esp when it comes to food (or even reader with arfid) 😅😋😋?

Any characters you want to write for, but pls pls pls include my bbg rin😴🥺🙏

ofcccccc i gotchu 💛 thank you for the request

when you’re a picky/sensitive eater ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. cw: angst in rin’s, mentions of ed’s

itoshi rin

-> when you were diagnosed with arfid, things finally made sense. you were teased for your picky palate growing up, and now you finally had a reason; a disorder, but a reason

-> no one understood why you couldn’t bring yourself to try new foods. why you ate at the same three restaurants over and over again, ordering the same items. rin didn’t completely understand, either, but at least he tried

-> “i’m sorry,” you choked out, humiliated and on the brink of tears. two of the items on your plate touched, and now in your eyes, it was all contaminated and inedible

-> rin reached for your hand and brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “it’s okay.” “it’s not! i’m too old to be this picky, i know that, but i can’t help it.” he just continued stroking his thumb over your hand. “you’re okay.”

-> you left the little cafe soon after that, and rin continued comforting you until you arrived at the drive-thru of your most reliable eat-out place. you ordered and they greeted you with a warm, familiar smile at the window

-> you ate together, with rin sneaking food from his meal into yours when you weren’t looking. “thank you for understanding. i know it’s annoying.” “it’s not annoying. i don’t care where we go as long as you’re comfortable and healthy.”

barou shouei

-> maid barou cafe??? he knows how to cook

-> when you start dating barou, you reject his proposals to cook for you because you’re embarrassed by your eating habits and don’t want to offend him

-> however, when he sits you down and asks “y/n, why won’t you let me cook for you?” with concern in his voice, you crack and tell him how picky you are and how much of a hassle it is

-> barou isn’t upset. if anything, he’s relieved. still sitting together, he creates a new note on his phone and asks you to tell him everything you can and can’t eat, how you like things prepared, what textures bother you the most, etc.

-> he lets you hover as he cooks for you, accepting every one of your little comments, adjustments, all of it

-> “like this?” “mhm. a-and those need a little more time in the oven… i’m sorry.” “don’t apologize. into the oven they go.” “thank you, shouei.” “you’re welcome, baby.”

itoshi sae

-> sae doesn’t make any comment when you pick at your food at dinner. when you subtly try to hide it with your napkin and ask about dessert too early in the night

-> he can’t ignore it when he’s laying with you in bed, head on your stomach, listening to the little growls of hunger. when he pulls you up by your hands and props you up on the kitchen counter as you stare at him in sleepy confusion. “what are you doing?” “i’m going to cook you something.”

-> you can’t hide your anxiousness. despite sae’s assumptions, you don’t have an eating disorder. you’re picky, especially when it comes to textures, and struggle to voice your issues aloud, so you avoid it. try to avoid it

-> “cook me something? why..?” “because you’re hungry.” “i’m not—“ “you are. don’t lie. what can i make you?” “… grilled cheese?” you have a few safety dishes, and grilled cheese, minimally golden brown, is one of yours

-> nodding once, sae grabs everything he needs to make two grilled cheese sandwiches. when you asked why two, he said one was for him, but was making enough for you to have seconds

-> “you’re too good to me.” “this is the bare minimum, y/n. if you’re hungry, i’ll feed you. i’ll learn what you can and can’t eat.” “… i love you.” “i love you, too.”

mikage reo

-> despite all the cooks reo has, the fancy restaurants he can take you to, the unlimited supply of groceries in his kitchen, you pack a lunch every time you visit your boyfriend

-> you grew up with an extremely sensitive palate. your parents loved this, bragging to people how you’d grow up to be a renowned sommelier, but you hated how crazy you felt when you couldn’t eat certain foods because you could taste things others couldn’t

-> “are you getting hungry? want me to order something—“ “no, it’s okay! i have my lunch, but you should get something if you’re hungry.” and he gives you a look before sighing. “are you mad at me?”

-> you’re confused. “mad?” “you never want to eat or go out to places with me :/ are you upset?” and you feel really bad cause he got it all wrong. “no, i’m not upset. i’m just… picky…” “oh. well, what do you like? i’ll make a list!”

-> “it’s not exactly… it’s hard to explain.” “try. i’ll listen!” so you tell him about your palate and reo takes notes as he listens. “okay. so only use this brand of salt. anything else?”

-> reo takes you to the store after that, letting you pick everything you enjoy, before taking you back to his home and asking you to show him how you like to prepare your meals

-> “this is too much…” “it’s not. i have a list now! no more packed lunches, okay?” “.. okay <3”

if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, here are a few resources that may help if you don’t feel comfortable reaching out to a trusted friend/family member: international helplines and support

[hyorijie]

Sorry, I fucked your wife. | Alastor x Reader

Warnings Infidelity, reader is married to a sinner on the rise , before Alastor's disappearance, P in v, Obscenity, overstimulation, Alastor is an idiot, sexual tension, possessiveness, Breeding kink, aftercare, Your husband and Alastor are friends (not for long). Summary Alastor has always been a demon of umpredictable whims, but this time... his interest has gone too far. A beautiful doe has completely captured his attention, there´s just one small catch: She´s married. Of corse, that would be a problem... if Alastor cared...

In the comfort of your home, you glided swiftly over the drink bar, most of the time you didn't drink, but right now the situation warranted it. Your husband had been gone for days and the loneliness consumed you like a slow and cruel disease.

The faint sound of music in the background relaxed your tense muscles a little, a sigh left your lips as you stroked one of your shoulders with the intention of releasing the accumulated tension.

Again you took a sip from the glass, the drink pierced your throat with a warm welcoming burn. Again, you were feeling hot, something very normal from wine.

Your gaze immediately went to the table, where rested that mysterious envelope that your husband had left on his desk, why had he left it that way?

You put the wine glass aside and the base of the glass clinked against the surface.

You walked a little disorientedly to the envelope, you saw that it was open. Curiously you reached out your hand gently until you reached the envelope, your fingers checked the embossing, while your eyes scanned the scarlet seal that stood out against the paper.

Before you could fully recognize the seal it bore, the sound of the door being knocked made you jump in place and let go of the envelope. The paper fell onto the desk and one of your hands went to your chest.

— Shit, who the fuck is that? — You growl to yourself squinting your eyes, cursing under your breath at whoever is behind the door.

With obvious annoyance, you walk towards the door, the moment you opened it, the heat seemed to shoot through your body from surprise.

— Greetings, my dear! May I have an audience with your husband at this time? — The voice that came from him was tainted with too much static, Alastor, your husband's partner was standing in front of you with a wide grin that almost forced you to return it.

You looked him up and down, hoping he wasn't real at this precise moment. But one of his eyebrows rose curiously.

You pulled yourself together immediately shaking your head.

— I'm afraid he won't be able to attend to the request, he's out.— you answered with a superhuman effort, praying to any deity that your voice wouldn't be slurred or cut off by the effect of the drink.

You took a discreet breath, trying to hold your ground as you watched Alastor, who was still smiling with that sly expression that got on your nerves.

— As I told you, he's not here. You'd better come back another time. — you repeated with a slight nod, hoping he'd take the hint and turn around.

But instead, the demon cocked his head to one side and let out a short chuckle, as if you had just told him a charming joke. Before you could react, he took a step forward and, with overflowing confidence, crossed the threshold of your house without waiting for an invitation.

— Oh, my dear, how inconsiderate it would be of me to make you spend the night alone in this storm out there. — he said in a falsely mournful tone.

You looked over your shoulder and, to your misfortune, the sky was still overflowing with disaster. You pursed your lips, holding back the urge to yell at him to get out immediately. However, Alastor was your husband's partner, and the last thing you wanted was to create unnecessary trouble.

With a restrained sigh, you closed the door behind him, turning around with your arms crossed.

— May I ask why you are still here if you already know my husband is not here? — you ask in a dry tone.

Alastor had already settled into one of the lounge seats, as casually as a cat would take over someone else's house. His eyes, lively and attentive, lingered on the glass of wine on the table.

— Well, let's just say I couldn't miss the opportunity to chat with you. After all, we're hardly ever alone. —he replied with a playful air. Then he narrowed his eyes with a spark of amusement.— Although… I dare say it's not the best night for a serious conversation.

A shiver of embarrassment ran down your spine.

— Don't imply nonsense. — you said quickly, in a tone that was meant to be firm, but sounded more like a weak defense.

Alastor let out a light laugh and leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee.

— Oh, honey, don't take this the wrong way. We all have days like that. And if you're going to drink, what better than to do it in good company. — he said with his wide, impertinent grin.— Although, if I'm honest, I'm more of a whiskey man… but I wouldn't turn down a glass of wine if you'd be so kind as to share.

You pursed your lips, trying not to show your frustration. The last thing you wanted was to prolong his stay, but you couldn't be dismissive of someone so close to your husband either.

Resigned, you took the bottle and poured one more glass, pushing it to him with a light tap on the table.

—Here it is.

Alastor took it gracefully and raised it slightly in your direction.

— Here's to an interesting evening. — he gleamed with a glint of mischief in his eyes before lifting the wine to his lips.

You just watched, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell this Overlord was still doing in your house.

The bottle of wine was nearly empty.

You didn't know exactly at what point you stopped wishing Alastor would leave. Perhaps it was after the third glass, when the conversation stopped feeling invasive and began to feel… intriguing.

He spoke with a magnetic eloquence, with the ease of someone who had seen and understood more than he would ever admit. And you, with the warmth of the wine in your system, found yourself increasingly caught up in his words.

— It's amazing how little humans understand about true ancient magic.— Alastor commented, twirling his glass between his fingers with an almost lazy air.— Always wanting to pigeonhole it into books, rituals, symbols… but magic is not something that is locked into written rules. It's a living art, a contract between the one who invokes it and the one who responds.

Your eyes sparkled with interest. You had been trying for months to decipher certain fragments of forgotten spells, but the lack of results had begun to frustrate you.

— So, according to you, the key is not in the exact words, but in the intention behind them. — you said, leaning slightly towards him without realizing it.

Alastor looked you in the eye, as if amused to see you so absorbed.

— Exactly, my dear. It's like a conversation… only with entities that may or may not be in the mood to listen to you.

You let out a short, somewhat carefree laugh.

—And what do you suggest? That I sweeten their ears?

— Oh, some require it. Others, on the other hand, prefer a demonstration of power.— he shrugged.— But everyone, without exception, responds better to someone who knows what they want.

That last sentence left a chill on your skin, though you didn't know if it was because of his words or the way his eyes bore into yours with that brazen intensity.

You ignored him, or at least tried to, taking another sip from your glass.

— You speak as if you know from experience.

— Let's say I've had my encounters with the forbidden.— your tone became lower, more intimate. — But, my dear… What exactly do you want most?

Something about his question made you flinch. Not in the literal sense of magic, but in what he was suggesting with his velvety voice and indecipherable smile.

You tried to deflect the conversation, but then he changed the subject as lightly as he was moving his glass.

— Your husband has been gone quite a while, hasn't he?

You didn't expect that turn of phrase.

— What's that got to do with it?

— Nothing in particular… just that it must be difficult. — he cocked his head, looking at you with mock innocence.— Such a big home, so much silence. I'm surprised you haven't gone crazy with loneliness.

You pursed your lips, unwilling to acknowledge that he was right. Instead, you snorted with a sarcastic smile.

— You'd be surprised how well I get along with myself.

Alastor let out a laugh, one that rocked you without you expecting it.

— Oh, I'm sure you can entertain yourself very well, my dear. But even your own company can become… unsatisfying over time.

You choked slightly on the wine - had he meant it that way, or were you beginning to read too much into his words and that had another meaning?

You looked away, trying to concentrate on the bottle. It was almost empty, and in your head the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer.

But then something caught your attention.

Alastor was still perfectly composed. While you felt the heaviness in your eyelids, the slight tingle on your skin, he didn't seem the least bit affected.

You frowned.

— It hasn't had any effect on you at all, has it?

He blinked, feigning surprise.

— Me? Ah, my dear, wine doesn't have much impact on me. Not like it does on you.

He pointed to your empty glass with a lopsided smile, and you suddenly realized how vulnerable you might seem at that moment.

Your body was relaxed, maybe too relaxed. Your judgment, perhaps a little numb.

And Alastor, with his bright gaze and smirk, seemed fully aware of it.

Alastor set his glass down on the table with a casual motion, but his eyes never left you.

— It must be difficult.— he said, picking up the conversation as if he had never changed the subject.— Your husband, with all his ambition… making ever greater strides up the hierarchy of Hell.

You straightened up in your seat, leaning your elbows on the table as if that would help you keep your composure.

— It's what he always wanted.— you replied, trying to make your voice sound firm.

— Mmm, no doubt.— Alastor tilted his head, his smile barely perceptible. — He has determination. Firm convictions. He knows what he wants and will do what it takes to get it.

Anyone else would have taken those words as flattery. But you notice the tension in his voice.

You watch him more closely.

The way his lips seemed to twist slightly, as if he was pronouncing the words with more effort than necessary. If you knew him well, you would have said he was having trouble admitting it.

— He's loyal. — he added after a brief pause.— A valuable colleague.

You looked at him carefully.

— Yes… he's always been like that.— You smiled, a tinge of nostalgia in your voice. — He was a man of principle even when we were alive. He wasn't always this calculating strategist you know. He used to be… different.

— Different? — Alastor raised an eyebrow curiously.

— More… human. — you said, almost without thinking. — Passionate, but not just about power. He used to laugh more, used to care more about the little things. It wasn't just ambition. There was much more love in him.

Alastor let out a short, almost inaudible laugh. But something in his eyes darkened.

And then, without warning, he asked.

— Do you really love him?

The air left your lungs.

Alastor slowly sat up, setting his glass down on the table gently, as if the conversation wasn't about to cross a dangerous line. He took a couple of steps toward you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze locked on yours.

— After all this time… after all he's changed… do you still love him? — he insisted, his voice lower, more enveloping.

You opened your mouth, but the words got stuck in your chest. You didn't expect that question. You didn't expect him to ask it that way.

Your heart was pounding, you no longer knew whether from the wine or from Alastor's closeness.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

But you… you weren't sure what it was.

The silence that followed his question was dense, suffocating. But the burn of the wine in your system gave you enough courage to frown, feigning indignation, even as a part of you was still trying to process what you'd just heard.

— What kind of question is that? — you let out with a dry laugh, as if the very idea was ridiculous.— Of course I love him.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his expression barely changed, but his smile… faltered. Just for an instant.

— Yes? — He said in an almost casual tone. — Because you don't seem very convinced.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he tilted his head thoughtfully and continued in his usual silky voice.

— But now that you say it… I find it interesting. You say you love him, but when you talk about him, you mean how he used to be. Not how he is now.

Discomfort settled in your chest.

— That has nothing to do with it. — you quickly rebutted.

— No? — Alastor let out a small laugh, not taking his eyes off you.— I'd say it does. I'd say what you're feeling isn't love, my dear… it's nostalgia. Habit.

The way he said it, so confidently, as if he knew it better than you did, made you boil inside.

— And what the hell do you know about me? About my marriage? — you shot back harshly, standing up with a sharp movement.

Alastor didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, as if evaluating every detail of your reaction.

And then, without warning, he moved one hand fluidly, sliding it down your side until it rested on your waist.

The contact was an unexpected jolt of electricity. Not just because of the boldness, but because of the ease with which he did it. As if he had always had the right.

You gasped in surprise, your muscles tensing, but before you could react, Alastor applied firm pressure and pulled you to him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

For the first time all night, you looked directly into his eyes.

And what you saw made something inside you curl into a dangerous mix of fear and anticipation.

Hunger.

Desire.

Possession.

A look you hadn't felt on you in a long time.

Your pulse hammered against your neck, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But Alastor didn't move, just held your waist securely, leaning in just barely, as if waiting, as if savoring the moment.

— Tell me I was wrong. — he whispered, his voice vibrating in the air between you.— Say it's not homesickness you feel.

His closeness burned you. His presence filled everything.

But worst of all…you didn't know how to respond.

The air felt thicker, charged with something you weren't sure you wanted to name.

Your throat went dry, and when you tried to respond, your words came out slow, hesitant, as if each syllable would need to be precisely measured to avoid crossing a dangerous line.

— I… that has nothing to do…— you began, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

But Alastor wouldn't let you continue.

— When was the last time? — His voice dropped to a low, velvety tone, vibrant with that characteristic static of his. — The last time you felt loved. That you felt wanted.

