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daizymax · 11 months

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a little pampering | lfl (m)

summary: your kind, attentive boyfriend helps you unwind after a long day with a massage and a little more.

pairing: felix x fem reader

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 5.6k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: established (but new) relationship; profanity; mentions of food; graphic sexual content; clit play & vaginal fingering; some breast & nipple play; a tiny bit of spit play & finger sucking; dirty talk; oral (m receiving); penetrative piv sex with condom use

author’s note: re-written, re-titled and re-uploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

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Technically he has good timing, but as you set your things down and kick off your shoes, you aren’t sure if you’re really in the mood to answer his call. Not after the day you’ve had. But it’s Felix, and the relationship is still new, so you answer anyway.

“Hey.”

“Uh oh, what’s wrong?”

Normally you don’t mind how observant he is; that’s one of the things you have come to admire about him. But you don’t want to unpack your hard day on him, so you feign ignorance.

“Hm? Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine,” you say, then promptly change the subject. “I just got home. How was your day?”

“It was alright,” Felix answers pleasantly. His smooth, deep voice is always soothing. Just a few words from him and you’re already feeling your mood lift a little. “I was just calling to see how your day was. When you didn’t answer my last text, I figured it turned into a rough one towards the end.”

You ignore his correct suspicion for the time being to quickly check your messages. There it is, the missed text from a few hours ago asking if the two of you could meet up for dinner tonight.

“Shit, I’m just now seeing it,” you say. “You’re right, work was rough and I was just crazy busy this afternoon, I’m sorry.”

“No worries! Does dinner sound alright, though? We can go anywhere you want.” When you make a noise somewhere between a ponderous hum and a non-committal grunt, Felix laughs knowingly. “Okay, that’s fine.”

His easy acceptance of your hesitation doesn’t make you feel better. If anything, it only makes you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I just don’t really feel up to going out tonight. I’m tired and my neck is killing me. I kind of just want to stand under a hot shower for, like, half an hour, then pass out in bed.”

“Ah, poor thing. Can I at least bring you dinner, if I promise not to overstay my welcome? I’d still love to see you tonight, even for just a little while?”

His offer is sweet, but you don’t exactly like the way he’s pressing to see you tonight. Even when worded as questions, even with his assurance that he won’t stay too long, it comes off as kind of pushy to you. But to be fair, Felix has been nothing but respectful and understanding and kind to you in the couple months you’ve been dating him. Is a well-intentioned offer really something to refuse? Or something worth getting into an argument over?

You blame your sour thoughts on your terrible day and decide you probably would feel a little better if you let him dote on you with a simple meal and some company, so you accept his offer on the condition that he bring enough food for himself as well.

---

Felix arrives at your door with two bags of food and a smile.

Even after his own long day of work, he looks fresh and pretty. His blond hair is parted, freckles on full display against his honey skin. He smells good, too. Something clean and floral wafts into your nostrils, even through the smell of the food.

“Hey you,” you say. “Thanks again for bringing dinner, you really didn’t have to.”

“Hey you,” he echoes, stepping inside when you allow him by. “It’s my pleasure, really. Thanks for letting me come over. I hope you don’t mind, I brought dessert, too. Nothing special, just some ice cream. If we don’t eat it tonight, you can just keep it and save it for another time.”

You thank him again for the thoughtful gesture, and he wastes no time helping you put dessert into the freezer before dispensing the rest of the food onto some plates.

By the time the two of you settle across the table from each other, you feel silly for your negative thoughts earlier, even if they were brief. Maybe one day you will decline his company, but right now, this feels exactly like what you need: a nice meal and your boyfriend’s comforting presence.

“This is really great, Felix.”

He beams. “Dig in, babe.”

You expect him to ask for the details of your stressful day, but he doesn’t bring it up. Instead, he talks of his own day, and you learn a few new tidbits of information about him as he talks — the way he likes his coffee (extremely sweet), the time of day he showers (in the mornings, though he thinks nights would be better actually), the amount of time it takes for him to commute to and from work (about 20 minutes each way). It’s odd how mundane things like that are always fascinating at the start of a relationship.

Partway through the conversation, you stretch your stiff neck, and Felix notices your discomfort. He lumps his mouthful of food into one cheek and asks, “So what did you do to your neck?”

“I don’t even know,” you mutter. “It’s been a few days now. I don’t know if I slept on it wrong or what.”

“Poor thing,” he tuts again. “You’re probably ready for that shower. I’m just about done here, I can go ahead and show myself out and leave you to your rest.”

“No, stay,” you blurt. “I mean, I do really want to shower, but maybe we can watch a movie or a show or something when I’m done, if you want?”

He looks a little surprised at your suggestion. “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you’re sure I won’t be overstaying my welcome? I really don’t mind if you want to kick me out now so you can get on with your evening. You don’t have to—”

You reach over the table to brush your fingertips over his knuckles, and he promptly shuts his mouth. “Felix, it’s okay. I want you to say, if you want to stay.”

He smiles and relaxes. “Alright, cool.”

After the table is cleared, you insist he make himself comfortable in the living room and find something for the two of you to watch when you return.

The pressure of the hot water and the encapsulating steam is everything you’ve been dreaming of all afternoon. And even though you have lovely company waiting, you decide to take your time and savor the water pelting your aching muscles until it turns lukewarm and you drag yourself back out to dry off and put on some comfortable clothes.

Felix certainly looks comfortable perched on your couch. He smiles brightly again when he sees you. “Feeling better, sweetheart?”

You stretch your neck experimentally. “Physically? Not really. Mentally? So much better.”

“Well that’s something, at least.” He fluffs open the blanket on his lap and says, “Come here.”

The scene is too tempting to resist. You cozy up beside him and wrap your arms around his middle as he does the same with you.

Felix sighs, then you hear him inhale softly. “You smell good.”

“So do you,” you say, sniffing his sleeve.

“Thanks.” He shifts one arm to reach for the remote on the table beside him. “Is Sci-Fi okay?”

You nod and lay your cheek against his shoulder. “Sounds good.”

“Cool.”

Half an hour into the show, your neck twinges in protest over your otherwise comfortable position, and you groan quietly as you pull yourself up to sit up straight. You’d been so content to cuddle with your warm, pretty boyfriend.

Felix pauses the show and looks over at you. “You okay?”

Before you can answer him, you bump your fingers into his hand when he reaches for the back of your neck first. His fingers are soft, and you can’t help but sigh at the tender pressure he puts on the sore tendons.

“You do feel tight. Tense,” he says, gazing at your skin in concern while he rubs gentle little circles into it with his thumb. “I might be able to help a little more than the shower did, if you want.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You do massages?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been told once or twice that I’m decent at it. Think it’s worth a shot?”

You shrug back. “Yeah, sure, why not. Thanks, baby.”

Once you’ve situated yourself so that your back is facing him, Felix places his hand at the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Right here, isn’t it? Down into your shoulder, too,” he says, measuring the damage with delicate prods of his fingertips.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, then clear your throat. “Yeah, like all along there.”

With that confirmation, he takes a firmer grasp of your knotted muscles to try and smooth them out. You hiss at the sensation, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Felix hums knowingly. “Sorry. Try to relax, but tell me if it hurts too much.”

He takes hold of your opposite shoulder just to steady you as he works the pained one. He rolls his fingers along the column of your neck, pressing his thumb at the base of your skull with a calculated pressure, then pinches the muscle of your shoulder.

“Feel okay?” he checks when you let out an indecipherable sound.

“It does hurt a bit,” you admit, “but it feels good, too.”

“Good.”

He repeats his motions over and over until he’s built up a nice rhythm of gentle squeezes up and down your neck and firmer, longer squeezes along your shoulder. You start to feel weightless, boneless, and you lean into his chest at the lulling ministrations.

At one point he sweetly kisses the side of your head without pausing his work, and it occurs to you then that you haven’t kissed him in days.

To remedy that, you start by turning your head towards him. Felix smiles when he meets your eyes, and you lean closer to kiss his lips. He doesn’t have time to react outside of a tiny, surprised grunt before you’re pulling away with a pleased grin.

He grins back wider. “Another,” he says, puckering his plump lips into a cute, inviting pout.

You giggle and oblige, this time holding the position longer. He kisses you back with the smallest movement of his jaw. Greedily, you decide it isn’t enough, so you reach to hold the back of his head and part your lips further to coax him into doing the same.

A sigh through his nose breaks across your cheek at the same time the tip of his tongue dips between your lips. You meet it softly, deepening the motion by tilting your head even more so there can be no gap between you.

The quiet sounds of your lips breaking and reconnecting fills your ears soothingly. His fingers have stopped massaging you in favor of simply holding you close to him, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re already thinking of a better place for him to put them right now.

When you start to guide his hand down to your chest, Felix whispers your name against your lips. He doesn’t elaborate, and you’re not sure what he thinks he’s trying to say, but you don’t comment back.

Instead, you cup your hand over his and squeeze so he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t say anything more, just fondles your breast as requested by your body language. You arch into his touch and moan into his mouth, partly for sexy effect to keep him going, but mostly because it’s exciting to have him touch you like this for the first time.

Your moan encourages him, just as you suspected it might, and he adjusts his hold on your breast to run his thumb across the nipple starting to poke through your thin shirt. He doesn’t mention the lack of a bra, but you can tell he finds the easy access exciting by the way he hums again. He switches to your other breast to pay it some equal attention, rolling your stiff nipple between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, then pinching it just to hear you react with a light gasp.

“I’m really glad you let me come over tonight, Y/N,” Felix takes the time to mention, as though this makeout and groping session is the highlight of his whole day. The thought makes you want to take things even further.

“Me too.” You twist your torso to face him even more, and his hand slips from your breast to your lap. “Felix? I want you, baby.”

He licks his already wet lips, dark eyes shimmering as he glances between each of yours. “You mean… have sex? Right now?”

You nod silently, and there is a split second of hesitation on Felix’s part where you can almost see the gears turning in his head before he swears under his breath and surges forward into another kiss, feverish with new intent this time.

He returns his hand to your clothed chest without guidance this time, but you think of something even better, so you bring his hand up through the bottom of your shirt instead. You’re sure your own body temperature is rising with your desire, but his palm is nearly searing on your bare skin.

He starts to lose focus on kissing while he’s feeling you up, and so do you. Every roll and tweak and squeeze sends a pulse of arousal between your legs. It gets to the point that you start rubbing your thighs together needily, and Felix — being the kind, thoughtful, observant person he is — takes notice.

“Fuck, babe,” he swears. His hand smooths down your warm stomach to the band of your leggings and stops there. “Getting kind of horny?”

You giggle because he sounds kind of precious saying it aloud. It’s already been established that you want to have sex with him — of course you’re horny.

“More like a lot,” you say, nipping his bottom lip with your teeth.

Felix smirks deviously. “Hm. I see. Let me help you with that, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t push his fingers into your pants right away. Instead, he cups your pussy over your clothing with a confidence that both surprises and delights you. Then he starts to drag his fingers up and down, back and forth. Your toes curl and loosen depending on the pressure of his moving fingers and how often he brushes across your swelling clit. You’re barely kissing him at all at this point; more like hovering right against his lips, which are still smirking ever so slightly.

“Feel good?” he murmurs.

“Y-yeah.” You spread your legs a little wider, and Felix uses the extra space to grind the heel of his palm over your clit now. “Oh fuck,” you gasp over the new, rougher sensation.

Unlike with the massage he was giving you, he does not build up a steady, diligent rhythm of repetitive motions. He alternates without pattern between the grinding of his palm and the tickling of his fingers along your covered slit. It feels unbelievably, surprisingly good, but you’re getting frustrated by both the teasing and the barriers separating your burning skin from his.

“Felix,” you whimper. “I need more, please...”

“I know, I’ve got you.” He finally dives his hand into your pants, but he still only touches you over your underwear. “Mm, this does feel good, doesn’t it?” he says, alluding to how damp and sticky you’ve become. He traps your swollen clit between his index and middle finger and gives it a vibrating shake, and your thighs automatically clamp together on his hand, which makes him chuckle. “You still seem tense, Y/N. Relax for me. I’m taking care of you. Gonna make you come just like this.”

The whine you let out is pitiful even to your own ears. How easily he’s turned you to putty in his capable hands.

He wraps one arm across your stomach while the other flexes beneath the blanket at your crotch. You can’t see anything he’s doing down there, but you can sure as hell feel it all.

He keeps two fingers focused on your clit with tight, firm circles and increases his pace. Your soon-to-be-ruined panties not only add to the friction he is creating but also keep his fingers from slipping around too wildly. The concentrated pleasure races through your veins as fast as he can rub at the stiff, sensitive bundle of nerves.

The edge he’s been dragging you toward looms— “Right there! F-Felix… Please, j-just like that, please…”

“You don’t have to beg, sweetheart. Just let go,” he says. His voice is pitched lower than you’ve ever heard it, which very well could be what launches you straight into your body-tingling climax.

You gasp when it hits and clutch his forearm tightly — not to stop him, just to let him know, as if he couldn’t already tell you’re coming from the way you’re stuttering mindless expletives and desperately humping against his hand.

Felix almost moves his fingers away too soon, but you whimper and hold him in place for a little while longer to wring that last bit of ecstasy out. He coos something apologetic that you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears and continues drawing dwindling circles into your clit.

After a few more, he hooks his middle finger through the side of your panties and slowly glides it through your bare folds for the first time, from the bottom of your soaked opening, up between your puffy lips, all the way to your clit still pulsing at the top. You twitch weakly at the onset of sensitivity, but he doesn’t linger or torment you with overstimulation; his finger is gone almost as quickly as it came.

You slump against him, and Felix presses a sweet kiss to the first part of you he can reach, which is your sweaty temple.

“You’re amazing, Y/N. Feeling alright?”

In the midst of calming down and catching your breath, you have to laugh at his compliment when he was the one who did all the work.

“Yeah, I feel great. That was so good.”

“Good. There’s more orgasms where that came from, if you’re up for it.” He plants another quick peck on the crown of your head and gives your pussy one last pat through your panties with a flat, open palm before finally withdrawing from the cramped, humid space of your pants.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder again and give his lips a quick kiss. “I think it’s your turn for some pampering now.”

Felix doesn’t protest, only shifts with you as you transition from sitting between his legs on the couch to kneeling between his legs on the floor.

“Is this okay?” you ask, rubbing one of his knees.

Your pretty boyfriend nods. “Yeah, definitely.”

You start to run your hand up his thigh towards the enticing bulge between his legs, but he puts a hand over yours to stop you. You give him a concerned look because you thought he was good with this; he just said so.

“Listen, I’m not, like… impressive, okay?” he says.

Oh. That’s what he’s worried about? The size of his dick? The thought of him being self-conscious about it saddens you, honestly.

You give his thigh a squeeze. It feels firm and warm to your touch. “I’m not the kind of person to rate your dick based on size, baby. I promise you.”

Felix smiles shyly, face flushed pink. “I know, I know. I know it’s about how I use it. I guess I just wanted to, I don’t know, warn you? Not warn you but, like, prepare you, or something?”

He’s nervous, which in and of itself is completely understandable. This is the first time you’ll be seeing his dick. He wants to make a good first impression, and his size is one of the first things you’ll notice. You don’t want him to worry about it, though, so you go back to reaching for the zipper on his pants, and he lets go of your hand.

“Trust me, I’m more than prepared to suck you off, baby,” you say with a grin.

“What about your neck?” he asks.

“I’ll be alright.” A little soreness in your neck is not going to stop you from doing this. No way.

Felix lets out a breathy laugh at your determination and lifts his hips to help you get his pants down. His dick twitches beneath his boxers when you reach for them next.

As soon as you remove them, you think you can see what he was talking about. There are certainly longer and thicker cocks out there, and maybe he is slightly smaller than what could be considered ‘average,’ but by god, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen a prettier cock in your life. It’s rock solid, wrapped in a plump vein, and the tip is blushing a darker shade of pink than his face. You’re already more than pleased with it.

“Baby, your dick is perfect,” you say, reaching for it. He’ll probably think you’re exaggerating for the sake of his confidence, so you elaborate, “Perfect for me to swallow whole, and more than enough to fill me up. It’ll feel amazing to have you fuck me hard from behind, or with my legs on your shoulders in missionary, you know? You’d hit me just deep enough to hurt a little bit but not too much. You even fit perfectly in my hand. See?”

You swear you feel his cock pulse harder in your hold. The skin is so warm and smooth, silky yet stiff. You cannot wait to get your mouth on it, or have him stuff it in your pussy.

Felix breathes a short laugh; he sounds a little winded all of a sudden. “Fuck, I can’t wait to do all of that with you,” he says. His head falls back against the couch, and you’re glad to see him relaxing.

You nod. “Me either, baby. Can I start by swallowing you whole?”

Another twitch of his cock, which is clearly in agreement of its own, but you wait for his words.

“Yes, please,” he says, so politely.

You scoot a little closer on your knees, then bend forward to take his leaking tip into your mouth. Felix gasps as soon as you seal your lips around him, and he practically shivers when you lick at his slit. You love how sensitive and responsive he is. You can already see yourself worshiping his cock for hours. Maybe not tonight, but hopefully some time in the very near future.

It’s fun hearing his voice go from high-pitched and whiny to deep and almost tortured sounding, depending on whether you’re tracing the vein on his cock with your tongue or hollowing your cheeks around the flared mushroom head. He fits in your mouth so perfectly, just as you told him he would. His cock stretches your lips, but not enough to make your jaw sore; his length extends into your throat, but it’s not terribly troublesome to deep-throat him. It seems he especially loves breaching your throat and feeling the tight muscle flexing around his tip. Those sounds — the desperate little gasps — are quickly becoming your favorite.

Just when you’ve really gotten into a rhythm, however, he hisses “Wait wait wait,” and reaches out for your shoulder to gently ease your face away from his cock. It drops with a wet little plop against his lower stomach, glistening in your spit now.

“I’m gonna come if you keep going like that,” he says to your confused look, chuckling a little. “You’re actually about to suck my soul out.”

You laugh and rub his thighs. “I’m just taking care of you like you did for me.”

“I think I need to eat you out for ten minutes to even the score now.”

“There’s no score,” you say, still laughing, “but if you’d rather move on to something else, I have condoms in the bedroom.”

Felix sits up. “Lead the way.”

He leaves his pants and underwear behind on the living room floor, and you take his hand to bring him into your bedroom.

He’s been in here a couple times before already, but he’s never taken you by the hips and pulled you into a steamy kiss in here before. He’s never watched you strip your clothes for him in here before, or stripped his clothes for you in here before.

He’s never lowered you onto your mattress and followed on top of you before.

The feeling of his weight on yours is nice. His skin is so smooth and muscular; he’s been hiding those abs under his baggy clothes all this time. You kind of want to take more time to admire his body, but you’re not about to interrupt the feeling of his lips on your neck and throat; he’s found a sensitive spot, and it’s winding you up tighter to finally be fucked.

“Where’s the condoms, sweetheart?” Felix asks, as though he can hear your screaming thoughts. He scatters kisses along the tops of your breasts.

“In here,” you say, reaching for the drawer on your nightstand.

Felix reaches too, fingers bumping into yours as he finds one of the packets. He may have been nervous and self-conscious about his dick size, but he’s confident when he tears open the foil and tugs the latex over his erection. As soon as he’s ready to go, he asks, “So, did you want me to fuck you hard from behind, or missionary with your legs over my shoulders?”

God, he’s perfect.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you say.

He smirks again. It looks extra devious on his angelic face. “Alright, well, at the risk of being cheesy, I think I want to see your face when you come this time, so legs up it is.”

You giggle. “So cheesy, baby. But that’s fine with me.”

Felix helps you into position, practically pulling your legs up for you to get the backs of your knees hooked over his shoulders. The tip of his covered cock bumps against your inner thigh, then the entrance of your pussy. You can feel how wet you still are — and how hard he still is — just from that minimal contact. He brings a hand down to better line himself up, and you can’t help but whimper when he presses a little harder on your hole. So close, but still not close enough.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you say.

He pushes in, slowly but all in one go. The angle is perfect for him to hit just the right spot inside your walls, just like you knew he would.

Felix’s eyes roll back in his head in pure bliss, and he hugs your thighs to help balance you and to brace himself against all this pleasure.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. He leans a little more of his weight forward, unintentionally testing the flexibility in your legs. His core strength is impressive. “Is this okay, babe? You good?”

You bring your hands up to cup his face and purposely clench your walls tighter around him. “I’m fantastic. You can move whenever you want.”

He does just that, retracting the tip of his cock to the edge of your entrance before sliding in deep again, nice and slow. His movements are even and firm, tip to base, over and over again as he acquaints your pussy with his cock and vice versa.

“Oh f-fuck,” you breathe. “That’s so f-fucking good, Felix, so fucking deep.”

He groans and drops his hands from your thighs to plant his fists in the mattress instead. He fucks you faster, harder, battering that sweet spot inside you and driving you into the mattress. You can feel his balls slapping against your ass with every powerful push, and you can feel that your arousal has already leaked onto them, too. There’s going to be a hell of a wet spot on your sheets later, but you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Felix chants under his breath in time with his thrusts. His eyes have been closed since he started moving faster, but he opens them again now. You meet his gaze and bite your lip, and he leans in to kiss you, pulling your bottom lip between his own teeth. His lips graze across your cheek and down your neck.

“You feel amazing inside me,” you tell him, fingers twisting into his hair at the back of his head.

Felix brings his hands around to your backside to take your ass in his hands and hold you even closer to him. “Got me so fucking close already, Y/N,” he grunts into your mouth.

“Then come for me.”

He shakes his head; long, blond bangs sweeping the freckles on his cheeks. His thrusts stutter before evening out again. “Not before you. Will you touch yourself for me?”

You smile and nod, bringing two fingers up between your lips and accidentally bumping Felix’s lips in the process. He surprises you by catching them in his mouth immediately after you’ve wet them with your own.

“Jesus, baby,” you whisper, heavy gaze on the way he sucks your fingers so well, if only for a quick second or two.

His brown eyes are smoldering, burning into yours, and you nearly forget what he just asked you. He watches you bring your wet fingers down between your rocking bodies to finger your clit. Your walls instantly clench tighter around his cock, and he groans straight into your ear.

“So fucking t-tight, babe. Your pussy fits s-so perfectly around me, fuck.”

Felix takes your free hand and presses it into the mattress beside your head, leaning more of his weight into you again. Your legs are aching from maintaining this position, but it’s worth it to have him hitting your g-spot over and over again at this angle, and your orgasm is so fucking close now.

