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ihfmseatsoch · 2 days ago

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He's sick, and he's taken, but honest 🚀🌠

Grant Curly x fem!intern!reader

Summary: Stuck in an unhappy marriage, Curly's new intern brings some much needed excitement into his stagnant life.

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

warnings/content: cheating, (legal) age gap, a lot of pining, curly is #depressed, semi public sex

—

Marriage is a common life goal most people aim to achieve. Curly was one of them, believing it'd give his life purpose. He'd have someone special to come home to after a long haul, maybe even a couple children in the future. He'd have a family that'd mitigate his loneliness, and he'd feel more accomplished as a human being. Lord knows his career would ever give him that feeling.

That fantasy turned out to be nothing like he anticipated. Everyone always talks about married life like it's some cushy, idealistic dream, so it's only natural that he expected... more. Something fulfilling.

Maybe it's because he rushed into it. Slapped a ring on the first girl he thought could be "the one", because he didn't want to waste his twenties being alone and single, while his other friends were already hosting baby showers and inviting him to weddings. He didn't want to feel out of place, and honestly, he was a little too desperate for normalcy. Stability. Whatever settling down brings you.

No one tells you what you're supposed to do when "the one" isn't who you thought they were. When "the one" becomes bored of you in less than a year, and you're forced to spend the next decade attempting to relive your honeymoon phase, rekindle the initial spark you and your spouse once had.

In the end, it was all fruitless.

One sided arguments were frequent, Curly typically too worn down to shout back at his wife, who's nagging him about something he did, or didn't do. Most of the time, Curly finds himself dissociating throughout the bombardment of verbal assault, which causes her to accuse him of not caring about their relationship, due to his lack of a reaction.

And, perhaps there's some truth to her claim. He cares enough to stay, but... does he want to continue putting in the effort to make their failure of a marriage work? Was their partnership worth trying to salvage?

The answer was a resounding no. Not anymore. Curly came to realize that he stayed out of obligation, not out of genuine love.

At least when he was piloting the Tulpar for over a year, it was a reprieve from his home life. He never thought he'd consider his job to be equivalent to a vacation of sorts, but that's where he is in his pitiful existence.

It wasn't until Curly was informed that an intern would be assigned to work alongside him, that the painstaking boredom of his routine was replaced with a breath of fresh air. Initially, he fully expected the new responsibility of tutoring someone more inexperienced than him to be a hassle.

But as soon as he set his sights on you, a pretty young thing with the aura of an angel, the thought of spending every waking moment with you didn't seem so bad. Not bad at all. You captivated him completely, which caused a bit of guilt to stir deep inside his stomach. He shouldn't be thinking of another woman this way, especially not one that was just learning how to say their first word by the time he was in highschool.

But god, were you entrancing. The most beautiful girl he'd seen in a long time. Curly felt worse than terrible for finding you more physically appealing than his own wife back on Earth, but you were so much sweeter than her, listened to him so intently, hanging on his every word as he explained the how the controls in the cockpit functioned, your compliments on his knowledge and experience going straight to his ego—

Oh, he was doomed. Utterly fucked.

"I don't think I'll ever be as good of a Captain as you, Grant." You spoke humbly, referring to him by his first name, ever so polite and respectful. Even if the rest of the crew called him Curly, you insisted on formalities. He was your boss, after all. That's part of what he appreciated about you.

How mature you were for your age.

"Don't be so sure 'bout that," He shot you one of his signature smiles, charming, but not quite reaching his eyes. "You've got a lot of potential, more than most kids your age. And it's not about bein' as good as me, y'know. You've gotta pave your own path. Learn at your own pace."

You had that usual expression on your face whenever he gave you a bit of his wisdom, which was truthfully just him parroting back what his brain had absorbed from the Polle posters with bland motivational quotes scattered around the ship, simplistic and cliché. Your eyes were locked onto him, focused, and beautiful as ever. You took him so seriously, it was almost a little silly. Sure, he was an authority figure, but he wanted to be more of a friend to you, rather than your superior.

"Just 'cause I'm younger than you doesn't make me a kid." You tease him a bit, and he's glad you're finally comfortable enough with him to do so.

"Right, my mistake," he chuckled, "Forgot I'm dealin' with a grown woman here. Forgive me."

"Forgiven." You quip back with a short laugh of your own. Fuck, you were cute. Such a pretty little smile, lips soft and kissable, practically begging him to smash his own against them, to bite, taste, and lick, until they were swollen and red from the aftermath.

Blinking a couple times, he clears his throat. Not now, Curly, he chastises himself. Get a grip. This stupid crush was completely inappropriate. Unethical. So why couldn't he brush his lustful fantasies aside, if he was aware how wrong they were? Why was he treating his life partner as an afterthought, willingly allowing himself to be ensnared by you?

He thought pumping his aching cock in slow, deliberate strokes, late at night in the privacy of his quarters, thinking of that tempting mouth of yours full of him, taking every inch of his shaft down your throat, running your hot, wet tongue along the length from base to tip, would make all those feelings go away. He doesn't know how long it's been since him and his wife have been intimate, he just needed some relief. Right?

Even after he spilled a thick load of cum all over his muscular stomach, abs softened from months of inactivity, he still wanted you. In fact, it only made his desire for you worsen, blossoming by the second. You were an insatiable craving he couldn't ignore. Not until he got a taste.

Curly didn't want to creep on you, but how was he ever going to initiate anything? Were you even interested in him in that way? How could he even suggest anything so uncouth, so perverted, especially as your boss? He wasn't a man who took advantage of power dynamics. Confessing how he felt towards you could jeopardize his position if you took it the wrong way, or, at the very least, damage the relationship he's been steadily building with you.

Instead of being upfront, he maintained an air of casualness when asking about your personal life. It was all normal, at first, asking about your parents, your upbringing, social circle...

And, eventually, he felt as if it wouldn't feel awkward if he inquired about a possible romantic partner, since the question was on topic. "You got anyone waitin' on you back on Earth?" He broached the subject with feigned nonchalance, hoping you don't take the question as too invasive. He felt the need to backpedal, his confidence wavering. "You don't gotta tell me, if that's too personal. Just curious."

"No, nothing like that." You answer, looking down at the coffee in your mug, not particularly interested in drinking any more of it. The first, very disappointing sip was enough. "Huh." Curly made a mild sound of surprise at your response. He fully expected someone to have snatched you up before him.

The fact that you were available made him feel a sense of relief, but also... worse, in a way. There was nothing holding him back from shooting his shot with you, no one in the way. No one to stop him from possibly making a horrible decision. Besides his wife, but... in all honesty, he suspects she's not being all that faithful back on his home planet.

"What about you?" Your question catches him off guard for a moment. Had he really not mentioned that he was married? Not once? He has to think fast. He has the opportunity to lie, or be honest with you. On one hand, the less you know, the better. On the other, telling the truth would prevent anything from happening between you two.

Steeling himself, he quickly makes up his mind, deciding that he can't bring himself to be dishonest. You'd find out eventually. "I'm married." Curly admits plainly, unable to force any kind of joy into his tone. He doesn't even smile, or look proud, like most husbands would when speaking about their wives. When did he become such a shithead, he wonders.

"You don't seem too happy about it." You immediately notice how... depressed he looks at the very mention of his spouse. Catching yourself being a little too blunt, you follow up with, "Um– not that I'm implying anything! Sorry..."

He sighs, dejected, tiredly rubbing his face, as if he could wipe the evident dissatisfaction clean off. The crushing weight of pretending everything's fine and dandy is catching up to him. "Nah, don't apologize. You're not wrong." He confesses out loud for the first time, even to himself. "Goin' through a rough patch. Have been for a long time."

Curly can hardly look at the raw, genuine sympathy on your face. He doesn't want you to pity him. He doesn't want anyone to. That's why he's hidden his marital problems from everyone he knows. Besides Jimmy, that is, but he's not the best guy to vent to, and Curly's only told him bits and pieces, to which Jimmy responds with the oh so helpful advice to simply get a divorce, like it's that easy.

"Sorry to hear that." You place a tender hand on his broad shoulder in a comforting manner. "I know what it's like, being in a shitty relationship. You can always talk to me about it, if you need to."

He can't help but melt into the display of physical affection, no longer used to feeling a loving touch. It was refreshing to experience genuine compassion for once. With a forced, half-hearted smile, he speaks solemnly, "Nah, don't wanna bother ya' with my problems. I appreciate it though, really."

Curly doesn't mention anything else about his personal life for a while, too embarrassed by the smidgen of vulnerability he showed you. He's supposed to be the Captain. The strong one. The guy who has his shit together. He can't let anyone know he's the opposite of who he presents himself to be.

But having you around has made him feel emotions he hasn't experienced in god knows how long. Plus, you're good company. A good friend. You make him feel alive again.

You're exactly what he needs.

Maybe he idealized you a bit, but how could he not? You were perfect to him, delicately handcrafted by angels, everything about you so sugary sweet that his teeth hurt just thinking about you. It came to a point where he genuinely wanted you to stay in his life for good, because without you, he's sure the vitality you instilled in him would fade, and he'd immediately wilt like a neglected houseplant; visibly half-dead and parched in the corner of the room, but no one takes the time to tend to it, or even acknowledge it's suffering.

His yearning became palpable, affecting the very atmosphere whenever you two were left alone. Curly had asked you to demonstrate what you've learned so far, and as you listed off the proper names of each button, lever, dial, and switch, summarizing your basic aviation knowledge, he simply couldn't focus on your words. Didn't need to, actually. He already knew you were smart enough to fly the ship yourself, so he took the time to just... admire you.

You were the epitome of light, brightening his days, no matter how dreary.

What he would give to have you sat in his lap as he mentored you, his hands guiding your own as you learned how to take the controls, whispering instructions into your ear just to watch your cheeks flush with warm blood, and listen to the way your breathing hitches when he pulls your body closer–

"Grant?" Your voice brought him out of his own head. Must've spaced out again. He's gotta stop doing that... "You're looking at me weird. I don't sound dumb, do I?"

Curly realizes he's been staring at you with a dopey, lovesick expression for way too long, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot for acting this way. "No, no. You're doin' great. Ain't you, just... haven't gotten a proper night's rest in a good while." That's a half-lie. Sure, he hasn't been sleeping well, but that's every night. Not much of a difference there. The only problem here is him and his lack of self restraint.

If only you knew how hard he's struggled to not shove his tongue down your throat.

"Something keeping you up?" You lean in closer, so willing to listen to his problems and carry his woes in your two shoulders. He can't tell you the truth. Can he? You're a good person, much better than he is. You wouldn't want to be with a married man.

Then again, he doesn't want to lie to you. It's been so difficult to hold back from declaring his feelings for you, it's eating away at his insides, tearing him apart little by little.

Guilt weighs heavily upon him like an anchor tied to his neck, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. "...Yeah," He swallows, "S'pose there is." He keeps his voice low, sounding immensely ashamed, like a child confessing to eating a dozen cookies before dinner.

"Talk to me." You urge, so oblivious to the cause of his inner turmoil. It's now or never. He either screws this up so irreparably bad, or you accept him and his shame.

Curly takes a deep breath, before forcing it all out in a quick, rushed jumble of words.

"I– fuck, don't think badly of me for this. I can't stop thinkin' about you. Can't get you outta my head, no matter how hard I try. I know it's wrong, god, do I know, but you're... you're just so..." He trails off, his own humiliation cutting his sentence short, and he mentally prepares for the worst rejection of his life.

An awkwardly long silence falls between you, as you take the time to process his confession. He looks like a broken man in front of you, unable to make eye contact, his hands clasped together, sweaty with fear.

"Grant..." You start, unsure how to go about this situation. "I'm glad you told me, and– and I like you too, I really do. But... your wife..." You bite your lip, bashful, never expecting yourself to develop feelings towards a married man of all people.

His heart sinks like a stone as you bring up the woman whom he had vowed eternal loyalty to. He exhales shakily, avoiding your eyes. "I know. Just... me and her... ain't been the same as it used to. Not for a long time."

"I'm sorry." Your heart swells with empathy, wondering why anyone would dare to mistreat a man like him. He's nothing but a sweetheart in your eyes. Flawed, yes, but so is everyone. "I... I don't think I'll make you happy, though. And... being the other woman, it'd feel... wrong. Even under these circumstances."

He nods, silently agreeing with you. It would be downright horrible of him to cheat on his wife, especially with a younger woman who he has a position of authority over. A position of trust and responsibility. A position in which he can easily take advantage of you if he really wanted to. Isn't that a sickening thought.

He's supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this. But he doesn't feel much like a good man right now. Feels like he's drowning.

You sigh at his silence, taking his clammy hands into your own. Your heart hammers against your chest wall. The forbidden aspect of the entire situation is adrenaline inducing. His sad puppy eyes make you feel awful for rejecting him, but if you two started anything, it'd end up a terrible mess.

Yet, you can't stop your body from inching even closer to him.

"I don't want you to be unhappy." You tell him, speaking quietly, as if to avoid eavesdroppers.

He knows he's supposed to pull away, to do the right thing for once. But when has he ever done the right thing when it comes to you? He dares to look into your eyes and his body tenses. You're so close, near enough to where he can see himself reflected in your dilated pupils.

This is wrong.

"You're too damn sweet for your own good," he murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips, "Ain't makin' this easier for me."

It doesn't take long for the tension between the both of you to become unbearable, your hand finding his scruffy cheek to pull him towards you, practically smashing your lips to his. His beard tickles you as you kiss, but it doesn't deter you from allowing him to ravage your mouth.

A deep, almost guttural sound of desire rumbling out from his chest. The kiss is messy and desperate, bordering on hungry, starved of the affection you're giving him in this moment. He doesn't hesitate to hoist you up by your waist, sitting you down on the console, the sudden movement eliciting a surprised squeak from you, the sound muffled inside of his mouth.

Pulling away for air and a moment to compose yourself, your lips coated with a sheer layer of own another's saliva, you stare into each other's eyes as you breathe heavily, his large hands gripping your hips to keep you balanced and supported on the surface. "Grant..." You breathe his name, unable to come up with anything else to say in your dazed state of mind.

"You have no idea," he begins, huskily, "How fucking bad I want you." His firm tone makes your thighs press together, a jolt of arousal hitting you right in the gut. It's not the first time you've heard him speak in an authoritative voice, and it's not the first time it's made you fantasize about him using it... somewhere more private.

"The... The door isn't... locked." You point out, still apprehensive despite your growing need. Dipping his head into the slope of your neck, he mumbles against your skin, "Think you can be quiet, then?"

You don't think twice before you nod, even though you're truthfully unsure if you'll be able to hold back from crying out and alerting the others. Only one way to find out. He presses his groin to yours, the friction making your clit twitch as he makes direct contact with the clothed nerve. Curly's dick is already hard, straining through his uniform, and you can feel just how massive he is, even through the fabric.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he rasps, zipping his uniform down hastily, "You want this, yeah?" It was sweet how he asked for your consent, as if you two weren't already in the foreplay stage. You nod to ease his worries, pulling your own coveralls down, revealing the pajama shirt underneath, embarrassingly old and tattered. But you didn't exactly imagine you'd be fucking your mentor today, so there was no reason you would've thought to change into something sexier. You didn't even bring anything sexy on board. It's this or nothing at all, not that he seems to mind the less than elegant garment.

A brief, shaky laugh escapes him at the sight of you, only adoring you even more. "Cute," he comments, "Hope you don't mind if I take it off, though." Hopking his fingers under the the hem, he diligently pulls the shirt over your head, exposing the plain bra underneath. Underwhelming, but witnessing your half naked body is still a heavenly sight.

You decide you should start touching him as well, just to make it fair. You slip one hand under his shirt, feeling up his torso, your fingers exploring every groove of his defined muscle, even the slight pudge of his stomach. Not to mention, his chest is huge. Bigger than yours. You're almost jealous.

Curly's a little self conscious about the excess fat around his belly, but the way you're touching him as if he's a perfectly chiseled statue, fingertips grazing his skin with an awestruck expression on your face, makes him feel a little less insecure.

His own fingers dip down, the large pad of his thumb lightly stroking your clit through your panties. You have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. "Nnh– Grant–" You shudder, speaking as quietly as you possibly can with the way he's touching you, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout your cunt.

"Call me Curly." He sounds like he's demanding you, rather than asking. "Don't gotta be so professional anymore. Not when you're gettin' this wet from just my fingers." There's a hint of pride laced in his voice at the end of his sentence. He's still got it.

"C– Curly..." You stammer, as if testing out the way his name rolls off your tongue. You reach up to grasp onto his shoulders as he pulls the fabric of your underwear aside. "Atta girl," he encourages, tracing the outline of your slick folds with a finger, "Always such a fast learner."

You intake a trembling breath of air, feeling him explore you, spread you open, tease your entrance, so tantalizingly close to sliding inside of you. "Need you, Curly..." You whimper, a little pathetically, "Need you so bad, please..."

He complies with your plea, reveling in how desperate you look for him. No one has desired him like this in years, his own wife has never looked at him the way you do, even before their issues. "Shh, I know, I know... don't worry. M' gonna make you feel real good, doll." He coos, slipping his index into your hole, your slick making the insertion smooth and easy. Even just one of his thick fingers make you feel full, not to mention it's long enough to immediately nudge against all the right places.

Your eyes roll back as he adds a second finger, stretching you open, the obscenely wet sound of him pumping in and out of your heat filling the cockpit. You let out a string of soft whines from your parted lips, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh my g– goddd– Curly, fuck–" You cry out, spreading your legs even wider for him so he can prod your insides at even more angles.

Your cries are like sweet hymns to his ears, the sight of you coming undone before him is glorious, and he wants nothing more than to worship you, all of you, for the rest of his life. "Yeah? This pretty cunt likes that, huh? I can tell, she keeps squeezin' down on me, suckin' me in..." Curly can hardly believe the filth coming from his own mouth. He's been so deprived of any sexual contact with a woman, that he feels slightly unhinged now that he finally has it. His dick aches, watching his digits disappear, sheathed inside you, before pulling back out again, coated in your arousal, over and over again.

"Think she can handle more than my fingers?" He asks, his body practically jittering with the need to fuck you stupid. The way he's talking about your pussy, like it's a separate being from you, is strangely hot. You nod, the very idea of having his cock inside you makes your walls involuntarily clamp around him. "Uh– Uh huh..." You nod, already dumb and drunk off the pleasure he's giving you.

Curly slips his fingers out, leaving you feeling momentarily empty. You watch him pull his cock from his boxers, throbbing and rigid, tip flushed red. His size is intimidating, and you can't fathom why his wife would reject this for anything. You're openly gawking at his dick, which fuels his ego nicely. "Not polite to stare." He teases, and your face grows warm from being caught. "Sorry..." You avery your eyes, sheepishly. "You're just... um..." You're unable to tell him how fucking huge he is, feeling too embarrassed, but his mind fills in the blanks.

