#it's its own special kind of torture

[vetometo]

Free to be

There's something... inherently freeing, about not being tied down to some fixed place. Or maybe it's being tied down to multiple places, I haven't quite figured it out yet. I exist in all of them at any one time. Every time, I am me. That doesn't change. But I am also not me.

I am the smell of candles and the sound of a welcoming meow, a distracted hello called out from a busy living room. I am the cafe we decided to pile up in this time, molded by life but the same, falling into old conversations. I am the hand I hold quietly under the table, petite, thumb running over soft knuckles. I am my best friend waiting with an exasperated but pleased hello again, hug only a little reluctant and very warm, because her love is more often felt than heard. I am my grandmother, who also exists outside of physics, because her homes are her, she is not them. I am my father waiting over an idle game, eyes tired, smile brighter than the sun. I am my mother at the balcony who somehow senses me coming before I know I'm on my way, and I am my family as we step home again, uncaring of where we've ended up this time.

See, sometimes I wonder who I would be, if my life happened in places quantifiable by distance or location. I see people who live that way and feel envy, occasionally. And then I step into somwhere new, because I'm always stepping into somewhere new, and it's not long before I think another place to be, and I'm home and whole again, until another place joins me.

[sceletaflores]

no logan actually has me in a chokehold, all I can think of is him being away for a mission but you’re so needy for him that you grab one of his flannels and ball it up and shove it in between your legs and then basically humping it to get off, and maybe he comes back early from said mission and you don’t hear him come in so he’s just watching you for a while before he’s had enough and decides to take matters into his own hands, btw love your writing keep up the good work!!💕💕

nat’s note: i read this and immediately had to put my phone down and walk away to breathe for a second. your mind is so beautiful anon, thanks a bunch for sharing! hope you love it <333

|| feat. logan howlett x fem!reader || 18+ SMUT MDNI ||

Six days is a long time.

Six days without Logan is almost unbearable.

The first three days were fine, nice even. You had the whole house to yourself, free to sprawl out on the couch and binge watch the guilty pleasure shows he always makes fun of.

The quiet was a welcome change—you could really relax, could sit with your thoughts.

Then day four rolled around, and things changed.

You started to notice the little things—the leather jacket he left slung over the back of the dining room table chair, the way the bed felt too big without him, how cold you were at night without him plastered to your back.

By day five, the quiet wasn’t soothing anymore; it felt empty.

You missed the sound of his voice, missed his scent melded in the sheets of your bed, missed the warmth of his body next to yours.

And by day six? Well, six days without Logan wasn’t just lonely anymore—it was a special kind of torture.

It wasn’t just the emotional closeness or the comfort of his presence you longed for—it was the rough scrape of his stubble on your skin, the way his body pressed into yours, heavy and demanding. The way his voice dropped when he growled your name, hands gripping your hips with a possessive edge that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t just miss him, you craved him.

It was settling in an unbearable ache, low in your stomach. A constant thrum that served as a reminder of just how much you missed his touch.

You didn't realize just how spoiled he'd gotten you. You haven't gone a day without at least four orgasms all year. Logan made sure of that, enforces it like it's a house rule he'd die before breaking.

You’d gotten too used to the feel of his hands roaming over your body, the way his lips traveled from your mouth down to the space between your thighs, the way his cock brushes against that special spot inside you each time he slides home in your pussy.

Your body longed for him in a way that made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. Every thought seemed to circle back to Logan, to what it would feel like to have him here, right now.

The worst part—no amount of toys or creative use of your hands was enough to soothe that ache. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to satisfy yourself; nothing worked.

The frustration was unbearable.

You blame that for your lapse in judgement when you made your way into your shared closet.

It was completely innocent at first, just you looking for something to wear to bed.

You only happened to trip over a shirt Logan must have left strewn across the floor before leaving. One of his favorites, a worn down brown and red flannel you'd seen him in countless times.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you bent down and scooped it up, burying your face in it. His scent—earthy, woodsy, and unmistakably him—hit you like a freight train as heat began to pool between your legs.

Suddenly, it was like Logan was there, surrounding you completely, teasing you with his absence. The ache deepened, twisting into something even more unbearable.

It was almost too much. That raw desire you’d been trying to hold at bay snapped its leash, and suddenly, the thought of going to bed wasn’t even an option.

You were already soaking wet by the time you made it to bed, greedy lungfuls of Logan's scent enough to get you there in no time.

The flannel was warm in your hands, the roughed up fabric felt oddly comforting against your fingertips and the skin of your cheeks.

As you settled onto the mattress, a thought crept in. Wicked and indulgent in a way that made your ears burn with shame and your stomach swirl with heady arousal that fanned the fire raging between your legs.

Before you could stop yourself, you slid your panties off, your body already tingling with anticipation

You pulled the shirt between your legs, pressing it against your dripping core, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a vice.

You moaned at the feeling, the first rush of relief flowing through you like water through a desert. The friction, the smell, it was almost like he was in bed with you, touching you, guiding your movements. But no matter how nice it felt, it still wasn’t enough.

The ache was only just lessened, the thrum of need was still there, undeniable and persistent.

With a whine, you leaned back on the bed, knees bent, legs spread wide, and you started to rock your hips against the fabric. Every movement sent delicious waves of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t the same. Not quite. You needed more—needed him.

Your fingers gripped the flannel tighter, dragging it harder against your aching clit. Eyes squeezing shut, you let out a desperate moan, hips working so fast the bed frame started thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the fantasy of him—of him under you, of his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer. His voice low and gravelly as he whispered filthy things in your ear.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you were so lost in your thoughts, so caught up in the moment, that you didn’t even hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the heavy footsteps making their way through the house, getting closer and closer.

But when the door to the bedroom creaked open, your eyes shot wide, and there he was.

Logan, home a day early.

He’s stood in the doorway. His sharp gaze locked on you, jaw clenched tight. His eyes darkened, filled with lust and something else—something dangerous.

Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, but your body refused to stop moving, hips still grinding slowly against his flannel as if they have a mind of their own.

You expect him to say something, to scold you, maybe—but instead, a slow, dirty smirk spread across his face.

Without breaking eye contact, he crosses the room, shedding his leather jacket with a deliberate slowness as he does. He drops into the chair sitting in the corner of your bedroom, legs spread wide as he leaned back, watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I didn't say to slow down," he growls, the edge in his voice making your stomach flip. "Keep going, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

The command in his voice was irresistible. Your body responding before your mind could even catch up, hips rolling against the flannel faster again, a soft whimper slipping from your lips. The friction feels even better knowing he’s watching, eyes dark and heavy with desire as he sees you fall apart.

"Logan, please" you gasp, hips moving faster.

"Please what, darlin'?" he hums.

"I don't- ah! Anything, please," you rush out, eyes glued to the obscene spread of his legs, where his strong thighs stretch the thick denim taught.

Logan shakes his head with a dark chuckle. "No, you wanna get yourself off without me you do it. Can't have your cake and eat it too, baby."

You whine, high and loud as tears burn at your waterline, threatening to spill down your cheeks. "I can't," you sob, voice tiny and pitiful in the quiet of the room.

"Don't be like that, princess," he chastises, clicking his tongue at you disapprovingly. "Know you can come just like this. Bet that pussy's been drippin' for days, huh?"

You nod pitifully, biting down on your lip as your legs starting trembling on either side of the balled up shirt.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice dripping with lust. “So needy you couldn’t even wait for me, huh? You missed my cock that bad?”

You nod again breathless, the pressure building between your thighs becoming unbearable as his words wash over you.

“Bet you were thinkin’ about me, weren't you?” His voice drops, rich and syrupy, and it crawls over your skin like a slow burn. “All this time, wishing it was me between your legs instead of that fucking shirt.”

Your movements grow more frantic, eyes dropping to his lap, zeroing in on where his thick cock presses against his thigh, tenting his jeans lewdly. Your mouth waters, lips dropping open with a quiet moan as you imagine him slipping between them, fucking your throat and making your jaw ache.

“Such a dirty little thing,” he purrs, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “You like putting on a show for me, don’t you? Gettin' off starin' at my cock while you fuck yourself with my shirt? Goddamn, I can see how fuckin' soaked you are from here.”

The flannel was soaked now, wet and clinging to your folds as you desperately rub yourself against it, your body trembling with need. Every roll of your hips makes you more desperate, more sensitive, pleasure coiling tight in your belly and almost ready to snap.

Your moans grow louder, filling the room as you chase your release, the rough fabric of his flannel dragging against your swollen clit in all the right ways. Logan watching you—making you do this—had you teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in sharp pants.

His voice was a constant stream of filth, each word sending shock waves of pleasure straight to your core.

“Atta' girl, that's it,” he rasps, his voice rough and commanding. “Come for me. Drench that shirt, baby. Make a mess of it. I’ll fuck you right after, promise.”

You were teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling with need as you rock against the flannel harder, faster, desperate for release.

"Come on, baby," he goads, leaning forward in his chair, eyes burning with something feral as he licks his lips. "If you get it nice and dirty for me, I'll wear it for you."

That was all it took. The thought of Logan walking around in his shirt after this, the fabric soaked with your essence, staking your claim on him, has you coming.

Your body shudders violently as waves of pleasure crash through you, pulling you under. Your back arches off the bed, hips jerking erratically against the flannel as you cry out his name, hot tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

Logan growls in satisfaction, eyes locked on you, watching as you tremble and gasp through the aftershocks. He stands from the chair, slow and deliberate, stalking toward the bed with a dark gleam in his eyes as his hands drop to his belt.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, voice thick with desire as he climbs onto the bed, caging you in with his body. His lips brush your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn, baby. And I ain’t even close to done with you yet.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

a/n: wow this really got away from me lmao...it was not supposed to be so long ANDDD sorry for the low-key fade to black ending but I had no idea how to end this heheh okay bye love you!

[lunartuness]

Spoilers for Book of Bill

Thoughts on Bill talking about Ford

I was not prepared for canon Billford in the year 2024 and yet here we are.

But seriously, I'm kinda surprised how much Bill actually liked and valued Ford? Obviously it's in a horrible, toxic, never come within the same continent as them kind of way but it's just, I always kind of figured their relationship (while obviously adoring from Ford's end due to Journal 3) was mainly just Bill humoring Ford long enough until he no longer needs him. Like, 'yeah, sure, of course you're special, I definitely believe in you' sort of nonsense.

But in Bill's book it's implied multiple times he had as close to a crush on Ford as he's probably capable of. I mean, the whole 'love cage' section is literally verbatim what he did to Ford (and just wait until they're mentally broken enough to confess their true feelings! Fear and love are basically the same thing!) And in the valentine's section he talks about leaving mice, which again, he did for Ford's birthday, and then when he wasn't happy about that, got him drunk enough to have a good time (implied kinda forcibly? since Ford declined beforehand). Then there's the fact he literally calls Fiddleford a third wheel (also coincidentally after we just learn Fiddleford spent hours on handmade gifts for Ford and forgot to get his wife anything).

And when Ford finally does catch on and things go bad? Bill tries first to talk with Ford through the zombies (to manipulate him, of course, but also Admit it, you'd miss me. I have missed you, and Bill actually smiles.) And then leaves little sticky notes asking nicely to talk. When he finally gets mad enough to escalate, he still does so in a very not-violent-for-Bill-way. Sure, killing Ford wouldn't help him but we know how messed up Bill can get. And yet what does he do? He leaves Ford's body to almost freeze, only to have a warm fire and a love song playing when he wakes up. He causes mild public disturbances and gives him an obnoxious tattoo. When he finally, finally snaps is when we start to see more of the Bill we got in the show when he tortures Ford a bit. But even that is mild?

Like, Bill rearranged a man's face for fun and takes joy in destroying the Nightmare Realm. But after threating Ford he leaves him unharmed. Very mentally scarred, yes, but safe and intact. He even gives him three days to get his life together. And then treats it like a messy breakup when Ford finally breaks free. Hell, it seems like he was more upset about losing Ford than losing the portal.

All this is to say that I think from Bill's point of view he was being genuinely kind to Ford. He gave him gifts, complimented him, and tried to work things out peacefully when Ford started pulling away (again, his very messed up version of peaceful, but the point still stands).

So when they do finally meet again? Bill still offers Ford a spot next to him. Again, I originally thought this was more playing into Ford's ego while taking a cheap shot at him (i.e. you'll fit in great with the freaks!), but by now it's obvious he wants Ford. He's petty and cruel and horribly abusive about it, but in his own twisted way he likes Ford. A lot. Enough to show mercy (or at least not be as violent as he could be) and to try and give him multiple chances to come back, no apology needed!

And the worst part is Bill knows this. Bill's trying to make this relationship work. He feels connected to Ford in a way he quite possibly hasn't felt with anyone else. And he knows its doomed to fail. In his mind he has to destroy everything he touches and everything he cares about. Any other connections he has are either superficial or dead to him (usually literally). This relationship will end the same way, it's just in Bill's nature. To him, that's all his relationships are capable of being.

All this just makes me sad and adds so much depth and I'm obsessed. There's just something about self-destructive and truly cruel characters having moments where they wish they weren't that way. Where they'll come the closest they ever can to apologizing for how they are.

(Also Bill literally wanted Ford to get a tattoo saying 'If lost return to Bill' like we cannot just ignore that oh my god)

[tevaselmundogiraalreves]

BUDDIE FIC RECS PART 2

Okay heres more fics cause ive been reading so so much lately, i cannot and will not be stopped. Heres the first list. I will most prob keep on making lists cause i honestly cannot stop reading. Once again, in no particular order:

Songbird by @colonoscopys - Goes first cause i just finished reading this one. FREAK EDDIE IS MY PASION. I said it already but at one point eddie eats bucks hair. Its awesome! FreakxFreak DumbxDumb

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by @hoediaz EVERYONE ALREADY READ THIS ONE RIGHT? IF NOT WTF ARE YOU EVEN DOING GO! ACTORS AU YOU WILL NE FAMOUS FOREVER.

chess inside my chest by @buick118 - HELLOOOO THIS ONE FIXED SOMETHING INSIDE MY CHEST "heart clipped in the backseat with his headphones already secured over his ears." I NEED AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS WRITING ❤️‍🩹

Two, Three Times in a Row by leslie_knope i honestly have no words for how much i love this fic, i reread it all the time, like ive reread it so much its embarrasing. Some of the best smut ive read.

wanna do a bad thing twice by @coldbam BUCK IS SUCH A FREAK GOD HE IS SUCH A FREAK

(You know what actually there are 2 more fics were buck is the freakiest hes ever been so ill put them right below ⬇️)

slow motion, double vision in rose blush by @saryasy Eddie Diaz. His friend. His Eddie. Has kissed a man. Which is strange because Buck is sure as hell he'd remember kissing Eddie.

Me at Buck: FREAAAAAAAAK

Also special mention to that flashback WOW!

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by @tallsinspace Buck loses it every single time this is so awesome, it was so FUN reading INFIDELEDDIE this hiatus 🫶🏽

songs and poems and promises by @lesbianrobin buck summer of disatisfaction turns around thanks to eddie god they are so in love! Also special mention to chim well and maddie lets fucking goooooo

we keep this love in a photograph by @burnthatbridge its just so so freaking beautiful. Buck chooses eddies pics for his dating app after he comes out...

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys once again the kind of fic that you wanna reread again and again.

"The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up."

still sitting in a corner i haunt by @cal-daisies-and-briars i just love this one so much, should reread it, trust me its worth it.

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless. Idk i loved this one. Buddie are not even friends they just want the benefits as soon as they meet. The transition from that to them actually getting to know each other so naturally and start caring about each other is so beautiful.

in the passenger seat by @livingincolorsagain Evan Buckley was put on God’s green earth to drive Eddie Diaz around.

Just BEAUTIFUL.

tying you to me by @hoediaz ONCE AGAIN PERFECT TYPE OF WRITING. Buddie meet each other after 5x11. SO ORIGINAL GOD.

the soft animal of your body by @hattalove . This is a coda to another fic but can be read on its own. Just beautiful beautiful love making. I think i commented that i felt like they were making love with the words they were saying to each other just sitting on the kitchen table talking.

we could follow the sparks, i’ll drive by @markofalover bucks kink should be people calling him mr. diaz and thinking hes eddies husband.

Wait for me there by @kitkatpancakestack Childhood friends reunite after 8 years. I just really really loved this one. Those flashbacks to the past are so beautiful.

wanna be your endgame by literalmetaphor gotta be honest dont see this happening in canon at all cause the second eddie confesses buck would go down on his knees lets be honest. BUT this was so great! I loved it.

Pivot Tables by rainbowninja167 Does it show that i love reading buddie being so freaky and so kinky. Ill just say this: educational sex. Buck brings on the clipboard. Obsessed with this one.

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings. memory loss buck cant remember his husband. Listen im not always a fun of memory loss fics but i loved this one i loved the twist.

there's a word for it, I'm sure by @ithilien-writes i have to reread this one asap cause i loved it so so much they are just so in love with each other but cant admit it so they just start having sex about it. And god they love esch other.

i could give you fifty reasons by @marviless buck FLIRTS with eddie cause he just want ti help. God this one was so much fun. I remember laughing out loud. I gotta reread.

beating the horse by @doitbuckley Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants. Perfect read to the end of 8a.

In the Back Seat, Windows Up by @semperama SEX IN THE BACKSIT OF THE TRUCK LETSFUCKINGGOOOOOO

Play Me For Keeps by @semperama this one made me feel so MANY things in less than 1k words I WAS WONDERSTRUCK HONESTLY SMILING FROM EAR TO EAR

would you lie with me and just forget the world by @colonoscopys reread this one recently GODDDDD if you havent just go read it right now!!! Childhood friends to lovers for the win always.

your beauty (not just a mask) by @aashiqeddiediaz these next two fics GOD well i have a thing for mirrors and sex in front of mirrors apparently so... this i top tier for me. This one is the shorter one in front of the bathroom mirror 100/10 no notes.

my mirror (staring back at me) by @aashiqeddiediaz this one is longer. Mirror in the bedroom......... Eddie notices bucks insecurities and well he does smth about it ❤️‍🔥 such a fave of mine. It has everything!!!