His grip on your waist remained firm, a pressure intense enough to remind you that you were trapped in his orbit.

— When was the last time you experienced something real? Something that would make you feel alive?

You gasped, not only at his words, but because his voice reverberated through the air, sending a shiver down your spine.

No. You couldn't let it go on.

With both arms outstretched, you levered against his chest, trying to push him away from you. But it was like pushing against an immovable wall.

Alastor didn't even flinch.

Your frustration grew, and with it, anger.

— That doesn't concern you! — You snapped, glaring at him angrily.— Who the hell do you think you are to interrogate me like that? Your insolence is colossal!

But he just smiled.

Worse… he began to walk slowly forward.

And you, with no other choice, started backing away.

— You're not telling me because you don't even remember the answer, are you? — He continued, his every word pushing you further and further back.— Because you've spent so much time convincing yourself that you love a ghost from the past, you haven't even stopped to think about how you feel now.

— Stop it! — you demanded, but he didn't stop.

— Tell me… do you really think he still looks at you the way I do now?

His tone was a direct hit to your chest.

And then you felt it. The bar counter crashed against your back.

There was no more room to back up.

Alastor leaned in slightly, just enough so that his face was mere inches from yours, his smile now sharper.

— You know the answer. — he whispered, his fingers barely gliding over the fabric of your clothes, causing your skin to tingle again.— You just don't want to admit it.

Your breathing quickened. Your mind screamed a warning, but your body refused to move.

Because for the first time in a long time… you felt something you couldn't ignore.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing you tried unsuccessfully to regulate.

But you couldn't let him be in control. You couldn't let Alastor think he could push you wherever he wanted.

So you inhaled deeply and let the question slip out in a sharp, direct, blunt tone.

— Since when? — You blurted out suddenly.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile barely twitching, but the spark of interest in his eyes flared brighter.

— Since when, my dear?

You looked at him sternly, your back still pressed against the bar counter.

— Since when did you have me in your sights. Since when did you plan all this. Since when did I become an object of desire for the radio demon himself.

For a moment, his smile widened in a way that made you feel as if you had fallen into his trap without realizing it.

— Clever. — He murmured, his voice vibrating with dangerous satisfaction. — Of course, it wasn't hard for you to notice.

Before you could move, his hand slid with precision to your chin, grasping it firmly and forcing you to look directly at him.

His touch was not rough, but relentless.

— The truth… I don't know for sure.— he admitted, his tone lower, more enveloping.— But I do know one thing…

His thumb glided barely over your skin, an almost imperceptible brush, but calculated enough to make you hold your breath.

— Your husband is a hindrance in the equation.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

— A hindrance that has prevented me from coming directly to you as I have wanted so much. — he added with a softness that was in dangerous contrast to the meaning of the word.

A shiver ran down your spine. The seriousness with which he said it, the certainty with which he admitted it… took your breath away.

Nerves exploded in your chest, and the heat of the wine in your system did nothing to help you keep your composure. But you refused to give in.

You growled in obvious disagreement, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

— We may be in Hell. — you spat, holding his gaze.— but I refuse to give in so easily.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, but did not loosen his grip.

— I don't care what you feel. — you continued, in a tone you meant to sound cold, but which barely managed to mask the tremor in your voice. — I never cheated on my husband in life, and I will not do so in death.

For an instant, Alastor's face remained neutral.

But then you saw it.

A barely perceptible twitch in his eyelid, a shadow crossing his red eyes.

And then, his smile returned.

Only this time, it was tighter. Darker.

His grip on your chin intensified slightly, tilting his face just enough to make his every word feel more dangerous.

— You can say what you want, my dear… but we both know the truth.

— And what would that be, exactly? — you muttered through gritted teeth.

Alastor let out a small chuckle before whispering.

— You always look at me with a different gaze, perhaps, to other people's eyes it may seem like simple disdain… but to me…

Your body tensed.

— And that look was a gift from before I knew I would be your husband's colleague… from before I knew who you really were.

The air in the room became unbreathable.

Because his words were not an assumption.

They were a statement.

One that, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, was eating you up inside.

The air became thick as your mind was swept away without your permission, like a violent current of memories that had been buried until now.

A year ago actually.

You had barely been in Hell for a few months. Everything was an incessant chaos, a spiral of violence and decadence in which anyone could get lost. But you… you were living well.

Your husband had moved fast, establishing connections with powerful figures, making sure they lacked for nothing. And, indeed, nothing was lacking.

Except excitement.

Boredom had slowly begun to choke you. Even though you were in Hell, a place of chaos and madness, the routine had begun to devour you.

So you made an impulsive decision.

For the first time, you went out without your husband's company.

And you ended up in Cannibal Town.

It was as enchanting as it was dangerous. If you ignored the scenes of sinners being eaten alive in some corners, it had a certain intriguing air.

But something else caught your attention.

An enthusiastic murmur arose from a group of women with dark eyes and sharp smiles. They all seemed to be looking in the same direction, their red-painted mouths forming words of admiration and affable greetings.

Unable to help yourself, you follow their gazes.

A demon unlike any you had encountered before. Elegant, impeccable, with that presence impossible to ignore.

He was not a predator in appearance, but there was something about his appearance that made him more lethal than any of the beasts that prowled Hell.

Your eyes widened with surprise, and your heart….

It sped up.

You stood watching him without noticing the time passing, completely caught up in his image.

Until he turned around.

His bright eyes, red as fire, stared straight into yours.

They pierced through you.

As if they had been searching for you.

The air left your lungs in an instant, and an inexplicable nervousness came over you.

You looked away suddenly.

And without thinking, you fled from there.

Your memories scattered and again you forced yourself back to reality.

Your breathing was erratic.

You remembered him.

You had known him before your husband made any alliance with him.

And when your eyes returned to Alastor's, you found something worse than a smirk.

He was nodding. As if he had read your thoughts.

— That's right, my dear…— he whispered with dangerous delight. — From that moment… we both felt that spark, didn't we?

Your throat went dry.

— No…— You tried to deny, but the word came out choked.

Alastor tilted his head, enjoying your internal struggle.

— No, what? — he asked softly, as if he really wanted you to elaborate.

You drew in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to compose yourself.

— It was nothing. It didn't mean anything.

Alastor's smile widened.

— Oh… are you trying to convince me or yourself? — his tone was a venomous whisper, dragging you deeper and deeper into a game you had everything to lose.

— You ran away that time.— he continued, his grip on your chin loosening just enough for you to speak.— But… haven't you ever really wondered why?

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Because the truth was devastating.

Yes, you had thought about it. You had felt something that day. Something you were terrified to accept in the present.

Inside you, the battle was merciless.

Denial.

You clung to it tooth and nail, looking for any excuse, any justification for what had made sense that day.

Intrigue.

That was it. Simple curiosity in the face of someone who seemed different.

Stupidity.

Yes, a passing foolishness. A moment of weakness in a new, chaotic world in which you were still learning your way around.

But not love.

No desire.

No… that.

But the more you dug into the memories, the more the barriers you had so painstakingly erected fell away.

You remembered how you spent weeks in a state of uncertainty, with anticipation growing in your chest every time you went out, hoping - without daring to admit it - to find again.

And there, in the bitterest depths of your soul, the truth waited patiently for you to accept it.

But not here .

Not in front of it.

Fury flared in your gut and, with a spark of courage, you summoned all your strength and pushed him with both hands.

The move wasn't enough to send him away, but it did send him staggering back a few inches.

You, on the other hand, crashed backwards against the bar, feeling the edge dig into your skin.

The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp as your hands shook at your sides.

— Go away. — The words came out harsh, laden with a panic you didn't want to show.— I will not do this to my husband.

Alastor remained in place, watching you with an intensity that made you feel naked, exposed.

But he doesn't move.

— Forget this whole damn circus and get out.

Your voice echoed in the room, but instead of an immediate response, there was a silence.

A different one.

One that didn't belong to Alastor.

It was in your own chest that you felt it first: a tremor.

Not in your hands, not in your legs.

In your heart.

And when you looked up again, you noticed it.

For the first time, Alastor wasn't smiling completely.

There was something subtle in his expression, something imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him.

But you saw it.

His refusal to accept your rejection.And then, without warning, he advanced with a single long stride.

You gasped for air.

His shadow covered you, and the distance between you shrunk to almost nothing.

It was then that he asked the unimaginable .

—Just one kiss.

Your eyes widened.

— What? — Disbelief cracked your voice. Alastor looked down at you, his eyes glowing like burning embers.

— A lasting kiss. A real one.

Your body tensed.

— And if we feel nothing…— he continued with a dangerous softness, — if this has all been an illusion, a foolishness… I will leave you alone.

His voice dropped a tone lower, like a promise.

— But if we get carried away….

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

The implication hit you like a punch in the chest.

— You're insane — you whispered, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Alastor smiling, but not mockingly.

— Maybe.

You instinctively took a step back, but the bar was still there, preventing you from escaping.

Refusing was the only option.

But before you could open your mouth to refuse, you felt the touch of your hands.

Not on your face.

Not on your waist.

On your hands.

His fingers intertwined with yours in an unexpectedly delicate grip, and when you looked up, his eyes caught you completely.

There was no longer arrogance in them.

There was something else, something devastating, something you never expected to see in him.

Supplication.

The radio demon, with all his power, with all his overpowering presence, was begging you.

Without words, with his eyes, with his touch.

Your heart gave a brutal flip in your chest.

— Yes… —The word escaped your lips in a barely audible whisper, so fragile you could almost convince yourself you hadn't uttered it.

But Alastor heard it, and that was enough.

Alastor did not rush. He did not advance with the abruptness of one who takes what he desires without waiting for permission.

No.

He approached with exasperating slowness, measuring every inch he reduced between you, giving you the opportunity to flee.

But you don't move.

Don't look away from his gaze, even if the anticipation made you gasp, even if the air around you seemed thicker, suffocating.

Alastor noticed it all, your tense jaw, the slight quiver of your eyelashes, the sway of your chest as the air caught in your throat.

But you don't back down. And that sold your fate.

His hand rose parsimoniously, and the pad of his thumb brushed your lower lip with almost reverential gentleness.

The caress was light, barely a brush, but a violent shiver ran through you. You did nothing when his finger slowly probed it, as if he wanted to memorize its texture, its shape.

You did nothing when he pushed off it with a playful touch, just a slight tug that sent a tingle straight to your stomach.

And when he tilted his face and pressed a kiss against your lower lip, as delicate as a whisper… You closed your eyes.

Praying to whatever divine force that it would end there. That you didn't feel anything.

Because if you did…

If you really did…

You were going to end up in his arms.

But the universe was cruel, because the void he left when he turned away hurt you more than it should have.

You didn't have time to analyze it, because Alastor leaned in again. And this time, there were no distractions.

This time, he really kissed you.

It was soft, leisurely, almost lazy, as if he savored every second his lips moved over yours.

As if he was drinking in something long longed for.

Your fingers clung to the edges of the bar behind you, searching for something to anchor you to.

But when the kiss became firmer, when the heat of his mouth became an irrefutable reality, an instinct stronger than your reasoning took over.

You let go of the bar and, without realizing it, your fingers became entangled in his sack.

It was a minimal, almost insignificant action. But to Alastor, it was the equivalent of a match lighting a forest fire. Because the need exploded in his chest.

And the containment crumbled.

His hands slid to your neck, catching it firmly, and the gentleness of the kiss became something much more ravenous.

You opened your eyes, startled, trying to pull back, to speak, to do something.

But Alastor took advantage of the opening, sinking deeper, and his tongue slipped inside your mouth without warning. A choked moan formed in your throat, drowned out amidst the mess that was now the kiss.

There was no control.

There was no caution.

Only the sound of ragged breaths, soft gasps and the static electricity emanating from your skin.

A tingle ran through your entire body as his hands left your neck to wrap around your waist, drawing you hopelessly to him.

And you…

You didn't stop him.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. Because your arms found their way to his shoulders and you clung to him with the same desperation with which he was devouring you.

As if your life depended on it.

And worst of all… It's that at that moment, you felt like he really did.

The only thing that mattered at that moment was the heat.

The burning that spread through every corner of your body, every nook and cranny of your being, as the wet sounds of both lips colliding echoed through the air with an obsessive cadence. For him, those discordant notes were a heavenly melody, a symphony of desires fulfilled and temptations realized. But to you…

To you they were the sounds of decay, of the abandonment of everything you once thought you could be. They were obscene, the complete opposite of any standards you once thought important. And yet, who are you to define what is right or wrong in a place like this?

He kept moving over you, parting for an instant only to take over another spot on your face.

First, a warm, wet kiss on your cheek, followed by one on your chin, then on your cheekbone, leaving a sensation that added to the volcano burning inside you. Then a kiss on your eyelid, as if he wanted to seal you somehow, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

And when he stopped on your forehead, he took you completely off guard. It was a soft, tender kiss… but the mixture of his warmth with his closeness made your legs wobble.

As soon as he could do this, he captured your lips again, leaving no room for doubt, the desperate need in his kiss burning hotter than any fire, every second consuming you insatiably.

Now, your hands didn't know where to go.

It was as if your whole body was in motion, touching what it could, clinging to what it found. Your waist. Your chest. His sack , which I had learned to want to feel in your hands. But your fingers didn't stop there, they slid down to her shoulders, running up and down her figure, searching for a stability that no longer existed.

Finally, your hands ended up in her hair, messy, intricate, and the desire to touch those deer ears, those details that only reminded you of her nature, became unbearable. You moved closer, wanting to sink your fingers there, to undo the only remnant of control left in him.

The thought of your husband… evaporated, almost as if it had never existed.

You don't think of him and you don't think of anything else either.

Because all there was at that moment was Alastor. His body, his presence, that electric tension that passed between the two of you, and the feeling that everything was so perfectly right . If you remembered nothing, if this was a new beginning, if Alastor was claiming to be the true lover in your life, you would feel that it could be true, no more questions needed to be asked.

This kiss… this was the only moment worth remembering, and the only truth you had left.

The last thing you remember, through the haze of arousal, is Alastor undressing you with delicate urgency, stripping you of every garment as if he were unveiling a work of art. And then, suddenly, you find yourself reclining on one of the leather seats, being fucked by him in such a delicious way that your moans burn your throat.

You don't know how many orgasms he has brought out of you, but you know you are overstimulated by the violent trembling in your legs and the pleasurable pain your pussy is suffering.

Your moans rise in intensity, tearing through the silence as Alastor rams you with unbridled passion. It's too much for you, that your voice shoots out with a plea.

It's a slow, exquisite torture. You feel the tip of his cock brush against your cervix, that sweet spot where all your nerves converge, and a choked cry escapes your lips. It's a pleasurable pain, an electric shock that makes you buck under his touch, feeling every cell in your body explode in an explosion of sensations.

— There? You like that, don't you? — Alastor whispers, his voice throaty and loaded with a possessiveness that makes you shudder. — You like it when I fuck you like that?

— Yes, there… M-more…— you hiss in a broken, shattered voice, tears in your eyes.

You open your eyes, your gaze lost in the haze of excitement. The world is reduced to him, to the intensity of his dark eyes and the way his body completely dominates you. Fear tries to creep into your thoughts, but pleasure is an unstoppable tide that drowns him mercilessly.

You lunge again like a madman, possessed by your own pleasure, arousal drenches you both and the smell of sex wafts through the room. And the wet sounds force you to roll your eyes back and paint them white.

Alastor, intoxicated by your surrender, watches you as he makes you his. A primal instinct overcomes him and, with a nimble movement, he shifts position. Now he takes you with abandon, with an unbridled ferocity that steals your breath.

He wants to see you cry with pleasure, to see you lose control completely. He demands it of you with words and actions, praising every moan, every spasm, every sign of your surrender. He kisses you voraciously, savoring your taste, and embraces you with a possessiveness that marks you as his own.

As he gazes at you, his eyes linger on your belly. An almost ravenous need invades him, and sharp words burst from his lips, "You're going to be the mother of my children," he exclaims in a throaty voice that runs down your spine. "You're going to be the sexiest mother in hell, sporting my seed."

And seeing that little bulge of his cock in your belly only slowly breaks the self-control he still thinks he possesses. And he grunts when he hears you moan, a long, choppy moan that seems so sweet to him.

Desire consumes him, the idea of procreating with you drives him crazy. Even though that is practically impossible in hell.