"Don't worry," He soothes, "I'll be gentle, okay?" With a kiss to your temple, he lines himself up with your hole, aching more intensely than it ever has for anyone else, the extent of your arousal almost overwhelming.

"You ready?" He asks, looking at you for permission to proceed, scanning your face for any sign is discomfort. You nod timidly, admittedly nervous, but more than willing to take him. "Mhm," you shakily hum, "I'm ready..."

With your consent, he presses himself into you, swallowing your moans with a kiss as your hole stretches to accommodate his girth, your nails raking down his buff forearms. He groans lowly into your mouth as he sinks into you, nearly orgasming from your tightness alone. When he bottoms out, he pulls away from your mouth just enough to whisper against your lips, "M' gonna start movin', okay? Be good n' stay quiet for me. I know you can do it."

You nod obediently, and he begins to rock his hips, pulling out, pushing in, rhythmic and gentle, allowing your body to ease into the feeling. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, ensuring he stays as close to you as possible. "F– Feels so good, so good–" You babble, your voice raising to a higher pitch than usual.

He kisses your neck, your jaw, your collarbone, anything that's within his reach, murmuring praises against your skin, "I know, pretty girl. Takin' it so well, look at you... so good for me, always so fuckin' good..." You feel him all the way in your stomach, his fat tip almost punching your cervix as his thrusts accelerate, your thighs tensing around him at every harsh movement, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, making you fearful of the sound attracting the others towards the cockpit, but not scared enough to do anything about it.

You grow close humiliatingly fast, but you can't really blame yourself when the biggest cock you've ever had is slamming into you, rubbing against every sweet spot in your cunt. "Curly– M' gonna–" you can hardly choke the words out.

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me?" He pants, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, "Go ahead n' cum, sweetheart. Rub that pretty lil' clit and make yourself cream all over my cock." His tone is so gentle in comparison it his vulgar sentence. You obey his instructions without hesitation, ardently using two fingers to rapidly stroke the hard, swollen bud, enhancing the euphoria washing over your body. Your body spasms as your orgasm hits you, more explosive and perfervid than you've ever felt before, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your sticky and lustrous arousal coating your thighs.

"That's it, there you go..." He grunts lowly, thrusts growing erratic, his movements losing their fluidity as he quickly approaches his own release. "So beautiful when you cum on my cock like that... mmph– fuck– m' almost there, hold on a little longer for me–"

Thankfully, he doesn't continue to fuck your overstimulated pussy for too much longer, completely overwhelming your senses. Curly pulls out and gives his dick a couple pumps, before spilling onto your stomach, some of his seed shooting onto the console, mixing with your own juices. This'll be disgusting to clean up.

You rest your head on his broad chest, catching your breath, both of you coming down from the intensity of your high as he strokes your hair soothingly. "Shhh, shhh.... you did so well... you feelin' alright? Anything hurt?" His aftercare is sickeningly sweet, and it's evident he genuinely cares about your answers to his questions, and how you're feeling.

In your mind, it's too soon to call the affection you have for him anything veritably close to true love. On the other hand, to him, he's head over heels for you, after knowing you for two months at most. Or, at least, that's what he believes.

A nagging thought is stuck in the back of his mind, one that he'd rather not contemplate for too long:

How the fuck is he going to look his wife in the eyes when he returns to Earth?

—

#curly mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing curly x reader #mouthwashing curly #curly mouthwashing #curly x reader #captain curly x reader #captain curly #mouthwashing x reader

150 notes · View notes

coqhee · 1 day ago

Text

HATE NISHIMURA !

IN WHICH ✷ prepping for the school's annual charity event, but with your #1 public enemy ∘ ∘ ∘ more

enemy riki x f!r ― one-sided e2l comedy angst(if you squint) fluff comedy cursing kissing menace!riki ⨯ 6334

em's note ★ this was supposed to be for riki's bday back in dec but I just never got around to proof reading, so theres' a lot of christmasy related themes,, hope its still fun n readable lawl. no joke it took so long to write cause when I was editing I kept adding scene after scene with more detail

it was hard being the class president, filing papers, being every single teacher’s errand runner, and always taking the beating when your class was just being so dumb. though, it wasn’t all bad. you enjoyed planning the school events, and having this sort of responsibility.

this winter, you were planning your school’s annual winter charity drive, your goal was to surpass any other year.

every single school year, your school has fallen way behind their set goal, it was like people had no christmas spirit of giving. you had your mind set to change that.

and what was better than having a little bit of help. when the school admins had notified you saying that you’d have a student ambassador voted by the student body to help you out and co-lead, you were elated.

until you found out, it was none other than nishimura riki.

you hated the way nishimura riki smirked whenever you scolded him for skipping class.

you hated the way he’d talk back to teachers.

you hated the way he laughed during truth or dare in 7th grade when someone else revealed your crush on him and he laughed.

you hated nishimura riki.

─── ♡

you were filing papers in the copy room when a tall figure loomed behind you.

“hey pres, when do we get started,” riki’s voice rang through your ears, startling you. you turned around, glaring at the boy, then went back to filing and stapling.

“you sure you’re not here to be a pain in my ass?” you questioned back with venom in your tone. some part of you wishes you were a little more shameful talking back to another student in front of the other teachers in the room, but you couldn’t find it in you to hold back.

the other teachers in the room exchanged amused glances but stayed quiet, clearly entertained by the exchange. riki had that effect on people—effortlessly charming, even when he was being an absolute menace.

“who says i can’t do both?” he grins back

you sighed, setting the papers down with a little more force than necessary. “look, nishimura, if you’re here to joke around, the door’s that way.” you nodded toward the exit. “i have actual work to do.”

“oh, come on, y/n,” he said, leaning casually against the filing cabinet, his grin unwavering. “you act like you don’t secretly love having me around.”

“yeah and i’d love if you could’ve read the email i sent a week ago with what i need to have done before today,” you rolled your eyes, giving a mock smile to the boy.

riki feigned a look of guilt, his hand flying to his chest. “ah, so that’s why you’re mad. you’re holding a grudge because I didn’t read your essay-length email?”

you crossed your arms, fixing him with a pointed stare. “it wasn’t an essay. it was three bullet points, nishimura. three. and if you had bothered to read it, we wouldn’t be behind schedule. i gave you a week of prep and we are running so far behind with vendors and financing.”

he shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “guess I like living on the edge. keeps life interesting.”

“you know what’s really interesting?” you shot back, grabbing a stack of papers and thrusting them into his hands. “you doing your job for once. congratulations, you’ve been promoted to my assistant for the day.”

“not even co-pres,” he sighed, hoping to annoy you further, lucky for him, it did.

it only took a moment of fidgeting for riki to figure out how to use the copy machine, and while it was a simple thing, god you hated how he already found a more efficient method than what you were doing within 5 minutes.

“impressed yet?” riki smirked, glancing at you as the copier whirred to life. “i think i’m a natural. maybe you should consider me for co-president after all.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the pang of annoyance—and grudging admiration—that flared up. “don’t get too comfortable, nishimura. one productive moment doesn’t erase a weeks worth of slacking.”

“ah, but it’s a start,” he said, stacking the freshly printed papers with a flourish. “besides, you need me. who else is gonna keep you from working yourself into an early grave?”

“i don’t need you,” you retorted, grabbing a paper clip and aggressively fastening a stack together. “i just tolerate you because i don’t have a choice, the school admin assigned someone from the student body to help, and it just so happens the student body thinks you’re oh so funny.”

“tolerate, huh?” he leaned in, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly confident tone that always got under your skin. “clearly, it’s more if you trust me to copy fliers for..” he looks down at what he’s been copying all along.

“‘Jinglin Bucks for Joy’ Holiday Auction” he trails off with a look of disgust.

“who named this charity auction?” he spewed out pure critique from his tone.

you rolled your eyes, snatching the top sheet from the stack in his hands. “does it matter who named it? it’s for a good cause. not everything needs your approval, riki.”

“oh, come on,” he said, leaning against the copy machine with an exaggerated pout. “you have to admit it’s a little... cringy. ‘Jinglin’ Bucks for Joy’?”

“it’s festive,” you countered, defending the name despite secretly agreeing it could’ve been better. “and unlike you, the rest of us are focused on making sure this event actually raises money instead of nitpicking the title.”

“just saying, i think you could be earning a lot more if you didn't have that as a name,” he put his hands up at your accusatory tone.

“well, too bad that’s what it is,”

“anyways, i’m done copying these, and i’d say i did a pretty damn good job,” he smugly said waving around the last stack of copied papers in his hand.

“congratulations,” you said dryly, grabbing the packet from him. “you’re officially the MVP of the copy room. want a medal or something?”

“actually, i was thinking more like dinner,” he said casually, tossing the suggestion out like it was no big deal.

your hand froze mid-motion, the papers suddenly feeling heavier than they should. “dinner?”

he shrugged, a playful grin still plastered on his face, but there was something softer in his eyes. “just to celebrate our hard work, of course. unless you’re scared i might make it fun.”

“you wish,” you muttered, turning away to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “finish your stack first, and then we’ll talk.”

he laughed, the sound warm and light. “deal. but don’t keep me waiting too long, pres.”

─── ♡

for the longest time ever, nishimrua riki could not figure out why you hated him so much. every glaring look you gave him when he greeted you.

every sarcastic comment you threw his way—none of it made sense to him. sure, he liked to tease you, but he teased everyone. with you, though, it felt personal, like there was an invisible barrier between you two that he couldn’t break through no matter how hard he tried.

he wasn’t even sure when you had started hating him, let alone why.

back in 6th grade when you were classmates and he swears thats the last time you’ve ever been nice to him in like, the history of ever.

riki racked his brain, replaying every interaction the two of you had since sixth grade. back then, you’d actually smiled at him, even laughed at his dumb jokes about the teacher’s weird handwriting.

he even thought you were cute and might’ve been developing a crush at the time. that’s an understatement though.

actually, riki had been obsessed with you in sixth grade. the kind of crush that made him extra careful not to look like an idiot when you were around. he remembered trying to impress you during gym class, running just a little faster during laps or kicking the soccer ball a little harder, even if it meant face planting into the ground one too many times.

he was convinced that if he ever had the chance to tell you how he felt, you’d smile at him and say you liked him back and you’d live happily ever after. childish, sure, but he was a sixth grader—what did he know about anything?

now that you and him were finally working together on the school’s lame, and failing charity event, he was determined more than ever to get to the bottom of why you hated him so, so bad.

and of course, it starts with dinner.

that, being the $6 after hours discount sushi at your grocery store. okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best dinner imaginable, but with riki’s limited budget and even more limited time, it was the best he could do on short notice. plus, he was convinced sushi was a universal icebreaker—who could resist a good spicy salmon roll with day-old rice and browning avocado?

no wonder it was $6.

“dinner,” you deadpanned, staring at the plastic containers he held out. “this is your grand idea to fix whatever this disaster of a charity event is?”

“no,” he grinned, plopping the containers onto the nearest desk and pulling up a chair. “this is my grand idea to get you to talk to me without biting my head off.”

you raised a brow, unimpressed. “and why would i do that?”

“because,” he started, peeling the lid off a tray of salmon rolls, “you’ve gotta eat, and i’m not leaving until we clear the air.”

you rolled your eyes. there was no way you were going to be talking about your issues with riki. “i’m not talking about my issues with you, we’re gonna be talking plans for the charity event,”

riki sighed dramatically, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “fine, fine, charity event it is. but I’m warning you, my feelings might get hurt if you keep ignoring me.”

“oh, cry me a river,” you muttered, flipping open your notebook and pulling out a list of tasks. “we need to finalize the vendor approvals, confirm the auction items, and—”

“kinda cold out no?” he asked absent mindedly looking at his phone. you groaned in disapproval, how many more reasons could he give you for hating him?

“can you focus for 2 seconds nishimura?” you questioned with annoying radiating strongly from your tone. “you’re the reason we’re behind right now, and we need to get a move on, except no, you’re on your phone, and get to take credit for the work, i’m doing,”

riki slowly put his phone down, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “you done, boss?”

“no, i’m not done,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you’re insufferable, nishimura. do you even care about this event?”

he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an easy smirk. “of course i care. i’m here, aren’t i?”

“barely,” you shot back, flipping through your notebook aggressively. “you’re here, but you’re not actually helping. if you cared even a little, you’d—”

“relax,” he interrupted, his tone unusually calm. “you’re gonna give yourself a stress headache. i already checked in with the admins about the vendors, they’re all approved, and i sorted through part of the auction items already,”

you were skeptical to say the least, unsure of the quality of work riki would put in. he turned his phone around and handed it to you, letting you look through all the documents and files he’d pulled up.

you scanned the screen, flipping through the emails and spreadsheets he’d meticulously organized. it was... surprising. everything looked in order, maybe even more thorough than what you’d expected.

“don’t stress yourself out, kay? i’ve can handle stuff too. that’s why they put two of us up to this,”

you narrowed your eyes at him, still not entirely convinced. “you’re way too relaxed about this. it’s weird. are you trying to mess with me?”

“y/n,” he put his hand around your wrist forcing you to set your chopsticks down for a second, “put some faith into me, let me help,”

you hesitated, staring at where his hand rested lightly on your wrist. his touch wasn’t overbearing, just steady enough to get your attention. his words lingered in the air longer than you cared to admit.

“fine,” you muttered, pulling your hand back and avoiding his gaze. “but if you screw this up, it’s on you.”

─── ♡

one week had gone by since nishimura riki had started being useful. you were surprised with the quality of work he put into the project, not ever once worrying about any finance emails as he was quick to take care of it.

not only that, but he had started showing up to your study sessions, popping by with snacks or making sure you were eating at least once a day.

it was… weird to say the least. you couldn’t say you didn’t like it though. it felt nice to not be entirely alone, worrying about yourself and everyone else constantly.

riki even brought coffee to your early morning meetings with the district board, handing it to you with a teasing smirk, "you looked like you were about to fall asleep in your notes, so I thought I'd help."

you tried not to smile too much at the gesture, but it was hard to ignore the small spark of fondness that began to grow inside you. his thoughtfulness was... unexpected, especially given how much you had believed him to be nothing more than a lazy troublemaker.

you kept trying to find reason after reason to nitpick at riki, yet none came up. you could’ve sworn it was easier to find so much fault in everything he’d do before you had started working together, but all of a sudden they’ve faded.

at first, it had been so easy to be irritated by him. the way he’d walk into a room like he owned it, his stupid grin that seemed to always be a little too smug, the way he’d talk as if everything was a joke.

you'd spent years loathing his presence, convinced he was just some annoying, carefree guy who only cared about himself and was out to make your life more difficult. that’s what you’d told yourself. that’s what you believed.

but now? now, it was different. working side by side on the charity event, you began to notice things you’d never seen before. the way he cared about the details. the way he would take over when you got overwhelmed, quietly working to fix things before you could even ask for help. the way he showed up on time every day, doing everything he could to make sure things ran smoothly.

it was... disorienting, to say the least.

it was late one evening, the two of you sprawled across the desks, working on the final details of the charity event.

"you’re the only one who would still be working at this hour," riki said, leaning back in his chair and watching you from across the room. his gaze softened for a moment, but you didn't notice. you were too busy finishing a set of final emails. "can I help with anything else?" he asked casually, but you could hear the underlying sincerity in his voice.

“guess you can take a break you bum, go grab a snack from the vending machine or something, grab me a sprite while you’re at it,” you say, digging out a $5 bill from your pocket and holding it out behind you, while focused on the screen in front of you.

he raised an eyebrow, but there was no hesitation as he stood up and took a step toward the door. "i got it," he said with a grin, slipping the bill back into your hand before you could protest. "this one’s on me."

a few minutes later, riki returns, the sound of the vending machine bag crinkling in his hands. he places a can of sprite on the corner of your desk with a flourish. "your highness," he says dramatically, "your drink, as requested."

“mm thanks,” you hum, cracking open the can and taking a sip out of the cold refreshing drink, the fizz laying dormant on your tongue.

“you don’t need to keep doing all this nice stuff to win me over, just cause we’re working on the auction, you know that right?” you comment after taking another sip.

“ah, so I’m starting to win you over,” riki grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “told you I’d be useful.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips were tugging into a small smile. "don’t get ahead of yourself, nishimura," you muttered, though it was clear you were no longer bothered. in fact, you kind of... liked having him around.

you didn’t hate nishimura riki.

─── ♡

the day before the auction rolls around faster than you thought it would.

while you and riki should be meeting with the vendors in person and getting other important work done, the two of you found yourselves putting up the last batch of fliers for the event, your hands full of paper and tape.

“ugh, why do we have to be the ones doing this?” you muttered, sticking another flier to the wall, your fingers lightly brushing against the cool surface. "we should be overseeing the auction, not putting up fliers like we're in charge of the school play's promo team."

riki chuckled from beside you, holding a stack of fliers in his hand as he adjusted his baseball cap. "hey, someone’s gotta do it. besides, you’re the one who wanted these ridiculous posters," he teased, pointing at the flyer in your hand, which featured a picture of a reindeer in a santa hat with overly saturated colors.

“i’ll have you know, these posters are actually art,” you shot back with a grin, tapping the paper to the wall a little more forcefully than necessary. “besides, i’d like to think they’re festive.”

“sure, sure,” riki said, his grin spreading wider as he glanced at the flier you were working on. “if by festive you mean blinding.”

you laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you. riki’s teasing had become a lot easier to tolerate, maybe even fun. he was good at making you laugh, something you never thought he could do before.

the playful banter you’d shared over the past week was slowly chipping away at the character of riki you’d spent years building up in your mind.

“you tryna go out and get hot chocolate after we wrap this up?” he asked, cocking his head gauging your reaction.

“in this weather?” you asked, glancing outside where the wind whipped against the window and the sky was an icy gray. “are you out of your mind?”

“maybe,” he grinned. “but hot chocolate makes everything better, right?”

you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. riki was right, in his own annoying way. hot chocolate did sound nice, especially on a day like today. the thought of sitting down somewhere, just the two of you, without the weight of the charity event hanging over you... it felt strangely appealing.

“fine,” you sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically. “but if you make me walk to the corner shop in this cold, i'm blaming you.”