Dreaming of a White Christmas by rosebuddiekin . Oh boy!!!... just gonna leave the blurb here cause no words could ever be enough: "Buck accepts a challenge to be edged in his and Eddie's own version of the 12 Days of Christmas and loses his mind a little more with each one." (Btw if someone knows the author please lmk. They put a link to their tumblr on ao3 but it doesnt work for me.)

[p0orbaby]

Leah/reader have been going through a sex drought so reader decides to surprise leah one evening with a strip tease. Make it SaUcY plz x

-

The plan has been percolating in your head for days. Weeks, if you’re honest with yourself. The outfit agonised over for days: all silk and black lace that toes the line between sultry and “I’m absolutely trying too hard.” You’ve taken into account lighting (low, warm, flattering) and ambiance (candles, but not so many it screams séance). This is high-level strategy, not a whim.

The drought has been bad. Biblical, almost. You’re starting to feel like one of those tortured protagonists in an indie film about suburbia. “Are we okay?” hangs between you and Leah like stale air. You’re fine—better than fine—but busy schedules and post-match fatigue have made the bed a glorified charging station for your phones rather than a place of… connection.

The sound of Leah’s keys jingling in the lock sends a ripple of nerves through you. You check your reflection in the mirror one last time—lingerie clinging to you in all the right places, lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of confidence that’s half real, half bravado.

“In the living room,” you reply, pitching your voice just shy of nonchalant.

The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking as gorgeous and knackered as ever. Her hair’s tied up in a loose bun, and her kit bag is slung over one shoulder. She smells faintly of fresh grass and whatever industrial-strength shower gel Arsenal uses.

“Hey,” she says. Her eyes land on you, and she pauses mid-step. “What’s all this?”

You cross the room slowly, hips swaying with more intent than usual. “I thought I’d treat you tonight”

Her bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. “Something special,” she repeats, her accent curling around the words like a tease of its own. “And what exactly does that mean?”

You press a button on your phone, and the opening notes of the song fill the room. Leah freezes as the implication hits her like a perfectly struck free kick. Her jaw tenses, her cheeks flush, and you know you’ve got her.

Her voice is shaky but attempting nonchalance. “Are you…? Are you about to—?”

You step closer, tugging the robe’s belt loose. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be”

She exhales sharply, her hands coming up in mock surrender. “Nope. Absolutely nowhere”

The next few minutes are equal parts electrifying and ludicrous. You sway your hips to the beat, sliding your robe off completely before stepping closer to her. Leah sits frozen on the edge of the sofa, hands gripping her knees like she’s trying not to combust. Her eyes flicker between your face and… everywhere else, wide and slightly panicked.

“You’re… really good at this,” she stammers, which makes you laugh mid-spin. “Like, way better than I expected”

“Expected?” You pause, raising an eyebrow as you slide a strap off your shoulder. “What were you expecting?”

She shakes her head rapidly, clearly realising she’s said the wrong thing. “No, I mean—it’s just—oh, God.” She runs a hand through her hair, flustered. “You’re killing me right now”

You step closer, close enough that her knees brush against yours. Her breathing has gone shallow, her lips parted slightly. “Killing you, huh?” you murmur, letting your fingers trail along the line of her jaw.

“I’m actually dead,” she whispers. “Gone. Buried”

You smirk, shifting to straddle her lap, and her hands hover awkwardly at your waist like she’s scared she’ll ruin the moment if she moves too soon. Her eyes search yours, and for a moment, the teasing drops away. There’s just her, and you, and the ridiculous, overwhelming love you have for each other.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you say softly, your lips inches from hers.

And that’s all it takes. Her hands find your hips, her grip firm but reverent, and she pulls you closer like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it. The playlist fades into the background as she kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, needier, like she’s making up for lost time.

The drought is over.

[lovisyandereblog]

noah with a sweet n loving darling, gives him hugs, kisses, gifts and affection but is absolutely RAMMING his ass during sexy time, like degrading, edging, torturing him until he's sobbing, begging for release. Either way, darling gives the best aftercare, switching back to their lovey-mode n taking care of him... idk its just a thought yknow?

From your sweetiepie 🍓anon ♡♡♡

🍓 anon….youve read my mind.

TW (rough) nsfw so mdni!! also dick = strap for my fellow dickless people !!!

Darling is an absolute sweetheart, everyone says so. With their respectful attitude, their always smiling face and their kindness that warms the hearts of many.

This aspect was one of the reasons Noah loved them so much, they were always so gentle…but boy was he mistaken as soon as they started getting more intimate.

SLAP!!

The sound of their hand making contact with Noah’s soft pale skin, followed by his own loud cry just turned Darling on even more.

Noah’s entire body was covered in bruise marks, hickeys and bites; all from his precious darling~

They gripped his hair roughly, pulling him up so his back was against their chest; pounding much more harder than before making his whole body shake with each thrust, “You like that huh~? Dirty bitch…like it when I hit that ass of yours?” They asked, followed by another slap and whine.

Their words were so mean!! But it made Noah’s dick leak pre-cum more and more. Darling removed their hands from his hair, making him drop back on the bed—only for him to gag as they held his mouth open from the sides with both of their hands from the back (A/N i hope you guys are understanding what position im talking abt 😭)

He whined as he was pulled back up, his back arching as his tongue lolled out of his mouth; losing himself in the pleasure. Darling chuckled as his moans became louder and louder, “Youre like a dog in heat aren’t you baby~? Liked being fucked dumb by your owner~?” They spoke in a condescending tone, Noah could only respond with a whine, drool escaping his mouth and covering Darling’s fingers.

“Yeahhh..THRUST…Im your fucking owner…THRUST…dumb fucking mutt…” They spoke through gritted teeth, letting go of Noah’s mouth and gripping his hips to find a better angle: the one that makes him go crazy.

He fell on his hands, weakly trying to hold himself up but as soon as Darling hit that special spot of his—he went nuts.

“AHHHNNGH~!! YES YES YESS…OH F-FUCK…” Noah moaned so loudly that the neighbours would have definitely heard his slutty voice by now.

“Fuck baby…” They groaned as they reached one hand down and started rubbing Noah’s sensitive dick, his body jerked and he sobbed from the overwhelming amounts of pleasure, “AHH~ AHHHH~~~Y/NNNNN!!! T-TOO M..MUSH..TOO..NGHH~” He whined as they slapped his ass again, a beautiful red handprint forming where they had hit.

“You’re gonna fucking take it…take it you dumb fucking slut.” Their harsh words were accentuated by their even harsher thrusts, they leaned down so their mouth was right next to his ear as they increased how fast they were jerking him off.

Oh god he was going to fucking die…he couldn’t cum anymore!!

“Yeah? Youre just my little cumdump aren’t you baby~? A whore who just likes getting fucked over and over again to the point of breaking hmm~?” Darling whispered in his ear as Noah sobbed even more from their free hand playing with his sensitive nipples.

“Y-Y/NNN~ P-PLEASE…I C-CANT!! IM G-GONNA…AHHNGHH!!” Noah whined, making Darling chuckle as they straightened their back, bringing their hands to his hips again.

“My baby want’s to come~? Awee..how adorable~” Darling spoke in a fake sweet tone, as they slowed their thrusts before coming to a complete halt. Noah whimpered and looked back over his shoulder towards them, Darling just wanted to eat him up~

“W-why did you stop~?” Noah whined, trying to move himself back but Darling held his hips in place.

“You insatiable slut…can’t even go a second without a dick fucking inside of you huh~? Even after coming 6 times tonight~?” They smirked, watching Noah pout.

He couldn’t help but clench his hole at their demeaning words, why did it have to feel so good~?

“S-sorry..mmmshorryy~~ P-please…I need you~” Noah begged, knowing nothing turned darling on more than him begging.

And he was spot on as Darling’s grip became tighter, “You need me baby~? Need me to fuck you till you cum~? Start begging for it then…beg for me to fuck your slutty little ass till you come for me~” They demanded immediately, slapping his ass once more.

Darling held his slender waist and flipped him around on his back, so they could see every expression on his pretty face as he comes for them. Noah bites his lip anxiously, he always got nervous before begging…making Darling smirk more as they loved how shy he got.

“P-please…?” His voice was so timid, Darling just had to tease him more, “What was that baby…can’t hear you~?

Noah whined, grabbing onto their arm and making the biggest puppy eyes he could. He remained eye contact which was so hard for him but Darling love it as he begged:

“P-please Y/N!! Please fuck me…p-please fuck me till Im a shaking mess…your shaking mess!! Please…im your slut..im your dirty m-mutt…please!! Im all yours…Im your whore…i need you inside me— AAHHHNNG~!!!” His begging was cut short by Darling abruptly and harshly fucking into him, his back arched as he came on the spot—long white ropes of cum spurting out of his poor abused dick.

Darling fucked him through his orgasm, making sure he was nice and satisfied and stopped as he came down.

Then it was like a switch flipped.

Darling pulled out of him, making Noah whimper—his thighs were shaking as was his entire body from the mind breaking orgasm.

They quickly gathered Noah in their arms, cooing at him and giving him kisses all over the marks they had made.

“Oh baby…you were so good..so pretty for me yeah~?” They praised as Noah wrapped his arms around them, he always felt extra clingy after an orgasm.

They cuddle for a while before Darling laid him down and held a glass of water to his mouth, “Drink up angel…there’s a good boy~” Their praises a complete opposite of the degrading words a few seconds ago, and Noah absolutely loved it.

Noah looked at him with those adorable puppy eyes of his, “I..I l-love you~” He spoke hoarsely, his throat hurt from all that screaming.

“Shh baby…don’t speak yeah? I love you more…let me go get a warm wet cloth to clean you up hmm~?” Darling kissed his cheek, he didn’t want to let them go but he knew he had to.

Noah watched as they carefully cleaned his body, making sure to be gentle and considerate; they left kisses wherever they could reach, taking their time with him. His eyes watered from the overwhelming love, he felt his heart swell…he thought he didn’t deserve them.

After carefully making sure he was clean, they put the cloth in the dirty clothes hamper and went to cuddle him against them, their naked bodies providing the warmth they both needed.

Darling pulled the covers over both of their bodies and smiled at Noah, kissing his nose gently, “I love you Noah~”

He smiled as he whimpered back, “I love you…s-so much~”

BRO this was supposed to be a short one paragraph little thought and i wrote too much 🧍‍♀️ BUTT I HOPE THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE HOPING FOR!! LOVE YOUUUU also Lovi writing twice in a day im kinda crazy (I will disappear for ten months) IM JOKINGH IO4EFRQU4F809

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Driven by guilt after abandoning him, you went back to the place where Mairon had been slain. You find out that he is still alive but in the weakest form and shape. You take him in to nurse him back to health in the solitude of your Mirkwood fortress where you are hiding from the Valar, disguised as an ordinary human.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The smut part is not with goo!Sauron although I'm sure some of your freaks would probably want that. 😂 I know that the fortress in Mirkwood was built by Sauron much later in canon but I wanted to use it in this fic, although I didn't use its name, so it doesn't have to be the exact same one anyway. Once again I want to thank @dinsbeskar & @olchr-1 💚 Special mention to the queen of Sauron fics @just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace and her fanfic Remade where the iconic evil!Reader is nursing goo!Sauron back to health as well. 🥺

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), mentions of domestic abuse (with Morgoth) & of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, goo!Sauron, murder, SMUT, dom!Sauron (with sub undertones)

WORD COUNT — 3,830

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (II)

Perhaps it was embarrassing for a Vala to feel so enamoured with a Maia but you could not help it – Mairon was all you could think of after your departure.

And after finding out that he had been slain during his coronation after your departure, you could not help a pang of guilt filling what was left of your heart. You had abandoned him and left him all alone at the mercy of all those dark and rotten creatures your husband had created and lured. Of course your sweet Mairon would never handle them on his own, without your support.

You missed him, too – your devoted servant who had worshipped you like nobody else before. When you were being an object of his desires, it was as if you were no longer Varda’s rival because Mairon could make you feel like the most important goddess in the whole world.

Therefore, after many years of being tormented with guilt and yearning, you decided to go back North and inspect the fortress where he had been slain. You could easily trace the very floor where he had laid dead because a black stain remained there. And you tilted your head while examining the cracks between which his blood had to be streaming down.

Your instincts led you underground where you found yourself in a cold and damp cave filled with sinister, ominous presence. There was no doubt that whatever was left of your servant still lived there.

And then, as if it was drawn to you, you spotted an odd, small form creeping towards you on the floor. It was not humanoid but visibly alive although its breath was barely present. The way it moved caused your heart to clench inside your chest out of pity. When it found itself by your feet, it wailed pathetically and whined.

You had a new form now as you were disguising yourself as a young woman of the human kind but his spirit would recognise Mother of Flames everywhere and in every form. Just like yours would always recognise him.

“My poor, sweet Mairon…” You crouched down to touch the malicious substance gently. “I am so sorry for abandoning you,” you whispered as you opened your hands and watched him struggle to slide onto them. “Just a little, my darling, you can do it. And once you’re with me, I will take care of you,” you promised. “I will nurse you back to health, my Mairon,” you encouraged him as he eventually managed to crawl up to lay in your hands. He sighed out of exhaustion and you chuckled softly.

You stood up and brought him closer to your face. He was like a little, gruesome pet and you found it adorable in a way as your godly instincts to take care over weaklings awakened.

“I shall take you away from here, my sweet spirit. Rest now, darling, you are safe now,” you cooed to him.

And inside your hands you took him safely back to the place where you had been living in hiding these days – in the southwest of Mirkwood where Hill of Sorcery was and you spent your days there alone in a fortress long-abandoned, away from everyone, trying not to attract any attention.

Having Mairon with you in his odd shape was merely counting as a companion although you were speaking to him all the time and he would answer with squeals, whines or sighs. You prepared him a cosy spot near the fireplace, which was always lit up due to your control over that destructive element.

As a fallen Vala, you had no power anymore to create life – not in the same, pure way as the others at least. Therefore, you did not want to risk bringing him back to life with your will because it could end up badly. You’d rather the process of his healing take centuries than to bring him back twisted and deformed in any way.

You felt bad for not being able to help him more, so you devoted your days to finding him wild animals to feed on and sometimes you would allow him to feed off of your own godly energy to gain strength as you would caress his foul form and coo to him.

As time passed, slowly but progressively, his shape was growing in size and getting more and more humanoid. He was even more gruesome now because he no longer resembled a pet but became a dark shadow that was creeping around the fortress as he kept following you around obediently.

Oftentimes, he would exhaust his weak form by doing so and you would turn around with a soft sigh and a smile at the sight of him breathing heavily on the floor.

“My sweet, Mairon, you should rest,” you crouched down to help him move back to his usual spot by the fireplace. “I am not going anywhere, do not worry, my dear. I shall never abandon you ever again, you have my word,” you caressed him.

He reached out his limb towards you and you smiled lovingly at the gesture.

“You seem to be quite ready, don’t you think, my dear? Should I fetch you a bigger meal?” You asked him.

You were excited to finally bring him back fully but on the other hand you had grown so used to this shadow following you around for the past few centuries that you were not sure if real, bratty Mairon was someone you wanted to handle again. However, you did not want him to suffer anymore.

The dark shape nodded, eagerly and you leaned in to place some sort of a kiss upon where his forehead would be.

“Be patient, dear. Soon, you will be back with me. And now, regain your strength,” you assured him and watched him fall asleep.

When he did so, you left the fortress and hunted for a human or an Elf who would walk around unguarded. Not that you would not handle someone of this sort – you were a goddess, after all. You simply did not want any witnesses. The woods were dark and mysterious, therefore one disappearance would not alarm anyone but to have a rumour going around that there was some dark spirit living amongst the humans and the Elves of Mirkwood – that you did not want.

Therefore, using your craft of deception and luring, you teased a young lumberjack into your fortress. He was in a trance but once you locked him inside the same chambers where Mairon’s shadow laid, he screamed out loud with terror. However, he was too far away from the nearest village for anyone to hear him.

You smirked to yourself as you paced around impatiently, waiting for Mairon to deal with his prey. The sounds coming out of the room were concerning but you knew that an act of rebirth required lots of dirty work.

Finally, the doors creaked as someone opened them slowly and you turned your head around rapidly.

There he stood in front of you – your Mairon. He chose a new form for himself this time, a little shorter, with curly brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He was in a human shape but you assumed he was not strong enough yet to create a form as pure as Elven. In fact, he looked like a commoner – him wearing his victim’s clothes was not helping the impression.

He was smiling proudly and taking deep breaths in as you watched him with widened eyes.

“You… You look different,” you pointed out, taken aback.

“So do you,” he answered and you cracked a smile at the sound of his new voice. What a privilege it seemed to be now to be able to hear his voice. “My Lady,” he added and bowed his head slightly. “I am yet too weak to take more noble form but in this one we both look the same. I would never dare to take a form higher than yours. I know you need your disguise but so do I. I hope you do not mind this choice.”

“Not at all,” you shook your head and approached him. “I have nursed you when you were a… A shadow. How can you think I would ever be able to cast you away because of your shape or form?” You cupped his cheeks as his stubble scratched your hands.

Short silence occurred, in which you two were staring at each other intensely. You were the one to make the first move as you pulled his face towards yours to plant dozens of tiny kisses all over his face while your hands brushed his curls.

Filled with joy to be in your arms and to be greeted by you this way, he wrapped his new, strong arms around you and made an attempt to give back at least half of those hasty and desperate kisses.

“My Lady, my Queen,” he whispered between them, “my saviour, my Goddess.”