— Let me fill you. — he begs with a fervor that shakes you. — Let me sow my semen inside you and create a new life, a life that belongs only to us.

Sighs and low moans came from him as he uttered those words like a mantra, the climax approaching, so fragile you feel it inside you.

Melted and not really you, you look at him with tight eyebrows, clinging to the places of his thrusts and simply nod.

— Come… come inside me, please! — You cry out with heart-rending urgency, pleading for Alastor to bring you to the ultimate orgasm.

— Look at me, my love. — he hisses, his voice a dangerous purr, — watch me as I give you what you crave so much.

Alastor purrs, his static brushing against your skin and ruffling your hair. You, lost and sensing that at any moment you are both going to be finished, bite your lip trying to hold back the screams.

Alastor immediately notices this and leans in, a quick glance informing you what he's thinking.

— Scream… scream whatever you want, precious, just scream how good you feel, how good you take me… fuck — His voice came out raspy, demanding even.

Alastor, possessed by a perverse euphoria, grunts and gasps on you, each lunge a coup de grace against your last defenses. Your vision blurs, the world is reduced to him, to the heat, the salty taste of your own skin and the sound of your own pleas.

The climax hits you like a bolt of lightning. A torrent of heat and light bursts inside you, tearing apart any barrier that remained between you and him. You scream, a wild, primal sound, as your body contracts in uncontrollable spasms. Alastor roars over you, pouring his essence deep inside you, claiming you as his own.

When the aftershocks begin to subside, you find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath hitching, your body covered in sweat.

— You are perfect. — he whispers between gasps. 

As you both recover from your climax, Alastor couldn't help but grab the back of your neck, pulling your face to his to kiss you with a hungry fervor. You accepted the kiss in response, surrendering to the passion still seething between the two of you. And as you kissed, Alastor slowly withdrew from inside you.

The contrast between the wild way he had possessed you minutes before and the gentleness with which he was now extracting his erection was mesmerizing. You gasped as you felt the emptiness in your body, a pang of longing mixed with the satisfaction of the pleasure just experienced.

Alastor contemplated the mess you were now. Your flushed face, your skin covered in sweat and your body freshly sated by his lust gave you a wonderful glow. He let out a static-laden chuckle as he watched some of his cum slide down your thigh.

With his claw, he scooped up some of the substance and looked down at you, a mischievous smile curving his lips. You blushed even more at the sight of the semen on his claw, a tangible reminder of your intimacy.

— You shouldn't feel ashamed, cherie. —Alastor exclaimed, his voice echoing softly. — After all, we have already shared a very intimate moment.

You felt a faint spark of helplessness at his comment, but it quickly vanished as Alastor lifted you into his arms, as if you were a feather.

— I'll take you to a hot bath. — he said, his voice a warm whisper in your ear.— So you can relax and recover.

The aftercare Alastor was giving you melted your defenses, weakening the resistance you were still trying to maintain. Clinging to his neck, you accepted his offer, surrendering to his charm and the need to feel his closeness.

— You're amazing. — you whispered, your voice barely audible.— I don't know what you've done to me.

Alastor smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. As he carried you in his arms, you felt everything around you fade away.

In the depths of the pentagram city, a small establishment, an uncrowded place, was the ideal location for a meeting such as the one Alastor planned to have with his most promising associate

With a cup of tea in hand, he drank it neatly, savoring each sip as if it were the elixir of his victory. The sulphur-laden air and stale tobacco lent an aura of secrecy, a perfect setting for a meeting between men of his caliber.

The tinkling of the establishment's old bell resounded, marking your husband's arrival. Always punctual, always impeccable in his gait, he advanced with the confidence of a man who knows he is well received. He did not suspect, he had no reason to.

Alastor, with his perpetually stretched smile, received him with an elegant gesture. His mood was still high, his spirits renewed after the evening he had spent with you. He still savored the echoes of your presence, the memory of your skin, the timbre of your voice entwined with his on that special night.

— Alastor! — your husband exclaimed effusively, taking a seat across from him.— What a pleasure it is to see you again.

— And mine is even greater! — the demon intoned with his usual theatricality.— I'm glad to see you're still in one piece after your little excursion. I hope it was as… exciting as you imagined.

Your husband laughed, settling in with the ease of one who has good news to share.

— Oh, it was. From start to finish. Mercenaries, small-time demons, ambushes…— your husband exclaimed enthusiastically, pausing before continuing, —Violence at every turn, as expected. But you know what? It was all worth it.

Alastor tilted his head in mock interest, gently twirling the spoon in his tea.

— Ah, Yes? , And what did you find in the midst of such an odyssey?— he asked.

Your husband leaned forward slightly, and in one measured motion, pulled out a bundle wrapped in dark velvet. He held it reverently before unfolding the cloth and revealing his most precious find: a grimoire of infernal magic, its yellowed pages exuding a latent energy, its leather cover cracked and marked with symbols forgotten by time.

Alastor looks at the relic with a lopsided smile, interlacing his fingers on the table.

— Well, well… —he mused, slurring his words in his melodic tone.— It's not every day one stumbles upon a treasure like this.

— No, not every day. — agreed your husband with palpable excitement as he turned the pages with eager fingers.— But here it is. Lost magic, forbidden spells… and one in particular that changes everything.

Alastor did not react immediately.

He simply waited, letting the other man elaborate, let him drown in his own enthusiasm.

— One of these spells guarantees a conception in hell— he declared, his eyes glowing with a feverish intensity. — A pregnancy.

The silence that followed was almost imperceptible, a minuscule space of time in which the world seemed to hold its breath.

Alastor's smile did not fade, but something in his posture changed, a subtle tension in his jaw, a slight drumming of his fingers against the table.

— Oh… what a fascinating revelation,— he murmured with his usual sweetness, gently setting his teacup aside.— And tell me… who, exactly, will be the lucky one?

Your husband laughed with genuine warmth, oblivious to the storm brewing in front of him.

— Who else could it be? My wife.

Alastor felt the air grow heavy in his throat. The timbre of his laughter did not change, nor did the sharp glint in his eyes, but inside him, fury pulsed like a chained beast, clawing, wanting to escape.

No. Not yet.

Your husband continued to talk, rambling on about his love for you, about the future he planned by your side, about the miracle that was within his grasp. His enthusiasm was blinding. He didn't see the way Alastor settled into his seat, nor how the shadow of his smile took on a dangerous tinge.

And then, with absolute calm, the demon exhaled a sentence that split the conversation in two.

— I'm sorry, my friend… but. — said Alastor, his voice smooth as velvet, riddled with a steely edge. —…I fucked your wife.

The sound of his voice, though serene, felt like a thud against the table. Your husband stopped immediately. His words died in his throat, his face paled as if the blood had left him with a single jerk.

— Pardon? — he asked, a shaky laugh seeping between his lips.— I must have heard wrong… that was a joke, wasn't it?

Alastor didn't move. His smile was still there, relaxed, serene. His crimson eyes glowed with dark satisfaction, as if he enjoyed the bewilderment of the man in front of him.

— Dear colleague. — he whispered with a bone-chilling sweetness.— Do I look like someone who jokes?

The light of the establishment flickered over both men. The silence that followed the confession was thick.

Your husband, still incredulous, searched Alastor's face for some hint of mockery, a grimace that would disprove his words. But the demon only looked at him with that lazy and enchanted smile.

— No… — your husband muttered, his voice barely a choked whisper.— It can't be…

Alastor let out a light laugh, full of amusement, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

— Oh, but it can. — he crooned with delight.— And it was.

Your husband swallowed dryly.

— When? —His voice cracked slightly. — How?

The demon narrowed his eyes, his smile curving with pride.

— Ah, you want details? — he asked, with a venomous sweetness.— It's funny… I thought certain images would be overused in your mind.

Your husband's jaw tensed, but Alastor didn't stop.

— Although, if you insist…— he continued with mock innocence, stroking the rim of his teacup.— I might say it all began with the allure of loneliness. Poor soul, abandoned by her beloved on such a perilous travel… so, so far away. What was I to do but offer her a little company?

Your husband's eyes grew wide with horror as he realized the truth.

The travel.

The damn travel.

The letter the radio demon had sent him, with a destination that promised only advantages.

It was all Alastor's idea.

All this time, the whole odyssey, all the effort to find that grimoire… it had been nothing more than a distraction.

An excuse.

For the Radio Demon to get tangled in the sheets with you.

The chair slid back with a violent creak as your husband shot to his feet, his face flushed with anger, chest heaving with erratic breathing. He pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, while his other hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white with restrained force.

— How could you…! —he bellowed, his voice rasping with fury. — How dare you betray our alliance like this! To climb into bed with my wife!

Alastor did not flinch. On the contrary, he leaned back comfortably in his seat, raising an eyebrow haughtily.

— Betray the alliance? —he muttered, his tone overflowing with condescension. — I don't know why you're so surprised. After all… she's always been mine.

Your husband's blood boiled in her veins. But Alastor was only smiling. He was smiling as if he had already won.

Alastor brought the teacup to his lips with that infuriating grace of his, but before he took a sip, he dropped one last lunge.

— ¡Ah yes!, and actually…— he paused briefly, enjoying the anticipation on your husband's congested face.— It wasn't on the bed. It was on the couch.

The silence in the room was immediate.

For an instant, there was only the subtle tinkling of china as Alastor finally set his tea down on the wood with absolute serenity.

Your husband, however, felt the last strand of his self-control tear. The vein in his forehead pulsed violently before he let out a fierce curse, his voice so powerful that some of the demons present in the small room were startled.

Murmurs began to run through the patrons, some watching with morbid interest, others feigning indifference as their ears pricked up to catch every word.

— You damned bastard! — your husband spat, his chest rising and falling with furious breaths.

Your husband pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, his other hand clenched into a fist that rose as if at any moment he was going to hurl it at the demon.

— She's my wife!— he spat, rage exuding from every word.— As much as you have taken advantage of my absence, she is still my wife!

Ah, but those words…

Something bubbled up inside him, a dense, toxic emotion that began to seep into the atmosphere like a dark fog.

— Is that so? Your wife…— repeated the demon, his voice a silken whisper.

The teacup hovered in the air for a few seconds before disappearing in a distortion of static, as Alastor's silhouette began to change.

The lights of the place flickered, crackling with irregular frequency. His shadow, which until that moment had remained obedient under his feet, began to lengthen and twist, transformed into a creature with a will of its own.

Little flashes of his demonic form began to manifest themselves involuntarily: his smile, once playful, twisted into something sharper, more predatory; and his eyes, those glowing red eyes like burning spokes, crackled with barely contained rage.

— Ah… — he whispered, rising with an unsettling slowness. — No, no, dear friend….

— She… She's not yours. —he exclaimed, each syllable making the ground tremble beneath his feet.— She never was.

A flash of red and black flashed across his figure. The temperature in the place dropped sharply, and static electricity made the lights flicker with a sickly hum.

The murmuring in the room ceased. No one dared move.

And then Alastor bowed his head slightly, his smile curving into something that no longer looked human, but the ravenous grimace of a predator ready to feast.

— And now..—He uttered in a tone that was almost melodic. — I'm going to get rid of the nuisance.

Your husband barely had time to inhale before the shadows around him began to move.

The radio broadcast, transmitted from high above, echoed in every corner where Alastor's signal could reach. At first, only intermittent static could be heard, distorted like the wailing of a spectrum trapped between frequencies. Then, the screams began.

Heart-rending sounds echoed through the air, where the infamous red demon's radio broadcast was emitting a special edition.

Suffering permeated every note of that macabre symphony, and the listening demons shuddered, some with morbid pleasure, others with a visceral unease that made their skin crawl. But no one turned off the radio.

Alastor's distorted guffaws filtered into the transmission between each interval of screams, each word a mocking echo, a sadistic mockery of the fate of the wretch who had dared to defy him.

And the wretched victim had been your husband.

— What a… lovely evening, my friends! — He intoned enthusiastically, his voice buzzing with a hint of static.— Don't you think despair has such a… melodious ring to it!

More laughter. More pleading in the distant background, fainter and fainter.

Then silence, and then a click.

The program had come to an end.

In the demon's hands rested the grimoire.

His fingers ran over the ancient leather cover, feeling the dark energy emanating from the book. The mere presence of those pages, covered with infernal inscriptions, vibrated the air with a primal power, one he recognized all too well.

His red eyes glowed with keen interest. A spell of conception.

The idea was fascinating. In Hell, damned souls could not create life the way mortals could, but that book…that spell promised the impossible.

Could it be true?

Could there really be a being born of his essence, of his power?

A snap echoed in the air as he closed the grimoire with a firm movement. His fingers drummed on the cover as her smile widened with barely contained excitement.

Well…

There was only one way to find out.

And you… you would be the perfect person in his little experiment.

___________________

Oh god, I still don't forget this series of stories, misfortunes consumed my time and at last I can upload this work. I am sorry forever. T.T

[giuseppe-yuki]

rancher!oscar piastri x reader headcanons

random headcannons for my fic come over, baby! (shameless promo 😔) *headcannons might not make total sense without reading aforementioned fic

the farm

after The Situation™, mama piastri is more than welcome of your presence at the family home

door has to be OPEN during the day though (she sends basil to guard the door)

you and hattie become besties and bond through bullying oscar <3

you hang out on their family farm during breaks from college so much nicole has assigned you chores to do as well

namely watering the garden and collecting the eggs in the early morning

oscar loves tagging along (only so he can take the chance to make out with you behind the chicken coop cause he can't when his sisters and his mother are in the house with y'all)

y'all are banned from the atv to travel around during morning chores because.. yeah.

when fall comes, apple picking in the family orchard!!!

although you may be a city girl, you know how to make a bomb apple pie

nicole makes cider :)

its nice to drink, curled up in oscar's bed with a classic movie illegally streamed on his laptop.

(most of the times, the movie doesn't get watched, anyways)

the apartment

your parents live in a fancy schmancy apartment in the city

they're always away on business trips or vacations so you basically have free reign to use the apartment when they're away

when you invite oscar for a "sleepover" in the apartment when your parents are in malibu for a random vacation, he gets excited at the prospect of seeing how you grew up in the city

baffled of your lack of backyard

no fresh eggs 💔 ? ?

"jesus christ, can the cars SHUT UP?" - oscar at 12am

he likes to watch the shiny supercars that sometimes pop up on the streets below rev their engines and zoom past your balcony

gets a little sick from looking down from a high height though, since the apartment is located near the 20th floor

"holy cow, do you think this is what being a cloud feels like??" - oscar leaning dangerously precariously off your balcony

college

when you both are not at oscar's house for break or your family apartment in the city, you both are at school

oscar studies engineering (duh)

since you study a whole nother field, you are located on the other side of the campus, which is kind of annoying

he likes to walk you to your classes even when that means he is going to be late to his own lectures.

(he knicks the notes off of his mate lando, anyways)

commonly sends you stupid videos in the middle of your lectures

often takes you out for lunch in his banged-up weird-orange pick-up truck that most likely has engine problems

study sessions in the library!! (he gets overwhelmed by your flashcards and you almost cry looking at his physics problems)

when essays are written and worksheets filled out, you sleep at oscar's dorm (the RAs in your female-only dorm crash out if they find out - god forbid - a boy is in your room)

oscar likes kicking his poor roomie (lando) out for a few hours when y'all get more intimate lmaoooo

a/n: lil headcannons to fill in the time while i work on my full fics :)

as always, my inbox is open to all your thoughts, headcannons, or questions for any of my works! (no fic requests please!)

[odoraful]

𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹.ᐟ

xiao has been noticing some symptoms in you lately and decides to go to baizhu for some advice…

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; absolute fluff, i'm talking very silly and cute ; baizhu and qiqi appearance ; reader has a massive crush on xiao and it goes utterly over his head ; but xiao is just trying his best to be caring ; 3.2k words

⟡ a/n — xiao lovers please rise 🙂‍↕️ banner art by dsmile9 on twitter!

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In his time as a doctor, Baizhu had seen it all. Every weird and wonderful thing about the human body. Every high and low of the human experience. He thought there was little that could shock him now. However, he was disproven at this very moment when the Conqueror of Demons showed up at Bubu Pharmacy.

There actually didn’t seem to be wrong with the yaksha in terms of ailments. No gaping wounds or visible signs of karmic corruption. Baizhu did observe that he appeared more bashful that usual with how tight his arms were folded across his chest, but he did well to hide it under his stone-faced expression.