It’s clear Felix is close, too. His forehead and upper lip are dotted with sweat, his hips are getting more and more erratic, his breath is stuttering. He rakes his eyes from yours, down to your jiggling breasts, down to where your fingers are playing with your clit, and repeat.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers with a sweet peck to your lips. Far too sweet for the way he’s plowing you up the mattress, which somehow only pushes you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, gonna come,” you moan, squeezing his hand tighter.

Felix squeezes back and goes in even faster, determined in his thrusts. “Do it, sweetheart. Come on my cock.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to do so. A few more perfect pushes against that sweet spot inside you and a few more flicks of your fingers and your orgasm quakes through you, hot and molten from your core all the way down — up — to your curled toes. You can’t help but tug Felix’s body even closer with your legs as you tremble through your high.

“God damn,” Felix swears as he watches you come; he couldn’t see it this well on the couch earlier. Your eyes are shut, mouth fallen open, body squirming under him from all the pleasure he’s helped bring you.

And your pussy, fuck. You can’t seem to stop clenching, and it draws out his own climax. He can barely get the words out to tell you. “Shit, c-coming, babe— ungh!”

He lodges his cock as deep as it can go and finally unloads his cum into the condom with a low grunt. You peek your eyes open in time to witness his own mouth dropped open in bliss. He gives a few more firm thrusts to finish off his orgasm, then gently eases your legs down. You wince a little as you become more aware of the muscles you’ve been straining, and Felix gently kneads your hips with his fingers.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Can’t feel my legs,” you pant, smiling up at him, “but in a good way. That was amazing. You okay?”

Felix is trying to catch his own breath, but he still giggles. “I’m great!” He runs his hands up your legs from ankles to hips, then gives the sides of your ass a couple pats. “Be right back.”

He hops off the bed with a surprising amount of energy and dashes into the bathroom to trash the condom. When he returns, he has a towel in hand.

“Is it okay to clean up with this?” he asks.

You give him a tired thumbs up, and he smiles as he helps clean up the lingering wetness between your legs. He tries to do something about the wet spot on the sheets, too, but you tell him not to worry about it; you’ll just change them in a bit.

For now, you reach out to bring him back into bed and into your arms, and he easily obliges.

“Just lie with me for a bit, please?” you murmur, halfway to sleep as you play with his hair.

Felix snuggles tighter against you and hums. “Of course.”

“Might pass out any second,” you warn him.

He kisses your throat. “That’s alright, sweetheart. Rest.”

You yawn. “Want you to stay with me.”

His body is so warm and solid. His voice is deep and honeyed. “I’m here. Right here.” A few beats of silence go by, then he adds, “I’m really glad you let me come over tonight, Y/N.”

You hum, “Me too,” just before drifting off.

---

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#felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #a little pampering #daizymax

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jannaphia · 4 months

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Ruby/Kaisa Writing Masterpost

Right, okay, wasn't sure if I should post these, but its pride month and I think I deserve a treat after sipping denial juice for like 15 years.

I actually wanted to flesh out some things that happened in their past, but I had so much fun I ended up with like 12 little snippets that I'm just going to throw on here over the next month.

A little background: these two are side characters from my group's DnD campaign, that I have latched onto like a barnacle to a boat (Kaisa was actually my first PC ever, I brought her back as a gimmick & our dm played along, so that didn’t exactly help with getting less attached).

*DISCLAIMER* - the campaign we play is 100% organic homebrew and we treat the world of DnD like a toddler treats a sandbox - with enough respect not to eat the sand but otherwise it's a free-for-all.

Snippets under the cut!

☼・12/12・☼

----------------------------

☼・1・☼

“They fucked both of us over, didn’t they?” Kaisa tightened the grip on her sword, while the rough wall dug into her back even through the scale mail.

The woman beside her nodded earnestly.

“You could say that.”

Kaisa shot her another glance. Heart-shaped face, grey-purple skin, red eyes, pointed ears. Drow, half-blood, most likely, with those ridiculous white strands of hair that framed her face. She was panting slightly from the exertion of running for cover. And probably the fight before. And the knife wound in her shoulder. Goddamn wizards. She should have aimed better. At least then they wouldn’t be squeezed together in this tiny alcove, hiding from the villagers. Or what was left of them, anyway.

“Sorry I almost burned your face off”, the wizard said sheepishly.

Kaisa grunted, in part to hide her surprise. An apology was the last thing she’d expected.

“My fault I even gave you the chance.”

“I’ve never had anyone dodge my spells like that. You’re used to fighting casters, aren’t you?”

“I kill them, usually.”

“Oh.” To her credit, she didn’t cringe away. “Like…all of them?”

“Are you dead, little mage?”

She frowned. “Not for a lack of trying on your part.”

“But are you dead?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Is it a work-for-hire thing, then? Or is it...recreational?”

“Listen-“

“Ruby.”

“-Ruby, I don’t know why or how you got here, but you’re not what I came here for. So just stay out of my way and we won’t have any…further problems.”

“Fine. Are you sure you don’t need my help with that collapsed entrance, though?”

Damn. She’d forgotten all about that already. A triumphant little smile had appeared on the wizard’s insultingly pretty face and Kaisa felt like cursing again.

“I mean, I’m sure you’re strong enough to lift these boulders on your own, but fighting off a horde of undead at the same time might prove just a little difficult,” Ruby said with a small shrug. She winced and touched a hand to her shoulder. “Ouch.”

“And you think you’ll be of much help like that?”

“Probably not. I forgive you for throwing that dagger at me, by the way,” she said nonchalantly. “But since it looks like neither of us can leave on their own, we can either agree on a truce or we might as well stay here.”

There were few things that seemed less appealing than being stuck in a decrepit funeral temple with a wizard who liked to talk and smelled of peonies.

“Not a chance.” Kaisa fished a healing potion from a satchel at her belt and pressed it into Ruby’s hand. “Drink. Truce it is. Try anything, and I will stab you again.”

Ruby sniffed at the potion, downed it in one swig, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. There was a glint in her eyes, a purple glow lighting up the red of her irises. Shit, Kaisa thought. She looked like an innocent doll all groomed and polished as if she was made to be dressed up in lace and ribbons and put on a shelf behind glass. It made it so easy to forget she’d almost blown Kaisa to smithereens. Made it even easier to forget that that was probably her intention.

“Don’t tempt me,” Ruby said and squeezed past her. “I might just get a taste for it.”

☼・2・☼

“Wait!”

Kaisa stopped and half-turned.

“What?”

A part of her wished Ruby hadn’t saved her life at the centre of the temple. There were few things worse than being indebted to a wizard. She’d want something in return; of course she would. A quick end would have been preferable. Maybe then she’d finally find some peace.

“Come work for me. I could use some help on the ship.”

There it is.

“I don’t work for mages”, Kaisa said crisply. “I’ll do what I owe, but no more. Better get this over with anyway. What do you want?”

Ruby furrowed her brow, confused.

“What?”

“The life-debt. What do you want for it?”

“Life-debt? If I saved yours, you saved mine like a dozen times.” “I just pushed you out of the way.”

“Exactly. And anyway, I didn’t help you to get something out of it,” she said, indignant.

“Sounds like you do want something, though.”

“Right. Maybe I do. But not because of some debt you may or may not owe.”

Kaisa narrowed her eyes at Ruby. Was this some kind of game she was playing? No. As far as wizards went, Kaisa had to admit that Ruby seemed to be one of the more upstanding ones. But she was still a wizard. Which made admitting that she’d started earning her respect just a little inconvenient.

“I know you’re looking for that sword. I can help you get off world,” Ruby added.

Kaisa knew it was a hook, saw it coming right at her, and felt it dig right into her heart. It didn’t change anything. That was a damn good argument. Even a risk worth taking.

“And what’s in it for you?”

“Someone to watch my back.”

“And your first pick is someone whose job it is to murder people like you for a living?”

“I’m sure that’s not the only type of people you know how to murder”, Ruby said with a wry smile, and Kaisa snorted. “Not that I want you to murder anyone. But I do want to see more of what’s out there, different worlds, different planes. I think I didn’t realise how dangerous it was to go alone, and I don’t want to return home just yet. We made a pretty good team back then. I want someone by my side who won’t flinch when things get rocky.”

“Hm.”

Kaisa put a hand under Ruby’s chin and tipped up her face. She held her gaze without blinking. And what she saw was someone who had nothing to hide. Someone who carried her intentions like an open book before her.

“You have guts, little mage. I like that”, she said softly.

There was colour to Ruby’s cheeks when Kaisa let go of her. She tugged at her hair.

“I’ll pay you, of course,” she said.

“Finding the sword is payment enough.”

“No, I want you to know that I keep my word.” She cast her eyes down. “I know you don’t trust me, and you don’t have to. Not yet, anyway. But maybe we can start with…begrudging acceptance?”

Kaisa shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

“That… I might just manage.”

☼・3・☼

“Oh, fucking shit.” Kaisa skidded along the railing, the ship tilting precariously, the planks groaning. The mast was about to break, listing heavily to one side, the sails a tangled mess of rope and canvas. She jumped back on deck, vaulted over a crate that had gotten loose, hooked her feet into the guardrail, reached over; and managed to grab Ruby’s hand just as the netting snapped, that had kept her unconscious body from tumbling into the wide abyss of open space. With a shudder, the ship righted herself, and Kaisa hauled Ruby back to safety. Blood was dripping from a wound on her temple, ran over her cheek and dropped on Kaisa’s arm. Goddamn, reckless wizard.

She shook her a little.

“Ruby. Wake up.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Come on, little mage.”

“I told you not to call me that”, she mumbled, and sucked in a hissing breath. “Ow, that hurts.”

“And I told you to stay inside. But no. Someone had to go see these damn beasts for herself, didn’t she.”

“Nebula Eels,” Ruby said with a faint smile. “Very pretty.”

“Very deadly.”

“You needed help.”

“I can handle myself. But if you die, I’ll be stuck stranded in the aether, and that’s one shitty way to go. So please be a dear, and don’t do that.”

Ruby cracked her eyes open. “Aw, you’re worried about me.”

“I worry about both of us not getting killed.”

“Mhm.”

The mast made a cracking sound, which reminded Kaisa that they had a few other problems to address, rather than standing on deck bickering, Ruby in her arms like a bride on her wedding day.

“Can I put you down?”

Ruby sighed.

“Please don’t. I mean do. Yes. Sorry. My head.”

“Sure.”

Gently, she set Ruby on her feet and watched her sway towards the battered mast. Her, worrying about a wizard? Ridiculous. She should have carried her into the cabin, though. That wound looked nasty, not something to be walking around with. Ruby stumbled. And Kaisa only just managed to catch her fall.

☼・4・☼

[very mild spicy 🌶️ ] [🎵]

Clink. Clink. ——Clink.

Ruby crumbled the piece of paper in her hand. The noise wouldn’t stop.

“Can you please not do that while I’m doing my calculations?”

Kaisa didn’t even slow down as she answered, her sword slicing the air in perfect, glittering arcs. “We agreed I do my exercises in the morning. Go inside if it bothers you.”

“I can’t calculate anything if I can’t see the stars. Besides, it is not morning!”

“Maybe you should get glasses and look at the damn clock.” She whirled around, the blade lightly gracing the deck as she pivoted and finally came to a halt.

“Maybe you should stop scratching up my ship,” Ruby said, frustrated, and pointed at the chronometer above the cabin door. “And look at the time.”

“It’s nine.”

“Nine in the evening.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know what it is when it’s always dark out here”, Kaisa said, gesturing at the whirling nebulas above and around the ship.

“I don’t know; you could see me going on deck, lay out my charts and think to yourself ‘hmm Ruby is trying to work so we don’t crash into some moon or asteroids or a sky whale; that must mean it is evening so maybe I should stop being an inconsiderate meathead and put my toy swords away for just an hour or two’.”

“Toy swords?”

Ruby swallowed. Definitely the wrong thing to say to someone holding about 34 inches of blank steel and towering above her by at least a head. But she wasn’t about to back down either. The air had grown thick with tension between them, their fragile truce evolved into something different altogether. It’d been a long stretch between Seucury and their next destination, Ilror, with nothing but each other for company, and both had gotten increasingly irritable and restless. Didn’t help that for some reason, she really, really liked it when Kaisa looked at her like she was about to put a dagger to her throat again. There was a sort of thrill to it, like casting the Walk On Water spell and watching the sharks below your feet. She wouldn’t get hurt, but just the thought of danger made her mouth run dry. At home waited only responsibility, decorum and routine. And Kaisa was none of that.

Ruby breathed in deep as she came closer, the table digging into her back. Her eyes travelled over Kaisa’s arms, the tattoos on them that looked like someone had carved them with a blunt knife. Ruby had to crane her neck to look up at her, the lamplight reflecting in her dark red eyes, making them glow like burning embers. She’d only needed to…

Kaisa reached around her to grab the astrolabe lying on the table.

“If anyone’s playing with toys, it’s you. What even is this thing?”

“A star chart”, Ruby said, although she could barely speak. “Put it back.”

“Huh”, Kaisa said, activating the small illusion inside and squinting at it. “Look at that. We’re off by a few degrees.”

“How would you know?”

“Yes, how would I with all that meat in my head?”

Ruby made a sound between a huff and a growl and reached for the astrolabe. “Let me see.”

Kaisa pulled it out of her reach. “Come and get it.”

She was an archmage of Dakar, a respectable member of the Dakarian university, a noble from a house with a long reputation, and games like these were beneath her. Under any other circumstance.

“You fiend”, Ruby snarled and lunged at Kaisa, who laughed and twisted away, taking Ruby with her. They swayed over the deck, half wrestling, half losing balance, tumbled over a coil of rope, fell, and Ruby found herself pinned beneath Kaisa, the astrolabe rolling from her hand. She could hear her own breath in her ears, felt something unravel in her chest like a spring, a want she’d tried to talk herself into not feeling. What would my mother say? What would my colleagues say? What would the nobles say? What would Kaisa say?

“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.”

Ruby pulled her face down and kissed her. Hungry, starving. Felt her hands run over her arms, her back, every touch a small lightning strike, every kiss the answer to a question she’d never known she’d had. The only thing left of her was breath and fire, she weaved her hands into Kaisa’s braid as her lips travelled down her neck, one hand beneath her shirt; and the sound she made when Ruby ran her fingers along the membrane of her long ears might have sent Ruby to Elysium right then and there. She’d no idea how long they’d been lying there entangled, might have been a minute, might have been an hour, might have been an eternity. Not long enough by Dakarian standards. Too long, by Ruby’s.

“Cabin,” Ruby gasped. “Now.”

“Why? Is anyone else on this ship?” Kaisa whispered against her ear.

Oh, this was depravity. Absolutely unthinkable. The most wonderful, brilliant thing. Ruby lifted her eyes to watch the stars wheel above them, the endless dark expanse, the blue and purple nebulas, fractals, pattern, beauty she thought she’d gotten used to. But there would be no getting used to this.

☼・5・☼

[ 🎵]

“This one is my favourite”, Ruby said, trailing a finger over Kaisa’s back. She could feel the residue of old magic beneath her fingertips. These weren’t simple tattoos. But what purpose they might have had, she couldn’t tell.

“Hm. What does it look like?”

“You don’t know?”

“Don’t think I ever cared to find out what they did to my back.”

“They?” A few times Ruby had tried to uncover the reason behind Kaisa’s aversion, or rather borderline obsessive hatred, towards wizards. She’d only ever gotten pieces of an answer, had never guessed that the tattoos were a part of it.

Kaisa didn’t reply.

“It looks like a sun,” she said softly. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew…”, Kaisa trailed off and turned around. “Have you ever had your will taken from you?”

Ruby shook her head, taken just a little off guard. “Only in training. As an exercise.”

“Well, there was no training in Arathflor. Not for that sort of thing, anyway.”

“Your home?”

“No. That’s where the fighting pits were. Lawless place. They throw you into a cell with a bunch of other poor bastards, tell you they’re on your team, watch you befriend them and then force you to kill them in front of an audience, all the while you fight for control over your own fucking body.”

“Why would anyone do that?”, Ruby asked, unable to keep the horror from her voice.

“Money, power and sadism, mostly.”

She sounded like she was talking about the weather, but Ruby did not for one second believe she actually felt this calm.

“How did you get out?”

“A friend…he damaged the spell’s anchor. Wasn’t more than a little coin. Almost killed me. Kind of wish he had. It was the last fight of the season. Never found out if it was an accident, or if he knew. Never got to ask him.” She stared at her hands, as if there was still blood on them.

“I’m so sorry,” Ruby said and swept a strand of hair from Kaisa’s face. There was no word in any language she knew to take that kind of hurt away. “I’ll never let anyone do that to you ever again. I swear.”

Kaisa pressed a kiss to her palm. “Neither will I,” she whispered, gathering Ruby into her arms. There was something else in her voice when she spoke again; old hurt, hope, an edge like a shattered blade. “Gods help me, I don’t know how, but I trust you. Please don’t break it.”

Ruby fiercely shook her head.

“Never, never, never.”

☼・6・☼

Ruby woke to the last rays of the evening sun shining through the blinds of her room. Returning to Dakaris was always an exercise in re-adapting. This time even more so. She kept her eyes closed and waited for Kaisa to kiss her brow and say ‘good morning, gem’, but when she reached out her arms, the bed beside her was empty. Right. Kaisa was at the barracks. Easier this way, they’d decided. No inconvenient questions. No worries about anyone questioning her status or mental capacities. They might have looked past her being a woman, but not that she was an uncultured barbarian to Dakarian society. No match for an archmage. No match for a family already in a precarious situation. They couldn’t see what Ruby saw. Kaisa was no scholar, but her knowledge of the arcane and those who wielded it was extensive and unconventional. Ruby had no doubt she could hold her own against some of the professors at the university. Especially when it came to putting them through a wall, just to prove a point. Which was the second, and biggest the biggerissue. Kaisa might trust her, but that trust certainly did not extend to the wizards at the university, and Ruby refused to put her into a situation that might hurt her in one way or another. So they’d agreed to separate for the time being. Which meant, no ship ration breakfast in bed, no one to hold her when she couldn’t sleep and no one to tell her to ‘fuck the old crones at the university with their shitty little magic books and trinkets’. So by the time she’d swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her night was already ruined.

☼・7・☼

Kaisa walked back to the barracks with the first morning light at her back, tracing the new leather tie around her arm with a smile. When Ruby first suggested she’d stay with the soldiers, she’d been sceptical, to put it mildly. It had been one of their nastier arguments. But the Dakarian military had turned out to be quite the opposite of the stiff city guard stationed on the upper levels of Dakar. With little threat from other nations, the main function of the army was to keep the city safe from the creatures that roamed the desert. Giant chitinous, alligator-like beasts that hid under the sand, centipedes as long as a man’s leg that collapsed tunnels the drows had dug into the rocks below, or hordes of desert corpses that hunted travellers on the few accessible trading routes between the cities. That meant that the soldiers stayed mostly topside, on the fringes of Dakarian society, and Kaisa had found herself amidst a bunch of hardened, disarmingly forward and hearty fighters, who had first roped her into a drinking contest, then an arm wrestling contest and then a boxing match. The sense of honest camaraderie had soothed her initial anger. Even Ruby’s father, the acting general of the Dakarian forces, had welcomed her with open arms. Basilides seemed to be a generally fair and respectable sort of person, who was on good terms with almost everyone in camp. Last night, he’d granted leave to Osha, Tux and Kiril so they could take her out hunting. The hide of her prey’s soft underbelly now decorated Kaisa’s arm. It had been a good hunt. A good night. No, all things considered, things could be much worse.

☼・8・☼

“This is getting ridiculous.” Ruby wanted to groan, or scream, or possibly do both at the same time. Schooling her expression into a detached, pleasant mask was getting gradually harder as the night wore on.

“Master Dalael has appealed the notion twice, he requests a formal inquiry and a re-examination of how the funds will be diverted,” her secretary said, pushing up his glasses.

That smarmy bast-

“He argues that your absence warrants a revision of the schooling program for children from the Dens. ‘Things are constantly changing and need perpetual revision’, is what he said, if I recall.”

What would Kaisa do?, Ruby mused and twirled her pen between her fingers. Hold him over a crevasse by his ankles and shake him until he agreed to see reason, probably. The thought had some appeal.

“Tell Master Dalael I’ll be at the meet and that I will be available for a re-evaluation.”

“Of course. Then there’s the Society of Extra-Planar Arcane Arts. They have requested your presence for a demonstration of a communication device.”

A device that doesn’t work and likely will never work.

“I’ll be there after the meet.”

“Very well. Lastly, Professor Lylok wishes to inquire about the state of the final exams. He is growing…impatient.”

“I’m working on them. He may discuss them with me before first light tonight. Is that all?”

“For tonight, yes. I will arrange everything and update your calendar.”

“Thank you.”

Thalel nodded. When the door had clicked shut behind him, Ruby buried her head in her hands. Dalael, the SEPAA and then Lylok. The nobles fighting as always, the people in the Dens suffering. Nothing had changed. The city was still a pit of vipers, impervious to change, the festering darkness hidden by a shiny veneer of gems and starlight. She’d only been home for two weeks, and all things considered, things couldn’t be much worse.

☼・9・☼

“Oi! Reed! How did it go yesterday?”

Reed stomped past, sending an unmistakable gesture towards Kiril, who slapped his thigh, laughing.

“She’s been trying to get into Mel’s bed for like a decade now”, Osha explained and handed Kaisa a cup of ale. “It’s not going well. He’s the righteous sort, you know.”

“Poor thing”, Kaisa said.

“You got anyone at home?”

“Home?”

“You know, that world of gorgeous, tall and muscular warriors you so obviously come from.”

“Oh. Yeah. I got someone.” The fact that someone was actually on Dakar didn’t exactly change her situation. She might as well have been off-world.

“Must be hard being so far away.”

“We’re taking a break,” Kaisa said, staring into her cup. She missed Ruby with a force she didn’t even want to admit to herself. She’d rather thought the feelings would go away once they stopped being constantly in each other’s face, stuck on a tiny ship. But to her dismay it seemed quite the opposite was true. Either way, if she’d learned anything on her travels, it was to not get overly attached. To take it one day at a time. Or on Dakar, rather, one night at a time. They’d leave again eventually.

“Osha, shut up already.” Tux nudged her with an elbow and Osha shrugged apologetically.

