#it looks out of place and it is and the people there still clinging to pre war life are ridiculous!

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 12.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The minute you, Koji, and Satoru step out of the mall, a small group of five reporters are hounding you guys. It comes as a surprise—a very unpleasant and unexpected surprise. You’ve never been involved in things like this, you’re still not used to it. You never will be. Your steps falter, leaning back and placing a protective hand on Koji’s back to steer him further into your body. 

“Mr. Gojo! Is this your family?”

“Mr. Gojo, what do you have to say about the people who suspect you of keeping it all a secret?”

“Mr. Gojo, were you ashamed or embarrassed?”

“Y/N L/N, how does it feel to have Satoru Gojo as the father to your son?”

The questions are relentless, each one sharper than the last, and the flashing cameras blind you for a moment. Your heart races as you tighten your grip on Koji’s shoulder, your protective instincts flaring. Koji looks up at you with wide, frightened eyes, his small hands clutching at your coat. Satoru steps forward instinctively, his towering frame blocking you and Koji from the onslaught. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced with a rare seriousness, his jaw clenched and his voice low. “Back off,” he warns, holding up a hand to shield his face. “You’re scaring my son.” 

The reporters barely falter, emboldened by Satoru’s reaction. “Is that confirmation then? He is your son?” one of them presses, leaning closer with their camera.  

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his tone now icy. “I said, back off.” He moves with precision, steering you and Koji toward the parking lot. 

Koji clings to your side, his face buried in your coat as he mutters, “Mama, I don’t like this.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmur soothingly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “Just keep walking, okay?” 

“Y/N,” Satoru says firmly, his hand brushing your elbow before grabbing onto it with a firm gentleness. “Stay close to me.” 

You quickly pick your son up, holding him tightly to your chest and keeping his small face hidden in your neck. The crowd doesn’t let up, following you to the edge of the parking lot. They’re throwing more questions your way now, their voices rising as if to compete with each other. 

“Y/N, do you think Satoru will take responsibility as a father?”  

“Will there be a public statement?”  

“Koji, do you know your dad is famous?” It’s one thing to ask his son a question, but it’s entirely another thing when that same reporter hounds just a bit too close to you, causing your footsteps to stumble a bit backward in order to not get hit by the obvious camera. 

At that, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, eyes and face flitting with anger, but they don’t even express half of it. He spins on his heel, his height and presence instantly silencing the crowd. His gaze is sharp and unyielding. “You’re done,” he snaps, shoving the camera back, the reporter tripping over his own two feet and falling on his ass. “No more questions. No more photos. If I see any of you near my family again, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” 

The authority in his voice makes even the most persistent reporters step back, the one who just fell cradling his camera that now has a broken lens. He waits for a beat to ensure they’ve gotten the message before turning back to you and Koji. 

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice softer now as he reaches for you two. You don’t resist when he takes your hand, holding on firmly as if grounding you. His other is on the small of your back. The three of you walk in silence to the car, leaving the paparazzi behind. He guides you into the passenger seat before strapping Koji in his car seat in the back. Walking around the car to get into the driver’s side, closing the door with an exasperated huff. After a few still seconds, you finally exhale, slumping back in your seat. Satoru glances at you from the corner of his eye, then at the rearview mirror to make sure Koji is okay. Luckily his car’s windows are almost completely blacked out. His expression is unreadable. “You okay?” 

You nod slowly, fingers dancing along your thighs. “I’m fine. Just… not used to this.” 

Satoru’s lips press into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to be. I’ll handle it.”  

This outing was supposed to be a simple one—a wholesome one. Satoru insisted on taking Koji out, but Koji insisted you come with them. After debating, you decided what’s the worst that could happen? This, apparently. Satoru reaches behind him to place a couple of things he bought for Koji behind his seat. You told him that since it was so close to Christmas, you didn’t see the need to buy things for Koji. His response: “So? I want to spoil him every chance I get.” You understand, in a sense. But you still need to have a proper talk with Satoru about keeping his money and riches to a minimum when it comes to Koji. The last thing you want is for your son to get used to something that you wouldn’t be able to maintain yourself. 

“You okay, Koji?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He receives a feeble nod from his son, patting his little foot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this to happen.” Satoru’s tone is laced with guilt as he turns to face forward again. Koji’s wide eyes dart between you and Satoru. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I promise.”

Koji looks up at him hesitantly before mumbling, “I don’t like the flashing lights, Papa. They’re scary.”

Your heart clenches at his words, peering back and holding out your hand. He takes it and you rub his little knuckles with your thumb. “I know, sweetie. It’s over now. You’re safe with us.”

Satoru exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll do better,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere quieter. Somewhere they can’t find us.” You glance at him, catching the rare vulnerability in his expression. Despite your frustrations with the situation—and with him—you can tell he means it. His guilt is genuine, and that softens your own edges just a little. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops himself, his jaw tightening. He shifts in his seat, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. He turns the key and starts the engine, beginning to drive off.

The rest of the car ride is subdued, the weight of the earlier encounter and the unspoken tension settling over the three of you. Koji eventually drifts off, his small frame relaxing against you, and you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. You know you have a lot of conversations to do with Satoru that aren’t over—some haven’t even started. There’s so much left unsaid, so much you need to sort out—for Koji’s sake and for your own. But for now, you focus on the steady rhythm of Koji’s humming to the song playing and the faint hum of the car engine, holding onto the fragile sense of calm that has settled, however temporary it may be.

This is the first time Gojo’s getting a good look at your interior decorations. Koji’s watching TV and you’re watching Satoru trying his best not to judge. Outwardly, at least. The decorations you’ve put up are a little uncoordinated, he can tell some are quite old. There are a few things with stains from presumably the previous year, like your tablecloth. The only item he thinks is new is the pinecone-y candle lit in the middle of the kitchen counter. At least something in here is pretty, he looks at you. Never mind, you’re already here. 

“Well…” Satoru starts, and you cut him off as soon as he does.

“I know, you don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Then what was I going to say?”

“You were going to judge and put in your unwanted two cents.”

He scoffs with rolled eyes and a frown, arms crossing as he watches you go over to the sink to wash what was left in there from this morning. “Unwanted?” Satoru repeats, his tone is dramatic as he leans against the counter. “I think my two cents are worth at least a dollar, thank you very much.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Then keep your dollar to yourself. We’re not taking handouts.”

His lips quirk into a thinner line, and he straightens up, walking over to stand beside you. “Handouts? Who said anything about that? I was just going to say…” He pauses, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “This place has character.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you rinse a plate. “Is that your polite way of saying it’s outdated?”

“No,” he shrugs, though he gives himself away with a sigh. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not terrible. I kind of like it. It feels... real.”

You glance at him again, this time surprised by the sincerity in his voice. His eyes are scanning the room, and for once, they’re not filled with the usual analytical glint. Instead, there’s something softer, something almost nostalgic. “It’s not much,” you admit, drying your hands on a towel. “But it’s home. It’s all I can manage right now.”

Satoru turns to you, his expression shifting as he studies your face. “You’re doing a good job,” he says quietly. “Better than good, actually. Koji’s happy. That’s what matters.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’re so used to his playful jabs and over-the-top confidence that this genuine side of him feels… different. Why is he being so nice today? Does he feel bad about what happened earlier and he’s trying to kiss your ass? Yeah, must be that.  “Thanks,” you mutter quietly, meeting his gaze.

He casually lifts his shoulders up and down, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

The moment lingers, the two of you standing in the small kitchen with the faint sound of cartoons playing in the background. It’s the closest you’ve felt to being on the same page in a long time. And though you don’t say it out loud, you’re grateful for it. That feeling only lasts a second before you remember just how different things are. Clearing your throat, you peek over to make sure Koji is engrossed in his show before speaking to Satoru. “Look, we have to talk.”

He nods, silently gesturing for you to continue. 

“I understand you want to give Koji everything you can because you have that luxury, but I don’t want him to grow up like that, okay? He can have gifts, but you’ve been buying him at least ten new things every time you see him, Satoru. He’s starting to ask me now for toys and books and I don’t have that money right now to spend leisurely. So please, just…keep the gift-giving to a minimum. Christmas is already coming up.”

Satoru listens, his arms crossed and head tilted slightly, a contemplative look replacing his usual playful expression. When you finish, he exhales softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it,” he says after a moment. “I do. I don’t mean to overdo it; I just...I don’t know, I feel like I missed out on so much already. Giving him things feels like a way to make up for that.”

You soften at his admission, but you hold firm. “I understand that, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t give him anything. It’s just… he needs to learn that he can’t always have everything he wants. He has to understand boundaries, Satoru. Life isn’t always going to hand him the world on a silver platter.”

Satoru ponders for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I also want you to understand that he’s a kid, my kid. If I want to buy him things, I’m going to do that. I don’t need to run that by you and ask for your permission, Y/N. You’ve already made enough decisions for me.”

The little remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you. How could it? He’s right, you know that. But does he really need to bring that up right now when you’re trying to handle things like a mature adult and parent? You’re trying to make things better right now, not take his snide comments to face. Your jaw tightens, but you take a calming breath, trying to keep your composure. “I’m not trying to control what you do for him, Satoru. I’m just asking you to think about how it impacts him—and me. I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout when he doesn’t understand why I can’t give him the same things you can.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the tension between you two growing heavier. “And whose fault is that?” he asks, his voice lower now. “You’re the one who kept him from me. I would’ve been there, Y/N. I could’ve helped you.”

There it is—the resentment bubbling to the surface again.

You set the dish towel down a little too firmly on the counter, turning fully to face him. “I know, okay? I know I screwed up by keeping him from you, but I can’t go back and change that. I’m doing the best I can now, and I need you to meet me halfway here, Satoru.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, he sighs and looks away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ll try,” he mutters, though his tone is tinged with bitter reluctance. “I’ll try to dial it back. But I’m not making any promises.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the best you’ll get from him right now. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the tension still thick but beginning to ease. The faint sound of Koji giggling at the TV filters into the kitchen, a reminder of what really matters. “I just want what’s best for him,” you say quietly, your voice softer now.

Satoru looks at you again, his expression hard to read. “So do I,” he replies, his tone matching yours.

And for a brief moment, it feels like you’re on the same side again. It reminds you that the only thing you two have in common is your son’s happiness and well-being and that Koji is the only reason you have this strained and awkward connection. Co-parenting. You don’t know how some couples did or are currently doing it. Even little conversations like ‘How’s your day?’ feel so forced with him, but you know it’s what comes with the job. What comes with hiding your kid and being tossed into the realm of co-parenting. You don’t have to like him, he doesn’t have to like you. You two are only in this for Koji—and that’s it.

So, why do you feel a small stab to your stomach when an annoyingly familiar name pops up on his screen with an incoming phone call? The picture of them kissing feels like it’s laughing right in your face, fingers curling into your palms as you coerce yourself to look away and pretend you’re busy with something else. Satoru keeps his voice hushed, like he’s trying to ensure you or Koji don’t listen. Only for a moment, you think: he’s acting like he has something to hide. And he shouldn’t. You two haven’t been together in years. But the fact that it seems like he’s trying to lessen whatever blow his relationship has on you, like he thinks—knows you’re not that happy with it, that makes you annoyed. Does he assume he still has the same effect on you? Does he think you still hold some secret feelings towards him?

Is he still as arrogant and conceited as he was before?

Maybe he believes that you’re still hung up on him. Yeah, must be. Because why else would he be apologizing to you after he hung up the phone with her, giving you that sympathetic gleam in his eyes that you recognize all too well. The same look he would give you after he knew he did something you didn’t like or didn’t approve of, and you would reprimand him for it. “I’m sorry, but I have to go soon.”

You nod, biting your tongue to hold back a snarky remark like why are you apologizing? I don’t care. “Just say bye to Koji.”

He nods, putting his phone in his pocket. Lips lying like he’s debating how to bring something up. “Before I go, I was thinking something. Since Christmas is coming up, I…I want to spend it with him, with you guys. If it’s okay, I’d like to come over then. We can cook and open presents together, I’ll bring what I bought for Koji that day.” His tone is cautious, almost like he’s unsure if the idea is good himself, but he pushed through somehow. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. Spend Christmas together? Like some picture-perfect family? It almost feels laughable, considering the complicated mess the two of you have found yourselves in. But when you glance at Koji in the other room, blissfully unaware of the tangled web of adult emotions, your resolve softens. “Christmas?” you repeat, just to confirm you heard him right.

Satoru shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly…simple between us. But I thought it’d be nice for Koji. You know, give him something to look forward to. A memory he can hold on to.”

There it is again—that maddening mix of arrogance and sincerity that only Satoru Gojo can pull off. You hate that he’s making sense. You hate even more that a part of you wants to say yes. Not for his sake, of course, but for Koji’s. “I don’t know,” you start warily, crossing your arms. “I don’t want him to get confused, Satoru. He’s young, but he’s not stupid. If we start doing things like this, he might think…” You trail off, not wanting to put it into words.

Satoru’s expression softens, and for a moment, you see the man you once loved—the one who could convince you of anything with just a look. “He won’t think anything, Y/N. He’ll just be happy. That’s all I want for him.” He hesitates before adding, “That’s all I want for us.”

You swallow hard, caught between the weight of the past and the fragile threads of the present. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quieter now.

His lips twitch into a small smile, relieved. “That’s all I ask.” He doesn’t press further, doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he steps into the living room, kneeling to Koji’s level to say his goodbyes. You watch from the kitchen, arms still crossed, heart still conflicted. The sound of Koji’s chuckles and his own goodbye fills the space as Satoru ruffles his hair, promising to come back soon. When he straightens up and heads for the door, he glances back at you one last time, his gaze lingering in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Think about it,” he repeats softly before stepping out into the cold. 

And just like that, the house feels a little emptier, a little quieter. You sigh, leaning against the counter as Koji returns to his cartoons, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

Christmas. Together. You’re not sure if it’s a recipe for disaster or something else entirely. But, it’s for Koji. It would be his first Christmas with his father whom he looks up to like he’s some kind of superhero. A super rich superhero. It would be wrong of you to deny him of that—them both of that. And like Satoru said, you’ve already made enough decisions for him. 

With a deep breath, you walk on over and sit next to your son on the floor, arm around his shoulders. “Koji?”

“Yes, Mama?” Koji hums back, eyes still fixated on the bright screen.

“I have a question for you.”

At this, he turns his head and looks at you, tilting it in a childish curiosity. “What?” 

You bring him closer to your side. “Christmas is coming up, are you excited?” He nods enthusiastically. You smile and continue. “So, would you like Papa to come over on Christmas? He’ll play games with you and—”

“Yes!” he shouts, scooting closer to your face as he expresses his excitement with vigor. “I want Papa to come! I want Papa to come!”

You laugh softly, though the knot in your chest tightens. Koji’s innocent enthusiasm is infectious, and his wide grin makes it hard to feel anything but love for your son. “Okay, okay,” you say, ruffling his hair gently. “I’ll let Papa know you want him here.”

Koji bounces up and down, clapping his hands together. “Yay! Can we make cookies? And put out milk for Santa? And open presents together?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pulling him into a warm hug, and kissing the top of his white nest of hair. “We’ll do all of that.” As you hold him, your heart aches a little. Koji doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation, nor should he. To him, Christmas is just about family and joy and all the things that make the world seem big and bright. But to you, it’s a delicate balancing act—a chance to give Koji the kind of Christmas he deserves while keeping your own emotions in check. The last thing you want to do is start an argument on that special day and ruin it for your son. Just pretend, that’s all. For Koji. For Koji.

Later that evening, after Koji is fast asleep and tucked in bed, you pick up your phone and hesitate for a moment before sending Satoru a quick message:

Y/N:

He wants you here. Don’t make me regret this.

You put the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering what the holidays will bring. For Koji’s sake, you hope it’s nothing but joy. For your own sake, you’re not so sure. A few more days. The buildup, anxiety, anticipation, it’s all killing you slowly. On one hand, you don’t want to see Satoru and pretend you’re all a happy family. But on the other, you know Koji wants him and the same goes for Satoru. You’ve taken away enough opportunities. You’ve wedged a big enough gap between this already small family and if you make it larger, you fear you’ll screw things up for good. It’s the holiday season, it’s not time to sit around and mope about your shitty life. It’s not the time to compare yourself to others and it’s most certainly not the time to brew in jealousy about the fact that Satoru was spending his past Christmases with another woman.  

Shut that off, immediately. 

What it is time for is to be happy you’ve lived to see another year, and happy your son has had a great year. And finally, it’s time to start thinking more about other people’s feelings. Including Satoru’s. 

But, you’ve been doing that this entire time. Haven’t you?

Koji’s last day of school was Friday, now starting his break. “Thank you, Sana. I know the longer hours are a little annoying, but I’ll raise the pay by a dollar.”

“No need, Ms. Y/N,” the younger woman waves you off with a smile, in the middle of coloring with Koji. Her blue-dyed hair pulled up into a lazy bun. “I love Koji, I’ll watch him anytime you need me.”

Your smile turns sympathetic, letting out a small sigh and rubbing her shoulder. “You’re so sweet, thank you so much. You’re a big help around here.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She hugs you back and locks the door after you leave. The morning air feels nice to breathe in, not as cold as it was yesterday. You remind yourself to get a little gift for her. Maybe a gift basket? Or a gift card? Or more money, she’s a college student. 

Walking to work that morning is the same as always. Waiting for the same crosswalk to turn green, passing by the usual bakery and donut shop, seeing that same old man doing his own morning walk. It all feels mundane—normal. Something that feels very much needed, more often than it would have last month. You’re still not entirely used to how much things have been integrated into your life, for the better or worse. Either way, it’s your life now. Time to embrace that in some way. 

Walking into the cafe, you see a few of your co-workers readying and tidying up the place. Giving them a brief ‘good morning’ and nod, you head to the back to place your purse and coat down. It’s a quiet morning today, which is a little odd because usually, you would hear Hana’s fingers typing away on the keyboard to the computer. Or she would greet you hello. Turning your head, you see her; sitting at one of the chairs and completely engrossed in whoever she’s texting on her phone. She has a small, giddy smile on her face, letting out a quiet huff of laughter at what the other person said. “Hey?”

She snaps her head up, locking her phone and standing up. “Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You raise a brow and chuckle, walking over and nodding your head in the direction of the phone in her hand. “Who’s that?”

“Oh…” her cheeks grow slightly pink, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy manner. “Um…no one. Just a guy.”

“A cute guy?” You wiggle your eyebrows, and she responds by elbowing you. 

“Not like that, Y/N. I barely know him.”

“For now.”

“He’s just a regular.” Hana plays it off, but the growing smile on her face juxtaposes her feigned nonchalance. 

You grin, leaning against the counter as you cross your arms. “A regular,” you repeat, emphasizing the words with air quotes. “But give it a week, and I bet I’ll be hearing wedding bells.”  

Hana rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto her face. “It’s nothing like that. We’ve only been talking for a few days.”  

“And yet here you are, all smiley and distracted at work,” you point out with a playful laugh. “Come on, spill. What’s his name? What does he do?”  

Hana hesitates for a moment before sighing, as though resigning herself to your curiosity. “His name is Naoya. Naoya Zenin,” she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “I think he has something to do with business? Or real estate? He hasn’t said much about his job yet.”  

“Naoya Zenin,” you repeat, testing the name on your tongue. “Have I ever seen him?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s only just recently started coming in because of something like ‘he saw a pretty girl at the cashier and couldn’t resist’.”

You huff. “Sounds like a smoother talker already.”

“Y/N!” Hana protests, swatting at your arm. “He’s not like that! He’s… actually really nice. Sweet, even.”  

You laugh, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m going to need updates. Daily updates. I live vicariously through you when it comes to your love life, you know that.”  

She groans, but there’s a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep it between us.”  

“Scout’s honor,” you say with a smile, though you’re already mentally filing this away to tease her about later. “This top secret of yours about your little boy toy will stay between you and I only, no outsiders.”  

Hana nods, but the little smile on her face remains as she pockets her phone and joins you at the counter. Something tells you this Naoya guy might be worth hearing about after all. You think for a moment that it’s a little strange you haven’t ever seen or served him, but he obviously must’ve been in after you leave; sometime in the afternoon. 

You’re curious, rightfully so. Hana hasn’t talked about a guy since the last man, which was about a year ago. You’re glad to see her out on the market again, opening herself up. She and this Naoya guy have only been talking for a few days, but she obviously has taken a quick interest in him. You could only hope he’s feeling the same, and not messing with her feelings. It’s the protective friend in you speaking. 

Time flies before you know it, ringing up customers and making their beloved—but occasionally off coffee drinks. The small tune of the music playing on the speakers quells your mind, giving you something to hum to every now and then. The steady hum of the espresso machine, the clinking of mugs, and the soft murmur of conversations blend into the background, creating a comforting cadence. Customer after customer comes through, each order oddly more specific than the last. The overly tedious ones make you concerned sometimes. There are a few ordinary ones, of course. 

“An oat milk latte, but can you add three pumps of hazelnut, and one pump of caramel, and make it extra hot? Oh, and no foam, please.”  

You resist the urge to sigh, offering a polite smile instead. “Of course, coming right up.”  

Hana, stationed beside you, exchanges an amused glance. “How do they come up with these combinations?” she whispers as she froths milk for a cappuccino.  

“Beats me,” you reply, carefully measuring out the hazelnut syrup. “But hey, keeps us employed, right?”  

The lively beat playing over the speakers catches your attention, and you continue to hum along absentmindedly as you finish up the drink. Moments like these make the chaos of the morning rush feel a little more manageable—a small comfort amidst the constant motion.  

By the time noon rolls around, the rush has died down, leaving the café bathed in a peaceful lull. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries from the display case. You glance at Hana, who’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone during the quiet moment.  

“You doing okay over there?” you ask, wiping down the counter.  

She looks up, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah, just checking my messages.”  

“From Naoya?” you tease, and her blush tells you all you need to know.  

As she laughs and shakes her head, the door chime rings, signaling a new customer. You straighten up, slipping back into your friendly barista persona as you greet the newcomer.  

“Welcome! What can I get started for you today?”

It’s a woman, nicely dressed and a bit older. There are some graying hairs at the front, but she holds her aged wrinkles well. Smiling at you with red-stained lips, lifting her sunglasses up to rest them on her head. “Hello, how are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good,” she hums, eyes wandering up to the menu. “This is my first time here, may I ask what you recommend?”

You nod. “Our cookie butter latte is highly recommended, along with our raspberry matcha and horchata latte.”

The woman’s red lips curl into a thoughtful smile as she considers your suggestions. “Cookie butter latte? That does sound intriguing,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. “Is it too sweet?”

“It’s a bit on the sweeter side, but we can adjust it if you prefer something less sugary,” you offer.

“Hmm… I think I’ll try it as is,” she decides, returning her gaze to you. “A small one, please. Oh, and can you make it extra hot?”

“Of course.” You punch in her order and give her the total.

As she hands over a crisp bill, she glances around the café, taking in the cozy décor and warm atmosphere. “This place is lovely,” she remarks. “Do you enjoy working here?”

You smile, sliding her change across the counter. “I do. It’s a nice little escape from everything else. And the regulars make it fun.”

“I can imagine,” she says, her voice carrying a certain kindness. “It seems like the perfect place for a little pick-me-up.”

You chuckle softly, grabbing a cup to start up her order. “Of course.”

She watches you make her drink, which is normal for you since many other customers do that too. Either to ensure you’re doing everything right, or that you’re not messing up their order. Or simply they just want to know how to make that drink at home. This woman continues the conversation with you, however. “I love your necklace, it’s very beautiful.”

You glance down at the gold moon, peering back up at her with a thankful nod. “Oh, thank you. I got it as a gift from a co-worker last year.”

“It’s lovely.” She responds, keeping her holy smile on her face. You return the favor before finishing up her drink. Securing the lid on top and sliding a cover on the middle before turning back to her, and handing the drink over. 

“Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

The woman takes the cup, but instead of leaving, she lingers, her eyes scanning the café again before settling on you. “You’re very efficient,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “And polite. Not everyone has that kind of composure while juggling multiple tasks.”  

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, slightly caught off guard. Compliments like that aren’t exactly rare, but there’s something in her tone that feels... deliberate. 

She sets the cup down on the counter, her red lips curving into a subtle smile. “Forgive me if this seems forward, but are you happy working here?”  

The question startles you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. It feels a little invading, but you’re not the type to be outwardly rude to a customer. Unless provoked; but even then, you hold your composure well. “I... I like it. The people are nice, and it’s steady work.”  

“I see,” she says, nodding slowly. “You seem like someone who could do more, though. Someone with potential.”  

You blink, not sure whether to take her words as a compliment or a critique. “Well, I try my best,” you say, keeping your tone neutral., lips pursing awkwardly. 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the counter toward you. “If you’re ever looking for a change, my company is always in need of someone capable. We’re hiring for a personal secretary position right now.”  

Your eyes flicker down to the card, where her name and title are printed in elegant gold lettering. Beneath that, the name of a foreign, but well-known corporation—one you’d only ever dreamt of working for.  

Evelyn Carlisle. 

Founder & CEO of:

Carlisle & Harlow. 

Carlisle & Harlow is a luxury lifestyle and real estate industry that specializes in high-end properties, exclusive concierge services, and premium lifestyle management for elite clientele. It has a reputation for catering to the wealthy, ensuring that every detail of its clients’ lives is managed to perfection.

You hesitate, staring at the card. Eyes wide, lips parting and closing in surprise and confusion. It feels like a golden ticket has just been thrust in your face. And for what reason? You have absolutely no idea. “I—I don’t know…”  

“It’s just a thought,” she says smoothly, picking up her latte again. “You’re under no obligation, but I think you’d do wonderfully. If you’re interested, give me a call.”  

Before you can respond, she offers you another one of those warm, knowing smiles and turns toward the door. The second her back is to you, she’s on her phone, texting something. “Have a good day, dear.”  

You stand there for a moment, holding the card in your hand, unsure of what to think. The logo on the card gleams in the café’s warm light, and your mind races with possibilities—and doubts. Could this really be an opportunity, or is it too good to be true? How did this just happen so…suddenly? If her business wasn’t so well known, you would’ve assumed you were being scammed and thrown the card away as soon as she left. But, it feels like an opportunity, nonetheless. 

A bright opportunity that screams money. 