What was wrong was that he was standing here.

Willingly standing here.

Not being dragged in a half-conscious state by little Qiqi or another one of his companions who certainly cared about his health more than himself.

If Xiao was at his doorstep, the situation must be rather serious.

“Conqueror of Demons,” he greeted, resting his chin on his hand. “Now, isn’t this a welcome surprise?”

Qiqi hopped down from her stool behind the counter, shuffling towards Xiao with unbelieving eyes. She poked at his leg, checking that it was really the yaksha in the flesh. Xiao let the young girl prod as he unfolded his arms and spoke.

“Baizhu, I need your assistance.”

A request for aid? From the Conqueror of Demons himself? Baizhu stood up straighter, his curiosity changing from amused to serious.

“I-it’s about Y/N.”

Ah, I should have known. Yes, he was familiar with you. The person who had brought Xiao to the pharmacy in the aftermath of a particularly dangerous patrol. He could never forget the worry carved into your face and the tenderness in how you brushed his hair away from his sweat slicked skin. As to your relationship together, he had his internal speculations, but never heard anything official as of yet.

Baizhu nodded. “Qiqi, would you mind closing up the pharmacy early today?”

He looked over at Xiao with a soft smile, “Come with me to the back. We can have a discussion there.”

The room Baizhu led Xiao into was reserved for consultations with patients who had more complicated presentations. The furniture inside were all crafted from the same dark wood with gold embellishments. It contained a bed with white linens, a chest of multiple drawers containing all sorts of herbalist components, a low table for working with accompanying stools and chairs, and a bamboo screen for privacy where a wash bucket and cloth were set up behind.

Rather than sit on the bed or in any available chair, Xiao chose to stand. Baizhu sat in his chair by the table, legs crossed. Qiqi joined them soon after, plopping herself onto a stool.

“What seems to be the problem?” Baizhu asked.

Xiao sighed, brow twisted with concern. It was probably the most emotion he had seen in the yaksha. “Y/N hasn’t been themself lately… I believe they might be ill, but I can’t conclude what the ailment is.”

“And may I ask why you came to me? Wouldn’t it make greater sense to have them see me directly than through a middle man?”

Xiao shook his head. “Each time I’ve asked about the state of their health, they dismiss me.”

“I see…” Baizhu hummed with understanding.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask about the condition of their loved ones. But to see the Conqueror of Demons show such care for someone despite his reclusive nature. Curious indeed.

“Well then,” he continued, taking his pen and flicking open a notebook in front of him to a fresh page, “what symptoms have you’ve observed so far?”

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patient has been showing signs of increased clumsiness…

Xiao wasn’t a master at interpreting emotion, but he was adept at observing them. Any flicker of change in someone or something’s manner could be the difference between blocking a strike or being fatally injured. Not that being in mortal danger applied to this situation right now, but the skill was transferrable. Right now, Xiao was observing you from the balcony of his room at Wangshu Inn. You were assiting Verr Goldet with hanging some new decorations far below. The boss, however, had currently been pulled aside to help an elderly couple with directions.

Standing on a step ladder, he watched as you hung up a red colored ornament to one of the lantern poles that lined the deck of the inn. His keen senses spiked. The combination of you on your tippy toes, the unstable structure supporting you, and your focus being entirely on hanging the decoration instead of yourself did not have many positive outcomes. Instantly, Xiao went from being on the topmost floor to behind you. Traces of his teleportation manifesting as green wisps of energy in the air.

You felt the ladder stabilize beneath your. Your heels fell back down as you stood properly.

“Thanks Goldet!” you called over your shoulder before turning around fully to ask, “Tell me, would the flower or butterfly one look better—”

The rest of your question caught in your throat. Verr Goldet was not there behind you. Rather, a certain teal haired protector who you had grown close to.

You were introduced to Xiao by Verr Goldet herself who believed it would be good for you and him to meet. Being apart of the adventurer’s guild meant that you had interacted with many different individuals, and could share your knowledge of the mortal world. As time passed, strangers would turn to acquaintances, then acquaintances would turn into friends. The label of which Xiao himself bestowed upon you on an ordinary afternoon. It made your heart both soar at the heartfelt admission and sink to hear such a definitive term. You always hoped there would be room for something more.

Xiao blinked up at you on the ladder. In a matter of seconds, he saw your eyes go wide with recognition, then your feet slipping against the ladder’s surface. Thankfully, he had reflexes as quick as an electro thunderstorm. You tumbled forward, straight into his arms.

“X-Xiao?!” you squeaked.

He didn’t let you go just yet. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, trying to let the shock of the fall pass over you.

“This ladder is too unbalanced,” he said. “You should be more careful.”

You could only nod. Your brain was more occupied with your proximity to Xiao. How you could see the different shades of amber in the irises of his eyes, and the shape of his lips.

Some part of your consciousness pinched itself, and you whipped your head away.

“I-I didn’t realize. That’s my mistake,” you answered with a sheepish chuckle.

He gave a short sigh before gently letting you stand. The places where his strong grip held you still tingled against your skin.

“Also… the flower one,” Xiao mumbled.

You cocked your head, thinking you had misheard him. “I’m sorry?”

Xiao folded his arms, nodding towards the lantern pole.

“You asked about the decorations. The flower one would… look nice.”

Never had such simple words caused a flutter in your stomach.

If that wasn’t enough, Xiao remained with you, lending a hand where he could. He didn’t want there to be an accident if he had left you alone. What he didn’t expect was that you seemed to be more clumsier as time continued. Unable to step on the ladder without your knees wobbling, tripping over the boxes of decorations, dropping the tools every time you went to hang a decoration up. Considerate as he was, Xiao climbed ladders, moved boxes, and hammered things in place for you without protest. Though, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

Verr Goldet returned to find the pair hard at work. She observed, amusingly, how obvious you were being about your feelings and how oblivious the other was in seeing them.

Ah, youth, she mused to herself.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

patient has been experiencing raised bodily temperature…

Telling Xiao not to worry was like telling the waters in Chenyu Vale not to flow. It was a simple law of nature; a force unable to be stopped.

“I’m feeling perfectly fine,” you emphasized for a second time.

You were seated on the small sofa in your living room. Beside you, Xiao also sat, straight-backed and gloved hands in his lap.

Xiao had come to your home to visit. Both out of curiosity as to how mortals lived in their own dwellings and curiosity about you. More specifically, why you had been so flushed recently. Whenever he saw you, he noticed the pink that spread from tips of your ears to apples of your cheeks.

“There are signs that show otherwise,” he stated, bluntly.

Ever since that time he helped you decorate the inn, Xiao had been much, much more attentive towards you. Eyes examining you up and down with little subtlety. Under such a gaze, how couldn’t you become hot and bothered?

“I am not familiar with mortal health, but I have noticed you’ve grown more…” Xiao searched for the right descriptor in his head, “…redder, recently.”

Archons, does he know about it?! you thought to yourself with alarm. He turned towards you, and you stifled a yelp. There was no way in Celestia this was how he would find out.

“It may be due to some kind of illness.”

It took a moment for his words to register in your head. An… illness?

Sensing the confusion on your face, Xiao moved nearer until he was right by your side. He lifted a hand up to your forehead, an action he had observed many adults perform on children to assess their temperature. If he was correct in its function, then this should allow him to draw an appropriate conclusion.

Your body locked up.

He was so, so close once again.

“Even now,” the slight gravel of his tone reverberated in your ears, “your face is heating up. It is likely a fever.”

He pulled away. You exhaled a breath that you subconsciously held.

“I can take you to see Baizhu. He will know what to do.”

Xiao stood up, implying that he would take you there right now.

“No, no! There’s absolutely no need!” you protested.

The emphatic rejection made Xiao frown.

“I-it’s nothing that bedrest can’t fix.” you said, attempting to provide a convincing cover. “There’s no need to waste your teleportation powers to transport me.”

“It is no waste if it concerns your health,” he answered.

“You know what,” you shot up from the sofa, “I’ll go to my room right now to get some sleep!”

Xiao opened his mouth, prepared with his own protest. However, you were faster than him in continuing your sentence.

“You should go now, Xiao. I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever sickness I have.”

Though he appreciated your consideration, as an adeptus with a completely different constitution, he was certain mortal ailments would hardly affect him. However, he couldn't explain all that to you with how fast you marched away to your room, leaving him behind.

He saw your head poke out from behind the door of your bedroom.

“Thank you for visiting me!” you called out before shutting the door.

If Xiao knew this word, he would have used it to describe the exact emotion he was feeling at this moment: Flabbergasted.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

patient’s heartrate is frequently elevated…

Even after the fever incident, Xiao, to your relief, still wished to see you. You half expected him to be so bewildered by your actions that he would no longer want to be associated with you. So, you two returned to your ordinary routines of meeting with each other.

Xiao liked having your company in the evenings before he went out on patrol. As you sat on the edge of his bed, you would tell him about your week’s completed commissions. For Xiao, it served many purposes. Tactically, he could get insight any threats to Liyue that he couldn’t detect if you were involved in or overheard any significant commissions. In those first instances of meeting with you, Xiao would have said that that was the only purpose your stories held for him. But, with each passing night, Xiao realized he rather enjoyed hearing your voice. The cadence of your tone soothed him the same way notes played by a skilled musician captured an audience. He then found his lips curving into a hidden smile whenever you described a particularly frustrating encounter. Cheeks puffed in annoyance that drew a word from his vocabulary that he seldom used: cute.

Tonight, however, you appeared to be in no such mood for stories.

You were quiet, slowly flipping through pages of a novel as you read. It wasn’t strange for you to complete your own activity during this time, but Xiao had come to anticipate your conversation. His concerns about your health bubbled to the surface once again.

If he had focused more closely on you, he would have seen that your attention was far from the words on the page. Not looking at Xiao meant your heart could be less out on your sleeve and instead encased within muscle and bone where its supposed to be.

Xiao glanced back at you, eyes glued to the novel. He wouldn’t push it. Maybe this was the rest you were speaking about previously to help you recover.

He grabbed his shoulder armor from the bedside table, preparing to put it on himself using one hand as he had done hundreds of times before.

Two hands grasped the armor, lifting it from his own grasp.

“Let me help you.”

Your voice was delicate, almost hesitant as you reached out.

Xiao wordlessly accepted, sitting down on the bed to grant you easier access. You adjusted the spiked armor piece, making sure it laid flat and the black material beneath was secure around his shoulder.

Whilst you didn’t look up at him, he freely observed you. There was something beneath your avoidant gaze and bitten lower lip he couldn’t quite decipher. At the same time, there was something in his chest that stirred.

So unfamiliar with these new emotions you seemed to bring for him, Xiao could only think in somethings.

“Thank you,” he said. “You are very kind.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “It’s always easier to have someone else helping you out.”

Fitting the amour in place, you went to pull away. Suddenly, Xiao caught your wrist with his hand.

The breath escaped your lungs. You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were imagining all this in your head. Xiao brought two fingers to your wrist, applying light pressure onto your skin.

“Your pulse...” concern laced his voice as he spoke. “It is quite fast.”

How could he even sense such a thing!? You cleared your throat, trying to temper your shock.

“It’s always naturally this high,” you answered as light-hearted as possible.

“Mhm,” Xiao could only hum with mild suspicion.

Willing his jade spear to materialize, Xiao weighed it in his hand, readying for the night’s patrol.

“Look after yourself,” he said gently. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

With a nod and a lilt in your voice you replied, “I know. You always do.”

Xiao headed to the balcony. He did not turn around to face you, and therefore missed your tender gaze and your fingers brushing over your wrist where his gloved touch still lingered on your skin.

Disappearing into the night, Xiao made up his mind. He would go consult Baizhu about your condition and see what the course of action he should take. Surely the well practiced doctor could provide some necessary answers.

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During the first part of Xiao’s recounts, Baizhu had a pretty good guess about what was happening with you. By the halfway point, he wondered if he should even continue feigning writing patient notes.

Xiao finished relaying his information, hands now on his hips—expectantly. “What do you think is happening?”

Baizhu tapped his pen against the page of the notebook. It certainly is a very special type of sickness… he thought to himself. How would Xiao react if he told him he diagnosed you with 'lovesickness'?

“Will Y/N be okay?” Qiqi asked, tugging on Baizhu’s white coat. “I like Y/N. They always give warm hugs.”

The doctor gave a reassuring smile and patted Qiqi’s head. “Yes, they’ll be alright. I’ve made my assessment.”

Xiao prepared himself. If it was serious, he needed to know how to best help you. Comparatively, Baizhu appeared not the least bit troubled. Turning to the adeptus, he drummed his fingers against the table.

“Did you notice a particular trend in the occurrence of these symptoms?”

“A trend?” Xiao repeated, resting his chin on his hand.

Maybe it had to do with the weather? Or something you had eaten on those days?

“Yes, they all seem to happen when you’re there,” Baizhu answered seeing Xiao unable to come to a conclusion. “Being more clumsy, feeling hot, a fast beating heart, but only around a certain someone…”

Xiao’s brows raised. “Am I the cause of Y/N’s illness? Is my karmic debt responsible for this?”

Baizhu shook his head immediately. “No, no, Archons no! I can assure you that these symptoms have nothing to do with your karma.”

He sighed, trying to switch his words. “Rather, it’s more to do with your… character.”

“My character?” Exasperated confusion was permanently affixed to Xiao’s face. “This ambiguity you speak with is unhelpful.”

Baizhu had done some tough things as a doctor. But trying to subtly hint to a somewhat emotionally unaware individual that someone had a crush on him was certainly one of the hardest.

He paused a moment. Was it really his place to reveal this? Wouldn’t it be far better, and more meaningful, for you to tell him on your own?

“Some symptoms that people report are actually very normal parts of everyday living,” he said, adopting his most professional tone. "My recommendation is for you to ask Y/N how they’ve been feeling recently, and to tell them that it’s never healthy to keep things bottled up inside.”

Finally, some advice for Xiao to action.

“You think I should be more direct in my confrontation?” he asked.

“Yes, but not too much to arouse anxiety.”

Xiao nodded thoughtfully. He should have known that it didn’t have to be a physical illness—maybe your symptoms were a manifestation of stress or worry you were experiencing. Talking it out would be a good step. Even if he was not the most skilled at it, he would try anything to help you feel better.

“I will take your advice. Thank you, Baizhu.”

He bowed his head in thanks. Baizhu gave a hum of what sounded like satisfaction.

“Tell me how it all goes, Conqueror of Demons.”

Baizhu’s voice as he spoke was a little too singsong for Xiao’s taste. But, he was one of the best doctors in Liyue, so who was he to second guess his words?

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[gatorbites-imagines]

I’m SO in love with your Dick x Wally x male Thanagarian reader HCs! I’ve read through them multiple times, and they’re stuck in my head 🥰🥰💖💖💖

I wasn’t the one who requested it, but would I be able to ask for more from them, with a mix of SFW and NSFW HCs? 🙏

Dick Grayson x Wally West x Thanagarian male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been stressing about my job situation since I quit my internship, as I still need an income, and all job postings around here I can do start in April. So, like any healthy person, im ignoring these feelings by writing.

You guys dating wouldn’t change too many things, as you guys were already close and spent a lot of time together. You guys become a lot more affectionate, which is new for you but not for Dick and Wally as they had already been dating for a long time.

They plan most of the dates in the beginning, as you are still trying to figure out what would work for your human lovers. Thanagar has different traditions and habits, so humans being so lax and creative is new even after this long.

Dick and Wally are both giddy when you decide to plan a date all on your own. You end up stressing yourself way too much, wanting it to be perfect, that you get help from some of the other titans.

I think your boyfriends would be happy with anything, even just going to your hideout and sitting around eating pizza and watching a movie. But seeing all the effort you put into it makes them happy.

On your guys one year anniversary, you give them rings made out of nth metal, possibly even made from small pieces of your wings, so you are always with them in one way or another.

This makes Wally and Dick both pout as they now think their gifts arent good enough. Of course, you don’t think so, anything they’ll give you is good, but they want to do something as meaningful as you did.

Expect something personal and sweet in the coming days. It doesn’t have to be expensive or anything, but its something that means something to all of you. You just feel flustered about it, but accept the pampering.

They of course don’t go beyond your boundaries, something you return as well, since you love your boyfriends as much as you can and they love you in return.

You don’t have any family on earth, there’s Carter and Shayera, but they aren’t really your family and you guys have different values. Luckily for you, your boyfriends have active families. It takes longer for the bats to welcome you, but at this point you’ve been on earth long enough to be trusted.