“deal,” he said, not missing a beat. “we’ll take my car.”

he flashed a grin at you, and for a second, you almost felt like it wasn’t just about the hot chocolate. there was something more in his eyes, something that made the conversation feel different, lighter, almost... comforting.

you quickly pushed that thought aside. no, you weren’t about to go down that path. but you couldn’t deny that riki was making it harder to keep your walls up. every little interaction, every small smile, made you rethink the way you’d viewed him for years.

it was as if the years of tension, of seeing him as nothing more than an annoying, reckless guy, were slowly fading into something else.

yet, in the back of your mind, that old familiar voice crept in—the one that told you to be careful, to guard your heart because you knew exactly what happened when you let your guard down.

you’d been there before. back in seventh grade, when you’d caught feelings for him and let yourself believe maybe—just maybe—he could feel the same. but that was before the truth or dare game, before he laughed it off like it was a joke, like it was nothing worth taking seriously.

he’d been so carefree, so effortlessly charming in front of everyone, and you’d been so embarrassed. you’d sworn to yourself you’d never let yourself fall for him again.

and yet, here you were. laughing with him, sharing these moments like you were the closest of friends. it was easy to forget the hurt, easy to ignore the part of you that still flinched at the memory of his laughter.

you wanted to be able to move past though, and believe he wouldn’t be the same boy who’d laugh if you told him you liked him

he stood up, pulling his jacket on and offering you a hand as if he had all the time in the world. “you ready?”

you hesitated for a moment, then grabbed your own coat and stood up. “mhm, yeah.”

“you won’t regret it,” he said with that same confident grin, and for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

you shook your head, trying to push those thoughts away. there was no way he would do that to you again, right? no, he’d changed. he had to have changed.

but even as you smiled back at him, as the two of you walked out into the cold night together, the doubt gnawed at you like a constant shadow, just waiting for the perfect moment to remind you of all the reasons you had to keep your distance.

─── ♡

nishimura riki could feel himself falling. again. though it’s not like actually every fell out liking you to begin with.

and now, as he sat across from you, trying to figure out how to navigate this new territory—where the walls you’d built between you were finally starting to crumble—he couldn’t help but feel that same pull toward you, that same feeling of wanting to be close.

he felt himself feel like he was back in middle school with you all over again.

then it hit him what had gone wrong, and he knew he had to set the record straight.

“so... seventh grade,” he started, turning back to you, handing you your cup.

you froze mid-sip, the mention of that year, let alone night, sending a jolt of embarrassment through you. “what about it?”

he set his chopsticks down, his expression unusually serious. “is that when you started hating me?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms as the words slipped out before you could stop them. “sure.”

you felt your walls building back up, stronger this time, higher than before. that night had been the catalyst for everything that followed—your reason for hating nishimura riki.

riki watched you carefully, his eyes softening. there was no sign of mockery in his gaze, no hint of teasing—just the same quiet sincerity you had seen over the past few weeks. but you weren’t sure you could let yourself fall for it again.

“i’m serious,” he said quietly, his voice lacking the usual playful edge. “was it really that night? or... was it just easier to keep hating me after?”

your chest tightened at his words, a mixture of frustration and confusion swirling within you. “i don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, finally meeting his gaze. you couldn’t read the expression on his face, but it only made you more anxious.

“if it brings you any peace of mind, i laughed because i liked you, okay?” the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and his cheeks flushed pink. “i liked you, and you blurting out that you had a crush on me... it threw me off.”

your jaw dropped, the confession catching you completely off guard.

“you... what?”

“i liked you,” he repeated, quieter this time, his gaze dropping to the table. “but i handled it like an idiot, and i’m sorry. i should’ve stood up for you, if you wanna keep hating me, go ahead.”

“i’m sorry for holding it against you all this time,” you mumbled.

riki didn’t look up at you immediately, but you could see the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. you had no idea what to say after that. the words you’d carried with you for so long—the reasons you hated him, the reasons you pushed him away—suddenly felt like nothing more than old wounds that had started to heal on their own, without you realizing it.

you sat in silence for a moment, both of you unsure how to move forward. it was almost as if the confession had left you both vulnerable, unprotected.

“you really liked me?” you asked, half laughing at how ridiculous it sounded now that it was out in the open.

riki’s eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion, and he shrugged, the teasing tone returning to his voice. “yeah. shocking, right?”

the playful comment was like a breath of fresh air, and for a second, the tension between you both was broken. but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was racing, the fluttering feeling you hadn’t experienced in so long.

“i think, i like you too nishimura,”

“good, keep it that way,” he smiled, reaching out his free hand not surrounding his cup to clasp yours.

you felt your heart skip a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "you know, you’ve actually been pretty decent lately," you said with a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the moment a bit. "maybe you’ve actually grown up, or maybe i have"

me chuckled, leaning back in his chair, but his hand remained near yours, his fingers lightly grazing the back of your hand. "maybe I have. but I’m still the same guy who likes you. just... trying to be better about it."

you bit your lip, your smile softening as you took in his words. for once, you didn’t feel like you had to keep your guard up. "i think I like this version of you."

"good," riki said, his voice barely above a whisper. "because this version of me likes you too."

a silence fell upon the two of you as you took in the atmosphere around you, looking around awkwardly.

“well,” you said after a beat, not sure where this was headed, but feeling oddly at ease. “you really know how to make things awkward.”

riki grinned, the corners of his lips curling into that familiar mischievous smile. “you’re the one who’s been holding a grudge for, what—years?”

“rightfully so, you’re the one who laughed. you’re lucky the student body voted you to work on the auction with me,” you shot back, the edge of your tone softening just a bit. It was hard to keep being mad when he was being so... well, riki.

“hey, don’t act like you could’ve done this with anyone else,” he teased, nudging your arm lightly with his own. “i mean, look at us. we’ve made a pretty good team, right?”

you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "yeah, a pretty good team that almost got yelled at and kicked off the project because you were too busy texting during the planning meetings."

“hey, i was checking in with the vendors,” he said defensively, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “i’m a multitasker.”

“you mean you’re just a distraction,” you replied, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

“uh huh,” he rolled his eyes, grinning afterwards.

─── ♡

the day of the auction soon came and you found yourself getting ready with a hopeful mind of what was to come.

the last few weeks of you and riki’s hard work would finally be tested, and hopefully you could bring back some holiday cheer for charity, though a layer of uncertainty was still in your mind.

as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress, you couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease than usual. the nerves had faded, replaced with something lighter. maybe it was the fact that you and riki had finally talked things out, or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing you weren’t doing this alone anymore. you still didn’t have everything figured out between the two of you, but for the first time, it felt like you were both on the same page.

you met riki backstage before the event started. his hair was perfectly styled, and the suit he wore fit him just right. there was something about him in that moment—calm, collected, yet still as mischievous as ever—that made your heart do a little flip.

“you look good,” you said, trying to sound casual, though there was a softness to your voice that you couldn’t hide.

riki turned to you with a teasing grin, but his eyes softened when he took you in. “you look amazing,” he said, the sincerity in his tone making you feel a little shy. “i mean it.”

your heart skipped, and you brushed your hair back, trying to play it off. “well, don’t get used to it. you’re the one who’s been doing most of the work,” you joked, nudging his arm playfully.

“true, true,” he agreed, a smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks. “but you’ve been the brains behind it. i’m just the pretty face.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile creeping up on your face. “right, the ‘pretty face’ who kept texting during all the important meetings.”

he chuckled, the sound light and easy. “hey, it was multitasking. get it right.”

before you could respond, someone called your names, signaling that the event was about to start. riki offered you his arm with a grin, the moment feeling a little more like a date than anything else.

as you walked into the venue together, the lights dimmed, and the guests filled the room. the auction was about to begin, but in the chaos of people and students gathering around and the rush of excitement, you found yourself standing next to riki, feeling surprisingly calm.

“you ready for this?” he asked, his voice low, just for you.

you gave a small nod. “i think so. let’s just hope we don’t screw anything up.”

he grinned, his hand brushing yours briefly. “even if we do, we’ve got each other’s backs.”

you took your seat in the front row with your bid paddle in hand as you watched riki announce each item.

the first few items went smoothly, and you found yourself glancing over at riki every now and then, catching his eye, and feeling his radiating confidence.

you glanced back at the screen over and over, watching the donation reach close to the school goal of $2000, feeling hopeful you might actually hit it for once.

the auction had been a smooth ride so far, with everything going according to plan. the excitement in the air was palpable, and you could feel the buzz of anticipation from both the audience and the team behind the scenes. each item was going for more than expected, and the donations were rolling in steadily. everything was shaping up to be a success.

then came the final item.

riki stepped up to the microphone, his usual teasing grin plastered on his face. “alright, folks,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “we’ve got one last item up for grabs. it’s the grand finale, the cherry on top of this entire event. it’s... a date with yours truly.” a cocky smile formed on his face, as he nodded smugly, pointing to himself.

you froze, the surprise hitting you a second too late. the audience erupted into laughter and applause, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at riki’s ridiculousness. he gave a mock bow, and the laughter grew louder.

“that’s right, ladies and even gents,” he continued, his eyes scanning the crowd. “you get to spend an evening with the one and only nishimura riki. dinner, a walk in the park, maybe even a movie if you're lucky. the best date of your life. no need to thank me.” he shrugged, clearly enjoying himself.

you couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “seriously, riki?” you mouthed towards him watching as he smiled smugly back.

“alright we’re starting this bid at $1, any takers?” his eyes scanned the crowd jokingly as he continued on, watching as people egged each other on to bid.

but before you could stop yourself, you found your hand reaching for your bid paddle. your eyes flickered to riki, who was watching you with an amused expression.

“come on, y/n,” he teased, “you know you want to.”

you hesitated for a moment, but the playful glint in his eyes, the way he looked at you as if daring you to do it, pushed you forward. with a mischievous grin of your own, you raised your paddle, calling out “$100!” with a cheerful smile.

the crowd’s reaction was instantaneous—there were gasps, followed by bursts of laughter, as the bid sheet was raised for all to see. the final bid was noticeably higher than the previous ones, and you could feel your face flush with the attention.

“going once, going twice, and sold!” he announced, slamming the gavel with a strong bang.

“well, well,” riki said, stepping back to to take the microphone from the stand to hand it to you, his expression one of mock shock. “looks like someone’s feeling bold tonight. looks like y/n just won a date with me, someone’s got a crush, i don’t blame her.”

you shot him a look, trying to keep your cool. “you better be prepared, riki,” you said, your voice just loud enough for the mic to catch as he handed you the mic to give your statement.

he raised an eyebrow, looking both impressed and slightly nervous. “oh, it’s on. and just like that lady and gents, we just hit our goal too,” he added, glancing at the screen where the total amount had just surpassed the $2000 mark.

the room erupted into applause, and you felt a mix of satisfaction and embarrassment settle over you. riki’s grin softened into something a little more sincere.

as the applause continued and the event slowly came to a close, you found yourself standing beside riki, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as the two of you shared a quiet moment. there was something unspoken between you now, something that went beyond the playful teasing and jokes.

“you know,” riki said, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “this whole thing—working together, laughing, making this auction happen—it’s been... nice. really nice.”

you turned to him, catching the genuine warmth in his gaze. “yeah,” you agreed, feeling a sense of contentment you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. “it’s been good.”

the awkwardness from earlier had melted away, replaced by a sense of ease you hadn’t felt in a long time. you could see riki in a new light now, not just the careless, teasing guy from your past, but someone who actually cared, who had grown alongside you.

“so,” riki said, breaking the silence, “now that the auction’s done, what do we do next?”

you raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “well, since you owe me a date, we could start with that,” you said, unable to resist.

riki smirked, his usual confidence returning. “oh, i’m looking forward to it.”

riki’s smirk softened as he took a small step closer to you, his gaze lingering on yours in a way that made your heart race. the space between you felt different now—more intimate, charged with a new energy that neither of you had quite acknowledged until now.

“yeah?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper as his hand brushed against yours, just a touch, but it was enough to send a jolt through you.

you nodded, feeling your breath catch. “yeah,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart was anything but.

he was so close now, his presence overwhelming in the best way, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the noise of the event faded away, leaving just the two of you standing in the soft glow of the lights.

without another word, riki leaned in, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again, seeking permission. you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the same warmth that had been growing between you both over the last few weeks.

you couldn’t help but smile, a little breathless, before you leaned in, closing the gap. the kiss was soft at first, tentative, but the moment your lips met, something shifted. it was like a weight had been lifted, like all the years of misunderstandings, teasing, and distance finally melted away.

riki’s hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer as the kiss deepened, slow and gentle. it was everything—everything you’d both been waiting for, without even realizing it.

he pulled away smiling, wiping the small bit of lipgloss that had smudged, looking into your eyes.

the two of you shared a look, the kind that spoke volumes, and for the first time, you weren’t worried about the future. you didn’t know where this would go, but for once, it didn’t matter. what mattered was that you were here, together, and that was enough for now.

136 notes · View notes

grimmbane · 23 hours ago

Text

Yeah, I went the opposite way in my fic. In my fic, there's werewolves, vampires, and humans all over Piltover and Zaun, the main difference is how they're treated. Piltover oppresses werewolves and vampires heavily while Zaun is very open and accepting of werewolves and vampires considering their founding.

I would have made Mel a werewolf in my fic since Ambessa is one, but per the lore of my AU, due to the influence of the Arcane/magic in her, she's a human. I decided that werewolves are more magic based than vampires ofc and i guess slightly different than the Arcane magic so the werewolf magic cannot enact on the Arcane so Mel never becomes a werewolf.

Which is also why Piltover seems more hostile to werewolves as Piltover distrusts/dislikes magic so werewolves are seen as more of a threat than vampires

I'll go more into my lore below the cut. It's still a wip and subject to change.

A lot ofwerewolves in Piltover usually work as Enforcers. It's framed as one of the few jobs actively accepting werewolves, especially during pre-independance Zaun as Piltover is highly prejudiced against werewolves and vampires. But vampire traits are easier to hide than werewolf traits.

So werewolves tend to have difficulty finding jobs due to the full moon transformations. (However, vampires tend to get worse PR) Most of Piltover's werewolf enforcers are assigned to Zaun because of Zaun's werewolf (and vampire) population and the amount of unregistered werewolves. Piltovan werewolves are required to wear collars while in wolf for, and there are a lot of restrictions against shifting in public/being in wolf or half-form. Werewolves are typically shown less mercy in the courts. Very few if any houses have werewolves, the exception being House Talis and probably others I don't know about, but most werewolves are not of Houses, especially not noble.

Piltovan werewolves, however, tend to see themselves as above Zaunite werewolves and tend to see them as feral and violent.

The dissolving of Piltover's Underground werewolf Enforcers unit is actually what causes the rise in Piltover's growing underground and that underground's animosity towards Zaun which we see in "Champion" eventually leads to the invention of "Glimmer" as a Shimmer knockoff and attempt to incite hostilities as part of the agreement between Zaun and Piltover is that Shimmer would not be allowed to be distributed in Piltover.

Vampires are typically more hidden in Piltover and more hush hush, even more fractured than the vampire factions of Piltover before Silco unified them, a step to helping them rebel. However Piltovan laws make it extremely difficult for vampires to get blood because blood parlours are illegal, forcing more Piltovan vampires to buy from Zaun's blood parlours or outright move to Zaun. Most vampires that do live in Piltover are either rich enough or have humans close enough to them to get blood from.

Rations between werewolves and vampires are even worse in Piltover than in Zaun, even worse than how things had been before Silco and Vander rose to power. As they both see each other as rivals and with envy as they believe the other to have things "better" but their both getting the short end of the sticks

Most of Piltover's upperclass and elite are still solidly human. There may be a few vampire and werewolf Houses but tend to be lower class and rarely get any marriage prospects out of fear/distrust.

And in the first chapter of "Champion", we see how many beliefs the humans have about werewolves and vampires that are plainly untrue/lies and also like seeing "Zaunite Vampires" and "Piltovan Vampires" are practically viewed as separate species

There's also the "Piltover has no ides of the existence of hybrids" and Viktor goes to some lengths to pass as a vampire (noting there wasn’t a "hybrid" option on the paperwork) as he's a hybrid but with more vampire traits.

The Arcane fandom loves a vampire/werewolf dynamic but sometimes it’s so obvious the only thought going into it is “rich = vampire, poor = werewolf”

What do you MEAN you think Mel wolf-metaphor, inherited violence Medarda would be the VAMPIRE??? I’m going to die

#Grimm's Arcane Werewolf/Vampire AU #arcane #bonus stuff #lore drop

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fangdokja · 13 hours ago

Text

Some truths are better left buried.

❤︎ Synopsis. A charming façade hides a mind unraveling, as jealousy sinks its claws into a man obsessed with the untouchable "Ice Queen," her mysterious past igniting a sinister need to claim what was never his to own.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend x Reader

♡ Novella. Friction & Fire - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,000

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances

♡ A/N. Not me only realizing recently that this was a FINISHED work that I never posted. My drafts in Tumblr are a mess I tell you. It's like the various requests, fandoms, and works in general are mixing wahaha. YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE???? It's like I'm universe hopping in the multiverse, going to different fandoms and worlds to bring the content you all want. And, just like someone with multiple jobs and side hustles; if it's not recorded or arranged right, it gets lost to the void I tell you. wahhhhh

The office was silent except for the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard and the faint hum of the air conditioning. The morning sun bled through the blinds in fractured slivers, painting your desk in a dull, sterile glow. You sat across from him, your shoulders squared, your focus unyielding as you combed through line after line of data.

And yet, despite the quiet, he could feel the tension lingering between you like a living thing.

It was still on his mind.

He wasn’t the type to fixate—hell, he prided himself on letting things roll off his back—but this? The thought of your first kiss, of the strange, detached way you spoke about it last night, had lodged itself in his brain like a splinter.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg lazily draped over the other as he watched you with sharp, predatory focus. On the surface, he looked relaxed, his usual cocky nonchalance on full display. But beneath it, his mind was a storm.

“You know,” he began, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife, “last night got me thinking.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. Your fingers danced across the keys, swift and precise, as though you hadn’t heard him at all.

He smiled, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on the table. “For someone who’s so good at everything, you sure don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

Still, you gave him nothing. Not a word. Not a glance.

He didn’t let it deter him. If anything, your silence only spurred him on.

“So, first kiss,” he said, his tone as light as a feather, casual enough to sound innocent. “When was it? And don’t give me that ‘transaction’ excuse. I want details.”

Your fingers paused for half a second—so brief it was barely noticeable—but it was enough to make his grin widen.

“I’m working,” you said flatly, your voice like steel.

“And I’m curious,” he shot back smoothly, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “Come on, indulge me a little. Was it some rich heir your parents set you up with? Or…” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Was it someone you actually liked?”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze still fixed on your screen. “Drop it.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more insidious tone. “But it’s kind of hard to stop wondering when you’re so damn mysterious about everything. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for state secrets here. Just a name. Or a story. Something.”

Your fingers hit the keys a little harder now, your movements growing sharper, but you still refused to look at him.

He leaned back again, tapping his pen idly against the table, his expression deceptively calm. “Okay, fine. Let’s broaden the topic. Ever had any other boyfriends? Or am I the only one lucky enough to deal with your charming personality?”

The sarcasm in his tone was sharp, but it wasn’t enough to mask the strange, simmering edge beneath it.