A part of you is still very much hesitant about what just happened, but the desperate part of you is telling your brain to make that phone call as soon as you have the chance. Just think about it, if all of this is authentic, you would have a good-paying job. No more rushing back and forth between two, no more sleep deprivation (hopefully), and you would be a bit more stable. Maybe if you save up enough, you could buy a new place. 

Okay, thinking too far ahead. 

You pocket the card, smiling to yourself. For once, it feels like a small beam of light is being cast your way. Like you’re being chosen. It turns your stomach in delight and excitement. 

But, you can’t stop the lingering, pressing question. 

Why did that feel a little…organized?

“And this here, we have our newest version of RavenX.” 

Yamato nods in astonishment, watching the mechanical crow tilt its head, the red circle in its eye prominent as the crow blinks. Its purple wings demonstrate a high altitude while the screen in front of him and his son shows the view of what the crow is seeing. Satoru stands cross-armed next to his father, silently praising the meticulously engineered drone. 

Mei Mei steps forward, her tone confident and composed as she gestures toward the screen showcasing the RavenX drone's perspective. “The RavenX is designed for both surveillance and tactical operations. Enhanced AI ensures decision-making capabilities in real-time, and the thermal imaging allows it to identify targets even in low-visibility conditions.”  

She turns to Yamato with a faint smirk. “It can operate autonomously for up to 48 hours without recharge and has a flight speed that outpaces any similar product on the market. Its compact size makes it nearly undetectable by radar.”  

Yamato’s lips curl into a subtle smile as he leans closer to examine the live feed on the screen. “Impressive,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. “And you’ve managed to keep the design sleek. Functionality without sacrificing form.”  

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his usual business-y tone replaced with one of genuine curiosity. “What about security? How resistant is it to hacking or signal jamming?”  

Mei Mei casts him a sidelong glance, clearly prepared for the question. “The RavenX operates on an encrypted frequency that’s nearly impossible to intercept. Even if someone managed to breach it, the drone has an auto-lockout protocol. It will wipe its data and return to base immediately.”  

Yamato raises a brow, clearly impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei keeps her poised smile, her confidence unmistakable. “Why thank you, Mr. Gojo. The RavenX isn’t just a surveillance drone—but it’s a masterpiece of precision engineering. With a flight range of over 500 miles and an adaptive AI capable of learning terrain in real-time, it ensures maximum efficiency in hostile or unpredictable environments.”  

Yamato leans forward slightly, adjusting his glasses, his expression one of genuine intrigue. “Interesting. And the resolution on this feed?”  

“4K with thermal imaging,” Mei Mei replies, tapping the screen to zoom in on a distant object. The clarity is undeniable. “It’s designed to thrive in low-visibility conditions. Perfect for search and rescue, military applications, or even high-security industrial work. The AI is coded for rapid response to potential threats—watch this.”  

She waves to one of her team members, who approaches the drone with a metal rod. As soon as the drone’s sensors pick up the movement, it lets out a synthetic caw and gracefully maneuvers upward, evading the perceived threat.  

Satoru raises his brows, shifting his weight. “Not bad,” he murmurs, clearly impressed but keeping his tone casual.  

Mei Mei tilts her head, catching his eye. “Not bad? That’s high praise coming from the Satoru Gojo. I’ll take it.” Mei Mei clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We’ve also designed it to respond to its owner’s call. Like this.” She whistles and quickly, the crow swoops down, landing on her outstretched arm as if it were an actual animal. Mei Mei’s grin deepens as the RavenX perches gracefully on her arm, its wings retracting with a faint mechanical hum. She lightly taps the drone’s head, and its eyes blink, the red circle fading into a neutral glow. "Fully programmable for voice commands," she explains, "and adaptable to any user profile. It recognizes not just my call but also pre-set vocal patterns. This makes it irreplaceable for high-security operations or personal defense."

Yamato watches the display with a mixture of intrigue and admiration. “Quite remarkable of you and your team,” he states, walking forward to eye the drone better. “How does it differentiate between allies and potential threats? Is the AI pre-programmed, or does it learn through interaction?”  

Mei Mei nods, her expression one of quiet pride. “The AI starts with a baseline program, but it continuously evolves through machine learning. It identifies allies by biometrics, such as voice and facial recognition. And in cases where immediate action is required, it calculates probabilities based on behavior patterns. For instance—"  

She steps closer to Satoru, her smile taking on a sly edge. “Care to test it, Mr. Gojo?”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “You want me to scare your fancy bird?”  

Mei Mei chuckles. “If you think you can.”  

Satoru steps forward, his presence commanding as always, and makes a sudden, exaggerated swipe toward the drone. In an instant, the RavenX lets out a sharp synthetic caw and takes flight, circling above them with its crimson eye scanning. Mei Mei whistles again, and the drone lands back on her arm, unbothered and perfectly still.  

“Responsive and calm under pressure,” she states, stroking the metallic head. “Exactly what you’d want in the field. Or at home, for that matter.”  

Yamato smiles faintly, exchanging a glance with Satoru. “What do you think, Satoru?”  

Satoru tilts his head, his head tilting in thought. “I think it has personality. Not bad, Mei Mei. Not bad at all.”  

“High praise,” Mei Mei quips, lowering the drone to its docking station. “But don’t just take my word for it. Schedule the live demonstration, and I’ll prove that the RavenX is not just another toy—it’s the future.”  

“Seems like it’ll bring in great revenue for Corvid Dynamics,” Satoru hums, the faintest flicker of amusement in his tone. He’s testing her, poking at the edges of her confidence.  

Mei Mei’s lips curve into a slow, calculating smile, her gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. “Oh, Mr. Gojo,” she drawls, her voice smooth but laced with something darker. “If there’s one thing you should’ve learned by now, it’s that I always get my payday. No matter the cost.”  

Her words hang heavy in the air, a subtle challenge, as if daring him to uncover just how far she’d go.

Satoru’s brows knit slightly, facing her cockiness with his own growing peculiarity and slight indignation. Yamato’s eyes gleam with interest, and he nods. “We’ll be in touch.”  

As Mei Mei leaves the room, Yamato leans back, hands in his pockets, his gaze lingering on the drone. “I like her,” he says with a casual chuckle. “But I like the bird more.” 

“You do realize she’s been attempting to sell us the same product for years now, right?” Satoru replies, giving his father a look. “Not much has changed except for her persistence and lack of connections with other investors. She’s desperate.” 

Yamato's eyes remain fixed on the docking station where the multiple of the RavenX rest, their red eyes dimmed. He hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Desperation doesn’t always mean a bad deal, Satoru. Sometimes it means someone is willing to give more than they take.”  

Satoru scoffs lightly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Or it means we’re being pitched a polished-up version of the same old tech because she can’t get anyone else to bite.” His tone is sharp, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his gaze as he glances back at the drone.  

“You underestimate her,” Yamato replies evenly, turning to face his son. “Mei Mei might not have the connections now, but her ingenuity is undeniable. Persistence like hers doesn’t come without talent.”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his frown faint. “So what’s the play? You want to throw her a bone? Out of pity?”  

Yamato chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I want to see how far she’s willing to go to prove herself. Desperation has a way of bringing out either brilliance or recklessness. Either one can be valuable… if handled correctly.”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture relaxing but his mind clearly working. “You think she’s banking everything on this deal?”  

“Possibly,” Yamato replies. “And if that’s the case, it’s an opportunity for us to gain leverage. Let her prove the RavenX’s worth. If she succeeds, we gain a strong partner. If she doesn’t, we gain insight into her limitations.”  

Satoru scoffs. “So we’re dangling the carrot. Making her sweat a little?”  

Yamato’s expression hardens slightly, his tone measured. “We don’t play games, Satoru. We make calculated investments. Mei Mei is smart, but she needs to prove she can be consistent. We don’t just invest in technology—we invest in people.”  

“She’s a money-hungry woman who has proven to throw her own family under the bus.” Satoru huffs, face scrunching in disgust. “Why would we want to do business with that?”

Yamato gives his son a long, measured look, his expression sharpening slightly. “And what makes you think she’s any different from any other businessperson out there? Everyone has a past, Satoru. You can’t throw someone out because of a few bad decisions or some family drama. You need to look at the bigger picture. Her motivations, her drive. If she’s willing to risk it all for this, we need to understand why—and if it’s worth it for us.”

Satoru’s eyes flash with irritation, but he keeps his tone steady. “And what if it’s not? What if she’s just too volatile? We don’t need someone who’s going to blow up in our faces when things get rough. Besides, we need to be careful of who we trust and partner with. Anyone of these people could be the leaker. What if she’s the reason my family has been put in danger?”

“It’s not your family if you’re not married.” Yamato simply utters, turning to walk out the building. 

Satoru tenses his jaw, following his father out into the cold December air; each wearing long black coats. “Don’t. We’re talking about my son and his mother, it doesn’t matter if we’re not married. They’re still valuable to me.”

Yamato stops in his tracks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and his gaze lingers on Satoru, weighing his words carefully. “I know they’re valuable to you. But you have to separate your emotions from business, Satoru. This isn’t about family drama. This is about leverage, trust, and the bigger game. You can’t afford to let personal stakes cloud your judgment when there’s so much on the line.

Satoru’s hands ball into fists, his frustration evident. “And what about loyalty? What about looking out for the people who matter to us? You can’t pretend it’s all just numbers and strategy when lives are at risk.”

Yamato turns his body fully, looking at his son with an intensity that’s both fatherly and businesslike. “You’ve got to protect what’s yours, yes. But you have to know when to fight and when to step back. Mei Mei is a risk, but so is anyone else. We make calculated moves, not emotional ones.”

Satoru exhales sharply, his breath mixing with the cold air. “Calculated moves...You keep saying that like it makes everything easier. But what if she’s too dangerous? What if this deal blows up in our faces?”

He sighs. “Listen, okay? You’re right,” Yamato says, his voice quiet but firm. “Koji and that woman are valuable. But there’s a difference between protecting them and letting fear cloud your judgment. If we start making decisions based on fear of the unknown, we risk losing everything.” His gaze hardens slightly, the unspoken weight of responsibility hanging in the air. “We need to think strategically. If Mei Mei’s involved in this leak, we’ll find out. But we can’t let that stop us from moving forward.”

Satoru clenches his fists, frustration building as the cold air bites at his skin. “Her name is Y/N. And I don’t want to be blindsided, Dad. I don’t want to end up paying for a mistake I didn’t see coming.”

“I know,” Yamato replies. “And that’s why we don’t rush into anything. We take the time to assess, to understand what’s really at stake here. If she’s the leaker, then we’ll handle it. If she’s not… then we make sure she’s a valuable asset to this company, and we don’t let her get too comfortable. At the end of the day, our real issue is with the mastermind behind all this, who wanted it out for us—you—in the first place.” Yamato’s face hardens, his voice low but firm. “And this is a chance you take in this world. It’s not all clean and easy, Satoru. But in the end, it’s about understanding the person you’re dealing with. You don’t just protect your assets—you protect the people who can help you build something greater.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tight as he processes his father’s words. The snow starts to fall lightly around them, a silent reminder of the cold world they’re navigating. 

“I’m not letting anyone—especially someone like Mei Mei—jeopardize Koji,” Satoru finally says, his voice more resolute now, though there’s a layer of uncertainty still lingering. “I can play the game, but I’m not playing with fire just because someone’s trying to get their foot in the door.”

Yamato watches him for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before nodding slowly. “I know. But sometimes, Satoru, you’ve got to light the fire to control it. You don’t have to trust Mei Mei right away—but you’ll need to see her for who she truly is before you make your final move.”

The two of them continue walking in silence, the sound of their footsteps crunching in the snow a steady rhythm. In the distance, the city skyline looms, full of promises, dangers, and opportunities that will inevitably pull them further into the storm. The black Escalade waiting for them in the distance. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I won’t sacrifice my own for the sake of business. Unlike you.”

Satoru speaks with finality, walking ahead of his father and getting into the backseat as the driver opens the door for them. Yamato, watching his son’s back, feels a twinge of guilt at the truth behind his son’s honesty. But he hides that behind his usual serious expression, shaking away his guiltiness with frustration. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The two men don’t even make it three steps back into the first floor of the office before Himari is bounding up to her boyfriend. Arms instantly wrapping around his neck and she shamelessly latches her lips onto his. Yamato, along with a few other working employees look away, his father not bothering to hide his displeased sound. Satoru, caught off guard, pulls away, hands to her shoulders. “Himari, what are you doing?”

“Oh, what? Now you don’t want me to kiss you in front of people?” The bitterness in her voice doesn’t go undetected, sparing Yamato a glance before batting her lashes up at Satoru. “I was waiting for you, I didn’t know you went out.”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“And because you’re still keeping secrets from me.”

He really doesn’t want to argue with her right now, especially here. Instead, he sighs, grabbing hold of her hand and leading her to the elevator. “Please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m working.”

Himari’s expression hardens as the elevator doors close, turning to Satoru. “Oh, ‘a scene’? Is that what you think it is? You’re my boyfriend—mine. If I want to kiss you, I’ll do that.”

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, exhaling in frustration as the elevator ascends. The tension between them is palpable, and he knows that Himari’s possessiveness is starting to bleed into every aspect of their relationship. He’s never been one for confrontation with her, but he can feel the cracks starting to form, the weight of the secrets, and the pressure of expectations pulling at him. “Look, Himari,” he starts, his voice low but firm. “You’re right, you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t mind being affectionate with you. But not like that—especially not in front of my team and father. I don’t need the office to think we’re some kind of soap opera.”

Himari crosses her arms over her chest, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’m not the one making this difficult, Satoru. You’re the one hiding things from me, playing these little games. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m by your side, but you’re always pushing me away. And for what, her?” She dramatically scoffs at the idea of you. 

Satoru focuses on the rising numbers of the floors, willing himself to handle this calmly. “We’re not talking about her right now, Himari.”

“But you’re thinking of her.”

They get to the right floor and Satoru quickly steps out, making his way to his office. Himari is right on his tail, clinging to his arm. 

Satoru pulls the door open to his office, his movements stiff as he enters, trying to shake off the tension from the elevator. Himari follows closely behind, the weight of her presence already grating on his nerves. The office is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the large windows. 

He sets his briefcase down on the desk, his mind still swirling with the earlier conversation with his father. Mei Mei’s drones, the possible business partnership—everything feels like it’s spinning out of his control. But with Himari here, focusing on her, is the last thing he wants to do. She steps in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding me now?” Her voice is sharp, tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not avoiding you, Himari. I’m just trying to focus on work.” His words are clipped, and tired. 

Her gaze softens, but there's still a touch of bitterness lingering. "Work, huh?" she repeats. "Or is it her? Are you really telling me there's nothing going on with you two? She was at your house the other day, acting as if she lived there." 

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay calm. “She doesn’t live there, Himari. And I don’t have time for this right now. I’m dealing with a lot. I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart.” His tone is low, strained. 

Himari’s expression falters for a second, the usual arrogance in her stance dimming just slightly. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I want you to be open with me. I want to trust you.” Her voice softens. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not hiding anything, Himari. But there are things I need to handle before I can talk about us. I need you to trust me on that.”

She looks at him for a long beat, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she steps closer, her fingers brushing against his chest. “I want to trust you, Satoru. But you’re making it hard.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the sharp edge replaced with a quiet vulnerability. 

He’s silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of her words presses down on him, but he knows that there’s too much at stake right now. With everything that’s going on—this new possible business deal, the leaks, the company’s future, his son, and you—he can’t afford to focus on this relationship as much as he might want to. 

“I’m doing the best I can,” he says quietly, voice almost too soft for her to hear. “But you need to understand, Himari… it’s not just about us. There are bigger things happening right now.”

She stares at him, eyes searching his face, as if trying to decode every emotion there. “Promise me something, then. Just give me that little bit of reassurance.” Her hands find home on his cheeks, tilting his face down toward hers. “Nothing is going on between you and her. You’re still mine, right?”

Satoru hesitates, feeling the heat of her hands on his cheeks, the pressure of her gaze locking him in place. Her words hang in the air, a demand wrapped in uncertainty, and for a moment, he’s unsure of how to respond. He wants to reassure her, wants to calm the storm brewing in her eyes, but the truth is far more complicated than a simple promise. There’s only one answer he must give her. He swallows, his thoughts swirling. “Himari, you know I’m not good with promises,” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “But I can tell you this: there’s nothing between me and her.” He forces his gaze to meet hers, trying to convey the sincerity in his words, even though the uncertainty weighs on him. “I’m still here. And I’m still yours.”

Her eyes soften, but the tension doesn’t fully lift. She searches his face for any sign of hesitation, any clue that might betray him. For a long moment, they stand there, her hands still cradling his face, as if willing him to prove himself. As if the longer they stay like this, his words might actually feel more like the truth than a bandaid. Finally, she nods, though there’s a flicker of doubt in her gaze. “I want to believe you, Satoru. I really do.”

“You really didn’t have to buy us presents.” You mutter, opening the door to your visitor. Still making sure to keep your volume to a low since Koji is sleeping in his room. 

Suguru smiles warmly, stepping in and shaking off the snow before placing two presents under the tree. One for your son, and one for you. “It’s okay, Y/N. I wanted to.”

It’s pretty late at night, but Suguru had told you he had a pretty busy week up ahead and this was really the only time he could drop off his presents for you and Koji. You showered and ate a quick dinner before he came. Muscles sore and feet tired from standing all day, but you still find it in you to show your gratitude. “I appreciate it, really.” Closing and locking the door behind you, you sigh. “I feel bad, I haven’t gotten anyone a gift besides Koji. I’ll buy you something with my next paycheck.”

Suguru chuckles softly, his eyes warm with understanding. "You don’t have to worry about that, Y/N. I don’t expect anything in return." He gestures to the presents under the tree. "This is just a small token of appreciation, nothing more. It’s Christmas, everyone deserves a gift."

You feel a faint blush creeping up your neck at his words. The sincerity in his tone makes you feel both grateful and a little guilty. It’s hard to accept his kindness sometimes, especially when you feel like you’re not able to give back as much. “Well, thank you again,” you say quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

Suguru gives you a reassuring smile. "It’s no trouble at all. I’m just happy to see you and Koji doing well." He glances toward the hallway where Koji’s room is. "How’s he been? Sleeping well?"

You nod, walking over to the couch and sitting down with a sigh. "Yeah, he’s been good. He hasn’t been napping during the day lately, so I guess he’s just getting more tired at night. Which is good, I suppose. More time to rest for me too." You run a hand through your hair, glancing at the tree in the corner. "I just wish I had more time to relax… but you know how it is."

Suguru sits down beside you, his posture relaxed. "I know exactly how it is," he says with a knowing look. "But you’re doing the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask for." He pauses, then adds softly, "And I’ll always be here to help when you need it."

You give him a small, thankful smile, the weight of the day finally beginning to lift a little. "Thanks, Suguru. I really mean it."

He nods, his smile warm but gentle. "Of course. You’re not alone in this."

As you sit there, the quiet comfort of his presence fills the room. You know that no matter how much you try to do on your own, Suguru will always be there, offering support when you need it most. He’s always been like that. You remember times when you and Satoru would fight and Suguru would help comfort you. It’s something you had come to rely on, and while it’s not always easy to accept help, you’re starting to understand that sometimes, it’s okay to lean on the people who care about you. That relationship between you two still feels strained, though—weird. 

“So…” you start, wanting to fill the empty silence with something. “How was your day today?”

Suguru tilts his head slightly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he answers. “Busy, as usual. Lots of meetings, a bit of paperwork, and some follow-ups. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s nice to finally have a bit of a breather now.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this more than I probably should’ve. Being able to just sit down and talk without worrying about the next thing on my to-do list.”

You smile a little, appreciating his honesty. “Sounds like you’ve earned the break, then.” You stretch slightly, feeling the strain in your muscles from standing all day. “I get that feeling too sometimes, when everything feels like it’s moving too fast and I can’t catch my breath.”

Suguru nods in understanding, his gaze gentle. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard to slow down when there’s so much going on. But you do a good job of juggling everything. I admire that about you.” His voice is low, and there’s a sincerity in it that makes your chest tighten a little, a smile hiding on your lips. 

You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I try my best… but it’s not always easy. Some days, I feel like I’m failing at everything.”

Suguru reaches over, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re not failing, Y/N. Trust me. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s more than enough. I see how hard you work, how much you care for Koji. You’re doing a great job, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. You take a deep breath, trying to push away the doubts that have been lingering in your mind. “I appreciate it, Suguru. I really needed to hear that.”

He gives you a soft smile, the kind that says everything without needing words. “Anytime.”

You make eye contact with him, feeling a blizzard of strange emotions pile down onto you. The smile he adorns causes your own to come out of hiding, and before you know it, he’s softly chuckling. Looking back down at his feet. The sound of his laugh causes your heart to beat just a little faster. Clearing your throat. “You can take your coat off. I have some leftover wine.” In your head, you’re confused as to why you suddenly made that suggestion; mentally face-palming. “Unless you drove here, then never mind.”

“I won’t get drunk off some wine,” he shakes his head, standing and stripping himself of his coat to reveal a cotton white shirt. “Lead the way.”

With a small, but amused huff, you get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen. Reaching up to open the cabinet you don’t request very often. The hem of your shirt rises slightly, revealing a teasing hint of your lower stomach. Suguru forces his eyes to stay on your hands, biting the inside of his cheek. 

You pull out the bottle of wine, twisting the cap off and setting it down next to two glasses on the counter. As you pour, you feel the weight of Suguru’s gaze on you, though you don’t look at him directly. The air in the kitchen feels different now, charged in a way that makes the space seem smaller, and more intimate. “You didn’t have to bring me a gift, but I’m glad you did,” you say, trying to break the tension with casual words. You pour the wine, handing him a glass first. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

Suguru takes the glass with a smile, the faintest trace of something unreadable in his eyes. “I told you I didn’t bring it to get anything in return. It’s just a little something to show I care.”

His tone is steady, but there’s a subtle undercurrent that makes your heart race. You try to mask your unease with a small grin as you take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth settle into you. “I appreciate that. I really do.” 

You move to lean against the counter, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the silence that hangs between you two. Suguru stands a bit closer than you’re used to, the space between you two too small now. His eyes flicker to your lips for a second before he quickly looks away, but the faint moment lingers in the air, thick with unspoken words. You let the wine sit on your tongue a bit longer, trying to steady your thoughts. Something has shifted—maybe it’s the closeness, or maybe it’s just the quiet understanding between the two of you. But you’re keenly aware of how his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes everything feel heightened.

“How have things been with you and Satoru?”

Holding back a grimace, you take another sip. “I mean, as good as it can be, you know?”

Suguru nods, his expression softening as he leans against the counter, his arms crossed. “I get it. Relationships are complicated, especially when you’re balancing so much already.”

You exhale a quiet sigh, setting the glass down a little too firmly. “Yeah. There’s always something, isn’t there? Between work, Koji, and everything…it’s hard. Stressful and overwhelming.”

Suguru watches you take your sip, frowning slightly in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t imagine being in your position. But it’s one day at a time, you’ll get through this. It’s easier said than done, but you could do it. You have help now. Satoru, Shoko, me.”

When you look at him, you feel yourself once again slipping into a tranquil state. Mirroring his kind facial expressions with one of your own. His words feel like a soothing balm, it feels like you’re being heard—being listened to in who knows how long? There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind that warns you of the invisible line. Playfully, you nudge his arm. “Okay, preacher.”

He scoffs softly, nudging you back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You push him again, he follows suit. It’s a small, spirited moment that makes you feel light. That soon comes to an end when your glass, half-full of red wine, spills not only onto the counter but onto his shirt—leaving the pristine canvas with a circle splotch of deep maroon. You gasp. “Shit! I–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the stain on his shirt. “It’s fine, Y/N. Really. It’s just a shirt.” He steps back a little, his hands raised in mock surrender as he waves off your apology, setting down his glass. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse.”

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, quickly grabbing a dish towel to dab at the stain, though you know it won’t help much at this point. "I’m so clumsy. I didn’t mean to—"

“Hey, hey.” Suguru cuts you off with a laugh, gently placing a hand on your wrist to stop you from dabbing at the stain. “It’s alright. Really. Just... relax.” He pauses for a moment before adding with a joking grin, “Though I might need a new shirt, I’ll survive.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second, you see that familiar warmth in his gaze, the kind that always made you feel safe. The kind that, in another life, might’ve made you believe in something more between the two of you. But just as quickly, you pull yourself back, reminding yourself of the boundaries you’ve set. The ones that have to stay intact. “I’ll grab a new shirt for you,” you murmur, still embarrassed but trying to laugh it off. You turn toward your bedroom, your heart racing a little faster than before.

Suguru doesn’t stop you, though you hear him muttering something about "next time, at least aim for the carpet," as you walk away. The air between you both feels thick with something unspoken. You open your drawer for a fresh shirt, sifting out the biggest one you know you have. A simple black short sleeve you could only hope will suffice. Walking back out to the kitchen, you frown. “That was an accident, Suguru. Really.” 

“I know,” he nods, meeting your frantic worries with his own set of serenity. “Thank you for the shirt.” 

His hands move quicker than you had expected, your pupils blowing wide and holding back a startled noise. You gulp hard, forcing your eyes to focus on a random spot on your kitchen wall. However, you can’t help them wandering every so often as he unbuttons the now red-stained shirt. Your throat almost dries at the peek of his collarbone. Again, looking away. Don’t, that’s not right. 

But if it’s not right, why does it feel like the opposite? Why is it suddenly making you nervous—flustered? You even jolt a bit at his calming voice interjecting the silence. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean it.”

You can only offer a weak nod, not trusting your voice to give away your inner turmoil and confusion. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest as Suguru drops his shirt onto the counter. His movements are unhurried, and calm, as if he doesn’t notice the storm brewing inside you.

Or maybe he does.

Holding your hands together awkwardly, peeking back over to see if he’s done. You almost wish you hadn’t. His perfect chest greets you hello. Abs practically beckoning to be felt up on and his tan nipples make you shake away an intrusive thought. 

What are you thinking? This is Suguru for crying out loud!

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been particularly…achy lately. You haven’t gotten some in quite a long time and this is literally the first time you’re seeing a man’s naked chest in front of you since Satoru. Since his best friend. God, you’re so weak. 

You hold out the clean shirt for him. “Thanks,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing against yours as he slips the black tee on. You wish he hadn’t. It was the largest thing you had in your place, but still too small for Suguru. So it fits more tight, more cropped, cutting off just after his belly button—just before his v-line. 