“It’s fine”, Kaisa sighed and downed her cup. “She says her parents won’t approve. Don’t want to get her into trouble.”

Osha grimaced.

“Ouch. Yeah. Been there.” She put an arm around Kaisa’s shoulder, clinking her cup to hers. “Well, if you ever want a fresh start and that archmage won’t bring you back, we’ll gladly keep you.”

☼・10・☼

Ruby sank into the plush chair, the cushions almost swallowing her. She kind of wished they did.

“Denied”, she said tonelessly. “I’ve got a week to appeal the appeal of the appeal, no support, no time and no leverage. Who even came up with a system like that?”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about what? I can conjure a whole damn fire elemental from nothing, but I cannot conjure up a bloody conscience for Dalael and his ilk.”

“Rubinia!” Damariel pursed her lips. “That is unbecoming of someone your station. You have clearly been away for too long. And the company you’ve kept!”

“Mother, please.” Ruby plucked at the fringes of an exceptionally frilly cushion. “I did not mind the company. And since we’re on the topic, she deserves better accommodations.“

Damariel clicked her tongue.

“Be that as it may, I believe that you have more pressing matters to attend to. Have you entered some sort of contract with the mercenary?”

“No, nothing like that.” She wanted to tell her mother not to speak about Kaisa as if she were just some muscle for hire. That she would give her right hand to make sure she was safe. And if she pretended hard enough, keeping her mouth shut about the true nature of their relationship was the only way to shield her from Dakarian politics. So Ruby did just that.

“Then I cannot fathom what you’re fretting about. Your father says Lady Brightwind has taken well to life at the barracks. I’m sure that will put your mind at ease?”

Ruby rubbed her eyes. She’d never been more tired in her life.

“I’m glad.”

Damariel set her cup down and put a hand on her daughter’s knee. “Dear, you look tried. Stay for the day. And surely tonight you will see things more clearly. There are more important things to focus on than appeasing mercenaries and your little social projects. Although I would not mind seeing you go toe to toe with Master Dalael. It would strengthen your position.”

Ruby was too exhausted to protest, so she simply nodded.

☼・11・☼

Kaisa’s room was at the back of the barracks; a word from his daughter had seen the general grant her a small private space apart from the other soldiers. A luxury, but isolating. She climbed up a flight of stairs that was fixed to the outside of the building. Light would come soon, and the air was already getting hotter. She’d half a mind to grab her swords and head to the little oasis instead when she noticed the door standing open. An orange glow came from inside, whoever it was, they did not try to hide. It mattered little. Kaisa grabbed her dagger, crept towards the door, a spell ready on her lips, and hesitated.

Peonies.

She allowed herself a little smile, willed the space between her and the room to let her pass through, stepped forward and out of the air behind a familiar figure standing by the window. Carefully, soft as a kiss, she put the blade to her throat.

“Gotcha”, she whispered.

But to her disappointment, Ruby barely reacted. She simply pushed the dagger away with a finger and turned, her presence hitting Kaisa like a wave. Like water in the desert. Like something that had only grown sweeter in its absence. This could have been the best morning in a month if Ruby hadn’t looked a right mess. As if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Judging from the red rims of her eyes, she’d been crying too. And Ruby never cried.

“What happened?”, Kaisa asked, her voice dark, ready to break someone’s neck.

Ruby just shrugged a little.

“You look like you’ve been having fun”, she said instead of an answer, and it sounded almost like an accusation.

Kaisa forced the dagger back into its sheath with a loud click.

“I’m making the best of things. As you suggested,” she bit back.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be-“

“-Not miserable? What the fuck do you want me to be? Wasn’t my choice to get dropped off here with barely a word of goodbye. So don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel about it.”

By the time she’d finished the sentence, Ruby was crying again. Ah fuck, was it hard to see her like that. But she’d a point to make, too.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby sniffed after a long pause. “I should have never left you like that. I was so worried about everyone's opinions, I thought if I played my cards right, I could actually do some good this time, but it’s all just the same and nothing I do really matters, I could do everything perfectly right and they still won’t listen and-“

“Woha, slow down”, Kaisa said, calm as she could manage. She should be fuming mad right now. Barely a word for a month, no visits, no messages, just a handful of cold letters, only for her to come back crying when things grew over her head. But unfortunately, this was Ruby. And she simply could not stand to see her hurt. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Ruby wiped at her eyes, but the tears just kept coming. “I’m not cut out to be an archmage. The others barely respect me enough not to insult me to my face. My mother has all the empathy of a bowl of sand, and father is never home long enough to talk to. I’m alone, and I’m miserable, I’ve made the worst mistake I could have possibly made, I pushed away the only one who actually cared, just to gain the approval of cut-throats and liars, and I’m so so sorry, I should never have-“

“Ruby-“

“I miss you! I miss you so much. And I don’t-“

Kaisa pulled her into her arms before Ruby could choke on her own tongue, rested her chin on top of her head. Just let her sob for a moment. She fit perfectly against her, like a puzzle piece, and in that moment she knew she never wanted to hold anyone else ever again. What was a month to an elf anyway? Nothing more than the blink of an eye.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, gently rocking them both back and forth. “You have no idea.”

Ruby held on as if she were drowning.

“Will you come home with me?”

Trading the barracks for the inner city? The university? The laughter and levity for hostile stares? Not very appealing. But she’d have Ruby back. That was all that mattered. And Kaisa had never cared about pissing off a few wizards anyway.

“Of course, gem. I’ll pack my things.”

☼・12・☼

Ruby smiled and took a deep breath, the air filled with the smell of the sea, the wind gently tugging at her hair, the sun in her face. The Scarlet Harlot glided through the waves like a fish, as easily as she’d navigated the aether above. Her heart was light and the road ahead wide open. What wonder to exist with nothing but blue all around and the sails snapping happily in the wind. She adjusted her sun-lenses, watched Kaisa stroll on deck, leant against the guardrail and beckoned her closer.

“Hello, my darling sunshine”, she said and wrapped her arms around her waist, but for some reason Kaisa only smiled against her lips when she went for a kiss.

“What is it?”

“You lost”, she said, took Ruby’s chin and pointed her face towards Coy, who sat on a crate, hidden in the shadow of the mast, an open-mouthed expression of disbelief on her face.

“Oh. Oh no.”

“I think you owe me ten gold, my love.”

“You dogs. You absolute dogs!” Coy jumped up, the string of her violin snapping. “I knew it! I fucking knew it.”

“And I knew you’d slip up first”, Kaisa said, and planted a kiss on her cheek before heading for the ship’s wheel.

“That’s not fair, you’re the one with all the names!”, Ruby called after her. “The one time I…I didn’t even know she was there! And you know I can’t see well in the sun! …What?”

There was a wide grin on Coy’s face.

“My darling sunshine. That’s disgusting. Oh, mother will be furious. I’m so proud.”

Ruby sighed. She’d never hear the end of this.

“She knows already.”

“And?”

“Well, you know how she is.”

“Oh, do I know.” Coy sat down again and fixed her violin. “You fooled me long enough, I’ll give you that. But on another note, you should really give the gold to me.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Compensation for all the emotional damage you two are going to inflict on me.”

“Ah.”

“Make it eleven, and I’ll even throw in one or the other sappy love song, if you’re so inclined.”

“I’m not inclined. At all.”

Coy shrugged. “Your loss,” she said and started plucking at her violin as if she’d never seen the instrument before.

“Gods, you’re impossible.”

Ruby flicked a coin at her and Coy snatched it out of the air, still grinning.

“Good choice,” she said, changing the tune, humming softly, her bow dancing over the strings and the wind carrying the music like the sea carried their little ship.

“A silver for your thoughts, my love // a silver for your hand // a silver for a kiss, my love /// you said the sky cannot be bought // and I said just look up // see all the coins you have collected there // see them scattered in the dark // and I’ll add mine and more than that // just to have your heart. O, a silver…”

#phia writes #oc #dnd #Ruby #Kaisa #Between The Stars

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teddy-bear-baby · 8 months

Text

Their Deadly Flower - Thirteen

(A/n: Guess who's back... Me! Apologies for the hiatus. The holidays were hectic and some unfortunate events followed that kept me from updating. Hopefully, the wait was worth it and you Lovelies enjoy this chapter. I may post fourteen today as well, but it needs heavy editing before I can.)

Pairings: Ghost X GN!Reader, König X GN!Reader

Warnings: Heavy violence and torture

Prolog - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Here - Fourteen

“Answer me!” You demand loudly, the edge of the blade biting into the skin of Ezekiel’s left ring finger. Blood pools on the arm of the chair as you keep his hand still, the viscous red liquid seeping from the open wound where his pinky used to be. “Where were they taken?” You grit your teeth and watch him shake wildly from pain and fear. That sadistic glee flooding your system becomes stronger with every terror filled glance he casts your way.

“Fuck!” Ezekiel’s eyes are wide as he stares down at his marred hand. “Alright, alright!” He takes a deep inhale as you pull the knife back ever so slightly. “A warehouse.” His voice quivers as he looks up into your eyes, his mismatched orbs filled with an unspoken plea for mercy. “Too vague.” You growl and place the switchblade back against his ring finger, pressing down just enough to cause blood to seep from under the blade. “Specifics, Ezekiel.” You bark at him, your brows furrowing while you send a scathing glare at him.

You’ve been playing this game for far too long and you were quickly losing your grip on what little mental stability you had left. Ezekiel had been running you in circles for the last hour and half with short cryptic answers that never gave way to the information you truly needed. He was smart not to give up the information so easily, you’d give him that much. That bit of respect didn’t get him anywhere when it came to your anger however.

“Who took them?” Your gaze is set harsh as you stare at Ezekiel’s bound form, arms crossed over your chest as you wait for his answer.

“Took who?” He questions incredulously. His nonchalant attitude about the whole situation only adds fuel to the angry fire burning in your chest.

A growl bubbles in your throat and your hand strikes out before you can catch it. Your hand stings slightly as it comes to rest at your side balled in a fist. “Don't play games with me, Ezekiel. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Ezekiel grits his teeth as red blooms on his cheek, the shape of your hand rapidly becoming visible. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” You bite out the response as you step forward and grip his face. You dig the tip of König’s knife into his neck teetering on the edge of ending his miserable life right now, answers be damned.

“Fuck you.” He barks defiantly and spits in your face.

You deliver a quick slash to his uninjured cheek before wiping the saliva from your face and grabbing him by the roots of his hair. “Who?” Though it’s a question it sounds more like an order, one of menacing intent should he choose to continue to be difficult.

He grimaces in pain and pushes his body against the back of the chair in a feeble attempt to get away from you. “Alice’s men.”

Slight satisfaction blooms in your chest, momentarily taking over the fear and anger. Fear quickly resets itself, your chest growing heavy once more as you realize you’d been right. If Alice’s men had taken them, then there was some ulterior motive. She’d likely be asking for her release in return for König and Ghost. “Good,” You speak slowly, your tone still holding that menacing threat. “Why?”

He stays silent, glaring daggers at you.

Scorching anger flares within you as his defiance comes to the surface once more. You give his hair a rough yank, forcing his head to snap backward. “Fingers or toes?” There’s a sharpness to your words that seems to motivate him to speak.

“Something about a person called Iris.” His response is followed by a pause and a look of understanding as he puts the pieces together.

You’d gone through the same song and dance with every question until you proved you were more than willing to see out your threats. Ezekiel had given you who, how, when and why before you had to take his pinky finger off for refusing to tell you where. You’d done it slowly, drawing out his pain so he could feel even a fraction of the suffering you’d been, and still are, going through. Slowly teetering and sawing the knife through the flesh and bone of his finger all while he screamed his throat raw. Pleas meant for whatever god he believed in ringing off the basement wall as you took far too much pleasure in making him suffer.

If his answer were to be believed, Ghost and König had been taken by a small group of Alice’s men. They’d been waiting in the shadows for a moment of vulnerability so they could take the two men with little struggle and no witnesses. Ezekiel had also shared that the man you’d thought was a trusted contact, was actually one of their people tasked with sending you all to this house. This, of course, means the house is no longer a safe place for you and your team, but that wasn’t something you needed to worry about at that moment.

According to Ezekiel, Alice had her own reasons for wanting Ghost and König. You’d found it odd that she hadn’t just sent her men for you if you’re what she’s really after. Of course, he could only spare a few details, as her plans were all pretty secret. She’d only let slip what needed to be known for the job to get done properly. You assume that Ezekiel being caught and tortured definitely wasn’t part of her plan.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you scowl, Ezekiel’s silence threatening to push you past your breaking point. “Spit it out. Where the hell is this warehouse?” You apply more pressure to the knife, reveling in the way his tear-stained face contorts in pain as the blade digs further into his flesh. It was oddly satisfying to watch someone else experience pain the way you had been for the past 56 hours.

“West,” He gasps out as he wriggles against his restraints, a desperate but pitiful attempt at getting away from the pain you were causing him. “Directly west of the town Alice was taken from.” He takes another harsh breath as his eyes flick between his bloodied hand and your face, a look of anguish in his eyes. “About two miles inland from the coast.”

Relief floods your entire body as you’ve finally gotten a location to start your search. “Thank you, Ezekiel.” You pull the knife from the open wound on his ring finger with a small but genuine smile. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

A flicker of hope flashes in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Are… Are you going to let me go now?”