His kisses grew more hungry and passionate as his lips moved down to your neck, kissing it eagerly and sucking on the sensitive skin. His hands, shaky from anticipation, worked on the lacing of your gown. He was too desperate to ask if he could stain you with his touch but you would never reject him.

Whatever was between you two now had differed greatly from whatever you two had back in the day. After all those centuries of taking care of him in his weakest state while you two were hiding away from the outside world, you felt that the connection between you two was as strong as ever. Perhaps even stronger than the one you had once had with Melkor.

“Mairon…” You gasped when his hands finally untied the corset of your gown and he tore it off of you like a wild animal in heat, pushing you down onto the floor.

This time it was you underneath him, at the mercy of his will and his desire. And you should mind that but you did not – in fact, you craved it. It had been ages since he had a body and now his flesh was filled with uncontrollable desires. You wanted to be the only subject of them as you would never allow him to fulfil them with anyone else.

“You are mine,” you reminded him when he grabbed your wrists and crossed them above your head, pinning you down.

He looked deep into your eyes as his pupils widened and nearly overtook the beautiful green colour completely. He growled and leaned in to give you yet another hungry kiss and you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You could feel his erection already because the clothes he had taken from the commoner were thin and loosely put on.

“You belong to me,” you whined between one hungry kiss and another while he took both of your wrists into one of his hands now to be able to remove his clothes with the other. He was chaotic while doing so, desperate to get rid of anything between your bodies. “Tell me, Mairon. Do you serve me still?” You asked.

There was a new energy about him in this form. He was still only a Maia but you were a very weakened Vala and he was no longer a pathetic spirit you had remembered. He reminded you of your husband in a way that you were now anxious about.

“I am yours,” he breathed out and held onto your hip with his free hand as he buried himself inside of you and groaned out of pleasure. You shivered as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips bucked up as your walls throbbed around his length, welcoming him in by greedily sucking him in deeper. “I am your servant and yours only. There is nothing holy to me except for you,” he confessed and let go of your wrists to squeeze your cheeks, which caused your hazy eyes to open and look deep into his.

They were no longer green; not even black. He was too driven by desire to be able to control his form and his eyes were terrifying and animalistic as if he was a serpent and not a human. Yet, the sight only made you throb around him some more.

“In your name I shall heal this realm and you will have your temple like I have promised,” he hissed out. “But if you ever abandon me again, I shall give up on you, too. Like I have given up on all the other gods,” he threatened and perhaps he had earned a reprimand for that but you couldn’t help a moan at his words as your hips bucked once more and he began to thrust into you.

His rhythm was far from steady; it was chaotic and desperate, rough and fast. He groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, assaulting your skin with kisses and bites as his big and strong hands held onto your hips to be able to fuck you even deeper.

You tangled your fingers in his brown curls and pulled on them, which only spurred him on and with your other hand you scratched the flexed muscles of his back. Your moans and whines filled the whole fortress and lucky were the habitants of the near villages to live far away enough to not be able to hear you.

Like two desperate animals with your clothes scattered around and torn, fucking on the floor. There was nothing holy about you two at that moment and nothing noble either. Even your forms were human, therefore you had to resemble two primal and primitive creatures instead of the regal and holy spirits that you had originally been.

“I will never abandon you again, sweet Mairon. Have I not promised you already?” You whispered. “Whatever path you want to take, I shall take with you. Reunite all the dark creatures of this realm for you again, command your armies, I shall do it. Stay here forever and get lost in each other’s embrace for the whole eternity instead? I shall do it, too,” you confessed.

Your devotion – the loyalty of the one he had been worshipping ever since his creation – was enough to make him spill himself inside of you with a groan of pleasure and relief after such a long time of yearning. He moved up to look at your face and he caressed your sweaty cheeks while he kept thrusting in and out of you to make you reach your peak, too.

“Once we heal and take over this realm, I will defile you on every altar built for you,” Mairon promised you in a raspy voice, his eyes back to normal now but still foggy from his orgasm. “There will be no more Valar for our subjects, there will be only you. The only goddess. Any form of worship of the other Valar will be considered blasphemy,” he whispered sweetly and you moaned, feeling the muscles of your abdomen tightening as your walls clenched hard around him but he kept on fucking you. In fact, he picked up his pace. “Such a goddess you are and look at you, so humbled underneath me. How humiliating it must be for you, my Queen,” he teased, cruelly and instead of getting angry or ashamed, you finally came all around his cock, shivering and moaning as he watched in awe with a smirk, fucking you throughout your orgasm.

He was slowing down alongside your breath going back to normal and his rough human hands were caressing your cheeks now, brushing out the hair strands away from your sweaty face. 

“You forget yourself,” you breathed out eventually.

“You liked it,” Mairon pointed out. “And I shall do everything to please my Queen,” he chuckled with a sparkle dancing in his eye. “I bet you would like to do it again, my Lady.”

“I do,” you grinned but he shook his head as he laughed.

“Work before play,” he leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead. “And we have a lot of work to do,” he pointed out and moved away as you whined at the sudden emptiness.

“What are you talking about? You have just regained your form back,” you sat up and tilted your head at him.

“I have had centuries to come up with a scheme and I do not wish to waste more time,” Mairon told you, gathering the scattered clothes from the floor to put them back on.

You sighed and rolled your eyes before laying back on the ground.

“What is it, my Lady?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“Nothing, my sweet,” you chuckled. “You’re back at it, are you not? You cannot ever just let it happen or have fun. You must always work and be a perfectionist about it.”

“I might have a new form and a new will but some things never change,” he answered.

“I wonder sometimes why the Valar have not found me yet,” you sat up again to look at him and he froze at the mention of the other gods. “I mean, they are not searching for me hard enough because I am not that well disguised. Yet, they have not come for me yet and I know that in their eyes I deserve a punishment.”

“Do you have any theories about it, my Queen?” Mairon asked, curiously.

“You are my punishment, I reckon,” you told him. “I am humbled to be enamoured with a servant and I have to endure your annoying ways,” you added but with a playful smile that signalled your affection.

Mairon smirked nervously. He had once fantasised about something similar when his heart had still been pure and he had been Aulë’s disciple in Valinor. In what a twisted way his dream turned out to be real. He pitied you at that moment.

He crouched down next to you and caressed your cheek gently before leaning in to place a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I wish to perfect myself as much as it is allowed for me to but I will never be your equal, which I am aware of and it will forever be my biggest regret,” he confessed. “If only I could… All I want is to be worthy of you like he was. My master.”

You flinched at the mention of your husband. Melkor was immortal like you were, therefore he was not dead but locked away instead. You were still his wife because of that and you would forever remain in the eyes of many but at that moment, you would not mind to break the tradition and become Mairon’s bride. Even if it would be considered a great humiliation.

“I wonder what he thinks of us,” you mumbled out. “But I care not,” you looked up to meet Mairon’s concerned gaze.

“Even if he comes back by any chance, I shall not allow him to hurt you or take you away from me. No matter what it takes,” he promised with all seriousness and you batted your eyelashes to dry out your fresh tears.

“If he comes back by any chance,” you chuckled sadly, “it will be me having to protect you from his wrath, my sweet Mairon,” you caressed his cheek and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips.

You would never leave his side and you would always watch over him, take care of him and nurse him back to health whenever he would need it again. 

He was your lesson in humility but you were a very eager student.

You were sitting by the fire amongst all those poor villagers who had lost their homes. Mairon had his arm wrapped around you as you clinged to his chest as if you were cold, pretending to shiver slightly. The old man named Diarmid who had taken you both alongside with him squinted his eyes at the two of you and decided to join you by sitting next to you after a while of hesitation.

You moved slightly to make more space for him and he smiled.

“Halbrand and Brynn,” he addressed you by your new and fake human names. “How much have you lost there if I might ask?” He asked but there was no rudeness about it, only genuine concern.

“Everything,” you answered, refusing to look him in the eye as you watched the flames dance. It was the very element you had full control of but now you just allowed it to burn naturally as you smiled at the memory of casting the very first fire that had ever existed in Arda. Mairon leaned in to kiss your temple and he was the one to look at the old man.

“This might be a second chance for us,” he said. “I like to think of it as such. We are free now from the burdens of the past. As if we were new people.”

“And that is how you should be perceiving it,” Diarmid pointed out as he nodded. You smirked a little because he was so naive and so oblivious to your Mairon’s malice.

“My husband’s always been the more positive one,” you mumbled out. “I like to perceive things the way they are,” you added.

“That is certainly a useful quality,” the old man smiled at you. “But sometimes we all need a little hope and a little white lie here and there. Such wisdom comes with age that the true purpose of the fairytales is not to entertain the children but to bring hope to grown men and women for the reality of life can get too gloomy to bear faith for a better tomorrow. Yet, we must keep going. No matter what.”

You looked up at that moment and locked your gaze with his as your heart skipped a beat. The man kept smiling at you softly and you would never tell Mairon about it but he was no ordinary human. He was a spirit sent to you – he was one of the Maiar with a task given to him from the Valar.

They knew about you and Mairon and they wished for you both to redeem yourselves and choose goodness this time. Indeed, it made your heart clench deep inside of your chest as you remembered them all, especially your sister – the one you had betrayed the most.

But it was too late for you and too late for Mairon. Melkor’s corruption and darkness were reaching deeper within your souls than the Valar’s lightness ever would. You two were the most exquisite subjects of the Dark Lord’s torment.

Instead of fixing your malice with his love, like Marion had once dreamed of, you both descended into the paths of sin and destruction disguised as the act of healing. Together, at least.

MASTERLIST

[msriri030]

Saving By Hare Pt2: The Love Doctor

Mafia!König x Doctor! Reader

Cw: mention torture and drugs. afab!reader but try most to be gn.

Part 3

Horangi was walking down the hall when his attention was caught by Hutch and Roze standing in front of a one-way mirror. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "What are you up to?"

"Watching the boss torture an enemy underling," Roze replied, her eyes glinting with amusement as Hutch chuckled happily at the scene unfolding before them. 

Raising an eyebrow, Horangi stepped closer to the window. He saw König pacing back and forth, visibly anxious, as he spoke to the enemy, who looked increasingly unsettled. Suddenly, König slammed his hand down on the table, causing the enemy to flinch.

"What’s the torture?" Horangi asked, confusion etched on his face. Hutch smirked, adjusting his shades. "The boss is asking for romantic advice from Deadman."

Horangi sighed, watching König slowly lower himself into the chair across from the captive, his hulking frame almost too large for the delicate wooden seat. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit uncharacteristic of the usually imposing man.

The captive, a wiry man with a bloodied nose, looked utterly bewildered. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stammered, “W-why are you asking me? I don’t—I don’t know anything about dating!”

König leaned forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he demanded, “Then what do you know about wooing someone? Surely you’ve liked someone before. Speak.”

The man fumbled, glancing toward the one-way mirror in silent desperation, as if pleading for a rescue that would never come.

Roze stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I never thought I’d see the day. Our Big bad Boss, König,…asking a guy who can’t even keep his own teeth in his mouth for advice on romance. This is priceless.”

Hutch let out a low chuckle, pushing his sunglasses up. “The boss is down bad. I mean, look at him—he’s got the guy more scared of giving the wrong pickup line than getting shot.”

Inside the room, König pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated with the captive's nonsensical answers. The poor man was a stuttering mess, rattling off clichés like, ‘Buy them flowers,’ and ‘Compliment their eyes.’

König growled softly, not out of anger, but sheer exasperation. “This is useless.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing the captive to flinch again. König loomed over him, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling man.

“I don’t need basic advice!” König barked, his voice deep and commanding. “I need something… meaningful. Specific. If you were trying to win someone over—someone kind, strong, and… special—what would you do?”

The captive blinked up at him, wide-eyed and utterly lost. “I—I don’t know! Cook for them? Write them a letter? Please, man, I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

Horangi, watching from the other side of the glass, finally sighed and turned to Hutch and Roze. “This is pathetic. Should we step in before he kills the guy with his awkwardness?”

“Nah,” Hutch replied with a grin. “This is better than TV. Besides, it’s not like the guy’s bleeding out or anything.”

Roze tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think König will actually take advice from someone who’s tied to a chair?”

Before Horangi could respond, König’s voice boomed again, shaking the room with its intensity.

"Write what, exactly?" He leaned in closer to the captive, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Give me something better than 'flowers' or 'letters,' or I will personally—" He caught himself, exhaling sharply and stepping back, muttering under his breath in frustration.

The captive, desperate to avoid whatever fate his imagination was conjuring, blurted out, "S-surprise them! Do something unexpected! Something only you would do! Something that shows y-you’re thinking about them!"

König paused, straightening to his full height. His imposing shadow loomed even larger over the man as he stared down at him with piercing eyes. Slowly, a glimmer of realization crossed König’s face. He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, muttering, “Hmm. Yes. That’s… something.”

The captive sagged in his chair, relief washing over him as König turned abruptly and made for the door.

From behind the glass, Roze covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “I swear to God, he’s going to come back tomorrow with a dozen roses and a poem, isn’t he?”

Hutch snorted, shaking his head. “If he writes a poem, I’m retiring. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime.”

Horangi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid… like kidnapping them instead of asking them on a date.”

The door to the interrogation room slammed open as König stepped out, his gaze distant, as if he were already lost in thought. He brushed past the group without a word, his broad shoulders rigid and his stride purposeful.

“Yup,” Roze said with a smirk, watching him disappear down the hall. “He’s definitely writing a poem.”

Hutch clapped Horangi on the back. “Good luck keeping him out of trouble. You’re going to need it.”

Horangi sighed again, glancing toward the interrogation room before reluctantly following after König. “This better not end with me having to talk him out of some overly dramatic romantic gesture…”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roze and Hutch exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, their amusement echoing through the observation room.

It had been a couple of weeks since you last saw König. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, resurfacing at the most unexpected moments. You found yourself wondering—was his wound healing properly? Had he taken care of himself?

The thought gnawed at you as you went about your day, your hands busy with patients, but your mind elsewhere. You had done everything you could to stabilize him that night, yet the worry persisted. Men like him, with their dangerous lives and stoic fronts, weren’t the type to follow medical advice.

You sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you closed your clinic for the evening to grab some lunch. The streets were quiet, the crisp winter air biting against your cheeks as you locked the door behind you. You paused for a moment, glancing down the empty street, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

Was he okay? The question echoed in your mind again, and you shook your head with a small, self-deprecating smile. Why do I even care so much?

But deep down, you knew the answer. There had been something in König’s eyes that night—something that stuck with you. A vulnerability beneath the ice, a fleeting glimpse of someone who, for all his sharp edges and danger, carried a burden far heavier than any physical wound.

And now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just okay in general. You groan in frustration kicking a discarded can. Why?! You just met the man. You sighed. You look at the sky a little bit to ground yourself before continuing along your way.  You entered your favorite dinner, Dash out.

The warm, familiar hum of Dash Out greeted you as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside. You waved to the staff behind the counter, giving them a tired but genuine smile.

Sliding into a booth near the window, you let out a long sigh and leaned back against the worn vinyl. This was your safe haven—a place where the stress of the day melted away with every sip of coffee or bite of a greasy burger.

A waitress approached, her name tag reading Lisa, her smile as warm as ever. “The usual?”

You nodded. “Please.”

Lisa scribbled on her notepad, her gaze flickering to your face with a touch of curiosity. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Long day?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Lisa gave you a knowing nod before walking off, leaving you to your thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the soft, lazy flakes of snow drift down, the streetlights casting a warm, amber glow over the quiet street. Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, you barely recognized the furrowed brow and distant eyes.

Your food arrived swiftly, the plate settling in front of you with a soft clink. A classic burger, fries, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa—comfort food at its finest. Lisa let you know the pie was on the house. You took a bite, hoping the familiar taste would provide some distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

The sound of the diner door opening pulled you from your reverie. You glanced up absently, expecting nothing more than another weary worker grabbing a late meal or perhaps a family seeking warmth from the biting cold outside.

But before you could focus on it, a pair of warm, calloused hands gently covered your eyes, halting your sip mid-air. A playful, familiar Scottish lilt followed. “Guess who it is, lass?”

You couldn’t suppress a smile, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head slightly. “Soap,” you said, the word slipping out with amused certainty.

The hands pulled away with a chuckle, and there he was—grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned casually against the booth.

Next to him, Ghost stood silently, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the cheerful exchange. He rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath before turning toward the counter, his gait purposeful as he went to collect the protection money for their boss.

You giggled, glancing back at Soap. “I see you brought Ghost with you on your rounds.”

“Yup, Doc,” Soap said, scratching the back of his neck with mock exasperation. “Didn’t want to, but you know—gangster life’s no walk in the park.” His grin widened, as if the admission didn’t carry the weight it should have.

Before you could respond, Lisa returned, balancing a tray with your pie. She set the plate in front of you with a warm smile. “Enjoy, honey,” she said before bustling off to tend to another table.

“Thanks, Lisa.” You glanced at Soap and tilted the plate slightly in his direction, your voice teasing. “Want some, Soap? Or is gangster life too glamorous for diner fries?”

“Never! That’s like forgetting the roots you came from!” Soap declared dramatically, as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Plus, I love sharing fries with the person who’s saved our arses more times than I can count!”

Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped himself down in the seat across from you, stealing a fry with a triumphant grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. As Soap munched happily, Ghost returned from the counter, his dark gaze flicking between the two of you before settling on Soap with a mix of amusement and quiet disapproval.

You looked up at Ghost with a smile, gesturing toward the plate of fries you were now sharing. “Want some?” you offered lightly.

He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips under his mask as he slid into the booth beside you. “No thanks, Doll,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll leave the fry-stealing to him.”

Soap, mid-bite, pointed a fry at Ghost. “That’s because you’re no fun, mate.”

Ghost gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, “I’m plenty fun. Just not when it comes to your greasy fingers all over the food.”

The banter made you smile as you picked up another fry, savoring the rare moment of levity amid the chaos their lives seemed to attract. It was hard not to think back to when you first met them. Soap had stormed into your clinic, practically kicking the door down, with Ghost slung over his back and bleeding profusely.