You look down, pretending to busy yourself with wiping the already spotless countertop. Anything to avoid the way your pulse quickens under his steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized,” he smoothly waves you off with a comforting smile, walking over to the hamper you pointed out and dropping the dirty shirt in. Walking back over to the kitchen, he notices the fact that you seem to be looking anywhere but him. 

And when he sees the pretty blush that you hide on your cheeks, his insides stir like a washing machine. Clearing his throat apologetically, hands rubbing in a fidgety manner. He turns his head to the side. “Sorry.”

“No,” you protest, a little too quickly. “…it’s okay, I…I didn’t mind.”

The silence that follows feels so loud. You both don’t know what to say, if there is anything to say in the first place. You’ve just seen him half-naked. Thinking about that, actually processing it, it makes you feel hot. It should be nothing, yet you’re acting like a hormonal teenager.

But, he looked so…good.

You peek over at him from the corner of your eye, distinguishing him doing the exact same thing you are. You two look away at the same time, staring at the sink in front of you guys. Maybe the silence is better than speaking. It stretches out, heavy and palpable. It’s not awkward, but it’s loaded with something that neither of you can name. You catch yourself sneaking a glance at Suguru again, only to find that he’s doing it too—his gaze drifting away when it meets yours. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “You, uh... you’re comfortable, right?” you manage, focusing on something, anything other than the tension you feel growing between you two.

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately, and when he does, it’s with a small smile that seems more like a reassurance to himself than anything else. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still not looking directly at him. The words feel like they hang in the air a bit longer than they should. This is just a friend helping you out, you remind yourself. This is just Suguru. But the more you try to convince yourself, the less you’re sure you believe it. The heat in your neck refuses to fade, and you feel restless, a sense of yearning you can’t quite place crawling up your spine.

Suguru clears his throat again, a bit sheepishly this time. “Hey, uh… would it be alright if I stayed a little longer? I promise I won’t make it weird. I know we’re both probably feeling… well, something right now, but I don’t want to just leave like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, not sure if it’s the wine or just him standing so close to you that’s making your head spin. You don’t know how to respond. You want to say something to ease the growing discomfort between you, but it’s like every word feels loaded now, heavy with implications. The space between you feels too small, even though you know it shouldn’t. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. The vulnerability in his gaze is unmistakable. Suguru is there—as much as you are—and whatever this thing is, it’s lingering in the air between you, waiting to either break or blossom.

“I—” You stop yourself, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t mind. If you want to stay, I… I’d like the company.” The words come out quieter than you intended, but they’re honest. Suguru’s face softens, a little surprised but clearly relieved. He takes a step closer, just a tiny one, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure?”

You nod, your breath shallow as your eyes lock. For a moment, time slows. Everything around you seems to fade away except the two of you, the tension, the way your bodies are just a little too close, the way you can feel the weight of everything unspoken between you. His hand brushes yours again, his fingers lingering just for a second longer than necessary before it pulls away. However, it's enough to send a spark of electricity through you, making your heart race all over again.

“Yeah,” you say again, softer this time. “I’m sure.”

And just like that, the moment extends out, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. You both know it, you both feel it, but neither of you is sure how to move forward. 

It’s nothing, you both think. Just friends.

a/n: happy early new yearrr!! should i do a new year drabble too? hmmm....

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[snoopysarchive]

STRANGER a multi x fem! reader fic

synopsis

he reminisces of what once was

content warning death, angst, hurt no comfort, suggestive (making out) word count 909

m.list

HE FLIPPED THROUGH PAGES AND PAGES of old journal entries from his late teens to early 20’s, the pages yellowed by time, spine cracking at parts. Reliving his golden years by reading his past self’s writing felt bittersweet, nostalgia filled his heart. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could recall exactly when he wrote everything down: the place, the time, the exact brand of pen he used, and most of all, the lingering smell of her sweet perfume that would cling to his clothes.

Something slipped from in between two pages, pressed and long forgotten by time. A photograph, in mint condition, from the day he turned nineteen. He bent down to pick it up, freezing as he saw the contents. To most, it wouldn’t seem like much–just a photo of an ordinary kid at a concert for some obscure band they were obsessed with. But to him, it was everything. He knew more to the story that met the eye, he could see the girl in the corner, how she looked down at him with nothing but pure adoration in her eyes. A look that could practically scream “I love you”, a look that he once believed only existed in movies.

He remembered that day like the back of his hand, perfectly etched into his mind. He remembers her, everything about her. From the way she dressed, to the way she talked, the way the corners around her eyes would crinkle any time she smiled, the way she’d throw her head back when laughing, and how she’d eat hot food without a second thought, always burning her tongue. 

He chuckled to himself. She would always complain about how much her tongue hurt afterwards, sticking out her tongue for him to see.

He remembers the soft pink of her tongue, sticking out between her lips as she pouted, waiting for him to play along and offer some kind of remedy, even though they both knew there wasn’t much he could do. Yet, he always did humor her, shaking his head and telling her “one day, you’re gonna learn to be patient.”

She never did though. And truthfully, he never did want her to. That stubborn streak of hers was what made her her. 

He remembers the late nights they’d share, not going to sleep until the late hours of the night. She’d point out all the constellations on clear nights, the ones spent away from the light polluted city. Oftentimes though, they’d just stay up to see the sunrise, leaning into each other as the bright red-orange streaks of light touched their skin.

He remembers how her lips felt against his. The way she’d always taste like honey and spearmint gum against his mouth. The way she’d bite and nip at his lower lip during makeout sessions, something that would always take him by surprise. He remembered the swollen lips they’d share and her flushed cheeks, most likely mirroring his own. The way her hand fit in his, almost as if they were meant to be—the only two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly in the vast universe of misshapen objects and people. 

Looking at the photo now, he could almost hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her presence, see the wide grin she’d always have for him. It was strange how a single picture could bring with it a tidal wave of emotions—love, regret, and longing for what once was. 

Despite how vividly he remembered everything else about her, he couldn’t quite remember why they had parted ways.

It was a blur of events, he couldn’t even remember what caused the argument. All he could remember was her tear-soaked face, the pillow she threw at him, and the words she screamed at him and the words he had screamed back.

“I hope you’re happy! This isn’t going to just be FIXED, you’ve ruined it for good now! You’ve RUINED us.” 

He remembered how her words cut him like a knife, even now, nearly 10 years later, he could feel every emotion he felt back then at 21 years old.

“You made me miserable yet I still loved you! I loved you through everything. And this is how you repay me?” 

He still remembered the way she pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back the tears that had already started pouring. He remembered the change in her demeanor, her tone. Her yelling had ceased to a stop after his 320th apology. She would just stare at him with blank eyes.

“I’m not coming home. don’t look for me.”

With that he saw her walk out of their shared apartment, and out of his life. 

He had only heard later, from her family of the accident. She swerved her car into a ditch, they said, dead on arrival.

He didn’t know when the tears had started to fall, but staring at the picture and reading the journal, his vision became blurry. He couldn’t help but blame himself, carrying that guilt for the past 10 years of his life. 

“BABE, C’MON, WE’RE GONNA BE LATE.” His wife’s voice pulled him out of his head, he stood up and sighed, brushing off any tears and placing the journal back with the others. The last box to be taped off and hidden in the farthest corner of the attic, never to be seen again.

Unlike her, she’d always find a way to crawl back into his mind—no matter what.

AKAASHI, suna, oikawa, KITA, terushima, kogane, hinata, TSUKISHIMA, iwa, mattsun, atsumu, sakusa, OSAMU, kuroo, asahi, daichi, UKAI, sugawara, yuuji, MEGUMI, geto, gojo, NANAMI, toji, choso, ino, YUUTA, inumaki + your faves

@reocidal (thank for also beta reading)

© snoopysarchive

[urmommt]

ch1 Sealed with a kiss (jayvik x reader)

Summary:

After months at the Late Latte Cafe, your routine had become predictable—making coffee, jotting orders, and chatting with customers. You never imagined two of those customers were the brightest minds at the academy—or that they’d become your friends. Jayce’s booming laugh and easy charm made him impossible to miss, while Viktor’s quiet wit and sharp focus drew you in more subtly. Simple interactions grew into saved tables, shared jokes, and conversations you looked forward to more than you’d admit. Soon, it wasn’t just friendship. Every glance, touch, and late-night talk felt charged, like something unspoken was waiting to surface. And part of you didn’t want it to stop.

The undercity was always shrouded in a haze of gray, a suffocating mix of smog and shadows that seemed to cling to every surface. The streets were a labyrinth of narrow alleys and crumbling buildings, their foundations long eroded by neglect and desperation. This was where you grew up, where survival wasn’t guaranteed, and every step was taken with caution.

You remembered waking up to the hum of machinery, the clanging of metal echoing through the thin walls of what you called your apartment. It wasn’t much but it was home and that was all you needed. The air always smelled of oil, rust and another more distinct smell, one that you couldn’t put a name to but a scent you’d grown used to nonetheless. Now that you thought about it, it was most likely the smell of the smog. The one bane of your existence and the thing that set you back as soon as you came out the womb much like many other Zaunites.

The only Zaunites that weren’t set back as much by the smog were the rich ones and Janna knows you weren’t one of those. Your pathetic ragged clothes and constant dirt on your face were clear distinctions of your socioeconomic status and you were certainly not rich at all.

Your father worked in the factories, his hands constantly stained with grease and exhaustion. He always came home late, carrying the weight of the day on his slumped shoulders, but he’d still manage to put on a tired smile when he saw you.

“How’s my little Zaunite scholar?” he’d ask, his voice tinged with pride. He was a very proud Zaunite and although you never understood why you knew his pride in Zaun wasn’t entirely unaccounted for. Zaun did accomplish many things and through the danger of living here the people still survived and even sometimes thrived.

You’d show him the notes you’d scribbled on scraps of paper, equations and ideas you barely understood but wanted to learn. He’d ruffle your hair, tell you that you were destined for more than this place, that you’d make it out one day. His belief in you was unwavering, even when you doubted yourself.

The undercity was harsh, but it taught you resilience. You learned how to navigate its dangers, how to keep your head down while quietly dreaming of a life beyond the grime and shadows. The undercity wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind, a constant reminder of where you came from and how far you wanted to go.

You’d learned early on to read people, to gauge intent in a glance or a gesture. It was a skill that had kept you safe, but also one that made you hyper-aware of the divide between those who thrived in the undercity and those who merely survived. For you, survival had always been about keeping your head down, staying out of trouble, and planning for a future that felt impossibly far away.

When the opportunity came to attend the academy in Piltover, it felt like a lifeline. Your father had worked tirelessly to make it happen, sacrificing more than you’d ever know to give you a chance at something better. The day you left, he’d hugged you tightly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re going to make me proud, kid,” he’d said, and those words were the last he’d ever said to you before he passed away in your first year at the Academy.

Now, as you stood behind the counter at the Late Latte Cafe, the memories of the undercity felt like a distant echo, though they were never far from your mind. The warm, golden light streaming through the windows and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee were a stark contrast to the world you’d left behind. Here, the hum of espresso machines and the murmur of conversation were your new soundtrack, a soothing rhythm that brought a sense of normalcy to your days.

The door chimed softly, pulling you from your thoughts. A pair of customers walked in, their presence commanding attention even before they reached the counter. As you looked at them you felt a sense of DeJa’Vu as though you’d seen them someplace, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

One of them was tall and broad-shouldered, his confident stride and easy smile making him hard to ignore. The other was leaner, his movements measured and deliberate, a sharpness in his gaze that seemed to take in everything at once.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the slight flutter of nerves their presence brought.

The taller one spoke first, his tone warm and friendly. “Two Americanos please. Busy day ahead.”

The other simply nodded, his attention briefly flickering to the menu before settling back on you. There was something about the way he looked at you, as if he were trying to read through you, into your soul.

You prepared their order quickly, handing them the cups with a practiced smile. “Good luck with your day,” you said, and they both offered brief thanks before heading to a table by the window.

It was a fleeting interaction, one that lasted only moments, but it lingered in your mind long after they’d sat down. Something about them felt different, though you couldn’t quite place why. Shaking off the thought, you turned your attention back to the counter, wiping it down as the morning rush began to pick up.

Later, as you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment, the day’s events replayed in your mind. You should have been focusing on your biology project for university, the one that had been looming over you for weeks. Instead, your thoughts kept drifting back to the two customers, their presence as vivid in your memory as it had been in the cafe.

The undercity had taught you to read people, to notice the small details that others might miss. And something about those two told you they weren’t just ordinary patrons. You pushed the thought aside, opening your laptop and forcing yourself to concentrate on the work in front of you. There were deadlines to meet, goals to achieve, and you weren’t about to let anything distract you from the future you’d worked so hard to build.

Still, as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the images of their faces flashed in your mind—the warmth in one’s smile, the intensity in the other’s gaze. You shook your head, trying to focus. You couldn’t afford distractions, not now. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if that brief encounter was the start of something more significant. For now, though, all you could do was wait and see.

guys pls dont shit on this its my first jayvik fic and i promise chapters will get longer they wont stay short omg TwT

[mlmxreader]

High Society | Bruce Wayne x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Bruce Wayne

77"I just… just need to be with you for a while, if that’s okay?”

97“What’s the harm in just one dance, huh?”

278“It was just a nightmare, you’re okay, you’re safe”

292Sneaking away during a party to share stolen kisses ❞

: ̗̀➛ Bruce forces your hand and makes you accompany to him to the very last place in the world that you would ever want to go to.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing

: ̗̀➛ CHRISTIAN BALE!BATMAN

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ help Eman survive and study medicine

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Wisteria Lane was alight and thriving with noise and light and food and drinks and just about anything that anybody would ever need for a good, strong, party; you weren't so keen, outside of Gotham wasn't exactly your favourite place to be and was far from your natural habitat.

But Bruce had insisted, and you did owe him one after he had stayed late at yours to fix a busted pipe; you just figured it was one of those things where you owed your boyfriend a favour and would make him breakfast in bed to even the debt. Apparently not.

The suburb was all too false; perfectly cut green grass in their front gardens with white picket fences and arches and roses and hydrangeas. Every window was clean and there wasn't so much as a speck of dirt on any of the houses or the cars outside; it was disgusting.

You clung to Bruce's arm tightly, scowling as you looked at the false, gleaming white, toothy smiles and grins; he gently tapped your chin, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to tell you to stop.

"Relax," he murmured. "If anyone didn't know any better, they wouldn't think your boyfriend is the richest man in Gotham."

You huffed, glancing around at all the faces and their deceitful and spiteful smiles. "They just have to rub their wealth in everybody's faces, don't they?"

Bruce smiled to himself as he licked his lips; he tugged you close, putting his hand between your shoulders and making a big show and dance of kissing you softly. The camera lights flashed as people took pictures of the moment, and you found it difficult not to scowl.

"It's just one night," he murmured against your lips. "You'll survive."

You shook your head in disapproval, still clinging onto his arm as you followed him around.

The redhead was chatty and polite, kind enough. She seemed to like your candid way of speaking, not so much the raggedy jeans and hoodie that you had donned.

The blonde was a lot more open and honest. She was down to earth and you actually didn't mind her so much.

The brunette was a bit clumsy, having to constantly hold onto her boyfriend for support. But she was friendly and she was sweet.

The ex-model was more than happy to have the company of Bruce. She was pleasant towards you as well, though.

Their husbands and boyfriends were the issue, more than anything; asking Bruce about Lex Luthor's latest shitty electric car that posed a danger to the public. Asking about Lex's plan for government. They seemed like they actually supported that fucking weirdo.

You grew tired of it, though, and when the music increased in volume, you tugged at Bruce's hand; no one noticed when you lead him into one of the open back gardens, pushing him down onto a patio chair and straddled his waist, your hands falling onto his shoulders.

In the dim light, his dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle so brightly; his soft, dark brown hair slightly messy from where he had been chasing around after you to keep you from biting someone's throat out.

He smiled, tilting his head to the side. "And what's this about?"

You shrugged as you stole a kiss, then another, and a third, then a fourth, then you couldn't kiss him again without laughing. "I just... just need to be with you for a while, if that's okay?"

Bruce nodded, maybe a little too eager, as he stole another kiss; holding the back of your neck as he allowed his other hand to drift down to the waistband of your jeans at the back. Just shy of stealing a quick, cheeky, grab. "Mmm. More than if you wanna do is steal kisses."

You smiled against him, and when you noticed that a slower song was starting to play, you stood up, and allowed him to follow suit before leading you in a private, quiet, dance. Your head fell against his, and you leaned into him as much as you possibly could. Bruce hummed softly, keeping you close.

"What's the harm in just one dance, huh?" He asked quietly. "Unless you think we'll get caught?"

"I don't think so," you murmured. "All those toffs out there are too concerned with looking good to worry about us."

Softly, Bruce laughed as he easily fell in with you. "Y'know, I haven't thought about that night for a while..."

You shook your head against him, taking in a harsh breath. "It was just a nightmare, you're okay, you're safe with me... it's that lot out there you should worry about - they'll eat you alive."

He pulled away, cupping your face in his hands as he grinned and swallowed thickly. "But at least I have you to protect me."

"Fancy that," you whistled. "The big, bad bat needs help from a commoner."

"Shut up," he chuckled, making it a point to pull you in close by the shoulders so he could kiss you properly.

It was harsh and it was deep, and you kissed him back as much as you possibly could. You loved every second of it, and when he pulled away, you could only frown.

"Come on," he told you, smiling. "We best make another five minute appearance before we sneak off again, don't you think?"

You agreed, letting him guide you around and cling to him as he did all the talking; he glanced at you from the corner of his eye every now and then when he knew you were scowling. It was amusing to him, as he couldn't believe that you were so against every single one of them, yet perfectly fine with him.

Then again, it was always going to be a funny thing with him.

Finally, the five minutes of high society and false polite small talk was over, and Bruce tugged at your arm to make sure you were paying attention to him.

"Come on, let's sneak off before anyone notices."

[twilight-orchid]

The Genesis of Evolution - Jason Todd x Reader part 1/?

Words: 7’000

Warning!!! Content warnings for this series will include mental illness, reference to past trauma, smoking, cursing, drinking, kidnapping, drugging, torture, expirimentation, murder, and gore. If you're under 18 or don't like dark stories I'd sit this one out. Also there's a lot you have to take as fact for yourself in regards to past experiences for the story to work, enough that y/n is almost their own OC, but I still thought most people would prefer to read it in an x reader format. So, sorry about that! However, the reader is still gender neutral.

Also, writing like this is a newer hobby for me so I have no clue how fast I'll get parts out or even how long it'll be. Kinda just rolling with it rn, but I’ll try to be fast. I REALLY was not expecting this part to be 7,000 words, I hope it's not boring!

Overview: You had always struggled with mental illness, and when you saw an opportunity for experimental therapy promising positive results, you want to jump on it. Your boyfriend of several years, Jason Todd, doesn’t like it from the get go. But unfortunately the truth is deeper and darker than either of you ever expected or dared imagine.

Jason stands atop a neighboring apartment building after patrol, muscles aching from the fights of that night and the several days prior with sweat clinging to his skin and suit. He has his helmet slid up enough to reveal his lips, taking a long drag of a cigarette in an attempt to quell the shaking in his hands and pounding heart. He closes his eyes as the smoke fills his lungs, listening to the music of the city that was Gotham. Even at 3 AM, it was a conglomeration of honking cars, the yelling voices of civilians, the squealing of police and ambulance sirens, and the never-ending cooing of pigeons that hung around the apartment. It was familiar, grounding, and he was thankful for the distraction.

This had been a problem for months. He knew he needed to go home. He needed to change, shower, tend to the gash on his side, rest, and the dog needed to be taken care of too. He had to be at the garage in the morning and his commute bike was parked out front of the complex. It didn't make sense to go out of his way to a safe house. But fuck, he didn't want to step foot in that apartment.

Being home had been difficult since you went missing 3 months ago. The space was full of pieces of you; photos, trinkets, decor, even the damn dish set you two bought together last year made him think of you. He felt your absence in every square inch, every corner. Though he could easily fill the bed if he sprawled out on it, without the sound of your sleep and your weight at his side it felt too big, too empty.

“Dammnit.” He muttered, letting the nicotine numb his frayed mind and nerves. It was like you dropped off the face of the earth. He looked everywhere, but you were gone like sand slipping through his fingers in the desert wind. He had always sworn to protect you, but he failed you, like he should have guessed he would. He could still remember the excitement in your expression as you ran up to him about 5 months ago while he was making dinner in the kitchen.

You had an ad for Biolite Psychiatric Hospital on your phone, which you explained to him was a nonprofit Metropolis-based psych ward that was looking for volunteers for its experimental hypnotherapy research. Patients who had been accepted and come out of the program gave the facility great reviews, and spoke highly of both the hypnotherapy and Biolite’s specialized EMDR therapy. However, something about it bothered Jason.

☆☆☆

“Babe.” He said softly, taking your phone and placing it on the counter. He lowered the heat on the stove to give you a bit more time to talk, then gently layed his hands on your shoulders.

“You don't need to go off to some in-patient facility and do bullshit untested therapies alright? You're perfect just how you are.” He didn't miss the irritation that crossed your features but he couldn't help it. He liked you here at his side, not an hour drive away in Superman’s territory where he couldn't watch you. His green eyes were pleading as they look down at you, begging you not to fight him. Luck was not on his side that day, however.

“I’m a mess, Jason. We both know that. I can barely leave the house without my anxiety becoming crippling, I have almost no control of my mood swings, I have panic attacks at work, I can’t focus, I'm just tired of it. Aren't you?”

“I love you how you are, no matter what.” He responded automatically, not needing to think about it but meaning it with every fiber of his being all the same.

“But wouldn't you prefer to love me without needing to drop everything to help me when I have an episode? Holding me when I sob over something I created in my head or walk on eggshells when I'm irritable and snapping at you? Go on patrol without worrying what my mental state is like at home? I'm a fucking nightmare, Jay!”

“First of all, you're not a nightmare. Loving you is a privilege I'm thankful for. Second, may I remind you, you ain't talkin to the most stable person himself. I don’t see you holdin me to these standards you set for yourself for ‘ease of interaction’. And that’s not what this relationship is about baby.” He said with a strained smile. “Third, I don't get tired of it. I'm glad to be someone you trust, happy that I can help you.” You didn't meet his eyes, and he could tell you were still not convinced. Damn.

“We’re in a relationship, we’re supposed to be partners. You shouldn't have to baby me and my emotions as much as you do.” You argued stubbornly, your eyes growing glossy.

“Hey, don't put words in my mouth.” He said sternly, his thumbs drawing circles into your shoulders where he held you. “You're not a baby. You're not a burden, you're not pathetic, you're not a bad person or a bad partner or whatever you're telling yourself that I know you've told yourself in the past. None of its true. What is true is that I love you, exactly how you are.” Tears finally tip over your cheeks and he lifts a hand to your face, touch feather-light as he wiped them away.

“I appreciate you, and thank you for saying that, but… I want to do this. For me. I'm tired of feeling like this. If there's a chance to overcome my issues and just exist contentedly… or even just find some level of peace beyond what I have now, I want to pursue it. Their slogan is that you'll ‘leave a better version of you’. I need that Jay.” Your glimmering eyes meet his, silently begging him to understand. And while he didn't like it, he did get it. He really did. He sighs, his grip dropping back to hold your arms.

“Then… let me look into it a little bit first. Hardly a corporation in Metropolis Luthor hasn't dipped his dick in, lemme make sure they're clean. Please?” You nodded immediately, knowing that was a smart idea and wanting to ease his mind.

“Of course. Thank you Jay.” You gently broke free of his grip to wrap your arms around him. You held him tight and buried your head into his chest, the steady pounding of his heart a blanket of familiarity. “You’re always looking out for me.” You mumbled. He wrapped his arms around you in return, laying a kiss on your head.

“I’ll always be here for you baby.”

☆☆☆

The memory stings like acid to a fresh wound and he pushes it away, taking another drag of his cigarette. He watched the smoke curl around his head, and for the millionth time tried to imagine what happened to you.

He'd looked into Biolite Psychiatric Holdings, a nonprofit enterprise owned by Metropolis philanthropist, billionaire, and apparent altruist Howard Miller. He opened Biolite Psychiatric Hospital in 2021 and, while it started out as a regular psychiatric hospital, it's doctors began working on specialized therapies shortly after opening, gaining them quite the reputation rather quickly. Miller gained his fortune through his pharmaceutical and research company, Biolite Labs, which had made several breakthroughs in the medical field since it's founding in 2011. It seemed squeaky clean, and people who went through the therapy gave it outstandingly positive reviews. He even checked Miller as much as he could and saw no red flags, beyond what he expected to find in a billionaire’s dirty laundry. All in all, a good company doing good work.

He didn't know why he felt reluctant to share his findings with you, or rather the lack thereof. He chalked it up to being overprotective again, something he'd promised you he'd work on reigning in. This was a reputable facility, where you'd be under 24/7 surveillance. Hell, you'd probably be safer there than in the apartment.

Despite this, he remembered how even your excitement to his findings didn't lift the weight in his chest. He hid it behind a smile though, and you didn't seem to pick up on it. You called their number that afternoon, and were set up for an evaluation later that week. He considered asking you not to go, forgetting this mess, ordering takeout, and watching movies tangled in each other's arms all night instead. But he knew that wouldn't solve anything, and he didn't want you to think he didn't support you. He wanted to, he really did, but the thought of you being gone for “an undisclosed and variable amount of time” doing experimental treatments really rubbed him the wrong way. However, he'd kept his mouth shut as this was the most lively he'd seen you in a while. You really thought going there would make you better, and you really wanted that for yourself, so damnit if he didn't want it too.

You'd returned from that meeting hopeful and excited, gushing about the state-of-the-art facility and how kind the staff was. They had said you were exactly the kind of person they were looking for and they believed they could help you. To his dismay, they also already had a bed available. Thus, a few days later he was helping lug your bags into your car. You'd packed about a week's worth of clothes, some books, a notebook, a sketchpad, approved toiletries, and soon were on your way to Metropolis.

Jason drove, he'd requested to come with you wanting to see you off and look at the building himself. He kept a hand on your thigh as he drove, thumb rubbing circles absentmindedly. He tried to keep his face neutral as you rambled about what they'd told you at the eval for the hundredth time. He wanted to be supportive, but he was struggling to hide the stress that was overcoming him. He attributed it to separation anxiety, not wanting to be apart from you for long.