You shake your head and let out a quiet laugh, amused that he thought it’d be that simple. “Absolutely not.” Knowing it’d be detrimental to leave him awake, you deliver a swift blow to his temple. Watching for a moment as he slumps in the chair and ensuring he’s out cold before darting up the stairs to inform the rest of the team what you’d learned.

~~~~~

“On me,” Price demands as he crouches low, signaling for the men to halt in their movements.

“So, what then?” You question in a harsh tone as you do your best to avoid glaring directly at your colonel. “We just leave them there? Let them be tortured to death at the hands of the enemy we’re currently after?” An angry growl bubbles in your throat but you force it down knowing it would only make him want to listen to you less than he already does.

“For now, Iris,” Your callsign falls harshly from the colonel’s mouth as he pins you with a hard stare, eyes boring through your very being as he continues. “We leave them where they are. I see no use in risking anymore of your team while trying to retrieve Ghost.” His words seem final, another nail in the coffin of the two men you hold so close to you.

You don’t miss the fact that he says nothing of König and with a quick glance to your left you can tell the other members of KorTac also take notice. A sense of unrest comes off the group as they all begin looking at each other. Another angry growl worms its way into your throat, stinging the back of your tongue with the venomous words that threaten to spew from you. Your eyes quickly find the rest of 141, taking note of the worried looks they give you. Laswell in particular gives you a look that confirms she knows what’s about to happen, but she doesn’t show any disdain for your impending reaction.

“And what of König?” You ask, your voice low teetering on the edge of dangerous as you slowly slide your gaze back to your colonel. Your chest constricts with white hot rage as you gauge his response before he can even speak.

The colonel’s face twists in confusion for a moment before he gestures to the group of KorTac soldiers. “He is their responsibility, not ours. Once the mission at hand has been completed, we’ll discuss a plan of rescue for Lieutenant Ghost.”

Red clouds your vision as he once again blows off the safety of König. You fight hard to regain some semblance of control over the anger that’s been building in you for the past five days. Every day it gets harder and harder not to jump into one of the armored vans and go get your men back all on your own. Your fear of failure and death have long since fled your being. The only two things on your mind are the men you’ve lost and how much longer they have until the potential rescue mission turns into a tag retrieval, if that’s not already the reality.

“With all due respect,” Soap’s voice cuts in before you have a chance to explode at the man in front of you. “You won’t even give us a direct explanation of our current mission, Colonel.” He steps up on your right, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to show his support. “I think we’re owed that much if we’re expected to disregard the safety of two of our most respected companions.”

Your eyes flit back and forth surveying your surroundings as you stay low to the ground. No danger immediately presents itself so you proceed forward into the desolate hall. Old fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you make your way silently from room to room. It’s far too quiet for you to feel any sense of ease as you peer around the corner into the next room. You spare a glance behind you at the four men following your lead, all seeming content under your guidance.

“This is bullshit,” You hiss in anger as you slam open the main door of the base and storm out onto the tarmac. “There’s no fucking way he really expects us to pull that off!” Your fist ball up at your sides as you begin pacing back and forth. Your anger had reached a peak you hadn’t thought existed until your colonel gave the rundown of your current mission.

He explained that 141 and the four remaining KorTac members would be tasked with raiding the headquarters of the terrorist organization that both Donald and Alice were leading. Many questions later it was made clear that the objective was to either bring the place down completely or bring in the third leader for interrogation.

“I agree,” Gaz says in a somber tone. “It’s a suicide mission.”

You sigh heavily and stop moving. “I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.” The scene kept replaying in your head, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The way the colonel blew off your worry about there being a mole in the base. Someone feeding and relaying information for Alice. How else would all of these things happen so seamlessly? Sure, she could’ve planned it all beforehand, but how could she have accounted for you falling for both König and Ghost? How could she have planned for KorTac to be involved with 141 at all? If she had intended to use Ghost as leverage for her release, wouldn’t she have taken him sooner?

“All clear, Cap,” Soap states plainly as he exits the large building. “Seems we were too late. There’s barely even evidence to prove that they were here.” His eyes rove over the outside of what used to be the headquarters of the organization, though it looks to have been abandoned months, if not years, ago.

Gaz grunts as he too examines the exterior of the building. “Alice must’ve had this place cleared when we first got our hands on her.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it with all the other shit she’s pulled while being held.” Price pats them both on the shoulder as he nods in the direction of exfil. “Let’s go.”

The realization dawns on you far too late. You’d racked your brain for hours trying to piece together who the mole could be and how they’d gone under the radar for so long. Someone that was either trusted or too mundane to be suspicious, but close enough to 141 that they could readily gain information. It was so obvious, right there in front of your face the whole time and none of you had noticed with everything else that had been going on.

You bolt through the halls, legs carrying you in a sprint toward Laswell’s office where you’re positive you’ll find Price. “Price,” You say breathlessly as you slam the office door open. You stare at Price, eyes wide with urgency. “The mole,” You pause and inhale deeply, trying to get your frantic breathing under control. “It’s Rain.”

(Don’t forget to ask about joining the tag-list: @josieguts @strangepuppynightmare @theredviolets @poohkie90 @giulia2372 @fillechatoyante @buckysjuicyplums @running-writing @darkravenqueen98 @bigman101 @birdiiiiiiiiiii)

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serene-sun · 1 year

Note

Swiss × aurora literally anything pls pls pls pls pls

𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘 ˚⋆｡♡˚

Pairing: Swiss x Aurora 18+ minors dni nsfw

Warnings: sex, biting, blood, nipple play, pussy eating, slutty Aurora, dumb Swiss, seduction

"Well hey princess, what're you doin over here?" Swiss has a smug smirk, setting down his red solo cup and bringing a hand around the ghoulettes waist.

"Oh nothing just wanted to change." Aurora says, looking down at her bag and back at Swiss.

Does she know her dressing room is on the other side of the hall? But who am I to decline such a lady? Swiss thinks to himself.

"Hmph, be my guest." Swiss slides his Hand down to her ass and gives it a little smack.

The ghoulette whimpered, the unexpected hit making her nerves jolt. Not that she didn't mind, Swiss wouldn't of played around with her if he knew she didn't like it. That's another good thing about the ghoul bond, they knew exactly what they were doing.

Aurora goes to the vanity opposite of the one

Swiss was at. She takes off her helmet, than her hood. Her long golden threads fell from the fabric and the way they lay messy across her sweaty forehead and red cheeks has Swiss adjusting his pants.

He watches her with intent, curious if she would continue with her unknowingly exciting act. At least swiss was excited, the only time he saw her naked was her summoning, but in that moment you don't think like how he is now out of respect.

Besides, he doesn't even remember since it was so dark and smoky.

He doesn't even act like he's not looking, he's just leaning against the vanity snacking on a small pack of gummy bears. His eyes trail down from her clueless eyes to her hips. Normally he would side eye his dressing room partner, which is rain but from the moans of a water ghoul and fire ghoul in the lounge gives him an idea of when he will be back.

Swiss pauses as Aurora strips down to the black ruffled shirt and tight jeans of the uniform. He could see the lace of her bra through the thin black material.

Aurora reaches for the zipper on the back of her shirt, unable to find it with her long claws. Swiss takes this as an opportunity.

"Need some help sweet heart?" He asks, bouncing back up from his leaned position.

He sets down his gummy bear wrapper, and with a silly smile comes behind the ghoulette.

Thank you Swiss." She says, so softly.

But now he can only imagine what those soft lips feel like aroun- no no no he can't think about that now.

Swiss pulls the zipper down, revealing the clasp of her bra. He then slowly brings his hands to trail up her back and to her shoulders. The room is a bit cold already, and the only light is that of the vanity. Swiss slowly slides the shirt down her shoulders, keeping his hands steady as he breaths slowly onto her neck.

He likes the way goosebumps form across her skin, a shiver going up her spine as the ticklish breath slowly creeps its way down her neck.

Aurora breaths heavily now, she catches on to his plan. Her hands grab ahold of her buttoned pants, and she unzips them slowly.

Swiss takes off her shirt fully, and with one hand unclasps the pink and white bra. His unoccupied hand slides to her stomach and presses her into him, keeping her close.

Aurora feels the material fall from her chest, and the cold air hit her breasts. Swiss rests his chin on her shoulder, enjoying the view of her hardening nipples.

Swiss chuckles into her skin, moving to give a kiss to her shoulder and works them up to her neck. He leaves bruises with his sharp fangs, he works them as he feels her golden whispy hair brush against his face. Swiss bites down, hard enough to have a few drops of blood rolling down her collarbone. He watches as the devilish red color slowly spreads past a few freckles until its rolling down the muscle of her breast. Another droplet follows, and he listens to her whine.

Swiss brings a hand up to her breast, and squeezes it tightly. His other hand brushes away the hair from her bitten neck, and he brushes against it so lightly. She feels his coarse facial hair gently rub against her neck, he leaves a long stripe with his tongue, making her moan.

Swiss® pointer finger and thumb take her soft nipple and gently rolls it between them, he pulls and twists until she's releasing a song of moans and whimpers. She leans her head back into his curly dark hair, feeling his horns against hers.

He gently walks back, until his legs hit the velvet couch. Swiss sits her down, and pulls off the ghoulettes pants and panties. He doesn't break eye contact with her eyes, they're so beautiful.

Her eyes resemble the blue in the ocean during a dark storm, right after dusk. The ghoulettes skin is so golden and toned like golden hour. Swiss can't get enough of her, he honesty wasn't planning on doing all this, but he saw that glint in her eyes and couldn't resist.

Swiss kneeled between her legs, and gently separates them. He snakes a hand over her thigh, from the top of it to the inside, building up the tension.

"Swiss, please touch me." She asks so nicely, who is he to decline?

He slips a finger into her heat, arousal coating it immediately. He slides it up and down her wet folds for a few seconds, than he adds another. He rubs up and down until he focuses on her clit.

Before he starts to rub it, he spreads her lips and takes in the sight of her arousal dripping onto the couch.

Swiss smiles, and brings his face to her cunt.

Aurora now understands why the bottom middle section of his beard has been bleached. Swiss rubs her clit with his lips first, then licks a stripe through her. When she whimpers, he begins to swirl her clit around with his tongue.

The ghoulette whines as she feels him leave. Swiss starts to plant kisses all over the skin above her clit. He kisses and sucks, leaving a purple bruise.

Swiss leans back down, he coats his tongue in arousal, and begins to lick a flat line up her pussy until he’s past her clit.

He repeats this, slowly and gently. Although his movements against her clit are slow, her moans are filling the room and echoing into the hallway.

Swiss brings himself back down, he kisses her entrance and coats his lips with arousal once more. He looks at her, and begins to suck on her aching red bundle of nerves. Auroras crying out Swiss’s name and grabbing a hand full of his hair. He’s sucking at a steady pace, he stops for a moment and holds her in, then massages her clit with his tongue.

He repeats the whole process again, then traces her clit.

Swiss chuckles into her cunt, knowing that she has no clue he’s spelling his name on her clit.

S W I S S

He flicks her clit, and starts to finger her. But before she’s allowed to cum, he’s stopping and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Aurora grinds into the air, her thighs squeezing and needing more.

Aurora looks to Swiss for answers, the blood on her chest drying.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll make you feel good.” Swiss smiles, unzipping his pants and taking them off along with his shirt.

Aurora brings her knees to her chest, exposing her cunt to the drooling ghoul, making herself feel and look smaller.

“There’s a few things I want you to answer” Swiss presses his erection to her cunt, still keeping eye contact.

Aurora winces, “mhm?”

“Do you want this? Tell me if I need to stop.” Swiss caress her cheek

“Why would I strip in the wrong dressing room if I didn’t want your cock?” Aurora smiles and laughs as Swiss breaks out into a fit of laughter.

“Bastard.”

Swiss rubs himself up and down her dripping sex, and slowly pushed into her. He enters in slowly, feeling her tight walls grip onto him

“Swiss~” she moans, feeling his cock reach her cervix.

Swiss grabs her legs and sets them on his shoulder.

“Tell me if we need to stop sweet pea.” Swiss grunts as he bottoms out.

He feels his thighs meet the curve of her ass, and he starts thrusting at a swiftly pace. Aurora is seeing stars, she’s too used to cirrus’s dildo or rains fingers to be prepared for this. The ghoulette grabs Swiss’s arms and holds on as she is quickly humbled.

“S-sw-swi-“ she stutters, feeling her insides unravel and tighten.

She lets out a long strain of noises, a mixture of whimpering and groans. She falls limp, she’s trapped and she only belongs to him now. Aurora feels Swiss pounding her cervix, the thud of his hard tip meeting the ending stretch of her cunt is a beautiful sound when mixed with Swiss’s thighs meeting her ass.

“I’m- I- I….” Auroras breath is stolen, a ghostly whine slipping from her bruised lips, “m cum-in.” The poor ghoulette tries to warn the ghoul, but he’s soon met with her velvety walls gripping onto his cock. A wave of pleasure swoons over both ghouls, and she feels his dick have a few more deep and hard nails into her abdomen until his liquid heat coats her walls.

Swiss waits to pull out, he wants her to grip onto him once more, the multi ghoul pants, he’s exhausted and shaky.

Aurora’s eyes flutter, her legs creaky from being spread for so long and so hard. She feels her clit throb, the heartbeat beating the fastest it’s ever done.

Swiss slowly, with a smirk, pulls out. He watches as a mix of his own, and the ghoulettes cum leaks out onto the velvet couch.

“Such a good girl.” Swiss bites his lip, and grabs the closest towel to start wiping up the mess he made.

Aurora can’t speak, she’s too far out still, shaking…whimpering…like a hurt animal.

“C’mon baby….let me clean you up.” Swiss puts a hand behind the girls back, an offering of support.

Aurora grabs the ghouls neck,

“You really think I’m only going one round?”

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niafromheaven · 6 months

Text

†𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑘, 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑀𝑦 𝐴𝑟𝑚𝑠†

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛 (𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎)

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙿𝙶

𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎: 𝙿𝚛𝚎-𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

†

The darkness of night surrounded them, the only light was the stars above.

They laid side by side in the grass in the secluded field, neither caring about the mosquitos that nipped away at their skin. They had each other, that was all they cared about.

In Heaven, they were lieutenant Lute of the Heavenly Host, and princess Emily Seraphim. Both played their respective roles, keeping it professional in public. They didn't hold hands, touch, or even seem to be affiliated with each other outside of work.

But tonight, down on Earth on a little date, alone, in human disguises? They were just Lute and Emily. Two idiots in love. Two lovers who couldn't keep their hands off of each other. Two lovers who would die for each other. Not that it would ever happen. Angels couldn't die.

They didn't have the light of their halos tonight, no. They didn't have their wings either. Humans didn't have wings. They used their legs a majority of the time.

It was nights like these they both enjoyed. Lute could drop her stoic, professional attitude, and Emily could drop some of her carefree attitude and calm down. Being cheerful all the time was hard. Keeping people happy all the time was hard.

There were no such thing as hard days in Heaven. But this wasn't Heaven, this is Earth. They could talk about their stress and insecurities freely here.

“And then he SHUT THE DOOR IN MY FACE!” Emily crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. “Can you believe that, Lulu? He was so rude!”

Lute hummed to let her know she was paying attention and to continue.

“And then he had the AUDACITY to tell me to go frick myself!”

“But that's my job!” Lute shot up into a sitting position, eyes narrowed.

Emily sat up. “Exactly!“ She paused, “Wait, what?“ Her face went red as Lute stood up, smirking. She held a hand out for Emily to take, and when she did, she helped the younger woman up.

“Yknow, Emily, that dress looks beautiful on you.” Lute complimented, taking Emily's other hand into hers and moving the other down to Emily's waist.

Emily threw her other arm around Lute's shoulder and smiled. “Your eyes look pretty.”

“You always think my eyes look pretty.” Lute pressed a kiss to Emily's forehead, Emily nuzzling her head into the crook of Lute's neck with a hum. “Because it's true.”

“Mm, fine.“ Lute started to slowly move with Emily, their steps starting out sloppy at first, but eventually gaining rhythm as Lute started humming softly.

Emily listened intently, trying to figure out what it was. She couldn't place it. “What song is that?” She asked, as Lute gently spun her and dipped her.

Lute held her in the dip, smiling down at her. “Perfect, by Ed Sheeran.”

Emily raised her eyebrows.“I know the song.” She nodded, “But you never struck me as someone who listenes to Ed Sheeran.”

“Well, this particular song reminds me of you.”

“How so?”

“Just listen, sweetie.” Lute pulled her back up and they started moving in time again.

However, instead of Lute humming this time, she started singing the words. “When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful. I don't deserve this, darling you look perfect tonight..”

Emily smiled, and this time, she was the one to dip Lute. “Well, it reminds me of you too!”

Now it was Lute's turn to give her a confused look, but she didn't say anything.

“Can I tell you how?” Emily asked, and Lute nodded.

Emily brought her back up and started singing. “I have faith in what I see. Now I know I have met an angel in person, and she looks perfect~”

Lute blushed at her words, scooping Emily up into her arms and holding her close. Lute was far from an angel, Emily didn't know that though. It scared her to think about what would happen if she did.

But that would never happen. If Emily didn't know, she couldn't get hurt.

She wouldn't hate Lute.

She wouldn't leave Lute.

Emily would be safe.

“Darling, just kiss me slow...” Lute brought her lips to Emily's, who returned the kiss with a smile. She was confused when Lute sat her down.

“Your heart is all I own...”

She was even more confused when Lute got down on one knee. Was her shoe untied?

Lute reached into her pocket. “And in your eyes, you're holding mine...”

Emily's eyes widened as she watched Lute pull out a beautiful real diamond engagement ring. She covered her mouth and tears pricked her eyes. “Lute...“

Lute smiled up at her, calm and collected. “Em? Will you make me the happiest woman in Heaven and-”

Lute wasn't even able to finish, Emily was already in her arms. “Yes! Yes!” Emily clung onto Lute like her life depended on it. “Of course, yes!”

Lute wrapped her arms around Emily, smiling.

“Really? Sera won't be happy.” Lute teased.

Sera wouldn't approve of this, for reasons Emily would never know. But Sera wouldn't be able to object for those very reasons as well. So fuck what Sera thinks. Emily was hers. She loves Emily.

“Who cares?” Emily shrugged, “We're both consenting adults.” She stood up, slipping the ring onto her ring finger. Lute stood up right along with her.

“Luella...” Emily pulled out her full name, and it made Lute nervous. Had she done something wrong? “How did you afford this?”

Her job. Her job that Emily didn't, and couldn't ever, know about. That's how.

“I have my ways.“ Lute smiled. “Let's just say I have a well paying job.”

Emily seemed satisfied with that answer and smiled. “Alright, I'll take your word for it!” She wrapped her arms around Lute and pulled her close.

“I love you, Lute...”

Lute returned the hug and laid her head on Emily's and took a deep breath, breathing in the lavender-smelling scent of the seraphim's hair.

“I love you too, Emmy.”

END.

#emilute #AngelicSpear #emily x lute #lute x emily

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notsocheezy · 4 months

Text

Brain Curd #81

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is The Frank Program! According to these here anal-lickits, most of y’all out there are more the gentlemen type than the lady type, so to attract more of the feminine persuasion, I’m happy to announce today’s guest: ‘heart-throb’ comedian, James Siegfried! Welcome to the show, sir.”

Siegfried smirked and leaned into the microphone. “Thank you so much for having me. I just flew in from Florida, and boy are my arms tired!”

A laugh track emanated from the corner of the room. Daryl held a box with several buttons on it, the first of which he had just pressed.

“Daryl,” Frank growled, “What the hell are you doing over there?”

“It’s okay, Frank, it’s okay. I asked him to do that. Laughter makes me more comfortable.”

“Ah, I get it,” Frank said. “From your time in that sitcom way back when.”

“Exactly. It helps me get into the flow. The sad thing is, nowadays I need that little machine even when I do stand-up.”

“People aren’t laughing?”

“People aren’t laughing. They’re afraid to laugh because nowadays, you can’t joke about anything without being called awful, vile, things by people with no social lives who spend all their time on the internet.”

“And that stops you from making jokes?”

“Of course not! I’m not afraid of them. But I am afraid of what it’s doing to my art form. Other comedians cave in and crack jokes that make people laugh. I refuse to stoop so low.”

Frank gave Sigfried a military salute. “You’re doin’ God’s work, son.”

“I’m telling you, my joke about the Queen being a transvestite would have killed in the nineties. In fact, that’s when I wrote it.”

The laugh track played.

Siegfried looked at Daryl, annoyed. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Now, I’ve got a quick question for you…” Frank picked up one of about a dozen boxes of Toaster Turnovers from the table. “What’s with all the frozen breakfast food? Marketing deal?”

“No, not at all, they’re not paying me a dime.”

“So you paid for all these?”

He shrugged. “I like them.”

Daryl interjected. “We have a freezer in the back room, if you don’t want ‘em going bad.”

Frank frowned. “Shut the hell up, Daryl.”

Prerecorded booing played from Daryl’s corner.

“Anyway,” Siegfried continued. “My new comedy movie, which is in theaters now, is about the invention of these little treats! It touches on other snacks too. Plus a lot of breakfast cereal, which I’ve always been a big fan of.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Siegfried, that sounds like a commercial.”

“No, no, no, we didn’t get permission from the company to make the film. It’s not a commercial. It’s satire.”

“Fascinatin’. So you make fun of their products?”

“Not really. Everyone likes their products. More of the humor comes from ‘what-ifs’ - like, if they made bran cereal without the raisins, or unfrosted flakes - or if the slogan for orange juice was some kind of sexual innuendo.”

“They do make those things,” Daryl said.

“Those are just examples. There’s a subtlety to the humor, and an intelligence to it, and I think that’s why a lot of people don’t get the joke.”

“It sure doesn’t sound offensive to me,” Frank said. “Are people these days really so sensitive?

“Don’t worry, Frank, we didn’t forget to push boundaries. There are at least three jokes about fruit.”

“Fruit?”

“You know, the queers. The gays. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but they need to learn to laugh at themselves.”

The laugh track played.

Siegfried turned to look at Daryl. “Can you really not tell when I’m making a joke? That was not a joke.”

“You say everything like it’s a joke. I thought maybe that was why people laughed at you?”

Siegfried sighed and took a box of Toaster Turnovers from the table. “I’m taking a break.”

Daryl played the ‘awww’ sound as the door slammed.

Frank huffed. “Well, that’s just great. He went out the door to the parking lot. Thanks a lot, Daryl.”

He played the applause sound.

“I’m gonna smash that thing. Anyway, folks, since it doesn’t look like our guest is coming back, this has been The Frank Program. Thank you for letting me be Frank with you.” He took off his headphones and threw them to the ground. “Get over here Daryl! Goddamn it! Every fucking day with you! I swear to the God you don’t believe in, I brought you into this world and I can take you -”

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stuffkin · 2 years

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a lovely gift for my lovely bestie @mcschnuggles

ao3!

Keigo:

Unca e ji, i frew up :(

That was the kind message Enji had woken up to, and had consequently ignored, figuring it was a joke. It’s not the first time Takami had sent such things to him only to show up later fit as a fiddle. Surely he’s jesting.

And yet there is no sign of him throughout the day. No more messages. No quips of aww, were you worried? You’re growing soft. Not a sign of a single red feather. No, he didn’t start every time he saw a flash of red. He’s not worried. Radio silence is to be expected from Takami, given his role.

The nagging persistence that something is wrong doesn’t go away. If anything, it grows stronger. And so at the end of the day, Enji storms the feathered hero’s flat against his better judgment. A fool, that’s what he’s become. This is just another trick to get the better of him.

By the time he reaches the right building, having taken the convoluted way Takami insisted on to make sure he wasn’t being tailed, Enji is seriously considering turning right around. This is nonsense, he thinks even as he slides the recently acquired key into the lock. Takami is a grown man, a hero. He can take care of himself sick or not.

Enji enters the flat.

“Takami?” Endeavour calls out into the silent flat. No response. Maybe he’d just dipped on work, then? Even as he thinks it, Enji knows that’s wrong; no matter how nonchalant Hawks is, hero work is his number one priority. He thinks back to the text he’d received earlier. Maybe he really is sick. Maybe he’s at the doctor. Maybe…

A quiet coughing breaches Enji’s thoughts, sending them to a screeching halt. Good, because who knows where they would have led him? Bad, because that means Takami–presumably–is here, and Enji doesn’t exactly know how to care for someone sick. Perhaps he could just…leave? It doesn’t appear that Takami had heard him enter. He can just check in later. Right?

He finds himself creeping towards the source of the coughing. The bedroom. In the rather limited times Enji’s visited, he’s not once seen the bedroom door open. An intentional play on Takami’s part, no doubt, to add that final layer of protection. Who is Enji if he doesn’t respect that boundary?

Another round of coughing answers that question. Well, he’d always been good at burning boundaries away.