You’d barely had time to process their arrival before Soap started barking orders—half panicked, half determined. Ghost, even in his weakened state, had muttered something about "not scaring the doc." It had been a whirlwind of blood, adrenaline, and sharp commands, but you’d patched Ghost up, and from that moment on, the two had made you an unspoken part of their world.

Since then, they’d drop by every so often—not just for patch-ups, though those were frequent—but also to walk you home after late nights at the clinic or during their rounds collecting protection money for their boss. You knew the line of work they were in was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of security you felt whenever they were around.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Soap said, snapping you out of your thoughts as he stole another fry. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just remembering how we met,” you said with a small smile, glancing between him and Ghost. “And how you two basically barged into my life like a hurricane.”

Soap grinned, unrepentant. “Aye, but a good hurricane, right?”

Ghost shook his head, muttering, “More like a bloody disaster.”

You laughed softly, their easy camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the weight of your own thoughts. Likewise, your presence seemed to brighten their otherwise cold and chaotic world, though they’d never outright admit it. Yet the way they smiled at you in that unspoken, rare softness said enough.

After finishing your meal, the three of you stepped outside into the biting cold. They insisted on walking you back to the clinic—something they’d done countless times before. As the chill seeped into your bones, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.

Ghost noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shiver you tried to hide. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The material was heavy, smelling faintly of leather and a hint of something clean and woodsy.

“Here, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low but kind in its gruffness.

“No, I—It’s okay,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered by the gesture. “We’re not far from the clinic. You’ll be cold.”

You tried to hand the jacket back, but Soap looped an arm around your shoulders with a grin, stopping you in your tracks.

“And let our favorite doc get sick?” he teased, his tone playful but firm. “Never! Ghost and I have seen enough blood for one lifetime, thank you very much. Now let’s get to the clinic, warm up with some tea, and then we’ll handle the rest of our business.”

You rolled your eyes with a fond smile but didn’t argue. Wrapped in Ghost’s jacket and flanked by the two men, you felt a sense of safety you didn’t often experience. As you walked, the quiet of the night was punctuated by the soft crunch of boots on snow and Soap’s endless chatter about everything and nothing.

For a moment, as the warm glow of the clinic’s lights came into view, you let yourself forget about the dangers that lurked in their world—and your own. The three of you entered the clinic, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint lavender welcoming you like an old friend. Without hesitation, you all made your way to the break room, a cozy little space you had managed to make feel homier despite the sterile surroundings.

Soap, ever the ball of energy, immediately busied himself grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “Tea’s on me!” he declared, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he examined the mismatched cups with mock seriousness.

Meanwhile, you filled the kettle, setting it to boil. You handed Ghost his jacket back, and he took it with a quiet nod, draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down. His tall frame seemed oddly at ease in the tiny space, though his ever-watchful gaze remained sharp, flicking from you to Soap and back again.

“Thanks for lending this,” you said softly, glancing at Ghost as you adjusted your sweater.

He gave a slight shrug, his mask concealing any hint of a smile, though his tone held the barest trace of warmth. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You’d be no use to anyone if you’re laid up sick.”

Soap turned around with a playful grin, balancing the mugs in one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. “See, Doc? That’s as close to a love letter as Ghost will ever get. Cherish it!”

“Don’t push your luck, Soap,” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you set the tea bags into the mugs Soap had placed on the counter. Once the water was ready, you poured it carefully, the steam rising and curling in the air. The quiet hum of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, and the shared companionship filled the small room with a sense of peace that felt rare in their chaotic world

 The phone's shrill ring sliced through the comfortable quiet like a blade, cutting Soap off mid-sentence and making Ghost’s gaze sharpen instantly. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you glanced at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, but as a doctor, you were accustomed to unexpected calls from patients in need.

With a soft sigh, you answered, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued preparing the tea. “Hello, this is Dr. [Last Name]. How can I help you?”

A beat of silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint, shallow breathing. A chill prickled at the back of your neck. Something about it felt wrong.

“Hello?” you repeated, this time with more authority.

The voice that finally responded was shaky, almost desperate. “Hase? Is this... is this you?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “König? Yes, it’s me.”

You didn’t notice Soap’s eyes widened or Ghost’s gaze turned cold as they recognized the name. König—the mob boss who controlled half the city and the territory just down the street from your clinic. A heavy silence hung in the air before the voice whispered, almost painfully, “Yes, it’s König, my Hase.”

You felt a warmth flush your cheeks, but you quickly brushed it aside, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “What can I do for you?”

There was a brief silence, the sound of steady breathing on the other end before König’s voice returned—tentative, yet edged with a quiet urgency. “I was wondering… if I could take you to dinner tonight at the Diamond Petals. Or tomorrow, if you’re not working. As a thank you… for everything.”  

The request hung in the air, unexpected. Dinner at such a fancy restaurant? You smiled, a soft giggle escaping. “Yeah… I’d love to have dinner with you. Maybe tomorrow, though—I’ll need to shop for new clothes. I don’t have anything good to wear.”  

“Nien,” he replied smoothly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Anything you wear looks like gold.”  

The words, simple yet laced with affection, sent warmth flooding to your cheeks. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could recover, he added, “What about I pick you up and take you shopping for clothes?”  

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind racing to process the unexpected offer. Meanwhile, Ghost and Soap, lingering nearby, exchanged knowing glances. The palpable tension in the air was broken only by the sound of their deliberate throat-clearing, an unsubtle reminder of their presence.  

“Sure,” you finally managed, your voice slightly flustered. “I’ll send you the location of my clinic then… see you later.”  

You ended the call, the phone still warm in your hand as you set it down on the counter. Ghost calmly lifted his mask just over his nose, sipping his tea with deliberate slowness. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a subtle sign of amusement, while Soap, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned widely.  

“So~ you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now, eh?” Soap teased, leaning against the counter with a cheeky tilt of his head.  

You blushed furiously, waving your hands in protest. “It’s not like that!”  

Soap’s grin widened as Ghost let out a low chuckle. “Aye, Doc. Whatever you say.”  

Meanwhile, König stood in the dimly lit expanse of one of his warehouses, the sharp tang of metal and oil lingering in the air. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he turned to the scene behind him. Vega and Roze hovered over their latest victim—a poor drug shipper whose trembling form bore the tattooed mark of the 141 on his neck.  

The man's muffled gasps and splashes filled the room as Vega pressed his head underwater, his grip merciless, while Roze crouched beside them, her dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. She glanced over her shoulder at König, an arched brow accompanying her mocking tone.  

“So~ what did she say?” Roze asked, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity as she twirled a blade in her hand, its edge catching the faint light.  

König’s gaze flickered to the struggling man for a moment, then back to Roze, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost detached.  

“She said yes,” he murmured, the weight of the words carrying an edge that made even Vega glance up from her task.  

Roze grinned, sharp and predatory. “Look at you, big guy. Dinner at the Diamond Petals, huh? Gonna make it all romantic?”  

König’s towering frame shifted slightly as he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. “Focus,” he said, his voice cold enough to make the room feel even icier. “The questions are not for me.”  

Roze’s smirk faltered, and she shrugged, motioning to Vega, who yanked the man’s head back above water with a violent jerk. The shivering victim gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, as König loomed over him, his massive shadow swallowing the man whole.  

“Now,” König said softly, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”  

After promising Soap and Ghost that you’d text them after your “date,” you closed up your clinic and waved them goodbye. Their knowing smirks lingered in your mind, but you brushed them off, focusing instead on the evening ahead.  

Standing outside in the cool night air, you waited patiently, smoothing down your outfit one more time to make sure everything was perfect.  

Moments later, a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Your breath caught when König stepped out. Even with his mask on, you could tell he had gone out of his way to prepare for this. His broad frame was wrapped in a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt and slacks, the subtle sheen of his polished shoes catching the light.  

The faint scent of musk and cedar drifted toward you, the unmistakable aroma of freshly applied cologne mingling with the lingering freshness of a recent shower. You couldn’t help but notice the effort he had put in—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.  

You instinctively sniffed yourself, worried for a fleeting moment about how you smelled. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized you didn’t smell unpleasant—your perfume still lingered, light and floral.  

“Guten Abend,” König greeted, his voice deep and soft as he extended a hand toward you. “You look… breathtaking.”  

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you smiled shyly, taking his hand. “Thank you. You look great too.”  

He held your hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before he released it and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”  

You nodded, letting him open the car door for you. As you slid into the plush leather seat, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a growing excitement. Whatever tonight had in store, it was already starting to feel like something special.  

As the car cruised smoothly toward the eastern side of the city, you stole a glance at König. His focus was trained on the road ahead, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with a surprising gentleness. The soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you, and you found yourself nervously fiddling with the ends of your sleeves, wracking your brain for something—anything—to say.

Your gaze drifted out the window in quiet defeat, watching as the snow fell in lazy flakes, blanketing the streets in a serene glow.

Little did you know, König was locked in a similar mental battle. Small talk had never been his strength. Socializing, in general, was a struggle, a deep-seated insecurity born from years of bullying and isolation. Even now, he could still hear the mocking laughter of his classmates, and feel the sting of their taunts. The only reason he’d entered the mafia world was because a mobster had seen him, bloodied but unyielding, defending himself against a particularly cruel bully.

König let out a heavy sigh, the sound breaking the quiet tension in the car and catching your attention.

“Sorry, Liebling,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with self-consciousness. “I am not... how do you say? Good at starting conversations. Sorry.”

His admission was so earnest, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, shaking your head.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice kind. “I’m not that great at it either.”

You hesitated for a moment, then, desperate to keep the conversation going, asked, “What about your wound? Is it healed?”

Your cheeks flushed as soon as the words left your mouth, and you inwardly cringed. Of all things to ask…

König’s head tilted slightly toward you, and even with the mask, you could tell he was surprised—and perhaps a little touched—by your concern.

“It’s much better now,” he said, his tone warming. “Thanks to you.”

You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile beneath the fabric of his mask. His hand briefly left the steering wheel to tap lightly at his side. “Your stitches—they hold perfectly. You are... very skilled.”

His compliment made your blush deepen, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he replied firmly, his voice softening again. “Not anyone. You cared.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and the comfortable silence between you both felt surprisingly warm. You realized something else now—König had called you Liebling instead of his usual Hase. You couldn’t help but wonder about the change, and the question bubbled up before you could stop it.

“König,” you asked, your curiosity piqued, “What does Hase mean? And... why do you call me that?”

The sudden question seemed to catch König off guard. His face, though still obscured by the mask, darkened in a deep flush. He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost sheepish sound, before turning his attention back to the road as he guided the car into the parking lot of a luxury store.

You watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, the soft hum of the engine accompanying the brief pause.

After a moment, he exhaled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked the car. He took a slow breath, as if preparing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was more measured, quieter than usual.

“It means... rabbit or hare,” he replied, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I called you that because... when we first met, your doctor’s coat made you look like a white rabbit in winter.”

The words were simple, but the warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. You blinked, surprised, but then a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of him thinking of you that way—fragile, maybe, but also somehow strong—was endearing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your cheeks warming from his unexpected but sweet reasoning. “A white rabbit, huh? That’s... oddly fitting, I think.”

König shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a faint hint of embarrassment in his posture, but there was something soft in his eyes as he glanced over at you. "I think you were my... safe place. Like how a rabbit would always hide in the snow."

His words settled in the car with a quiet, tender weight that was almost too much to process. You didn’t quite know what to say in response, but the gesture—his quiet affection—spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but rest your head on König’s arm, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I’m grateful you see me that way,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his presence. Then, with a playful smile, you added, “If I can say something... you remind me of a bear. You make me feel so safe, and yet, you’re so strong, but gentle too.”

König’s breath caught at your words, and a soft chuckle escaped him, a deep rumble that made your heart flutter. He gently tightened his arm around you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A bear, huh?” he said, his voice warm and almost teasing. “I can live with that. As long as I’m your bear.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection, and smiled. The warmth between you felt unspoken, but it lingered in the air, like a silent promise. As the two of you shared a quiet moment, you stepped out of the car, his hand brushing against yours. Together, you walked towards the entrance of the store, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet almost drowned out by the beating of your heart.  

You entered the store, the soft chime of the door marking your arrival. At first, the clerks seemed uninterested in you, going about their tasks as if you were just another customer. But when they noticed König holding your hand, their demeanor shifted instantly. Their attention focused on you, and suddenly, they began pulling out the most elegant, expensive dresses, each more beautiful than the last. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing felt quite right. You sighed, feeling a little discouraged.

"Why don’t you look around while I talk to the clerk?" König suggested, noticing the frustration in your expression. You nodded, giving him a small smile, and wandered off, leaving him to converse with the store manager.

As you walked through the store, you couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. Nothing seemed to catch your eye. But then, in the corner of your vision, something shimmered—something that made your heart skip a beat. A black silk off-shoulder gown with a striking collar. The material looked luxurious, the color deep and alluring, and you felt drawn to it immediately.

Without thinking, you walked straight toward it, your fingers grazing the fabric.

A store clerk, noticing your interest, approached with a polite smile. "Would you like to try it on, Miss?"

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of hope. You couldn’t wait to see how it would look on you.

When you slipped into the gown, it fit you like a glove. The silk hugged your curves in all the right places, the off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones beautifully. You turned to face the mirror, admiring the way the gown shimmered under the lights. To complete the look, you added red heels, their bold color a perfect contrast to the black silk, and slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that the clerk suggested.

As you turned to take in your reflection, you caught a glimpse of König in the mirror. His eyes were locked on you, a look of awe on his face. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something softer. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race as you smiled shyly at him.

“You look... breathtaking, Hase,” König murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His words seemed to hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only the two of you. 

You blushed, clasping your hands together. “Thank you, König. I think I’ll take it, but I can’t really let you pay for this. It’s… 2,500! Not to mention everything else–”

“It is a gift for saving my life, Meine Liebe,” König said softly, taking your hand and kissing it gently. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You looked slightly puzzled. “But the dinner—”

“It was a way for me to try to confess my feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meine Liebe. So now, I will properly say it. Will you go out with me, Hase?”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you froze in shock. Your heart raced as the realization sank in. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your mind spinning. He had fallen for you? The man you had admired from a distance, the one who had quietly made an impact on your life—he felt the same way?

You couldn’t help but smile, your voice soft but steady. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, but it was everything. It was the answer you both had been waiting for.

König’s face broke into a smile, his eyes shining with warmth and affection. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The world around you faded once again, and for the first time, you truly felt like you belonged with someone.

The car ride was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space as König drove you to your apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights passed by, casting fleeting shadows through the window. Neither of you spoke much, but there was a calm, unspoken understanding between you—comfort in each other's presence.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of your apartment building, König turned off the engine and met your gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, but there was no awkwardness, only a sense of warmth and connection.

"You sure you're okay?" König asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar concern.

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you for everything tonight. It was... perfect."

His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. "I’m glad you think so."

You opened the door and stepped out, pausing as you turned back to face him. “König?”

“Yes–”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in quickly, pressing a gentle kiss on top of his mask. The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered between you, and you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Goodnight, König," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Goodnight, Liebling," he replied, his voice filled with something tender, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. He smiled softly, his expression almost unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

As you watched him drive away, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Tonight had felt like something out of a dream, and as you walked toward the entrance of your building, your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. You were already looking forward to whatever came next.

Back in the car, König blushed deeply, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed Horangi, his voice nervous.

“Horangi... you won’t believe it... She kissed me...” König muttered, his words coming out in a rush.

Horangi's voice crackled on the other end, a knowing smirk evident in his tone. “Oh, really now? What did I tell you?”

König groaned, his face flushing even deeper. "Shut up... it was... it was on my mask, but still! She kissed me!"

The sound of Horangi laughing loudly was unmistakable, filling the quiet car. “Man, you’re blushing like crazy. Just wait till the others hear about this!”

König sighed, feeling embarrassed but also a little giddy, as his mind replayed the moment over and over.

Extra

Horangi hung up the phone with an amused look, his eyes scanning the group of mobsters who had been eagerly watching him. The tension in the room was palpable as they waited for his verdict. They had been betting on how König’s confession would go—whether it would scare the girl away, make things awkward, or perhaps be the perfect moment for romance.

Horangi glanced around at the eager faces, then with a dramatic pause, he delivered the news.

“She kissed him.”

The room erupted into chaos. Hutch and Roze both slammed their hands on the table, raging over their bet that it would make things awkward. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be awkward!” Roze grumbled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Verge groaned from his corner, cursing under his breath. “Dammit! I bet it would scare her off. How did I get that so wrong?”

The only one who remained calm amidst the chaos was Oni, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually counting his winnings. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the mayhem unfolding around him. He was the only one who had placed his bet on the doc not being scared away—and as the others argued, Oni leaned back, savoring his victory.

“Easy money,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to glance up at the group.

Part 1

Part 3

[reignpage]

hello my love 💕 loving the recent updates as alwayysssss 😩 but I had a horny ask if you could, pretty please, you don’t have to but would love if you could

how often do each of the jjk men jork it? 😈 and any added details of their sesh: which hand(s), any edging/overstim, or do they play with the back door (i think Toji defo does but will NEVER admit) or you know general jorkin details 🙈

sigh, I woke up to horniess and now I will sleep to horniness, ventila98 you need holy water 😔

this was a little difficult cause I have no idea what goes on in a man's head as they jerk off but I really tried to embody their spirit, even closed my eyes and phantom jorked my imaginary penis and everything

....

Gojo:

how often?

depends on how busy this man is, I think. like if he doesn't really have much to do in a week, he'll likely do it everyday tbh. does it when he's bored is what I'm saying.

where?

anywhere really. he's away on missions often, so hotel rooms, in the bathroom, in bed, on the sofa. just anywhere he gets the urge to.

edges/overstimulates?

he edges himself for sureee, man wants to push his limits and tries to see how long he can last until the need becomes overwhelming.

choice of lubricant?

he's too good to use just any lotion, his dick is special. probably strawberry flavoured. deffo gets curious once in a while and tastes his own cum.

porn?