"…they said they only medicate enough to help you function. The majority of the work is in therapy and coping skills. They have an experimental form of hypnotherapy, which is what the ad was for, but they also do specialized EMDR therapy…” You stop talking, noting the crease in his brow. “Jason.” His brows shoot up, eyes darting to you for a moment like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before returning to the road.

“Yeah babe?” He asked, feigning nonchalance.

“I’m gonna be fine.” You assured softly, placing your hand over his where it lay on your knee. “You yourself said they were safe, the facility was really fancy when I did my intake, the staff was super nice, this is our chance for a fresh start.” He nodded and forced a smile on his face.

“I know babe. Just gonna miss ya is all.” You gave him a sad smile, squeezing his hand.

“I'll miss you too. But they said we're allowed to make calls before lights out. I promise I'll call every night.”

After 2 months Jason once got a late call, around 9:00. He'd been pacing in the apartment when 8:30 passed, then 8:45, each minute dragging like hours. Logically, he knew nothing had happened as he was your emergency contact. If you were hurt, they'd call him. But the feeling of dread he'd felt before you left had only compounded and intensified as time had gone on. The more nights he went to bed alone, the more he wondered if he made a mistake in not putting up more of a fight in letting you go. Even if it was helpful, it was experimental therapy. What if it did more harm than good long term? He picked up the phone the moment the hospital number popped up, his heart frozen in his chest as he dispelled his thoughts.

And you had. Every night around 8:30 he got a call from their landline. You’d talk about your days, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite the situation. From what you told Jason, at first it had seemed like regular psych ward stuff. Basic CBT and DBT with med management. After about a month you began EDMR therapy with the specific combination of medication and talk therapy that they had become famous for. While that was helpful, it was after a month and a half when they introduced the hypnotherapy that you told him you were really seeing a difference. You said you walked out of the first session feeling lighter than you had in years. They would utilize a mixture of the two, desensitizing you to a memory then bringing forth the root of the associated behavior and thought patterns through the subconscious.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hun. I'm sorry it's late. I had a really weird therapy session so they were checking me out and asking me follow-up questions.” Relief floods him like water from a spout as his shoulders sink when he hears your voice and not that of an employee. However, you sound slow and tired, your voice low and rumbling.

“It's alright, you know me, not like it’s my bed time. What was weird, you okay?” He asked as he finally sat on the sofa, body exhausted now that he had some semblance of relief.

“Yeah, I just don't remember the hypnotherapy, or much of the EMDR if I'm going to be honest.” Jason furrowed his brow. He’d done some research into both methods once you’d left for the therapy, wanting to be informed about what you were doing. And forgetting the session was abnormal on both fronts.

“None of it?” He clarified, sitting up.

“Nope, not at all. The doctor said it was a normal one, like all the others, but I just can't recall it. And EMDR I remember to a point but then it fades, kinda like recalling a dream.” Jason's brows furrowed.

“That’s weird.” He mumbled, not liking what he was hearing.

“I know, but I guess as long as the subconscious is getting worked on right?” He didn't respond for a moment, a scowl that would make Batman jealous carved into his face.

“They say if the memory loss is related to the experimental therapy they’re doing? Were they worried when they checked you out?” He asks finally, wanting to gather information without throwing up your defenses thinking he looking for something negative to latch onto.

“They said it’s abnormal but it happens sometimes. The head psychiatrist was fascinated by me, something about memory retention in limbic distress.” He furrowed his brow, lips hardening into a scowl.

“Did they say anything else?”

“I don't know, I think I'm just tired. I'm gonna go lay down, they said that's most important. I love you, Jay. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” You mumbled, indeed sounding exhausted. He cursed internally, he wouldn’t get anything else out of you.

“Alright, love you more, babe. Get some rest.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a while after the line went dead. That bothered him. Memory issues had plagued you in the past due to your psych stuff, but full-blown amnesia? Something wasn't right. But there was nothing he could do. You were there voluntarily, as much as he detested it.

The following days call you sounded better, but not normal. The sluggish fatigue in your voice that had been present the night before was replaced with energy and a chipperness that wasn't quite like you.

“I feel great. Honestly, the best I’ve felt in a long time. The therapy is really working, I feel like a better version of me.” Jason’s brows furrow. That's Biolite’s slogan you'd said, ‘A Better Version of You’. You repeated it enthusiastically but almost… robotically.

“Baby… you feeling okay? You don't sound… like yourself.” He asked.

“I feel great. I'm just eager to return home to you and Bandit as a better version of me.” Jason swallows heavily at your melodic tone but nods.

“Yeah babe, Bandit is missing you awful. You're not here to let him sneak up on the bed.” Jason muttered eyeing your 2-year-old German Shepard that was curled up on a dog bed by the couch. “And I’m missing you like crazy too.” He says softly.

“Let him up one night, for me. I’ll see you both soon. I love and miss you more than anything.” You finally sounded a bit more like yourself, and he closed his eyes, savoring the sound. “It's about to be lights out, I have to go. Sleep well.”

“Alright babe, get some rest and kick some ass in therapy tomorrow. I love you too, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He'd tossed his phone on the sofa with a sigh and got up to feed Bandit. He cleaned his guns, ate, and suited up before going on patrol. Your strange voice lingered in his mind, and it was odd, but maybe you were just going stir crazy from being in a psych ward for 2 months. He shook off the concern, there was nothing he could do about it now. However, he had no clue that would be the last call he'd get from you.

☆☆☆

He sighed as he he took a final hit of his cigarette then tossed it on the ground, crushing the embers beneath his boot along with the guilt and memories of those last few calls. He'd procrastinated long enough. He needed to take care of Bandit and change, even if he stayed at a safehouse again tonight. He clicked his helmet back in place before vaulting from the neighboring building to your apartment rooftop. He scaled the side, the gash in his torso stinging and oozing fresh blood but he gave it no mind, easily slipping through the unlocked window and ducking inside.

Bandit was at Jason's feet the moment he was in the apartment, tail wagging as he whimpered excitedly.

“Hey buddy.” He groaned as he kneeled, body protesting the movement, taking off his helmet and tossing it on the sofa while he petted and patted the dog. He licked his master's face, tongue hanging happily out of his mouth. Jason took a moment to look up, eyes scanning the apartment, but Bandit would have let him know if there was an intruder. No, as dense as it was, he was looking for you, as if waiting you you to pad sleepily out of the kitchen or bedroom like nothing had ever happened. Foolish fantasy, he chided himself.

“Alright buddy, come on.” He gets to his feet and heads to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of dog food from the cabinet and feeding the dog before walking into the dark, empty bedroom, and changing out of his suit. Each movement was methodical and intentional, and once he was down to his boxers he could see just how much blood was gushing down his side. It was a superficial wound, but he kept irritating it with his movements.

“Shit.” He muttered, examining the hole in his armor that would need to be patched before hiding his suit away in the secret compartment tucked into the corner of their closet. As he was about to head to the bathroom his comm rang. Oracle. He grabbed the phone and answered as he came to stop before the bathroom mirror and grabbed his first-aid kit from under the sink.

“Hey Babs.” He greeted casually, holding the phone with his shoulder to free up his hands.

“Hey Jason. You doing okay?” He clenched his jaw, a brief flare of fire licking his nerves. He knew the whole family was just waiting for him to lose it, to fall back into darkness in his quest to find you. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. He knew that was the last thing you would want for him.

“Hangin in there. Taking one day at a time, focusing on the things I can control. You know, the bullshit everyone preaches.” Barbara sighs on the other end of the line and Jason barely registers the sting as he squeezes a bottle of alcohol directly on his wound, cleaning the gash.

“I’m sorry, but hopefully I finally have something for you.” He froze, hope igniting like a flame. He forces his heart to calm and his voice to remain steady,

“About y/n?” He asked hesitantly, not wanting to be disappointed if that's not what she meant. He pats the wound dry, his lip twitching from the sting.

“I think so. I've been keeping an eye on Biolite and Howard Miller since we lost track of y/n, and Miller just messed up. He wired a large sum of money to a dummy account which then sent the funds to offshore account. Looking at their finances, Biolite has been shelling money to several similar accounts routing it through different sources for over a year. And the company taking the money? A corporation called Gentec.” Jason furrows his brow, applying butterfly stitches to the cleaned wound.

“Gentec? I take it you already looked into them?” He asked.

“I did. While Biolite looks squeaky clean, Gentec is anything but. They're a biomedical research company, but they've had lawsuits in the past for unethical expirimentation, rumors of aggressive therapies, and notably, possible disappearances linked to them from Jersey, Metropolis, Gotham, Washington, and New York. Nothing that anyone’s been able to prove though, they cover their tracks,” Jason almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was a lead. An honest to god lead.

“They have physical holdings?” He asked as he cleaned up the mess he'd made in the bathroom, ignoring the hopeful pounding in his chest.

“They have a lab in Brooklyn marked as a research facility. They're not a large corporation, only about 140 people on their payroll, security included. I found a layout of the building online. It's small, nowhere they could hide people, but there looks like there may be a hidden basement level that was left out of the plans.”

“Send me everything you have Babs.” The sound of his own heart was the only thing that greeted him before she spoke after a while.

“Jason, we don't know if they have them. This could be-”

“Babs please.” He hated the tone his voice took on but he didn't dwell on it. He sounded needy and weak, but he was right now. He needed you safe. She sighs, pausing for a moment to weigh her options.

“Fine, it's on its way to you. Just promise you won't go there without backup. I know they don't have a large security detail, but you're…” She paused, trying to find the right word.

“Erratic, impulsive, contentious? As volitile as a loaded gun?” He offered sarcastically as he left the bathroom, pulling on sweatpants and a hoodie and grabbing Bandit's leash to take him on a walk. The dog began running in circles and yelping excitedly the moment the leash was in his hand.

“Emotionally compromised." She settled on. “Just take care of yourself, Jason. And remember that we’re all here for you.” He fought the huff that wanted to pull from his lips. Since you went missing, his whole family had indeed stepped up to try to help find you, and those who were a bit more in touch with their emotional side had tried to be there for him. He shut everyone out, though, preferring to look for you on his own without having people hover around him, waiting for him to snap. However, he knew with a word that the support was there, and that meant something.

“Thanks Babs. I find something I’ll get Dick to go with me, I won't try to do this alone. Keep you updated too.”

“Alright, thank you. Get some rest Jason.” The line went dead, and Jason let out a long breath. He opened the door, Bandit bounding down the stairs as he took hi m outside. Gentec. That was something he could work with. But a biomedical facility? What were they doing to you if that where you were? He remembered the night he realized you were gone, the night everything came crashing down.

☆☆☆

The night after your odd call he waited, and waited, and waited by the phone until 9:30. Something felt wrong, a twinge in his gut that logic wouldn't quell. First, you forgot your session, then you sounded strange on the phone, and now you're not even calling? Maybe he was overreacting, maybe you just wanted to go to bed after therapy. However, he decided he couldn't handle not knowing, the possibility that something was wrong.

Finally he called their after-hour line, asking if you were okay. The nurse pulled HIPPA of course, all they could tell him was if you were admitted or not. He was about to fight and give the poor graveyard shift employee hell before they said you were no longer with Biolite facilities, making him freeze. That's not what he expected to hear.

“What? They check themselves out or get discharged? I drove them there, how are they supposed to get home? What time did they leave?” He hears a heavy sigh from over the phone.

“Sir, all I can tell you is y/n l/n is not admitted to our facility.” He grits his teeth, muscles aching with the need for release as his fear quickly morphed to frustration.

“Fine. Thanks.” He hung up and checked the location on your phone. Your battery was low, but you were still in Metropolis. Holed up in the thick woods west of the facility. He called your phone, staring at the profile photo as it rang on. It was taken on your 3rd anniversary, you had the cutest smile on your face as he kissed your cheek from the side. He hadn't liked the picture at first, his facial scar on display. But he loved how happy you looked, how much love was etched into your features. The picture grew on him. You were both broken people, but you were stronger together.

The line went to voicemail and he cursed, hanging up then calling again. You weren't moving from your position, but you weren't picking up the phone either.

“Come on baby.” He muttered to himself, dread boiling in his gut. Nothing. The line went to voice mail. He texted you, ‘hey, y/n, you alright? Hospital said you're not there anymore.’ At this point he didn't wait for your response. He walked purposefully to the closet, trading the civilian clothes of Jason Todd for the brutal ensemble of Red Hood. Each piece of gear that clicked on and slid into place furthered his determination, the cold analytical detachment he relied on when he patrolled the streets settled over him. You never texted him back, further compounding the concern on his conscious.

He slid out the window and jumped from the ledge to the neighboring building’s fire escape, quickly and gracefully scaling the side until he reached to rooftops. He navigated the alleyways adeptly, these streets as ingrained in him as his own blood, until he reached his hidden garage nearby where he kept his weapons, computer, and Red Hood bike.

Within minutes he was on his way to Metropolis, ignoring the speed limit as he weaved between honking cars and obstacles. He dared a cop to try and pull him over tonight. He tried to think of scenarios that could have occurred, but nothing explained why you would have left the building and not called him immediately. Nothing, unless of course something had happened to you.

He was jealous of Clark and Barry, able to make the trip from Gotham to Metropolis in minutes. While the pit had given Jason several abilities, superhuman speed was sadly wasn't one of them. His mind was a rampage of terror and anxiety the whole hour drive there, completely consumed by what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. Finally, he pulled up by the woods where your phone location showed you.

It was dark, the moon hanging high above as he parked his bike a bit away, not wanting the engine to spook you if you were hiding. It was a cool night, fall wind making the air nippy as auburn leaves crunched under his boots. He moved through the grass as quietly as possible, activating the night vision on his helmet. He combed the woods near your location, hoping to find you but praying to whoever may be listening that he didn't find a body. Instead he found neither, coming across your belongings dumped deep in the woods hidden amongst some foliage. Everything he'd helped you pack into the car was there. Your clothes, your books, your phone, and there was no sign of a struggle around them. He felt a strange hollowness he couldn’t describe creep into his heart as the fear that had been lingering in his mind came to the forefront; you were missing.

His first thought was Biolite. He’d had bad feelings about them from the get go, and they were the last people who had you. That was stop #1. He tucked your phone into his pocket, hiding your bags among leaves and dirt to come back for them. He couldn’t fit them on the bike, he’d need to come back with the car. That was the last of his worries right now though, despite the anxiety and stress now rampant in him from the scene. The dumped items were a bad sign, one that concerned him greatly. He ran back at breakneck speed to his bike and hopped on, the engine roaring to life beneath him as he sped off to their facility.

He parked a few streets away, tucking his bike away and slipping into the shadows. This wasn’t his territory, but he wasn’t some rookie reliant on the environment to survive. He weaves through the streets before he grappled to the top of a neighboring building and looked down upon the modern complex, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the environment. There were 2 guards stationed at all 3 ground level entrances, guns tucked into their belts. They were obviously bored on shift, talking, playing on their phones, lounging in chairs and leaning against the walls. Clearly, nothing had disrupted their night, but that didn’t mean nothing had happened to you.

He grappled to the Biolite building, pulling himself up on the roof. There was a single entrance on the roof with building access, one guard posted at the spot. He wasn’t paying attention, lost in thought as he stared blankly into the dark city night. Jason moved behind him with the quick efficiency of a predator, hovering behind the unknowing guard in moments, grabbing him and cutting off his air supply. In a swift motion Jason took his radio and key card off his belt, making sure he couldn’t phone for help, then lowered the body to the ground after a few moments once he went limp, unconscious.

Jason studied the blank key card for a moment; it should give him access to the whole building. He let himself in, the door buzzing as the lock disengaged, and silently moved down the stairwell to the facility. He just needed to get to an unlocked terminal, there he could copy the patient files to a hard drive to go over at home. He slinked through the facility, mostly empty at this level at this time of night. The building was a modern complex made of mostly of windows and white walls, splashes of blue and yellow thrown into the decor to make it feel less like a psych ward. He could hear voices approaching, one deep and rumbling and the other soft and melodious. He looked around, using the key card to sneak into an office while they passed. He strained his ears to see if they were discussing something important, but it was idle chatter about each of their children at home.

Once they passed he left the room, quickly moving through the halls like a ghost hovering over the ground. He would take a more direct approach if he was discovered, demanding the data instead of stealing it, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier if he could keep hidden.

First things first, he needed to turn off the cameras. Trying to avoid them in the halls would be impossible and he needed time to work. He kept eyes on the rooms as he passed on the top level until he found what he needed, security room. He used the keycard to let himself in, the door unlocking with a small click. He gently pushed it open, unsure if it was occupied, as sure enough there was a security guard inside reviewing the cameras on a looping feed. He’d need to shut down the cameras, but something told him she wouldn’t let him do that. Too bad for her.

He snuck behind her, moving agilely despite his size. She didn’t notice him until he had her in a chokehold, mimicking the treatment of the guard on the roof. Once she was unconscious he headed to the security terminal, looking over the controls and cameras. First he looked over the monitors, wanting to see if there were anything nefarious on the screens. However, it was as expected so he scrolled through the terminal until the cameras were blacked out. He stood and took a deep breath before slinking back into the hall, seeking a way to go deeper. This was going well so far, but he’d long learned long ago not to count chickens too early.

Once he reached the level below, he found a monster expanse of labs, a single scientists still working despite the time. He wasn’t expecting Biolite to have labs on the site of the psych ward despite their parent company being a pharmaceutical lab. However, this was exactly what he needed. The scientist had her computer open as she worked, and Jason stuck his hand in his pocket, feeling for the flash drive like a reassurance. This was good, he could grab patient files and see what they were working on in one swoop.

He walked behind her silently before grabbing her and cutting off her air. She reached for a panic button so he pulled her away from the desk until she fell unconscious. He laid her down and stepped over her, plugging his flash drive into the computer. He scrolled to files and copied over everything indiscriminately. Anything could be important.

As the files downloaded one folder caught his eye: patient records. He clicked it open and scrolled through until he found your private records, including paperwork indicating that you had in fact signed yourself out of Biolite Psychiatric Hospital that morning. He scrunched his brow, he wasn’t expecting that.

Why the hell had you checked yourself out early when the day before you said it was the best you’d felt in years? Why had you dumped your shit? Why didn’t you call him? Where did you go? The questions were only met with frustration and confusion, each answer he came up with worrying him more than the last. However, he didn’t have long to mull over it.

As the largest file was 87% done copying he heard voices down the hall, several sets of footsteps anxiously shuffling his way. Shit.

He turned to greet them with his pistols in hand as 4 guards poured through the lab doors holding guns with shaky hands and frantic eyes. Pathetic. “Red Hood! Drop your weapons, you’re outnumbered!” He barks a laugh in response.

“Hardly. I’m not here for trouble, leave before I have to hurt you.” He snuck a look back at the computer. 93%. Shit. The guards met eyes with each other, before raising their arms to aim. Jason reacted instantaneously, jumping back behind the table and tossing a smoke bomb on the ground. The room erupted into a dense smog as it discharged, the four men coughing and fruitlessly fanning their hands in front of their faces. He moved behind a large glass and metal structure of lab equipment as they shot haphazardly his direction, hoping to hit him. He, on the other hand, turned on the night vision on his helmet, easily seeing the guards through the dense smoke.

He jumped from behind his vantage point and sheathed his guns, needing to move quickly before the fog dissipated and he was outmanned again. They didn’t know where he was yet, and he’d take advantage of it. He moved to the guard closest to him on his left, quickly disabling the man with a strong jab to the back of the neck and a blunt blow to his temple. He fell like a sack of potatoes, and by the time the noise alerted the others Jason was already on the second.

He’d heard Jason’s footsteps approaching and raised his gun. Before he could fire Jason disarmed him with a kick to his hand, his body turning around fully and landing another kick to his jaw on the 360. He sprawled out with a cry, unconscious. The fog had cleared enough that the last two could see Red Hood’s silhouette as well as the bodies of their comrades on the floor. They cursed, raising their guns. However, two was basically an even match for Jason. He threw a batarang at one man, it circled around him before impaling the back of his head. He cried out, falling to the ground grasping the back of his skull. His buddy was distracted by the scene and didn’t notice Jason running up on him before it was too late.

Jason grabbed the gun from him and tossed it to the ground, dodging as the guard threw a punch at his head. He grabbed the outstretched arm, overextending it behind his back with a twist until it popped out of socket. He screamed, and Jason put him out of his misery with a strong elbow to the back of the head. As he fell to the ground, the man with the batarang got to his feet, obviously dazed and dizzy based on how drunk he looked. Jason scoffed, and pulled a gun from his hip, shooting the man in the chest with a non lethal round. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would put him out for a bit.

His shoulders heaved, breath ragged as his muscles shook, coming down from the high of a fight. The guards subdued for now, he turned back to the computer. 100%. He pulled the drive and placed it in his utility belt, safe and locked away in a compartment. Good, now to get the hell out. He retraced his steps through the lab and hallways, enhanced ears listening for every movement around him, moving quicker now that there were bodies in his wake. He could hear footsteps and yelling as their guards swarmed the levels, trying to find him. His mind kept tracing back to you however, barely caring about the danger he was in. Where did you go?

He’d escaped as the guards had begun to regroup and swarm the building, just in time for him to leave. He reluctantly begun to return to his safe house in Gotham, hating the idea of leaving Metropolis with you still possibly in the city. However, you very well could have left by now too, and he needed to get somewhere he could analyze the data. He’d raced away, heading to his safe space, a hidden dilapidated house on the outskirts of the city with a computer tapped into the bat-computer network that would allow him to reference what Bruce had access to as well. He barely remembered the drive back, like highway amnesia, but paid it no mind as he swept into the safe house, setting up at the monitor before diving into Biolite’s files. And after what he’d done to get it, what he got was… disappointing.

Your files indicated you’d signed yourself out that morning at 6:23 am. Reading the notes of your presiding physician, Dr. Joseph, it was notated that she felt you would benefit from further treatment despite your departure. Furthermore, there were extensive notes on the event you’d told him about, where you forgot your session. Your doctor noted that once you seemingly came back to your senses, you behaved oddly. More amenable and apathetic. Your interview after your session was looping and disjointed, with it taking you almost a full 30 minutes to get you back to responding entirely coherently.

However, they weren’t surprised by the behavior, it was a phenomenon they had observed in a handful of patients that they called Dream Walking. It was a reaction to the mix of therapies that caused amnesia and temporary cognitive modification. They considered it a notable but harmless symptom of the experimental treatments, something that went away some time after the session ended and was inconsequential compared to the progress the therapy made.

That had sent fire through his veins. You forgot a combined almost 2 hours of your life then woke up like another person and they called it “inconsequential”? At the time he had wondered if the behavior changes were why you had checked yourself out, maybe the therapy had jumbled something up in your head and you were still confused. At least, he hoped confused would be the adjective to describe your state of mind when he found you. If he finds you.

☆☆☆

He sighed as he reentered the apartment with Bandit, already making his way to the computer to go over the files on Gentec that Babs had sent over. He felt so goddamn useless. He was a detective, a vigilante, a fighter, a rescuer. Yet when it came to protecting and finding the person who mattered most, he failed. However, it only steeled his resolve further. He settled in for what was sure to be hours of reading. And as he dug further into Gentec and Biolite’s files, he made a quiet promise to both you and himself.

“Just hold on baby. I’m coming for you.”

[chanafehs]

I would love nothing more than to hear more fun facts about Asma, I fear I am in love she’s so beautiful 😭😭

AHHH I’m so glad you like her!! lemme see lemme see:

She has an ongoing fear of heights but tries very valiantly to hide it. Asma has a reputation to uphold she cannot be afraid of something like ladders or balconies

Had a close relationship with her father before he went missing - she was always a daddy’s girl and never accepted the idea that he had just left them all behind. She’s in her early thirties by inquisition and still denies it

As kids, she and Ashura (her twin brother) used to swap places with each other before their distinctions became more noticeable. The clan could hardly tell them apart, it was a game they played nobody else was in on. Every time their mother turned around there was a different child behind her lmaooo

She was engaged before the events of dai, her mother arranged the match for her (I just want to state arranged =/= forced marriage. There was nothing forced about it) because she wanted someone to look out for her when she was gone. It’s a whole thing that is too long for this post

Is religious out of spite rather than genuine belief, she isn’t devout but clings to dalish beliefs as a self preservation instinct. You could peel everything about her back but one thing that will never change is people viewing her as a dalish elf first and foremost so her beliefs kinda reflect that. It’s one of the reasons she could never get along with people like solas, her dalish identity is so central to her experiences - she doesn’t crave the olden days of elven glory and doesn’t even particularly care about the elven gods not being who they thought they were - what matters is what they mean to her people now

With that being said, she does like history! Elven history is very important to her but not in a reactionary way, more about understanding how everything came to be now. You need to look to the past to understand where you are going

Her accent is a mix of Nevarran, orlesian, and a little bit of tevinter - people who meet her have a hard time trying to place her, since in my canon clan lavellan is out in the western approach and their whereabouts are pretty unknown. She has a fundamental knowledge of all three of these languages as well due to the influence they have on the region.

Here’s some Asma facts!! Thank you sm for asking and enjoying her 💚

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

December 29 - Frost | word count: 845 | @wolfstarmicrofic

When Sirius ran away, he sent a letter to Regulus just a few days letter. It wasn’t much, but enough to let Regulus know he wasn’t coming back, not this time. At the time, that was the only part of the letter Regulus could think about. That Sirius had abandoned him, with no way out. But there was an out. An address scrawled at the bottom of the page, with a promise that if Regulus decided to join him, he would have a place at Sirius’ side. No matter how long it took—or if he even decided to show up at all—there would always be a place in his life for Regulus.

Now, eight years later down to the day, Regulus finds himself clinging onto the hope in the second part of the letter that young him had spitefully ignored. He knows there is probably a high probability that he waited too long to seek out the offer.  He left the family at eighteen, only three years after Sirius left. That would have been the perfect time to show up. To say he was waiting for the security of his inheritance before he left. Instead, he had been a coward and stayed away, and the allowance from his inheritance had quickly dwindled, leaving him with nothing. Even then, it would have done to seek out Sirius.

He isn’t sure what compelled him to follow the address tonight. Eight years is a long time, Sirius could have easily forgotten about him or simply decided he was tired of Regulus’ empty promises.