When it comes to the bedroom, Wally and Dick are much more comfortable than you are in the beginning. They already know each other inside and out, literally, and the first times you feel almost like an outsider.

They obviously don’t allow you to feel left out, and the first times you guys sleep together is a lot of just learning each other, figuring out what feels good and what you are all comfortable with.

I like to think Wally asks about you wearing your wings at least once when you guys are doing it, and you counter it by saying he should keep the flash suit on then. You hadn’t expected him to do it, but he does. Dick ends up doing it too, wearing the Nightwing suit. And who wouldn’t love that.

It lets you live out a couple of fantasies you’ve always had but never allowed yourself to indulge in, since you didn’t want to disrespect your friends and their relationship.

It’s pretty lethal to not have just one boyfriend with a lot of energy, but two. And one of those boyfriends has little to no rest between rounds. I could imagine Dick jokes about how its good that you came along, so you can switch out who’s fucking Wally so the other can rest.

They both love hickeys and you leaving them on them, since the whole being marked by you gets their blood pumping. They both love leaving them just as much though, so you end up starting to wear a high-collar outfit when you go out as your crime fighting persona.

It can be hard to find time where all three of you can spend personal time together. Theres always something going on in your personal cities, so there is a lot of one on one time. But I can imagine you guys make a habit out of calling whoever isn’t there, and letting them listen through their earpiece, if possible.

It gets kinda awkward for Dick a couple of times where the other bats, mostly Babs, checks in on his comms, only to hear Wallys needy gasping and whimpering and your deeper grunts and groans, as you describe in crude detail what you are doing to your shared boyfriend.

Babs might even be a bit impressed that Dick can keep up with his usual flips and kicks, taking out criminals like usual, and not letting what hes hearing distract him.

When he finally finishes up and gets back to wherever you guys are, Dick would dive right in, even if you and Wally had already washed up and were cuddling.

Luckily Wally is always raring to go, and it’s easy to get you worked up, just watching and listening to them. At the end of the night/early morning everyone is satisfied and happy, even if Wally has to be the one doing all the cleaning and morning cooking.

[writingwisterias]

Hi! I'm new to your blog and love it! I had the idea of Leon finding out he's video game character. How do you think that would go depending on what game he's in?

Hiii welcome!!

I'm so sorry this late, I hope you have enjoyed your time being here omg ily

I also wasn't entirely sure what you meant but then got the idea of him interacting through cutscenes almost like breaking the forth wall! So I hope you enjoy and if it isn't what you meant feel free to request again and I'll do another 💕

Warnings: None

Gn!Reader

RE2:

The night is already stressful enough, like he's on edge. Mentally panicking. Just all the above.

So when he figures it out, I think he would use it as an escape almost

Like you'll notice he'll talk aloud a lot more and to himself almost like he's trying to have a conversation with you.

He also asks you questions about random topics just to hear you talk more instead of the sounds around him

It makes him feel less alone

In cut scenes his eyes will wander like he's trying to find where he can see you

When he whimpers he turns really red if you comment on the sounds he's making

RE4R:

Definitely backflipping to impress you

As well as all his round house kicks

Breaking chains without the guns just to show you how strong he is but if you comment on it he'll blush

He also wouldn't really acknowledge your existence but will blush at any comments etc that you make

Praises get you in good books, especially around his boss fight with Krasuer

The constant reminder that he will get Ashley back safely spurs him on

Infinite darkness:

The hallway scene where he shoots the zombie without looking was for you

I feel like he would break the forth wall in the scene where Jason and Shen mei give him no information

He's just side glancing at you with a "are you kidding me face"

All of his shoulders and model looking faces are for your pleasure

Along with any of acrobatic shit he does

Damnation:

Doesn't really acknowledge you but will smirk if you laugh at his stupid jokes

The "don't be shy" joke was just to get you flustered

I think when he's injured a lot as well or has a few seconds to himself I think your praise and encouragement he would appreciate

He already wills himself to get up despite everything but hearing you just makes it all the better

RE6:

Much like ID Leon when helana refuses to tell him anything during the first half of the game he's side glancing and smirking at you

Will also whisper under his breath

In cutscenes when you get close he will do a very subtle wink

Starts showing off more in combat if you comment on it

The slutty walk he does gets even worse when he hears you fawn over it

He would again also use you as an escape as he faces the same trauma again and again during the events of the game

Your praises just spur him on to run a little faster or work a little harder in a boss fight

Vendetta:

If you call him cool during the motorcycle scene then you are in his good books

In fact the only reason he then proceeds to ride the bike up the building is to show off

In the second that he hangs off the edge of the building he'll need you to get him to snap out of it

Along with when arias threatens to spill his guts

Any form of praise or encouragement is getting him riled up

Death Island:

Again with the bike stuff, you are in his good books if you call him cool

If you comment on the fight with Maria and how he must have liked being stepped on he'll give you a smirk (we all know he's into that shit)

Hangs from places like a monkeh for a bit too long because he's showing off the fact he can literally do that with ONE arm

If you call him pretty he'll do that deep chuckle thing

If you laugh at his jokes he'll smirk at you

[brokenspider-lilies]

Mortals behave in such funny ways around Gods. They tend to bend themselves over simply for the slight acknowledgment from the heavenly beings. Mydei never understood the pleasure of watching someone make a fool of themselves for the amusement of the Gods. Even when he became one, his temple did not receive the usual worship. If there was one place in Amphoreus that remained gloomy and devoid of all attention, it was his domain.

Yet, his life of godhood was peaceful. All he had known was wrath, war, and blood. For once, after all he had encountered, Mydei could finally go to sleep without the screams and pleas resonating inside his bones. He had put to rest the fury of his people, and he could now focus on his growth, peace, and eternal solitude.

As walls grew around his heart and temple, so did the rumors.

"Mydei does not care for worshipers. Mydei is too difficult. Mydei required more offerings than any other Gods. Mydei will unleash his wrath upon you."

The whisper of the wind would bring these rumors to his own ears. And oh, how much he rejoyced upon them. No work had to be done when it came to driving worshipers away. The talks around the planet were doing the job quite easily. And thus, the mighty and great Mydei was left with no worshipers.

And how much of a blessing that was. If only it had lasted for more than a hundred years.

Unaware of the changes and turmoils his life had yet to undergo, Mydei sat atop his throne of blood and fear, his sight averted from those around him. Aglaea and Tribbie, the first Gods to welcome him on his new path, had yet to receive a sign from him. All anyone knew was that the great God of Strife was passing his immortal days confined to his throne.

That is why historians suppose Mydei was unaware of the arrival of a follower. Busy with his solitude, he had not contacted you until it was too late. Your garments were already adorning his colors, your prayers had reshapped around his name, and your gospel was spreading to the masses.

You were known for being godless. One of the heretics, they called you. You had grown up with science as your beacon of light, the teachings of your parents being the only things you had ever believed. While your peers believed in the stories and myths of immortal beings, you knew that, past the stars in the sky, there was another world waiting for you.

And then you encountered strife. Not Mydei himself, but its action. You saw blood, bodies, and death piling on top of your own house, your own village, and your entire being. Friends, family, and peers were all lost due to the incompetence of humankind and petty fights. While the rest of the planet lived, your village came to its end. And no one batted an eyelash. Not even the Gods.

In the span of less than a week, you had changed completely. Some chalked it down to the stress and pain you had just gone through. You might have even agreed with them, if only deep down, you did not have a tormenting voice reminding you that Mydei stood where your family had perished.

Now, his colors adorned your body; his temple was your new home. He might not have known it, but you had done the impossible just for him. You had walked for days and nights with no end just to reach his door. Food had been scarce on your journey, but hunger was nothing compared to the yearning you had for him. Once you had stood in his temple, all of your worries had vanished; the pain and aching in your bones were but a mere afterthought.

You had fallen in love. You were not sure if it had happened during your journey or if you were destined from birth to live this emotion. But your place was here. Mydei's temple was now your home.

Yet, you had to wait 30 days before he addressed you. Not even aware of your presence at first, Mydei had thought you would have left by the 10th day. Yet, you kneeled and prayed and slept and worshipped him without requesting anything back. You did not ask for the souls of your beloveds to come back. You did not ask for mercy at his hands. You did not ask for money, gold, fame, or power. The only thing you had hoped for was acknowledgment.

And on the 30th day, you received it. A firm, deep voice made your ears ring. You would have chalked it to your imagination if only the voice had not asked you to leave his temple. Only one man would have such a request.

"Leave at once. There is nothing to gain here."

As harsh as the words were, they did not have the power to push you away. So you stayed. You responded, requesting an audience with Mydei. What guts you had, asking for a meeting with the God of Strife. He would have laughed in your face if he had not taken you seriously.

But he did. The look in your eyes told him that you truly wanted to see him. If only he had been stronger. If only you had not started a fire in his soul. If only he had not yearned for a companion.

Before he knew it, his physical form had materialized before you. Mydei stood before you, his first worshiper, the one he would make a sage of the Temple of Strife.

The first few months with you were now a blur in his memory. From your first encounter to the lengthy talk about your village to the apologies shared between you two, everything was but a coherent string of events in Mydei's mind. He wasn't the type to forget so easily, but the new changes in his life had taken him by surprise.

As his sage, you had many more encounters with him. Daily talks, walks around the domain, nightly rendezvous. These were but the few things you did together. As the only being around you, Mydei had become your confidant, your other half. You found comfort in his presence, even with the knowledge that he had taken your loved ones away.

And Mydei found peace with you. The pending doom in his body had subdued since you had entered his life. You were his anchor, keeping him grounded to reality. He tried to match his breathing to yours; he would listen to your heartbeat, he would do anything to keep one foot in your world, to make himself feel mortal.

"There is nothing good that will come out of this. Gods and mortals cannot co-exist."

Those were the words he would utter at times. And each time, you reminded him that between you two, there was no co-existence. You belonged together. You were meant to be together. The Fates had intertwined your lives together. It was not just mere co-existence; it was a prophecy that must have been written in the stars.

Mydei believed every word of it. As love-struck as he was, he could not possibly see that every time you reassured him, you looked away from him. And you hated the lies you were spewing.

It was only after you had betrayed him that he realized what you two had was not love. It was revenge. He had spent so many years chasing his own anger and retribution that he had missed the signs you left behind your trail.

Of course, you marched down to his temple. Of course, you had spent weeks in filth just to get his attention. Of course, you had pushed your limits to make him lower his guard.

And you attacked when he least expected it. While he sat next to you, dreaming of a world where you two could live forever, he felt the sharp object plunge into his back. And you stood there, your hands wrapped around the knife, as you saw the blood pooling under him, you dreamt of a life in your village. A life he robbed you of.

You had known his weak spot. He told you himself where it was. And you used it against him. You had one chance, and you had to make it count. You had to kill a God. And you did.

Historians always remember this story as a revenge plot, a scheme you had concocted to get back at a God for taking everything away from you.

But they never asked themselves, why did you have a funeral for your God? Why did you stay in his temple, maintaining it? Why did you still pray to him and write your gospels in books for future generations? Why did you lay in your own tomb, right next to him? Why did you die with a smile on your face, knowing you will see him?

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 05

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

No matter how much your fingers stirred the fork through your food, your wide eyes remained fixed on the center of the table. Ignoring the noise of the staff around you, you struggled to have a normal morning, despite the scene from the night before insisting on taking up space in your mind.

He spoke.

Noah spoke to you.

His voice low, hoarse, laced with threat… but he spoke.

Hearing his voice in such close physical proximity scrambled your senses more than the sight of the lifeless body in the cell. Not that it made the death any less shocking, but for some reason, your mind couldn’t focus on anything except the sound of his voice and the impact of his fury against your chest.

“Doctor?”

A female voice pulled you out of your daze, diverting your attention from the table. When you looked up, you met the unchanging expression of a nurse, her uniform pristine as she approached to speak to you directly.

“Yes?”

“The director would like to speak with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine in that instant, straightening your posture in the chair. Slowly, you set the utensil down on your plate. Since your arrival at the asylum, the director hadn’t even introduced himself on your first night. You had never crossed paths, and your presence had never been requested. So what the hell did he want now?

Were you in trouble? Was the asylum running out of money to pay your salary especially now, when you were still carrying student loan debt? Had Travis said something that displeased him?

Countless possibilities ran through your mind on the way up to the director’s floor and none of them seemed good.

“Excuse me.” You announced, knocking twice on the door with your fist before poking just your head inside the office.

“Come in, please.” The deep voice said.

You stepped into that office with the same fear you had felt when dissecting a body for the first time trembling hands, flushed cheeks, the suffocating dread of making an irreversible mistake.

Unlike the rest of the asylum, the spacious office was clean, well-lit, and properly maintained, making the space both inviting and luxurious. Portraits of former directors adorned the walls, and in the center stood a single desk, with a chair on either side. One of them was already occupied by an older man, his graying hair and small, time-wrinkled eyes studying you.

Dr. Steve was a renowned psychiatrist, with years of experience in the field. Despite choosing to retire in Grimshade—which, to you, didn’t seem appealing at all—he had built a respectable career. During university, you had studied several books authored by him, a reference in psychopathy, a true master of the subject.

He offered you a welcoming smile, dissolving some of the tension in your shoulders, and gestured to the empty seat before him. From his friendly demeanor, you deduced he might be a decent guy. Maybe.

“I heard you wanted to speak with me…”

“I noticed your schedule was open this morning, and I couldn’t put off this conversation any longer.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “As you’ve probably heard in the asylum’s halls, we lost a patient last night. Tom Harrow.”

“Yes… yeah, I heard.” You responded hesitantly. You didn’t want it to be obvious that you knew because you had been at Hidden outside your working hours. That wasn’t right.

“I won’t waste time with unnecessary preambles or probing, doctor, so I’ll be direct: did you notice any unusual activity?”

It was impossible not to notice the tension in his posture and how frequently he smoothed over his own fingers. He was nervous about addressing a subject that clearly displeased him.

“Why would I know anything, Dr. Steve?”

“Because when we checked the security cameras, we saw that you left Hidden shortly after the estimated time of death.” Steve stated cautiously, watching your expression closely as your mouth fell open in shock. “We’re not pointing fingers, but we’d like to understand why you were in Hidden at that exact hour, in the middle of the night.”

“I… I heard a noise and ended up getting out of bed. I followed the sound and ended up there…”

"And when you got there?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for more details.

"He was already dead in the cell. The scene startled me, and I froze. Shortly after, Noah appeared in the hallway and told me to get out of there," you replied with all the sincerity you could gather.

The man in front of you seemed more perplexed by the fact that Noah had spoken than by anything else. First, his face showed surprise, then disbelief. He stared at you with such a mix of confused expressions that, for a moment, you doubted your own honesty.

"What did you just say?" he asked, shocked.

"That Noah spoke to me. He told me to leave Hidden."

Steve shook his head, bringing a hand to his chin and scratching it roughly.

"Have you been taking any medication?"

"WHAT?" Your voice rose, but you quickly pulled yourself together, taking a deep breath to stay calm.

"Apologies, but what you're claiming happened in Hidden is impossible. Noah hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. He remained silent during the university incident, in prison, during the trial… and he’s still silent here, in Grimshade," Steve stated with conviction, resting his arms on the desk. "Believe me when I say we’ve tried everything to get him to talk—I'm not exaggerating..."

He paused, watching your reaction before continuing:

"I think you may have misinterpreted things. I understand that witnessing such a..."

"I'm not misinterpreting anything, Dr. Steve," you cut him off, firm. "I know what I saw! I deal with unstable patients all the time, but I’m not one of them. I'm fully aware of everything!"

Steve reflected for a moment, his eyes fixed on the computer keyboard, on the scattered files across the desk. Everything seemed enough to hold his attention until he looked back at you.

"If you can’t believe an employee of your own asylum, then ask him!"

"We did..." Steve replied, his voice carrying a grave weight. "We brought Noah to my office early this morning. He remained silent, Doctor."

You felt your blood boil. The urge to march down to Hidden and drive a pair of gardening shears into that bastard’s neck consumed your thoughts for making you question whether it had even happened.

What if he didn’t speak?

No, no, he did speak!

Noah’s silence put you in a complicated position. Especially since everyone knew what had happened earlier in Hidden, during the patient visit how Tom Harrow had provoked you. That could easily be used as motivation for a crime as brutal as that.