I feel like he doesn't really watch porn, just uses his imagination most of the time cause he's so focused on his own personal challenge. but if he does watch porn, it's of a threesome, two men one woman, totally doesn't think about a certain long haired bff 👀

Geto:

how often?

not too often, very rarely. too busy with his cult and plans for world domination. but when he gets really frustrated with monkeys and all the burden he has, then he'll seek out release.

where?

in the bath. he's kind of a clean freak, right? or at least he just hates monkey dirt, so I imagine being around so many non-sorcerers gets to him and the knowledge that he's partaking in something as monkey-like as self-pleasure fills him with a need to cleanse. and it's a bath, not a shower, specifically because he likes to take his time, to pamper himself.

edges/overstimulates?

edges too. there's a bit of internalised disgust so he tries to punish himself by pushing away the pleasure until he's sure he deserves it.

choice of lubricant?

lotion. I imagine he carries hand lotion often, he takes care of himself. and because he doesn't do it often enough to buy himself lube.

porn?

exhibitionism shit. like sometimes semi-public videos, and other times, fucking in front of a crowd. doesn't really like the aggressive porn videos, wants one that takes it slow, that builds up the torture, not just physical but also mental.

Choso:

how often?

every night. needs it to fall asleep tbh. thinks its wrong to do it during the day and he really beats himself up when he gets horny when the sun's still up. there's a lot of shame there that no one, under any circumstances, should exploit in our poor cho cho 🙂

where?

in bed. doesn't even dream of doing it anywhere else because it's too filthy, too naughty. he hides under the covers even if he's completely alone and tries to stifle his moans, biting his lip and throwing his head back against the pillows as he writhes.

edges/overstimulates?

overstimulates once in a while. most of the time he's just trying to get rid of the urge so he can sleep soon. but sometimes, he's in a mood to push himself, to extend the pleasure, to bring himself to tears. he loves being overstimulated so so so so much.

choice of lubricant?

lotion. has one right on his bedside table that he uses just for his special time. likes the vanilla scent. tasted the lotion with his cum once. he didn't hate it.

porn?

probably doesn't even know what porn is lol. if he does though, he goes wild. like he's watching every single video he possibly can. when he first starts watching porn, anything he watches gets him going. but once he's gotten over that beginner phase, he's a lot more discerning. likes the intimate videos, the one where it's at night, and you can tell the couple actually really loves each other.

Toji:

how often?

3-4 times a week. surprising? I think he's at an age where he's not getting turned on by a nice piece of ass. plus, he whores himself out, so he gets plenty of sex. he's not a pent up little teenager. does it when he's bored or when the natural need arises. morning wood is dealt with and if he can't sleep he'll jerk off.

where?

anywhere. does it in shiu's car sometimes. he jerks off pretty often in public toilets. does it on the sofa more than the bed, like if he's watching tv, he'll absentmindedly jerk off.

edges/overstimulates?

jerks off to cum most times. doesn't really view masturbation as an form or anything. it's just to satisfy an itch so he doesn't play around. but if he's feeling extra frustrated, he edges cause he knows the orgasm is better when you push it away.

choice of lubricant?

his spit and then his pre-cum. I hc he leaks a lot of pre cause of them big ass balls (is that how it works biologically, idk and who cares). doesn't have money for fancy shit.

porn?

lesbians probably. doesn't really like orgies or gang bangs. seeing too many men turns him all the way off lol. but he deffo likes the ones with a plot. sexy fireman saves slutty nurse from vibrating chair or something idk

Nanami:

how often?

a couple times a week. he's too busy to even think about sex. and he's also too stressed to get boners. I kinda feel like erectile dysfunction would be something that isn't a complete stranger to him if he's in a relationship. well anyways, he does it when he's really stressed and frustrated and he has so much tension to release. he'll take it out on his cock.

where?

in his office quite often. under the desk, not even bothering to lock the door. or in the bathroom cause he wants to be able to clean up the mess quickly.

edges/overstimulates?

usually neither. jerks off to cum too. he's always in a rush so he doesn't have time to play around. but if he does, then he switches up. edges more often than overstimulates, but he does the latter if he's reallyyyyy into it. like he's really feeling freaky and wants to feel some pain.

choice of lubricant?

lube. he used lotion a lot when he was younger and it caused him rashes, so he's since invested in proper lubricant. not flavoured, but definitely the warming/tingling kind.

porn?

only when he's in a safe space, like without the fear of getting caught. so if he's at home. and he has the time. probably watches couples too, likes the more intimate ones, the ones that focuses on the women's pleasure. he hates the fake moans and the overly produced videos. think it's just shameful. so he really likes homemade videos. sometimes tho, he does like the ones where its teacher punishing student. but that's very rare cause it gives him so much post-nut guilt lol.

Sukuna:

how often?

once in a blue moon. maybe even once in decades tbh. just doesn't really get boners and if he does, he just leaves it alone cause he's not a weak little mortal.

where?

in his chambers mostly. thinks it's a private matter so wants to keep it personal and intimate. and he also wants to take his time so he needs a place where he won't be interrupted with the sight of a snivelling little rat.

edges/overstimulates?

edges. personal challenge. wants to see how long he can last and how much he can take. could go on for hours. squeezes his base just at the last minute.

choice of lubricant?

spit. doesn't use lube, might not even know it exists, and he probably doesn't even use lotion let's be real. so he spits on his hand, or drools right onto his cock, or manifests his curse mouth onto his palm to slobber his own dick with his spit.

porn?

does not watch porn. he's traditional. doesn't even really think of anything in particular. his sexual experiences is limited I imagine. and if he does watch porn, then he'd much prefer homemade ones and bdsm, probably hates the overproduced ones too cause of all the extreme plastic surgery. he's a snob.

[lalunanymph]

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin. 

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him—

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this. 

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[larvasmoon]

Purpose

Summary: Sewing was a tedious activity all things considered. One that Astarion had never imagined himself doing for a living.

Rating: T Word Count: 2132 Content: Tailor Astarion AU, Fluff and angst, well quite a lot of angst as usual, mentions of death and grief

A/N: This little one shot is spoiler free but I wrote it as a prologue to my fic Portrait of the pale elf ! I hope you'll enjoy!

Sewing was a tedious activity all things considered. One that Astarion had never imagined himself doing for a living. 

Well…To be fair, during all those centuries, he’d never dared to dream or hope for anything. Torture was Godey’s speciality, not his. And indulging in grand fantasies of freedom would have certainly felt like a new kind of torment — especially when the only thing to look forward to was the next mucky rat he’d be allowed to feast on.

But becoming a tailor? Gods no, it had never been part of his plan.

Spending hours and hours in complete silence, hunched over some intricate sewing pattern. Struggling to pass a thread through the needle of his sewing machine, or finding it impossibly tangled around its mechanism. Stichting thousands of pearls in the shape of a blooming flower, until his vision blurred and his finger swelled under the thimble. 

Hardly an exciting prospect for someone like Astarion. His definition of a ��fun night’ usually involved good wine, a little shopping spree, the latest plays or operas, and —if he felt like it— good company. 

Needless to say that his love for the profession had been an acquired taste, at best. 

But then again, he’d never really taken the time to think about the things he liked. Sometimes, he wondered if anything of what made him ‘Astarion Ancunín’ was truly his. Had he always enjoyed the scent of rosemary, or was it just the only trick he’d found to hide the faint smell of grave dirt clinging to his skin? Had he always enjoyed getting lost in extravagant parties and crowded dressing rooms, or had he always seeked to silence his own dark thoughts by visiting those places? He would never know. 

He’d first started sewing clothes for himself a few weeks after coming back to Baldur’s Gate. Nothing of what he’d found at the clothiers suited him. 

Poor quality. Crooked seams. Too tight around the shoulders or too wide near his waist. 

One night, on a whim, he’d come to the conclusion that if the city was full of incompetents, he’d do it himself. He’d stormed out, bought a few fabric rolls, before decidedly sitting at the desk of his room at the Blushing Mermaid. It really hadn’t taken him long to work out a few patterns, cut the blue brocades, and make a few doublets out of them. He’d mended his clothes time and time again, back when he was still a spawn, but he’d never made a garment from scratch before. Yet, something about this felt so innate, so instinctive, almost as if… As if he’d done it before. 

He already knew what to do without having to think — what to measure, where to pin the silk, how to stitch the seams. And from time to time, when the needle moved too quickly between his fingers, he was reminded of something. 

A vision, barely out of grasp. 

Old weathered hands holding an embroidery hoop, the crackling of the fire in the earth, and his own pudgy fingers clinging to the worn wool of a soft jacket.

“Needlework is a labor of love and patience. One sews like he lives, one motion at a time, designedly and purposefully. Diligence is a virtue you still need to learn, young master.”

So many stolen memories.

So many years spent living as an instrument of death.

Maybe devoting his time in the pursuit of beauty was the only way to atone for it, to prove to himself that he was meant for more than this eternal darkness.

Art imitates life, after all. And Astarion felt powerful each time he finished sewing a piece. As if he'd secretly stolen a bit of the gods’ power by doing so, as if he’d shaped something out of the void with his undead hands.

It was addictive, intoxicating, healing. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Astarion never forgot his first customer.

It was right after he’d bought his shop. Some old and luxurious apothecary — or so he’d been told. He vaguely remembered walking past it during his nightly strolls, idly admiring the pretty jars on the shelves. A never ending procession of giddy ladies stepped out of the shop with bright silky pouches in their hands, filled to the brim with glassy bottles of rose water, perfumed soaps, and all sorts of scented lotions.

Now that Astarion was the owner, it was slightly less… glamorous.

The shop was still dusty and empty. He hadn’t painted the walls bright red yet, or bought any of the black lacquered furniture and Persian rugs that would soon decorate the space. Here and there, he’d placed a few sewing mannequins, dressed in dazzling silky ball gowns and eye-catching embroidered doublets. His workshop table was pushed in a corner; spools of threads, fabric scraps, and messy sketches scattered on top of it. 

He was busy sweeping the floors when the door flew open. Out of habit, he reached down for his daggers, but the only thing his fingers were met with was the cold silver of the sewing chatelaine. His embroidery scissors could work as a substitute — though perhaps a little too dull to deliver a killing blow. 

But when he turned around, there were no men in armor, no monsters and no foes to fight. Just a little girl, crying and trembling on the threshold.

“Is this a tailor shop?” she sniffed, wiping her snotty nose on her red scarf. 

She was very small, two funny little pigtails on top of her head. The stubborn look in her icy blue eyes was intriguing though, such determination didn’t quite fit on the face of a child. She swayed on her feet now and then, struggling to carry the satchel flung over her shoulder, twice as big as her.

“We’re not open yet,” he sighed, going back to his cleaning chores, “Sorry, dear.” 

“But- You’re the last place I haven’t gone to yet! I went to see all the seamstresses, all the clothiers, all the tailors! None of them want to help me!”

“Help you? I think you knocked on the wrong doors, darling,” he huffed, crouching down to dust the shop window. “People rarely do favors around here, you see. They offer their services in exchange for a generous sum of money.” 

“I can pay!” she proudly declared, thumping her little boots on the floor, red as a beetroot.

“Far from me the idea of discouraging you, my dear, but I doubt you can afford me.” 

He heard her rummaging in her bag, and soon a familiar tinkle sound. 

Astarion’s favorite little symphony. 

“I have daddy’s money,” she finally said, holding her heavy purse of coins in her quivering fist.

He slowly let go of his broom, eyeing her and the pouch in her hand with renewed interest. 

“And does daddy know that you’ve dipped into his coffers and fled with the swag hidden under your coat?” 

The last thing he needed was to have an army of flaming fists officers on his tail; he’d done his best to lay low during the last months, to be a picture perfect citizen. Being a vampire was enough of a problem already, and Astarion’s greatest wish was to be left in peace, to be forgotten.

“No, daddy’s too busy, don’t worry,” — she furrowed her brows, her blue eyes darkening like the sun behind a rainy cloud— “He won’t notice.”

He looked at her for a little while, hesitating, and she kept her round serious eyes trained on him. 

“Very well, it’s a deal then,” Astarion sighed, bending down to grab her hand and tug her inside of the shop, “This way, madam.”

The little girl giggled, whispering a few ecstatic ‘thank you,’ trotting about the messy atelier. She dragged her satchel on the floor with a sigh, before taking a long piece of blue fabric out of it. It was in a very pitiful state, torn and stained in various places, covered in soot, as if someone had attempted to burn it. .

“What in the sweet hells is that?” Astarion asked, scrunching his nose when she clumsily laid it flat on his workshop table.

“That’s mommy’s caplet.”

“Yes, what’s left of it, at least,” he mocked, examining it with a disgruntled look on his face. “What happened to it?”

She clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white, her eyes silently filling with tears again. “Can you fix it or not, mister?”

He looked at the coat some more, trying to think about ways to clean or dye it, maybe by stitching a patchwork of new fabric onto it, but he always arrived at the same conclusion. 

This rag was beyond saving. 

“It would be much easier to sew a new one. I’m not sure I can make anything out of this.”

Her face fell, Astarion’s stomach flipped, and she started to sob. 

Oh gods, he’d forgotten just how dreadful witnessing a child cry was… He’d seen Arabella do it a few times — fists curled by her sides, face tense and awfully red, voice so high-pitched that he'd thought the sound would pierce his eardrums. 

What did Karlach and Lia do back then? Give her a handkerchief? A little pat on the head? Something sweet to eat? He couldn’t remember.

“No!” she screamed in the middle of her crying fit, “I don’t want another one, I want this one!”

“But you can’t possibly want to keep this miserable—” he tried to say, stepping towards her with wide panicked eyes. 

What if people heard her scream from the outside? What if they got the wrong idea? He needed to get her to stop. Quickly.

“It has to be this one,” she breathed, burying her face in her hands, “It’s the last thing I have, it still smells like her.”

Oh, so that’s what it’s about, he thought, and somewhere in his chest, where his heart was supposed to be beating, he felt a pang of hurt. 

Some old wound, reopened.

He knew a thing or two about that feeling too, about the agony of grief and loss.

He’d died, he’d killed, and he’d lost so many things along the way. 

A trail of corpses and blood in his wake.

And suddenly the garment sprawled in front of him was more than just a dirty mantle; it was a shroud, freshly dug out of cold soil of a tomb. His fingers shook around the seams, pensively tracing the stitched lines.

“How about this then?” he asked, softer this time,“See this half of the caplet? It’s as good as new, darling. What if I made something else out of it? Something you can wear all the time?”

She wiped her tears, droplets of salty water sparkling on her long lashes. “What would you make?”

“A scarf? I could embroider something on it, stitch a few pearls or gemstones, it would make it worth the money.”

“Mmm, I like it,” she nodded, with a sad little smile, “It’ll feel like mommy’s giving me a hug.”

Astarion’s hands were a little unsteady when he started cutting through the blue wool, afraid that he’d ruin it any further. It was his first time working on such an old fabric, something woven with so many memories and love. And his little customer was looking at each and every of his motions with rapt attention, her fogged eyes lingering on the parts of the caplet she’d have to leave behind. 

Stitch after stitch, little tassel after little tassel, the fabric came back to life. Resuscitated.

It had been beautiful once, he could tell. Soft and bright, warm and nicely tailored.

When he was almost done sewing it all together, she tugged on his sleeves and asked him to embroider a name on it. 

“Gabrielle.”  Her mother’s name, surely. 

And so he did.

In threads of gold, floating in a sea of pearls and crystals. 

Like a spell.

Most people came to his shop to buy something new: an armor of silk and satin for the next season, or a pretty dress to wear at tea one of those ridiculous five-o-clock tea parties.

But from time to time, someone entered his shop with a damaged and torn garment in their hands, and Astarion never denied them. He cleaned and he washed, he mended and stitched back in place.

He had a strange sort of sympathy for the old rags now, as if he could see more in them than the stains and the unstitched seams— perhaps some old and distant memory of himself, or an opportunity to prove that everything that is a little broken can be fixed.

Tailoring wasn’t just about sewing pretty ballgowns and enchanting attires, and on good nights, Astarion took pride in that fact.

He’d found so much more at the tip of his needle.

A craft teetering on the edge of life and death, an art dedicated to ghosts and social butterflies alike.

But above all else— a purpose, a reason to keep pulling the thread.

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias part 3

Alastor x F!Reader

Warnings: onesided romance, mature and r rated themes, Hanahaki Disease

-----

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 4 here

You really must love torturing yourself. It's official. Your a masochist for your own feelings. Otherwise, why would you be standing here. In the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, with most of what you own stuffed into two large luggage trunks. The lobby felt larger for some reason as your stomach twisted into knots, like the large peeling murals were staring at you like wolves after a rabbit.

You need the money. And this place at least has room and board included.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Scuttling footsteps.

Your focus was towards the banister and you were about to reach for handles of your trunks. A blue of red and white hit you like a freight train, knocking the breath out of you for a moment. You look don and saw the one large red eye staring up at you with a cracked grin across her face. Niffty. The little maid grabbed a hold of your shirt and used your thighs as a prop for her light body as she looked at you.

"Y/N! Sir told me you would be coming! " She made a small giggle," He was happy that you were coming!"

Your heart squeezed in your chest. " Yeah? He offered a job and well, how can I refuse him?" You make a laugh, forced but it helps the tightening in your throat a little. " A-Anyway, I better go find my room. "

" Oh! " Niffty hopped off of you and took ahold of your hand. " I can show you! Its what sir asked me to do anyway. He picked out the room himself. " She began to gently pull you along, you only had a moment to grab the handles of your trunks before she had you going up the stairs.

"He ... He did?"