Still, he walks through Hogsmeade, the streets oddly silent for Christmas Eve. He finds the house on a quiet side street. It’s a quaint home, everything Grimmauld is not. The two-story cottage has light glowing from nearly every window, inviting and promises that no dark secrets hide within. He feels comfortable approaching the door, almost too comfortable considering everything.

So, before he ruins the life Sirius has painstakingly built for himself, he glances through the frost coated windows.

He immediately regrets it. Sirius is dancing in front of the most hideous Christmas tree that Regulus has ever seen. But he is not alone. He has clasped hands with a little girl. She looks around ten years old, maybe eleven—just around Hogwarts age. She has two pigtails in her short curly hair that bounce with each jouncing step they take. Her cheeks are round and rosy with excitement, and her eyes shine. Sirius has changed, but that was expected. Twenty-four years old, he is no longer the scared and far too skinny boy Regulus grew up with. He has filled out, clearly, he hasn’t been deprived of any meals. There are wrinkles around his eyes, though not those of old age, but those of happiness, those of a man who smiles every day.

Somebody else approaches the room, but lingers in the doorway. Remus Lupin. The boy Sirius swore he would marry one day. He too has aged, though it seems to have worn on him worse than Sirius. His shoulder slouches, and there are heavy bags under his eyes even as he watches the two with deep fondness in his eyes.

This is the life Sirius wanted; this is the life Sirius deserves. Full of love and people who will reflect that love back at him. Not somebody like Regulus. Not somebody with a twisted monster inside their body. Not Regulus. Once a star, he has since caved in on himself, a black hole that absorbs all of the love and attention, and never gives any in return.

So, he turns away. Without knocking on the door, without even giving himself the chance to look Sirius in the face and say thank you for the courage to leave. He turns away and leave Sirius to the life he earned for himself. The one without Regulus. Because Sirius was only a child when he said Regulus would always have a place in his life. But sixteen-year-olds hardly know anything about the world—Regulus knows that feeling well—and clearly Sirius has learned better in the years Regulus distanced himself—no, abandoned Sirius the way he felt he was abandoned. Once upon a time, Regulus might have had a spot, but that spot was swallowed up in the black hole.

No, there is no longer a place for Regulus in Sirius’ life.

★           ★           ★

Sirius watches as the clock slowly ticks over to midnight. Another year gone, another year without his brother. Belatedly, he realizes he should have gotten Regulus out himself when he had the chance. At eighteen years old, he could have stood a chance of becoming Regulus’ guardian. Instead, he let himself believe Regulus wanted to stay in that house, that’s why he didn’t follow him the same night he got the letter. But now, it’s too late. There is no way of reaching somebody who doesn’t want to be reached, no point in saving somebody who is set on drowning.

Another year gone; another part of his life noticeably absent.

[novelconcepts]

There are a lot of Worst Things about depression. Everybody's got a different Worst Thing. Hell, I can't always decide on what my personal Worst Thing is. Sometimes it's the numb despair. Sometimes, it's the dumb animal panic. Most of the time, though, it's that there isn't enough room inside of me.

What I mean is: I care about too many things. I think that's pretty standard these days for a lot of people. Empathy stretched fine as gossamer. We see so much suffering each day. We see so much more than any one person was meant to. So you wind up caring, because caring is what a person is wired to do, what makes life worth living. You care about people you know. You care about people you've never met. You care about situations in countries you haven't set foot in. You care about the political climate of your own hometown. You care about your own dreams. You care about your best friend's bad luck. You care about your pets' health. You care about when the next book in your favorite series will come out. You care, and you care, and you care, because you're wired to care about it all. It's exhausting sometimes, but it's life. Sometimes the best part of life.

With depression, the caring space gets to feeling too full. Has packed tight, all those elements butting into one another until they lose meaning, the darkness threading into the gaps. There just isn't enough room inside of me for all the fear and the despair and the weird empty anger, much less the stuff that actually matters. So I start shorting out. Because, see, depression makes it so I can't care; don't see a point in even trying. And the real me, the part of me that isn't being cannibalized by the demons, doesn't know how to do anything else. So the middle ground becomes: shrink the caring space. Shrink it down bit by bit. All systems are running at once, and we're getting low on juice, so the natural thing is to start shutting off lights. Start jettisoning the extraneous to make room.

Except it's depression at the wheel, not common sense, so it's not just the extra flair getting turned off. Not the despair and the mind-numbing terror and the reckless urge to pick fights. The stuff that winds up getting tossed is stuff I need. Stuff that keeps me going. It's all being shut down at once, no rhyme or reason, until I suddenly can't care about the things that are me. Intrinsic, fabric-level stuff. I can't care about creating. About making art. About telling stories. I can't care about other people telling stories. I can't care about my friends the way I'm supposed to. I can't care about their travel or their kids or their wins. I can't care about making food for myself. I can't care about brushing my teeth. I'm shutting down to component parts, but I didn't get to pick which components are still running full-power, so I wind up with just a handful of randomly blinking lights. Suddenly, I care very much about my fear of the future, my financial insecurity, how fast I can run a 5K, a single television show--and just about nothing else.

It isn't healthy. It's sure as fuck not sustainable. And I know from experience that the rest of the system will come back online eventually. I'll find myself telling another story in a week or a month. I'll find myself sketching something out of nowhere. I'll find myself able to grieve a lost loved one and treasure my new nephew. It'll all come back, in time. But it's the in-between bit that grates. The bit where I'm in the shuttle with my knees tucked against my chest, sucking oxygen through a straw, trying to conserve whatever is still running. The bit where I resent the people in my life who aren't running on fumes like I am. Where I'm furious that they can care, that they can move freely, that they aren't pacing a minuscule cage like I am. It's a loss, all the months and years I've spent on life support. It's a fucking waste.

That's where I am right now. Life support. Little things get in, from time to time. I can suddenly inhale a book series start to finish. I can suddenly coax myself into eating the same thing for lunch for three weeks straight. Those are extra lights on the dash, and I have to treasure them. Because there isn't really room, so any little thing that I find space for is a gift. And everything else--talking. planning. trusting. creating. intake.--has to stay dark for a little while longer.

It'll come back on. I have to believe it'll come back on.

In the meantime, I hunker in my shuttle, and I wait.

[gibbearish]

a weird little thing abt me is i will definitely mock shitty ai art but it never feels right doing it about the hands simply by virtue of the fact that a lot of them look indistinguishable from the hands i was doing years ago when i first got a drawing tablet

[narugen]

feeling bad again 😧

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 22ND ★ SOMNOPHILIA - seishiro nagi .ᐟ

[CHAPTER TWENTY TWO SLEEPING BEAUTY ] once upon a time, a brave knight, destined to marry someone she’d never met, says fuck it and plans to reap the rewards of saving the prince from eternal slumber. without realising that he’s already awake… ( 8.8K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters in their 20s, sleeping beauty!au, somnophilia, hold the moan, overstimulation, cockwarming, dacryphilia, outer-course, handjobs, blowjobs, pussyjobs, free use, dub con, cumplay, creampies, not beta read, knight + fem!reader, aurora!seishiro nagi.

✧ fairy godmother's note - this is so late i'm so sorry, i think i might start posting kinktober towards the end of the week and into november, enjoy me loves. miss u loads! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

you hardly remember the day that prince nagi was born — despite most definitely being there for the ceremony that commemorated it. at the time, you were hardly out of your own leading strings, still babbling dumbly and clinging to your mother’s garments whenever someone poked their nose in your face. obviously far too young to remember the curse placed on him by that wicked witch maleficent. 

prince seishiro nagi was beloved by all and affection for him was widespread throughout the kingdom. he was born deep into the night, at a time where the sky had been painted with deep blue and midnight hues, with hair as silky and pale as the silver moon and eyes like the glittering starry sky. so they said. at least that’s what your been told. while present at the time, you would hardly know — you were too young to remember how he looked nor the very moment you were promised to him as a baby yourself. 

from the moment you were born, your fate was signed away before your very first breath and once you arrived and took two steps you were instantly reared to become prince seishiro’s future wife. to help join two kingdoms in harmonious union. from the moment you could talk, you’d spent your entire life training to become the wife of a man you hardly knew. there were lessons in perfect posture, dainty dancing and simple sewing. not to mention how to serve a king and please a husband  — who apparently had unnatural beauty, the softest voice and the kindest of hearts. outside of nagi, you hadn’t a single hobby or interest that didn’t concern him, solely born and bred for his best interest. how were you supposed to know if any of those spoken traits were really true and not just word of mouth when nobody had any idea where the prince actually was. 

rumour had it, that the silver haired royal had been whisked away to the woods to be raised by the very fairies that blessed him — with hopes of avoiding maleficent’s malevolent curse in which seishiro was destined to prick his finger on a poisoned spinning wheel by age twenty three. in an attempt to undo the wicked spell, the fairies had combined their magic and made it so that only a true love's kiss would be able to wake up their beloved prince. which soon became your duty, by the time you came of age too. 

since then, and for twenty two years after, there was not a peep from the prince — to his people and his kingdom, he’d practically vanished overnight, becoming one with the moon and stars they prayed to each night. holding out hope for his return to the throne. 

in turn, you had no idea when your duty would come to fruition. maleficent's thunderous mountain, shrouded in a thick layer of green, jealous smog that was sure to suck the life from any innocent soul still raged on — meaning her curse hadn’t come true. she still hadn’t found the prince. no one had.

no one except for you. 

unknowingly, you’d met nagi humming amongst pointed shrubbery and wild flowers deep in the forest — absentmindedly complaining about tne berries he was forced to forage for his uncles back home. for you, it was instant, as though an invisible force had drawn you two him like the the two poles of a magnet. prince seishiro was a sight to behold, even before you knew who he was, the timbre trill of his voice filled you with a wave of unfamiliar butterflies that battled their way into your throat — trapping your voice. his eyes were an enchanting pool of riches, frightened of your presence at first, but filled with stripes of silver you were sure had to be stolen from the moon. 

for you, it was love at first sight. a powerful urge to be near him building up in your lungs like fluid in a sick person. you were sure he felt the same — the emotion obvious in the way he tentatively touched you as you talked about nothing and everything at all. the way he swooped down to your height to listen to tales of land and fortune he could only have dreamed of.

in those hours that you spent alone together; pressed into one another’s side’s amongst intertwined tree branches like two lovers' limbs after a night of improper passion  — you’d felt the most seen you had in all your life. for the first time in forever, someone saw you as more than just a bargaining chip or a trophy to be paraded around royal courts in honour of union. someone saw you as a whole, read your story from start to finish and still wanted to know more. you weren’t just a knight made to save a prince. to nagi, you were so much more.

and to you, nagi was a breath of fresh air — someone who craved a more exciting life rather than being banished to a life of greenery and foliage. despite his charming air of laziness and naivety, he expressed to you a burning sense of eager deep within. it was innocent, inquisitive but nagi’s thoughts called out to you like the bird song of two mates. the worlds you came from were different, clearly, but you just made sense to one another.

but back then, in those quiet moment with your head on his shoulder and nothing but the sound of oak leaves swaying in the gentle summer breeze — you’d had no idea that the silver haired stranger was just prince seishiro living under a different name. you thought him a commoner and he thought you a random huntress on a horse. no one had any idea that he was the crown prince, that he’d been snuck back into the castle on the day of his twenty third birthday to regain his title and his crown… only to be lulled by the cruel call of a sinister stranger  shortly — pricking his finger just like maleficent had planned. 

you were meant to marry. you were supposed to go back for seishiro and run away together, live apart from the expectations bestowed upon you as children. unfortunately, you wouldn’t find out until returned to the spot where you’d first met him, and were met with the face of the villain herself. instead of your lover. that’s when you realised the gravity of it all. who seishiro was. who you were meant to be. 

deep down, you knew this was a love too sacred to pass by, and with the white haired prince counting on you —  you would do everything in your power to save him. save the prince and the kingdom from sleeping soundly for the next one hundred years.

with the help of the fairies who raised nagi, you were able to take down the terrible maleficent — grateful that your parents had at least made you handy with a sword. through the flames of the beast above you, you wielded your weapon with a strength and bravery that would go down into the history books of lands far and wide. killing maleficent in the form of the dragon had been no easy feat but you fought, with screaming muscles and a bloody face — fulfilling the duty you had been born to do. trained to do. for nagi and for your kingdom. 

the difference was, this time, you were doing all of this for love. not just for honour.

after winning the flaming battle, you staggered your way through the kingdom despite your burns and free bleeding wounds, making your way up to the tower where your silver-moon haired lover slept. part of you felt envious of the slumbering kingdom, the eternal rest they had slipped under while your body burned and ached with every step that you took… but as soon as you laid eyes on your handsome prince — sleeping like a fallen angel crowned by scattered lights. the glinting particles of dust forming a shining halo over his sleep the steel hair. 

the beat of your heart quickens as you approach the bed tucked deep within his quarters — rivalling the speed of the finest royal race horse and the world completely falls away until the all that remains are you and seishiro. your prince. your love. even while he sleeps, he’s unfairly handsome, grey lashes dusted with starlight just barely brushing the apples of his milky-toned cheeks, his hair curls against his forehead and his lips, rose-tinted, part with each gentle exhale his body takes to keep him alive. without even thinking, your finger trails the slopes and contours of nagi’s delicate features, brushing over his Cupid’s bow that seems damp with the condensation of his warm breaths. the sensation stokes a fire within you while your mind wanders to less than pleasant thoughts.

how would his lips feel if you were to kiss him? how would they taste? how would seishiro kiss you back? the questions swirl around in the calcium cage of your skull like a storm untapped, fuelled by the remnants of adrenaline that simmers in your veins from the fight. it would be wrong, to do what you’re thinking of doing — to press your lips to the seam of his and run your tongue every inch in his hot mouth, behind his teeth and over his own pink muscle. maybe even to cup his throat and feel every breath he takes. it would be so wrong… and yet, your moral compass and previous duties seem to be out of working order, thus, losing the war the flickering desirous flame within you. one that rivals the breath of the dragon slaid outside.

no one would really care if you were to have the way with the crown prince. after all, you would need to be rewarded for your self sacrifice and service to the kingdom that could have very well been burned to the ground if it hadn’t been for your bravery. you deserved this, you deserved him and the chance to appease your growing appetite for the sleeping beauty before you. right now, there were no barriers… no servants and squires and maids or men to tell you what was proper of a knight or of a promised woman, and there certainly weren’t any barriers to the body of the silver haired prince. without any blankets, there wasn’t much to stop you from trailing a hand over seishiro’s clothed stomach and over the hills of his princely dress pants.

your fingertips grazed the taut muscles of his thick thighs as you teased yourself. teased the slumbering royalty. daring tug at the belt loops and thick leather her bound his trousers to his unfairly slender waist. with your lip caught between the sharp edge of your teeth, you unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants inch by inch, a tidal wave of goosebumps erupting over the surface of your body like freshly plucked chicken skin as you reveal more and more of his milky, toned flesh. he’s smooth all over, blueish veins apparent as they spiral underneath his skin, but nagi is just as soft as you remember, as warm brushing up against you as he was the day you first met in the woods.

saliva spreads across your tongue like a sheet of rain during a storm or a flash flood when his undergarments come down with the hem of his trousers, revealing a snow white path of pubic hair that curls prettily against his pelvis. there’s a craving for more that sloshes into the dips and deficits of your brain, like a dark haze that shrouds your brain in nothing but lust — so you act on the feeling, pulling more and more fabric away from seishiro’s most intimate parts until his cock, half hard and already leaking, is able to spring free. 

the sleeping beauty’s breath hitches and catches on the edges of his throat as his hard-on first hits the cool air shrouding his chambers. whatever preconceived notion you’d had of the prince’s body beforehand is quickly tossed away when you finally set your sights on his girth — he is as long as he is thick, chubby against the softness of his tummy with a pink tip that already oozes a thick stream of cream caused by the ghost of your touch over him. a warmth spreads through your entire body, an urge to taste him washing over you in a poor attempt to cool your need down. if you taste him, would that be part of your reward? would it matter to anyone if you put your mouth on the prince while he innocently slept… especially after you’d saved everyone?

you still cannot find it within yourself to care. 

perhaps the wounds maleficent inflicted upon you have left traces of her bad energy, for you continue to disregard your own morals and good intentions by crawling onto nagi’s bed ( careful with your movements while he shifts in his slumber ) and you keep your touch tender when taking him into your hold, the supple pads of your fingers wrapping around the length of the prince’s shaft while you smooth the pad of your thumb into the slit on his cockhead. rubbing the precum into it sweetly. now up close and personal with his most intimate parts, you’re able to catch the scent of nagi… which only worsens your hunger for him. he smells so good, the musky scent of his arousal almost sending your eyes into the back of your skull — acting like fumes of a pretty wildflower in the forest you once met. 

it hypnotises you, takes over your every thought and action in the heat of the moment. every sensation you once felt is now heightened by your own arousal, the feeling of your tongue behind your teeth and the silken sheets against your knees and the blistering temperature of seishirou’s girth in your palm. adjusting your grip on him to something more firm, soft little hands dwarfed by the sheer size and thickness of him, and accidentally pull a tiny moan from your sleeping lover. any trepidation mingling with the air in your lungs is quickly eradicated once you finally give in, flicking your tongue over the cream gathering at nagi’s mushroomed cockhead that burns a painful shade of deep red.

opening your mouth, you take seishiro down your throat as though it’s the easiest thing in the world, your tongue flexing against the bluish purple forked veins that spiral down his heavy shaft. all you want to do is make him harder, feel the blood rush from his slumbering brain to his balls so you can take him properly, elsewhere, later on. what doesn’t fit past the seams of your chapped lips, you continue to palm, setting a steady pace to the rhythm of your hands jerking the silver-haired prince off. its slick and easy, aided by the thick globs of precum that spill over your knuckles and sink into the lines in your palms — seishiro may be asleep, but his body reacts, hips bucking into your closed fist while he squeaks and sighs lazily. 

his head remains tacked to the pillow tucked behind it, starlight locks splayed out across the cooling silk fabric — perfectly tousled despite being slightly out of place as he writhes under the sinful prison of your hot, wet mouth. even you have to moan as you sink down on him, his heavy and pulsating balls meeting your chin while your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail. if he were awake, you wonder if nagi would be the type to coax you through giving him head — soft whimpers glossed in his lips while those moonshine grey eyes hold your gaze. or would he push your head down on him and fuck your mouth lazily as though it were another hole to fill with his cum.

part of you wants to rouse him right now, with the kiss of true love the fairies said would work on him, but only to hear how much louder he’d cry and moan for you. you want to hear how the Prince would praise you for taking him so well, slurping the early seed from his tip and hollowing your perfect pudgy cheeks as you gargle him down your eager throat. your imagination runs ahead of your actions as you bob your head faster and faster without regard for your lover sleeping soundly above you lewd slurping sounds echo throughout the room as you picture him looking down at you with flushed cheeks and lidded moonlit eyes — coaxing you to take more of him. 

the heat between your thighs returns, an unbearable searing ache pulsating through your clit as blood carrying lust and other happy hormones shoot straight to it. in one swift motion, you shove a single hand past the waistband of your own pants and undergarments to toy with the sensitive bud, smearing whatever remained of his precum and pre-release against your awaiting cunt. your eyes flutter shut at the taste and heaviness of nagi on your tongue, his viscous arousal flowing down your throat in saltine waves. the flavour was addictive and you found yourself bobbing your head faster, and faster — matching it to the pace at which you stroked your own sticky slit.

lavishly, you run your tongue back and forth over the opening of seishiro’s bulbous cockhead, humming happily around his thick shaft when he involuntarily bucks into the hellish fire of your mouth — it makes your heart swell to know that his body is reacting to you and you alone, how it could very well be this way for the rest of your lives. while you hump your own fingers, their tips pruning with how wet you are as you circle your clit, the sleepy beauty’s balls batter your chin as his taut hips thrust upwards instinctively to chase your dripping tongue and mouth.

drool pours from the corners of it, just as you leak against the seat of your panties — your juices hot and viscous while you finger fuck yourself and get off to the sensation of blowing the sleepy prince while he rests. everything is so sloppy, so messy and wet and you can’t help but to spit down on nagi as his dick swells against your tongue, the frothy mixture clinging to the prominent blood flushed veins that sprinkle from the tip down to his base. 

your release sneaks up on you like a silent figure in the night; hiding from the moonlight and a dirty moan slips from between your lips as you let go of your lover with a lewd pop, your jaw aches deliciously and your tongue is sore from running circles over his tip — as is your wrist from being down your pants to bully shapes into your clit but you don’t mind the pain, it’s all worth it to make yourself feel good. to make nagi feel good so you can use him later on, turning him from a prince into a sex doll. dopamine continues to spark across your brain as you switch from sucking to jerking nagi off, keeping the rhythm of your slick palm wrapped around him in tune with the one that rolls your clit between your fingertips and pinches your swollen folds. 

you don’t last much longer, not when you’re able to watch the moonlit prince fall apart above you even when the depths of sleep cling to the fine lines of his soul. the last remaining thread of your sanity snaps before you’re cumming against your own digits, gushing through the gusset of your panties and straight through the layer or your pants — even while you shiver and shake from the force of your own orgasm, you manage to find a the mobility to tap nagi’s cockhead lewdly against your pink tongue, grinning with an open mouth as his own orgasm rips through his unconscious form. 

warm and viscous seed paints a pretty picture against your strawberry tastebuds as it spurts copiously from his ravaged, fully erect cock. even hitting the back of your throat. 

but it’s not enough, it’s still not enough. a fire of desire still burns bright inside of you and nagi is still as hard as a rock in your hand. so you don’t see a point in stopping, not when you still want him and he clearly still wants you. 

in a whirlwind of fabric, you quickly abandon the lower half of your clothes — even though your legs are violently shaking and there’s a fizz in your brain that makes your vision go blurry from your orgasm, you find the strength to clamber into the prince’s lap and straddle him. a pulse of excitement runs through you as your bare ass meet his half dressed thighs and you set your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself above him. you’re barely able to contain the wavering moan that rumbles in the back of your throat as seishiro’s erection jumps against your sluice sex, as if coaxing you to lower yourself down onto him.

without an air of guilt, you do just that; indulging your sleeping lover’s underlying plea as you slip a hand between your temperate bodies to position his creamy cock at your weeping entrance — you run it back and forth over your slit a few times whilst holding back a quivering hiss, letting him dip in and out of your unused hole. you can’t help but squeak adorably when you start to rock your hips down, sucking him in and stretching over the thick circumference of his tip. you even manage to clench down on seishiro, trapping him inside with each inch you manage to take.

your head hangs low and you steady yourself against nagi again; nails forming pink crescent moons against his pearlescent skin because you’re not sure how much of this burn you can take. he’s so big, yet his cock is so helpless against your sticky walls — it’ll take a lot of work just to reach the hilt. “oh, fuck,” you whimper to yourself quietly, not wanting to be caught taking advantage of the kingdom’s slumbering royalty. you try to stablwlisw your breathing, hold onto your sanity by only fucking yourself over his tip because right now… it’s all you can manage. getting used delicious stretch to your pussy and the resistance of your hole as nagi slips into your tightness. 

in order to ground yourself, you press yourself against the moonlit prince until you’re both chest to chest — allowing your body to relax against is as you slide further down his cock. and, with this change in position, you easily dot feather light kisses from the pale skin, unmarked skin of seishiro’s neck up to his jawline — licking the light layer of perspiration that added diamonds to his skin. his pulse is slow, languid under your lips, just as the rise and fall of his chest is. nagi still sound asleep as you bathed his cock in all of your syrupy wetness. eventually, you reach his lips and hardly hesitate in kissing them, lapping over the seam of them with your tongue as if you’re asking for entrance when you don’t really need to.

not when his body is so willing to give into you, even while seishiro rests.

you swear you feel his lips twitch apart against your own, parting specifically for you to pour your withering moans into him and breathe life into his unconscious soul — your tongue licks at his, relishing in the flavour and slight sweetness to his mouth, letting it distract you from the twinge between your thighs as you finally seat yourself on his girth fully; breeders balls nestled comfortably against the curve of your ass. a feeling of content washes over you, feeling the chubbiness of his girth press hotly against your ribbed walls that catch on his prominent veins there. 

panting lightly, a ripple of desire is the next sensation that you feel, experimentally clenching around the prince below you — bottoming out as your cunt drools down on him. somehow, you find the strength in your thighs to lift your hips and thrust back down, a wet slap bouncing off of all four walls in response. it’s insane how tight, warm and wet you are — how thick, heavy and nagi is, constantly pressed up against your g-spot before you’ve really even moved. you splutter and hiccup as you begin the slow bounce of your hips and allow yourself the grace to accommodate for your sleeping lover’s size, his bright red and possibly overstimulated cockhead nudging feverishly against the pleasure spots that decorate your temperate silken walls. 