If Noah wanted to get you out of his way for digging too much into his life, why resort to this?

Stupid girl. You were talking about a murderer who preferred to stay silent rather than confess to his own crime…

And to think you even considered he might be innocent.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"The purpose of this conversation was to hear your version, but I have no intention of accusing you of anything. We will continue to investigate this thoroughly."

The calm in Steve’s voice contrasted with the subtle way he still somehow framed you as a suspect. Your fingers curled under the table until your fist clenched tight.

"Apparently, I have no choice but to wait."

"I think it’s best if you take two days off to get some rest. When you return, we can have another conversation. Your patients will be under Dr. Rune’s care until further notice."

He was analyzing you.

This entire conversation had been nothing more than a careful evaluation, and in the end, he chose to believe you were delusional rather than accept that Noah might have spoken.

Your jaw tightened, but you held your composure. There was nothing you could say that would change his mind. Steve had already drawn his conclusions, and arguing now would only make things worse.

It took you a few seconds to realize your breathing had quickened.

Two days off? That was definitely not a favor—it was a disguised suspension.

"Understood." Your voice came out steady, but you felt the frustration pulsing beneath your skin.

Steve merely nodded, his expression far too neutral to be natural.

As you left the office, the oppressive weight of that conversation settled on your shoulders like an anchor. Accepting it passively was out of the question. With determined steps, you crossed the hallway toward another closed door, ignoring any possibility of interruption. Without hesitation, you opened it and found Dr. Rune focused on some papers. He lifted his head calmly, adjusting the glasses that softened the sharpness of his blue eyes.

"Hmm..." he murmured, pursing his lips. "You definitely don’t look like Mariene German."

If you weren’t so pissed off, you might have laughed at his pathetic attempt at a joke. Instead, you walked to the chair in front of him and sat down, trying to suppress your restlessness.

"I assume you already know what happened."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw this morning was Noah’s face when Steve dumped all your patients on me." He rolled his eyes, sinking further into his leather chair. "When I suggested you get a hobby, I didn’t mean taking two days off at my expense."

"You think I did this?"

"Obviously not, girl." Rune let out a sigh, as if it were obvious. "But I warned you. As fascinating as he seems, Noah is treacherous. And it’s clear what he’s trying to do here."

"Frame me?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." He smirked, his usual sarcasm intact. "He just wants to shift the weight of his own guilt because between the Blackridge heir who does whatever he wants and a newly licensed psychiatrist who took this job to pay off student loans and clearly doesn’t update her wardrobe often, who do you think they’re going to protect?"

"Great. And how the hell do I prove it, if Dr. Steve thinks I’m hallucinating just because I said he spoke to me?"

Desperation crept into your voice before you could stop it. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the weight of this situation grow heavier. You hadn’t even been here a full month, and you were already at the center of a mess this big.

"During the board meeting, I insisted they talk to Noah," Rune explained, his tone as dry as ever. "Obviously, he stayed silent. But I asked Steve to investigate further, considering the circumstances. That’s the time you have to act. You need to make him speak again."

"You say that like it’s easy…" You scoffed, crossing your arms and leaning back in the chair. "That guy clearly hates me."

"And what do I have to do with that?" Rune raised an eyebrow. "I’m showing you the way—and fast—but not because I care about helping you. I just want you to take your case back and get him off my hands."

"So bitter, Dr. Rune…" You teased, feeling a slight smirk tug at the corner of your lips. "I’m sure you’ll love his company."

Rune scoffed dismissively, crossing his arms and giving you a bored look over the rim of his glasses.

"If I could get rid of the two things that have been irritating me the most lately, I’d ship you off with him as a package deal to the neighboring island."

"But you can’t," you countered, leaning forward slightly. "So tell me, Rune, how the hell do I make Noah talk again?"

He raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Good question," he muttered, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Truth is, I have no idea. But something about you managed to do what no one else has so far. So I suggest you figure it out before Steve decides you need a psych evaluation."

You rolled your eyes, but the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched.

"The problem is, he has no reason to talk to me again."

Rune tilted his head to the side, thoughtful.

"Maybe he does," he said after a few seconds. "You were the only person who saw him in the hallway that night. And somehow, you're still here to tell the story."

The implication hung in the air, and your stomach twisted at the memory of Noah’s rough, threatening voice.

"So I should provoke him until he speaks again?"

"Or piss him off. Or push his buttons. Use your head what would trigger that response in him?" Rune shrugged. "Just don’t die in the process. That paperwork would be a nightmare, and in case you forgot… I’m busy with your patients now." He made a point of saying, gesturing to the files.

How long was he going to keep rubbing that in your face?

You let out a deep sigh and rose from the chair.

"Thanks for the motivation, Dr. Rune. It's always a pleasure talking to you."

"It'll help you more than therapy," he smirked, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Enjoy your free time, take a walk."

With one last glance at him, you left the room, the weight of the situation still pressing against your chest. If there was a way to make Noah speak again, you'd have to figure it out fast. And the only way to do that... was by going back to the Hidden.

The narrow hallway of the Hidden felt even more suffocating that afternoon, with the scenes of the bloodshed still so vivid. The flickering lights buzzed, flies dancing to an inaudible tune around the yellow bulb, casting trembling shadows on the walls smeared with handprints and mud. The stench of disinfectant mixed with mold clung to the air, making it almost unbreathable. Your footsteps echoed against the cold tiled floor, each one accompanied by the thudding of your own heart.

As you neared Noah’s cell, a shiver ran down your spine. He was there, sitting at the back of the small space, his back resting against the wall, a book open in his pale hands, long tattooed fingers gently holding the pages. The dim light highlighted the sharp angles of his face and the almost insolent tranquility of his expression. As if nothing had happened. As if a man hadn't died and you weren’t there to pry a truth from him that he refused to tell.

His fingers turned the page slowly, unhurried, as if he were completely oblivious to your presence. But you knew he wasn’t. You knew that every fiber of that man absorbed his surroundings with surgical precision, every detail taken in by eyes that missed nothing.

"Are you going to pretend I’m not here?" Your voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.

No reaction. No shift of his gaze. Just the soft rustling of paper as another page was turned.

Anger flared in your chest like an uncontrollable fire. You stepped closer to the bars, fingers tightening around the cold metal.

"You spoke to me last night." Your voice came out low, but laced with fury. "I know what I heard. I know what I saw. And now you’re hiding behind this convenient silence? What do you want, Noah? To drive me insane? Make them doubt me?"

Nothing.

"Don't you think it's unfair? Ever since I got here, all I’ve tried to do is help you. Do you really think Rune will be more empathetic? Are you eager for him to lose patience and fry your brain the first chance he gets?"

He maintained the same serene expression, eyes scanning the page, as if the printed words were far more interesting than anything you could say.

"I don’t understand why you hate me so much and, at the same time, helped me last night…"

Your heart pounded against your ribs, tension thickening with each second he refused to react. You wanted him to laugh, to mock, to threaten—anything to shatter that damn performance of indifference. But he remained there, unmoved, shadows dancing over his face, gaze fixed on the book as if the entire universe was nothing but background noise.

"Are you afraid, Noah?" You tilted your head slightly, forcing yourself not to blink. "Afraid that if you open your mouth, more than just words will slip out?"

The book stopped. It wasn’t much, just a slight tightening of his fingers, but you saw it. You felt it.

He heard you.

Silence stretched between you like an abyss, and for a moment, you thought he would finally answer. That he would lean forward and let the mask fall.

But then, without hurry, he turned another page and kept reading.

Your blood boiled.

You hated him. Hated the way he refused to play the game, how he twisted reality to his favor, how he made you question everything.

And above all, you hated that, somehow, he was winning.

Enjoy your free time, take a walk, said that idiot, Dr. Rune.

And you obeyed when you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon walking through the city. Well, there wasn’t much to be done at the sanatorium at that moment, and a car heading downtown was passing by—this was your opportunity.

Faced with the grim scenery of the trail, you found solace in the silence while the car played a soundtrack soaked in the driver's quietness. You thought, as you watched through the window, that he had remained silent throughout your entire visit to the cell, and that was, indeed, the Noah you were used to seeing in your sessions.

The night before, he had flames in place of his usual lifeless, apathetic eyes. Noah seemed to snarl with the intonation of every word he spoke, wavering between sickly protection and visceral fury. Completely different, but undeniably even more fascinating.

For a moment, you hesitated when you realized that this memory could easily fit into one of those dreams that people with repressed desires might have at night. And if…

No way! You silenced your own mind, which was about to agree with Dr. Steve. You were certain of what you had seen and heard; it was neither a dream nor a delusion. Noah had spoken to you as he cornered you against the wall, right after killing one of your patients for assaulting you.

It had really happened.

The scarce sunlight and the humid breeze carried by the sea, not far from there—if you closed your eyes and focused, you could smell the ocean clearly. You took a deep breath before continuing your walk.

The cobblestone streets were narrow, surrounded by old buildings with facades faded by time and humidity. In the island’s center, a craft fair stretched along the square, bursting with colors, textures, and scents blending in the air. Wooden stalls displayed hand-carved sculptures, rustic jewelry, and hand-dyed fabrics. The smell of incense and dried herbs mingled with that of fresh fruit and spices.

Women in long, colorful dresses sat behind small round tables covered with embroidered cloths, offering tarot readings to curious onlookers and tourists. You watched everything with interest, letting your fingers slide over the rough surfaces of ceramic pieces, feeling the warmth of aromatic candles burning on small makeshift altars. A bell tinkled as a stronger breeze swept through the fair, making the metal wind chimes hanging from the tents sway.

Leaving the fair behind, you found yourself in a vast field teeming with young people hurrying in various directions. Weaving skillfully through the moving bodies, your eyes locked onto an imposing old building further ahead. With its majestic architecture and the constant flow of people going in and out, there was no doubt—it was the local university.

Like an insistent whisper guiding your steps, you found yourself drawn inside. The endless chatter of students, the vibrant energy of that academic environment—none of it attracted you or stirred any nostalgia. The truth was, you didn’t miss university life at all. However, something there was calling your attention in an undeniable way: answers.

The students seemed completely immersed in their own excitement, laughing loudly and exchanging playful banter as they walked toward a grand mansion. You followed them without drawing attention, just observing. The deep red jackets of the young men and the uniforms of the cheerleaders made them easily identifiable—probably members of some victorious team. The reason for their celebration, however, did not concern you.

When they finally stopped in front of the mansion, you lifted your eyes to the grand facade. The banners hung proudly bore a name you recognized instantly: Naughtiness. Given the size of the house and the way it stood out among the others along the street, it was easy to assume this was the most influential fraternity on campus.

Seizing the opportunity, you followed one of the students inside. The moment you crossed the entrance, you were met with utter chaos. The place was a complete mess—furniture out of place, bottles and cans scattered across the floor, the strong smell of beer clinging to the air. Bodies of drunk students were sprawled across the sofas and carpet, while a microwave beeped incessantly somewhere in the kitchen. Deeper inside, a dark-haired guy held a cigarette between his fingers.

"Hey!" he called out, breaking your analysis of the scene. "What are you..."

As you turned, you noticed he was staring at you intently, frowning and rubbing his eyes as if he needed to make sure he was seeing correctly. Instinctively, you glanced down at your own clothes, checking if there was something wrong with you, but everything was normal.

The guy approached slowly, still with an expression of mild perplexity and suspicion.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Good afternoon, how are you?" You kept your tone polite, forcing a discreet smile. "I’m a psychiatrist—more specifically, a forensic psychiatrist—and I’m investigating a case related to a patient in treatment."

He seemed genuinely intrigued, which made you relax a little.

"He studied at this university and was part of Naughtiness. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about..."

The guy pressed his lips together for a moment before responding.

"Noah Sebastian."

The name came out with a perceptible weight, and you hesitated for a brief second.

"I’d like to understand better how he behaved around here."

The guy took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke leisurely, as if carefully choosing his words. He scratched the back of his neck before finally giving a small nostalgic smile.

"Everybody loved that guy." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "It was impossible not to like him. He had this thing... a natural charisma, you know? He’d walk into a room, and within minutes, everyone would be laughing or paying attention to whatever he was saying."

You frowned slightly. That wasn’t exactly the image you had of him.

"So, he was popular?"

"Popular?" The guy raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. "He was the heart of this fraternity. He was always bringing people together, organizing legendary parties. But it wasn’t just that. He genuinely cared about people. It didn’t matter if you were a senior or a lost freshman wandering the campus—Noah made sure to include you. He had this way of making you feel special, like you mattered."

That description contrasted with everything you knew about him now.

"And what about his behavior? Did he ever show signs of being aggressive or manipulative?"

The guy looked offended by the suggestion.

"Never." He shook his head. "He was the one who broke up fights, not started them. If someone had too much to drink, he took care of them. He was the kind of guy you called when you needed help, not when you wanted trouble."

A chill ran down your spine. Something didn’t add up. The Noah he was describing was completely different from the Noah you knew now.

When he turned and motioned for you to follow, you noticed the name "Patrick M." embroidered on his jacket. Walking beside him into the access room, you were met with shelves filled with sports trophies won by the fraternity. The walls were decorated with photographs of members gathered together, and your eyes quickly found a picture of Noah. You almost didn’t recognize him.

He looked... happy.

"He was our best player—wasn’t captain for nothing," Patrick commented, handing you a framed photo of Noah wearing a red uniform and holding up a trophy.

"Were you guys close?"

"Close enough. He was always surrounded by people, which made access to him a little harder," Patrick replied with a shrug. You set the framed picture back on the table. "And to be honest, I don’t think his father liked him hanging out with just anyone."

"His father?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Noah didn’t usually follow orders, but the old man had this obsession with lineage, only associating with people of the same status—rich people nonsense."

There was a slight trace of disappointment in Patrick’s tone. Even though he tried to hide it, it was clear he held some resentment.

"And did he care about that?" You asked, crossing your arms while analyzing the photo again.

Patrick let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Not exactly." He twirled a cigarette between his fingers, deep in thought. "But I think, deep down, he always knew his father had a way of influencing his decisions."

You frowned, leaning slightly forward.

"What do you mean?"

Patrick sighed, resting against the dark wooden table behind him.

"Noah was... hard to read. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn’t care about any of that—he did whatever he wanted, surrounded by friends, playing, drinking. But other times... it was like something was weighing on him. He’d disappear, become quieter, more distant."

A chill crept up your spine.

"And no one ever questioned that?"

Patrick chuckled again, but this time, the sound was more bitter.

"Around here? Everyone idolized Noah. He was charismatic, popular, talented. Who would care about what was behind all that?"

The silence that settled between you was broken only by the distant sound of loud music coming from another room in the fraternity. You shifted your gaze to the trophy shelf, feeling that something was there, hidden beneath the perfect image.

"And you?" you asked, turning your eyes back to Patrick. "Did you care?"

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He simply looked away toward the picture on the table, where Noah smiled, standing tall among the other players. Then, finally, he murmured:

"Honestly? No."

Right.

"Did Rachel care?"

"Absolutely. They had a relationship that seemed normal, happy. They’d been together since high school, and he really seemed to love her, which is why it was so shocking to find out that…" Patrick paused, carefully choosing his words. "That he had the courage to do what he did."

He watched you for a few moments longer. His gaze wasn’t hostile, but there was doubt in it—a peculiar fascination, as if he were examining you under a magnifying glass.

"Have you ever seen her, doctor?" The question sent a shiver down your spine.

The case file didn’t include any photos of Rachel. With no internet access, looking her up was impossible, and up until now, not even a local newspaper had provided you with an image.

"No… I’ve never seen Rachel before."

Patrick took a few steps back and opened one of the cabinets. Among the trophies, there was a pile of disorganized photographs. He picked out a specific set and started flipping through them. With each image he passed, a strange sensation pulsed in your ears. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck, your body grew warm, and the space around you seemed to shrink.

Then, he placed a photograph in your hands.

Your eyes blinked several times, unable to process what they were seeing. This had to be a mistake. Your fingers slowly traced over the smiling face of the girl clinging to her boyfriend.

The girl who was identical to you.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess

[jasperhaleluver]

fanboy smut?

Yesss I've been waiting for this one! I've only ever written smut like once so I'm sorry if this is bad. I hope you guys enjoy!