" Mmhmm! It's just right up here. "

Niffty took you up several floors, almost to the top. She hummed a tune you didn't know the name of under her breath. The floors looked mostly unused, so you wondered why you were taken so far up. You didn't ask though, you doubted Alastor told Niffty his motivations. He never let anyone know exactly what he was thinking. Bastard. Handsome bastard. But still a bastard.

Niffty let go of your hand as she stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, nothing special about it, the numbers on the little plaque had long since faded and only the little etching remained. Maybe it had once been painted with gold or red at some point. Niffty hopped up and grabbed the handle, the door clicked open and swung with her still holding onto it for a moment before she hopped down and spun to look at you. She was practically bouncing on her little feet.

" Here you are! I made sure all the bugs died in here. Personally. " She covered her mouth as she cackled a little.

You pay the top of her head and smiled. " Thanks, Niff. I'm sure you did it in a way that terrified the other bugs. " You set your trunks down at the end of the bed. Looked a little lumpy but otherwise it was large and clean. " Is Alastor... Busy right now?" Your run your fingers across the bedposts, old and rough to the touch.

" Mhmm. He said he will see you for dinner though. "

Your stomach made flips and you felt the cruel taste of ginger in the back of your throat. You swallowed. " Well, yeah. Yes. I'll see him then. " You take a breath. " I better get unpacked and occupy myself until then. I don't even know what kind of job Alastor wants me to do around here, to tell the truth."

" I can show you my collection now that your here! I've added a few things. " Niffty added. " I'll bring it by later. And I wouldn't worry about it, there plenty to do. Oh, oh! You can help me name the stains in the lobby or polish the silver. "

You make a small laugh and you felt a smile test on your lips. " Alright, niff, I'll keep that in mind. Maybe I'll take you up on that naming stains. "

" Okay! Bye! " Niffty smiled and she scuttled out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. You didn't bother going to close it.

You focused on unpacking your trunks into the bureau in the corner. You carefully folded the clothes and placed them inside, you hummed softly to yourself as you organized and got settled into the room. Things smelled like they had been recently cleaned, you wonder if Niffty had fixed the room up before you came. You pulled an old sequined flapper dress from the bottom of your trunk. Your fingers brushed over the edges of the fabric. The red had faded to an almost pink in color. You make a gentle sigh and tuck the dress away.

You almost didn't hear the creak of the floor boards as someone approached the door. You look over and see snake eyes peering from around the corner. Charlie was in the doorway and cleared her throat. You set your empty trunk down and then towards them. You watch Charlie give Sir Pentious a little pat of encouragement.

" You apologized to Alastor just fine. Now, the other one you could have seriously hurt, is right here. " Charlie smiled and then looked to you. " Sir Pentious is staying in the hotel! And first order of business is to show him how to apologize! " She practically buzzed with energy. " So many new faces! So exciting." She then caught herself and cleared her throat and nudged Sir Pentious again. " Go ahead, I have to go check on the welcome cookies and I will be right back!"

You open your mouth to stop Charlie, wanting to at least have another person with you while this wannabe overlord was 'apologizing'. You sigh in defeat and look to Sir Pentious, you put on a bit of a strained smile. " Hello. "

" Yes, ah, Ms. Y/N , " he slithered a little closer and you watched him closely. " I.... Am sorry I nearly blew you up. I wasn't intending for you to get caught in it. "

" Yes, you were only aiming at my friend. " You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow. You ignore the tickle in the back of your throat.

Pentious stood up straighter and he looked like he was sweating. Can snakes sweat? " Oh well . Yes. " He looked around as if looking for help then looked back at you with a cocked grin. " I am sorry for that as well?"

You shifted your weight onto one leg and made a slight frown. " Well, did you apologize to him?"

" Yesss...."

You look at him up and down. Then make a shrug. " Fine. " You crack a smile. " I dont care actually. Not that you could actually hurt Alastor. I've never seen anyone hurt him. At least, not since he got down here. " You make a small laugh.

" Oh... " He blinked. " Well... Thank you?"

You hummed. " Well if that's all, I think I'll get back to moving in... "

" Oh well..."

Pentious cleared his throat and then he shifted, his eyes glanced at the sleek watch on his wrist. Like those touch screen ones that you've seen on T.V. . You look back to him for a moment and make a small hum before turning away from him and heading towards your dresser to feign looking through it. You heard his scales slide across the carpet and a small thump of the door closing behind him. You glance back over towards the door.

" Vox. Silly man. Really needs to learn how to be more creative. " You mutter under your breath.

He wouldn't last the day.

You look around the room and tap your foot. Maybe you should spuce up the place a bit. Maybe before dinner, you had a few hours. You slipped on your peacoat and smoothed your hair out before you left your new room. You made note of the location in the hallway and headed for the elevator you had seen at the end of the hallway. You hoped it worked. You clicked the button and it buzzed to life with creakig cogs and a little bit of green crackle to it. You winced a little and took a breath as the doors slid open. You stepped on it and clicked the button for the bottom floor. You looked up at the top and made note of your floor number.

Okay. You hate this thing.

It creaked and shook as if moved down, it's decent was agonizing slow as well. Now you see why everyone just took the stairs.

Your nerves were on end by the time the metal box you were in settled on the bottom floor and the bell dinged to signal your destination had been reached. You shake your hands and let out a breath as the doors slid back open.

"Never again." You whisper as you left the confines of the elevator.

Your shoulders were grabbed almost immediately. You make a shocked gasp. Charlie had a hold of you, and she was a lot stronger then she looked as she moved you to the side part of the lobby with couches and chairs arranged. You were shoved into a seat without much ceremony and Charlie sat beside you in the middle of the couch. You blinked and looked next to you. Alastor looked like he had been snatched up. The reluctant audience around you told you that most of them were either threatened by the small Vaggie or snagged by Charlie. A plate of cookies sat on the table in front of you.

Alastor's knee was next to yours and he crossed his legs, his hoof touched the bottom of your shin occasionally. " Ah, Y/N, it seems as though you have been coerced into watching this ...." He made a hum and his eyebrow twitched. " Play. "

Oh God. Oh God. So close. You haven't sat this close to him in years. Decades maybe. Your throat felt tight.

You put on a smile. " Ah yes, I was about to run a few errands and-"

Charlie shushed and patted your arm. She made a small squeal. " It's starting!"

You look ahead. Maybe you could focus on this.

Alastor was drumming his fingers on his knees. He was bored and irritated, though he was placating the princess. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he wasn't really watching the show. You look back ahead, trying to keep your focus on that. Not the taste of ginger and the smell of old wood. His hoof grazed against your shin again. Your eyes drawn to him. He was still so handsome. Even down here.

His already sharp features made sharper down in hell then when he was alive.

Your stomach churned as you swallowed and looked back ahead.

You can do this.

"Y/N, what would you prefer to eat for dinner tonight?" Alastor's voice was right in your ear. The filter dropped for a moment as he had leaned down close and didn't want the rest of the audience to hear.

" I.... Well whatever you are in the mood for Al. You know I've never been picky when it comes to your cooking." You manage out. You couldn't think right now, you focused on not letting the cough bubbling in your throat out.

He made a chuckle. " Alright, fresh meat. I can pick it up after this travisty. "

You nod and give a smile, you look back to your lap. Your fingers curled around the fabric of your peacoat. Breath. Breath normally. You could feel his gaze on you, it lingered longer then normal.

When Charlie stood up to clap, you were immediately on your feet. You excused yourself, covering your mouth with the handkerchief in your pocket. You walked as quickly as you could while everyone was distracted and made your way to the closest exit. You coughed gently at first but then it turned to hacking. Petals fell in wads and clumps. It felt like your lungs were on fire.

You dug your nails into the wood of the outside wall of the hotel. The petals scattered in the lawn in front of you. Your eyes started to sting and you wiped your mouth off. You shook your head. You took a breath. Just relax.

You stomp the petals into the ground with your heel and head for the cobblestone pathway ahead. Go get a few things from your old place and pick up something new.

A trip to the shopping district of the Pentagram could do you some good. Some fresh air, and give you time to mentally prepare. You and Alastor are just friends. That's all. You clutch your chest a little as you make your way out of the gates of the Hotel grounds.

Thankfully it was easy to get to the shopping district from here, store fronts littered with different ads and some filled with television screens and people clammering for whatever product was on sale. You shook your head and stepped up to cross the busy street. You glanced around and took a step out. You skidded to stop as a limo pulled in front of you. Black with blue undertones. Flashy and new.

The window rolled down.

" Y/N, fancy seeing you here. " A shark tooth grin. Bright blue and glowing.

" Vox. "

Taglist: @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sirens-and-moonflowers @kerosene--lamp @girl-nahh-two @phoephan-123

[axelsagewrites]

Robb Stark*Honey Cakes

Pairing: Robb x f! reader

Word count: 1830

Part Two to Cloak however can be read as a stand alone

Warnings: reader being jealous, secret relationship, but mostly just pure enemies to lovers’ fluff

Masterlist Here

At thirteen you despised Robb, more than anyone really, so why is it know you were sat down the table for him trying desperately not to stare at him? Your parents had originally tried to broker a marriage pact between you and the Stark however due to your mutual hatred of each other that plan fizzled and died. No one even knew you liked the boy. Well apart from Robb.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his breath tingling the nape of your neck as he leaned down so no one else would hear as he walked out the room behind you.

Sansa glanced back, raising an eyebrow when she saw the warm flush on your face, but you managed to wave her off. Instead of letting him torture you any longer you grabbed her arms, “Shall we go see if the kitchen has any spare lemon cakes?” you asked, and Sansa quickly grinned in agreement.

You sat in the kitchen with Sansa for a good couple hours, laughing and gossiping about all the people at Winterfell. “Well apparently Alice, you know that Manderley girl. Well apparently, she has a crush on Robb,” Sansa said, gagging at her brother’s name.

Your eyes widened but you soon covered it up as Sansa grimaced about someone potentially liking her brother, “Who told you that?”

“Jane,” she said, picking at the crumbs left of the cakes you had both scoffed, “Apparently, she was hanging around the stables waiting for Robb so she could ask for help getting on her horse. Bit desperate if you ask me. It’s not like Robbs anything special,”

“Huh that’s so weird. It’s not like Robbs dumb enough to fall for that,” You did your best to act natural, but you could see Sansa’s eyes narrowing. “Well, you’d hope anyway,”

“Yeah,” Sansa said, her voice trailing off for a moment, “Then again according to some of the ugh boys,” she said, shuddering meaning you knew she was talking about Theon despite also knowing she had a major crush on him, “he’s had some…women at his room,”

“Oh?” this time you couldn’t not sit up straight.

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t tell anyone who. Theon thinks its some,” she paused to lean in and whisper, “whore,” she said, her eyes whipping around the room, “from the village,”

You sucked in your breath, trying hard not to either find Robb and kill him or cry, “He doesn’t seem like that kind of man,”

“That’s what Jon said but then who was in his room?”

“When was it?” you asked as if you wanted to break your own heart.

That was until Sansa said it, “Last Sunday,”

Fuck. Last Sunday after not being able to sleep and being too afraid of the nightmares to come you turned to Robb for some kind of comfort. Nothing happened but you did sleep in his chambers and then he helped you sneak back at first light. “How strange,” you muttered before trying to change the topic, but your mind still lingered on how good Robbs morning hair looked.

The cook eventually grew tired of your whispering and threw you both out the kitchen. Instead, you went to Sansa’s room to practise your needle point then eventually trudged back to your own room. When you entered your chamber, everything seemed normal. That was until you saw the honey cake sitting beside your bed with a note.

“I tried for lemon, but someone had eaten them all” – it read, making you laugh at the note. You sat on the bed, picking up the cake and smiling at the single wildflower he’d sat beside it.

-

The next morning you arrived at the dining hall before any of the stark children. Your parents were sat with the ned and cat at the head table, so you ended up plopping down in an empty seat and a near by table. “Morning,” an unbelievably smooth voice grinned as Robb sat himself in the seat across you.

“Morning,” you said as you tried hard not to smile too largely back. “You’re almost as sweet as that honey,” you said, lowering your voice.

A faint blush covered his cheeks, “But not as sweet as you,” he said but as he opened his mouth to speak a gritty, irritating, annoying voice spoke up.

“Good morning, Robb,” came the sing song voice of Alice who you had never thought annoying until last night.

Robb barely glanced over his shoulder at her as she walked off, “Morning Alice,” he said as he turned his attention back to you. his eyebrows squinted at the now stoney look on your face, “What?”

“Nothing,”

“Cmon tell me,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me,” Robb rapidly repeating, grinning wider at each jab.

You sighed, “Fine. Its just,” you sighed again, “she has a crush on you,”

His face froze for a moment before he burst into absolute laughter, “Oh the gods,” he laughed, clutching at his stomach as both of your parents began to stare.

“Quit it!” you whispered, slapping at his head.

“You’re jealous,” Robb laughed, thankfully quieter, as he swatted your hand away, “Aw honey that’s adorable,”

“I’m not your honey,” you grumbled, “and I’m not jealous,”

“Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not!”

“Are too- “

“Youd think by now you two would grow up,” Sansa yawned as she sat beside you, and you were both forced to act like nothing happened.

-

Later that day, for no other reason you swear, you decided to go riding soon after you overheard Robb suggest the idea to Jon. Sansa was thankfully in lessons meaning you quickly changed and heading down to the stables.

“Robbie, could you help me- “Alice began to say as you walked in however, she hadn’t seen you.

Robb however did, “Oh hey!” he greeted, walking past Alice who now wore a deflated look, “Oh sorry Alice, Jon can you give her a hand?” Jon went to step forward, but Alice muttered something about her parents before turning and leaving. “Huh, weird,” Robb half grinned.

“You wanna come riding with us?” Jon asked you as he began to fix his own saddle.

You glanced at Robb before nodding, “Yeah sure lemme get my saddle ready first,”

“I’ll get it,” Robb said, moving to grab it before you could stop him.

Jon laughed and rolled his eyes as he finished his own horses’ reins, “So at what point are you two love birds gonna admit it,”

“Admit what- “

“Save it,” Jon rolled his eyes, “He stinks of your perfume, and you’ve accepted his help in the history of well ever,” he said as he flung his arm around your shoulder, “Aw sister,” he teased as he ruffled your hair.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled as you escaped his grip and tried to fix your hair.

However, Robb walked past and laughed, “Adorable,” he grinned as he kissed the top of your head before fixing your horse. It was actually nice to be able to be open about not hating Robb as you three went around the gods’ woods. However, after a very pointed look from Robb and a lot of teasing from Jon he finally decided to throw Robb a bone and go back himself.

“Are we ever gonna tell anyone we don’t hate each other anymore?” Robb asked, ruining the perfectly good conversation about how gorgeous he thought you looked today.

You grinned at him, “Who said I don’t hate you anymore?”

“The feelings mutual,” he laughed as you finally returned to the stables. “I’m just saying would it be so bad,” he asked as he jumped off his horse, quickly moving to help you down. You swung your leg around, so you were sat sideways on the horse. Robb moved to grab your hips, lifting you down. Your arms went to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I don’t know. I mean maybe…” you started to say but trailed off as your feet hit the ground, but Robb didn’t step back. His warm breath fanned your face, tickling your cheeks. His hands moved slowly to the small of your back, pulling you in closer till you were flush against him. His lips were only a fraction away and it only took a couple seconds till you felt them brush against yours. you couldn’t wait anymore as you pushed up, closing the final gap.

Sure, you had been flirting all week, but this was your first kiss with him, and you melted into it. if his hands were not on your back you may have collapsed. Just as your hands went into his hair, which was unbelievably soft, you heard a gasp.

You pulled back to see Sansa standing in the stable doorway. “You’re the whore?!” she asked, shocked before her cheeks flushed red, “I don’t mean- “

“Sansa!” Robb half bellowed, turning round ready to tear his sister a new one when you grabbed his arm.

His head span round to face you and you mentally made a note to remember how good he looked with his jaw tensed, “Theres’s back story, I’ll explain later,” you said before turning to Sansa, “It’s not what you think,”

“You were kissing my brother!”

You sighed, “Okay it’s kind of what you think,” you said as you walked closer, “but not as bad as you think,”

“Oh?” she paused before her eyes widened, “Oh! Ew!” she grimaced. “That’s so weird. I thought you hated him,”

“I did but,” you paused, looking at Robb who smile down at you. you reached for his hand which he gladly accepted, squeezing yours lightly, “it’s different now,”

Sansa gagged before turning to Robb, “if you hurt her. I will kill you,”

“Aren’t you supposed to say that to her? you’re my sister,” Robb said incredibly.

Sansa paused for a moment before realisation dawned on her, “Oh you’re going to be my sister one day!” she began to celebrate. You laughed at her as she jumped into your arms but made no effort to stop her, “Do our parents know?”

“Not yet,” you said as you pulled back from her grip.  “Let us tell them know,”

Robb nodded as he pulled you over to his side, draping an arm around your shoulder, “Yeah. I get to brag about her first, not you,”

“No fair,” Sansa pouted but Robb ignored her as he looked down at you with a dopey smile.

“Can’t wait to tell everyone you’re mine,” he said softly, leaning back down for another kiss which you gladly accepted.

“Oh, gods I can’t,” Sansa shivered as she quickly left however you just laughed before turning back to Robb.

Your arms found their way back to his shoulders as his found the small of your back, “Now where were we?” you asked.

Robb smiled, leaning down slowly, “Somewhere around here,” he whispered before his lips fell back onto yours. how could you hate him now?

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy  @valeskafics @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a yandere concept for Pyramid Head (DBD)?

Sure, I haven't done much for him! He's a bit... complicated but here's what I have. Not really Yandere, mostly just dark, but again idk how to describe it.

Yandere! Pyramid Head (DBD) Concept

Pairing: Dubious

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Sadism, Torture, Obvious Violence, Imprisonment, Dark themes, Blood, Disturbing descriptions, Death mention, Touchy behavior, Dubious intentions.