The bedroom is darker than the hallway, curtains drawn to their fullest extent. While Enji isn’t a hesitant man–in fact, that’s one of his flaws, he’d wager–he still lingers in the doorway. It’s sparse as far as bedrooms go. And that’s coming from him. A dresser is pressed up against the same wall as the door with a half full hamper slouched next to it. In a corner is a rather sad, crumpled cardboard box. The only other furniture in the room is a bed tucked against the opposite wall, under the window. In its center is a huddled heap of blankets. Even in the gloom, the red is hard to miss.

Cautious, Enji steps across the room. Not close enough to startle him, just close enough to make sure this isn’t an emergency situation. The red he had spied from across the room is, of course, one of Takami’s wings. Poking out from beneath the blanket, it’s curled around his shoulder and tucked carefully against his chest. One of his arms is wrapped around it with his fingers loosely lost in the feathers. Like a security blanket Enji thinks dumbly before realizing that’s exactly it is.Takami, sick, sought any sense of safety he could and what’s more safe than himself?

A pang strikes deep in Enji’s chest. Ignoring it, he studies Takami for any other clear signs of illness. Unnecessary, considering the fact that he’s still in bed, still asleep, but Enji is nothing if not thorough. A pale kid already, his skin is far too colorless for his liking. As he watches, Takami sniffles in his sleep and burrows further into his feathers.

Shaking his head, Enji slowly retreats out of the room and recloses the door behind him. What should I do here? He could very well just leave; he hadn’t been asked to do anything. Why is he here, anyway?

But something tugs him in the direction of the tiny kitchen. Call it goodwill. Call it stupidity. It doesn’t matter. Takami is sick, and sure, Takami is stupidly independent. Doesn’t mean he actually knows how to take care of himself. Who would have taught him? Enji thinks.

The fridge is the first clue that Enji may be right on the money. It’s lackluster. And empty. Besides a few bottles of water, a tupperware shoved in the back, and half a loaf of bread, the only other thing is an apple sitting smack in the middle of the top shelf. The apple wouldn’t be that out of place if it weren’t for the chunk missing out of it, leaving the exposed flesh of the fruit brown and soft. Enji stares at it. Then he closes the refrigerator door with a soft whump. Okay. Maybe there’s something in the cabinet.

No luck. The first cabinet is as bare as the fridge with only dust greeting the light of day. The second one has a stack of ramen cups. He’s standing there, staring at this new problem, when he hears something from behind him. It takes every ounce of self-control not to whirl around with his flames at the ready. Maybe his family is right. Maybe he does need therapy. Exhaling through his nose, he casts a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, Takami is there, looking half a step from keeling over. He coughs into his hand and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“You were fast asleep a minute ago,” Enji says gruffly. “Did I wake you?”

“You didn’ answer,” Takami sniffles in response, rubbing a fist against his cheek. It’s not the first time the kid’s been pouty, but it lacks the usual charm. “My text, I mean.”

"Thought you were joking," Enji answers as he opens another cabinet. More ramen. He has his work cut out for him. Granted, he already knew that, considering who he's dealing with. "It's not the first time you've told me that."

"Didn' answer then, either." Takami shuffles further into the kitchen, which really means he shuffles right into Enji’s personal bubble. There’s absolutely no space in the room. It’s a wonder that Enji could fit his bulk into it at all. Leaning against him, Takami hums quietly. “Warm.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out. Not only is Takami sick, he’s also small. There’s no way in hell he’d be this…this cuddly otherwise. With a sigh, Enji resigns himself to a long evening. He hadn’t thought the kid could get sick. Having him sick and small…quite frankly, Enji would rather face a whole horde of villains by himself. Instead, he places a large hand on his shoulder and steers him into the adjoining living room. “Stay put. I’m going to run to the store.”

“No.”

The command catches them both off guard, if Takami’s wide eyes are anything to go by. Unamused, Enji crosses his arms. “I’m not feeding you instant ramen.”

For a moment, a familiar mischievous glint enters Takami’s eyes. “Aw, I didn’ know you felt that way.” The grin on his face is uncanny. Lopsided. Two shades to the left of what it should be. “You could say–”

“Don’t–”

“–you have the hots for me.”

It’s surprising his eyes don’t pop out of his head with how hard Enji rolls his eyes. Meanwhile, Takami’s ensuing laughter is cut short by another round of coughing. “Easy,” Enji says, squeezing his shoulder. “Deep breath.” Surprisingly, Takami does as told. One, two, three shuddering breaths later, he’s back to looking like a half-drowned kitten, slumped over and boneless. Enji pats his back. “Better?” Receiving a half-hearted shrug, he resists the urge to sigh and opts to take it at face-value. “Alright. Since you don’t want me to leave, I’ll order some groceries.” He pauses. “Is that alright?” Considering the kid’s paranoia, what does he do when he needs something delivered?

By the looks of it, nothing seems alright in Takami’s eyes, but he nods anyway. Enji keeps the order simple; he has a limited knowledge of what he likes on the best of days, and considering his current state, the options are even further diminished. Still. If a box of fruit gummies makes it into the cart, so be it.

What Enji doesn’t expect is the awkwardness that comes with waiting. There’s still a good thirty minutes before their order arrives. Typically, Enji is perfectly content to sit in silence, and Takamilooks dangerously close to falling back asleep. Perhaps that would be best. Nudging Takami’s shoulder, Enji murmurs, “Come on, Kei-chan, let’s get you back to bed.”

Takami holds up his arms. Silent, Enji scoops him up, carries him to bed, and tucks his blanket more securely around him. Then he glances around the bare room. As sparse as he is, it surprises Enji that he doesn’t appear to have any comfort items. After all, he’d told him that he “pretended” for the cameras–surely there were some “props.”

His eyes drop to the cardboard box in the corner. Without asking, he crosses over to it and, ignoring the weak squawk of protest, tips open a flap. Bingo. In the box are an assortment of baby items, but none of them seem to have been used much. Enji furrows his brow. A glance back towards the bed leaves him with just as many questions as answers. Takami watches him tiredly, the protests having died down.

“No point,” he mumbles.

“Tch. Nonsense.” Enji isn’t quite sure what either of them mean by this exchange, but he parses the box once more. PIcking out two items, he strides over to the bed. “Here.” He holds out a fire-engine-red pacifier and small stuffed koala, barely larger than the palm of his hand. When Takami doesn’t react, Enji pushes them towards him a little more forcefully. “If there’s no point, make one.”

He gets an owlish blink for his efforts. Then, slowly, Takami quietly takes the pacifier and slides it into his mouth. The koala, he tucks under his chin. For a moment he looks uncomfortable. The moment passes, and his eyes droop shut.

Enji sits with him long enough for his breathing to even out. Once he’s asleep, he piddles about in the living room until the groceries arrive. Then he sets about the arduous task of making a simple soup. Something light, but more nutritious than whatever they put in ramen cups. By the time the meal is finished, Takami’s awake again, sluggishly watching Enji from the couch. Enji wonders if he’s always such a restless sleeper.

“Eat,” he orders, bringing a bowl of soup over. Takami pouts at him. Now this is familiar ground.

“C’mon, ‘m sick. Can’t you feed me?”

A brief staring contest later, Enji is reluctantly spoon-feeding soup into Takami’s waiting mouth. Just like a baby bird. It’s soothing in its own way. An easy rhythm. Dare he say it, it’s almost cute–at least, until what little color there is drains away from Takami’s face and he launches himself over the back of the couch towards the toilet. Enji is left alone to listen to the distant sound of retching. “I didn’t think my food was that bad,” he mutters, dubiously eying the bowl in his hand.

He opts to give the kid some privacy, waiting for the noises to die down. But once the retching stops, the sniffling starts, and in spite of himself, Enji doesn’t think his already threadbare conscience can withstand the weight of neglect. He’s the number one hero; he won’t back down because of a little sick.

“Kei-chan?” he asks. He rests a hand against the door. “May I come in?” After a watery assent, he pushes open the door. The sight that greets him damn near breaks his heart. While Takami isn’t physically all that large, his personality more than makes up for it. It fills up the room or lurks in the shadows with the same finesse he has for his feathers. Here, curled on the bathroom floor, he just looks…small.

He is small, Enji’s brutally reminded, when he looks up at him with eyes brimming with tears. “U-unca ‘Ji…”

He still hasn’t said he could call him that, but Enji finds himself kneeling in front of the lad regardless. “Hey, none of that, now,” he says. His voice comes out rougher than intended. Of course, that only makes the crying grow louder. Any other time, he would have assumed he was faking. But the way his shoulders shake, the way his hands bunch up the fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt, tell a far more miserable truth.

So Enji reaches out. Brushing bangs back from where they’ve flopped into weary eyes, Enji guides Takami’s head to rest against his chest. He holds him until the waves stop crashing in on all sides. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. Small hands cling to him until slowly, slowly, the rest sinks into him. The room goes quiet. Neither of them move; one, too tired, the other, to let the first rest. Of course, the world doesn’t stop and neither do they. A face is cleaned, a sip of water taken. One stands where the other cannot.

Enji sighs. He hadn’t signed up for this, but maybe that had changed when he’d stuck around. “Alright, kid, let’s get a fresh shirt. Provided you even do your laundry.” Slow, cautious, he effortlessly (and gingerly) picks Takami up off the bathroom floor.

In spite of the tears still damp on his cheeks, in spite of the illness plaguing his body, Takami looks right down indignant. “M’clothes are clean.”

Not willing to deign that with a response, Enji shifts his grip under Takami’s thighs and makes the short trip back to the bedroom. Really, with how much Takami makes, he could easily find a place several times the size of this flat. Why he chose here to call home, Enji doesn’t know. And he doesn’t ask. Instead, he puts the kid on his bed before turning to the small chest of drawers in the corner. “Which drawer?”

“Second,” comes the quiet reply. Enji doesn’t waste any time yanking it open. To his surprise, he’s met with a familiar shirt. Pulling it out, he gives it a shake before deciding that yes, it should be familiar, as the baseball-cut gray-and-red shirt certainly wouldn’t fit Takami. No, it would fit Enji, because it’s his shirt. One he’d been missing for weeks.

“I didn’t take you for a thief.”

“Wuh–oh.” Any other day, Takami would crack a joke and smirk. Today, however, he must be too exhausted. He still doesn’t have the good graces to look embarrassed. “Soft.”

“Hm.” Well, Enji can’t really argue there. Figuring he isn’t going to get any more reasoning, and deciding it’s really not worth it to take back with wing holes haphazardly sliced into the fabric, he pads over to the bed with the shirt in tow. “Take off the cape.”

Takami whines quietly, but he tugs on the loose knot at the base of his throat until the blanket falls away. No complaints are given when prompted to raise his arms, and he remains quiet while Enji swaps shirts. As Enji carefully guides his wings through the holes, he finally pipes up. “Full points.”

With a roll of his eyes, Enji tugs the hem to straighten it out. Then his eyes catch on his wings. They’d been wrapped up in the blanket the entire time he’d been here, so no wonder some of the feathers are sticking up in disarray. Without thinking, Enji reaches out and brushes some back into place. Under the gentle touch, Takami goes stock still. Enji freezes too, realizing what he’d just done. On a good day, the feathered fiend can’t stand anyone else touching his wings. Why would he now?

But to his surprise, Takami takes a slow, deep breath, looks up at him over his shoulder, and says “please?” in the smallest voice Enji’s ever heard.

“Of course,” he hears himself saying. What is he doing? But he says nothing more, sitting behind Takami on the bed. Now that he’s thinking clearly, he isn’t quite sure what to do. It’s different from hair, surely, but he’s never had much experience with that, either. And yet he surely can’t back out now. Not when Takami is exhibiting so much trust. He reaches out. Hesitates. Tries again. The feathers are soft to the touch, surprising Enji; he’s seen the damage they can do in battle first hand. Yet they give way under his fingers as he smooths them out, shivering as a breeze through the leaves of a tree. No, it’s Takami shivering. Enji can just see over his head how the little guy’s hands are gripping the edge of his blanket.

“Are you okay, Kei-chan?”

“M-mhm.”

“Alright.” Enji doesn’t have the energy to parse if it’s truth or lie, and so takes it for what it is. If Takami deems it bad, he’ll tell him. He hopes. They’ve gotten this far, haven’t they? And so he continues his ministrations, stroking through the feathers until they’ve relaxed back into place. It isn’t until the last of them have been smoothed out that Enji notices the shivering had stopped, but in its place is a gentle swaying.

“Kei-chan…?”

“Mm?” Takami hums eloquently, his head dropping back to look at Enji. A blind man could see that he’s hanging by a thread to wakefulness. It’s the most relaxed Enji’s ever seen him. It makes him wonder what it would be like to see him this relaxed when he isn’t sick.

Maybe there’ll be time for that later. With a start, Enji realizes with muted horror that he’s feeling fond. Choosing to ignore the sentiment, he carefully guides Takami to rest against the pillows and tucks the blanket snugly around him. The koala is once more placed in his arms.

But Enji’s job isn’t done. No, of course it isn’t. As he starts to get up, a hand snakes out and latches onto his pants leg.

“Stay,” Takami mumbles, his eyes still closed.

And for whatever reason, Enji does.

#stuff writes #mha agere #agere fic #fandom agere

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thepete77 · 2 months

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Different people approach religion in different ways, and many more seek to avoid it at all costs. For some, they are going through rough circumstances, whatever they are, and others they seek out of interest because of a simple book cover, and even others still seek to find their purpose and make contributions to the world. People of maturity and intellect can see and sympathize if one is dealing with a battle of cancer for them to seek solace and peace. An experienced veteran who has been overseas to third world countries, will understand someone turning to deity in hopes to even find food for the day. When someone brings up the experience of devil worship, they may simply scoff at the notion, thinking instantly that people following this doctrine either are deceived or are ungrateful with malicious intent and with a whole lot of juvenile rebellious angst with too much time on their hands.

Just for a moment I’d like you to stop gross generalizing and misperceiving about devil worship and mentally soothe and relax. For I am one who does not have malicious intentions as a practicing devil worshiper, and am sane enough in my right mind to have justifiable reasons to practice devil worship.

I am just your average forty three year old white male. I'm in this just the same as anyone else, and there are the same expectations I have over me as the next guy.

Even putting aside the biases and misperceptions of devil worship some may see it as unprofessional, eccentric and risky behavior, and they may have professional views that they really could not get into devil worship because of what their friends and co-workers might think. Over all, even with all the reasons to practice devil worship, anybody no matter who they are or what they do can be coerced into devil worship. So all I can do is give my reasons and experiences and explain what I'm into. I bring this up at this time because it is typically the case that people look into these reasons for any religion as well as reasons and instructions how to pray. One might be shocked and even hard pressed to believe that prayer in devil worship is not just simply exchanging words like god and Jesus respectively and feeling dark or evil. While emotion does play a critical part in devil worship, we don't just rip from the Christians to pray.

Prayer is such a magnanimous focus in all different types of religions from ancient Hinduism and Shinto to modern Sheikism and Santisma Muerte, prayer is an expression of inner being to the outer world whether in devotion or petition. Within the singular word across different faiths it is a mechanism for healing and cursing, for better or worse.

Prayer as a center of focus and a discipline is a safe focus across religions, it universally resounds intuitive and mature interpersonal connection and expresses the motivation to the means for an end. Foundationally, those struggling in modern times with all sorts of religious insanity and hypocrisy, one can personally retain their stronghold with the power of prayer. Don't worry, you won't change into a seething maniac incoherently mumbling and grumbling fighting, or raising the devil. We don't do that here.

However the path of devil worship is one not to be taken lightly. Your life beyond this point will change, because when one emanates the ineffable source of the infernal realm, and buries his inner chamber against the riff raff and rubble of the masses, they make impact and change even beyond their acknowledgment or will of influence. People will see an innate strength and will respond for better or worse.

This text is applied with a standard set of Indian prayer beads. These are similar to a rosary, and used in the same way, but there are no separations of decades or bigger beads, and traditionally prayer beads compose 108 beads total. As a devil worshiper I pray to the demons of the goetia which rank as 72 demons total. One hundred and eight divided by seventy two is exactly one and a half. So this means one and a half beads can be sifted through the hands twice in praying to the demons of the goetia. The specific prayer I use is the nine divinities prayer from the ater votum, aside from my own sporadic personal prayers.

Authors have remarked that prayer is conversation with god. It always tended to baffle me that the all-supreme deity of the universe who has a whole lot more important things to do than cater to me and my problems, would even turn his head in my direction to hear my prayers. So often I felt when I petitioned god for things, the answer was always no, and I read countless times different passages that indicated there was more going on behind the scenes than the literal texts and things not committed into writing, like Abraham being in Egypt, and Jesus in his childhood being in Egypt. In the new testament the events of the upper room and the speaking of cloven tounges and the argument between st. Peter and Paul of eating when he wasn't supposed to and in the old testament again Isaiah sitting in the field and meditating, as well as Jesus’ statement of those who do the will of my father are my brothers and sisters. Also in the book of genesis, god refusing the sacrifice of Cain and accepting the sacrifice of Abel when apparently there were not any statutes specifically listed or reasons why, just that he did.

As I do believe there is quite a bit more to the Bible that the Bible doesn't directly reveal forthrightly, I don't believe that the book of Mormon and the pre-existing cultures of the American Native Indians before they became in the tribes we classify them now is the answer, and definitely not even remotely close to the ultimate answer and only true gospel that there is.

But the point is that there are parts of the Bible that aren't expanded on that shows more content, and hence more accurate descriptions as to how to pray and other things like interpret dreams.

Even in the occult methods I don't believe there is only one correct way of truth. There are many paths of truth, and it is not my intentions with devil worship to present that type of immaturity. Spiritual truth is real, but it is more of a mature process. But back to the point about prayer, in many cultures, it has existed separately before and during the beginning and development of Christianity, and it is not solely owned by Christianity. Like eternal life and salvation as well are not owned by them.

There are countless methods of praying including repetitive discipline, sporadic from the heart, and chanting, as well as treating hymns like prayer and singing. I personally like the idea of zazen and chanting as well as the nine divinities prayer in repetition.

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thelightningthatjumpsbetween · 1 year

Text

Thirty Six

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

The iconic voice brought him back to his senses at least somewhat; Ethan’s eyes widened, and he was able to ignore the crippling pain in his head enough to look up and see her there, amid fading backdrops of still-playing memories. Memories that might forever repeat, stuck in an ocean of memories…were his own in there too, somewhere? Glimpses of his life that someone could recall?

The blond found his survivalist’s strength and dug his boots into the stone, pressing his back into the sarcophagus behind him. It was an anchor, or should have been, but it buzzed with strange energy more than anything in the room.

He shakily stood, expecting her to hurl an insult, or a piece of furniture, at him. She just stared, finally crossing her unusually bare arms. Ethan blinked rapidly, willing the dark sclera to return to white, shaking his head as he mopped the fluid away from his nose and mouth.

Her eyebrow arched. Finally she spoke. “You don’t seem well.”

“I got uh, bombarded, just now, by the Mold,” he confessed. He didn’t want to let her know he’d just unwillingly watched and felt over fifty years of her memories, and he was still grappling with what exactly that meant as he continued to slouch, unable to stand upright. He threw out a diplomatic shrug. “On the other hand, you look….way better than, uh..last time….”

Her unimpressed stare was bloodcurdling, even without the added height. She was even more intimidating when closer to eye level. His heart rate was slowing, he realized; the swimming sensation was tapering off. His head was still buzzing; the room around him seemed live. Dangerous. As though he were sticking his head in one of Karl’s old transformers.

She maintained her withering stare, and one side of her upper lip began to rise almost subconsciously, as if staring at this gasping, moldy creature in her basement brought her stomach pain. “I know why you are here.”

“Do you? Cause I….”

“The consciousness of the Mutamycete bends to the will of those around it. Without a human host, it has no motives past its own survival. However,” now her hand flung out almost angrily, “Add in a human’s buffoonery, his short-sighted attempt at heroism, his flagrant violations of respect of–”

“Yeah, I think I got it,” he said in a monotone. She sniffed, and moved her hand back to cross her chest.

“Then, Mr. Winters, you have something entirely unnatural. You have an organism blindly turning itself into a tool of hopes and dreams. You are the second most stubborn person I have ever had the displeasure to know.”

He tipped his head up curiously. “Who’s the first…Miranda? I saw what she did to you.” He hadn’t meant to say that, he watched her expression fall. “I saw how she treated you over the years. She-”

“Do not speak to me of my own life,” the woman hissed as Ethan’s mouth snapped closed. After the threat of Ethan’s humanitarian speech had passed, Alcina stared at him in a new way. Skeptical. Dubious. Maybe…threatened? But also, curious. One long finger made its way to her chin and she seemed to contemplate him.

“I am unable to leave this realm, but yes…I have seen, through perhaps, our connection, your intentions.”

This was revealing. Ethan thought of Salvatore’s words. How the former lord had known, or been told, of his coming. Like a twisted prophet. No, no. That was Miranda’s schtick. Not his. With his recent revitalized plan to get back to his own line of work, the software engineer again thought of the mold in programming terms. It was coded now after him, in a way. Coded to what, help him get rid of Miranda? But maybe it wasn’t blindly following him…after all, hadn’t his mind been twisted as a host? The paper on familial ties….plus, Godric didn’t seem to just blindly follow him…Godric was conscious, had his own glimmer of free will. And was still choosing to help.

He licked dry, cracked lips. He wasn’t sure how Alcina would respond to his intentions. She had a different bond with Miranda than Moreau, to be sure, but he had no idea where she stood.

“Let us leave this ghastly chamber, this…wherever you’ve found yourself,” she said with a toss of her hair. Ethan turned back to the sarcophagus.

“Before we go-what is this place?”

She waved a hand. “I’ve no idea. I do not wander these places. I never did.”

“But, someone is buried here. Look, someone important. Look at all this stuff.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am not interested in playing Scooby-Doo with you, Mr. Winters.”

“Okay,” he agreed, the insanity of Alcina watching Scooby Doo entering his mind briefly. “But, can’t you feel how strange it is right around it? Like there’s some kind of…barrier. The connection is muffled. I…I want to look, then yeah, I’ll go.”

Her eyeroll was more impressive than any he’d ever seen. She shook her head and turned away, waltzing toward the stairs almost like a spirit, sleepwalking. “I will be in the Great Hall.” As she departed, she muttered to herself about not staying to witness graceless acts. Ethan exhaled in a rush when her form dissipated. It was by far their least frightening encounter, and yet he’d still felt like a fly in a web. He turned and surveyed the lid for the first time.

Flowers and letters were carefully moved and placed on the ground, until he unveiled the Dimitrescu house seal. Where the bronze flower and swords were hammered against the stone, he saw something glimmering, as if the crest were a pocket holding something.

He raised his flashlight, seeing what was apparently a…crystal? When Ethan moved near it, he found it difficult to breathe. This object reminded him of the strange rope Miranda had made years ago for the Duke. It was the opposite of Eveline’s crystal, more or less; instead of vibrating with intense power, life, energy, this seemed like a black hole. It seemed like it pulled his energy toward it with the intent to destroy.

Rather stupidly he poked a finger toward the bruised-looking stone, and hissed in pain when his finger burned. When he withdrew his finger, it was blackened. Ethan frowned and put his flashlight in his mouth, biting down on it as he moved to push the stone slab away. For several long moments it didn’t budge. He suddenly felt a surge of strength unlike anything he’d felt while human. It was rather horrifying to suddenly have an untapped well of physical ability, but Ethan didn’t question it as he pushed hundreds of pounds of granite aside just enough to glimpse into the crevice of the tomb.

He grabbed the light again and shone it inside.

Ethan was not sure what to expect; he only knew that the author of the papers, the outsider-nobleman, had apparently returned. From memories he had seen glimpses of the man’s face. And his first castle visit included pushing the lid from another tomb that held a very desiccated human corpse. So, his only attempt at bracing himself was to remember the sorrowful body in the Tower of Worship, its white teeth glistening, its skin greenish grey.

But his gaze now froze on something unexpected; a crystallized body. His form was chalky white, and glinted off the meager flashlight that now panned across his face. A heart shaped face, closed eyes, a sorrowful expression threaded over eyebrows. His clothing was well-preserved and though Ethan was no expert on medieval European fashion, it clearly indicated his rank at burial. There were gems, furs, silks.