“…gods,” comes your shaky voice, trapped behind the prison of your teeth in a weak attempt to hold in your moans. “s-seishiro, f-feel so good…” though you speak to no one in particular, using the sound of your own wailing voice to get yourself, you can feel the white-haired royal underneath you buck upwards as though he wants to fuck you back — driven by tired strings of lust and desire as though he’s a puppet on a set of strings for your own pleasure. collapsing forward, you nestle your head underneath his chin so that the only part of your body moving is your hips working up and down on nagi’s pulsating cock at break-neck speeds. in this position, your murky breaths of exertion coast over his pearlescent skin and your eyes grow misty at the perfect angle. your stream of thrusts are constant like a rushing river, allowing his bulbous leaky tip to barrage into your sex and pull squelching, lewd noises from your poor pussy.

you’re already so sensitive, it’d be a miracle if you last much longer riding your lover like this and to your heart’s content. slumped over him, chewing on your chapped lips to hide the debauched noises that slosh over your tongue and are churned up in your mouth with the drool there. it’s pathetic, really, but your mind is too hazy and high on the drug of ecstasy to care. to pacify yourself and the growing fire that burns the butterflies in your tummy, you switch from bouncing on his fat girth to grinding against it, dancing with your partner in a sensual sticky grind where only you are able to lead. every stroke of his cock within your sluice, pulsating walls makes it harder for you to keep quiet or keep still — the bed creaking beneath the weight of your movement becomes a loud wail and harmonises perfectly with the tune or skin slapping on skin and your pathetic bleats of bliss. 

sweat from the exertion of pounding your mound down on the curve of his cock begins to bead at your hairline, pearling in opaque orbs that form your own halo. one that belongs to a fallen angel. it drips down the side of your face onto the prince below you, another way that you mark him, just as your juices do — droplets of it trailing down his shaft, balls and even his ass. if someone were to walk in now, they’d set their sights on an obscene display of sin, their perfect prince defiled by his knight to be, but you don’t care, your mind and exhausted limbs buzzing with wanton. you’ll use him until cum, claim your prize and work your selfish pussy over him until you know every constellation by heart because of how many times you’ve used seishiro to make yourself see stars.

every sensation overwhelms you, the creamy and tackiness to his cock between your slicked up thighs and the pressure of his purpling cockhead as it digs disgustingly against your g-spot in the most perfect of ways because you clench down on him every now and again. static rings loud in your ears that burn with both shame and lechery for taking advantage of your sleeping lover, the notes from the tune your fat pussy pap-pap-papping as it connects with stitchers of nagi’s bare flesh has a tingling sensation spreading under your skin too. even when he bucks instinctively into you, your entire body jolts in response because there’s no greater relief than knowing that you are yearned for… even within the clutches of unconsciousness.

when nagi whimpers in his sleep, you have to bite his shoulder — keeping your wailing mouth occupied even if you’ll leave teeth marks against him in place. someone could hear the way you beg him to fuck you, muffling yourself as you whisper dirty fantasies to yourself and split your swollen nether lips open on his drippy dick. you’re not sure if that is a good or bad thing to want, to be heard.  “f-fuck me sei… p-please my prince,” everything feels so depraved and so wrong, while you whine sweetly against saltine skin. however, you don’t see yourself stopping — not until you can no longer feel your legs from riding him and your cunt aches from cumming so hard. “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

the back and forth of your sluice sex over nagi’s lap tampers with your system, sending orgasmic shockwaves down your spine and happy hormones into your bloodstream. you alternate, once more peeling your soaked thighs away from his and lift your fluttering entrance higher and higher up his shaft until there’s barely an inch of the white haired royal left inside of you. the emptiness makes you miss him, a choked sob weaving its way like a vine through the gaps in your ribs as it claws its way out of your throat. it’s a shuddering noise that you suppress by locking lips with seishiro again, wet on the seam of them as you lift your head to kiss him. 

“i wanna cum, nagi!”

the words are just about to melt in his mouth but…

…but euphoria is quick to slip into your veins like a welcomed chill on a hot day when nagi suddenly rouses from his slumber — following a natural compulsion to snap his hips upwards with a powerful force and filling you in one fluid motion. he’s awake. one of his hands, extremely strong and veiny and firm takes you by surprise as it clamps down on the back of your neck  so that he can keep you in place too. it was almost as if he was chasing the snugness of your oozing, squelchy mound. an incredulous gasp drifts warmly from your mouth and condenses in nagi’s, for a second you worry that he might push you off and yell for help… but recognition registers on the slope of his handsome features. 

he’s awake…how long has seishiro been awake? 

moonlight lashes flutter against your face from your proximity and murky grey eyes, littered with exhaustion between their flecks, light up with a sprinkling of hearts as then open to look at you. slowly but surely their gaze drifts downwards, honing in on the point at which his milky cock repeatedly disappears into your puffy pussy, the glaze of your essence on his rock hard cock and clinging to his pubes put on display. 

groaning hoarsely and deeply, nagi’s freehand shoots down to the bouncing flesh of your ass without a lick of hesitation and pulls you the rest of the way down his pulsing girth. then up again. then back down — giving him all of the control to pummel your pussy to the high heavens. hard and fast. “i thought… thought you wanted to cum,” the moonlit prince mumbles, voice still puppeteered by the last strings of sleep. “don’t make it a hassle by holding back now… fuck your self down on my cock ‘n cum…”

he’s awake… how much of this has seishiro been awake for? 

nagi builds up a formidable momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls, shocking for someone who had essentially just woken up from a curse of eternal slumber. he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve been using him like a toy for your own sexual desires, but how could he? not when you’re dousing him in your sweet nectar, slapping your soaked sex down on him and squeezing his aching shaft just like that. how can a man, no less a prince, whine about waking up to such a good fuck?

all you can do is reply with a high pitched squeal, your body jerking and jolting on top of nagi as you struggle to keep up with thrusts. “come now, don’t make me do all of the work,” white starts to froth at the base of his cock, bubbling up while it streaks over your ruined pussy lips and clit. “after all, you started this… took advantage of me while i slept. s’only fair, angel,” he adds nonchalantly and makes you gush unbelievable amounts of arousal at the condescending air about his words.

he’s awake and now seishiro wants you to cum for him.

you do try your very best to do as nagi says, selfishly squeezing down on him and locking his precum bleeding tip inside your gummy walls, but your hips fumble their rhythm as soon as he looks up at you — sweaty hair splayed out in the sheets like an angel, lips parted in both curiosity and awe, cock bulging in your lower stomach. you’re choking the life out of seishiro and he likes it, feeling like he’s been rewarded for just being a pretty prince. 

all you want is for him to make you scream and squirt — your clit smears against his pelvis while you buck down on him feverishly. he barely lets you lift of his erection at this point. “‘m close… s-seishiro, please! c-can’t…”

it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name directly to him since your love-at-first-sight encounter in the woods and it flips a switch in the peaceful prince of the night. “y-yeah you can, angel. of course you can…” with a breathy, almost whiny moan, seishiro uses his newfound energy to assault your cunt with a barrage of wild thrusts. jackhammering into you, jerking you about on his throbbing length, coated in a milky mix of your shared arousals. “had no problem… fixing yourself on my cock before. ‘m sure you can make yourself cum on it now that i’m here to help,” he adds through gritted teeth, never letting up on his incredible speed. “shouldn’t be a hassle.” 

that’s all you really need to hear before you’re thrown into the deep end, the dark abyss of the night. while the ropes in your tummy unravel and unwind, the tune of sinful sex reaches its final crescendo and the world around you fades away as you’re thrown over the edge and temporarily black out — you practically squirt in an aggressive, clear stream and renders you a cum soaked mess in the prince’s lap. he forces your head into the junction between his neck and jaw, utilising his hold on you to help muffle the scream that burns at the sore edges of your voice as you cum for him. practically drowning nagi in everything you have to give. 

as if chasing something, your lover speeds up his thrusts, trying to make sure he isn’t left behind while you cum for him. growls and grunts spill over his lips, nagi’s pink tongue darting out the flavour you’d left on him as he slept. he buries himself deep inside of you, lunging into that one special spot nestled deep within your walls so that he can prolong your release — working hard even though he was just roused from what seemed like an eternal night.

the aftershocks of your high and heavenly spasms of your hole around nagi simply aren’t enough to satisfy him however — whatever remains of an orgasm he had coming fade away like embers of a dying flame while you come down. in fact, before you can even collapse on the white haired royal fully, he uses a strength you were unaware that he possessed to immediately flip you onto your back — manhandling you into the position he desires most. your thighs pushed together, knees pushed into your chest and him… towering over you menacingly.

only now do you realise how… large seishiro is. how much more dominant he is over you. how it may have been a mistake to think you could steal pleasure from him while he slept as a personal reward and not expect consequence. or at least a consequence you might enjoy too. “such a waste,” he comments groggily, pulling his cream soaked cock from its home within your pretty pussy with a hiss. using one hand, nagi grabs at his ravaged shaft and taps it against the swell of your thighs pushed together. “how can you use me like that…and still fail to make me cum? i’ll have to do it myself. what a bother, angel.”

your breath catches in your throat, indicating your surprise. “seishiro…w-wait,” you plead, lips parting in a quiet moan at every squeeze of your flesh and tug of hips to get your body into place. you don’t even know what you’re asking for or why you’re asking him to stop, you still don’t care about the consequences. all you want is for the sleeping beauty above you to fall apart, to hear your name on the tip of his tongue, to feel him cum wherever that may be. “‘m sorry…i-i didn’t know you were awake!”

“don’t care darlin’,” seishiro’s breathy words hang between the pearliness of his teeth, shaggy hair tickling the skin on your calves as he positions them over his shoulders instead of in the air. “don’t r’member much… just my finger gettin’ pricked ‘n then you… using me. on top of me…” his cock makes a home between your plush thighs, pushing back and forth against the flesh to relieve his painfully hard erection. the action itself paints the canvas of your body with remainders of your arousal and essence — thick stringy globs of white forming tracks against soft skin. “f-fuck angel, you put in all this work to make yourself cum using me… now it’s my turn.” 

eyes that mirror the silver light of the moon flutter shut and nagi’s nose judges against your ankle — lips grazing the pointed bone and in their wake leave a trail of inflamed bites from where he leaves his mark on you, hoping that they’ll be present on the morning to remind you of who you belong to. his pink tongue peeks out to lick, loll over and soorje what he nips at, but the wet sensation doesn’t distract from curious finger tips that dance their way down and pinch your arousal soaked, fat folds together. neediness streams into your tone as you whimper out for more and your hips arch up to chase the feeling. 

in response a lazy grin twitches at the corner of your prince’s mouth, playing with the tackiness your cunt leaves against his hand before he spreads it over his bright red tip as lube. “quit squirming angel, s’too much of a bother to keep you pinned down,” seishiro then adjusts his knees on the bed and his hips begin to brutally rut into you, dragging his sloppy length back and forth, back and forth through the makeshift pocket pussy he’s made out of your quivering limbs. his precum loaded tip prods at the softness of your tummy and earns you a symphony of high pitched moans and heaving pants, harmonised with heavy balls slapping wetly against your clit over and over again. to the point where you fear you may be overcome with another orgasm all too soon.

being used like this, it feels humiliating, shame burns like paper held to a flame underneath the surface of your skin and tears begin to sting in your lower lash line as your entire body jolts up the bed — nagi throwing you about like a rag while he plunges his hips against your doughy thighs. his stamina impresses you too, but you find it hard to dwell on how quickly your lover was able to be riled up after rising from the constraints of an all powerful curse. you don’t mind the aching pulse to your untouched pussy when you get to watch nagi hang over you and hungrily hump your shaky legs — his usually kind eyes are swamped with darkness of lust the back of his pupil practically eclipsing the grey colour. 

his head darkens at the roots from how much he’s sweating, droplets crowning his head and running down his back like water on a glass windowpane. he’s a sight to behold, he makes your holes drool and mouth water, the both of you completely wrecked by a little thigh fucking and humping. between his merciless pace and the creaks from the bed, nagi jams a veiny hand between the sensual bump and grind of your bodies to grasp at his thick, temperate shaft — pulling it down to run through the entire length of your slippery before tapping it greedily against your puffy clit and snack between your thighs.

the sweet squeak you release has the prince repeating his action over and over, blood rushing through the purpling veins that spiral down his chubby cock. you’re the perfect sticky little fleshlight for him to fuck, to hold and love, and he hisses, jutting his hips forward in order to chase the euphoria coursing for his veins like the next best drug — all while he pounds your thighs to the starry heavens and back. 

juicy, wet sounds fill the room to the brim, a concert and performance of moans and whimpers to match and accompany nagi pounding away at your thighs, grinding against your sex. the white haired man leaks copious amounts of precum, milky like his hair and loose from his sore and sensitive rouge tip, that can’t stop weeping, oozing. his arousal makes each of his movements easier and more fluid, slipping and sliding between your legs and just grazing your sobbing mound. this way; you’re reminded of the sheet sheer size of your lover from the woods — be throbs, swollen and fat with an oncoming orgasm, with the seed that weighs down his balls that swing with each rut of his hips.

a hearty sob escapes you each time they press against you, dragging over your clit that begs for attention. the visage of your prince above you — flushed at the cheeks ( if they’ve been kissed by the petals of a rose), white brows knitted together st the centre of his forehead while ruby lined lips appear bitten and bruised  — begins to blur from your saltine tears. you can no longer hold back, raw and rough desire washing away your ability to control your body and your voice.

the way you cry wracks your body with the case of the shakes because of the wild whines resounding from deep within seishiro’s hard chest. each sound makes your cunt quiver, your juices darkening the sheets below and clinging to his snow while pubes, all the while, the prince ravishes you pulling you apart molecule by molecule before he pieces you back together with just a lazy shape drawn against your hardening clit. 

“w-what a waste of tears, i thought you wanted to use me,” nagi stutters out, breath condescending against your ankles. it makes him pulse between your thighs, knowing that he’s the one able to reduce you to a mess of cum and tears — even if you did half the work for him while he slept soundly. the fact that you threaten to break, still holding onto your inhibitions and desperate moans, only serves to make home rut his creamy cock against you faster. “you should give it up angel, m-much less of a hassle if you give into me.”

and with that, seishiro leans down to kiss you, his swiftness akin to a starved man. he manhandles your thighs to sit either side of his unfairly slender waist, granting him the room to swoop down until you’re chest to chest — his wide, large frame hiding your shaky one away from the world underneath him as his teeth sink into your bottom lip. he licks into your mouth as you open up with a shy mewl, devious tongue wrapping itself around your own as he tastes himself there. “thank you for waking me up, angel,” spit slings between your eager mouths, movements a little out of sync and languid since they’re so driven by a raw passion that simmers underneath the sleepy fog clouding the prince’s brain. “wakin’ me up to do this,”

he settles back on his haunches after coming up for air, laughing tiredly at the pout on your lips from the loss of contact. 

but now that you’re spread eagle with your cunt drooling openly on the bed and glistening under the moon’s light — the white haired royal angles his hips just right, shuddering from head to toe as his sex soiled girth slots between your swollen folds perfectly. his bulbous tip peeks out against your clit and he circles it against you, desperate to hear you wail like the wind again. “feels so good against you, s’not fair how good you feel,” he says under his stuttering breath, using a thumb and forefinger to spread your pussy lips apart — groaning at the strings of clear slick that tie them together. ““later on, when i’ve got more energy, i’m going to fuck this pretty hole. make sure i really have my turn.” nagi promises and swallows thickly at the raunchy sight of you, viscous drops of your treacle like nectar running over your slit and down to your puckered asshole.

you’re grateful for his touch, the friction you’re about to receive… but you miss seishiro’s lips and his tongue so deep in your mouth he might as well have been fucking it too. why do you miss those luscious lips? because they keep you quiet, muffle your embarrassingly high moans and withering screams of pleasure, cover up your glass shattering cries that accompany your teary face. he’s so heavy and raw against you, grinding his shaft that shoots tiny spirts of precum onto your cunt while you match his rhythm — it’s a wonder why you’re crying right now. not to mention the rounds of overstimulation he’s put you through. 

“you were so quiet before, angel, what happened?” a condescending tone fills out the weight in nagi’s voice, punctuated by the harsh lunges of his hips forwards as he smothers his girth in the juicy offerings from your folds. part of the prince wants to selfishly keep you writhing against his hot and heavy dick for all of eternity, adoring the way you bleat and cry for him through bleary Bambi eyes. hes sure you wouldn’t mind it either, but he’s too far gone to keep edging you both forever. “does it feel that good? so fucking good that you can’t help but whine and whimper for me… s’too much of hassle to hold back, angel. go one, cry pretty f’me, pretty girl…”

you burst into tears, letting your emotions overwhelm you. “feels so, so good, my prince,” you slur back as that familiar twinge of pleasure begins to rapidly mount within your tummy once more — throwing an avid, heated look his way. “s-sei, ‘m close,” one of your shaky hands take purchase in the silvery roots of his hair while the other grasps him shoulder so that you have the leverage to grind into him — rocking your hips in a fluid motion like a boat on rapid waves. sanity slips away from you under nagi, his energy completely unmatched as you struggle to keep up with his pace. the way he chases your sweltering, souse sex with the speed of the kingdom’s finest race horse. he pushes forward when you pull back and it goes both ways — one moment can’t happen without the other. 

nagi simpers above you, smirking lazily as he pushes back the sweaty snowy white roots of his hair — drinking in the sight of you. “that so? you’re close? wanna feel it’s, s’too much effort to have you hold it…not when you sound so wet…” both of you move with increased vigour the closer you get to cloud nine, seishiro cooing to you like over the crude sound of your sexes slipping over each other. “…y’should be embarrassed, yanno,” he presses against you, whimpering happily at the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest with each thrust, his breath hot against the tips of your ears and weakly grinds against you clit now — his own orgasm on the horizon.  “taking advantage of me like that. using me. s’naughty princess. such a hassle.” 

he tucks his face against your neck, teeth grazing over the skin while he listens out for your hiccuped sobs and heaving chest — you’re so loud when you’re close and it pleases nagi. he can’t stop tapping your clit and nipping at your flesh — desperate to hear how much louder you can get without holding back. a gargled gasp from you has his cock twitching and threatening to burst with release, while the condescending gripes that vibrate in his chest shoot straight to you’re swollen clit. 

listening to you cry and settling his greyed gaze on your puffy eyes is more than enough for nagi to cum, the string of his own sanity snapping as you scream for him. “you look like you’re about to cum, angel,” he purrs lowly, panting between each word. “mmmh, don’t you think i deserve to go first? fuuuuck i’m close…so close. do you want it inside? i won’t ruin the bed that way… wont need to clean it up…” seishiro rambles over the spit pooling pathetically on his tongue, bucking faster and harder against your slippery cunt with each syllable he manages to get out. “…wanna put it inside you as you cum.” 

you barely have it in you to respond and you can hardly make sense of it all, brain running a mile a minute. the feeling of your orgasm twists in your lower stomach, stacking painfully in your pelvis at a rapid pace you can’t even comprehend. “yes…! want it inside, gods yes!” you sigh out, voice rising several octaves. “want you inside!”

though it’s entirely selfish of you to make demands in the moment, after how you so sinfully used the sleeping prince as your prize — nagi relents, slipping the delicious curve of his cock past your puckered, fluttering entrance just as he reaches his peak. it makes him shake as though the gods have stepped down from the heavens and set foot on earth and he really can’t help it, how much he cums. there's so much of it, white hot seed that spews into you hotly, so pent up from all the pleasure you’d given him while he slept. his heavy load pulses against your sensitive, ribbed walls and sticks — lubing up your insides while he pushes his milky cock deeper into your bare cunt. 

“f-fuck!” the white haired prince curses loud enough to rouse his loyal subjects within a ten mile radius with one final swing of his hips. “f-fuck angel… gods!”  strings of opaque seed tie the veins on his shaft to your precious hole and as he twitches with the last spurts of his orgasm — your own high is triggered.

white flashes behind your eyes and the dam breaks for the third and final time — your release trickles out of you in small waves and you let out a borderline pornographic moan. nagi hums happily at the feeling of you squirting around him, Essen e clinging to his pubic hair too. 

for a second or two, seishiro relishes in the way you convulse around him, giving you a moment to calm down while he pacifies your high pitched squeals with gentle kisses along the side of your head. you’re still quivering when he collapses on top of you exhausted — neither of you having the capacity to speak properly. “d-don’t move… jus’ lay here with me,” he murmurs, tripping on his words. “‘m tired… don’t wanna move,”

you hardly have the strength to deny seishiro or push him off, snuggling into him as the pair of you roll onto your sides. “you’re tired… you almost slept for an eternity!” a laugh escapes you in reply.

“and guess who woke me up and made me work to cum. s’on you not me. fair is fair.” nagi quips back, burying his face into your neck.

you suppose that he has a point, nuzzling him from below as the two of you drift off without the fear of never waking up, of succumbing to lifelong sleep  — content, happy and fucked out by your sleeping beauty.

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[timmydraker]

Tim calls a family meeting and everyone is assuming he’s got a big case he needs help with, which is alarming for someone who refuses to admit that some cases are beyond him.

So, everyone shows up at the cave only to be ordered upstairs by Alfred. For those who only showed up to make fun of Tim for needing help, this is confusing because case work ain’t allowed upstairs.

All do them figure out quickly that this means it’s not to do with Gotham or Ref Robin, but the man behind the mask.

Bruce and Dick were there first and because Damian is always with one of them, so is he.

Steph picks up Barbara and Cass, with Duke already at home and Jason showing up at the same time as Kate and Lucius.

When they all get into the lounge room used for when people are over, just two doors down from the actual family room, they all find themselves chatting casually as they stave off their own worries or confusion. Some of them try find out if anyone knows what’s going on, but when Alfred and Barbara reveal they have no idea, they give up and make a few guesses but no more.

When Tim finally comes in after Alfred received him, he looks tired.

It’s not usual for Tim to get distracted with work and not sleep for a while, but he will conk out for hours when he decides to and wake up alright.

The bags under his eyes, the redness within them, and the way he looks close to tucking himself into a ball…

Bruce is immediately leaning forward, opening his mouth to make sure his son is okay but Tim just raised a hand to silence him. “Just… just let me speak, okay? I need to do it now or I’m not going to be able to.”

Everyone gives him a nod or look of understanding, making him twitch a smile before inhaling deeply and psyching himself up.

“I have cancer.”

…

Nobody speaks as Tim exhales shakily.

Everyone is staring wide eyed at the young man before them, who just reached the legal drinking age, and trying to asses his physical form for an understanding of what he just said. They’re all trying to gain X-ray vision to see exactly what is hurting him all while trying to convince themselves they heard him wrong.

Tim closes his eyes and speaks automatically, leaning into facts like he always does when he’s freaking out, “I noticed I was getting by more tired and fatigued around last year. My doctor said I have a low white cell count but he wasn’t alarmed as it was still in the normal range. But a few months ago I started to note that bruises were taking far too long to heal and I was getting a lot of pain around my joints and bones.”

He inhaled again, shakier than before at the same time that Alfred sits himself down with a hand over his mouth.

“It’s stage 2 and because of my lack of a spleen it’s going to be a harder process for treatment but fortunately I own a medical company so there’s that at least.” He makes a sort of joking smile that falters immediately, falling into a pulled back frown that comes with someone whose about to sob as he adds, “But it’s also aggressive so I-I don’t know how-how to-fuck-“

Dick and Cass are immediately moving off the couches they are on and catch him as he finally crumbles into himself.

Bruce is next to follow, the stoic man openly crying for the first time in years.

Jason and Damian are in shock, both frozen in place as dread takes over their minds.

Steph is looking out the window, as if staring at some kind of his or deity and demanding an expiration as to why they have to hurt her loved ones so badly. She’s crying, but it’s silent which is all the more harrowing.

Lucius places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder to comfort the elder even as he himself itches to go comfort the young boy who helped him run the company when he was at his worst.

Kate leaves the room to go call Bette, needing her mentor because this is just something she can’t handle.

Duke is sobbing into his hands as he leans into Barbara’s lap. Barbara who is clinging to him like a lifeline as she feels her world shift once again, feeling so angry and confused at how one of them could be threatened like this. Of all the ways they could go out, was it really going to be cancer?

It was a harrowing experience for all of them to remember that they were human in more than just their flesh being able to bleed and be wounded, but for it to grow sick. For it to age and attack itself.

They were human at the end of the day and Tim…

In Metropolis, Clark Kent rushed into the bathroom at his work to throw up as he heard a conversation miles away.

[clara-a7]

On Set | Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Pairing: Nicholas Alexander Chavez x Reader

Requested? No~ (I accept requests!)

Word Count: 969

A/N: Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing...~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a special day for you, visiting your boyfriend on set for the first time. You’d heard all about his role, the long hours, and the excitement of filming, but now you were seeing it up close. The energy in the room was electric as the crew prepped for the scene, and you couldn’t wait to watch him step into character, bringing his hard work to life.

After you sign in at the security desk, a production assistant leads you to the soundstage where they’re filming. The place is buzzing with activity, people rushing around with equipment, makeup artists adding final touches, and the director deep in conversation with the actors. And then, you see Nicholas, standing by his trailer, going over his lines.

He smiles the moment he spots you, striding over with his usual easy confidence. “Hey, you made it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hand resting on your waist just a moment longer than necessary.

“You sure you’re warm enough?” you tease, your voice playful despite the quickening beat of your heart at the sight of him wearing only a boxer.

“Not at all,” he laughs softly, though there’s a mischievous spark in his eyes. “But you might be the one shivering once you see this next scene.”

Your eyebrow lifts, curiosity piqued. “Oh? What kind of scene?”

Before he can answer, a voice calls out, “Nicholas, we’re ready for you!” The director is motioning him to the set. Nicholas gives you one last grin before heading toward the scene. You follow, curiosity piqued.

The decor is designed to resemble a luxurious bathroom from the 80s, with a little steam in the air, giving the illusion of warmth. Nicholas steps into the shower, already in character. You can’t help but stare as he begins to act the scene.

The water splashes over his skin, droplets clinging to his toned muscles, his abs glistening as he runs his hands through his wet hair. He reaches for a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist. The camera pans up, but your eyes can’t help but follow the way the towel clings to his hips, barely covering him. His every movement is slow, sensual, deliberate. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you watch, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the fake steam filling the set.

The scene ends, and the director calls for a break. Nicholas walks over to you, still dripping wet, his towel slung dangerously low. He’s smirking now, knowing full well the effect he’s having on you.

“Enjoy the view?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

You swallow, trying to play it cool. “No…. I didn't.”

He chuckles, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I saw the way you were looking at me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You’re not so good at hiding it.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to your waist, pulling you into a corner just out of view from the team. His lips brush your ear. “Do you know how hard it is to focus on work when I know you’re watching?”

Your breath hitches, the air between you electric. He’s still so close, the scent of soap and skin filling your senses. You can feel the tension growing, a mix of excitement and desire swirling inside you.

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about me,” you whisper, but the way your voice wavers betrays your thoughts.

“I can’t help it,” he says, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. “Especially when I know how much you like watching me.”

His hand slides down your back, pulling you against him, the wet towel barely separating your bodies. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the rush of heat that pulses through you. You should stop, remind him you’re on set, but the way his body feels against yours makes your thoughts blur.

“Nicholas,” you start, but he cuts you off with a slow, teasing kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you closer. His towel slips a little lower, exposing more of his skin, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Your body reacts instinctively, pressing against him. He groans quietly, the sound vibrating in his chest as your hand trails down his slick, wet torso. Your fingers graze the edge of the towel, tugging at it just slightly as his lips claim yours in a deeper kiss, more demanding this time. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips as his mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nicholas, we’re on set,” you murmur breathlessly, but you don’t pull away. Instead, your hands find their way to his waist, fingers trailing along the damp towel.

“I know,” he replies, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s what makes it so exciting, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, his hand slips lower, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer. His lips capture yours again, more urgent now, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the firm press of his body against yours. Your pulse quickens, your body aching for more, but the sound of footsteps approaching makes you freeze.