“Work,” you said simply, not bothering to look at him.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” He leaned forward again, his voice growing louder, though his grin remained firmly in place. “You’re like a damn iron wall. It’s impressive, really. But also kind of annoying.”

You finally paused, your hands hovering above the keyboard as you turned to meet his gaze. Your expression was calm, cold, and utterly unreadable. “If I don’t answer,” you said, your voice low and measured, “will you stop asking?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening into something wolfish.

You sighed, turning back to your screen. “Then keep asking. It won’t change anything.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something else there now, something darker and more insistent, coiling tightly in his chest.

He didn’t know why this mattered so much. Why the thought of someone else—someone before him—made his jaw clench and his stomach churn. But the idea wouldn’t let him go.

“Fair enough,” he said finally, his voice dropping into a softer, almost dangerous tone. “But don’t think I’m letting this go. Sooner or later, princess, I’ll get you to crack.”

Your silence was answer enough. But the faint flicker of annoyance in your eyes as you typed? That was all the encouragement he needed.

———

The late afternoon sun filtered through the office windows, casting long, golden streaks across the sterile desks. Papers and coffee cups littered the space, evidence of a day stretched too long. You sat at your desk, immersed in another report, your brow furrowed in concentration. The tension that had gripped you for days had finally loosened, and though your posture remained rigid, there was an air of calm about you now.

It was a calm he intended to disrupt.

He stretched lazily from his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as he sauntered over to your side. His steps were slow, deliberate, the kind of gait that was both casual and predatory. Leaning down just slightly, he peered over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

"Still working, huh? You're really setting a new standard for the term 'workaholic.' Should I be worried you're cheating on me with a spreadsheet?" His voice was light, teasing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

You didn’t even glance his way. "Your jokes are terrible."

"Terrible? Wow, you wound me," he said, clutching at his chest as if your words had pierced his heart. But his grin didn’t waver. Instead, he slid closer, resting a hand casually on the back of your chair. "Seriously, though. You’re in a much better mood now. My charm’s working, isn’t it?"

"Or maybe I’m just ignoring you," you replied dryly, typing without pause.

He chuckled, his laughter rich and low. "Ignoring me? Oh, sweetheart, if you were ignoring me, you wouldn’t have responded at all."

You sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze. He watched you intently, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the subtle movements of your lips as you murmured something under your breath. For a moment, he was silent, caught in the strange, unfamiliar pull of wanting to touch you—not for show, not as part of this ridiculous transactional arrangement, but because he wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath his hands.

So, he acted.

Before you could react, his arms were around you, pulling you into a firm, almost possessive embrace. He buried his face against your hair, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture that was disarmingly tender.

You stiffened but didn’t pull away. Not yet.

"Not in public," you said flatly, your tone devoid of emotion.

He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "We’re in an office. No one’s here but us. Doesn’t count."

You sighed, finally turning your head just enough to give him a withering look. "Still. Stop."

"Stop what?" he teased, his grin widening. He tilted his head, pressing his lips to your cheek in a playful kiss, lingering just enough to make your expression harden. "I’m just fulfilling my boyfriend duties. What, you don’t want me to be affectionate?"

"This isn’t affection. It’s a distraction," you retorted, your voice sharp but your body strangely still in his hold.

"Oh, so you do know what affection is. I was beginning to think you were allergic to it," he quipped, his arms tightening slightly as if daring you to push him away.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

His gaze drifted down to your lips again, unbidden memories of last night creeping into his mind. The way you’d slapped him, the way you’d rubbed at your mouth as if scrubbing him off—it had stung. More than he wanted to admit. And then you’d dropped that bomb about it not being your first kiss. That knowledge sat heavy in his chest now, simmering with something dark and ugly.

Jealousy.

He hated the word, hated the feeling even more. But there it was, coiled tight around his thoughts, tainting everything.

"Hey," he said suddenly, his voice softer, almost coaxing. "You never did tell me about your first kiss."

"Drop it," you said firmly, shifting in his hold.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone still light but his grip on you unyielding. "It’s not like I’m going to judge. I’m just… curious."

"I said drop it." This time, your voice had an edge to it, and you finally moved to shrug him off.

But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression carefully masked with that infuriating grin. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

You narrowed your eyes at him but said nothing, turning back to your work.

Still, his hands lingered, his fingers brushing over your arm in a way that felt deliberate. He smiled to himself, his mind churning with thoughts he didn’t want to dissect too closely.

Transactional or not, he was still your boyfriend. Your first boyfriend. The only one you had now.

And that? That was enough. For now.

────────────

The garage hummed with a low din: the scrape of pool cues against felt, the occasional clink of beer bottles, and the raucous laughter of his friends echoing off the cement walls. The air reeked of oil, sweat, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that somehow felt like home. He leaned against the pool table, a cue stick balanced lazily in one hand as his gaze drifted—unfocused, distant, and entirely unlike him.

“You good, man?” One of the guys leaned in, squinting at him. “You’ve been off all night. Usually, you’re the one running your mouth the loudest. What gives?”

He blinked, snapping out of his trance, and a lazy grin slid across his face. “What? I’m just letting you losers have your moment. Can’t have me wiping the floor with you every game.”

The group laughed, though the scrutiny didn’t ease. Someone else chimed in, gesturing toward him with a beer bottle. “Nah, nah, there’s something going on. You’ve been staring off into space like you’re in some indie movie montage. What’s eating you?”

He rolled his eyes, straightening up and spinning the cue stick in his hand. “Nothing’s eating me. You guys are just too boring to hold my attention.”

The teasing jabs came quick after that, each more ridiculous than the last. “Oh, I know what it is,” one of the guys said, smirking. “It’s that ice queen of his. What’s her name again? Miss ‘I’m too good for this world’?”

A chorus of laughter erupted, and he smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mean my girlfriend?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you wish you could land someone like her. Don’t be jealous just ’cause I’ve got taste.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Another guy leaned in, grinning. “Man, you’ve never been serious about anyone in your life. What’s the deal? She finally melt that big ‘I don’t care about anything’ heart of yours?”

He snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. “As if. It’s a transactional thing, remember? Don’t go reading any Nicholas Sparks nonsense into it.” He paused, spinning the cue stick once more before adding, almost offhandedly, “Though she did mention something interesting.”

That got their attention. “Oh?” one of them said, his tone dripping with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“She’s got a past,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Romantic history or whatever.”

There was a beat of stunned silence before the room erupted into laughter again.

“Her? No way!” one of them wheezed, slapping his knee. “You’re telling me the Ice Queen actually let someone get close to her? Hell, I thought she’d freeze anyone who tried.”

“Right? She barely tolerates him,” another joked, pointing at him with a pool cue. “And he’s the boyfriend! Can you imagine anyone else even standing a chance?”

He shrugged, the grin on his face sharp and self-assured, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Hey, I’m just as shocked as you guys. But yeah, apparently she’s kissed someone before. Wild, right?”

“Pfft, no way,” someone scoffed. “She’s probably messing with you. Bet she said it just to get under your skin.”

“Yeah, no offense, but she doesn’t exactly scream ‘romantic whirlwind.’ What, did she date a robot?”

The laughter rolled on, but he didn’t join in. Instead, he leaned back against the pool table, his grip tightening on the cue stick. He kept his expression light, easygoing, but inside, something coiled tighter and tighter, a venomous knot of jealousy and something he couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe she did,” he said finally, his voice smooth but edged with something razor-thin. “Or maybe she just has good taste and doesn’t fall for losers like you.”

The guys hooted and hollered, taking his words as another well-timed joke, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his mind lingered on the thought of her—her cool, distant demeanor, the way she brushed him off like he was nothing. And yet… someone else had touched her first.

The idea churned in his gut, hot and nauseating.

Transactional or not, she was his now. Wasn’t she?

———

The laughter around him ebbed and flowed, but it barely registered. He leaned against the edge of the pool table, staring blankly at the neon beer sign on the wall. The buzz of their voices blurred into a distant hum, and his mind gnawed at the frayed edges of the conversation like a dog with a bone.

“Yo, you’re spacing out again,” one of the guys said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “What’s the deal, man? You look like someone ran over your dog.”

He smirked, forcing himself back into the moment. “Please, like I’d ever let that happen. You guys know me—cool as a cucumber.”

“Cucumber, my ass,” someone quipped. “You’ve been weird ever since you brought up her romantic history. What’s the matter, hotshot? Jealous someone else got to her first?”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jealous? Him? Of course not. He was the picture of casual detachment, the poster boy for not giving a damn. It wasn’t like they were in love. The relationship was an agreement, a mutually beneficial arrangement. It wasn’t supposed to be messy. It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But it did.

“Jealous? Me?” He barked out a laugh, the sound a little too sharp. “C’mon, you think I care about some guy who’s probably ancient history? If anything, I’m curious. What kind of guy would even catch her eye? She’s not exactly handing out free passes.”

“Curious, huh?” One of the guys grinned, leaning against his pool cue. “Sure, let’s call it that. I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever been the possessive type.”

The comment was met with a wave of snickers, and he rolled his eyes, his grin widening. “Exactly. I’m chill. Relaxed. Totally unbothered.” He emphasized the last word, slapping the pool table for effect, but the laughter around him only grew louder.

“Yeah, sure you are,” another guy chimed in, taking a swig from his beer. “That’s why you’ve been stewing over this for, what, ten minutes now?”

He forced another laugh, but inside, the knot in his chest tightened. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him. He’d had plenty of relationships—flings, hookups, even a couple that could loosely be called serious—and he’d never felt like this. Never felt this gnawing, restless ache that made him want to punch a wall and pull her closer at the same time.

It wasn’t even logical. So what if she’d had someone before him? It wasn’t like he owned her. She was her own person, icy and untouchable as she was. And yet…

And yet.

The image of her brushing off his kiss the night before crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The way she’d wiped her sleeve across her mouth, the way her voice had been sharp, cutting, when she’d told him it wasn’t her first kiss.

The thought burned.

He clenched his jaw, spinning his pool cue in his hands like a restless fidget. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He wasn’t the jealous type. He wasn’t the possessive type. He was laid-back, easygoing, always ready with a joke or a grin. That was who he was. That was what made him so good at this kind of thing.

So why did the thought of her with someone else make him feel like he was coming apart at the seams?

“Alright, spill it,” one of the guys said, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “Who was it, huh? Some prince charming? Some straight-laced business major who knows how to schmooze parents?”

He scoffed, the sound automatic. “Please. Like I’d even know. She didn’t exactly give me a play-by-play.”

“Bet it was some boring, pencil-pushing nerd,” another guy chimed in. “She seems like the type to go for someone... predictable.”

Predictable. The word grated against his nerves. Predictable wasn’t him. It wasn’t them. Their relationship, transactional as it was, wasn’t supposed to fit into neat little boxes. It was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to be different.

But here he was, sitting in a dingy garage with his friends, trying to rationalize the irrational. Trying to figure out why he cared so much about a past that wasn’t supposed to matter.

“You guys are way off,” he said finally, his tone light but his grip on the cue stick betraying him. “If she did have someone before me, they weren’t memorable. She’s with me now, isn’t she? That’s all that counts.”

“Spoken like a true charmer,” one of them teased, and he smirked, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Yeah, she was with him now. That was all that mattered.

So why didn’t it feel like enough?

———

The ribbing didn’t stop. If anything, it picked up speed like a train without brakes, and he was tied to the tracks.

“You’re really off your game tonight, man,” one of them said, chalking the tip of his cue stick. “You keep spacing out, missing shots, and letting us win? That’s not you. You’re usually the one handing us our asses.”

Another chimed in, leaning against the edge of the table with a sly grin. “Seriously, you’ve got this whole garage thinking. Is the great charmer finally losing his touch? That what’s bugging you?”

He twirled his cue with exaggerated nonchalance, plastering a smirk across his face even as his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles. “Please. Like I’d ever lose my touch. I could charm the rust off a bolt if I wanted to. I’m just... keeping things interesting. Letting you guys feel like you’ve got a shot for once.”

The laughter was immediate, loud, and thoroughly unconvinced. One of them even doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“Yeah, right. You’ve been distracted all night. And don’t think we didn’t catch the little bombshell you dropped earlier. The Ice Queen has a romantic history?”

“Shocking, right?” another piped up, voice dripping with mock astonishment. “I mean, no offense, but she doesn’t seem like the type to go for you. Or anyone, really.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt, knowing that trying to stop them would only make it worse. He’d been here before—well, not exactly here, but close enough to know the best way out was to wait until they got bored.

Too bad that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“I mean, think about it,” one of them continued, his tone growing more amused by the second. “She’s this cold, untouchable, straight-laced type. Always looks like she’s got a stick up her—”

“Careful,” he interrupted, his tone light but the edge unmistakable. The shift in the air was subtle but palpable, like the faint scent of ozone before a storm.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. My bad. I was just saying—she’s not exactly your usual type. And you’re definitely not hers.”

“Yeah,” another added with a smirk. “She probably goes for, like, bookworm types. You know, the quiet, nerdy guys who read poetry and bring her tea while she’s working. The ones who wouldn’t dare try anything until they’ve written a formal letter asking for permission.”

That earned a round of chuckles, and his smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Not that anyone else noticed—they were too busy piling on.

“Yeah, man, face it. You’re too loud, too flashy. She probably thinks you’re just a walking ego trip. All charm, no substance.”

“Exactly,” someone else added. “It’s probably why your charm doesn’t work on her. She’s immune. Bet she’s only with you because it’s convenient or something.”

The words hit harder than they should have, slipping under his skin and sticking there like splinters. He forced out a laugh, sharp and just a little too loud. “Convenient? Yeah, right. She’s lucky to have me. I’m the full package: brains, brawn, and a personality that makes life interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” another guy said, raising an eyebrow. “Or annoying? Pretty sure those are interchangeable in your case.”

“Hey, she hasn’t dumped me yet,” he shot back, deflecting with practiced ease. “That’s gotta count for something.”

But even as he spoke, the words rang hollow. His usual bravado felt like a thin shell, barely holding together under the weight of something he didn’t want to name. Something ugly, and burning, and clawing at the edges of his chest.

Jealousy.

He hated admitting it, even to himself. But the idea of her with some quiet, bookish type—the kind of guy who might actually understand her silences and match her calm, reclusive nature—was like sandpaper against his nerves.

And worse, the idea that she might prefer someone like that...

He clenched his jaw, his smirk freezing into something sharper.

“You know,” one of them said, breaking into his thoughts, “it’s kinda funny. For all your talk, you’re acting a lot like a guy who’s got something to prove. Like you actually care what she thinks.”

“I don’t,” he lied smoothly, his voice as light as air. “Why would I? It’s not like this is anything serious.”

The words tasted bitter, but he swallowed them down, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” someone said, shaking their head. “But you might want to figure it out before she realizes you’re not as cool as you think you are.”

The garage erupted into laughter again, and he joined in, the sound loud and hollow.

But later, when he was alone, the laughter would fade, leaving only the burning question that wouldn’t let him rest:

Why did it matter so damn much?

────────────

The stars above the city burned cold, distant, and sharp as needles. The private balcony was far enough from the glittering chaos of the gala to offer a semblance of quiet, though the muffled hum of music and laughter still seeped through the glass doors. The cold air bit at your skin, but it was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the crowd.

He leaned against the balustrade, a champagne flute dangling from his fingers, the liquid untouched and shimmering like pale gold in the faint light. His tailored suit clung to his frame, the picture of nonchalance, but his eyes betrayed him—glinting with something predatory, something calculating.

“So,” he began, his voice smooth and edged with a teasing lilt. “I was thinking.”

You didn’t bother to turn from the view of the sprawling city below. “That’s dangerous.”

He chuckled, soft and low, but there was a weight to it that made your spine stiffen. He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk sizing up its prey. “Funny. No, really, I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Us,” you echoed flatly. “The contract is clear. There’s nothing to think about.”

“Sure,” he said, pushing off the railing and stepping closer. His presence was like a shadow swallowing light, oppressive and impossible to ignore. “But I’ve been reviewing it, and I think we’ve overlooked some... fine print.”

“Fine print,” you repeated, finally turning to face him, your expression impassive. “There is no fine print. You drafted it yourself, remember?”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Which means I have the right to amend it if I see fit. And I’ve noticed a few areas that could use... adjustment.”

You crossed your arms, your gaze narrowing. “Such as?”

He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the crisp night air. His tone was light, almost playful, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something that coiled around his words like smoke.

“For one,” he began, “I think we need to establish clearer boundaries about third-party interactions. You know, to avoid misunderstandings.”

Your brow twitched. “There haven’t been any misunderstandings.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, his voice soft and coaxing, like a blade hidden in velvet. “But let’s be proactive. For instance, we should clarify what kind of behavior is acceptable when interacting with... other men.”

You stared at him, your expression as unyielding as stone. “That’s unnecessary.”

“Is it?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You don’t think it’s wise to define expectations? After all, appearances are everything. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us.”

“People already know what this is,” you said coolly. “A performance. There’s no need to complicate it.”

“But isn’t the whole point of a performance to make it convincing?” he asked, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. “And for that, we need consistency. Unity. Which is why I propose we add a clause about exclusive proximity.”

“Exclusive proximity,” you echoed, your voice flat. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” he asked, tilting his head. “Think about it. If we’re seen with too many... distractions, it undermines the whole charade. It’s just common sense.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pressing on, his words smooth and relentless.

———

The air seemed to thin as his words settled between you, the kind of silence that carried a weight far heavier than sound. He leaned closer, bracing himself against the railing with the kind of ease that betrayed the sharpness lurking beneath his carefully curated mask of charm. The city glittered below, but its brilliance felt muted compared to the fire smoldering in his gaze.

“Let me break it down,” he said, his voice silken, the edges just sharp enough to catch. “Exclusivity isn’t just about proximity. It’s about cohesion. A story without holes. Every moment you’re with someone else—a colleague, a stranger, hell, even a waiter—it opens a crack in the facade.”

Your eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “You’re reaching.”

He smiled—a wolfish, predatory thing. “Am I? Think about it. Someone catches sight of you laughing with some random nobody, and suddenly, the gossip mill is running wild. The illusion cracks. We lose credibility. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s losing.”

The venomous certainty in his tone made your stomach twist, though your face remained unreadable. “So what exactly are you proposing?”

He straightened, his shadow looming over you as if it carried a weight beyond the physical. “Ground rules. For both of us. Simple ones. For example…” He tapped a finger against the champagne flute, the ring of the glass echoing faintly. “No private conversations with anyone of interest. No one-on-one meetings without prior notice. And no touching—intentional or otherwise—unless absolutely necessary.”

Your brow arched, your lips tightening. “No touching. That’s… excessive.”

“Is it?” he shot back smoothly, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “Think about it. Even the smallest gesture—a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers—can be misconstrued. Especially when it’s you.” His gaze flickered, a flash of something unspoken. “People notice you. They watch. And they talk.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly against the balcony rail. “Fine. But if we’re establishing rules, they go both ways. You don’t exactly have a reputation for restraint.”