Pyramid Head is a being of torment, judgment, and pain.

It's hard to think of him feeling anything else.

He's an executioner given a new purpose by The Entity.

That's about as much lore as we get.

He'd meant to be an unyielding force, one hellbent on passing painful judgment.

Your first few encounters, and probably the majority of the obsession, will result in pain.

However, in a realm where you're consistently sent to your death, that isn't really new.

Pyramid Head's intentions are impossible to read.

No one knows his motives.

Which means his intentions with his obsession are unknown too.

It's hard to tell since most matches end with you dead in some way.

The executioner is ruthless.

Be you wrapped in barbed wire, sent to a piercing cage to maul your flesh... or even sliced by that large blade before being placed on a hook...

Most of your encounters have you shivering... Your mind is always replaying those final moments of your flesh being torn from you....

Blood is a common sight when you encounter the executioner.

The crimson liquid clings to him with every kill.

What's worse for you? You're always saved for last.

Sometimes you are spared... most of the time you're merely put through your own special hell.

You can probably tell you are a favorite of some kind...

But it's hard to tell if that's a good or bad thing.

You're used to the pain and blood.

What you aren't used to... is Pyramid Head changing his pattern.

You always viewed Pyramid Head as some monotonous drone to The Entity.

Yet when he goes out of his way to prolong the chase, to toy with you, to occasionally give mercy...

You realize that this being has some sort of sentience.

What's even worse is it still doesn't explain its favoritism towards you.

There's times Pyramid Head abandons chase, or just "stares", or even ignores you.

There's other times he just won't leave you alone!

That's the scariest trait of Pyramid Head towards you.

His unpredictability.

Another thing you can't read is him targeting survivors around you first.

On a generator? He's picking off the guy next to you before you.

It could be jealousy... or something else entirely.

Regardless of his actions, you don't trust him.

He switches behavior too quickly... like he isn't sure how to act around you.

It's anything from slaughtering you to cornering you to pin you down.

He isn't sure what makes you react more.

Do you react more to pain...? Or pleasure...?

Another question... which one does he like more?

Pyramid Head is experimenting with you.

That's one of the reasons he acts so unstable.

He can't tell what way he likes to watch you squirm, just what is the difference if you squirm from affection or pain?

Sometimes he makes you squirm by exploring you with his touches, rough yet oddly affectionate.

He studies how you writhe before him...

But he also does the same thing with pain, not seeing any difference.

He only knows that he likes it.

Your best bet is to keep your distance, to evade him.

But no survivor is perfect... especially with a killer who seems to have studied your every move.

In fact, your attempt to evade him only makes him worse.

He seems to get irritated, hunting down other survivors to take his rage out on them.

By the time he finds you, saving you for last, he's covered in blood.

And you scream a lot more for evading him.

Pyramid Head is confusing due to what he is.

He's meant to be a being to punish people.

Yet he sees you, and isn't sure how to react.

He should harm you, punish you, torment you...

But he also wants to keep you away from other survivors, to lock you away, to keep you out of harm....

Pleasure and punishment blur a line with him.

Affection quickly becomes harm when he puts his hands on you.

It's all a personal hell for you.

Conflicting emotions leads to an indecisive yandere...

Which only seems to cause everyone more harm... just as The Entity likes it.

[minisugakoobies]

Confessions of a Dirty Mind | Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader Genre: smut, and they were roommates!, porn with the barest of plots, a little fluff Rating: M (18+) Warnings: incredibly thirsty pining, reader’s a bit feral for her roommate, the giggles will be deployed as a weapon, reader drops the d word (daddy) in her dirty thoughts but never says it out loud, accidental texts, body worship (abs, thighs, breasts - everything gets praised), love bites/marking, grinding, chan is thick everywhere, chan throws reader around a little, hints at dom!chan, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), facefucking, cum eating, reader is kind of an idiot but that's okay!, I wrote this out of a dire need to s this man’s d Word Count: 6.5K Disclaimers: NSFW; obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me Summary: The absolute last thing you want is for your roommate to find out just how much you want him. Right?

A/N: Well, as threatened promised, I'm writing for Stray Kids now in addition to BTS! This came out of absolutely nowhere last week. I've just got Bang Chan brainrot 24/7 now, so that's cool. Thanks to @minttangerines @bangtanintotheroom @sugalaritae for their support (and amazing Aussie accents!!) 💕

Unbeta'd as usual. Please let me know what you think! Like if you'd like to see more skz fics from me… that would fuel me to keep writing. If everyone hates this I'm quitting writing and moving to the wild to live with the koalas ✌️

Being roommates with your crush is its own special type of torture. Always being so close to what you want but never being able to touch. To taste. To feel. 

You weren’t always this feral. Once upon a time, you were normal. Well-adjusted, even. Then you had to move for your job and needed to find a place to stay fast and your best friend Minho just happened to know someone looking for a roommate. 

Honestly, looking back, it was too easy. Should’ve known there’d be a catch. And that catch was your sanity. 

Because Minho’s friend Bang Chan turned out to be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Listen. A lot of people use phrases like that all the time, “the hottest man you’ve ever seen,”  some hyperbole they say for ridiculous effect, but you mean it. You have never seen anyone as beautiful as this man, with his chiseled cheekbones, thick lips, and those dimples. 

Fuck. Those dimples. Almost as maddening as the washboard abs he’s constantly showing off. You didn’t know a person could be allergic to shirts until you met Chan. 

And now you’re suffering. Every. Damn. Day. 

It’s not just that he’s the most gorgeous man on the planet. No, that would be hurtful enough, but he’s also kind. Smart. Silly as hell. You’re constantly plagued by his sweet smiles and unbelievably adorable giggles. 

The worst part, though, is the way he can flip between sexy and soft instantaneously. Like when the two of you argue over something stupid. All of your arguments are fundamentally stupid. The two of you get on so fucking well, the only things you argue over are opinions on pointless things. Like last night, when you’d joined him for a beer while he watched tv. 

“You’re out of your mind,” Chan had declared, twisting sideways on the couch to look at you. “There’s no way a koala could possibly defeat a kangaroo in a cage match!”

“Sure it could.” 

“No, it could not!” Chan let loose a flurry of high-pitched giggles. “Have you ever seen a kangaroo? Those things are ripped! One kick or punch, and the koala’s out.” He mimed a powerful punch.

You tipped back the remainder of your beer before pointing the bottle at him. “Yes it could! Think about it - what do koalas do?” When he just blinked, you continued. “They climb! And what do koalas usually have?” Again, a blank stare. “Syphilis! So… think about it! All that little guy has to do is climb up the kangaroo, give him some germs, and boom! Kangaroo goes down.” You grin smugly. “There’s a reason they call syphilis the silent killer.” 

Chan fixed you with his signature Look™, the one you think of as “stern dom daddy” - thick eyebrows drawn, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, dark eyes scanning your face - and you felt your knees go weak. Then he blinded you with the full sunshiny force of his smile, eyes closing, dimples popping. 

“That is an absolutely insane argument, not to mention completely incorrect. I don’t even know where to start explaining why you’re wrong.” He paused. “No, actually, let’s start with the fact that it’s chlamydia, not syphilis, that koalas get, and go from there.” By the time he’d finished  and you’d finally conceded that a kangaroo would probably win, the two of you were nearly in tears from laughing.

His duality is whiplash-inducing. And always leaves you in ruins. 

So when your feelings overwhelm you, when you feel like you’re absolutely bursting at the seams with need, you do what you always do. Torture Minho. 

Your bff is used to you venting to him about your crippling inability to make a move. On anyone. Ever. Over the years, he’s weathered dozens of crushes that never went anywhere because while you’re definitely a total treasure, you lack the confidence to make any of your (usually horny) dreams come true. He’s come to expect the endless text messages you send. 

Except that now, “messages” might not be the right word for them. “Unhinged ravings” might be more accurate. 

Ughhhh he’s so damn fine Today he came home from the gym all sweaty and I nearly offered to give him a bath With my tongue. My TONGUE Minho!

Like he’s always done, Minho bears it all in stride with his usual unwavering compassion.

You’re a lunatic

He doesn’t even try to convince you to say something to Chan about your feelings anymore. Now he just waits for you to exhaust yourself and then he changes the subject. Usually by sending photos of his cats. 

It’s an odd friendship, but neither of you would trade it for anything. 

At the moment, you’re ignoring your pain by lying on your bed, in a tee and sweats, watching a movie on your laptop. You can hear your roommate rummaging around his room. Your apartment features a Jack and Jill bathroom, so it’s easy for you to hear what’s going on next door through the adjoining space.

“Channie, why are you pacing around?” you call out. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Trying to find my shirt  

“Are you seriously texting me from the next room?” Pausing your movie, you trudge through the bathroom. The door to Chan’s room is open so you don’t bother to knock, flopping down on his bed as he digs through his closet. He’s shirtless as usual, blond curls shaking with the force of his rummaging.

“Yeah, sorry, ‘m in a hurry and didn’t want to stop looking,” Chan admits sheepishly, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you. You ignore the fluttering in your stomach and get comfortable, resting your head on your arms.

“You could’ve just said it out loud. I can hear you all over this apartment.” It’s not a big space. Which only amplifies your angst, as it’s hard to escape from your desires when the source of it is just constantly right there. Sprawling out on the tiny couch in the living room. Making himself a midnight snack in the kitchen. Lounging on your bed while you sit at your desk, trying not to stare at his reflection on your screen. “What shirt are you looking for?” 

“My tiger tank.” 

You know the shirt he’s speaking of - his white tank top with an embroidered tiger’s head on the chest. It’s a favorite of yours, cut low enough on the sides and in the front to show off his biceps and pecs at the same time. The first time you’d seen Chan in it, Minho had accused you of being a vampire because you couldn’t stop talking about how much you wanted to nibble on his collarbones. 

“Ah! Found it!” Chan raises the shirt over his head victoriously before yanking it on. He takes a moment to inspect himself in his mirror and you wonder if he truly recognizes just how stunning he is. He catches your eye in the reflection. “What are you up to tonight? Wanna come out with me, ‘Lix, & ‘Bin? We’re gonna get some drinks.”

Sure, you’d love to hang out at the bar with Chan and his friends. They’re always a good time. Except when closing time arrives and once again you’re forced to bear witness to your roommate getting hit on by basically every woman in the bar. Not that you can blame them. But it’s especially awful on the nights when he leaves with someone else. You’d rather not deal with that tonight.

“Nah, I’m just gonna relax. But thanks.” 

“Come on,” he wheedles, plopping down on the bed, hard enough to make you bounce a little. “You haven’t been out with us in ages. Is it the guys? Did one of them say something stupid?” 

“They always say stupid shit. That’s all they ever say,” you crack, smiling when Chan laughs. “But no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just tired.” 

Chan doesn’t say anything, just looks at you for a moment. The silence makes you inexplicably nervous, and you fiddle with his comforter for want of something to do with your hands. But then he just nods. “‘Kay. But if you change your mind, we’ll be down at Back Door.” 

“Thanks.” 

Chan heads into the bathroom to play with his hair. You slip past him, back into your room, throwing yourself dramatically onto your bed and burying your face in a plush pillow. How much longer can you stand this? 

You grab your phone. 

I’m losing my mind

You can practically hear the sigh in Minho’s voice as you read his response. 

What did Chan do now?

He’s getting ready to go out with Felix and Changbin He looks so fucking good in those tight jeans

Minho doesn’t reply. He knows to just let you get it out of your system before responding.

My mouth is literally watering It’s a Pavlovian response at this point I see denim and I start salivating

A text alert pops up in the middle of your thirsty ranting. 

Hey do you mind if I borrow your eyeliner?

“Stop texting me when you’re 10 feet away!” you yell, laughing. Chan pops his head out of the bathroom and flashes you that grin, the one that turns your insides to goo, and you sigh. “Of course you can borrow it, you know you can.” 

Thanks

“Chan!” 

His giggles float through the door and your thumbs fly.

Seriously If Chan doesn’t let me s his d one of these days I will die I will be the first person to die from ineedtosuckadick-itis

There’s a loud clattering in the bathroom, like someone’s knocked half the contents of the crowded sink counter onto the floor. Your makeup isn't cheap, so you hop up off your bed. 

“You okay in there?” The first thing you notice is the pile of smashed cosmetics on the ground. The second thing is the way your roommate is staring at you, eyes wide, sharpened kohl liner still clutched in one hand, phone in the other. “What? What’s wrong?” 

Chan doesn’t speak, but raises his phone and kind of waves it limply. 

Oh god. You were in the wrong chat. You were in the wrong chat and now Chan knows you want to suck his dick. You’ve been texting for most of your life and this is the moment your brain decides to fuck up?!

As Chan continues to stare, you realize you have two choices: fess up and own it, or play dumb.

It’s no choice.

“What, uhhhhhhh, what’s up?” 

Chan gestures to his phone. “You want to suck my dick?” He says the words as if they’re unfamiliar to him, like he’s trying them out for the first time. 

Well, shit, how are you supposed to play dumb if he’s just going to call you right out? 

“Guess the cat’s out of the horny bag now,” you mutter under your breath.

Chan cocks his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” you cough, looking at your own phone. “I mean, uh, noooo, what? Minho and I were just, um, talking about how I want to, uh, sssssss…” you glance wildly around the cramped room, hissing like a frantic snake as you fail to come up with another word that starts with s, before your eyes land on an empty glass sitting by the sink. “…Share a drink with you? Because I’m… thirsty?”

“You’re thirsty?”

Fucking understatement.

You can’t quite read the expression on Chan’s face as he glances between you and his phone. There’s a flash of dom daddy in there and then it’s gone. 

“YN. I know what ‘s his d’ means. Also, you said you had - what did you call it? Ineedtosuckadickitis.” You think Chan’s lips quirk slightly as he reminds you of your textual idiocy, but you’re too busy trying to psychically rip a hole in the floor so you can disappear forever to be certain. “Where do you get your medical info, by the way? I’m starting to worry.” 

He’s making light of the situation, which you would appreciate more if you weren’t sure you’re about to die from embarrassment. Your mind is reeling. There’s no way to get out of this. Any second now, he’s gonna realize how you feel. Then he’s gonna let you down. Gently, you hope. Then you’re gonna need to find a new place to live, because there’s no recovering from this.

“Fine.” You take a deep breath. “Yes, I said it.” Unable to look him in the eye, you focus on your phone as you speak. “I was telling Minho how much I want to suck your dick, because I’m a disgusting horny monster who can’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go pack up my room now.” Shoulders slumping, you slink away, hoping he won’t follow. 

He does. “Wait, what?” 

You don’t answer, heading directly for your closet, tugging at your suitcase where it lies on a shelf, and he crowds into your space, arms reaching out to stop you. 

“Oi, slow down! What are you doing?” 

“I’ll try to be out quickly, so you can find a new roommate right away.” You keep pulling on the suitcase, but it’s futile. He barely has to exert any strength to push it back, so you give up. 

“YN.” Chan places his hands on your shoulders, turning you around. It’s probably the closest you’ve ever been, standing face to face like this, and the nearness of him is a little dizzying. “Back up. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just talk to me.” He lightly guides you over to your bed, taking a seat next to you. “Why do you think I’d want you to leave?” 

“Because I'm a gross little gremlin who can’t stop objectifying you?” you answer honestly. 

Chan’s eyes widen before he bursts into laughter. “You know, you’ve said a lot of bonkers things in the months you’ve been living here, but… how does wanting to suck my dick make you a ‘gross little gremlin?’” 

Oh no. You can feel it bubbling up inside you, all the things you’ve felt. All the things you’ve said. Oh, you’re going to tell him, aren’t you? 

“It’s not just sucking your dick.” Grabbing your phone, you open your chat with Minho again, and begin to read. “‘I need Chan to destroy me. Fully. Like I’m a piece of wood and he’s a lumberjack. Just split me in half. With his hands or his dick, I’m not picky.’” Your entire body radiates with humiliation. You’re a tiny sun made of molecules of mortification, on the verge of going supernova. “Um. That’s one example. And there’s more. A lot more.” 

And then you hand him your phone, looking away as he starts to scroll. 

You stare at the wall, not wanting to see the expression on his face. Until the quiet gets to you, and you give in, peering at him, expecting to find him frozen again, or worse, looking sickened by your words. 

Instead you find him smiling. And then he starts to giggle. 

“‘I’m going feral,” he reads. ���‘He’s wearing that beanie again. I- ’” His laughing gets louder as he struggles to finish the thought. “‘I want him to wear me instead.’” He glances up at you, eyes glimmering with way too much amusement. “What does that even mean?!”

You groan, yanking your shirt up to cover your face. “Chan, stop!” He merely laughs harder. How can he be enjoying this? You’ve never known him to be cruel. “I get it, I’m awful, you don’t have to laugh!”

But he keeps chuckling, and then you feel his hands on your hips. Like a bewildered turtle, you poke your head out of your shirt, and he just smiles. 

“C’mere.” He keeps tugging at you until you scoot closer, swinging your legs over his lap, and pulls you in for a hug. 

It’s better than you ever imagined. His strong arms lock around your waist, keeping you in place as his chest continues to rumble with his apparently endless mirth. Tentatively, you let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, afraid that if you cling too tightly, he’ll let go. 

Chan leans back to grin at you. “You’re so fucking cute.” 

You’re so fucking confused. “I am?” 

“Yeah.” His fingers rub light circles into your lower back. The sensation is somehow both soothing and invigorating, sending sparks directly to the heat already simmering in your gut. “Just adorable.” 

You’re not adorable, you’re a dirty little freak whose mind is constantly churning out trash, but if that’s what he wants to believe, you’ll take it.  

“You’re not disturbed by all the things I’ve said?” 

“Disturbed? Nah. I’m used to the crazy shit you say.” He’s got a point. You do say a lot of crazy shit. Just not usually about him to him. “Besides, d’you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something?” 