He looked like he was made of ice, Ethan mused with wide eyes. He looked both strikingly realistic, and like a mirage. Chris Refield had shown him aerial photos of Zoe after Eveline crystallized her in the swamp; this looked like the same ‘treatment’. The blond wanted to touch the man, just to verify that he was real, but after touching the gem over his tomb (Ethan’s finger was still blackened despite his healing powers) he thought better of it.

Thoughts swirled around his mind. How to tell Godric. Would Godric know? Why was this man here, in the castle? Who did he know? What the hell did the Duke know, why was he playing stupid? Why didn’t Alcina know?

The voices in the mold had brought him here-not to Alcina, but here, to this man.

What was next? He already knew the answer to that last one, and as Ethan slowly backed away from the tomb of the long-forgotten man and his even longer-forgotten servant, he tapped into the instinct that had gotten him this far. Time to focus on the Lady of the hour.

—--------------

He took the ‘human route’ back up to the main hall, not wanting to risk traveling through different strata and ending up in Miranda’s cage, or somewhere worse. Ethan marveled that even though a fire roared in the Main Hall, he felt no warmth. This realm was truly like a dream land…almost real, but not quite. It was a painstakingly accurate, but false, model. No wonder Eva loved her donuts so much.

Alcina was draped over a couch in a manner that suggested she would snap Ethan’s neck if he sat beside her. She was smoking, and one leg bounced lazily as she awaited his arrival. With no small amount of hesitation, Ethan sat in an armchair facing her, unsure how to begin. He hadn’t planned for this, dammit. Eva was the personable one, not him.

Karl would have laughed at the situation.

His scowl turned into an uncertain stare as he took in how a human Alcina Dimitrescu looked. Not only was her height more manageable, but her skin was clear, and instead of very heavy makeup she wore only lipstick. Her perpetually offended stare had not changed, but some of the venom with which she regarded him apparently had.

“I don’t have what you want,” she said bluntly, and Ethan blinked.

“What I….?”

“The crystal fragment. The part that Miranda sought of all of us.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and so he said nothing. With a rather disgusted glare at the fire, Alcina confessed, “I…gave it to her.”

He couldn’t help but blurt out, “You did what?!”

She actually looked borderline remorseful. Her head shook slightly as she peered into the fire, a more haunted gaze settling on her features. “I knew she was lying when she said she could bring back my daughters.”

“That’s what she promised?” He couldn’t hide his disgust. He also couldn’t stop interrupting. But Alcina didn’t even seem to notice.

“This was very recent, after they disappeared.”

Just like Donna’s family, just like Moreau’s fiancee.

“She appeared to me in a mirror while I grieved. I knew of this back plan of hers years ago, before you were ever born.” Her glance at Ethan was with narrowed pupils. “During the Cold War, she became obsessed with ensuring that she would survive every death humans might bring upon her. So, I did as I always do….as she wanted me to do. No one can bring them back. Why should I care,” a chilling, hollow chuckle left her chest. “..what happens now? My daughters are gone forever.”

“Are you sure about that? Gone forever around here means…well, usually, nothing,” Ethan said, fumbling as he remembered burying the last remains of his wife earlier in the evening.

“I am sure,” she said in a quiet, reverent tone. “They were not catalogued, they were created. Who they were as my daughters were fragments of humans already. I still loved them. I have begged, pleaded, researched. They exist now only as memories. Not everyone touched by this world is able to wield a unique consciousness within it. In fact, I would say, most are incapable of doing that. So you see, I had no reason to say no.”

His face reddened; he didn’t ever need a reason to say no to Miranda. He could find a reason in any greeting card, over any cup of coffee, while listening to any song. He’d be happy to tattoo it across his forehead for Miranda to read, if it would make a difference. Instead of having an angry outburst, Ethan rubbed at his aching temple, clearly disappointed, imploding inwardly.

“I do not think that a singular human mind should exist here. Even the short time I have been on this plane has driven me close to madness. You cannot sleep, you cannot eat, you cannot drink. Once the dream wears away, it is a dull, lifeless existence with no real connection to the rest of the world, to a former life. The voices blend because the organism is a hive mind, not a town with many unique people in it. When they blend, things can be beautiful, or they can be madness. If I stay here long enough, I will fade into that as well. Maybe it will take longer thanks to this isolated cocoon.” Cocoon-that was the word Eva always used. “But it will happen. A regular, human death has all of the mercy and dignity that we do not get.”

Alcina sighed.

“Whether it was a good decision is not a question. It was of no use to me. And Miranda now has more power. I would be careful if I were you. And since you know this, you can leave me alone in my emptiness.” Her gaze moved away from him and toward the fire again.

“That’s just great,” he breathed, massaging his head more fervently. “Just…great. But…I didn’t come here for the crystal. I mean, I sure would have liked it. With you giving it to her–”

“She is one step closer to getting the others. I know. Even if they are well-protected as I have heard.” Alcina didn’t know, then, that the ‘others’ had bodies in reality. Didn’t know that they’d left the Mold. “I have known Miranda for a long time. She is patient, she is cunning, and she can bring out in you what you wish for the most. That is a deadly combination to lost people. And the only thing I have in common with those excuses for siblings of mine is that…we were all lost. Always were.”

“That’s not true,” he said with conviction. “You were not always lost. Donna had an entire family that she loved. Moreau had a family too, and he was going to have a wife. Karl had parents, he had a real mother–” at the internal vision of the terrifying ghost in the garden, he paused, but quickly recovered, “-who is still looking over him, he has a brother-”

She’d scoffed at hearing the name ‘Karl’, but Ethan’s voice rose. “I don’t know where you came from or what she offered you, but you had a life before her too. You weren’t broken just like the people in the village weren’t broken. She made you that way. All of you.”

Alcina’s nostrils were flared, and the lip curl was returning. After he finished his rant, she supplied simply, in an authoritative voice, “Do not speak to me about my own life.”

“Fine,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. It was just like talking to Heisenberg, he thought with a wild sliver of deranged amusement. She was just as fucking stubborn and headstrong. “Whatever. You’re broken. Have it your way. Do you want my help or not?”

“Your…what?”

“I guess I just assumed you’d want…I don’t know. A body. To be back...”

She looked deeply troubled. “The crystal is gone.”

“I know that,” he said aggravatedly, getting angry each time she mentioned it. “I…we…I can still bring you back. It has nothing to do with the crystal. If you want to stay here, stay here. The Duke gave me your crystallized remains so that I could–”

“My what?”

“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if you want a chance to, I don’t know. Try again. Live without being under her thumb. Redeem some of the terrible shit you’ve done. Help US defeat her. I can help with that. And I’m willing to.”

Her troubled expression only grew, as if she could not comprehend any of his words. She seemed hesitant.

Ethan heard a strange rumbling noise from outside. He gazed past her toward the entryway, and frowned. She looked over her shoulder, distracted from the internal struggle she seemed to be contemplating.

“What the hell was that?”

Alcina, despite her conviction that she didn’t care about anything, looked slightly shaken. “I imagine…Miranda.”

“How long ago did she get this crystal piece, exactly?”

The tall woman shrugged, indicating what Ethan knew; time here meant nothing, had no measurable steps. The rumble sounded again, as well as a strange shrieking noise. A window shattered, and Alcina raged, standing and peering toward the hallway.

He heard someone calling from nearby. His name. Eva. Ethan stood and turned toward a hidden corner of the large room, where a mirror sat in shadow against the wall. Ethan bolted toward it, marveling at the strange image of himself; his mirror self was smiling, a chillingly cold grin, even though Ethan was actually scowling.

Then mirror-Ethan disappeared, and he could see Eva’s troubled gaze.

“Are you at the castle?”

“In a way,” he frowned. Alcina was on her feet, storming toward the mirror in disbelief. She peered into the mirror and drew back at the sight of the, to her, unknown person.

“What is this?”

“Ethan, take her hand, and put yours on the mirror.”

“Better listen if you wanna get out of here,” he quipped, and held out his hand to Alcina. She stared at him with a mixture of contempt and confusion. Ethan patiently kept the hand extended, and gave his patented encouraging look. With one final noise of disgust, and a cringe, she put her bare hand into his–it was the same size as his, but feminine, elegant, with red nail polish-and with all his trust in Eva, he put his palm onto the mirror as another rumble shook the walls and an ear-splitting scream sounded from outside.

They were plunged into darkness; after several seconds of a rapid, falling sensation, her hand left his entirely, and Ethan fell onto a soft, slightly writhing mass of black. It smelled damp around him. He knew the area.

The mutamycete. He groaned and rolled over. Fuck.

“Hello,” a voice said pleasantly, with a hint of humor. “Where did you come from?”

Despite the pain from the fall, Ethan grunted with one eye open. He knew that voice.

“Miranda?”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #mother miranda #ethan winters

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huenjin · 4 years

Text

domestic disturbance.

summary — there's a murder in the richest neighborhood of seoul and there's no better detectives to find the killer besides you and bang chan. or, in which you and chan have to be a pretend couple to catch a killer.

pairing — bang chan x reader

genre — fluff, crime, smut | detectives!au, fwb!au, fake marriage!au

word count — 21k words.

warnings — mentions of crime, ie, blood, killings, (one line of) gruesome murder scene, language, along with a whodunnit plot, mentions of cheating (not the main leads), and smut | smut specifications under the cut

smut specs. — established fwb!au where they know each other's limits already, dirty talk, praise kink, grinding, marking and hickeys, choking/asphyxiation, nipple play, breast play, sex in multiple places (on the table, against the wall, on the bed), blowjob, face fucking, deepthroating, cunnilingus, clitoral stimulation, cervical stimulation, edging, overstimulation, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering, creampie, size kink. oh well!

note — this is part of the christmas collab i’m hosting with few other mutuals. i hated this fic and then fell in love madly with it, so yes, this is my baby. there is a plot and so it’s like 50% fluff, 30% crime and 20% smut, okay? i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i loved writing it! much love x

"Did I have to come in today?"

"Mayor Arsehole came in," you hear from the phone and you quickly hop off your bed, throwing the phone back on to the bed after putting it on speaker and rushing to the washroom to grab your toothbrush.

"What does he want now?"

You squeeze the end of the toothpaste carefully, pushing a good amount of toothpaste onto the bristles of the brush before shoving it into your mouth, brushing against the enamel of your teeth quickly and you rush back to your bed.

Chan, on the other end of the phone, plays with the pen on his table, clicking the piston on the top of the mechanical device. He watches the Mayor move his hands dramatically and the Captain trying to make the Mayor understand.

He gets back to you. Dropping the pen, he sits up straight, "Anyhow, come in quick. My gut tells me that they'll call us in, so make it quick. Wait—"

You rush back to the bathroom in a hurry, spitting into the sink and turning the tap on, quickly cleaning your mouth and your face, following a small skincare routine that fits your busy schedule.

"What?" You say after forever and Chan screams, "I knew it."

"Did you just wake up?"

"Yes," you respond, and pull your clothes up from your body and down by the side of the bed mindlessly.

"Holy shit," Chan laughs. "It's nine. Han's going to be so mad. He thinks you're in office already." You hear his chair reclining back and you roll your eyes. "Plus," his voice lowers and you stop in your tracks, hand midway to grab your faux leather jacket.

"What now?"

"I didn't even keep you occupied last night," Chan teases. "Imagine if I did."

"I'm hanging up, you bastard," you yell and Chan laughs, his laughter resonating through your small room and making you smile softly.

"Come quickly, little minx," and he hangs up. You hop back onto your bed, and pulling the pair of thigh high boots you always wear from underneath the wooden framing of the bed, you bury your feet into them and look at your phone.

Bang Christopher Chan is perhaps the only reason you are excited to go to work. That, and lying, murderous bastards.

Down at the station, twenty minutes later (still possibly the best record you've held so far), you rush into the office, heels clinking against the tiles and Chan's waiting for you by his cubicle, smirk prominent on his face and arms folded.

"The queen's here," he teases and you glare. Huffing as you pause right in front of him, you look over his shoulder to see the Mayor still talking to the Captain.

"I'm not late," you squeal, hitting the air in joy and Chan lets you have your moment before sitting back on his chair and breaking it.

"They called for us twice already," Chan tells you and you shudder at the impending doom. You can already feel Captain Han talking about cutting your paychecks for the month for tardiness. You sit on his table, one leg on the ground and the other dangling, heel slightly grazing Chan's black denims.

"What did you tell them?"

He picks up the pen and stares at you, clicking the pen. You narrow your eyes at him, staring at the pen and mumbling, "Stop that, Chan. I've told you it's annoying."

"I do it to annoy you. That's the whole point," he raises his eyebrows obviously and you click your tongue against him and move closer.

"Now," you press on. "What did you tell Ji?"

"Oh, that you have diarrhoea?"

"What the fuck?" And you bend forward, hitting the built man before you, your fists hammering down on his hard biceps and chest. "Why would you say that?"

Chan raises his hands in defense, trying to block as many of your hits as possible. He whines, laughing amusingly at your reaction. He holds your wrists quickly to halt your actions and tugging at them, pulling you closer, he raises an eyebrow, "What else am I supposed to say? That you didn't come in yet?"

You gulp, eyes widening in surprise at the sudden intimacy that you pull yourself away and sit straight, dangling your legs slightly. You tilt your head and look at him. Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you say, "Valid point you make there, sir."

"When have I not made valid points?" Chan leans back on his chair, arms folded and he looks at you intently, his eyes staring into your soul and you raise your eyebrows.

"Wh—"

"The two of you," you hear the voice boom through the room. Chan and you turn your heads to look at Captain Han Jisung pop his head through the slightly opened door and calling the two of you. "In my room, now."

"Uh oh," Chan mumbles under his breath as he stands up. "Someone's in trouble."

"It's probably you," you glare at him. Hopping off his table, you stand firmly on your boots, tapping your feet slightly in confidence. Chan walks forward and you take longer strides to keep up with him.

"It could never be me. I'm the district's star detective."

"When hell turns cold, yeah."

You and Chan step into Captain Han Jisung's office. He sits behind the wooden desk and Deputy Mayor Seo Changbin stands next to him. The glass walls behind him show a clear view of the beautiful city of Seoul. You smile as you proceed to sit before the Captain, leg on top of the other. Chan sits next to you.

The pictures from a file are scattered all over his table, facing the two of you and your hand instinctively reaches out to grab one. It's a man's body — gruesome enough with the blood that covers it — impaled brutally on the sharp fence spikes.

Chan's eyebrows shoot up and he coughs in surprise. He looks at Jisung with disdain for a short minute before he says, "That is totally not helping with my holiday spirits, Han."

"Captain Han," Jisung reaffirms as he looks at Chan with a glare and gestures at how he should show him respect at least in front of the Deputy Mayor. You chuckle slightly under your breath before putting the picture back on the table.

"What exactly are we looking at, Captain?"

Jisung clears his throat and bends forward to explain, "That is Kim Jihoon. Or at least whatever is left of him. He was found like this today morning by his neighbour. Apparently he fell three stories from his balcony. Kim Jihoon is a data analyst in Samaun Tech—"

"And more importantly, a model resident in the UN Village community." Changbin is stern and his eyes pierce into both yours and Chan's soul as if it demands the two of you to solve the murder right this minute.

"UN Village?" Chan's eyes narrow and your head turns so quickly to look at him. Does he know of the area? "That's the new gated community down in the city, right?"

Changbin scoffs, smirk plastered on his face as he looks away. "Yes, Detective. It's one of the most luxurious communities in Seoul. I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about it."

"Hey—" You raise your voice to come to Chan's defense. However, the man is quick himself.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I have an idea what it is like. Just a bunch of rich old men sitting with their glasses of wine as they are locked away from the city's woes by their big high walls. I have watched enough Sky Castle."

You laugh, eyes wrinkling in mirth as you hear Chan take offense. You raise your hand up and your partner claps at it, laughing with you. Changbin scoffs again before turning to look at Jisung who clears his throat to stop the two of you from laughing and to bring your attention back.

"I've brought the two of you in here because you will be investigating the death of Jihoon."

"But—"

"It's Christmas in a few days!"

"We're not in office, Ji," you whine. "Felix and Soojin would be taking our shifts for that week. You gave us the permission after the last case. Don't you remember?"

"Is that how much you care about the citizens?" The mayor shoots at the two of you and for a minute, you cower in your seat, before Chan looks at you worriedly as you recoil.

"Hey, hey, hey," his eyebrows furrow together in anger at the Mayor and you worry if Chan's going to completely lash out. He never did like Changbin in the first place. That and now this and you know this could end bad. "We care enough about the citizens. But look at you. The Mayor comes down personally to hand in a case only when it's some rich community. What? Do you have an apartment there?"

"While you think this highly of me, I can't help but humble myself here," Changbin slams his fist down and Chan rises up. Uh oh! The Mayor edges forward as he continues, "I am very much concerned about the city as well."

"Please," Chan rolls his eyes. Jisung is about to pipe in and stop the conflict when Changbin continues proudly.

"I'll have you know that the UN Village is one of the most exciting residential areas to live in, in Seoul and is one of the most beneficial developments made in a decade here. If it is successful, I can drive almost millions to the city through estate taxes and commerce. And must I remind you of how that is the biggest point in my political agenda—"

"Your political agenda!" Chan is at his patience's end and your arm stretches out to grip at his shirt, to pull him back from fighting but your partner is so caught up in his anger that he doesn't feel you pull at him. "Must I remind you that you are still the Deputy Mayor!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Jisung slams his hands on the table and you let out an exasperated sigh as you sit up straight. "This is a murder and I won't have the two of you argue over here. Deputy Mayor Seo, if you are done conveying what you came here for, I will have to ask you to leave. I need to talk and assign work to my detectives."

"Absolutely," Changbin smiles widely — almost borderline fake — before walking away and reminding Jisung, "I hope you remember what I asked of you, Captain." He bangs the door shut and Jisung mumbles incoherent words under his breath. Needless to say, it was safe to presume they were words hoping good will for Deputy Mayor Seo Changbin.

"Now the two of you," Jisung points at both Chan and you. He gestures at the built man to sit down. "You will be taking this case up. I will not have a word against it."

"But—"

"Unless you want your sex tape to be released and the two of you want to be suspended for indecent public behaviour."

"What?" Both you and Chan tell at the same time, looking at each other in nothing but sheer confusion and shock at the same time. It was clear that you and him have not made a sex tape or publically — fuck. Unless it is that.

"I mean, I was definitely not interested in seeing my star detectives getting on with each other in the evidence room." Jisung raises his eyebrows.

"Are you blackmailing us, Han?" Chan's tongue prods at his inner cheek in frustration. Today was supposed to be a good day, so he wonders why things are going down the hill.

"I guess." He lifts an eyebrow at you and you click your tongue before leaning forward and taking the picture.

"Fine. I'm in."

"I don't mind getting a copy of the sex tape," Chan mumbles and you hit your partner with your elbow over his nonchalance. You are not going to get suspended. It was too much for your reputation.

"Good," Jisung smiles. You stare at the picture carefully, looking at how the sharp spikes of the fence pierces into the man's abdomen, pinning him to the fence. Chan is about to take the picture from your hand when you ask,

"This could be an accident."

Chan takes it and looks at it before nodding, "Yeah. You know how rich drunk people are. They might have partied too hard and stumbled and fallen off their balcony."

"I thought that," Jisung mumbles before searching through the pictures. He lifts one off the table and hands it to you. "Until I was informed that this is the second murder UN Village has witnessed in less than a month."

The photo Jisung hands you is of a woman. She lies face down, her stomach pierced through by the sharp spikes of the fence — a bloody contrast to the fresh greens in her yard.

"Why am I celebrating my holidays like this?" Chan groans, as he leans towards you, his arms touching yours. He looks at the pictures and then at you for a short while as he watches you observe the photo carefully. The gears in his head are turning and his emotions are an array of mess but he reminds himself to focus on the case in hand. That is exactly what you would have wanted him to do.

"She's Yoon Yerin, who lived just up the street from Kim Jihoon. She was found like this two weeks ago." Jisung points out.

"Can't still label murder, Han. As Y/N said, it could be just an accident. They could be drinking red wine and partying, screwing each other on balconies. Hell, I'm surprised that only two have died so far."

You suppress your amusement and look at Jisung who explains, "I thought the same as well, detectives. The possibility exists—"

"Heh," Chan lifts his lips slightly and nudges you, almost as if he is telling you that the two of you have lesser work to deal with.

"—but there is also a chance of an exceptional clever murderer behind all this. So please," he turns to look at both you and Chan with an extra intimidating glare, "Look at this case with an open mind."

"You've our word," you smile widely, keeping the photos back in the file.

"Thank you," the Captain looks comforted. "I cannot hear more from the Mayor, I swear to God. Now, you'll go into UN Village and investigate these deaths as soon as possible."

"And?"

"If there is a murderer, you must identify him as discreetly as possible and if these are just accidents, uhm," Jisung clears his throat, rubbing the back of his head, "We'll just put out a notice in talks of their safety, I guess."

Jisung stretches back in his chair, folding his arms and looking at the two of you proudly, "You guys are the best darn detectives we've got."

"Of course," Chan sneers. "Why else would you take our breaks away using some sex tape as some kind of blackmail? You're a nasty captain."

"He'll be forever salty about this, huh?" Jisung raises an eyebrow at you.

"Nah," you chuckle. "He's secretly overjoyed about being able to work during the holidays."

"As if!"

"We could just go now and investigate—"

"No, you cannot." Jisung sighs. "This is where I'm kind of helpless. The Deputy Mayor specifically mentioned how we are not allowed to poke around, cause chaos and make a scene."

"What? Why?" Chan slightly shifts in his chair, in agitation.

"It'll draw the media in like vultures."

"So?" You furrow your eyebrows. Why does this smell rotten?

"So, the two of you will go in under cover." Jisung smiles. "I doubt it would be an issue for the two of you."

"Undercover? Undercover as what?"

Twenty fours hours later, you are here.

A large group of suburbanites are gathered on a perfectly sculpted front lawn. They stand around the stainless steel barbeque rack and are talking. You gaze further, your back pressed against the big lorry that carries furniture to furnish the new house.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Chan sighs. He helps the man take out the sofas from the lorry. His biceps bulge and you smile, eyes lingering for a minute on the vein that is prominent over it.

"Please," you laugh, head thrown back. "When I said I wanted to get married, you were there in the list, yes," you tilt your head and snigger. "But you were definitely not my first candidate."

"Lies," Chan teases. "I was your only other candidate, work being the first."

"Don't make me throw this chair at you."

Chan laughs, taking the chair from your hand and walking back in to settle it down onto the floor. Your head shifts back to look at your new neighbours, two of them waving at you and making their way to you. Chan comes out of the house right then, watching the two walk towards you.

Chan bends down to the side to whisper to you, "Do we have to go speak to them? I—"

"Of course. We can't be rude to them."

Chan holds onto your arm, whining like a little child, "But why? I hate rich people."

"Because I'm your wife now," you scrunch your nose at the title. "Listen to me and go with the flow. Just remember that you're Bang Chan, leading specialist in maxillofacial surgeries, hoping to start over in this area of the city—"

"And you're my beautiful wife, my other half, Y/N," he lifts your hand after entangling them with his, your silver ring bright on display and he takes a step forward.

"Now let's go, honey!"

The other couple walks towards the two of you simultaneously, stopping midway upon reaching you. You tilt your head, shifting your gaze to a softer look as you look at the couple, before clutching onto Chan's hand a little tighter.

"Hi, I'm Y/N and this is my husband, Chan. We just moved right next door."

The tall man with a hair messy on top of his head smiles, although it seems very superficial. Yet again, Chan did mention how rich people could never smile sincerely. He tells you, stressing every alternate syllable, "It's so nice to have you here, Y/N, Chan. We are so glad you could shift right before our Annual Holiday Barbeque."

He stretches his arms out towards Chan. Your partner heaves a huge sigh in silently before holding his hand and giving it a firm shake. The other man continues, "I'm Park Rowoon, the president of the local homeowners' association and this beauty here is my wife, Jieun."

Jieun's face contorts into a huge, gleaming and completely insincere grin. She holds onto her husband's bicep, fingers digging into the flesh, "Well, isn't he a dear?" She laughs high pitched. "It's so nice to meet you." She rushes forward to hug you, her arms wrapping around your frame and giggling into your frame. You hug her back, albeit awkwardly, laughing slightly at the gesture.

On the other hand, Rowoon extends his arms out to take Chan's hand in for a shake. The hand holds his, and squeezes it hard enough to hurt as he raises an eyebrow at him. Chan jolts in surprise, trying to squeeze back as he grits his teeth.

You pull back from Jieun and notice the two males holding each other's hands so tightly that it has turned pale. Chan does not seem to back out and rather squeezes back further every single time Rowoon's grip on his tightens. That is, until the older male pulls his hand back and looks at Chan, after shaking his hand a little bit, flexing it.