His grin widened, amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes. “Touché. Consider it mutual, then. No unnecessary interaction, no inappropriate proximity. Strictly business.”

“And why now?” you asked, your voice measured, almost detached. “Why bring this up tonight?”

For a moment, something flickered across his face—an almost imperceptible crack in the facade. But he recovered quickly, his grin sharpening. “Call it foresight. With the families involved, things get messier. More eyes, more pressure. We can’t afford to slip.”

You studied him, your silence stretching just long enough to make his fingers twitch against the railing. Finally, you inclined your head. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to keep this convincing, I’ll play along.”

He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh but carried none of the humor. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.” He lifted his champagne glass in a mock toast, the liquid catching the starlight like liquid fire. “To flawless performances.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to the city below. The cold bit deeper now, but you didn’t shiver. Behind you, his gaze lingered, heavy and unrelenting.

The ground rules were set, the game clearly defined. But as the night pressed on, the sense of control he so carefully clung to felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

And it wasn’t the rules that haunted him—it was why he felt the need to create them in the first place.

———

He leaned casually against the railing, but his posture was deceptively loose, the sharp intelligence in his eyes betraying his calculated intent. The champagne glass in his hand caught the faint glow of the city below, though he hadn’t touched a drop.

“So,” he began, his tone laced with a playful edge, “while we’re ironing out the details, there’s another area I think we should revisit. Physical affection.”

Your eyes snapped to his, cold and narrowed. “What about it?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as though considering his words carefully. “Let’s be honest. Right now, the way things are? We’re convincing, sure—but just barely. The hand-holding, the occasional arm around the waist? It’s surface-level. Anyone with half a brain can see through it.”

“That’s the point,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “It’s enough to maintain appearances without crossing unnecessary lines.”

His grin widened, but there was an almost imperceptible edge to it, a flicker of something darker in his expression. “Enough for who? The nosy old ladies at brunch? Sure. But for the vultures at this level? Not a chance. They smell weakness. And right now, what they see screams ‘contractual convenience,’ not passion. We need to up our game.”

You folded your arms across your chest, your stance unmoving. “Define ‘up our game.’”

“Well,” he said smoothly, setting the untouched glass on the railing, “kisses, for one. Not just the casual kind. Something real. Convincing. Hell, even a few heated moments in public wouldn’t hurt. And behind closed doors?” He gave a mock shrug, his grin turning teasing. “Who knows? Maybe even a little noise for the sake of appearances.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall from your skull. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” he replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “Think about it. The way things are now, people will start talking. Rumors of a weak marriage. Arranged out of convenience, not love. And with you being... well, you—” his gaze flicked over you, deliberate and lingering— “it won’t take long for people to start circling. People like to test boundaries when they think they can get away with it.”

“People already talk,” you shot back. “That’s inevitable. But none of this changes the fact that this is fake. I’m not pretending that far.”

“Why not?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You’ve already agreed to exclusivity. This is just the logical next step.”

“It’s unnecessary,” you said flatly. “The exclusivity rules make sense. This? This is overreach.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost coaxing tone. “Is it, though? Think about it. If we don’t convince them, it undermines everything we’ve built. You don’t want to spend the rest of this arrangement fending off speculation and propositions, do you?”

“Speculation is manageable,” you said, your voice cool and steady. “And propositions are irrelevant. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense. “But why should you have to? Why not just nip it in the bud? Make it clear to everyone that you’re untouchable.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your patience fraying. “I already am untouchable.”

His grin didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—jealousy, sharp and bitter. “Sure. But people don’t see that. What they see is opportunity. The kind that comes from a woman who’s too beautiful, too brilliant, and too unattainable for her own good.”

The words were teasing, but the way he said them made your skin prickle. There was something possessive lurking beneath the surface, something he tried to bury beneath layers of logic and charm but couldn’t entirely hide.

“This isn’t about logic,” you said, your voice steady but edged with steel. “It’s about control. And I’m not giving you that.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin turning mischievous. “Touché. But hey, I’m just saying—when the rumors start flying and the vultures start circling, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You turned back to the city, dismissing him with a sharp glance. “Noted. But the answer is still no.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. “Fair enough. For now.”

———

The cold of the night pressed against your skin, biting and relentless, but his body, wrapped tightly around yours, was an oppressive heat you couldn’t shake. The weight of his arms on your shoulders felt heavier than it should, his fingers grazing your arms with a possessive slowness. He leaned into you, his chest firm against your back, his breath warm and invasive against your ear.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone as smooth as the glassy city lights below, “this hesitation of yours—it’s fascinating. Almost charming, in its own way. But... I can’t help but wonder.” His voice dipped lower, a silken purr laced with something darker. “What’s got you so hesitant? People do this all the time, don’t they? Even when it doesn’t mean anything.”

You stiffened, your gaze locked on the sprawling cityscape, refusing to turn. Your neutrality was a fortress, built brick by brick to withstand his probing. But his persistence was a battering ram. Slowly, deliberately, he dipped his head closer, inhaling deeply near the curve of your neck, the action intimate enough to send a shiver rippling through your body.

“Unless,” he mused, his lips curving into a smirk you couldn’t see but could feel like a knife at your throat, “it’s because of them. You know, the one who got that first kiss of yours. Was it them?”

The question hung in the air, venomous and cutting. For a fraction of a second, the apathy on your face cracked—a millisecond’s slip in the armor you wore so flawlessly. Your hand twitched, and your lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. Instead, your expression hardened once more, a glacial mask snapping back into place. Silent. Untouchable.

But he had seen it.

That brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability had told him more than you ever could. And though his smile remained, it was stretched too tight, his teeth bared in something that wasn’t amusement. His fingers dug into your shoulders, just a little too hard, before softening as if to mask the momentary lapse in control.

“Ah,” he said, the word slipping out in a low exhale, almost inaudible. He pressed closer, the air between you suffocating. “So it was them. That explains so much.”

His tone was still light, teasing, but the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable, coiling tighter and tighter beneath his practiced facade. His lips ghosted near your temple, the proximity a calculated weapon, and his fingers trailed down your arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

“You know,” he continued, his voice honeyed but sickly sweet, “whoever they were... they must have left quite the impression to make you this way. But I’m curious—did it mean anything to you? Or was it just... a moment?”

Your silence was deafening, a dagger plunged into the space between you.

He chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. “Not that it matters, of course. You’re here now, with me. That’s all that really counts, isn’t it?”

But his grip tightened imperceptibly, his smile curving into something dangerous, something that betrayed the storm raging just beneath the surface. He didn’t let go. If anything, his hold on you became stronger, his presence more invasive.

And though he kept his composure, the truth was a venomous whisper in his mind, sinking its fangs deep and twisting.

Not fucking happy at all.

────────────

He didn't bring it up again. Any of it, anymore.

But, the room still felt colder than it should have. The air conditioning hummed low, but the chill that seeped into your skin wasn’t mechanical. It was the kind of cold that came from within, from the way your fingers gripped the edge of the desk too tightly, from the rigidity in your spine as you pretended not to notice the man leaning against the corner with the practiced ease of someone who could read you too well.

He’d been watching you for too long now, his gaze like a scalpel, peeling away layers you’d tried so hard to keep intact. He shifted, breaking the stillness with a deliberate, exaggerated sigh.

“You know,” he began, his voice carrying that maddeningly playful lilt, “if looks could kill, that desk would be in pieces by now. What’d it ever do to you, baby?”

You didn’t answer. Of course, you didn’t.

He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the sterile air. The sound of his footsteps was soft but deliberate, a hunter’s tread. “Still giving me the silent treatment? Harsh. I’m starting to think you don’t appreciate my charming company.”

“Go away,” you said, your voice clipped, devoid of emotion. Your fingers tightened on the desk, a small tell he didn’t miss.

“Aw, come on,” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to help. You know, as your incredibly dedicated, selfless boyfriend.” He leaned closer, his hand resting on the back of your chair. “And let’s face it, I’m the only person who’d put up with you when you’re like this.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look at him. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone shifting to something softer but no less teasing. “What’s going on? You’re more wound up than usual, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine,” you said, the words flat, a wall slamming down between you.

“Sure you are,” he said, circling around to lean on the desk beside you. He crossed his arms, his smirk unwavering. “You know, for someone so icy, you’re terrible at hiding when something’s bothering you.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your tone sharper now.

“And I said I don’t believe you,” he shot back, his voice light but with an edge of persistence. “C’mon, Ice Queen. What’s eating at you? Work? Family? Or did someone finally dare to make eye contact for more than three seconds?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the papers in front of you, but he wasn’t deterred. He crouched slightly, putting himself in your line of sight.

“Look, I get it,” he said, his tone almost mockingly serious. “You’re all about the whole ‘strong, independent, untouchable’ thing. Very admirable. But newsflash, sweetheart: nobody’s that stoic all the time. Except maybe statues. And even they crack eventually.”

You pushed back from the desk abruptly, rising to your feet, but he didn’t give you space. Instead, he moved closer, his hand brushing your arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really not gonna tell me, huh?” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not even a hint? A clue? C’mon, I’m dying here.”

You stiffened, stepping away, but he followed, his persistence like a shadow clinging to your every move. His hand caught yours this time, his grip firm but not forceful.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head with a smirk that was all sharp edges, “this whole ‘bottling it up’ thing you do? It’s kinda cute. Annoying, but cute. But it’s also not healthy. So spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” you snapped, finally turning to face him. Your eyes were cold, your voice even colder, but he wasn’t fazed.

“Liar,” he said simply, his grin widening. “You’re terrible at it, by the way. And you know I’m not going anywhere until you give me something.”

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but he just leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your arm. “Is it work? Someone bothering you? Or—” His tone shifted, sly and teasing now. “Wait, don’t tell me. Is it me? Did I finally get under your skin?”

“Always,” you muttered, pulling your hand free and turning away.

He laughed, the sound warm but with a sharpness that didn’t quite match. “Good. Means I’m doing my job right. But seriously, baby girl, if someone’s bothering you—besides me, obviously—you’d tell me, right?”

You didn’t answer, and for a moment, the teasing dropped from his voice entirely. He straightened, his gaze darkening as he watched you retreat to the far side of the room.

“You don’t tell anyone anything, do you?” he said softly, almost to himself. The words weren’t a question; they were a statement, heavy with an emotion he refused to name.

You paused, your back to him, but didn’t turn.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, his usual bravado snapping back into place like armor. He grinned, stepping toward you again. “Keep your secrets. But just so you know, sweetheart, I’m very good at getting what I want. And you? You’re not as unreadable as you think.”

The way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an undercurrent of something darker—sent a shiver down your spine. But you didn’t respond, and he didn’t push further. Not yet.

────────────

The glow of his laptop bathed the dim room in cold, blue light. The muffled sounds of the city filtered through the cracked window—a distant hum of engines, the occasional wail of a siren. But none of it reached him. His focus was absolute, his fingers ghosting over the keyboard with a precision that bordered on surgical.

Lines of text blurred and refreshed, tabs multiplied, searches refined. It was nothing. It was nothing. Just... research. A precaution, really. Something any diligent professional would do in his field.

"Due diligence." The phrase rolled through his mind like a soothing mantra as he adjusted his search parameters. Business students did this all the time, didn’t they? Gathering information on potential clients, tracking leads. It wasn’t unethical—it was smart. Practical. Just like he was.

His brow furrowed as the screen refreshed again, yielding nothing new. No personal social media accounts. No tagged photos. Everything you had out there was airtight—pristine. Your LinkedIn was polished to perfection, clinical and devoid of any personal flair. Your work email was meticulously professional. No footprints, no cracks.

You were a fortress, an enigma wrapped in ice, and it was maddening.

"Not even a stupid Instagram," he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand through his hair. His other hand hovered over the touchpad, fingers twitching with a restless energy he couldn’t quite contain. He hated how good you were at this, at keeping the world at arm's length. It was infuriating.

And yet, it only made him more determined.

Because how else was he supposed to help you? Protect you? It wasn’t like you’d talk to him, let alone open up. You were a steel door slammed shut, your apathy the lock, and your sharp, biting tongue the key he could never quite reach.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t stalking,” he murmured, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “This is... protecting my investment.”

He winced at the word. It felt wrong somehow, but logical. The contract between you two was the foundation of your relationship, after all. If you didn’t want to share your problems with him, fine—but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. That wasn’t who he was.

“People research celebrities all the time,” he reasoned, his voice low and even, the rhythm of his own words calming. “Background checks, public records... It’s normal. It’s not like I’m invading her privacy. This is just... strategy.”

But even as he said it, a part of him bristled.

It wasn’t just strategy. And he knew it.

The truth was, it gnawed at him—the not knowing. The mystery of you was a drug he couldn’t quit, the unanswered questions keeping him awake at night. Who was the person who kissed you first? Why did your walls feel so much higher, so much thicker, lately? What the hell was going on in that brilliant, maddening head of yours?

He leaned forward again, fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed purpose. If he couldn’t ask you, he’d find out on his own. He told himself it wasn’t because he needed to know, wasn’t because the thought of anyone else touching you—or knowing you—made his stomach twist with something cold and acidic.

No, it wasn’t jealousy again. It was logic. Rationality.

But as the hours ticked by and the search grew colder, that logic began to crack.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen—one of the boys from the garage had sent a message, probably another joke about his “domestication.” He ignored it, returning his gaze to the screen.

Nothing. Again.

“Damn it,” he hissed, slamming the laptop shut with more force than necessary. He sat back, running both hands through his hair, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

You were impossible. And that impossibility—it thrilled him. Infuriated him. Tore at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until he had answers.

Because protecting you wasn’t just part of the job anymore.

It was everything.

────────────

♡ Masterlist. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

♡ Tag List. “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

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ive-been-timebombed · 3 days ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE

Danny remembers when he first got Jason. And then they meet in a run down apartment.

Danny was already nervous, and he wasn’t even in the mortal world yet. He had gotten new clothes and a hair cut. Now he was standing in front of a portal that would take him to his old apartment that was in Gotham. The same apartment he first taken Jason to when he was given to him.

Danny thinks that was one of his favorite days but also the worst. He was in college walking home from his part time job. When a woman with a damn near newborn baby approached him.

________

Danny groaned as he got up from his bed. He was just about to go to bed but a knock on the door stopped him. He walked through the clean apartment to the door. He took a deep breath before he opened it and looked around. He didn’t see anyone- a baby?! He quickly bent down and checked on the kid.

He picked him up feeling the soul of the small human made him scared he was gonna hurt it. Cradling the baby to his chest he then paid attention to the letter on the ground.

‘Daniel. This is your baby. I can’t take care of him anymore. All his documents are in the bag. I’m sorry I pushed the burden to you’

Danny glanced at the black backpack before he looked at the baby.. he had his nose.. oh what bad luck. He picked up the bag and dragged it inside putting it on the table he then sat on the couch holding the baby. He couldn’t believe.. he didn’t know how to take care of a child. He could barely take care of himself! He didn’t make barely enough money to take care of both of them. Especially a baby.

Oh but he was now forced to care for him. And he would do a damn good job if he had any say.

______________

Jason had looked into the Fenton family also. It was bizarre stuff. The site looked to be completely abandoned everything was unedited since 2016. All dates were old and pictures never updated. So he looked up individual people.

Jack Fenton, Jason hummed when he noticed he had the same middle name as his first, he was a big burley man the skipped leg day often. He had the.. same white hair by his nape as his dad. Blue eyes like him. He had died in 2016 in some freak accident in his home.

Madeline Fenton a lady who had many PHDs and seemed like a great mother. Her hair ginger and eyes purple? Jason didn’t know peoples eyes could be purple. She had records of being in martial arts and had her guns licenses. She had also died with her husband in 2016 in the same freak accident.

Jazmine Fenton a girl who looked like her mother. All As in high school and was on the road of being a therapist. She was accepted into college and planned to go before he died in the accident along with her parents.

The last one, was Daniel Fenton. He was- Jason stopped when he saw the screen. He expected the son to be dead dying in the accident. But he had a missing persons case.. that had a picture of a very similar man. The same man with a scar. Jason figured out who his father was. And he was gonna figure out everything he could.. starting with going to his apartment. It was an abandoned building left to rot due to mold and unkept problems.

_______

Danny looked around his old place. His stuff was still here.. he knew the building was going to be destroyed so he thought he would’ve appeared in old alleyway or something. Not have a trip in memory lane.

The pictures of him and Jason still hung on the wall. The hole that was made by Jason when he threw a baseball at him. The messy living room that was never cleaned up because he left as soon as he dropped Jason off. He stepped around the toys as he stopped in front of the door that had an old paper pinned to it.

It had the faded words of ‘JASONS RUOM. Sta out dad! IL throw the bal at u agin!’ With stars and rocket ships decorating the sides. Danny smiled at the memories of Jason’s sounding out the words on the table. He walked through the door not risking ruining anything by actually opening the door. He teared up at the room. The old books still on the bookshelf and the bed still unmade. The teddy bear on the bed tucked in on the other side. The room a mess with toys and glow in the dark stars that fell off the ceiling.

Danny shoot up hearing the sound of the front door opening. He turned invisible not risking being caught this early on the mortal realm. He would leave immediately but.. he could feel the ectoplasm in the air. It was similar to his.. could it be Jason?

______

Stepping into the apartment was weird to Jason. He could feel the memories in there but he couldn’t remember them. He closed the door behind him looking around. He reached up and took off his helmet. This was Jason’s moment not Red Hoods. Setting the helmet on the table he glanced at the pictures on the wall. Stepping to them picking it off the wall and looking at the picture.

It was him.. and his dad holding him up under his arms holding him up to reach a book. Grabbing the next picture it was of his Dad with a bunch toilet paper wrapped around him and Jason in a doctor getup wrapping more around him. He set the pictures on the wall swallowing the lump in his throat as he moved to the living room glancing at the papers and crayons on the table.

He took a deep breath as he stopped in the doorway. The apartment was small but it was well lived in. The layer of dust on everything made it worse. He could imagine before it was left to dust.. how it would look. How he would run in and his father closing the door behind him. How he would watch TV hoping his father wouldn’t notice his bedtime had passed.

He’s eyes looked at the toys on the ground a story he would never know in each place spot. Maybe the stuffed dinosaur was a doctor in his childhood mind or even an evil he had to defeat. Maybe his dad played with him and that was his Dino he force him to play with. He would never know.. he ignored the tears appearing in his eyes. He walks to his door if the paper was to go by. Before he went in he looked over to the door next to it. He went and opened it. It was another bedroom his father’s. The layer of dust was suffocating.