“About your dick??”

Chan tosses his head back, jostling you with his laughter. “No, you maniac, just something in general! Something to tell me that you like me.” When he meets your gaze again, you’re met with that Look™, and this time those sparks head straight for your cunt. “That you want me. Because…” 

He trails off, hands gripping your sides, shifting you. Until you feel it. Poking directly into your thigh. 

“Oh!”

“Yeah. Oh.” Chan licks his lips. When did his eyes get so dark? “Because I want you too, you absolute fruit loop. Took me a minute to get my bearings, wasn’t expecting you to confess it in a text like that, or with those exact words, but…” He smirks. “I’m good now.” 

His thumb traces your jawline before he cups your chin. The gentle touch sends shivers rippling through you. His eyes drop to your lips. 

“You good?” 

Funnily enough, somehow, you are. 

“Yeah. I’m good,” you whisper, tipping forward to close the space between you. 

Amazingly, despite the unyielding need to just yeet yourself onto him, you manage to hold back, simply leaning in to the kiss instead. Those plush lips that you’ve raved about feel unbelievable as they caress yours. So soft and tender, like the warmth spreading through you as he tightens his hold. Then he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and you moan, loud and wanton, unable to control the sound, and he drops his hands to your hips again, gripping insistently. 

“C’mere,” he commands again, voice husky as his fingers hook into your sweats. “Come closer.” He exhales heavily. “Please.” 

Please? He has no idea how little he needs to beg right now. As if you’re not dying to get as close as you can! In the blink of an eye, you throw your leg over his, straddling him. His hands wrap around you again, like he can’t stand not having them on you for a second. You understand the feeling. 

You’re bolder now with your kisses, nipping and licking eagerly. A particularly sharp bite on his pouty lip makes him gasp in surprise, and you press your tongue into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut in sheer ecstasy when he sucks in response. The incessant throbbing of your clit is slightly relieved when Chan’s hips buck upwards, pushing his erection against you more firmly. He swallows your whines, breathes them back out in the form of his own groans.

The need for air eventually overwhelms you after a few minutes, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away from his face. 

“Aren’t you going to be late?” you pant, marveling at how red and swollen Chan’s lips are from kissing. The urge to dive back in before you’ve gotten enough oxygen into your system to keep from passing out is strong. “To meet the guys?”

“You really think I’m gonna leave now?” Chan huffs a laugh as he gazes at you from beneath lowered eyelids, looking as dazed as you feel, and you realize, shit, Minho’s right, you are a vampire, and you’re about to eat this man alive. “Fuck no. Besides, what kind of terrible roommate would I be if I left you at death’s door?” 

“If you - what?” 

More high-pitched giggles fill the room. How can he be so cute while actively grinding his cock against you like this? “Your disease. Remember? Ineedadickitis.” 

“I need to suck a dick,” you correct him.

“Oh, do you? Well, go on then.” He cracks up completely, bouncing you with the force of his laughter as you sit there dumbly for half a second before snapping to. 

“You’re so stupid, oh my god!” With a howl, you push him away. He goes easily, until he’s lying on his back on your bed, still cackling while he swats away your fake punches. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” His fingers lock around your wrists and with a gentle jerk you’re lying on top of him, your arms pinned between you. Before you can try to pretend that he’s wrong, try to mount yet another one of your dumb arguments, despite knowing full well that he's right, he kisses you again. 

As soon as he releases your hands, you tangle them in his hair. His hands trace down your back to grab the swell of your ass, crushing you flat against him, chest to chest. He suddenly breaks off the kiss.

“Are you not wearing a bra?” 

You shake your head and he groans, sitting up, taking you with him. His fingers curl in the hem of your top, twisting it upwards.

“Shirt off. Now.” His voice drops an octave and you shudder, quickly obeying his order. Then you grip his tank top.

“You too.” 

He reaches behind his head to peel the fabric off, tossing it on the floor. Then he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows as you openly gawk at his stomach. 

“Fuck.” He’s transfixed by your chest. 

“Jesus.” You’re mesmerized. From this close, you can see a faint trail of fine hair that runs down, cutting through the carved lines of his abs, like an arrow pointing to your desired destination. “Unreal.” 

“You can touch, if you’d like,” Chan grins up at you, obviously enjoying your reaction. 

You roll your eyes but do anyway, dragging your fingertips over his abs. His stomach twitches beneath your touch. Before you can get too far, he wiggles his hips, playfully jostling you out of your concentration.

“Can I touch, too?” 

“Jesus, yes, of course!” Grabbing his hands, you place one on each breast. “Touch me already!” 

He doesn’t waste any time, rolling your nipples between his fingers, waking the buds. You arch into him, his abs forgotten as he leans forward to take your left breast in his mouth. 

“Shit, Channie,” you whimper, combing his hair out of his face so you can watch him suckle away. He hums into you, swirling his tongue over your nipple, around and around, before dragging his tongue across to the other breast. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks, covering your chest with kisses. 

Baby? Did he really just call you baby? Is this really happening, or did you slip into one of your daydreams again? 

Nope, the hard dick rolling into the apex of your thighs as you grind down on him feels pretty real. You can’t help but moan, wondering what he looks like under those tight jeans. Is he as thick as you imagine? 

Wait, why are you still trying to imagine anything? He’s literally underneath you right now.

Your hand splays on his torso as you guide him onto his back again. Slowly, you lower yourself over him, and drag your mouth down his neck. Clearly, you’d interrupted his going out routine earlier, because he’s not wearing his normal cologne right now. Instead, the heady scent you inhale as you stick your nose into the hollow of his clavicles is pure Chan, musky and comforting. 

“Ah, that tickles!” he hisses. 

“Sorry.” You press a heavy kiss to his collarbone. “Is that better?” He nods, right before you sink your teeth in.

“Nnngh!” He lets out a throaty groan as you happily suck a love bite into his delicate skin. God, the noises this man makes! You want to record them and play them on a loop. 

You slip further down, dragging your fingernails over one of Chan’s nipples, watching his face for his reaction. A tiny “oh!” escapes him, and you repeat the motion, grinning when his back lifts off the bed. Sensitive. This is going to be fun. 

Chan raises his head when you start to kiss his abs, taking the time to lick along the ridges as you go, the salty tang of his sweat lingering on your lips. When your hands play with the skin above his waistband, he clears his throat. “You know, you don’t have to do this, just because of that text.” 

“Are you kidding me?” You pause with your fingers on the button of his fly. “You want me to stop now?” 

“I just don’t want you to think I expect anything.” Although his voice is a little shaky, like he’s trying to calm himself down, you hear the sincerity in his words. The sweetness. That warmth inside you roars into a flame. 

“Channie. I want this. Do you want this?” 

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Thank god,” you sigh, unzipping his fly.  He helps you peel off his tight jeans and you make quick work of his silk boxers beneath. Nudging his legs apart, you kneel between them 

For a moment just you stare at the sight in front of you. You were right. He’s thick. Maybe a little longer than most of the dicks you’ve been happy to be acquainted with, maybe not, but definitely thicker. 

You want to sit on him so bad. But first you want to please him, want to taste him. So much want. 

While you’re dicknotized, Chan stuffs your pillows under his head so he can have a better angle. You glance at his face and find him biting his lip, eyes looking a little desperate. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you. 

Might as well put him out of his misery. With a lick of your palm, you wrap your hand around him, and pump a few shallow strokes. He grunts at the sudden slickness, abdomen jumping slightly. 

“Ah, baby, just like that,” he says, eyes closing when you roll your thumb over the tip a few times. “Shit.” 

Your tongue darts out to follow, dipping around the head and back over, before you take it into your mouth. Just the tip, bobbing off, then a little more, then again. Each time you sink lower, he sighs. 

“Fuck, that feels so good. Keep going, take it all in.” 

Oh god, is he a talker? You’re already impossibly wet. You can’t possibly handle getting any more aroused. 

While your mouth is occupied, you lift your leg so you’re straddling one of Chan’s, resting a palm on his big thigh. You have obsessed over his thighs since the day you moved in. You refer to them as “the thunder from down under” in your texts to Minho. And here they are now, so strong and sturdy beneath you. Wild. 

Chan hisses when you deepthroat him, brushing your nose against his pelvis. Even though you pride yourself on your dick-sucking skills, you can’t help but choke slightly. More saliva floods into your mouth, and you swallow around him. 

“Oh, shit!” His hips rise up a little. You use both hands, one trying to hold him down by his hip while the other strokes in tandem with your mouth. There’s drool everywhere, and the sounds the wetness makes sounds lewd even for porn. “Baby, this mouth of yours! Feels better than I ever imagined.”

Air rushes into your lungs as you pull off, replacing your mouth with your other hand. “You thought about this?” He fantasized about you, too?

“Oh fuck yeah,” he growls. “All the time. Thought those pretty lips would look so good choking on me, and I was right.” He thrusts a little, rocking his dick up into your slippery grip. “Used to dream about fucking it.”

You moan so brokenly, he looks at you in concern. 

“Please,” you lick his darkened head almost frantically, “do it.” 

Chan studies you for a moment, brows knitting together, before he pushes your head down. 

“That’s it, go down for me,” he directs you, and you listen. “Just stay there. Let me do the work now.” 

He starts slowly, tilting his pelvis a little, fucking up into your waiting mouth. Then he cants his hips a little faster. His breathing gets heavier the harder he thrusts. Once he finds a steady rhythm, he lays his hand on the back of your head keeping you exactly where he wants you. 

You squirm restlessly as Chan fucks your throat. Having your roommate use your mouth as a sex toy is incredibly hot. Finally, you slide your hand into your sweats to give yourself some relief. Your clit is engorged, practically beating like a heart between your fingers. You let out a pleased moan, vibrating down Chan’s cock. 

“Do that again, baby.” 

You’re not denying this man anything. Again and again, you make him curse as your hums resonate across his sensitive skin. He trembles a little, and it’s intoxicating to think that you might be breaking down this big, strong roommate of yours, reducing him to a quivering mess.

At the very least, it’s something to aim for. 

Chan praises you again. “God damn it, that’s good. Gonna make me cum with that pretty mouth.” 

You suck and swallow and moan and rub yourself, feeling Chan’s thigh flex beneath you, and it hits you what he said, that you’re about to get Chan off, you, so you reach out, raking your hand up the inside of his thigh until you find his balls, squeezing gently.

“I’m gonna cum, shit, ’m gonna cum,” he moans, words slurring together. “Where, baby?” 

You stop touching yourself so you can grip the hand of his that rests on your head. He gets the point, pace not slowing, and with a few more powerful pumps, and some stuttered exhalations, he fills your mouth. You take it all, swallowing noisily and gasping for breath once he pulls out. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

He laughs as he says it. Your shoulders shake as you half-laugh, half-wheeze, slumping over on Chan’s thigh.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grins. “And I’m guessing from the sounds you were making, you enjoyed that as well? Just maybe not quite as much as me?”

You shrug. “I got what I wanted.”  

“Yeah, okay, maybe, but I bet you’d like more, hmm?” Without waiting for a response, he swiftly flips you onto your back. Just hauls you right over like you’re made of feathers. A rash of ridiculously giddy giggles burst past your lips, but they die away when he crawls up your body, the power of his gaze pinning you in place, and drops hungry lips onto yours.

Immediately, you surge up into him, pressing as close as you can. Both of you are glistening with sweat, his hair sticking to his face and yours as he licks into your mouth, hot and wet. You’re drowning in him. It’s everything you ever wanted. How the fuck can you possibly want more? But you do, and this feeling makes itself known as you start to whimper needily.

Chan’s hand quickly locates your breast, tenderly cupping your flesh. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are? So pretty.”

You preen at his words, humming contentedly. Fuck. Do you have a praise kink, or is it just that Chan’s the one saying these words that is getting you more worked up? You roll your hips, seeking friction, and Chan’s hand slides downward until he reaches where you need him.

“Oh, baby, so wet,” he says, voice hushed, almost reverent. “Just dying to be touched, yeah? Let me help you.”

With sure movements, lithe fingers stroke along your lips, opening you up. Fingertips squeeze your clit, playing with the aching pearl, causing you to squeal, and you could die, having made such a sound, except you’ve clearly already died and gone to heaven.

Even as his hand rubs, his lips never leave yours. You thrash in his grip when he slides a finger inside you, finding your g-spot with surprising quickness and pressing the fuck out of it, and he still chases your mouth, covering your chin in kisses. Your legs kick out as he alternates between fondling your clit and stroking your walls, until he suddenly stops, pulling his fingers out so he can rid you of your sweats. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kneeling between your legs, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, sucking in air like a fish. You must be a mess, if your appearance matches how you feel. But you’re also excruciatingly aroused and frustrated, so close to coming that you’re ready to blow.

“Yes. I’m here, I’m good.” 

“Good.” The Look™️ is back. He grabs your legs and bends them, pushing your thighs into your torso. “Here. Be a good girl and hold these.”

Yes, daddy. You bite your tongue to keep from screaming the words, and grasp your legs behind your knees, pulling them to the side as much as you can, opening you up wide.

“Yes, Channie.”

He smiles at that, eyes so dark you can almost see yourself. “So good for me. Hold tight, baby.” 

He sticks out his tongue, eyebrows cocking as he dives down, tracing your folds lightly before flattening the pink muscle and dragging it heavily upwards. You keen as his hot mouth suctions onto your clit. He rolls your clit around with his tongue before flicking it in a quick motion, over and over. 

“Jesus!” You’re a live wire, muscles jolting and twitching. As he continues working over the tiny bundle of nerves, his fingers slip inside you again, two this time, scissoring you apart, making room for his tongue. 

You gasp as he plunges inside, tracing your inner walls. He’s so loud, the noises his mouth makes as he sucks and laps, and messy, too, slick dripping from his chin when he lifts his face, making sure you’re watching him. Of fucking course you’re watching him. There’s literally nothing else in the world you’d rather be looking at right now than Bang Chan, the hottest man in the galaxy, devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal. 

“Tastes so good,” he rasps, turning his face to press sloppy kisses to your inner thigh. “Think you can hold out a little longer? Let me enjoy, yeah?” 

At this point, you’re a fucking tinderbox, one spark and you’ll explode, but sure, why not let the man enjoy himself a little more? 

“O-okay,” you stutter weakly. “I’ll… try.” You bite your lip. “But maybe…” 

Chan brushes his lips over your slit. With a shaky hand, you let your left leg go so you can reach out, brushing some damp locks off his forehead, and he looks at you. 

“Maybe a little slower?” you ask. 

He smiles, nodding a little. “Got ya.” 

Instead of pulling your hand back, you thread your fingers into his hair, and he hums, burying his face again. Only now, his tongue rolls slowly over your cunt, languidly, each pass taking longer and longer. He still keeps the pressure up, makes sure he’s pushing just as firmly against your sensitive folds, still fucks his tongue into you just as deeply as he was before, but now his movements aren’t so frenzied. They feel purposeful, like he’s intent on savoring the moment. 

And you realize you should, too. So you barely blink as you observe everything he does - every kiss, every groan, every time his eyes close. You try to commit it all to memory, so you can relive this moment over and over again. In case this is it.

Chan keeps humming, not so much a melody as just wordless sounds, getting louder when your thighs start to squeeze a little. Your hand grips the roots of his hair, not so much guiding him as hanging on. Until he takes your clit in his mouth again, and you cry out, holding him in place. 

“Right there, Channie, please!” Your voice breaks as you beg him not to stop. He doesn’t let up, not even when you release your death grip on your right leg, letting it fall over his shoulder like the other one. You dig your fingers into the blanket beneath you, fisting the material. “Fuck, just like that!” 

Your hips rise off the bed as you start to hump his face, grinding harder and harder. Chan slides his fingers back into your already clenching hole and finds your g-spot again. You wail helplessly, mind already going, body not far behind, as your muscles start to contract, everything tightening - 

“Fuuuuck!” 

With a loud groan, you come all over Chan’s face. He keeps tonguing your clit through your orgasm, but has to use his hands to hold your thighs open so he doesn’t asphyxiate. You tug at his hair, riding out the waves of bliss on his mouth. 

When you finally relinquish your grasp on his head, he stops. He slides your legs from his arms, then sits back on his heels to examine his handiwork.

You’re a limp noodle. No bones. No muscles. Couldn’t move if you tried. Your climax completely wiped you out, leaving nothing behind. But you’re a very happy noodle, practically purring as you smile at the ceiling. 

Chan, on the other hand. Chan appears to be ready for the next round. A point made obvious by the massive erection he’s again sporting. You blink at him a few times. 

“I’m going to need a minute.”

He laughs, draping himself over you, arm slung over your stomach, head on your shoulder. “Nah mate, you’re done.” 

A rather petulant whine bubbles up from deep within you. “Nooo, I’m good, I’m good!” 

You try to reach for his dick, but he catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Which is a surprisingly sweet move, but not what you want right now. It’s not that you don’t want to cuddle with him - if he asked, you’d wrap yourself like a blanket around him and snuggle him for hours.

It’s that you’re not ready for this moment to be over. 

“Relax,” he laughs. “Plenty of time for that later. Just rest for a bit.” 

“Later?" There’s gonna be a later?

Chan kisses your neck lightly. “Yeah, later. Not done with you yet, baby.” 

You sigh, bringing a hand up to stroke his back. Okay. Maybe a little nap is fine. If there’s going to be a later. 

Fuck, you can’t wait to text Minho. 

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© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

I don't feel right tagging my usual tl since that was for my BTS writing, so I'm just gonna tag some moots that I think might like this:

@moni-logues @yoongimingyu @borahae-k @nabiolive @jikooknoona @sowoozoo-7 @eoieopda @here4btsfics @candlewaxandp0lar0ids @ballelino @starlostjimin @augustbutwinter @blueversaillesdreams @hobivore @hobi-gif @seokjinger-ale @hannahbee12719 feel free to tell me if I'm way off base, no pressure to actually read! 💕