"You okay, baby?" Jieun rushes to her husband's side, and wrapping her arms around his, she just out her lower lips and looks at him with a dazed and madly-in-love look, "Are you hurt?"

"Nah," he pulls at the dead skin of his lips. "Just the old carpal tunnel acting up. Age, right?" He laughs, locking a fixed gaze at Chan and you quickly rush to his side, locking your arms with his as you laugh.

"Definitely. Don't worry about it. You still look as young and charming as ever."

Rowoon laughs before asking you, "So you're shifting right next door, huh?"

"Yes!" You lift up your lips a lot more than when you usually smile. "Did you see our moving truck? It was quite immediate but I'm glad. This society is so good and just right enough to start a family together." Chan's eyes widen and he looks down at you, nostrils flaring in surprise as he chokes on air. You stand on your toes, kiss his cheek before settling down and smiling at the couple before you. "I desperately want to."

Family? With you? Fuck.

"Y-yes," Chan's breath hitches and he gets the word out. He'd be down to start a family with you but how could he even suggest a relationship when you just look at him like a friend? A friend who you can come to when you're needy and sexually frustrated.

"My husband's very observant. He saw your truck the other day itself!" Jieun exclaims proudly.

Chan's eyebrows shoot up as he stares at the man. He doesn't already like him and one more wrong step and he is ready to pin some crime down on him. Rowoon is flattered by his wife's comment.

"I do like to keep a close eye on the neighborhood. After all, vigilance is the first step in ensuring a beautiful and safe community. Talking about which, I couldbt help but notice that you have a bird feeder."

Rowoon stares hard at the wooden bird feeder behind the two of you. Chan and you turn to look at and he laughs. You look proudly at it. A heirloom – almost – of yours, Chan (and Jisung) agrees to let you bring it with you. (They agreed to it when you explained how your neighbors hated you and they would harm it the minute you left sight of it for a long time.) You look at Rowoon with eyes so bright as you begin to explain. Your partner, on the other hand, arms still locked with yours, looks at you with stars beneath his eyes and you are responsible for them. It's admiration. Sheer, peak admiration.

"It's an antique, you know. My grandfather carved it himself out of—"

"Yeah, great, that's lovely." Rowoon cuts you off and the smile disappears off your face, your eyes losing their shine. Chan clutches his fists in anger, head shooting back to face the stupid old man for making his wife mad — his partner sad. The old man continues, "The thing is wooden bird feeders are against the UN Village Homeowners' Charter."

"They are?" You look back at the wooden bird feeder. You bite on the lower lip to hide your disappointment, eyes squeezing shut to hold yourself alright.

"I'm afraid so." You turn your head back to look at him. Chan quickly unlinks his arms from yours and you look at him, worriedly. Was he going to start a fight? Please, God, no. You glance in worry till he interlocks his fingers with yours as he holds your hand tightly. The warmth seeps through you and your lips pucker unknowingly at how comforted you feel.

Rowoon continues explaining, "They tend to give off a country farmhouse vibes and aesthetic which is not exactly what we are going for."

"I'm sor—"

Chan clicks his tongue, preventing you from apologising. He pulls you towards him, a little bit closer than the two of you already were. Your partner glares at the man before huffing out loudly and saying, "You run a pretty tight community here, Rowoon, don't you think? Respect the rules or you're out." Rowoon stiffens upon hearing the words before Chan laughs, stretching his other arm out to pat his shoulder. "I'm kidding. Just kidding."

Jieun steps in right then to smoothen out the tension as she claps her hands together, laughing, "Aren't the two of you the cutest? Are you newly weds or?"

"Yes. I mean, it's been a year, but being married to her feels like falling in love all over again for every single day of my life." Chan locks his eyes with you and you gulp. The words hit deep, so deep that you know you shouldn't be fluttered, or flustered. This is Chan. He couldn't be serious.

"Ah, so cute," she squeals. Rowoon looks at his wife with a raised eyebrow before looking at the two of you again.

"Listen. I've to go check on the grill and grab something to eat. You should swing by later tonight and meet the rest of the members of the society. I'm sure they'll love you."

"Of course. We do want to finish a bit of the moving in and stuff today and maybe put up the Christmas decorations soon, but we'll be there. Guaranteed." Chan tugs at your hands to pull you back. You nodded and waved at Jieun.

"Bye!"

Chan quickly rushes you back into the house before finally letting out a huge sigh. He runs a hand through his hair before letting his back hit the door. You look at him and giggle lightly into your hand.

"Don't laugh," he glares. "I swear to God, if I have to spent more time talking to Rowoon—"

"You're doing so well, idiot," you laugh, throwing your head back. "We just need to dig in a little bit, talk a lot and confirm that these were accidents."

"Y/N, baby," You breathe slowly upon hearing the term. A sure endearment that Chan has always used but for to hear it roll out of his mouth in places this homely felt different, made you feel different. "If I have to spend more time with Rowoon, I will come up with another theory and it would probably be a suicidal one."

"Don't screw this up, yah!" You hit the back of his head. "The last thing I want is a suspension just because I was caught fucking you in the evidence room."

"Like you didn't enjoy it," Chan leans forward, nose brushing against yours almost. You can feel his breath fanning against your face and the temperature rising. Your hands are firm on his chest before you push him back, fanning yourself with your hand. You tie your hair up into a ponytail before pointing at the boxes by the side of the door.

"Get to work, husband. We don't have time to waste."

"The pepper next to the salt, Chan. Why would you put turmeric there?"

"You'd be one whiny arse motherfucker for a wife," he groans and angrily shuffles the bottles in their right order. "Why are we even arranging all this? Let's just wrap this up in like two days and go celebrate Christmas back at the station."

"I'm not going to take risks. It's Christmas. I celebrate every single Christmas," You mumble. "At least the bare minimum. And if this Christmas has me celebrating it with you, I will. I will give you the best Christmas ever."

"I don't celebrate Christmas, Y/N."

You place the cutlery in the shelves. You leave the kitchen after finishing every single arrangement of the same. Chan follows you into the main living room. You stop in your tracks when you hear Chan say the words and you turn, eyes shooting up.

"Why?"

"Mum left dad in winter. Didn't feel right to celebrate Christmas when she was at home. It's a bitter memory for her, you know?" You nod, eyes looking at him with understanding rather. He sits down, lifting his legs up and stretching it over the table. Your eyes widen and you narrow at his legs.

"Feet. Off. The. Table." You glare.

"Why?"

"Because it's disgusting." You groan. You sit down by his side once he puts his feet off the table, huffing at you. He turns to look at you and you respond finally.

"Do you, maybe, want to celebrate Christmas with me this year?"

Chan's a romanticist (though he wouldn't ever admit it). He believes in how destiny is meant to unite two people like one magnet for another, one jigsaw piece matching just another. He also believes that you are something special to him because his mind worries over you, his heart gravitates to you in a crowded room.

Felix told him that it's probably just sheer concern for his longest partner ever. That your heart tends to feel weird stuff for people that protect you, for people that take bullets for you.

But today, right now, when you tilt your head to the side, resting it on your arm as you wrinkle your eyes in mirth and ask him, his heart skips a beat. Maybe two. He is lost in his thoughts, emotions on an overload and he wonders if you would ever see him in a different light.

"Chan?"

He snaps out of it. He laughs, almost at himself, as he runs his hand through this hair. "Do I have an option? Han made sure our Christmas would be stuck here."

"I'm the best option you have, dude. That, or it was you and your can of beer and your football marathon."

"Maybe."

You still, your head lifting up to look at him. Chan looks at you like he has so much to say to you, so much stuff that conflicts within him but words he would never say out loud. You wish he could. Your head turns to the small Christmas tree inside the house — bare, empty and green. The one extra along with the big one outside every house in the UN Village.

"We could start by decorating that. Yeah."

You hop off the sofa and rush to take the decorative goods from the suitcase. All on command from Captain Han Jisung, courtesy of the very same man who bought so many of the decorations. Chan turns his body, arms folded on the head of the sofa as he watches you scramble in search of something.

You take the decorative items out from the suitcase, putting it by the side as you search for something. Chan walks towards you, squatting as he watches you look before he holds your wrist and halts your actions.

"What are you searching for? I could help you."

"It's this bluetooth speaker I thought I brought," you shake Chan's grip away before undoing the zip on the other side of the suitcase. "I really thought I brought it. Shit."

"Hey, hey," Chan sits on the floor as he watches you. "It's alright. You can put whatever you want to put on the speaker. It'll be loud enough for the two of us."

You turn to look at him, before falling back on your ass and sitting. You fold your arms around your knees close to your chest and you smile, "You don't mind me blasting Christmas Carols during tree decoration time, right?"

Chan laughs at your innocence. Something so soft, so pure about it, about how you loved Christmas so much. He wants to hold you close — oh so close — the need almost overcomes him but he holds back.

"I don't mind."

"Yay," you squeal, getting back on your feet and rushing to your phone on the table. "I have this collection of Christmas Carols that we primarily put every year–" Chan watches you scroll through your music library to find the collection and he knows you have when your whole face lights up like the goddamn star on this awfully green tree. "Tada, it starts with my favorite carol, Deck The Halls."

Chan's never understood the hype around carols but for you, he will try today. You increase the volume to the highest, and place the phone back on the table before rushing back to Chan and the suitcase. Your partner takes the fairy lights in his hand and lifting it up, he looks at you quizzically.

"How do you go about this?"

"There's no right or wrong way, Channie. Trust me. We are all swinging it and hoping that it turns out right," you reassure. You take the fairy lights from his hold and stand up. "I can show you what my family does." You walk to the tree, about a good amount of inches taller than you still.

The carol plays in the background like some beautiful serenade wrapping around the two of you. Chan stands a step behind you watching you carefully wrap the fairy lights right around the inside bark of the tree and plug it in to the extension box by the side. The white lights flickered bright and shine on your face that is close to the tree.

Chan stares. He can't pull away. You hold his breath, captivate his gaze and have him completely enthralled. Your eyes sparkle — hell, you sparkle more than those stupid fairy lights.

He is so charmed by you that he doesn't realise how you've been trying to catch his attention for a while.

"Chan?" And then you hit his arm, the whole police academy teaching style. "Focus, will you?"

"Fine," and he takes one of the christmas ornaments, hanging them up on one of the spikes. "Is this how it is?"

"You're doing so well, don't worry."

And with the carols in the background, the two of you slowly put the ornaments up, laughing occasionally at Chan wearing the ornaments by hanging them on his ears instead. Another set of fairy lights are draped perfectly over the tree. The stockings are hung by the side and everything is exactly as you remember Christmas decorations to be inside and you realise it's not much different from the Christmases you usually have.

The tree is there. The lights are there. The desserts will be coming. The memories are still made and your loved one is still here. Nothing is different.

"Help me hang the star up," you look at Chan. He tilts his head to the side and his eyes fix on the battery operated star in your hand.

"Did Jisung really give us all that?"

You nod, "Yeah. He told us to sell the story well. Apparently movies lie and that rich people are not all that dumb."

"You sure?" Chan sniggers. "That dude we met there seemed pretty dumb if he wouldn't even let you keep your bird feeder over some stupid aesthetics."

"Don't remind me," you groan. "Now, come here and hold me up." You stretch your arms slightly and Chan's trying his best not to giggle at how cute you looked in the minute.

His hand is warm against your sweater, heat seeping through as he lifts you up, grip strong on your waist. Your legs intuitively wrap around his torso to protect yourself and you stretch your arms out. You try placing the star above and Chan edges closer to the tree when he knows he's a bit far off. You finally place it successfully above and switch it on. It lights up pretty and your heart warms up at the joy of completing the tree decorations.

And then, Chan suddenly jolts you up in his hold. You fall forward, arms wrapping around his neck and face brough so close to his that you can see the sparkle underneath his eyes that glisten for you. You stiffen in his hold as he wraps his arms around you tighter and in the very next minute, Chan's lips have found yours.

It's soft and gentle as it moves against yours, taking your lower lip within seconds. In that kiss was the sweetness of passion and the reconfirmation of million memories spent together. It moves so gently against his plump ones that you know you're drowning in everything Bang Chan is and that it's creeping — he is creeping slowly into your veins and contaminating your being to a point where it would hurt to live without him.

Chan holds you tightly against him, holding your entire weight in his arms like you are his whole world. His hands squeeze your waist as if he is reminding himself that you are still here with him, sharing this holiday with him. And when Chan pulls back, you realise.

In his kiss, you are home.

"Why did you—" You barely manage to piece words together with the help of your clouded brain. "Uhm, why did you kiss me?"

Chan blushes. The apples of his cheeks heat up at the sudden question and it surprises him how he could still blush at you after all this while. He looks behind you, trying to stall away some time from answering until his eyes land on the creeping mistletoe with white buds around.

"Mistletoe!"

"What?"

"Behind you," Chan points, holding you up with one arm wrapped around your waist. "There!" You turn to look behind, one arm still around his neck while the other is by your side.

"Oh, it's a mistletoe." You blush and look down at how Chan holds you up. "You could put me down now, Chan."

"Oh yeah." And he slowly lowers you down onto the ground. His cheeks are still stained slightly before he rubs his fingers, fidgeting with it and finally exclaiming, "Ah look at the time. We've got to get ready for taht barbecue shit they are hosting." He turns you around and pushes you to the room the two of you are sharing. "Hurry!"

You laugh, head still dazed over the kiss. It goes back and repeats it over and over again till you feel the temperature in you shoot up and has you wanting emotionally so much more.

After all, this was the first time Chan has kissed you like that and it did not end with sex.

The smell hits your nose before anything else. The smell of fresh beef being roasted and the toxic smell of rich people partying. Although you cannot quite exactly explain how rich people smell if someone asked you. They just smell. . . rich.

Dammit. Now you'll associate this fine rich smell of first class beef with stupid rich people.

"At least it's good meat." You mumble.

"That's what she said," Chan laughs at his own joke. You open your mouth in disbelief, nudging him with your elbow. Across the lawn, by the pool side of Jieun's lawn, you see her and a couple of other ladies waving at you to come towards them.

"I'll have to go over there. Anyhow, get as much as information as you can, alright?" You turn to look at Chan before walking backwards. "I'll come over soon once it gets too nauseating for me, please."

"Sure," he waves at you and you turn around and walk as elegantly as possible to the posh ladies sitting there. Chan, on the other hand, decides to head to the group around Rowoon that almost look like a bunch of Mayor Arseholes to him.

You walk towards Jieun who is sitting a hot tub. The hot tub bubbles and you raise an eyebrow at the amount of wealth this family has amassed over the years. A table full of snacks rests under a nice canopy and a very intoxicated lady sways from the left to the right by the side of it.

"Sookyung-ah," Jieun waves at the inebriated female, "Meet the newest member of our little neighbourhood, Y/N."

Sookyung is loud. So loud that you wonder maybe Chan is right about rich people — that they drink, merry and party all day long. She waves her hands, eyes blinking a little too much as she welcomes you, "Nice to meet you! Have a drink!"

She shoves a big glass of brownish looking liquor that reeks of rum. You take a sip of it courteously. The liquid flows down your throat, the burning feeling distinct on your throat. Your eyes wrinkle in surprise, "That's strong, whoa."

"Of course, darling, it is," she smiles widely and it should have repulsed you. However, it is the only genuine smile you have found in this whole neighborhood so far. Sookyung continues, "How else are we supposed to get through the day?"

"Is this how it usually goes?" You laugh nervously. "Us girls sneak off to grab a drink while the boys beat the chests out at front?"

"Ooh," Sookyung gushes. "I think I'm going to like you a lot, darling."

Jieun takes a sip of her orange coloured cocktail as she circles her glass lightly, letting the liquid shake inside. You tilt your head backwards, staring up at the stars only to notice how it is a full moon tonight. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you think of the one person you associate with the moon; your partner.

Jieun leans forward after placing her drink back on the table. She nudges Sookyung and raises an eyebrow at you, "Sookyung-ah, did you see her husband?"

You blush at the term. This will take a while to get used to. "Was he the tall, broad shouldered guy in the suit?" She hums in approval and your eyebrows furrow downward in displeasure. "Talk about a prime cut of meat!"

"I know, right?" Jieun giggles. "I saw him and started to drool."

Your cheeks heat up ridiculously. You can feel your heart beating a lot quicker and it is a weird sense of pride that swells up within you over a man you can't even completely call yours now. You fidget with your fingers, black dress riding up your thigh as you shift in your seat nervously, "I guess Chan is a good looking man."

"Chan? Is that his name?" Sookyung laughs, "That's an understatement of the year. I would wish to strip him down, slather him up with butter and just eat him up." Your face couldn't help but morph into one of disgust at her words. At this point, you are borderline disturbed.

"That's, uhm, very vivid thoughts you have of my husband."

"Ah, dear," Sookyung leans forward and holds your hand, rubbing it in her grip. "We were joking. But you must tell us—"

Jieun breaks her and smiles so wide as she looks at Sookyung, grinning and then at you, "What is he like in the sheets?"

They laugh together and you look at the two of them. So this is what a rich bunch of ladies too. Gossip and talk unfiltered. You had only two options at this point, or maybe three — a) stay quiet and let them do the talking, b) tell them off for talking about Chan this inappropriately, c) talk with them and get more information under the guise of being one amongst them. You swear to the heavens that you would rather do option b, but for the sake of this crime, you decide to do what Captain Han Jisung would have told you to follow.

"He's a fucking tiger," and you laugh the fakest laugh you could ever pull out, albeit not because Chan wasn't good in between the sheets or anything (he was an almighty beast with his technique, yes) but because you never thought you'd live to see the day you'd use words like that, in any situation at all.

"Called it!"

"Tell us everything!"

You take a sip of your drink and cross your legs as you sit up straight, almost feigning arrogance, "I'm not one to kiss and tell but let's just say that Chan makes me very happy about," you grin and pause, trying to catch the ladies' attention on every single word of yours, "Twice a day or so."

"Twice a day?" Sookyung gasps.

"If he's just very much in the mood, I know I'm not going to walk for days together. Not that that is an issue. Chan is the sweetest and takes care of me," you flutter your eyelashes.

Jieun taps at her chest, huffing, "Be still my beating heart. Be still."

Sookyung sighs, stretching back on the reclining chair, "These days, Ilsung and I get it on like once a month or so and that's like for a minute. How disappointing."

"They are newly married, Sookyung," Jieun stilts her head in acknowledgement. "It's been a year of their marriage or so." She takes a bite of the cookie from the plate by the side and you smile as she looks at you.

"It seems like you're all pretty open in this neighborhood," you point out and twirl a strand of your hair that lets loose before your eyes.

"Oh we share everything," Jieun says and Sookyung scoffs, before picking up a cookie and her strong drink.

"Some more than others." She scowls so visibly that Jieun has to furrow her eyebrows at her and signal something with her gaze before Sookyung looks away to the right.

The backdoor of the house behind opens and you turn to look at a lanky woman walking in with a tray of cookies. It is the same one that you have on the table already and you look at her. The glow on her face is long gone, her eyes losing the sparkle and you wonder if she is going through something.

Sookyung frowns and mumbles under her breath, albeit a bit too loudly, "Great. This party suddenly took a sip into Depressionville now."

You lean back into Jieun and mumble, "Who's that?"

Jieun leans into you and is about to whisper when Sookyung runs her mouth free, "That's Somin. An absolute downer."

You bite your lip out of anxiety, surprised by how Sookyung really does run her mouth a bit too much — a lot enough to cancel her off your list of suspects almost. Jieun hisses at the other woman before telling you, "Her husband was Kim Jihoon and he died yesterday so," she clears her throat, "She's quite rattled, to say the least."

"Then shouldn't she be mourning at her husband's house or funeral home for a few days? The fact that she's already here seems so crass." Sookyung shakes her head, disappointed. You gulp and watch the woman, Somin, come closer and Sookyung, folding her arms tighter.

The minute Somin is in your periphery though, both Jieun and Sookyung smile so brightly and that's when you realise that nothing you see and nothing you hear could be trusted here. It's the world of the rich and everyone wants to come out on top.

"It was so nice of you to come out," Sookyung waves and calls her closer. Jieun nods and you see how she walks slowly towards them, a sad smile on her face and her tray held strongly.

Somin speaks softly, almost as if she should not, "I probably should have stayed inside." She holds out her tray as she stretches her arms outwards. On the tray are many round cookies with cracked lines on their surfaces, a bit too deep than normal. They look sad. Just as their maker does.

You wait for the other two women to do something and when they take a piece of cookie, you follow suit and take one. The distinct taste of cinnamon fills your mouth and you hum in approval even if the cookie wasn't the best out there, "Ah, these snickerdoodles taste good!"

"Thanks, but you don't have to flatter me," she looks at you with a face close to no expressions whatsoever, "Whoever you are."

"Somin, this is Y/N. She's new to our neighborhood," Jieun says and Sookyung adds, "And she clearly knows her cookies."

"Thanks," you hesitate. "I do bake from time to time." And taking another piece of the cookie, you tell them excitedly, "Did you know that Snickerdoodle is derived from the term Schneckennudein, which literally means snail noodle?"

The three other ladies stare at you, blinking at what you just said in utter disarray and you sigh.

"I meant," You take a bite of the cookie, "Great cookie!"

"Yeah, great cookies, but," Jieun starts and Somin looks at her, pressing her lips together.

"But?"

"I said that I would be the one to make the snickerdoodles, but it's alright. We can have twice as many and can give some to our husbands partying over there. No worries."

"Oh, okay, I'll have to go," and she scurries away quickly. She barely shuts the door as she rushes out of the place almost immediately, her hair flailing behind her. You watch the woman, analysing how no one in the party seemed bothered by it.

Jieun sighs, "She looks bad, doesn't she?"

"If you ask me," Sookyung speaks loudly once again and you already know she's going to run her mouth, "She's better off with Jihoon dead. You should have heard the way the two of them used to fight."

"Were Somin and Jihoon having marital troubles?" You ask.

"Definitely," Sookyung leans forward, "If by marital trouble you mean continuous screaming matches blasting across the entire neighbourhood, why then yes!"

"You're such a gossip, Soo! It was not that bad."

"Says you!" She stands up and walks towards the bar counter, smiling and turning back to look at both you and Jieun. "More rum?"

"Yes, please!"

"Hey—"

It's the greetings and then a hand that trails far too low on your back. It grazes the curve of your ass and you quickly jolt forward turning only to find a man in his mid thirties in a suit, standing eerily close to you.

You narrow at him before asking, "I was searching for my husband. Pretty tall, broad shouldered, dark brown hair, slightly curly. Have you seen him?"

"You're Chan's wife? Didn't know he had such a beautiful woman for a wife," the man edges forward and you take a step back, eyebrows furrowed at him and your hand trailing down to keep you ready to grip your gun. Until you remember that you're undercover and hitting this man with a gun would seem suspicious. Your best option was to deck him. The man takes another step forward and you take one backwards till your back hits the buffet table, "I'm Ilsung. Do you maybe want to go somewhere..."

"You have a wife and I have a husband," you spit out. You are mortified. So this is what Sookyung mentioned and the fact her very own husband is involved in illicit affairs — does everyone here have a mistress or is involved in adultery? Is that the rich people norm?

"So? Everyone here has an affair with someone's wife. Do you want to be mine? I can take care of you."

"I can very well take care of my wife, Ilsung. I don't think I'll need your help."

You hear the one voice you needed to hear in this very moment. You look over the older man's shoulder to find Chan, his hands shoved into the pockets of his formal pants. His top buttons are undone and the vest and suit fits him so well that you are glad you picked this one out for him. You shove the man away and walk to Chan, heels digging into the lawn as you strut confidently.

"I need the madam to say that," Illsung shoots and Chan's at his patience's end. He makes fists of his hands on either side of his and you hold onto his arms to calm him down only to look at the other man and narrowing your eyes, you scoff.

"I don't think I need to go have sex with someone like you when I get it well from him. That, and I guess, him being my husband should take more priority but not in this neighborhood where everyone breathes and lives on sex. So, no, thank you. I feel sad for Sookyung. She deserves someone better than a trash for a husband."

"Why, you bitch!" And he rushes forward with a clenched fist to hit you. Chan stops his blow, however, chuckling to himself.

"That's weak. Now, why don't you go take care of your wife while I treat mine like a princess? Yeah?"

And Chan walks away with his arms tight on your waist as he holds you close. Ilsung yells behind the two of you, his wife yelling at him to keep quiet. Chan, on the other hand, doesn't speak a word further, just walking you all the way to the house the two of you share, keeping you so close to him and glaring at the others to keep them away.