The forgotten remains of his past. The bed was made and seemed thin. The stopped in front of the desk.. it had bills on it. Eviction notices.. he would have never guessed.. with all the toys. He bit his lip in an effort to stop the attention to his feelings. Focus on the pain. He walked around the bed. A picture of him and his Dad smiling at the camera. He’s eyes looked left the room before he started crying in the middle of the ghost of his dad.

A shaky breath and a hand over his mouth he walked into his old room resolving that he would cry when he went in. But he stopped as he looked at a man. The same man that was in the pictures. The man would looked so strong in the pictures next to a kid Jason yet so much smaller and frail now next to him. He felt to big. To much.

They looked at each other one in shock and tears falling from his eyes. The other looking at him in guilt but all the same with the tears falling from his eyes.

“I’m sorry..” The voice broke the silence with a startling start. That was Jason’s dad. He was here in his old room. The voice that was smooth. Less echoey than before. He had questions about so much. His father was right there to answer them.

@vasia-k

Sorry for any misspellings or grammar issues. It’s late and I had a headache when I wrote this.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #red hood #dad danny #dpxdc #ghost jason todd #more so ghostling then ghost but meh #ghost king danny #my mission is to make someone cry #did I complete it?#womp

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sturniololuv08 · 2 days ago

Text

Pornstar (Matt) [Smut]

Song: Pornstar - Nessa Barrett

Tumblr: @marialovessturniolo

"Take four!" Matt yelled, frustrated. You were trying your best. The large cock thrust in your mouth over and over, gagging you. Your eyes started watering.

"Stop." You called out. Your costar listened to your boundary and removed his medically induced erection from your mouth.

"Star, what's the problem?" Matt set down his clipboard. He showed genuine concern.

"I don't know. I just -" You weren't entirely sure what was wrong. You couldn't do your job today. Stress, maybe? Pretending to love dick in your mouth was so easy for you, but for some reason, the one you were scheduled with today wasn't working for your small throat.

"Take a break. Everyone." Matt looked around to see everyone dispersing from the fake scene. The set was beautiful. The couch was purple and lacey. The backdrop was blood red, making your red lipstick, now a little smeared, pop on camera. Matt came over and bent down in front of you. "Here." He handed you a baby wipe so you could take off your lipstick. "We can wrap up if you want to be done?" His eyes were soft. He always cared for the female models, but there was something different about how he spoke to you. Sometimes, he even gave you soft touches that didn't go unnoticed.

"I don't know what's wrong with me today." You tried to chuckle, but it failed.

"We'll come back tomorrow." He rubbed your knee softly. You nodded, trusting his instincts. He stood up and turned away from you. "That's a day. We'll pick up tomorrow." He instructed. You have been working with Bang Bros Studios for a few months now. You were nervous about venturing into the adult film industry, but your first few times on set were watching seasoned actors and actresses. You quickly saw the company you were vetted to work with and felt better about your decision. But it wasn't until you saw how Matt treated each woman that you signed your contract. The way he covered each girl with their robe or got hands-on and corrected their makeup himself, he always listened attentively if anyone was uncomfortable with performing a certain scene or task. He was the reason you wanted to work here. Just as you were watching him closely, he was returning the attention.

Matt had seen thousands of naked bodies. All shapes and sizes, but yours piqued his interest. You weren't supermodel skinny, but you weren't big enough to be filmed for the BBW content he produced. He knew you were new to the industry immediately. He could tell your pleasure wasn't always faked. Sometimes, as he watched you getting fucked from behind, he could see the true gratification on your face. That wasn't even the most challenging part for him. The hardest part was having to listen to your beautiful moans drip from your lips. He could tell the difference between a real and a forced moan. Your genuine whimpers made him jealous he wasn't the one behind you.

Matt grabbed your robe and held it up so you could slide your arms in. Everyone started packing up random equipment. You felt so guilty you couldn't do your job. Even though no one showed disapproval towards you, you still felt like you let everyone down.

"Don't worry about it. This industry is all about boundaries." Your costar stood in front of you, covered in his velvety robe, his erection tenting the fabric at his hips.

"I know; I just hate setting us back because I can't suck a dick." He laughed.

"Sometimes it's hard to fake pleasure. If you aren't feeling it, you aren't feeling it." He started rubbing your back for extra comfort.

"Thank you." You smiled at him. You look over to see Matt closely watching the interaction. He was talking to a small group of people. The only thing you could think of was you wouldn't have to fake pleasure with him. Slowly but surely, everyone started clearing out of the warehouse. You sat on the couch and looked at the bright lights beaming from the rafters. You sighed heavily.

"It gets easier." You looked past the lights to see Matt, your director and co-producer. He emerged from the shadows to be standing in front of you.

"I hate letting everyone down." You also hated sounding so mopey and complaining to your boss.

"Star. It's okay." He looked down at you. You looked up at him and smiled, knowing he wasn't lying to you. Even though you had only been here for a little while, you could tell everything Matt said was genuine.

"Could you -" You stopped yourself from finishing. You knew your thought was wrong even to think.

"Could I what?" He asked for you to finish.

"Never mind." You pushed the thought back down.

"Come on. Just ask." He pressed. His sly smirk made you think he knew what you wanted to ask.

"How did you become a porn director?" You changed up your question.

"I just knew some people in the industry, and when they needed someone to help out, I was there. Been doing it ever since." He didn't seem ashamed of his profession.

"Have you... ever...?" You paused in between your words, trying to make sure he got the picture without you having to finish.

"I have a couple of times. Wasn't my calling." He chuckled.

"Could you teach me some tricks?" You asked. You wanted help to improve, but you also secretly just wanted an excuse to see what Matt could do to you.

"Of course." He was either really into it or really dumb. He took his jacket off and tossed it aside. He held out his hand for your robe, which you discarded. Naked once again, you laid back on the couch. "So even though you don't have a connection with your Co you have to act like you do or think of someone you do have a connection with. Falsify that connection." He crawled on top of your naked body. He could feel himself getting more hard behind the zipper of his jeans. You arched your back so your breasts rubbed against his shirt. "Good." He praised. He bit his lip and looked down at you. "Where are your hands?" He asked. You wiggled your fingers, feeling them in the open air. You were hesitant to touch him; he was still your boss.

"Am I allowed to -"

"Would you ask during a scene?" His eyes were a soft blue, but they held a dark lust in them. You ran your fingertips underneath his shirt, feeling his smooth skin. Without asking, his fingers glided between your legs up to your crease. You weren't wet at all from earlier, having not been in the mood, but Matt touching you was different. You felt the difference with each little tickle he created. Without thinking, you bent your knee, giving him more room. "Good girl." He cooed. He used the new room to keep moving his fingers closer to your naked body. You shivered, feeling goosebumps rise.

"M..matt." You breathed heavily.

"Yes?" He whispered steadily. You remembered he said not to ask, so you went for it instead of vocalizing your wants. You grabbed his neck and pulled him down to kiss you. It was sweet and short. He pulled away, and you instantly felt regret in the pit of your stomach. He bit his lip as his eyes danced all over your face.

"More." You pleaded. He didn't hesitate. He connected your lips together again, simultaneously poking two fingers into your warm wet thighs. "Oh." You lurched and moaned the word on his lips. He smirked excitedly finally, getting to be the one causing those noises he heard a few times. He pumped his fingers in and out as he kissed you, making sure that the kiss stayed connected as long as possible before breaking it to breathe. As soon as he had a breath of air, he dipped back into it. You instantly felt this was different. This wasn't lights, camera, action. This was slow, sensual, and needy.

"Fuck." He whispered on your lips. He started grinding his hips, trying to please the erection growing in his jeans.

"Show me who you are." You used your hands to start playing with his jeans button. You knew a few tricks yourself, and within seconds, you had them unbuttoned and slid down.

"Nice." He hummed on your neck. You widened your hips, and he filled the new space. You reach down in between his legs and position him right where he needs to be to enter your sweet spot. Without hesitation, he slams into you in full force. You were so wet from just his fingers that he glided into you right away. He was just erect enough to penetrate you but still growing with every stroke. His hips slowly grinded on yours. He was making this fuck passionate. Your hands went up his back to his hair. He groaned at the touch. You lightly tugged at his roots, figuring out that he liked it. Your head rolled back as soon as he reached his peak size.

"Oh my god, Matt." You moaned. He felt pleased with himself. He was the one causing the authentic moans to slip off of your pink-stained lips. He was the one causing you absolute pleasure. He was the one making love to you. He picked up his pace with that last thought. He felt a sudden rush flow through his body, settling to pulse on his tip. You didn't hold your moans back. They were not pornstar moans; they were real moans that had anticipated this moment. He pounded you into the soft purple fabric and bounced back and forth, using the plush cushions as leverage. Your legs wrapped around his waist, sucking him further into you.

"You wanted this?" He asked. You nodded, giving in to your desires. Daydreaming about him finally had its payout.

"Fuck. I'm cuming." You were so focused on how attractive he was your body was working itself up, and you hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to cum in you." He looked directly into your eyes. His voice was soft, but he didn't ask permission. He was telling you. Your back arched off the couch, and he held you with one hand closer to his chest.

"Please cum inside me." You whined. Feeling his cock sliding in and out of you was impressive enough, but now feeling him swelling to stuff you and fill you with his stringy cum was euphoric. Instead of rutting into you fast and hard, he held a steady pace and made sure to push harder into you to reach your cervix. He lightly kissed the back of your insides with ease, causing you to release. Your orgasm noises pushed him entirely over the edge.

"Ugh, fuck." He didn't hold back his gratification. He wrapped his fingers in yours and rode out his high on top of you. He came down to kiss you lightly for a few seconds. Slowing his hips to a stop he kept looking into your eyes.

"Alright, cut!" The lights slowly came back up. "Matt, that was perfect." You turned your head to see someone standing behind the camera.

"What?" You looked back at Matt with confusion evident on your face.

"You just have to learn how to falsify the connection," he said, standing off you and buttoning his jeans up. You stared at him in complete shock, feeling played. He winked and walked over to talk to some people about the film. You covered up, feeling violated. Sitting there thinking about how the perfect moment in your head was ruined. Matt came back over and bent down in front of you. "Just so you know, I didn't fake any of that." He kissed your exposed knee and walked away again. You looked down and smiled to yourself, realizing you had the perfect moment, and it was all on camera so you could watch it back and see it over and over.

Matt Taglist:

@speakn0w13 @itsyabiotch @livvv111 @witchywinchester99

All Taglist:

@wysmols @sturns-mermaid @trevorsgodmother @emely9274 @sophia-77n @courta13

#nessa barrett #matt sturniolo x reader #juno song short ✨️#matt x you #matthew sturniolo #matt x reader #matt sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo fluff

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cherrysweets-world · 5 hours ago

Text

Eyes of the Gods IV

series masterlist - part III

Pairing - Geta x fem!reader x Caracalla

Summary - Geta and Caracalla force you further into their world.

Warnings - 18+, unedited, forced proximity, power imbalances, future dub-con, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic violence, masturbation, lonliness, dondus is a girly

Word Count - 2.5k

The majority of your morning passed in a similar fashion. You'd stand against the wall, leaving it on occasion to fetch Geta wine or do whatever else he bid you, which wasn't much. In the light of day and alone he seemed glaringly human. He flipped through the papers on his desk, offering the occasional scoff or scowl, and sometimes even appeared bored.

That was, of course, when he wasn't staring at you. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your face for minutes at a time but stood still, unwilling to meet his gaze. Geta would look down and then quickly up again as if determined to catch you in the middle of something. It would have been amusing if he was not the Emperor.

After several hours of this game, he sat back in his chair and let his pen fall to the table. "Tell the guards outside the door that they are to bring some food."

You bowed your head dutifully but stopped several paces from the door.

"Is there an issue?" he said mockingly.

"I. . .believe that would be my job," you said slowly, turning to face him. "I should fetch whatever it is you request."

Geta seemed to think about this for several seconds. He picked his pen back up and began tapping it against his desk. Tap tap tap.

"Ask them for whatever you want as well," he finally said. "I suppose you have not eaten?"

Your cheeks turned hot. True, you had not. You had been in such a rush this morning that you hadn't had time to stop by the kitchens for your usual morning meal. Geta had kept you so distracted that you had hardly even registered your own hunger.

"I do not believe it is appropriate for me to eat with you," you tried, tapping your nails against your palms.

"Is it appropriate to ignore the orders of the Emperor?"

"No - "

"Well, then."

His eyes dared you to argue further. Swallowing your words, you went to the door and spoke with the guard. You requested fruits and bread for Geta and a bowl of porridge for yourself. The guard's brows raised at the porridge and you shrugged, gesturing behind you as thought that was enough explanation. The guard seemed to think so and you watched as he disappeared down the corridor.

Your purpose here was a mystery to you. It was unusual to have a cupbearer who did only that. You had assumed you would fetch his meals, perhaps tidy up after him too. Instead you had stood at the wall for almost the entire morning. The biggest task was avoiding the Emperor's wandering gaze and it was by far the most exhausting.

"What would you usually be doing at this time?" he asked.

"Uh," you stammered, confused by the question, "I would be in the kitchen, I suppose, Emperor."

Geta tilted his head. You allowed yourself to look up and meet his eyes, desperate to read his mood. Every question felt like he was trying to slip you up, though for what purpose you did not know. Like that night in the entertainment hall, his tongue traced along his top and bottom lip. You found yourself watching the movement and forced yourself to look away.

"I am sure this is preferable, then," he seemed to decide to himself.

You blinked and couldn't help but ask, "My apologies, Emperor, but what is my purpose here?"

It was the most you dared ask but you wanted to know. If you did not then it was more likely you would make a mistake, take a wrong step in this dance he was forcing you through, and the consequences could be deadly. You had assumed you would take up all the responsibilities of a cup-bearer or maid but you were wrong. Now you were left floundering, wondering what to do next. You could not leave yourself any more vulnerable than you already were.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Grateful for the interruption you rushed over, gladly relieving the guard of the tray of food and whispering a quiet thank you before letting the door fall closed.

Geta still had not answered your question but you carried the tray over to him, sliding it gently onto his desk. You pushed some of his papers aside to make more room and then stepped back, clasping your hands in front of you so as not to look so clueless.

Geta picked out your porridge from the rest of the food and scowled as if it was a personal offence. He pushed it toward you. "Take it. Sit. Eat."

Cautiously you walked away, picking out a chair furthest away from Geta's desk. You pressed your lips together and stared down at it, put off by the elegant craftmanship. You had never sat on something so expensive before.

"Sit,'" he ordered again, popping a grape into his mouth. He was watching you closely as though curious about what you might do. As if you had any other chance but to obey his commands.

You did as he bid, angling your body so that you would not have to face the full force of his stare. Never had you had such a little appetite but you spooned up a mouthful of porridge anyway. It clung to your teeth and was near impossible to swallow. You ate it mechanically, one spoon after another.

It was odd; you felt perhaps more bare now than when you had been forced to dress in front of Geta. Powerful people could demand anything in this world but there were a few things you had been able to rely on with your work in the palace. Food and sleep were two of them.

Caracalla had slipped into your room last night like it was nothing. The Praetorians had not questioned it. They could not and would not have stopped him. Now Geta insisted upon you eating in front of him and you could do nothing but force the food down and pretend that you were in the kitchen, alone, planning the rest of your afternoon.

The door opened once more and you paused. Caracalla shuffled in, Dondus perched upon his shoulders. The monkey spotted you before Caracalla did. She clambered down from his clothes and towards you, using your skirts to pull herself up onto your lap.

You offered her your fingers like before and she greeted you, chattering noisily. Perhaps you and her were not so different; both of you were there for the amusement of the Emperors and not much else. All the wine serving was a pretence but for what, you did not know.

This was the first time you had gotten a good look at Caracalla in the light of day. He seemed much brighter, more awake. The shadow of his illness lingered around his shoulders like a shrugged-off cloak.

Caracalla approached you, swiping his fingers along your bare shoulders as he passed. You almost squeaked as he forced himself beside you, giggling at your tense reaction.

"You should eat something, brother," Geta picked up a bowl of fruits and came over to hand them to his brother. The room felt unbearably hot with both of them in such close proximity. Geta spoke much more softly to his brother than he had you.

Caracalla accepted the bowl with little interest. He picked up a single berry and rolled it between his fingers. A smile tugged on the corners of his lips and he held it up.

"Open up," he demanded.

Flickers of mirth danced around Caracalla's face but his eyes were deadly serious. Last night you had been able to sway him into doing your bidding but you could see that was not possible now.

Geta lingered in front of you, waiting to see how the situation would play out. It felt like a test.

You parted your lips and Caracalla pushed the berry past them, swiping his fingers across your lips as you chewed. There was no humor now. This was something heavier, warmer.

Caracalla pulled his hand away from your face. He absentmindedly traced those same fingers across his own lips, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You tried to focus on your porridge. It was now stone cold. Caracalla let out a whine and demanded your attention back on him, pressing another grape to your mouth and watching hotly as you ate them.

"Good girl," he praised.

It felt like your blood was vibrating. The berries varied between sour and sweet, not unlike the man in front of you. Nonetheless you chewed them and swallowed them down. Your eyes danced across Caracalla's chest, unsure on where to settle.

You were not entirely prudish. You knew the contours and folds of your own body well and had even fumbled around with several boys in your time at the palace. You tended to find more satisfaction with your own hand.

This, though, was unlike any of your previous experiences. Bells were sounding in your mind. There was something oddly erotic about it. Part of you wanted to lean away, divert Caracalla's attention to something else, yet you found yourself leaning in, tilting your chin and letting Caracalla feed you.

It wasn't until Caracalla's hand began to slip between the folds of his own gold-embroidered toga that Geta stepped in. You averted your gaze and coughed, wiping the purple-pink smears from your mouth.

You could not read Geta. He pulled his brother from the chair and lead him to his own desk, away from you. Flustered, you poked your spoon around in the remains of your porridge. There was little point in eating anymore. You were full.

The afternoon trickled by. Snatches of conversation caught your attention but you made yourself turn away. They were not for your ears.

"Acacius has returned, victorious of course," Geta said. "He does not seem to enjoy it."

Caracalla cackled. "I know someone else who does not enjoy bloodshed."

You looked up. Both stared at you expectantly. "I. . . I am sure the general and I could not be more different."

"Hmm," Geta's mouth twisted in thought. "He has requested time to spend with his family."

"You have granted him this?"

"No."

You could not hide the disapproval on your face quick enough. Geta barked a laugh, surprised. "What are you thinking?" he leaned forward in his chair. "Really, I must know."

"I am thinking I am not fit to advise an emp -"

"Not advice, then," Geta dismissed your concern. "Amuse us."

This could get me killed, you thought. Then again, was there anything that couldn't? They could have you taken out and thrown to your death if they felt the slightest inclination. Your mind wouldn't let you forget it.

"I think," you said slowly, "that the general would appreciate the rest. His lady wife, too. Perhaps if you let him have this he would be more amenable in the future?"