Mickey fanboy Garcia x reader smut!

author's note: hi guys! I hope you enjoy this any feedback or requests are welcome. Thank you!

warnings: MDNI! 18+, mentions of alcohol, squad gets drunk, making out, smut (p in v) semi-unprotected sex? just not super reliable protection, fingering, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), aftercare, overall just smut!

no mentions of y/n, no word count, not proofread. sorry about any typos.

You were out at the hard deck with the crew, it was passed 10:30 pm on a Saturday night. You and Phoenix are sitting in the corner eating some chips and salsa while the guys are playing their hundredth round of pool.

Your phone chimes and lights up, you pick it up and see a text from your roommate. "At Jack's tonight. There's pizza in the fridge, get home safe." Ugh, of course. Sadie is your roommate and she's always spending the night at her boyfriend Jack's house.

Well it's nice to have the house to yourself, the silence is really comforting. And you can just walk home it's not too far. But you just were unsure of tonight. You sigh and set your phone down and watch the guys play their game. Gosh they are all over the place, Hangman and Rooster are singing their hearts out, Payback and Coyote are trying to keep playing but they can't even hold themselves up from how drunk they are, but then there's Bob and Fanboy. Sober and just enjoying the night.

You think fanboy is so damn cute, you've had a crush on him for a while now. You've been friends for a while and you guys are actually really close. You've even slept in his bed, not like that of course but there's been nights where you guys just hangout for so long that it gets late and he somehow convinces you to spend the night. But he would never think about you in that way.

"You're staring" Phoenix says kicking your foot to snap you out of your thoughts. "Oh." You can feel your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and you wipe your face. Phoenix chuckles and stands up. You look over to the bar and see Penny cleaning up, so it's about time to leave. You go around the pool table and the stools, you're picking up all of the empty beer bottles. They clatter together as you walk to the bar and throw them in the trashcan by the bar. You grab a rag and walk back to your area and you wipe down the messes.

"Oh hey thanks you didn't have to clean up SOMEONE's mess." Bob chuckles as he eyes down the four drunk guys. "It's no problem really, I've got no rush to get home." You return the rag and see that fanboy and Bob are struggling to get the drunk ones out to their cars. You and Phoenix go over and help them, you take rooster from fanboy so he can handle hangman.

"Woahhhh who is this pretty ladyyyy." Rooster slurs as he stumbles out the door with you and he moves your hair out of your face. "Bradley, stop it." You say and his smile fades. Everybody knows that if you're not called your callsign then you need to knock it off. Especially when it's with you. Fanboy helps hangman into the backseat, he shuts the door and opens the door on the other side for you to help rooster in.

You give fanboy a smile and help rooster in, he hits his head on the way in and hangman starts laughing. The two guys start bickering about random shit and you shut the door on them. "Have fun with these two." You laugh as you walk back inside to grab your phone. You say goodbye to Penny and walk back outside to see that Phoenix has already left with Coyote and Payback, Bob is just leaving the bar too. "Need a ride?" He asks walking towards his car. Fanboys window is rolled down and Bob sees his facial expression indicating that he was gonna ask you. So Bob doesn't insist when you say you're fine to walk. He tells you to be safe and he drives off. You noticed fanboy still hadn't left, you imagined he's just trying to get the guys settled.

You start walking as you put your hands in your pocket, it's kind of chilly. You reach the end of the parking lot and fanboy drives up to you. "Hey let me take you home, it's 11pm you're not walking home alone." He says "it's okay really, I enjoy walking." You say starting to walk away. "Fuck." He mutters, he looks around and turns on his emergency blinkers and he gets out of the car. He grabs you by the arm "seriously, you're not walking home." He looks you straight in the eyes. God he looks so good.

"Okay, fine." You give in and let him walk you to the passenger seat, he opens the door for you and shuts it too. He gets in "you can help me walk these to their front doors too. God forbid Carole thinks I did something to her baby boy, it seems more trusting if she sees you too." he laughs nodding towards the two in the back. You look back and see the two sound asleep.

You guys arrive at Hangman's house first, fanboy walks him all the way inside since he lives alone. He takes a hot minute inside, seems like he's probably tucking him into bed.

"He really likes you." Rooster grunts as he sits up straight. "What?" You turn to look at him. "Yeah I mean the way he looks at you- uh it just.. yeah-" rooster manages to say but falls back into his deep sleep. "What the fuck" you sigh and lean your head on the window.

Fanboy is finally back and you guys are back on the road, you eventually make it to Rooster's house. Both you and Fanboy get out of the car, he helps rooster out as you make it to the front door. All of the lights are still on so Carole is definitely still up waiting for him. You ring the doorbell and she immediately opens the door. "Hi sweetie!! What's happened?- she asks but cuts herself off when she sees fanboy with roosters arm over his shoulder. "Bradley Bradshaw! What has gotten into you!!." She yells in her mom voice. "He's in good hands Mrs. Bradshaw, we made sure to get him home safe" fanboy says letting go of rooster. "Get inside" she sternly says. Rooster stumbles inside and Carole thanks the two of you and follows rooster.

"You ready?" Fanboy says heading to his car, you hum and silently follow him. Again the gentleman opens the door for you and shuts it after you. You guys drive off on the way to your house now. He makes small talk on the way there, nothing fancy. He pulls in to your driveway and sees that it's empty.

"You alone tonight?" He asks. You start grabbing the door handle to get out as you mutter out a small "yeah".

"I don't know if it's a good idea for you to stay alone." He says, you get butterflies at the idea of spending the night with him. "Can you stay?" You ask. Before even giving you an answer he takes the key out of the ignition and says of course.

You two walk up to the front door, your hands shaky and sweaty as you shuffle your keys to unlock the door. You walk in and fanboy follows you in, he goes and sits on the couch. You hang up your keys and sit by him. The silence is comforting but a little bit awkward. You sigh and lean against the backrest of the couch.

"Well tonight was eventful." He says also leaning into the couch. "Oh it sure was." You chuckle. He suddenly sits back up like he just thought of something. "I need to tell you something." He says looking straight at you. "Okay..." You say looking up at him admiring him. "Okay I don't know how to say this. So I'm just gonna- he leans in just centimeters from your face. You can tell he's about to kiss you. You break the gap between you two and you lean in for a kiss. He grabs your face and kisses you deeply.

His hands snake down to your waist pulling you closer to him, he sits back, bringing you closer. You bring your leg over his and straddle him not breaking the kiss. His hands go further down and his hands are all over your lower back and your thighs. You reach down to the hem of his shirt and you swiftly take it off of him. He puts his hands back where they were, he goes a bit too low causing your hips to buck upwards basically grinding on him. You can feel how hard he is under you.

You keep slowly moving your hips causing a groan to leave his mouth. Your lips trail off to his neck, your hands are all over each other as you nip and suck at his neck. You get even lower passed his chest, your hand lands on his belt buckle. You look up to him for reassurance and he just nods his head. Your hands shuffle to take his belt off and unzip his jeans. You palm his bulge from over his boxers.

He helps you bring his boxers down and his cock springs out. You bring his tip to your mouth giving it a small lick as you feel him shiver under you. His hand is on your head as you take all of him in your mouth. You move your head sucking him off. His tip touches the back of your throat causing you to gag and your eyes get watery. "oh-it's okay baby." he moans as he caresses your face. You move your head faster, making him a moaning mess under you. "fuck. fuck oh my god you're perfect baby." he pulls you off of him, his cock falls out of your mouth with a "pop" sound.

Not letting himself cum, he brings you back up to his lap and connects his lips to yours once again. But this time, not breaking the kiss he stands up and carries you down the hallway. You can feel his hard cock even over your jeans. He opens the door to your room, holding you with his other hand.

He sets you down on your bed and he starts kissing at your neck. His hands snake down your waist and get to the bottom of your shirt. He slides it off, revealing your red bra. He puts his hands on your chest. "Can I?" He asks going for the straps of your bra. You nod and sit up for him to unclip your bra. He takes it off and as soon are your breasts are free, his mouth immediately latches to your chest while he plays with your other boob.

"God you drive me crazy." He says kissing down your body. He reaches the button on your jeans and you lift your hips up to help him take them off, revealing red lacy underwear that match your bra. "Well somebody had plans for tonight." He smirks. You let out a shaky laugh and you slide out of your underwear.

He continues kissing down towards your thighs. He taps your thighs signalling you to bring them up, he puts them over his shoulders and keeps kissing in between them. He slides his fingers through your folds. "So wet just for me baby." He says as he suddenly sticks his finger inside of you. His tongue latches onto your clit at the same time

"Oh!" You moan at the sudden feeling.

He adds another finger, curling them at a faster pace and sucking your clit. Your hand is on his head for something to hold onto. (His curls aren't grown out so you can't pull on them.)

You can feel yourself nearing your climax, you pull his hand that isn't inside of you off of your thighs and pull him up towards you.

"I want to cum with you inside of me." You say kissing his neck. "Yeah baby?" He says kissing you.

He gets off from on top of you "Do you have condoms?" He asks. "Fuck, I don't but I'm on the pill it's okay." You say bringing him closer. He sits back leaning on your headboard and you get up on top of him. You stroke him a few times before aligning him to your entrance, your free hand is on his chest as you sink down onto him. "Oh my god." You moan as he stretches you out.

He leans his head back as he grips your thighs. "Oh baby you feel so good." His hands are all over your thighs and your ass. You start rocking your hips as he still holds on to your thighs. You love seeing him like this, his mouth open, his eyes closed, and his eyebrows knitted together.

You keep riding him and you're kissing down his neck, the burning sensation in your legs hurts so good. You stop for a second to relieve the burn but he grabs your thighs and starts pounding up into you.

"Oh! God mickey! Ugh!" You moan as you bury your face into his neck. "Ugh. Oh God " he moans. The sound of moans and your skin slapping fills the room. You can feel yourself about to cum.

"Mickey I'm gonna cum!" He's still pounding into you "Let it go baby. Cum for me princess." He says. You moan loudly as you ride out your high, he still doesn't stop as he's nearing his climax too. He lets out a load moan as he cums inside of you.

You ride out your highs together as he still holds you. He stops moving into you and just holds you for a second, still inside you.

"Oh my god, you're perfect." He says moving hair out of your face. You lean up and kiss him. He lifts you by the waist so he can pull out. You both moan as he pulls out. He moves to grab his t-shirt from the floor to wipe off your inner thighs. He cleans himself up and lays back down by you.

"Come here." He says bringing the covers over him. He opens his arms for you to lay on him.

"I really like you." He says putting his hand on your head. You're laying on his chest with your arms around him. "Really? I didn't know." You chuckle. "Well I really like you too." You say sitting up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Be my girlfriend." Mickey says looking straight at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Of course." You smile and lean in to kiss him.

Okay guys I hope you liked it!! I'm not sure how good this is but any feedback is welcome!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 4

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, virginity loss, 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: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: It's hump day, my dudes.

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. 💖

You don’t see Bucky at all the next day. His motorcycle is gone when you leave for work and when you come back. You assume he has his own work to do, or some running around. He did just move in. You try not to take it personally but you are disappointed. 

This is a lot more fun than all those other times. You’re not as stressed, not as insecure. Maybe it’s because you’re not hoping for more. Because you took a page out of Angelique’s book and stopped caring. One way or another, you’re going to get rid of your v-card. It doesn’t have to be special, it just has to happen. 

On your day off, you decide to get rid of the prickly weeds around the front porch. It's the perfect opportunity for you to show off your shortest shorts and blast some tunes while you’re at it. You put on your rose gold headphone and the best of girly pop. 

You smell coffee but don’t see your neighbour. You don’t want to be too obvious. You get down on your knees and pull-on the dollar store gardening gloves. You’re not good at any of this but these damn plants keep scratching your ankles. 

Before long, your alternative motives drift away as you wrestle with roots. You yank free a particularly stubborn weed and send up a cloud of dandelion fluff. You sneeze into the back of the glove. A shadow passes over you and a gentle tap lands on your shoulder. 

You squeak and drop the leaves. You pull off your headphones and twist to look up at Bucky. Your shoulder tingles where he touched. It’s hard to think someone like him can be so soft. 

“I’m headed into town...” he crosses his arms, the cleft in his chin deepening as he mulls his words, “you said you wanted to test out the motorcycle...” 

“Oh really!” You exclaim as you look up at him. You focus on his face, even as you’re innately aware of how close your are to something else. “Oh, Bucky, that’s so awesome. I’ve been so excited for this.” You gather up the compost bag and he offers his hand. He hauls you up to your feet and reluctantly let go. “I’ve been so patient.” 

He hums, “you can’t wear those. You’ll get burned.” 

He looks down at your shorts. You giggle. You pull off your gloves and clutch them together. “I’ll get changed. I have the perfect pants!” 

He just nods. 

“I’ll wait,” he assures and points over his shoulder. 

You grin and spin to rush away, headphones bouncing around your neck. You dump the gloves and bag on the porch and clatter through the door. You stop to wipe the dirt off your knees and strip off your shorts before you get to the bedroom. 

You search out the fake leather leggings with all the fake zippers. The sun won’t be kind but you don’t mind. You slip into them and find a strappy red top with a bandana style cut at the hem. The bejeweled letters across the front read ‘sinful’. It’s cheesy but you love it. 

You find a pair of sunglasses with thick black cat eyes and trade your sandals for leather booties. You hook your purse across your body as you come out with a jangle of your keys. You zip those away with your phone as you come down the stair. 

Your chest jiggles with each step as your upper tummy peeks out beneath the fabric. Bucky looks over and arches a brow. You approach as he takes a helmet from the handlebar. 

“Found a spare,” he offers. 

You take it and thank him. His eyes skitter between you and the bike. You giggle and tap your heels in excitement. You're genuinely amped up for this. 

“It’s so cool!” You say, “oh, will you take a picture of me with the bike?” 

He squints and his cheek dimples. He shrugs, “sure.” 

“Amazing,” you unzip the small crossbody pouch, “here.” 

You unlock your phone, your background a picture of you, Angelique, and another friend, Tracy, your backscreen. You bring up the camera and hand it over. 

“Oh, can I get on or?” You face the motorcycle. 

“Sure, be careful.” 

You put the helmet on and let the straps hang loose. First you pose in front of it and cock your hip. He aims the lens, your flowery blue and purple case looks dainty in his large tattooed hands. Then you cautiously approach. He comes closer and puts his hand under your elbow to help you onto the backseat. You notice the backrest that wasn’t there before and the shining new chrome bolts that hold it on. 

You straddle it as he backs up. You stick your tongue out for another picture. Then you smile and give a peace sign. 

He lowers the phone and nears, offering it to you. You snag his forearm, “and a selfie? Together.” 

He twitches. “I don’t much like pictures.” 

“Just a memory. Promise, I won’t show anyone.” 

He growls and shows his palms, “what... what do you want me to do.” 

“Here, turn,” you direct him, “put your arm around me and get in frame.” 

You flip the camera and extend your arms. He moves stiffly and hovers his arm over your shoulders. He smells like oaky cologne. You smile as he growls at his own reflection in the phone. You lean into him and watch his features calm then snap the photo. 

“So cute,” you exclaim. “That’s my new wallpaper.” You tap on the three dots and quickly replace the pic of you and your girls, “see.” 

“Huh?” He stands straight. 

“Everyone’s going to think I’m so badass. I mean, I’m not, but they’ll think I am,” you chime. “Oh, uh,” the straps tickle your neck as you put your phone away, “Bucky, I’m so dumb. Can you help?” 

You pinch the straps and flick your lashes at him. He exhales again. You stare at the front of his plain black tee. It clings to his muscles and squeezes his thick biceps. He takes the straps and loops one through the metal ring. His fingertips brush your throat and chin. 

He slowly tugs it snug and his hands freeze. He stares at them and his gaze slowly crawls up to your lips. The air turns stolid around you. He winces and puts his hand on the helmet, wiggling it to test it. 

“Good to go,” he drags his hand off and turns his back to you.  

He grabs the other helmet and pulls it on over his hair. He slides on his sunglasses before he straddles the bike in front of you. He grips the handlebars and takes it off the stand, kicking it back as he easily supports the heavy beast of a bike. His strength is felt in the shifting axel. 

“Gotta hang on unless you want road burn,” he says over his shoulder. “Gonna be loud.” 

“I can handle it,” you assure him as you lean in and wrap your arms around his middle.  

You feel his stomach clench. He turns the key then brings his hand back to turn the throttle, making the bike roar. He walks it back and angles it down the street. He gets it rolling then puts his feet up, zipping off through a tunnel of wind. 