Just as things begin to heat up, you hear a voice call out, “Nicholas, we’re back in ten!”

You both pull away quickly, hearts pounding, the thrill of almost getting caught making you both laugh breathlessly. Nicholas smirks, running a hand through his wet hair.

“We’ll finish this later,” he promises, winking as he walks back to set, leaving you flushed and breathless.

You watch him go, a grin tugging at your lips.

Visiting him on set definitely has its perks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

!Pictures is not mine. Found on Tumblr. Full credit to the owner! 

[selfcarecap]

Both

✧ Logan Howlett x reader x Storm

✧ summary: Storm and Logan are both hopelessly crushing on you. When they realise that they both like you, they get into a silent competition about who can win you over first… until they realise there might not be a need to make you choose; or: You have a threesome with Logan and Storm

✧ warnings: smut 18+, threesome, oral, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, creampie, liiittle bit of ass play, use of dildo between reader and Storm, I think those are the main things, reader is sub-ish and Logan and Storm are more dominant, reader gets called baby, good girl, princess, pretty girl, bub, nothing happens between Logan and Storm btw because I’m a jealous bitch, reader is shy and a bit awkward, this is definitely mostly porn but romantic feelings are implied too, reader is bi, talking about coming out, but reader is in denial about her crush on Storm and also on Logan bc she’s oblivious and a lil insecure tbh, mention of being drunk, they’re all mutants but it doesn’t rlly come up, Logan is taller than the reader, the part leading up to the smut is a little unserious lol they’re all just whipped but yeah it’s kind of a different fic from my prev Logan ones idk it’s more just fun for the first part; also alternative title is BOAF but I didn’t know how many people would get that lol

✧ word count: oh. umm 11k (the main smut is 4k at the end if you wanna skip to that loll I’ve put a divider (stars) so you know when it starts, you don’t necessarily need to know the backstory)

✧ note: Recently watched X-Men 1 for the first time (yeah i know) and these two are literally the definition of bi panic whaaaatttttt + also I called her Storm and not Ororo(?) because I’ve only watched X Men 1 where they just call her Storm so that’s the only way I’m familiar with her, so yeah idk if anyone else wants this combination of characters but i def do so <33

-

You’re focussed as you do your daily stretches, completely oblivious to Storm and Logan watching you from the other side of the gym. 

They stare as you bend down into downward dog and you make a little exhausted noise at the stretch. Logan almost flinches with how good it feels to hear it; with his enhanced senses it’s as if you’re moaning right into his ear.

Storm’s eyes trail up your legs, over your pink gym set that clings to you in all the right places. She watches a pearl of sweat slide down your belly – she wishes she could lick it off your skin. Logan thinks about making you sweat more if he finally gets you in his bed one day.

He clears his throat after you slide down to your knees, arch your spine and let out a little contented sigh at the welcome stretch. A movement to his right catches Logan’s eye. Storm is standing right next to him, hands on her hips, mirroring his own position.

Is she here to stare at you too? Not that that’s what he’s doing. He was training here himself and was done a few minutes after you got here. Resting his eyes is part of the cooldown – you just so happen to be in his view.

“You training today?” Logan breaks the silence.

“Trained earlier this morning,” Storm answers, folding her arms, “What’re you doing here?” She sounds almost accusatory.

“Just finished my workout. Making sure she’s fine with the weights.” Their eyes drift to you, still stretching.

“She said she might use weights later,” Logan adds, averting his eyes.

The only thing Logan doesn’t like about his little crush on you – if you can even call it that – (you can definitely call it that) is that it sometimes makes him nervous, even if just a little. You’re so sweet and so shy and you’re usually oblivious to his flirting. He’s not used to that.

“Aha,” Storm nods with suspicion and slowly walks out of the gym.

Logan sighs a breath of relief and hopes you didn’t hear any of that. He stops himself from looking at your cute little gym outfit again and leaves to shower.

-

Later that day, Storm knocks at your bedroom door, “I’ve made lunch if you want some.”

Her voice is so angelic, you think, and you briefly wonder if that’s a normal opinion to have about your friend. It’s not just her voice, but those pretty lips her voice comes out of – just from woman to woman. She has nice lips. That can totally be a platonic compliment.

You realise she’s waiting for you to answer as you just stare at her gorgeous, gorgeous face – okay, maybe you do like her as more than a friend.

“That’s so sweet of you, I’ll come join you,” you put on a high-pitched platonic voice.

You’re sitting down at the table getting your plates ready – Storm made your favourite food, said she was just craving the taste today – when Logan comes in. 

“Brought my own lunch, thought I could join you?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer, sitting down next to you. 

“What if you can’t?” Storm says, an eyebrow raised, though playfully. 

“And what would your explanation be?”

“We need girl time.”

You’re looking between them with wide puppy eyes. You’re not sure if they’re being playful after all. Their faces soften when they look at you.

“Maybe Logan can stay for lunch and we’ll go to your room later?” you suggest, “We can have a sleepover tonight.”

Storm’s face lights up, “Good idea.” You miss the smirk she gives Logan, who then huffs. 

Logan takes off his leather jacket. You’re sure that’s just your mind playing tricks on you but it almost looks as if he’s doing it deliberately slowly, showing off his big, defined arms. You’re drooling like a dog.

He reaches across the table and your eyes stay glued to his triceps until you hear your name.

“What?”

Logan smiles down at you, “I asked if you could pass the salt.”

You swallow and nod, eyes searching for the salt, but Storm gets there before you. She firmly presses the salt shaker into his hand, and his arm is gone from in front of your face. You resist the urge to pout.

A moment later though, Logan reaches out for the pepper himself, “Sorry, just needa…” He fumbles with the shaker across the table. This time his arm is angled differently and your eyes land right on one of those delicious veins on his skin. 

Storm is kind enough to pass him the pepper too, but this time you think you audibly sigh with frustration when Logan pulls his arm back to his body. You focus on eating instead of panicking about whether either of them heard that.

Storm swallows down her jealousy after watching you mesmerised by Logan’s arms for what felt like an eternity with no idea how obvious you were being.

She finishes her glass of water and gets up to get more. She looks at Logan as she walks to the sink. Two can play this game.

With her back turned to the both of you, Storm undoes the top two buttons of her shirt and places the pendant of her necklace right between her breasts. When she sits back down, she leans her elbow on the table and pushes her forearm right against the side of her tits. Your eyes are immediately drawn to them like a honeybee to a flower.

Storm bites back a smirk. She remains silent so as not to pull your attention away from her cleavage. She wants you to get lost there as long as you need to.

Logan rolls his eyes at her and asks you to pass some food from across the table, pulling you out of your trance.

You see the next exchange of looks between the two of them – their eyes do all the talking. You look away and realise… are they flirting? You thought they were mad at each other, having a silent argument, but now you think you might have been wrong. They’re teasing each other. 

You can’t decide if you should be jealous or turned on. They’re the two people you have a crush on – again, platonic crushes, obviously. If they got together, in whatever way, at least they’d make a hot couple for you to stare at. But you’d also be devastated that it’s not you who gets to be with either of them.

A quiet sound catches your attention – Storm’s fingernail against her necklace, the necklace that’s nestled right between her breasts. You briefly wonder if she’s trying to get Logan’s attention with it, but in that moment you don’t feel jealous. You just appreciate what’s in front of you.

With your elbow perched on the table, you’re leaning your head against your hand, and you notice too late that your arm is sliding off the table. You gasp when your head loses its support and you sit up quickly, gaze pulled away from Storm.

Heat blooms on your face and you lift your glass of water to your mouth to cool yourself down. But the picture of Storm’s perfect boobs lingers in your mind and you spill half of the water. It rolls down your neck and to your chest, and before you can even consider drying off, Storm’s holding a folded up napkin to your skin, patting from your collarbones to the neckline of your low-cut top. 

“Awh, there you go,” she’s done patting you dry and gives you a reassuring smile. Your nipples get hard at the close contact. You hope she doesn’t notice.

You hear a scoff from Logan. Maybe he got something stuck in his teeth. Or maybe it’s directed at you and Storm.

“Thanks, Storm,” you smile your sweet smile and finish your meal. 

But you’re not oblivious to what’s going on between them – the looks they’re giving each other – and you don’t know if you like it yet. Not that your opinion matters, sadly.

-

You bring your own pillow to Storm’s bedroom that night for your sleepover, but she’s got her bed made up all comfy with more pillows than you could need.

“Didn’t know how many you needed,” Storm tells you from in front of her mirror, “I’m so happy we’re doing this. We haven’t had any alone time in so long. Been so busy.”

She’s braiding her hair for the night, hair pulled to one side as she curls the bottom of her strands around her finger, her beautiful neck now exposed. You think about falling to your knees and begging for just one touch. Maybe draw your finger across her skin, or better yet – your lips. The way friends do. 

It’s between the first and second film that you decide to finally say something. You were going to ask her during a boring scene of the romcom you just watched but it suddenly turned into a sex scene. You did your best to seem unbothered and tried to move naturally, scratching your head and flexing your wrist. You’re not sure if it worked.

“Soo,” you turn to your side to face Storm as the credits play, “You and Logan?”

You reach into the bag of gummy bears between you and Storm, attempting to seem nonchalant, as if her answer won’t affect you.

She looks a little panicked, and you’re afraid you know what her answer is going to be.

“What about us?” she asks.

You give her a suggestive look but she waits for you to say it.

“Well, is there something going on between you two? I felt like you were flirting during lunch.”

“No, not at all,” she says almost too quickly, “We’re just friends, if that.”

“Really? You’d make an attractive couple.”

She lowers her voice, “We’re really not into each other like that.” You believe her, and withhold your big breath of relief.

“And anyway, I prefer women,” she adds.

“Really? I mean, yeah, I thought you might. I wasn’t sure. I do too, by the way. Well, I like everyone. I mean not everyone obviously but I like all genders. Not that that’s relevant.”

Storm smiles at you sweetly and puts a soft hand on your wrist. “Of course it’s relevant. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.”

You giggle nervously, “Of course. I trust you more than anyone in this house.”

Storm’s heart swells in her chest.

You continue, “Well, and Logan obviously.” 

Oh.

Obvious, is it?

Well, Storm can work with that.

She picks an incredibly gay film next. She didn’t do it on purpose. She just happened to see the film on Netflix. Sure, perhaps she chose it because there were two women in the picture, but she genuinely wasn’t aware how much sex was in the film.

You’re squirming beside her, even more than during the straight romcom you just watched, and it drives her crazy. She’s just better at hiding it, but she’s turned on too. She wishes she and Logan hadn’t fought over your attention during lunch; if you hadn’t thought that there was something going on between them you might have been ready for more tonight. But she ignores her desire for you, holding her arm tightly as she presses her nails against her skin to relieve some pressure.

When the film is over, Storm tells you how she realised she likes women. When she was little, she had a crush on her babysitter, and ever since then she just knew. You grow bashful when she asks you for your story.

“Uh, Halle Berry as Catwoman? That did it for me,” you tell her as your cheeks heat up. Storm only vaguely remembers the film, but she still has in mind that all of her friends told her that the main character looked like her. 

It’s not that she didn’t know you were attracted to her before, but that solidifies it. Now she just has to get rid of Logan.

-

Storm is busy the next day and you miss her presence the entire morning. You woke up before her, your hands still intertwined from when you fell asleep like that, and – like a fucking loser idiot – you imagined what it was like to be her girlfriend and wake up next to her every day.

Now that you know she doesn’t like Logan, you can fantasise about being with her again without the jealousy looming underneath if he got her before you. And she didn’t just say she wasn’t attracted to him (which is crazy) but that they’re both not into each other (which is crazy of Logan). Both of your crushes are safe.

You decide to try out a new stretching routine to distract yourself from how much you’re missing Storm, your bestie who has no idea how much you like her. The positions are nothing you can’t do, but they’re definitely more challenging than your usual.

Logan’s not expecting to see you when he enters the gym; you’re not normally here at this time.

“Hi,” he says. Your head is between your legs as you’re bent upside down. He crouches down to smile at you from between your thighs.

You grin, standing up to turn towards him to say hello. 

“Y’need some help?” He asks. It’s more of a rhetorical question, he’s being polite.

“Actually, there’s this stretch I can’t get into. I think I should be able to do it, but I just need someone to help push me there.”

Logan huffs out a laugh. This is like the porn he plays in his head every night with you and him in the starring roles. “Of course. Where do you want me?”

-

It’s even better than he could have dreamed. He thought you’d need him to hold your hands and pull to add some resistance, but now you’re bent over in front of him and he’s pushing you into a stretch like a pervy gym instructor. 

You keep letting out these little huffs every time you ask Logan to push you further. They sound awfully close to moans. His knee is pressing into the back of yours like you asked him to but you keep asking for more.

He changes up his position, standing behind you fully. If he moved even an inch forward you’d feel his cock pushing against your ass. Logan would usually feel like he’s taking advantage with all the thoughts running through his mind about little innocent you but you’re the one arching even further into him.

He thanks himself for his level of self control and how he manages not to get hard with your pretty ass pressed up against him. It fuels the animalistic side of him and he wants nothing more than to fuck you right here, right now.

It was obvious that you were attracted to him before, but with the way you’re pushing back against his crotch makes him realise that it’s far from innocent.

“Thank you, that felt really good,” you tell him when you stand back up, losing balance after hanging your head upside down for so long. You use Logan’s chest to brace yourself, palms against the hard muscles there. His hands fly to your waist as he makes sure you’re alright. You nod shyly and, with another quick thanks, quickly make your way to your bathroom.

He’s got you. Now he just has to get rid of Storm, and she’s really good with you.

-

You check in Storm’s room after a long shower, but she’s still out. You find Logan in the kitchen; he’s looking through the almost empty cabinets. 

“Wanna go shopping?”

-

You didn’t think grocery shopping could turn you on, but everything Logan does makes you want to rip off his clothes. 

The little things fuel your crush in more heart-warming ways. Like how he picks all your favourite foods, holds the package up to you to ask for approval and places them into the cart that he’s pushing along with one hand as if it’s not full to the brim. 

He’s got it all down even to the most obscure snacks you like. It’s sweet that he remembers and it makes you as dizzy as you felt during your sleepover with Storm. It’s not like you really have a chance with either of them, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you’re fine liking them both.

But it’s his touch that drives you crazy. 

You’re trying to reach a snack on the top shelf. You’re on your tiptoes and your fingertips are only an inch or so away from it. Just when you’re about to give up, you feel two strong hands on your waist, lifting you that tiny bit with no effort at all. 

“There you go,” Logan smiles down at you, taking the package from you and putting it in the cart. Your body still buzzes with the sparks of his touch. 

You’re not very helpful for the rest of the shopping trip. All you’re doing is staring at him. You almost fall to your knees when he reaches up to the top shelf and his shirt lifts a bit. You think seeing even just a tiny sliver of his abs might be the highlight of your day, until you remember how he was pushed up against you during your stretches earlier. 

God, you’re so into him. 

-

Storm finds Logan as soon as she gets home. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to him since your revelation yesterday yet.

“She’s in her bedroom,” Logan tells Storm when she comes in, assuming she’s looking for you.

“I need to talk to you,” she crosses her arms, “She told me yesterday that she thinks we’re into each other.”

Logan cringes, “What, us two? Is she blind?”

“Apparently. I told her that it’s not like that but I don’t know if she believed it. She thought we were flirting with each other at lunch the other day instead of with her.”

“Alright, we just need to stop making it so obvious we’re fighting over her. Let’s just not get in each other’s way and she’ll choose whoever she’ll choose.”

“Yeah,” Storm agrees.

Logan smiles, “I can’t believe that stunt you pulled when she spilled the water. I mean, come on, that was so unfair, I can’t just press a napkin to her tits.”

She laughs, “Okay Mister Bicep, we both have our benefits.” They smile at each other.

Storm huffs, and reluctantly admits: “I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your abs.”

“I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your chest.”

They’re standing next to each other now, staring at nothing, consumed by thoughts of you. They’re so into you.

“When did you realise you like her?” Storm asks.

“I don’t remember an exact moment but it’s just, her gorgeous fucking face. And her whole clumsy thing just does it for me, I don’t know.”

“I like it too. She’s so adorable when she gets all awkward.”

“It makes me want to fuck her so bad,” they say at the same time, then laugh quietly.

Logan clears his throat, “Not to be crude but I’d fuck all that nervousness out of her.”

“Me too. Until she’s so exhausted she can’t even begin to overthink anything.”

They exchange a look – this is getting too heated.

“May the best one win,” Logan concludes, and with a last nod at each other, they both leave the kitchen.

-

It’s a mutual friend’s birthday that week, and all three of you are going to the party.

You’re walking to your room the evening of the party, and Logan opens his bedroom door just as you’re walking past it.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Logan asks, “I need help with my outfit.”

You smile. It’s an excuse to stare at Logan, of course you’ll help.

He changes his shirt about five times – even though there are only two that he can’t decide between. But every time he changes his top, there are a few seconds in which he’s half naked – his muscular, hairy, gorgeous chest and abs exposed, with that thick happy trail reminding you why it’s called that – and you forget all about what the previous shirt looked like.

You watch him change yet another time, quietly sighing to yourself because at some point you have to decide. You watch him button up his shirt and let your eyes roam over the lower part of his body. 

His trousers are hugging his legs so deliciously, they must be tailored. And that sexy belt he always wears keeps sparkling with the reflection of the light, as if you’re not staring at his crotch enough anyway.

“So this one?” Logan asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you nod, as if he doesn’t look equally good in both shirts anyway. 

“What do you think of the material?” He asks. You smile, getting up to feel it. 

You place your hand on the side of his arm, trailing down it, feeling his muscles while you pretend to be feeling the shirt. 

“I like how it feels,” Logan says, looking down at himself and rubbing his fingers over his clothed chest. You follow, bringing your palm to his collarbone to trace his body, from his chest to his lower abs. 

“It does feel nice,” you say. It’s a normal dress shirt, made from whatever material they’re usually made of, but with the warmth of Logan’s body it’s one of the best things you’ve ever felt. 

Distracted by his body, you don’t realise Logan looking down at you, tracing your every feature with his eyes. He can practically see the water pooling in your mouth, and he doesn’t need his enhanced senses to know that you want him in this moment. 

He clears his throat and it makes you lose your balance, gripping Logan’s shirt to steady yourself as his hands fly to your waist. 

“Careful, bub,” he smiles and you feel the heat on your cheeks. How can this man make you stumble without even moving?

“Are you gonna wear a tie?” you ask quietly — you can’t trust your voice right now. 

“I’ve got one here,” Logan passes it to you. He feels like a tie might be a bit too formal for a birthday, but he won’t stop you from staying close. 

You go on your tiptoes to drape the tie around his neck, nervously fiddling with the fabric. “Actually, uh, I don’t know how to tie a tie,” you admit, giggling at your own words. 

“That’s okay, bub, I’ll show you.” 

You don’t retain any information as Logan helps you with his tie, guiding your fingers with his big, warm hands over yours. 

Your breaths intertwine from standing so close, and you don’t even realise that you’re on your tiptoes again, trying to get as close to Logan as possible. 

You know that he can hear how fast your heart is beating, but when his tie is on and you smooth it down against his chest, you feel his own heart beating wildly against his ribcage. 

Logan looks into your eyes, a soft smile on his lips, and you know what’s going to happen. You’re about to kiss. 

He gently places his hand on the side of your face, leaning in. 

Just when your lips are about to touch, you hear Storm calling out your name from the hallway. 

“Uh, Storm was gonna do my make-up,” you stutter, Logan’s hand still on your face. He silently drops it and smiles sadly, “yeah,” he says. 

He moves back to stand in front of the mirror, taking the tie off again, “Think this is too much.”

You nod, “yeah. Sure. I’ll see you later.”

You walk out of Logan’s room with a weird feeling, but as soon as you get to Storm’s room it’s like nothing just happened. 

It smells so good in her bedroom, a mix of her perfume and hair products and her clean bed sheets. She smiles at you, patting the bed for you to sit next to her. 

You close the door behind you, creating a space for just the two of you. It always feels like that when you’re with her, even when there are other people around. Except for Logan maybe; he’s the only one who can get in without even trying — but it’s still different when it’s really just the two of you. 

You’re immediately lost in the world of beautiful Storm as she presents to you her outfit for the night; it fits her every curve and contour and you briefly wonder how you could ever think of her as nothing more than a friend. It breaks your heart that she only sees you as one, but it doesn’t stop the desire you have for her and the joy you feel when you’re around her.

Storm does your make-up on her bed, both of you sitting cross-legged with your knees touching. Her hand is placed gently on your face as she does your eyeshadow.

“You’re so naturally beautiful,” she tells you in her calm voice, “Don’t really need any of this.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest. She just means it as a friend, she just means it as a friend.

You gulp, “Wish I looked like you. You’re so gorgeous.”

She smiles at you softly, “Thank you, but you’re perfect like this. Lips.” You open your mouth slightly so that she can apply your lipgloss for you. Even though she’s using the applicator, it feels as intimate as if it were her finger.

She called you perfect.

Your eyes go down to her lips and you realise she hasn’t put any product on her own lips yet. You’re not sure what comes over you at your next question.

“You want some too?” you ask, breathless, staring at her lips. Even though you’re not looking into her eyes, you can see her looking down at your lips and she smiles a beautiful, sexy smile and nods.

Storm briefly presses her lips to yours, the way straight girls sometimes do at parties – except that neither of you are straight and you’re not at a party, and you doubt that straight friends feel like this after kissing each other. You pull away instinctively, you don’t want her thinking that you could ever even assume that she likes you like that. You’re just friends, and you know that.

Still, you can’t resist reaching out a finger to swipe the excess product over the top of her lip, and you let out a nervous giggle when you notice that her eyes are still on your lips.

An alarm on your phone interrupts you; you set it for 20 minutes before you have to leave to make sure you have everything. You didn’t notice how close you and Storm were until you both pulled away at the noise. 

The alert pulls you out of your Storm induced warm cloud, an uncomfortable feeling settling on your skin. Being the good friend she is, Storm realises immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, a soft hand on your arm.

“Nothing, I just get nervous about these types of parties sometimes. There’ll be so many people I don’t know, and it’ll be so big and loud. I was thinking of taking a shot or something.”

Storm smiles, “Not that I’m against a little shot for courage, but d’you wanna know something natural that always helps me calm down?”

“Mhm, what is it?”

“I feel like a nice orgasm always makes me calmer. Just a quick one with my fingers or a vibrator.”

Her words knock the air out of you. Somehow, you manage to respond. “I’ve always wanted to use toys but I don’t have any. I should really get one,” you chuckle nervously.

“I’m happy to share one of mine if you don’t mind,” she looks deep into your eyes and all you can do is nod your head pathetically. There are some types of thoughts you’ve done your hardest not to let into your head – she’s your friend, she wouldn’t want you thinking about her like that – and now she’s the one putting them there on purpose.

She twists her lips, almost.. nervously? and, in a low voice, says: “You think an orgasm right now would help you?”

Again, you don’t manage to say any words but you do nod your head, biting your lip. 

“You wanna do it yourself or can I stay?” she asks, one shoulder pulled up seductively.

“S-stay,” you stutter.

“I could eat you out if you want, but no pressure. I just feel like that’s the quickest way.”

You take a deep breath. All kinds of thoughts are shooting through your head, but maybe she’s just horny. During your sleepover the other day, she told you how she hasn’t had sex in a while, and how she gets off on making her partners come, so maybe it’s just a natural desire that she wants to make someone other than herself come again for once. It’s got nothing to do with you, you know that, but you revel in the knowledge that she at least finds you attractive enough to want to make you come, even if it’s just as a friend.

You’re also confused. Your ex always took hours to make you come with his mouth, but, still, you believe every word coming from Storm’s pretty lips.

You nod, “Ye-yeah. If that’s okay with you. That’s a very uh, very nice, friendly favour.” You have to make sure she knows that you’re not delusional, thinking this is more than friendly. 

As you squirm in your seat, you miss Storm’s little sigh of frustration at your oblivion. Instead of pitying herself, she decides she’ll show you why you should be more than friends.

“Y’ready?” she asks, blessing your ears with her bedroom voice.

“Yes,” you breathe. 

Your next breath catches in your throat as Storm leans in to press the most gentle kiss you’ve ever experienced to the side of your neck. She’s warm and soft and smells like heaven.

Her lips slowly press along your pulse point, the tip of her tongue darting out as she makes her way up to your ear. Her teeth scrape along your earlobe, but she doesn’t bite. You almost whimper when her warm mouth is gone from your ear.

Storm slides her hand to your jaw, moving her thumb to your lower lip, “May I?”

You nod quickly, and she pulls your lower lip down, sliding her thumb into your mouth to wet it.

You suck on her thumb, mouth watering at having her so close. Storm takes her hand away from your face with a satisfied hum and gently folds your skirt up to your hips, pulling your panties to the side.

She giggles, “y’got such cute underwear.” You look down and remember the panties you decided to put on today – pink underwear with cherries and a red lace trim. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it, let alone Storm. Before you have time to get embarrassed, her thumb is on your clit.

You gasp at the first contact, and your knees buckle. You’re glad you’re already sitting down. She goes to kneel on her soft carpet, sitting down between your legs.

Her breath is on your pussy and you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

“What a pretty fucking pussy,” Storm whispers, more to herself, and impatiently pulls your underwear out of the way more harshly, making sure it stays there. She looks up at you from between your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, and you bite your lip.

This doesn’t feel so friendly anymore. Unless she just gets off on making her pretty friends come.

Storm sucks her thumb into her mouth to wet it again and begins to gently rub your clit in circles. She realises how wet you already are and smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your clit. 

“There you go,” she says quietly, and then puts her mouth on you. She runs her tongue through your folds and she’s so gentle. You’re torn between enjoying it and wanting more.

“Feels so good,” you mumble, and Storm grips the flesh of your thigh to hold you still. 

She smiles against you, “Yeah?” and brings her middle and ring finger to your pussy. Licking your clit, she pushes two fingers into you, slowly making her way inside even though you’re more than wet enough.

Your pussy makes a squelching sound against her fingers as she begins to fuck into you, curling her fingers up to rub against your g-spot. You gasp when you first feel her there, your head dropping to the side in pleasure as you moan.