The brothers shared a look and you clenched your teeth. Was this it? Your death? Your palms were sweaty as you slid them together and rocked on your feet.

"I do not see why we should let him have anything," Caracalla's face twisted. "He and his wife have been given privileges that no-one else has. They have been honored!"

"It wouldn't be for them," you said quickly, "it would be for you. Both of you. You are young; there is plenty of time for conquering. Some rest now means nothing. But it might get you things you want in the future - and rather than having to take them, they would be given."

You stopped, too nervous to continue. You were no advisor. You did, however, have an understanding of most people. Everyone except them.

If you gave something you were likely to get something in return. That, you understood. You had heard things about the general and his feelings towards the conquering he did for the emperors. Rome was already delicate enough. An uprising would shatter whatever fragile ground you stood on and, perhaps selfishly, you did not want that.

"Given," Caracalla echoed, fingers tracing the edge of some papers. "I like to be given things. Sometimes I take them too."

You thought back to the berries, his fingers on your face. He had taken something from you then but you were not sure what.

They did not address you again for the rest of the afternoon. They were entirely focused on their work. This time their voices were lowered enough that you could not quite hear them. It was better that way. You let your mind drift.

You took your meals with the emperors, wolfing them down and avoiding their leers. It could have been your imagination but the food tasted better than what you were used to.

The room had darkened considerably by the time you were dismissed.

"One of the guards will escort you to your new room," Geta tapped his fingers on the desk, "I expect you ready tomorrow morning."

There was an implication in the way that he spoke; you were to go to your room and remain there. No visiting friends in the kitchen or wandering about. They would know if you did.

Geta held out his hand expectantly. You took it in your own, tilting it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. These were hands that had never seen a hard days work. Hands that were gradually squeezing you tighter and tighter into a position that you did not want to be in. You cleared your throat and stepped back.

Caracalla stuck out his and you did the same. When you tried to pull away Caracalla tightened his grip on your hand. It took several tries to pull away.

As Geta had said, there was a guard waiting to take you to your own room. It still sounded strange in your head. Your own room. You’d never had your own space but you had never needed it more.

The room was distressingly close to the quarters of the emperors. In was just a nook in the wall, really, but more room than you'd ever had before. There was no windows; only a small wooden side table and a straw mattress atop a wooden frame. The guard let you in and then left you.

Your fingers traced the frame. It was simply crafted but unlike anything you had had before. It was sturdy. You sat on the mattress. Comfortable, too.

You stuffed your old tunics and the carving into the side table. Then you noticed a wooden peg jutting from the wall. A place for your new clothes. You hung them up reluctantly, wishing there was somewhere you could shove them out of sight.

This was it, then. You lay back on the bed and smoothed your hands over the sheet. You had thought you might be glad for the privacy. Instead, you were lonely. You longed for Alba and the faces of familiar servants. She was probably somewhere below you, settling down for her own night.

You gritted your teeth and pushed your face into the mattress. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring. You could feel yourself being propelled towards it and braced.

Authors Note - please leave likes, asks, comments & reblogs if you enjoyed, they keep me going!!

As you can probably tell, the emperors will not be getting assasinated in this one. They're still shitty leaders but the events that lead up to their deaths in the movie will be different.

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370 @merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy

#emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #fred hechinger #emperor caracalla #joseph quinn #emperor geta #gladiator 2 #caracalla x reader x geta #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla x you #banners by enchanthings

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arannellahowlett · 2 days ago

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Little Bird: Prologue

Note: Here is the prologue to a new series that has creeped its way into my brain. Please note that while reader has literally just turned 18....nothing actually happens between her and John...yet. This part is just to give some background and a kind of....get to know them.

Warnings: none really

Summary: Meet Y/N Laswell, Kate's niece who at the age of 18, gains her soul mark, which just happens to match the mark Lieutenant John Price recieved that morning.

Soul marks, everyone had them, but not everyone found their soul mate, often just missing out on a love of a lifetime. The marks typically appeared when a person turned 18, it could be anything but would match, looking like a tattoo. Sometimes though, that mark did not present until later…sometimes not at all. A delayed mark was usually caused by the other person not being 18 themselves, a mark that never appeared, meant that the one that you were meant for…had died before you turned 18. At 24 years old, Lieutenant John Price did not have a mark, and he wasn’t particularly worried about it.

John’s main concern was doing his job and keeping the world safe. If he happened to gain a mark, then so be it, he would still have to find the person and then hope that they’d understand why his job was so important, because he would not be leaving it. John simply went on with his life, doing what he needed to do, and periodically, he would check to see if he had gained a mark somewhere, a small part of him disappointed when he’d find nothing but bare skin.

---

At the age of 17, Y/N Laswell stood next to her aunt, beyond excited about working as her assistant, despite the nature of the job. Technically Y/N shouldn’t have been anywhere near the job, but she had graduated high school early and had wanted to explore her options, her Aunt Kate had an opening and Y/N was more than happy to be away from her parents and travelling the world for the summer before deciding what she wanted to do…What she hadn’t realized was that the job of assistant to a CIA agent, was just as dangerous as being one.

Less than a week into the job Y/N had managed to find herself in a rather sticky situation. It really wasn’t her fault, or at least that was what she told people. She’d seen the files, saw that they needed someone to deliver the intel…and as a good assistant, did just that. The problem was that it had been a trap and members of the British Special Forces had come to her rescue, the squad rescuing her being led by her Aunt Kate’s friend John. Y/N expected a lecture from the man, to be told to leave things to the ‘adults’, but he didn’t.

Instead, he’d looked her over and once satisfied she was in one piece, ushered her out of the building and out to safety with a simple “C’mon little bird, let’s get you back to your aunt.” Aunt Kate however did lecture her.

---

Several months later, Y/N continued to see John and his squad around here and there. His squad was always on the move, but they always stepped in to help Aunt Kate when called, no questions asked. The lieutenant was always nice to be around, and Y/N felt drawn to him, seeking him out when he was around. She finally admitted to herself that she had a crush on the older man, if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care, he was friendly and he and his team, when they had the time, helped teach her how to defend herself if needed and made sure she knew what to do in a pinch.

The morning of Y/N’s 18th birthday was a morning like any other. She got up, got dressed for the day and headed out to get breakfast, on this week, she and her aunt were stationed in London at an army base, Kate was looking for a terrorist and the SAS were happy to be of service. Arriving at the mess hall, Y/N was started by a tingling sensation on her chest and took off to the bathroom to see what was going on. When she got there, she unbuttoned her blouse, just enough to look at the spot just above her heart, once bare, now there was a soul mark. It was simple, a white dove in flight, with what could only be a Union Jack in the background.

Y/N traced it lightly, smiling and excited to know that she did in fact have a soul mate…somewhere. The real challenge was going to be finding this person. However, the Union Jack may have made it much easier. She took out her phone, snapped a photo of the mark and ran off back to the mess hall, hungry and excited to tell her aunt that she had got her mark. By the time that she had grabbed food and sat down, Kate had almost finished eating.

“Where did you run off to in a hurry, don’t think I didn’t see that,” Kate mused as she read a report, sipping her coffee. Y/N simply smiled at her and passed her the phone, the photo open and ready to be seen.

“I got my mark” Y/N said, almost giddy. “The good news is, I at least get a hint, I either meet him in England, or he’s British…and oh look, where are we? Jolly old England.” I grinned at my aunt, watching as she analyzed the mark.

Aunt Kate hummed in response. “That one is nice, I’ve seen some awful ones…we’ll keep an eye out kid, it’s a big country but whoever they are, they’re meant for you. In the meantime, we have a terrorist to catch.

---

Kate was meeting with the SAS teams when one of the Lieutenant’s squad pointed out his mark. “Oi! Price, when did you go and get a tattoo? I woulda went!” Kate wouldn’t have even thought to care had John not sounded so shocked about it.

“What tattoo? I don’t have a…bloody hell, when did that get there?” John had rolled had pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt up just enough to see the new mark on his upper arm, a dove in flight in front of a Union Jack. “Well, I’ll be damned, never thought I’d get one of these.”

There were a lot of thoughts going through John’s head now, the main one being that he had no idea where to start looking, nor did he have the time. No matter, if he was meant to find the person, he would.

Kate barely turned her head to look before she did a double take. It matched perfectly to Y/N’s new mark. Y/N who was currently grabbing copies of several reports. Kate decided she was going to have to pull him off to the side. “Lieutenant, a word please?”

John excused himself from his squad mates before approaching. “Kate, what can I do for you?” he asked, one eyebrow up, and subconsciously rubbing his arm.

Kate nodded towards where his mark was. “New soul mark?”

John looked startled for about half a second. “Yeah, this mornin’, why?” Kate only smiled at him before patting him on the shoulder.

“You’d better be good to my niece John, or I’ll kill you myself. Welcome to the family.” With that, Kate walked off, headed in the direction of the General. John simply stood there flabbergasted with the mark still exposed.

When he finally turned around, Y/N stood there, mouth open and staring at his mark. His eyes looking over her, he could just see the outline of her own mark as it peaked its way through her white blouse. Head tilted, he sauntered over to her, blue eyes gazing into hers.

“Hello little bird.”

#john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price x reader

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warping-realities · 3 days ago

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2k Special - Coach Knows Best: BACS

Hey folks, this is the third chapter of the 2k special. Speaking of special, I gotta give a shoutout to my buddy @johnbrand who once again lent me one of his concepts to help me level up my story. If you’ve read his work, you probably know what concept I’m talking about just by the chapter title. If you haven’t checked it out yet, you gotta read his amazing work along with the equally awesome @mrrharper. For those of you who’ve been around for a while, you’ll catch some throwback references in both stories, but you can totally enjoy them either way.

While the leaves were falling on the well-kept grounds of Oakwood High, mid-season arrived and the Titans football team was riding high. They were about to face one of their big rivals, the Cougars, in a showdown that promised to be epic. Everything seemed perfect until one morning, when Coach Steele received an unexpected visit. The door swung open, and a sharply dressed man entered, wearing a condescending expression and a smile that seemed forced. Mr. Jenkins, a man Steele knew wasn't exactly a friend.

“Oh, Coach Steele! What a pleasure to see you! The team is doing incredibly well this season, right?” Jenkins began, his voice dripping with subtle sarcasm.

“Yeah, we’re pretty happy with how the boys are performing,” Steele replied, keeping his tone neutral but with a hint of tension in his voice. He knew it was best not to let the animosity show.

“Only Larson and Thornton have outmatched your success story. You’ve really outdone yourself, Steele,” Jenkins continued, giving a light pat on the coach's back, which Steele merely nodded at, refusing to fall for the flattery.

“Thanks, but we know success is a result of the hard work from the players and the coaching staff,” Steele replied, his words laced with half-truths but also a touch of disdain due to Jenkins's attitude, who was well aware of some of the means employed by Steele and the other mentioned coaches, as he was, after all, a member of the shady board that governed those transformations to ensure a constant influx of young players for the colleges and was always hungry for more.

The board member tilted his head, as if evaluating Steele's response. “That's true, but you know the board is always looking for ways to support the team, especially when success is in sight. We’re here to ensure that all necessary resources are available,” Jenkins said, his tone now insinuating that he had other interests in mind.

“If the board were really interested in supporting the team, we’d have more resources and less bureaucracy,” Steele shot back, his gaze steady. “But let’s get to the point. What do you really want here, Jenkins? Don’t tell me this visit is just to compliment my work.”

Jenkins smiled, but not genuinely. “You’re perceptive, Steele. Actually, the reason I’m here is to discuss the team’s upcoming goals and the need to ensure everything is in order for the rest of the season. We know the pressure is mounting, and expectations are high.”

“High expectations are part of the job, and we didn’t need you to remind us of that,” Steele responded, his voice carrying a touch of indignation. He had no patience for Jenkins's arrogance.

“Of course, of course! But you know how it works, right? To maintain the level of success, we need to ensure that all aspects are covered. The board is here to help, but we also need assurances that you’re committed to maintaining that high standard,” Jenkins continued, his posture becoming more authoritative.

Steele took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I believe I’ve made it clear that my commitment to this team is unshakeable.”

“Without a doubt, sure… Still, there seems to be a strange gap, so to speak, in your group, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, but it’s something right in front of you, or should I say at the end?” said the man, laughing at his own joke as Steele frowned. This couldn't be what he was thinking.

“Be clear, Jenkins.”

“Yes, yes. Sorry, sometimes I get carried away with my middle-school humor. I’m referring, of course, to your Tight End. Tyler Dawson. The kid is decent and clearly trying hard, but he’s not up to par with what you’ve got in the rest of the offense. Trey Mathews, Connor Walsh, Adam Trent, Brock Bennet, Gabe Brackman, and Brad Williams form a cohesive and unstoppable unit, and you still have the Sanchez twins flying in to catch all the balls. So I wonder how a man like you lets someone mediocre like Dawson play on this team?”

“Dawson isn’t mediocre; he’s an excellent player and the brother of Lee Dawson, who you surely remember plays the same position for a college team.”

“Lee is an amazing player, I must agree, but unfortunately, the brother doesn’t seem to be on the same level as him, and you should have noticed that some time ago. Added to certain things I’ve been hearing around the halls… I’m concerned…”

“What things would those be?”

“That the kid isolates himself, doesn’t go to team events, that maybe he’s… gay.”

“And what would be the problem with his sexuality?”

“None, of course, as long as it’s in the board’s interest to have someone like that heading to the NFL, which given the current political climate is quite unlikely. But you’re dodging my questions, Steele. Why hasn’t Dawson been improved? With you having played in that position yourself, I imagined you wanted someone who was an absolute standout to fill it!

Coach Steele let out a long sigh before responding.

“Because of Lee. I’ve trained Lee since day one, and my greatest pride was the fact that I didn’t have to use any shady methods to make the kid shine, just good old natural talent combined with a lot of practice, as it was with me and so many others before the board opened the door to the advanced enhancement methods so many years ago. But I digress. Lee is a smart kid, much smarter than people give him credit for. Almost four years ago, on the day he left for college, he came to me and said that Tyler would try out for the team and that he trusted me to do for his brother what I did for him. The right way. I have no idea how much Lee knows about our… alternative methods. But he made me promise that his brother would remain the same, and I’ve kept that promise ever since.”

“Who would have thought that the old brute would have a heart? A commendable attitude, truly commendable. However, I fear that such a promise will have to be broken.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Board has decided to reactivate the BACS protocol, and Tyler was chosen for the demonstration, I’m sorry Steele.”

“You must be joking with me!”

“Unfortunately not, you and I don’t always agree, but I can say that after hearing you, I understand your reasons; unfortunately, that doesn’t change anything, orders come from above, and we must obey.”

“But does it have to be BACS? I can fix Tyler in a more subtle way; besides, the glitches, Lee might notice something!”

“Unfortunately, it’s a risk we run. I don’t think BACS is the best solution either, but orders are orders. I can leave you out of the demonstration if you prefer.”

“No, I’ll accompany the kid all the way. It’s the least I can do.”

….

Tyler adjusted his cap while entering the locker room, the familiar aroma of sweat and deodorant welcoming him as always. He looked around, watching the other players getting ready for another day of practice. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and teasing, an energy pulsing with the camaraderie the team cultivated. But for Tyler, all of it felt a bit distant. He felt like a spectator in a show that wasn’t his.

While the players joked about who made the best touchdown in the previous practice, Tyler stepped back a bit, focusing on his routine. He knew his teammates were competent and dedicated, but the jokes and the way they teased each other made him uncomfortable. Tyler always found their antics somewhat immature, but he didn’t want to be the type of guy who ruins the fun. So he preferred to remain silent, listening to the laughter echoing while he prepared for practice.

He sat on a bench, putting on his cleats and listening to the conversations float around him. Rafael and Miguel were in a corner, making jokes about everyone, while Trey, the most extroverted teammate, was telling a funny story about a sexual conquest. Tyler smiled to the others, but the truth was he didn’t feel part of those conversations. There was a certain apprehension in his heart, a fear that if he tried to get involved, the truth about his feelings might be revealed.

He looked in the mirror, seeing his reflection. He was a good player but he always felt like he was a step behind the others in terms of skill. The pressure to stand out made him anxious, and the idea of not meeting his teammates’ expectations consumed him. Moreover, there was something else that worried him: the attraction he felt towards some of them. He didn’t know how to deal with that, especially in an environment that seemed so filled with raw machismo. The fear of being rejected or ridiculed for his feelings isolated him even more.

As he prepared, Tyler remembered how he got to this point. Since he was little, he had always been passionate about football, but the difficulty in fitting in made him feel like an outsider. Now, in his final season, he found himself trapped between the need to stand out as an athlete and the internal struggle of accepting who he really was. He wanted to be part of the team, but the fear that his sexuality could be an obstacle kept him on the sidelines, watching instead of participating.

As the players got ready, Coach Steele watched closely, the expression on his face mixing determination with a hint of worry. But he had a task to fulfill, no matter how unpleasant it was. After a few minutes, he called Tyler over to talk.

“Tyler! Can you come here for a minute?” Steele said, gesturing for the young man to approach.

Tyler felt a chill in his stomach. He didn’t know if this was good or bad. “Yes, coach?” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’ve chosen you for something important. This weekend, we’ll have a meeting with some out-of-state football coaches, and I want you to come with me. I think this could be a great opportunity for you,” Steele said, his voice full of expectation.

Tyler was surprised. “Really, coach? I... I don’t know. Why would you choose me? I’m not as good as … well as everyone else…” His insecurity shone through his words. He felt like he had always been on a lower level than the rest of the team.

“Don’t think like that, Tyler. You have great potential. I see the effort you put into every practice, and that’s what matters. Don’t worry about comparisons. There’s a reason for this choice, and I want you to remember that,” Steele replied, with a strange look.

Tyler nodded, feeling a mix of happiness and anxiety. He knew this was a rare chance and he should seize it. “Thank you, coach. I’ll get ready!”

“Great! Now go change and join the practice. We’ll need you on the field,” Steele said before turning his attention back to the other players.

Tyler hurried to change, his heart pounding with new energy. He was excited, but doubt still lingered in his mind. As he dressed, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and tried to convince himself that he deserved to be there. “You got this, Tyler. It’s just football,” he murmured to himself.

On the field, Steele’s instructions echoed, and Tyler tried to focus. However, during breaks, the gossip and discussions about the trip and how amazing it would be distracted him. He heard his teammates commenting on other teams while some questioned why he had been chosen to accompany the Coach. The pressure to stand out grew, and Tyler began to feel insecurity creeping into his mind.

During practice, he made mistakes that left him frustrated. As he tried to position himself correctly, he lost focus and instead of blocking properly, he ended up leaving an open space multiple times an Connor the quaterback, who used to be so confident, suffered several sacks because of his failure. With each mistake, Steele's and his teammates' disapproving looks became more evident, and Tyler felt the weight of disappointment.