You let out a gleeful holler. The rush is unlike anything you felt. Your heart is pumping and your veins are on fire. You hug him tighter and laugh raucously. 

He stops at a sign and plants his boots, “you okay?” He calls over his shoulder. 

“I’m perfect. I’m-- I’m in heaven!” You answer and wiggle in the seat. 

He takes off again. You squeal and cling to him. You watch the smear of the buildings, trees, and pavement. You feel like you’re flying. Not to mention, you’re vibrating. You feel your leggings getting wet. This is more than fun, it’s fucking hot. 

At last, he stops and quiets the beast. You look around the plaza as he kicks down the stand. He waits and signals you off first with the tilt of his head. You get off and he follows. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says. “Boring stuff.” 

You look over at the organic shop sign. You laugh, “are you buying gluten free granola?” 

“Something like that,” he almost smiles. Almost. 

“Hang onto that,” he taps the helmet. 

You unloop the straps and hang it from your elbow, “yes--” you have to stop yourself from saying daddy. You’re not sure if it’s a joke or serious at this point. “Sir.” 

He eyes you then scoffs, “alright, then, doll, let’s go.” 

His cheek ticks and he looks away. He turns his back to you quickly and beckons you with his hands. You follow. 

“Doll,” you say. 

“Sorry--” he begins. 

“I like it. It’s cute! Like a Barbie, right?” 

He sniffs and opens the door of the shop, “sure, something like that.” 

Or a sex doll? You think to yourself. You nearly dance through the door. This is an amazing day. 

He enters behind you. You radiate to the rack of plant-based candies. They are all so colourful. He sidles along to the bin of trail mix. He takes a paper bag and dumps a scoop inside. 

“They have any with M&Ms?” You shuffle up next to him. He grunts. “Kidding.” 

“Good food,” he mutters. “Nice place.” 

“I’ve never been before,” you say. “You’re not vegan? That pie I made had real meat?” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “nah, just... try to appreciate the small things, these days.” 

“Right. Well, it’s a really cool place—oh, cookies!” 

You brush by him and snag up a box of the vanilla glazed shortbread. They look delicious. You turn to him and grin as you show him. 

“Small things, right?” You bounce back toward him. 

He stares at you a moment, “yeah.” He nods and folds over the top of the paper bag. “There’s... there’s a bar around the corner.” 

“Oh, a bar?” You chirp. “How about I buy you a round? For the ride?” 

“Mm, I was just gonna run over and deal with... talk to a friend.” He browses as he speaks. “Thought you could wait with the motorcycle.” 

“Oh,” you deflate, “whatever you like.” 

“Or... you can sit for a drink. Won’t be long,” he shrugs. 

“Bucky, I’m all yours. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

He coughs and grabs a loaf of ten grain. 

“One drink,” he grits out. 

👙

You buy your cookies and Bucky his small haul of groceries. He fits it all in his saddle bags as you watch. He comes around and points you around the other side of the plaza. He walks beside you. As you think about how you must look together, you get all fluttery. 

You’re tempted to grab his hand but you don’t want to spoil all your progress. After all, he invited you. And now he’s taking you for a drink. Sort of. 

He holds the door at the bar for you, greeting the bouncer with familiarity. You look around the dim space. It’s just after noon, there’s not too many people there. He points you to a table. 

“What do you drink?” He asks. 

“Do you think they have appletinis?” You ask. He blinks. You laugh at him. “Joking, I’ll have a light beer. Any brand.” 

“Right, doll, coming right up.” 

You sit and watch him go. He talks to the bar tender and points to the table. Then he walks up around the curve of the bar and into the backroom. You narrow your eyes curiously. Huh. 

The bartender pulls a tap and pours the pint. He brings it to you. “Miss.” He retreats as if he’s afraid of you. Before you can even thank him. 

You pull the tall glass close as condensation hazes along the outside. You taste the thin layer of foam. It’s a bit tangy. You peer around listlessly. This isn’t very exciting. 

This isn’t the typical sports bar. There's a pool table and a dartboard but no TVs for the games. There’s leather jackets and skull emblems and a few disarmed guns on wooden plaques. 

There’s a thunk from the back of the bar then the slam of a door. You peer over as Bucky emerges and stops at the bar. Without a word, the bartender pours him a dark glass of liquor. He grabs it and marches over to you. He sits and sighs. 

“Had to hit the restroom,” he says. 

“No worries,” you make yourself drink the beer. Wheaty. 

“You make up your mind?” He asks. 

“Hmm,” you wipe foam from your lip. 

“About the motorcycle. Still want one?” 

“I definitely want one!” You grin. He brushes his fingertips over his knuckles. They’re reddened. Is one of them split? Were they like that before? 

“It’s an investment. Those new ones are... well, if you’re looking for a vintage model, I know some people. I could do any bodywork you need,” he offers. 

“Really? Oh, Bucky, you’re so sweet!” You chime. 

His mouth slants, curving at one corner. He takes a swig of his drink. 

“Not really, doll,” he rests his chin in his hand. “But for you, I’ll try.” 

[neeeooon]

hi hi this is my 2nd time requesting alrdy 🥶😅😅.... lol anyway, I wanna I request for bllk boys meeting reader's parents unexpectedly. like reader's parents catch them being very undeniably couple-y. Very very awkward situation 😋☝️☝️

I rlly wanna see this specifically with Isagi, Reo, Shidou, Yuki, and Rin. Other characters would be fun too if you want🔥🔥🔥

hihi welcome back 😈 okay i think i gotchu I HOPE YOU ENJOYY

when your parents walk in on you ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. 16+ cw: suggestive!!! kms jokes in isagi’s + reo’s

isagi yoichi

-> isagi just scored the winning goal in the final nel game, and he still hadn’t come down from that high hours later

-> your fingers dragged through his hair and down his neck, scraping the back of his jersey as he shoved you against your bedroom wall. your parents were out for date night, giving you plenty of time alone with your boyfriend

-> it was supposed to give you plenty of time alone with your boyfriend

-> isagi groaned against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips. and then you heard it. “y/n? are you alright, sweetheart?”

-> you barely had time to shove isagi off before your bedroom door was pushed open, and your mother let out a loud gasp upon seeing you, lips swollen and t-shirt rumpled. “m-mom! what are you doing home?”

-> “your father got food poisoning. hi! you must be yoichi!” your face burned as she approached your boyfriend with an outstretched hand. “mom!” “uh, y-yes ma’am.” he greeted as he shook it with two hands. “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

-> you wanted to die. after taking way too long to talk to your boyfriend, your mom finally left. “door open, kids!” you dropped your face into your hands and groaned, “i am going to kill myself.” “suicide pact?” “deal.”

mikage reo

-> you had study sessions with reo all the time. your parents knew he was intelligent, and though they’d never met him, they trusted the two of you to keep things innocent when he was over

-> and yet your homework was long forgotten as you sat comfortably in your boyfriend’s lap, back pressed against the desk as he kissed you hard

-> you didn’t hear the door open. you didn’t know your parents were home until you caught a glimpse of your mother’s stance from behind reo’s head, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she tapped a manicured finger against her forearm

-> you practically fell out of reo’s lap and landed with a thump. “mom! uh, what are you doing home so early?”

-> she isn’t impressed. “i already have a headache. i’m assuming i don’t have to stay up any later to give you both the talk, do i?”

-> aaaaand you’re ready to curl in on yourself and die. “oh my god.” “guessed not. nice to meet you, reo. make sure you’re home before tomorrow.” “you too, mrs l/n. i’ll be leaving now.”

shidou ryusei

-> “my parents are going to be home any minute…” you sighed when shidou slipped one hand beneath the waistband of your sweats, the other slowly making its way under your shirt. “lucky for you, cutie, i only need one to make you—”

-> “l/n y/n?!” you scrambled out from under your boyfriend, clutching your hands to your chest as you gaped at your parents standing in your doorway

-> “haven’t you heard of knocking?!” “this is our house. and we were coming to wish you a goodnight! who’s he?!”

-> you knew for a fact that your parents knew you had a boyfriend. however, you always described him as someone sweet who takes care of you and makes you laugh. your parents seemed caught off guard by the spiky pink hair and heavy eyeliner

-> your silence gives shidou the chance to reach a hand out for your mother to shake. “it’s a pleasure. i’m shidou ryusei.” your mother eyes his hand warily before shaking it. “hm. mrs. l/n.”

-> thankfully your father has enough trust in you to gently pull your mother from your room. he quietly greets shidou, compliments his hair, and wishes you both a goodnight

-> “i cannot believe that just happened,” you groan as you flop back onto your bed. shidou falls beside you and places a soft kiss to your neck. “oh well. your dad seems cool, at least. want me to leave?” “uh uh. you promised me a minute.” “😈”

yukimiya kenyu

-> you’re watching a movie with your boyfriend, parents visiting your uncle and aunt, when you’re suddenly bored with the film on screen

-> quietly, you slip from the couch into a kneeling position, yukimiya’s eyes following you the whole way down. “uh, y/n?” “mhm?” “what are you doing?” “nothing~” “what if your parents—“ “i checked their location. they’re still forty-five minutes away.”

-> you move directly in front of your boyfriend, hands sliding up from his shins to his knees when the door suddenly opens

-> your dad freezes when his eyes land on you and yukimiya. “dad!” you shout, jumping to your feet as your boyfriend hurridly throws a blanket over his hips. “why didn’t you knock?!”

-> he has a hand over his eyes in a tired fashion. “i bought this house. why did you decide to do that in the living room?” “… oh.” “yeah, oh.” “.. this is my boyfriend, yukimiya.” “i figured.”

-> yukimiya doesn’t trust himself to stand, so he waves as your dad from the couch. “n-nice to meet you..?” your mother finally appears, smiling brightly and cluelessly when she spots your boyfriend. “oh! you must be kenyu!” “hello, mrs l/n.” “we were just heading to bed. enjoy the rest of your movie!”

-> your parents leave, not without your father giving you “the look” before trailing after your mother. you drop onto the couch with a sigh. “your house next time?” “definitely.”

itoshi rin

-> you were innocently teaching rin how to cook. alone. while your parents were at work. they only agreed since you promised to introduce your boyfriend to them (and cook dinner)

-> it starts out that way. you and rin, side by side, mixing ingredients and making sauces. however, your fingers are now running over your boyfriend’s shoulder muscles as he carefully lifts you onto the counter, never breaking your kiss

-> you weren’t quite sure what set you off, but you suddenly needed to be as close to your boyfriend as humanly possible. he didn’t have any objections, hands trailing from your hips to your back when the soft jingle of keys breaks you apart

-> “was that—“ “no… no way, right?” wrong. the door swings open, and rin flies to the other side of the kitchen as he pretends to read the recipe book

-> “y/n!” your mother greets, heels in hand as she comes over to kiss your cheek. she pauses in front of you, wiggles her eyebrows at your flushed face, and shoots a secretive smile in rin’s direction. “aw, my little lovebirds~ i’m so happy to finally meet you, rin!”

-> rin waves awkwardly from his side of the kitchen, earning a little laugh from your mother. she sighs, “oh, to be young and in love again! i’m headed to the store. i’ll be back in twenty minutes for dinner. twenty.” she winks at you before vanishing out the front door, leaving you shocked to the core

-> “i—“ “so that really just happened?” “well, at least my mother likes you..?” you finish dinner as quickly as possible, keeping a safe distance away from each other, and groan in embarrassment when your mom jiggles her keys and kicks the door before opening it. “let’s eat!”

[band--psycho]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader- Close Call

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

Another fic based off of what's been coming up on my TikTok feed!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Warnings: Smut (Minors DNI), Work situationship/relationship, Secret situationship/relationship, Feelings of love

COD Masterlist / Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist / Join My Taglist

“Si,” you moaned, fisting his black shirt in your hand as he inserted another finger into your already dripping pussy, all while his tongue continued to draw  little circles onto your overly sensitive clit.

Simon pushed his fingers deeper inside of you before looking up to meet your gorgeous watering y/e/c eyes, “Yes, lovie?”

“I need to go,” you pant  out , trying to keep a hold of what little control over yourself you  had. 

You knew coming to his room twenty minutes before training was a bad idea, but you just couldn’t resist the temptation. 

You couldn’t resist him. 

Simon Riley, your lieutenant, your friend, and the man who had made you cum more times in the last few weeks than you’d ever had done with any other man you’d been with. 

And he had certainly distracted you, especially when situations like this arose. 

You were never late to anything, especially training sessions, in fact you were usually at least fifteen minutes early to training to catch up with the other members of the team and the recruits, and your lack of time keeping certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Johnny, Gaz and even Captain Price had all made a comment over the last few weeks about how your time keeping skills had slipped. 

Johnny even mentioned that maybe there was a man you were seeing that was the reason for slip in punctuality. 

Of course you denied this accusation; and Simon, in typical Simon fashion, simply remained quiet, except for teasing you occasionally, so that his friends didn’t suspect that he was the real reason for you  being late. 

He was addictive. 

And no matter how many times you said to yourself that you wouldn’t give into him, you still did. 

“You’ve still got ten minutes,” Simon pointed out, glancing over at his clock before turning his attention completely back to you, or more so, your pussy that he could feel getting slightly tighter around his fingers. 

A clear sign that you were on the brink of your own release.

And after that, he had no intention of letting you go until you’d come undone at least once more. 

“Simon-”

The begging tone that laced your voice as your hips slowly rose off the bed, made Simon want nothing more than to keep you here, on his bed, desperate and begging just like this. 

It was one of the most beautiful sights he’d seen in a long time.

The pace of his fingers quickened; drawing  the hottest moans from your lips. 

“Careful lovie, or you’re gonna add fuel to what Johnnys been saying,” Simon chuckled, sending a soft vibration throughout your pussy; and that was enough. 

Enough to push you completely over the edge; soaking Simon’s hand in the process, thankfully your moan, or more so your orgasmic scream, was muffled by a nearby pillow you’d grabbed. 

~~~~~

After Simon had made you come undone again, he decided to grant you a few brief minutes of bliss before you had to rush off to training, armed with another excuse for her near-tardiness. 

“Wish you could stay,” Simon admitted, lifting his mask up slightly so that he could place a delicate kiss on the side of your head. 

It was true, he wanted nothing more than to just stay like this, with you.

But you had a job to do.

And so did he. 

“I can’t be late again,” you reminded him, kissing his cheek before you slipped out of his arms and quickly changed into your uniform. 

You were about to leave when there was a knock at Simon’s door. 

You turned and looked at Simon, fear evident in your eyes. Though there was no fear in Simon’s eyes; he looked calm and collected, as always. 

He rose from the bed and walked towards the door; stopping inches away from you.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered authoritatively in her ear,  making a pleasurable feeling wash over you as he lightly pushed you against the wall closest to the door and placed his gloved hand over her mouth.

Was it risky? Yes.

Was it also the only way to make sure no one could possibly see you? Also yes.

Before you could even question what Simon was doing, he opened the door. 

“Hey L.T, have you seen Y/n?”

The sound of Johnny's voice snapped you back to reality. 

Simon knew this, he felt your anxious breath on his hand.

“No, I haven't,” Simon answered simply.

“Dinnae know where the lass is,” Johnny said with a shake of his head, “Price wanted to talk to her.”

“Have you tried the training room?” The masked man suggested, wanting nothing more for Johnny to just go away. 

“Y/n hasn’t been on time for training in weeks,” Johnny remarked with a smirk before walking off down the hall; it’s like he knew something. 

But if he knew; then everyone else would also know by now and that certainly wasn’t the case. 

“That was close,” you muttered, the relief evident in your voice. 

“Best get going before Johnny gets to the training room,” Simon said softly, kissing your forehead before opening the door so you could leave. 

You simply nodded, still caught up in how close of a call that was, to say anything else. 

You quickly ran off down the same hallway that Johnny had gone down; Simon watched you and it was only when you were completely out of vision that he closed his door. 

He knew it wasn’t a good idea to be sleeping with one of his sergeants, but he couldn’t stop, you made him feel a feeling that he thought he’d never feel.

He was falling for you. 

He couldn't tell you, not yet at least; you two hadn’t even gone on a date, he didn’t even know if you felt the same way, but he couldn’t deny it no matter how much he wanted to.....

But one was for certain, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew you’d get reprimanded for being late to a training session, he would have gotten on his knees, placed your legs on his shoulders and eaten out your pretty pussy until you were cumming all over his tongue and screaming his name once again. 

Tagging:

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