She pulls her fingers out to suck them into her mouth, tasting you with a satisfied hum, “Taste so good, baby.” You get even wetter at that name alone, squirming beneath her gaze.

“Be a good girl for me and stay still, okay?” she asks, mouth connecting with your pussy again as she looks up at you. You nod desperately, hoping she can’t feel the intense heat spreading over your face down to your chest.

She slides two fingers back into you, fucking you gently but precisely, and you already feel the excitement building up in your belly. Storm’s tongue dances over your clit, exactly how you need it to. The only thing missing now is just a liittle more friction.

It’s like she can read your mind, continuing to fuck into your wet pussy at a steady pace, as she begins to suck on your clit. You see stars immediately.

Her mouth has been on you for only a few minutes when she’s got you coming on her tongue and fingers. You whimper her name as you arch your back, hips chasing her face to prolong your orgasm as it crashes over you in waves.

She pulls her fingers out and rubs your clit for a bit longer until you’re squirming again, patting your pussy before she gets up. “Good”, she simply says, biting her lip.

“You feel better?” she smiles at you, innocently sucking your arousal off her fingers as if it’s something she’s done a million times before. As if it’s a normal thing to do with a friend.

“Yeah, much better,” you smile shyly, wondering how to ask her what that was.

She sits down right next to you, pulling your panties and skirt back in place, keeping her hand on your thigh afterwards. She smiles at you, and it feels so intimate. Storm reaches for the lipgloss again, “It’s all wiped away. Here.”

You smile and let her apply the lipgloss again. Storm places a hand on the bed next to your hip to lean in as she does so. She puts the lipgloss away but stays close. She looks at your lips. Your heart starts beating furiously in your chest – she’s about to kiss you.

This time it’s Logan who interrupts you. He calls out your name from the hallway, it’s time to leave.

Storm sits back, “you ready?”

“Yeah,” you nod. She takes your hand as you leave her room. You don’t let go even when you see Logan, his eyes immediately finding your intertwined hands.

He doesn’t know what it means. There are plenty of platonic girlfriends that hold hands. 

You don’t know what it means either, but you know you like the feeling.

-

You don’t mean to get drunk but that’s kind of what happens when you subconsciously try to keep up with mutants with healing factors that make it almost impossible for them to get drunk.

You arrived at the party still hand-in-hand with Storm and spent the first half joined at the hip with her. Logan couldn’t even get you alone for a second because every time one of you left for the bathroom the other went too without hesitation.

Logan finally finds you alone in the kitchen, looking for another drink.

“Y’sure you should have more to drink?” he smiles.

You notice him then, “Logan!” you run over to hug him.

Being drunk makes you more affectionate.

“Can you mix me a drink?” you ask Logan, his arm still around your waist. It feels good there.

“Maybe you want water for now?”

You pout at him drunkenly, taking a step back and folding your arms, “You’re just jealous you can’t get drunk. Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to.”

Logan lifts his arms in defence, “‘Course you’re allowed to, bub. Just making sure you’re up for it. What do you want?”

-

You, Logan and Storm end up in the living room at the mansion. You’ve been very entertaining in your drunk state but, more importantly, you decided to hold one of their hands each in your lap in the back of the car on the way home. They know you get like this when you drink, and they’d never try anything with you like this, of course. But they could have a bit of harmless fun.

It’s your idea to play never have I ever, but the two of them are just as happy to. You’re playing the game with water instead of alcohol, but that’s probably better for you anyway.

Storm and Logan resist the urge to make the game sexual; they’re unsure what you’d be comfortable with if you were sober. You’re the one who makes it explicit.

“Never have I ever…” you’re leaning the bottle of water against your cheek to cool yourself down, “had a threesome.”

The room is immediately struck with tension. Logan and Storm exchange a look that you miss. How have they not thought of this before? 

You look at them expectantly.

It’s a perfectly innocent statement – well, innocent in a way that you’re not implying anything to them specifically. Even in your wildest thoughts you’ve only fantasised about one of them at a time. 

Your eyes are on Storm but she shakes her head. Logan drinks. He shrugs, “Been alive for so long, you try some things.”

You’re torn between arousal and jealousy, but settle on arousal. You forget all about the game.

“I’m not that experienced,” you tell them honestly, “I’d love to experiment a bit but I get shy. Not that I’m– um, not a threesome necessarily. I’m just saying.” You clear your throat, averting your eyes.

“How many people have you been with?” Storm asks, voice soft.

You swallow, unsure whether to count her or not. Does it count if it was with a friend? “Just my ex boyfriend.”

“There’s been no one else?” Logan asks, and you shake your head in embarrassment.

“I told you I’m shy.”

“Nothing wrong with being shy,” he says, “It can be endearing. Don’t you think, Storm?”

When you turn to her, her eyes are already on you, “I agree.”

Your face feels hot and you’re suddenly nervous. They’re both flirting with you, if the alcohol isn’t deceiving you, and you don’t know who you like more. You think of some stupid ‘never have I ever’ statement to change the topic. They do you the favour of playing along.

It’s not long until you all go to bed, going your separate ways but not without a long hug from both of them.

-

The next morning, Logan and Storm meet in front of your room. She’s made breakfast for you and he’s brought you water and some aspirin.

“I should have thought of that,” they say at the same time. Logan knocks at your door.

“It’s us,” Storm says after another knock.

You’re not in your bedroom.

They look for you in the entire mansion, but you’re not there.

“Maybe she’s walking off her hangover,” Logan shrugs, starting to eat the food Storm made for you as they’re standing in the kitchen.

They don’t see you all day.

Storm’s in the kitchen in the evening, starting to worry. She knows you’re not far, and you can handle yourself, but she’s worried you’re embarrassed about what you said when you were drunk, or regretting what you did before the party yesterday.

There are footsteps coming down the hallway, and she knows it’s you before you’re there.

“Hey,” she smiles when she sees you.

“Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you all day.”

“Sorry,” you sit down next to her, a shy smile on your face, “Didn’t mean to disappear. I just needed to think.”

Storm breathes. “Yeah, that’s okay. What were you thinking about?” Her heart starts beating faster.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what Logan said yesterday. And I don’t know if I’m misinterpreting things and I don’t want to make anything awkward between us or anything…” you look at her in worry, and she takes your hand. She’s not sure what you mean but she knows you need her encouragement to say it. 

You continue, “I don’t know but maybe… maybe Logan could show us what a threesome is like?”

All the worry on your face melts away when Storm grips your hand tighter and gets up. She grins as she pulls you upstairs.

She walks you to Logan’s room and, without knocking, pushes his door open, “My bedroom. Right now.” He follows you without question. 

“Lock the door behind you,” Storm tells Logan when you’re all in her bedroom. Your skin is on fire.

“Whats’s going on?” Logan has his arms folded, a smile playing on his lips.

His eyes are on you but you look over at Storm, who just smirks.

“Are you gonna make me say it again?” you ask, horrified.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, and hearing her call you that again gives you courage.

You look at the floor, “Uh, I don’t know if you two want to do that with me but. I was thinking maybe we could, like, have, um, a threesome?” You were a lot smoother in your head.

Logan raises his eyebrows, “You don’t know if we want to do that with you? You tellin’ me you haven’t noticed what’s been goin’ on, bub?” He’s right in front of you now, hands holding your face.

“Uh…” you know he can feel your skin heating up under his fingers.

“Want you so fucking bad. Both of us,” Logan nods towards Storm.

“Oh.”

(Logan decides this isn’t the time to tell you that his threesome was with two guys.)

They both grin at each other and Logan walks you to Storm’s bed. They sit down on either side of you – you don’t even know where to look. You don’t know who to kiss first.

Storm makes the decision for you, gently turning your head towards her. You lean in without another word.

This time you get more than a peck. Her mouth is hungry and wet against yours, her lips soft. You’re kissing messily and loudly, and you do your best not getting on top of her yet. You pull away only because Logan’s there too.

“Been dying to do that since last night,” you smile.

“I know,” Storm giggles, “Knew you appreciated my friendly favour.” You hide your face in her neck at her teasing. You’re not sure how you could be so stupid. Now you know it’s more than friendship.

“What’s that?” Logan asks, an eyebrow raised.

You bite your lip, “We’ll tell you later.”

Before he can question it, you pull Logan closer by his shirt. His kisses are rougher, but not in a bad way. His beard scratches against your cheek with the desperation in his kisses, and he’s pulling you closer. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips between your lips, and you grab a fistful of his shirt.

Storm starts kissing the side of your neck, the way she did last night, and you’re so lost in pleasure that you stop kissing Logan.

“Too hot,” you mumble, pulling off your top absentmindedly. They both stop what they’re doing.

“You wear stuff like this all the time?” Logan smirks, finger slipping under your bra strap. You forgot about the lingerie you put on for them.

You shake your head, “Thought we might do this tonight.”

Logan grins and starts kissing your shoulder, pulling one of your bra straps down with his teeth. Storm turns your head back to her and kisses you again – gentle, teasing pecks from her soft lips to yours. She kisses over your cheek and your jaw, begins to gently nibble on your earlobe.

Logan pauses when his mouth is at your wrist, “You know, bub, the problem with pretty lingerie like this is that it ends up coming off again real quick.”

You’re already so horny from two pairs of lips on you that you can barely speak. “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me at all,” you mumble. 

“Can we take it off, baby?” Storm asks.

“Please.”

You feel Storm’s fingers at your back, opening your bra, and Logan is the one who pulls it off. 

They both sigh when they see your tits for the first time, moving to the breast closest to them. Logan thumbs over your nipple, gently playing with it while Storm wraps her lips around your other nipple. You feel yourself getting so wet. 

“H-how about—” you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, “how about you take your clothes off too.”

“How about you take them off?” Storm bites her lip. 

You nod quickly, lifting her top over her head to find her bare underneath. You trace your hands over her perfect tits, cupping them as your thumbs rub over her nipples and she lets out the sweetest moan. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan moving to take off his shirt so you quickly turn to him, grabbing hold of his shirt to do it yourself while Storm stands up to take off her trousers. 

You pull off Logan’s shirt and, even though you’ve seen him shirtless before, you’re mesmerised by the muscles and the hair and how good he looks. 

“Y’like what you see, bub?” He smirks and you bite your lip, resisting kissing him. You move on to his belt, trying to ignore how Logan gropes your tits as you get him naked except for his boxers. 

Storm sits between your legs, helping you out of your trousers and you all move to the middle of the bed. You’re panting before anything has even started, “Sorry, it’s just cause I’m excited,” you breathe, grinning with anticipation. 

“It’s okay,” Storm kisses you behind your ear. 

“So are we, bub,” Logan tells you, moving to press his lips to the side of your neck. He kisses further up, to your jaw, while Storm’s lips ghost over your collarbone on your other side. 

Excitement builds up in your belly, your skin tingling all over. You kiss whoever is closer to you – it’s Logan – and start making out with him. The only way to accurately describe the kiss is to say that it’s sloppy. Logan’s devouring you, licking your lips and into your mouth. 

You carefully feel for Storm’s face and don’t stop kissing Logan until she’s right next to you too so you can kiss her instead. She puts a hand behind your neck to pull you in, and you lean your hand on Logan’s leg to steady yourself. 

When your hand moves just an inch, you feel how hard he is, and how big. You force yourself to pull away from Storm, your lips already kissed raw.

Logan’s thigh tenses under your hand, “How are we gonna do this?”

“Don’t know, just wanna cum,” you say. You don’t want to seem petulant, but you’ve never been this turned on in your life. Your underwear is soaked through and it almost hurts how badly you need to be fucked right now.

“We got you, baby,” Logan says, “Can I take these off?” He starts to pull at the waistband of your panties where they hug your hip, and you nod quickly.

Storm gets up to walk to her nightstand, but you can’t focus on her too. Your mind is on Logan all but ripping your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the carpet. 

He takes your knees to push your thighs up to your chest as you lie down, your head supported by a pillow.

“God, look at you. So fucking pretty. Look at her, Storm,” Logan says, spreading you open for him to take all of you in.

Storm smirks at Logan, “I know.”

You feel Logan’s eyes going between you and her, but she’s leaning down to kiss you so all of your senses are taken over by her.

“Got this just for you, baby,” Storm stops kissing you, pulling something out of the drawer of her nightstand. She’s holding a pink, soft silk bag, “Had a feeling you might want to play.” She pulls out a pink dildo, and you bite your lip as she kisses you again.

Logan asks you something twice before you register what he’s saying, lightly squeezing your ankle to get your attention.

“Huh?” you pull away from the kiss.

“Can I eat your pussy?”

You nod, “But I want you inside me.”

Logan smiles, “Alright, just let me get a taste first. Been dying to know how you taste.”

Storm lies down next to you on her stomach to kiss you some more. Her lips trail over your shoulders and move up to your neck.

Logan bends down so his face is between your legs, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re so wet already, bub. So fucking pretty,” he smiles, moving to lick all the way up your pussy once. 

“Here,” he pulls your legs over his shoulders as he settles between them. He pushes two of his thick fingers into your pussy and puts his mouth on you. His tongue on you is fast and skilled, but you still need more.

“‘S not enough,” you whine, and Logan looks up, smiling.

“Need me inside?” he asks, wiping his mouth that’s smeared with you with the back of his hand. You nod, staring in awe as he finally takes off his boxers and you get to see his hard cock in all its glory.

“Y’gonna be okay, bub? It’s kinda big,” he teases. You can see that. But all you can do is keep staring with an open mouth and nod. Storm wipes some spit from the corner of your mouth and gives you a quick kiss.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, cupping one of your tits while she strokes over your hair with her other hand.

“Yeah,” you say, eyes not leaving Logan’s cock.

“You ready?” he asks, bending down to give you a long, wet kiss.

“Mhmm, need it so bad.”

He chuckles as he spreads your legs for him again, rubbing the tip of his cock along your pussy. It’s so wet you can hear it.

Logan slowly pushes inside you, and you gasp when he fills you up. He’s big, but the pleasure outweighs the pain.

“Theeere you go, bub. So fucking tight f’me. Taking me so well,” he starts to thrust into you in a gentle rhythm, fucking you deep but pacing himself.

It takes you a few moments to get used to his size, but Storm’s kisses at your neck help you ease into it. You can’t believe this is happening – you never would have thought you’d be with either of them, especially not with both and at the same time.

“Feels so good,” you moan weakly, pulling Storm to kiss you again. You whine when she lets go, but she’s sitting up at your side again soon, holding the dildo. You nod before she’s even said anything.

“Let me,” she leans over to Logan, who pulls out of you. Storm fucks your pussy with the cool silicone for just a moment, and it’s wet with your arousal when she brings it up to your chest. 

She teases you first, rubbing the wet tip of the dildo over your nipples, trailing it up your chest and over your cheek, smearing your own arousal over your face. You bite your lip in frustration, and look down to see Logan jerking off to the sight of you spread out for him. You can’t decide who of them you need more.

You’re salivating just at the thought of Storm fucking your mouth with the toy, and you hum when she rubs it across your lips.

“Close your mouth, baby,” Storm says when you’re about to take it in your mouth. She leans over you and lets her spit drop onto your mouth, smiling as she trails the tip of the dildo around your mouth, your lips desperately parting for it.

“Here, baby,” she says finally, pushing the dildo past your lips. You moan around it, taking the silicone as deep as you can. 

Storm fucks your mouth with it and all it’s doing is making you even more horny. The sound of Logan’s slicked hand on his cock stops, and he’s grabbing your thighs to spread them more, finally fucking you again. This time his pace is rougher, and it’s exactly what you need.

Storm’s wet lips are on your jaw as she continues to push the toy in and out of your mouth as you suck on it eagerly. She bites her lip as she leans over you to watch you, pushing the dildo in just a bit more.

“Doing such a good job, baby,” she hums, holding your chin.

“Yeah, being such a good girl for us,” Logan rasps, voice hoarse as he fucks you, “Look so fucking sexy with your lips wrapped around a cock.” You know he can feel your pussy clench around him at his words and he smirks, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

As you focus back on the cock in your mouth, you notice that Storm’s free hand is down her panties, and you can see her getting worked up too, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her tits.

You hum around the dildo and she pulls it out. “Wanna eat your pussy,” you tell her, voice almost whiny.

She smiles, sitting up to pull down her underwear. You reach out to touch the flesh of her thigh, and all you want to do is taste her.

You get up, disregarding how Logan slips out of you as you turn around to get on all fours. Storm sits down in front of you, leaning against the headboard.

“I’ve never done this,” you tell her, leaning down with your ass in the air. Logan positions your hips so he can rub the tip of his cock through your folds, and you take a moment to close your eyes and focus back on Storm.

“That’s okay, baby,” she tells you, “I know you’ll do well.”

You nod eagerly as you spread her legs, leaning in to press a kiss to her clit. You’re addicted as soon as you taste her. You open your mouth wider to lick up all of her that you can, attaching your mouth to Storm’s pussy like you never want to let go.

Her hand goes to the top of your head, careful not to mess up your hair as she spreads her knees wider to accommodate you between them.

You lick at Storm’s clit, tongue trailing down to taste her some more. You revel in the sounds she makes when you start to make out with her pussy, all but putting your face in it.

It’s then that Logan begins to fuck you again, pushing his dick all the way inside your wet pussy. He’s rocking into you so much that it makes your whole body move forwards and backwards with his thrusts, and you can barely focus on Storm’s pussy.

“Sorry, bub”, Logan says from behind you when he notices that you’ve stopped, but you can hear from his voice that he’s not sorry at all. You and Storm smile at each other as you grip her thigh to hold yourself in place and go down on her again.

You get the hang of eating pussy quickly, paying attention to the sounds Storm makes and what makes her knees tremble around your head.

She comes against your lips when you suck her clit into your mouth. Her hand is at the back of your head, hips chasing your face as you play with her clit through her orgasm. 

Being between Storm’s thighs as she comes ignites a fire in your core, and Logan’s fucking you so good, getting messy from how close he is.

You push yourself up on your arms to kiss Storm, smearing her wetness over her lips as you make out. She has to hold your face so that you don’t move too much with Logan’s thrusts, but you’re too weak to keep kissing her as you get closer to your orgasm.

“You close, bub? Gonna cum inside you,” Logan grunts from behind you.

“Mhmm, don’t stop, please.”

“I got you, baby, I got you. Doin’ so well,” he grabs your hips to fuck you even deeper as you arch your back. He hits that sweet spot inside you, and one of his hands sneaks down over your belly to rub your clit. 

Even though you can hear him starting to lose his breath, trying hard not to come yet, he plays with your clit in a way that’s perfect, and your orgasm has you biting back your moans because you’re scared of how loud they’d be.

Logan blows his load in you before you’re done coming, and it prolongs your own orgasm as he fills you with his cum, somehow even deeper inside you than he was before.

You almost collapse when he’s done with you, smiling as you roll over to lie on your back.

Storm lies down next to you and kisses you while Logan gets the bottle of water from her nightstand. She drinks a sip first and then passes it to you.

Logan chugs the rest of the water when you’re done, his adam’s apple bobbing as a drop of sweat slides down his neck. You follow it all the way over his glistening abs and down into his happy trail. You notice then that he’s hard again – or still hard – and you’ve finally got the answer to that question you’ve spent nights thinking about, wondering if his healing factor also applies to his sex drive.

“You want more, bub?” Logan asks as Storm starts kissing your neck in that way she knows how to do so well.

You nod as you sit up, Storm getting the dildo as she gets behind you, Logan sitting in front of you.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” Storm asks, hand trailing down the back of your spine and over your ass as you get on all fours again.

“Yeah,” you tell her, looking back at her with a smile, a new desire forming deep in you.

You get between Logan’s legs, leaning in to kiss him again. Every time his mouth is on you, it feels like he’s devouring you, and it’s one of the best feelings you’ve ever had. He’s all tongue and teeth.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask against his lips, your mouth squished up with his hand grabbing your face.

“Been waiting for this since I saw you for the first time, bub. Don’t know if I’ll last long.” You never thought you’d hear Logan of all people say those words, but it turns you on that you could reduce even a man like Logan to nothing but his most primal needs.

You grin as you wetly kiss down his chest, arching your back so your ass is in the air for Storm.

“So pretty,” she mumbles, lost in her own world as she runs the tip of the dildo through your folds, and you almost lose balance.

Logan’s cock leans against the side of your face as you kiss all the way down to his happy trail, and without further thought, you take him into your mouth. You can still taste a bit of yourself on him. 

Storm starts fucking you with the dildo just as you’re getting into going down on Logan, and you pull your mouth off his cock. Somehow the dildo feels bigger in your pussy than it did with your mouth. Storm knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Didn’t realise how big it was,” you say, steadying your hands against Logan’s big thighs as you fuck back against the toy.

“Not bigger than me, bub” Logan grumbles, and you giggle.

“We know, big boy. It’s not a competition,” Storm tells him, and even though you can’t see their faces you know this just became a competition for them. And you really don’t mind the two people you have a crush on competing on who can make you come more often.

“Can I play with your ass, baby?” Storm asks you when you’ve adjusted to the toy in you and you’re back to trying to stuff all of Logan’s cock in your mouth. You moan around his dick.

“What was that, princess?” it’s Logan who asks.

“Yeah, you can,” you turn to face Storm, “But I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle. Logan, can you pass me the lube from over there?” Logan ignores her – it’s not on purpose, but you’ve gone back to putting your wet mouth on him and you’re sucking his cock, and it’s hard to focus on anything but your wet mouth.

You pull away and look up at Logan, and he passes the lube after seeing the pretty smile you give him.

“Fuck, bub, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, bringing your face up to his to give you a kiss and then getting up to sit next to Storm.

“Just relax for us, baby,” Storm says, and you’ll never get tired of hearing her call you that.

Logan rubs a hand across your ass cheek, kneading your flesh. He finds his discarded shirt at the edge of the bed, wiping down your inner thighs that are dripping with his cum to try and stop Storm’s sheets from getting too messy. 

He runs his hand softly up your spine as Storm squeezes drops of lube onto your ass. Logan’s hand goes back down, settling between your legs to gently play with your clit, not to make you cum but to relax you.

“So pretty,” Storm says absentmindedly as she rubs her thumb over your tight hole.

“Can you come over here?” you ask Logan, feeling weird with both of them at your back. You like having one at each side.

“I’m here, bub,” he sits down in front of you again, lifting your head to rest your cheek on his meaty thigh instead. He gently runs the back of his hand over your other cheek as you sink down into the bed with your upper body.

Storm gently pushes the tip of her finger into your ass, “That feel okay?”

“Feels good,” you hum, letting her go deeper as she simultaneously starts to fuck your pussy with the dildo.

“Such a good girl, hmm?” Logan coos from above you and you sigh in pleasure.

“Doing so well,” Storm tells you, thumb hooked in your ass as she begins to fuck your pussy more roughly. You instinctively start fucking back, your hips moving on their own as you get up on all fours again.

Logan’s biting his lip as he watches you take Storm, hand reaching down to jerk off again, but you shove his hand away. “I wanna,” you pout, wrapping your hand around him.

“‘M not stopping you,” he tells you, sitting back as you make him feel good with your hand.

“I’m close,” you say, suddenly feeling the pleasant pressure between your thighs, looking back at Storm who smirks at your words.

She fucks into you more roughly, the added stimulation by your ass making you tip over the edge. You let go of Logan and grab his thigh to keep your balance as your orgasm flows through you, even better than the previous one.

She pulls out of you slowly, rubbing a hand over your ass cheek.

“Wanna make you cum again,” you turn to Storm.

“Later, baby, come sit on my face,” she says, and how are you meant to resist that?

She lies down on the bed and you straddle her, careful to balance your weight out on your knees rather than on her, “you sure?”

“C’mere,” she says, pulling you down onto her face, and you’re lost in the pleasure of her tongue on your clit for a few moments before you can even open your eyes again. You take Logan by his wrist and make him stand up in front of you so you can keep sucking his cock.

You suck on Logan’s dick as eagerly as Storm’s tongue is on your pussy, spit running down to his balls like it’s running down the side of Storm’s mouth. You hover over her to let her breathe but she pulls you back down.

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle you.”

She sucks on your clit with a new intensity, and you forget all about Logan’s cock as it slips out of your mouth and slides wetly across your cheek. You clumsily stick out your tongue, and Logan chuckles, “So fucked out already, hm?” He jerks off in front of your face, holding you in place. He begins to fuck against the inside of your cheek, filling your mouth with his cock.

You hum, not really listening but simply taking his cock in your mouth as the pleasure builds up inside you when Storm pushes her tongue into you. Her hands are on your ass and she sucks on your clit harder. 

Your back arches as you suddenly cum again, cheeks hollowing around Logan’s cock in the process as you suck him in deeper. Storm plays with your clit for a few more moments, lifting you to roll to the side, and your knees sink into the mattress.

“Such a good girl. Y’gonna make me cum again?” Logan says from above, and you look at him with puppy eyes as you take as much of him as you can.

“Been doin’ such a good job all night, baby. You can take him deeper,” Storm says, watching you. You’re going down on Logan but you want her praise too, so you take as much as you can of Logan under both their gazes.

“Fuuuck, baby” Logan groans, his cum spilling down your throat as you swallow him eagerly and he fucks your mouth until he’s finished, the wet sound of his cock in your mouth echoing through the room.

When he’s done coming, Logan lifts you to kiss him, and you know you still taste like him. Storm is on your other side, and you turn to kiss her, both their hands on you as you keep kissing.

-

You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve each had by the time you collapse in a tired heap of sweat and lust and endorphins. 

You’re sandwiched between them, your pussy feeling as warm as your heart.

“Not that it’s a competition but I think I made her come more times than you did,” Logan tells Storm over you. 

She props herself up on one elbow, smirking at you, “You wanna tell him?”

You shake your head shyly, looking over to smile at Logan. You’re close to falling asleep, only half registering what they’re saying anyway.

“Helped our beautiful girl calm down before the party last night. Tasted better than the birthday cake.”

Logan smiles, “Can’t even be mad at you, I would’ve done the same.”

They notice you drifting off, pressing gentle kisses to your lips one after the other. You feel Storm’s hand on your face.

“Look how gorgeous our girl is,” Logan says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Those are the last words you hear before you fall asleep.

Our girl. You like it. 

-

P.S. reblog to get a kiss from Logan and let me know your fav moment/line/whatever to get an even sloppier kiss from Storm 😳🤭  (no but seriously skhksjhg😭, I appreciate every single reblog and comment a lotttt, even if they’re just short <333)