Finally, in a critical play, Tyler failed again, resulting in a fumble that the opposing team quickly turned into a touchdown. The silence that followed was deafening. Tyler froze, his mind spinning, unable to process what had just happened. The look from his teammates, usually friendly and upbeat, was now filled with disapproval and discontent.

“Tyler, to the bench, you’re not fit to continue today,” said a visibly disappointed Steele.

Feeling crushed, he walked away from the group, seeking a secluded spot on the field. He leaned against a wall, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to escape. “How did I let this happen?” he thought, the guilt weighing on his shoulders. He felt like a failure, a dead weight for the team that was counting on him.

As practice continued, he heard the voices of the other players blending together, but he couldn’t understand the words. All he felt was the pain of disappointment and a growing fear that if he couldn’t overcome this, he would never be accepted as part of the team. He wished he had the confidence of his teammates. But at that moment, all he felt was loneliness.

After practice ended, the players headed to the locker room, the atmosphere still tense after Tyler's mistakes. He felt like a burden, and the last thing he wanted was to face his teammates' gazes. Conversations about the upcoming game and the team's performance echoed around him, but Tyler was lost in his own thoughts, struggling against frustration and humiliation.

As soon as he entered the locker room, Tyler distanced himself from the group and quickly headed to the shower, determined to wash away the emotional weight he felt. He adjusted the water temperature and, instead of making it warm and comforting, decided that a cold shower was what he needed. As the cold water hit his skin, a shiver ran through his body, but he didn’t care. The cold was a necessary contrast to the storm of feelings enveloping him.

Meanwhile, his teammates tried to cheer him up, but their words only heightened Tyler's anguish. “Hey, T-Dawg! Don’t be like that, bro! You’re a fucking football player! There are definitely a bunch of girls wanting to hook up with you!” Trey shouted, laughing, as if that were the solution to Tyler’s problems. God he really hate that nickname!

“Yeah, dude! You gotta go out more, enjoy the fame! There are tons of girls at school who would go crazy for you!” Connor added, giving a wide smile. But each word felt like more pressure on Tyler, who knew he would never date any of those girls.

As the other guys continued to discuss the different girls at school, their conversations quickly turned into a competition of who could impress the girls more. They talked about who had the biggest cock, who had the best body, and who would make the best girlfriend while Tyler felt invisible. Their laughter and happiness only made him feel more isolated.

Taking advantage of the group’s distraction, Tyler decided it was the perfect moment to slip away unnoticed. He turned off the shower, dried off quickly, and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of pants. As soon as he felt at least somewhat decent, he peeked through the locker room door, watching his teammates still immersed in their superficial conversations.

With one last glance at the group, Tyler made a quick exit, avoiding any interaction. He headed to the parking lot, his heart racing but relieved to escape the locker room pressure. The freedom of the fresh air hit him like a balm, and although the anguish was still present, he felt a bit lighter, far from the expectations and the need to be something he wasn’t.

Tyler walked to his car, sitting in the driver’s seat. He let the steering wheel slip between his fingers, gazing at the school in the distance. What he really wanted was a place where he could be himself, away from the jokes and comparisons. If only there were a way to feel accepted, maybe he could find his own voice within that competitive world. Filled with anxiety, Tyler did what was his instinct in that kind of situation: called his brother, Lee, while the car engine purred softly. He always felt more at ease talking to Lee, especially in moments like this. Lee, the starting Tight End for the Virginia Tech football team, had always been a source of inspiration and support for Tyler, and he needed that now more than ever.

After a few rings, Lee's familiar and encouraging voice echoed on the other end of the line. “Hey, Tyler! How’s it going?”

Tyler sighed, relieved to hear his brother's voice. “Hey, Lee. Oh, you know how it is. Practicing, trying to fit in, but I’m feeling a little... out of place, I guess.”

“Out of place? Why?”

“Oh Lee, I messed up and made a bunch of rookie mistakes in practice today. I’m a… incompetent… a fraud!”

“Never say that, Tyler! You’re a good player; Steele would never put you on the field if it weren’t true! You have no reason to feel that way. The team needs you, and you’re doing a great job,” Lee replied, immediately trying to lift his brother's spirits. “Just keep pushing yourself. Remember that every player has their own time to shine.”

“I know, but everyone else seems so confident, and I... well, I don’t know if I’m good enough. Sometimes I feel like I’m just ‘Lee’s little brother’ and nothing more,” Tyler vented, his voice heavy with frustration.

“Hey, don’t think like that! You’re you, and that’s what matters. Coach Steele believes in you, and you need to trust him too. He knows what he’s doing. Soon, you’ll be in college, meeting new people and fitting into some group. You just need to give it time,” Lee encouraged, his voice full of conviction.

Tyler felt a little of the weight on his heart dissipate. “Yeah… you’re right. I just need to keep working hard and, if all goes well, maybe I can finally feel like part of the team.”

Lee chuckled lightly. “And don’t forget, next year I’ll be graduated, and you won’t have to worry about facing me on the field. I just have to worry about not getting tackled by you when we’re both in the NFL!” he joked, making Tyler laugh for the first time since he left the locker room.

“Ah, that would be a nightmare, having to face you! But seriously, I really appreciate you always being there for me, Lee. You’re the best.”

“That’s what brothers are for, right? Now go out there and show them what you’re made of. I’m rooting for you, Tyler. And don’t forget to keep me updated on everything. I want to hear about your accomplishments, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll do that. Thanks, Lee. You always know how to cheer me up,” Tyler replied, feeling renewed by the conversation.

After hanging up, Tyler felt a new wave of determination. He knew he still had a long way to go, but with his brother’s support and the certainty that the future held new opportunities, he felt a bit stronger. With one last look at the school, he turned on the car and decided he would return for the day’s classes, determined to give his best, regardless of the insecurities that haunted him.

….

On Saturday morning, Tyler felt more excited than he had in recent days. The practices had gone much more smoothly, and the absence of a game the night before left him relieved. He had the chance to focus, improve, and prepare for the next challenge. Everything seemed promising, and the conversation with Lee still resonated in his mind, giving him an extra boost.

When he arrived at the airport where he would board for the trip, Tyler was surprised by the opulence of the private area. Luxurious jets were parked side by side, and the reception was filled with well-uniformed staff, ready to cater to the whims of the passengers. He had never been in a place like that before and felt a bit out of place, yet enchanted by it all.

While he waited, Coach Steele approached him, his serious gaze softened by a slight smile. “Tyler, good to see you. Are you ready for the trip?” he asked, with a firmness that always instilled confidence in the young man.

“Yes, coach! I’m excited!” Tyler replied, trying to hide the anxiety still lingering.

“Great. I want you to know that this is an important opportunity for you”Steele said, placing a hand on Tyler’s shoulder, guiding him toward the jet.

Tyler nodded, although he felt a twinge of nervousness. “I know, coach. I’m trying to soak up everything I can,” he commented as he entered the aircraft. The interior of the jet was even more impressive than the exterior, with luxurious leather seats, ample space, and even a small entertainment area.

As they settled in, Steele turned to Tyler, interested in learning more about him. “So, Tyler, how are you feeling about the team and football? What are your plans for the future?” Steele asked, trying to engage the player in a more meaningful conversation.

Tyler smiled, feeling valued to have the coach’s attention. “I’m feeling good, coach! I want to keep working hard, and if all goes well, I hope to get a scholarship for college. I’m thinking about following Lee’s path; I know my chances of going pro are slim, but I’m thinking about studying something related to sports, maybe even becoming a coach like you!” he replied, excited to share his dreams.

“That’s excellent, Tyler. You have a great future ahead of you. The important thing is to keep dedicating yourself and not let difficulties discourage you,” Steele said, his serious yet encouraging look making Tyler feel at ease.

As they talked, Tyler didn’t notice the strange and heavy glances Steele was casting at him. Steele was genuinely interested in the kid's aspirations, but he also felt conflicted. He knew the board’s pressure to reactivate the BACS protocol still loomed over him, and the thought of what was about to happen to Tyler left him uneasy. The young player was filled with hopes and dreams, and Steele wondered for the first time in a long time if he had made the right choices throughout his career. Then the kid went and stomped on his heart.

“I really appreciate your support, coach. That means a lot to me,” Tyler said, his radiant smile reflecting his determination.

“Thanks, Tyler. Remember that you’re not alone in this. We’re all here to make sure you succeed,” Steele replied, trying to hide the concern that consumed him.

As the jet landed next to a large sports complex, Tyler couldn’t help but be impressed. The structure was imposing, with training fields, courts, and state-of-the-art facilities. He disembarked the plane alongside Coach Steele, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. As they walked towards the main building, the air was charged with energy and anticipation.

As they entered, they were greeted by a sharply dressed man who emanated an aura of authority. It was Mr. Jenkins. His condescending smile widened upon seeing Steele and Tyler. “Ah, Coach Steele! Good to see you here! And you must be Tyler Dawson, the young talent everyone’s been talking about!” Jenkins said, his melodious voice full of flattery.

Tyler felt a bit embarrassed by the sudden attention. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m nothing special,” he murmured, trying to look away.

“Don’t be modest! You’re about to have a great opportunity. We’re very excited to have you here,” Jenkins continued, making a sweeping gesture with his hands as though presenting a grand attraction. “Come, I’ll take you to see some of the facilities. You’re going to love it!”

Steele watched the interaction with a stern look, his expression reflecting the concern he felt. He knew Jenkins wasn’t being genuine, and that his intentions were much more sinister than they appeared. But Tyler was excited, and unknowingly, he had already been ensnared in the board's web of interests.

As they walked, Jenkins continued to talk about the importance of college football and how Tyler could stand out. They passed various facilities, from a complete gym to a sauna for players to relieve fatigue after practices. Throughout the tour, the man treated Tyler like a celebrity, praising him at every turn. “You’re exactly the kind of player we need to ensure our future success. College is full of opportunities, and I’m sure you’re going to shine,” he said while leading them to a room with a large mirror.

When they arrived, Jenkins turned to Steele, his voice becoming lower and conspiratorial. “This is the moment; if you want to change your mind, Steele,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at the coach. There was something there; Jenkins had never been his friend, there had to be some trap. The kid's fate was sealed, and there was nothing to be done.

Steele maintained his composure, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He knew the decision had already been made, and there was no turning back. “I think there’s nothing more to discuss, Jenkins. The choice is made,” he said in a firm voice, but a shadow of hesitation crossed his eyes.

Tyler, oblivious to the whispered conversation, looked at the mirror absently. It was then that Steele approached him, his expression now more solemn.

“Tyler, I need to step out for a moment. I’ll send you a message as soon. Stay here and trust me,” Steele said, his voice low but filled with a weight Tyler couldn’t comprehend.

“Sure, coach,” Tyler replied, a bit confused but still trusting in the coach's words.

“You’re going to do well, kid,” Steele added before leaving the room, resigned and accompanied by an eager Jenkins.

“Showtime!” the man exclaimed enthusiastically, while Steele remained silent as both headed to an adjoining room. In this room, there was also a large glass panel, essentially a window into the room where Tyler was innocently fiddling with his phone.

Steele sat in one of the comfortable chairs, observing the men around him. He recognized some of the attendees nodding in acknowledgment. Then Jenkins began with the formalities.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, thank you all for coming with enthusiasm, especially to Coach Steele, who provided us with today’s specimen. Without further ado, let’s get to the point. We believed the best way to explain our product was to show how it works. Before us is Tyler Dawson, a mediocre player on a team far superior to his skills. Originally holding potential, being the brother of an elite player, he has not yet conformed to our standards. Therefore, he was chosen to reactivate an old protocol otherwise known as BACS for short.”

Four words were then flashed in red on the glass, obscuring Tyler's distracted figure as he innocently fiddled with his phone. A silly acronym, but one that worked nonetheless.

Beefy Aggressive Cocky Straight

“It is my understanding that many of you have already utilized our more subtle tools; however, among you are some insecure beginners, or even among the more experienced there are those who prefer a direct approach, with no need for catalysts or such. That is why BACS was created; due to some minor flaws, it was taken off the market but now returns with renewed strength as you will soon see.”

The men present in the room exhibited a variety of reactions to Jenkins’s speech. Some appeared visibly interested, their eyes gleaming with a nearly predatory expectation. Others seemed slightly uncomfortable, likely questioning the unorthodox methods. But most in attendance seemed eager to partake in the new and improved BACS protocol.

Jenkins smiled broadly, clearly pleased to present this “opportunity” to his colleagues. Steele watched it all in silence, his expression grave. He knew there was no turning back; Tyler’s fate was sealed. Still, a part of him questioned whether he had made the right choice by accepting this deal. The kid had so much potential, so many dreams. Did he really need to go through this radical transformation?

As the other men animatedly discussed, Steele sighed heavily. “What’s done is done,” he murmured to himself, resigned. Now everything depended on what would happen to Tyler on the other side of that mirror.

In the other room, Tyler continued to be distracted by his phone, oblivious to what was happening around him. He only frowned when a bright light and a deafening sound emanated from the device.

Suddenly, a wave of heat began to spread through his body. Tyler felt his muscles contracting as if they had a mind of their own. His skin seemed to tingle as his physical structure began to alter.

He watched, agape, as his arms thickened, the muscles hardening and swelling. His shoulders broadened, giving him a more imposing presence. Tyler could feel the tension of his clothing against his chest, which seemed to expand with the growing muscle mass.

His legs also transformed, the thighs becoming thick and defined, the knees and calves becoming more pronounced. He felt taller, his proportions changing dramatically. Even his face seemed different, with sharper features and a more prominent jawline.

As he observed his own metamorphosis, Tyler felt a mix of fear and euphoria. His identity seemed to merge with a new personality, more arrogant and competitive. His doubts and questions replaced by an inflated ego and a mentality focused solely on vanity and conquest. The homosexuality he had yet to fully experience faded away, replaced by a dominating straightness.

On the other side of the mirror, the men watched Tyler’s transformation with eager eyes. Some smiled, clearly impressed with the results of the BACS protocol. Steele, on the other hand, watched with a somber expression.

As quickly as the change began, it completed, and Tyler stared at himself in the mirror, his new self looking back with a confident and predatory gaze. He was no longer the insecure kid but rather one of the typical jocks that abounded on so many teams. Bored, he casually scratched his junk and let out a fart, bursting into laughter.

“Damn T-Dawg, you’re rotten inside you dumbass.” He said loudly. “Good thing there’s no chick around. “ Although that’s all it takes for them to forget you are an asshole and go wild,” he added, grabbing his huge dick over his clothes and grinning at himself in the mirror, laughing without knowing what lay behind the immense structure.

“So, who wants to be next?” Jenkins asked, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction as he observed the other men in the room eagerly raising their hands.

When Tyler and Coach Steele boarded the private jet after the event, the atmosphere inside the aircraft was laden with a silent tension. The kid could barely contain his excitement. He settled into his seat, quickly grabbing his phone to check social media. Comments and reactions to his posts started pouring in at a steady rate.

“Look at this, Coach!” Tyler exclaimed, showing the phone screen to Steele, who was seated across from him. “People are loving the video I posted on TikTok. I caught some amazing balls during practice, and now everyone is commenting about me. Look at all these likes!”

Steele forced a smile, but his concern was evident. “Tyler, that’s great and all, but we can’t forget what really matters. Football is about teamwork, discipline, and personal growth. You need to focus on that and not just on social media,” he said, trying to draw the young man’s attention.

“I know, coach, but it’s awesome to see how people are reacting. I finally feel like I’m part of something bigger,” Tyler replied, scrolling through the screen as he checked the views on his video. “Look, there are already thousands of views! This is just the beginning. The girls are going crazy, and a lot of guys are praising me!”

Steele felt a knot in his stomach. He remembered Tyler’s insecurity before the transformation and how much he had struggled to feel accepted.

“As long as you don’t take your head out of the game…”

“Relax, coach! I’m focused. And I’m going to crush it for the rest of the season. They’re going to remember me,” Tyler replied, flashing a confident smile as he took more pictures to post. He was so involved in his new self that he didn’t notice the coach’s strange look.

Steele decided to change the subject, attempting to connect with the player on a more personal level. “And what about your plans for the future? Have you thought about where you’d like to play in college? Or what you’d like to study?” he asked, trying to pull a more meaningful conversation.

Tyler looked at the coach, but his mind was elsewhere. “Oh, I don’t know, coach. I’m thinking about a bunch of things. But nothing concrete at the moment, I just want to enjoy this phase. You have no idea what it’s like to grow in the shadow of someone like Lee, knowing that in reality, I’m way better than him. And now I’m finally getting the attention I’ve always wanted. Speaking of which, let me post this dope photo I took on the trip. This is going to blow up!” He said, while starting to edit the image.

The trip then continued amidst almost total silence, interrupted only by the sound of notifications from Tyler’s phone. He was in his own world, while Steele gazed out the window, lost in thought.

…..

Steele arrived home, the imposing mansion reflecting the light of the full moon. The place was silent, except for the soft sound of his footsteps echoing on the dark wooden floors. He headed to the living room, where he poured himself a generous glass of aged Bourbon. The intense aroma filled the air as he served the amber liquid. Bringing the glass to his lips, he felt a momentary relief, but the tension building in his chest didn’t dissipate.

With the glass in hand, he sat in the grand living room, where the walls were adorned with photos of his accomplishments as a coach, but also reminders of tough times. Steele's distant gaze fixed on one of the walls where the three team jerseys he had worn throughout his career were framed: the high school one, the Ohio State, and finally the Philadelphia Eagles one, where he had played for two years before deciding to become a coach. Looking at those, he remembered when his passion for the sport made him feel alive, not just as a coach but as a mentor and guide.

The solitude of the space began to weigh on him, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, he opened his fake Instagram profile—a account he used to monitor his students without them knowing. Samantha Jones, a college student from across the country with huge tits, who was extremely interested in high school kids who thought they were big players. Boys were so easy to manipulate…

As he scrolled through the feed, he saw posts from a huge party, the boys laughing and having fun, surrounded by cheap beer and vodka bottles. And then, the image that hit him like a punch in the gut: Tyler, the previously timid and insecure kid, now with two girls on either side, kissing his cheeks before downing whiskey straight from the bottle amid cheers and animated shouts from his teammates.

Turning off his phone, Steele looked at the bottom of the glass. He would make the boys pay dearly for those excesses on Monday, that is if he didn’t call for a surprise practice on next day just to see them sweat out all that alcohol. He felt extremely irritated by the whole situation. Logically he knew that this new Tyler, once he had his wings clipped the right way, was the best thing for the team; still…

“Sometimes, I really hate this job,” he murmured to himself before slamming the glass down on a table and starting to prepare the most exhausting practice he could think of for that bunch of idiots.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #mental transformation #jockification #corruption #musclegrowth #gay to straight

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