There are sighs and grunts, furrowed eyebrows and clenched fists as Chan argues with himself in his head all the way to the room the two of you share. He stands by the table, still lost in his thoughts and you almost pick up the book you're reading — one by Natsume Suseki — only to deck him with it, although you decide not to because he already seems ready to snap his control.

"Chan—"

Maybe your voice was the only trigger he needed to snap, to break away from his thoughts and to give them words out loud.

"You just stood there? Like some dumb doll when he touched you?" Chan glares at you and you frown, folding your arms over your chest and yelling back, "Excuse me, but I'm undercover as some doting wife to some stupid man."

"Did that matter then? Oh my god," he groans, throwing his head back. "I'm so mad and I know you're right. You are right but how dare he touch my wife when I was around. The fucking audacity—"

You hold the edges of the table with the base of your palm, pressing against it as you jump up and sit up on it to face him properly. You cup his face and making sure his eyes are fixed on yours, you smile softly.

"Don't smile right when I'm shit mad at everything, Y/N."

"Should I frown then?" You laugh out and push yourself back slightly to allow Chan to come closer and stand in between your thighs. "Let's think of this as some, uhm," you ponder, still holding Chan's face close to you, "Yes! Let's think of this as an occupational hazard."

"Occupational hazard," he scoffs. "Bullshit. He did that because he thinks women are weak. He's one of those arrogant pompous rich men that think that he can have his way with some good sacks of cash and power and that all women are weak and with that power comes his ability to subjugate them all to the age old tradition of treating them as sex dolls, an object for pleasure."

Chan's red and out of breath when he finally rants it all out and you bite your lower lip from laughing, dropping your hands from his face. Chan's cute. Oh god, he's so fucking cute and you know you shouldn't overstep boundaries but dear lord, if Bang Christopher Chan keeps this up, you will actually get down on your one knee, pop the ring and propose to him.

"Are you done?"

"No," he glares at you and leans forward, "Going to get back to work after this case and find some hell of a corruption case on him to put him behind the bars."

Your eyes wrinkle into thin crescents as you smile wide. You raise your eyebrows and suggest, "I've a better idea. Why don't you rather fuck me with all hat pent up frustration? It's a win win deal, if you think about it hard enough."

Chan leans forward, lips curving up into a confident grin, "Oh, I will. I intend to do both. Fuck this anger out on you and put him behind bars."

Chan's hands are big in comparison to your face. He cups your face, angles it and kisses you. His lips fit right into yours almost as if they were meant to be there for a lifetime to come. He kisses you and it's just as magical as always, laced with a touch of ardent need and passion. You needed him, you needed his warmth, his protection and everything he has to offer. His arms snake around your neck to grasp it and pull you in, deeper into him as he moves his lips against yours, softly at first till it turns into something so passionate that it would have your knees buckle, had you been standing. Chan is pressed against you, his white shirt, a size small as he likes it, clinging onto his body tightly (rid of the vest and suit in a moment of anger as soon as he walks into the house you share) and perfectly enough for you to hold his muscles.

You promised to yourself that you wouldn't fall in love, not after the shitshow of a marriage you saw in your parents. You promised that you'd keep your heart to self, that every individual in this world was brought forth as a single entity, so why in heavens did we go searching for others?

Chan makes you understand.

You understand now that promises are meant to be broken and as you gaze at Chan under his dim lights, his face so temptingly close to you, you are more than ready to break the promise you've made with yourself.

It has been written in the gazes already and as you lean forward, your fingertips tracing his jawline, Chan knows it because he meets you halfway, his hands creeping behind your back by your waist and tugging you closer, your bodies touching and your lips on his, soft and testing waters initially. He pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours, angling your face to delve deeper into you.

He has his lips against yours, nearly knocking you off all the wind in your lungs. You sigh into the kiss, find your hands in his hair, tugging at the roots and moving against his body, your legs stretching by either side of his body. His hand sprawls over your neck, his thumb caressing against your jugular before pressing into the neck, rubbing slow circles. He kisses the top of your lips, your hands tugging at his shirt.

In a swift motion, positions have changed and you're sitting on him whilst he props himself up on the table. He lifts you up slightly, pulling back and places you on top of his lap. Your rear falling into the depression between his thighs, rubbing against his groin slowly. He looks at you through hooded eyes, pushing your hair past and opens his mouth to speak before you voice out first.

He looks at you from below, your hair falling on his shoulder as you look at him, his head thrown behind as it rests on the sofa's ridge. And your lips find his again, tugging at his soft lip to let you through, to open up to you completely.

You moan into the kiss, your back arches and Chan's hand is still firm on it. He kisses your lower lip and your tongue brushes his lips in the impact, groaning at how he won't let you through a second ago and then, he lets you in. It's intimacy on a level you were slowly being prepared for. It's everything you remind yourself that you wouldn't break down into. Chan makes you feel special, with every praise, with every word he swears out to protect you. Chan reminds you of a feeling you had long forgotten.

Chan's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. Your head is thrown back at the sensation, your hips gyrating over his growing length.

His hand moves from your shoulders to your arse to your back after he seeks your permission as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and good lord, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smirks, the curve of his lips tugging upwards slightly and you think it's cute. You think Chan also makes you feel divine as he whispers into your skin like personalized love notes or small token of appreciation, "Fuck, you're hot. The most beautiful being I've ever seen," and that is all that is needed as you gyrate over your hips a little quicker. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

And you let him, just like you've already given him permission in your head to ravish you tonight, to take you to hell and back.

Chan cups your face with both his hand, holding you and watching your face shine in the dim gold setting of his room. Your cheeks glistened and your eyes sparkled but his eyes could not stray away from your lips — coral, swollen and so demanding. He pulls your face down, kissing your nose tip and then your philtrum before pressing his lips flat against yours.

His kiss is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, like a divine aphrodisiac. It makes you want to pull him in and suck the living hell out of him and yet it's lovely. It's precious and laid out well planned. His tongue licking your lower lips before entwining with your tongue as he pulls you closer into him, your hips lowering deeper into his covered length, panties sticking to the core from the sensations your body is responding to.

His fingers trail up your black dress, thumb grazing the skin slowly, bringing about goosebumps to the surface before they slowly move enough to rip your dress apart and expose you to him, in all semi-nude. You moan, before kissing him as you hold onto Chan tightly.

He makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to pull you down a lot forward and gladly welcome the movement of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses, those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs.

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bare bottom cheeks, caressing it over. You sigh contently. His hand trails upwards, touching, feeling you all over and you pull back, breathing rapidly as you look at Chan. The next second you are unbuttoning his first two buttons and prompting him to remove his shirt too. Your legs slide slightly dangling off his sofa before he pulls you towards him, his naked chest warm enough against yours as he pulls you back in to devour you.

"God, you're heavenly," Kiss. "So fucking heavenly." Kiss. "You're a fucking good girl." Kiss. "So good for me." Chan sucks a huge hickey into your neck — bright, dark and purple but it's how he worships and praises you that makes you want him more, your clothed core grinding on his enlarged bulge that is covered. The friction from the cotton of your panties and the cotton of his jeans slowly stimulates your core and you can't help yourself when your body is moving on its own accord on top of Chan, your hand moving your from falling back.

“Chan,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you for a minute. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing.

"Chan!"

His fingers move downward, grazing your skin by your stomach slowly, his eyes trained on yours as he watches you slowly break down. His fingers tease over your clothed mound. You bite your lip from groaning too loud but Chan's sudden tapping at your covered clit makes you yelp.

"Good girl. That's right. I want to hear your pretty moans," he kisses down on your neck, trailing and plastering wet kisses down your clavicle before sucking at the exposed skin of your breasts. "Moan loud for me, baby." He sucks at the skin by the crook of your neck, under your clavicles, above your breast and at the curves, leaving purple marks almost instantly thanks to your sensitive skin.

You can hear your heart beat quicker, racing against your chest and your thoughts drive you desperate. Pulling his face from your breasts, you kiss him, making the kiss deeper, licking his lip and grazing it with your teeth. You grind down on him trying to edge yourself desperately. You move forward to own every gulp and moan he releases and squirms in pleasure.

"I want you so much," you choke out. Chan's hand lets loose from your throat slightly and he looks at you with admiration, before gripping at the jugular, and caressing it lovingly, pressing wet kisses against it. You sound desperate, almost like you would lose your sanity if Chan doesn't make you his, this minute. "Please. Chan, please."

His hands trail downwards, thumb rubbing the skin on its way before he slips them under your panties, swiping his finger across your slit, feeling how wet you are. He groans out loud, mumbling, "What a doll. All wet and ready for me to devour. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Baby, wouldn't you?" He presses against your jugular with his other hand, tilting your head and gently choking you. Your eyes rim with tears in joy and you nod, "Yes, please."

His mouth moves over the skin at your breast, kissing it furiously. His tongue lapping at your nipple over your bra, slowly circling over the clothed material as he rubs his finger up and down your slit, occasionally rubbing against your clitoris. You press down and grind on him further, begging for more. Chan removes his hand from your neck and moves it up from your waist to your back and it lingers around the hook of your bra before snapping it open with a flick of his fingers. The bra slides off your shoulder and you throw it away, unbothered by where it lands.

Chan's mouth falls on your breasts, circling big with his tongue before slowly decreasing the radius of his turns and narrowing down on your nipples, sucking at them alternatively. You are moaning, holding at his shoulder and dragging your hips over his bulge in a slow, excruciating pace he has set with the drag of his fingers.

Your throat is dry from all this excessive want and you wet your lips, breathing coming out in hot puffs of air, rapid and shallow. The passion and want blinds you and Chan taps on your clitoris constantly with his thumb, using the other fingers to slowly tease your entrance over the panties but going back to sliding down your opening. You groan frustrated and grind down on his bulge trying to chase the feeling that is growing within you.

Chan's lips are all over you as you bite into his shoulder occasionally. It hovers over your neck and then your breasts, giving it all the attention as he plays with your nipples as he rubs you at a pace that quickens slowly. Your mind is boggled and you can't get your thoughts clearly.

"Such pretty breasts," he groans into it, his tongue flicking at it from your underside. "Such perky breasts. So beautiful and all mine."

Soon enough with his praises and the way he worships your being, the promise of an orgasm begins to manifest and build within you as a strong tightness within your lower regions, creeping into your abdomen, ever growing with every passing second. Chan's steady rhythm is strong enough to carry it over the edge with the friction you get from all the material and his bulge and as your climax looms closely, your hips rock and gyrate slightly against him. He pinches and flicks your nipples as he helps you ride out the orgasm, your eyes tired and hooded. You kiss him softly on his lips.

"Will you remove your lingerie for me, pretty girl?"

The order shouldn't have turned you on this much but it does as you hop off his lap, your feet unsteady on the ground as you balance yourself after your first orgasm. Your fingers are on the edge of your panties and you're pulling it down completely in the next second. Chan watches you steadily, his eyes trailing on your figure and you feel attended to.

"Jesus Christ," he stands up, the bulge moving slightly and your mouth dries up as it opens, wanting so much more. He holds you by your waist, petting your hair, mumbling, "I love when you put your hair down. You look like a goddess. A goddess ready to let go of your divinity all for me."

He unbuckles his belt as you slowly touch yourself, your hand moving down your body. He watches you, your thumb and forefinger playing with your nipples, tugging and pinching them till they harden under your grip. He removes his formal pants and his boxers, pulling it down and away at your request. Chan's length and girth has your eyes widening, as always, your tongue licking over your lips and you gape.

It's painfully hard and the tip is red, leaking with precum down his cock. Chan holds you by your waist and lifts you up, your knees wrapping around him and your soaked core on top of his hardened girth, occasionally dragging past it. He kisses your breasts, licking over the nipple and the underside of the breast, grazing his teeth over it as he walks you to what you had thought would be the bed. However, he stops midway, looking at you for a second before your back hits the cold walls of the room in this house as he holds you securely. You see the bed by the side and you smile. You drop your legs and stand on your toes as you kiss him, your tongue running over his buccal cavity.

Chan's hand trails down, circling by your waist before his palm hovers over your mound. His thumb brushes past your clit teasingly and your hand wraps around his neck, kissing him and biting at his lower lip till you feel the metallic copper taste of blood filling your senses.

You moan as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing you fold. He rubs circles into your folds, slowly dragging them out into waves and your hand flies upwards and forward to hold on to him for a grip.

"Chan," you rasp out, and he hums, removing your hand so that he can kneel down, kissing your thigh and biting it slightly as his thumb rubs against your clit and the other swipe against the folds. Your hands grip on his roots, tugging at it mercilessly.

"Baby, do something," you cry. "Please, I need you." Your other hand tugs at his hair, trying to bring him closer in a desperate manner. "I'll be a good girl. Please, do something."

"Should I?" he teases, rubbing small circles around your clit in an excruciatingly slow manner and you think — know — that Chan is going to drive you to insanity and how he'd pull one off his book and blame it on his instincts.

"Please, please, please—"

The intrusion is sudden and you are overwhelmed. You gasp, the air raspy against your throat before falling. Your hand pulls at his hair harshly as he sucks on your clitoris, his breathing fanning over you. Your fingers drag down and dig into his skin, unbothered by the possibility of cutting through it.

He presses his thumb on your clit after removing his mouth, tapping it slowly, simultaneously and you think you're going delusional. "Chan, oh my fucking heavens."

He kisses your mound repeatedly, telling you, "Look at this sex. Wet and dripping. I'll give you what you want, baby. I'll give you what you want for being a good girl for me."

Chan adds another two fingers instantly and you feel overwhelmingly full, crying out at being widened so pleasurably. The walls stretching out and you catch him mumbling, "So fucking tight and all for me. Look at this brat being a good girl for me."

He curls them up into you and your back arches slightly at the tingles. You feel Chan slipping his fingers easily into you and the slick of your arousal dripping down your thighs, making a mess. He rubs your walls, his attention also on your enlarged button and your hips gyrate with him, thrusting and chasing after his fingers desperately. He finds your spot easily after being this around and pushes at it constantly. Your head hits against the wall hard and he looks upwards at you for a split second, worried, only resuming after you give him a signal that you are alright.

You feel the euphoric rush coming, creeping through from within and trying to embrace you as a whole and when it's very close to burst, Chan pulls his fingers away, licking them clean with a knowing smirk plastered on his face, for a second before thrusting them back in.

Chan pumps his fingers in and out of you as his thumb rubs furious circles into your clit. He bites at your thigh, kissing them soon after, leaving traces of bruises near to your vulva. Hot, purple and sticky. He sucks on the skin deliriously, licking the skin to soften before grazing his teeth to oversensitize you. You feel the build up and you squirm against Chan, your eyes watering.

"Chan, baby," it's a sob that leaves you. "Please." You were so devastatingly close after your last orgasm, the balls of heels leaving the surface as you try to pull back but Chan pulls you down as he sucks on your clitoris and pumps his fingers in you in a ridiculously breaking pace and when you are so close to breaking apart, Chan drags his fingers away, licking and sucking at them as you look down at him.

"What the fuck?" You swear, frustrated, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Good girls don't swear."

"I'll blow you off well," you try striking a deal with him. He looks up at you amused, strands of hair sticking to your face from the sweat and he still thinks you're the most beautiful woman he has laid his eyes. "I'll give you one hell of a blowjob. Just please." Your voice breaks as you look at Chan, who looks so delectable at the minute with your juices staining the side of his mouth and his lips shining in the light. "You won't regret—"

His mouth is back on your core and you groan, "Ungh!" He mumbles, his warm breath tingling your core as he speaks against it, "Good girls don't strike a deal either, darling."

"But your good girl does," you tease and Chan's mouth is back on your sex, licking and teasing it. He grabs you by the calves, his blunt nails digging into the vast skin.

Without another word, Chan dives right into it, tongue darting out to lick a long, thick stripe from your center to your clit, causing you to shiver. Your left hand finds its way back to his hair after grabbing at his shoulder intermittently. Chan simpers to himself, overwhelmed by how well your body reacts to him and just him, your legs shivering and buckling, about to fall if it weren't for Chan's hands holding you up and pressing you against the wall.

You feel the thickness of his tongue lapping up your seeping wetness, which in turn causes a rush of arousal to leak and drip down your ass. "You're making a mess, baby," he chuckles, the laughter hitting your clit and sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers instinctively tighten around his hair and you pull him closer to your cunt, his nose nuzzling against your mound. He groans, hands gripping your thighs tightly, locking your legs in place.

Burying himself further, his tongue dips deep inside you, nose nuzzling and rubbing against your clit with every thrust. His eyes are piercing and fixated on the rise and fall of your chest as he looks up at you once in a while, seeing you tug at your lips, eyes closed and hand roaming around for support. He loves seeing you fucked out for him.

"Argh, it's fucking divine," Chan mumbles against your slit and the vibrations have your core clutching onto nothing. "This good cunt all wet and slickened for me, ready for me." You mewl, unable to stop yourself from wriggling within his hold, the grip on his hair tightening.

Your walls grasps around his tongue, pulling him further into you as he laps up every single drop of your arousal, passionate as if it were an aphrodisiac. One of his hands travels upwards to latch itself on your breast, rubbing the underside of your breast, fondling and gripping it hard.

“Chan,” you moaned softly, your voice trembling over the sensations that ride into you, toes curling. He responds to your calling, withdrawing from you slowly, by planting soft and gentle kisses to your inner thighs.

"You're doing great, love."

He sucks on your clit furiously and that was everything for you. You feel the same high building up at a pace quicker than you thought was possible. You feel it tightening, your core clutching onto his muscular organ as it tries indulging itself deeper, chasing after something it craves. His nose rubs against your neglected clit. He licks a stripe against it before sucking at it, teeth grazing at it sending tingle down your spine that has you hitting the bumpers with the heel of your feet. You are already sensitive from the last orgasm and all the teasing you had and with all this vigor and undivided attention Chan gives you, you feel it coming as he treats you like you're his only girl.

Your back arches more steeply, your mound hitting him in its influence, head hitting the wall lightly this time and your moans are louder, raspier and quicker. You are screaming out Chan's name as you see the stars under your eyelids.

He still licks slow stripes, taking in and devouring the rush of juice that squirts out of you. He lets you ride out the high and he lets you leave him breathless as his grip on your thighs do not ease away. Chan does not stop, even when you're a quaking, quivering mess, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes and it's almost bordering overstimulation. You can't think and you can't form proper sentences. He leaves you gasping for air, with something stuck in your throat preventing the passage of air and it's difficult to breathe in this rush and he makes it harder.

He looks at you teasingly and he lifts his hand as you bend forward to his kneeling self. He clutches on your neck, his fingers pressing against the side softly as he continues licking up your orgasm and blocking your air passage. You feel the stimulation rushing and concentrating and it's all too much for you. Tears stain your face and you're crying, "It's too much, Chan. Too much."

And he stops as soon as you say that. He presses soft kisses against your clitoris and he holds your hips tightly as he stands up. You've lost any energy in your legs you have and if it weren't for Chan, you'd crash.

He holds you by the hips and carries you, dropping you gently against the bed, your hair spreading and you kiss his shoulder. He caresses your face and tells you — it's a whisper almost — "I think I want to get to know you more. I think I—"

You bring his face lower to kiss him, preventing any other word to spill from his mouth that your head tells you to cancel. You are not sure yet. You hold his face down, devouring him as a whole, feeling his length slide your core draggingly and you groan into him.

You don't shy away from prying your hand down, teasing his cock as you rub your hand over the enlarged shaft slowly, teasing his enlarged red head, rubbing your arousal and the afters of your orgasm all over him, slowly stimulating him as you drag your hand down his length and back up again, letting go of his shaft only to cup his balls, trailing your fingertips around it. You let go and look at Chan.

"Lay back, please," you request and he pecks your nose as he pouts at you. God, he really really wants to call you his. Forever.

Chan lies back on the bed, his head resting between his pillows and yet he pulls his body up, supporting his weight on his arm. You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Chan, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Chan's hand falls on your hips naturally, helping you steady yourself.

Your hands rest on his chest, firm and broad and you gaze at Chan's cock for a while, it twitching with every unadulterated thought of his as he watches you on top of him, bare, exposed and unrestrained all for him. Your mouth is parched and your tongue pokes out through the seams of your lips, running across the expanse of your lower lip and wetting it.

"Fuck," he swears as his eyes move with your tongue, his chest rising and falling under your hold.

You reach forward to take him in your hand — the tip of his head looks so inviting that you couldn't stop yourself. Chan's hands roam up your arms, his thumb caressing the underside of your breasts before they play with them, his thumb and forefinger rubbing your nipple, watching it turn solid in his hold. He grips at your breast, fondling it and massaging it, stimulating you and bringing about a rush of confidence in you.

“You’re fucking large, fuck, fuck,” You yelp, eyes wide and mouth salivating at the heaviness in your grasp. You widen your mouth, stretching your facial muscles and Chan laughs.

When you look at him, his dark eyes are speared to your movements, teeth gritted. At this moment, with you hovering over him, he can't seem to contain how excited he is, his length twitching in your hold. You begin moving your hands up and down his length at the same slow pace he had put through.

You lean forward, Chan's grip on your breasts tightening as he squeezes it. Your whines turn to louder moans of ecstasy. His one hand grabs your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail until he drops it and touches your face, "Ah, so beautiful. You're so perfect."

Chan watches you and is all too eager, his hand on your face trailing down to your shoulder, gripping on it as he continues caressing one of your breasts. The flat of your wet tongue sticks out to lick around the rim of his hot head. He fights back a groan, choking and sputtering, grip on your shoulder tightening as his blunt nails dig into your skin. You stretch your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing it, which leads profanities spilling from his pretty mouth, even though it's a discomfort to your movement as you engulf the whole of his head with your tongue. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath and you sigh at the thought your mouth wrapped around his pretty cock.

Chan inhales a sharp breath, swearing and uttering, "Your pretty mouth could take me so well, baby. So good." You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning a slow suction. Your tongue licks around the base, pulling up a fat stripe over the throbbing, prominent vein.

“Fuck, fuck,” Chan mumbles, shifting on the sheets, his hand gripping on one of the pillows. “Open wider, please, baby. You're doing so good. You're taking me so well."

You do as he has asked of you. Your jaw is already sore and the joints ache from the girth of his head alone. He pushes his hips off the bed in the slightest without your awareness; his hand trailing back to your hair and the other still on your breast making you feel good. His grip on your hair is strong as he thrusts more of himself into your mouth, your lips wet around his length.

You try your best for it to be pleasurable for him as your fingers tighten around his length before you start to twist your wrists — with a click of your gliding joint — and continue sucking. Chan is careful to be gentle with you, very tenderly urging his cock to fill more of your mouth. It shocks you when you feel the blunt of his head hit the cap of your airway, eliciting a gag.

Chan's eyes widens, the reaction from you exciting him as you feel him twitching in your mouth. He gasps, breath uneasy as his hand leaves your hair and trails behind towards your arse that sticks out as you try deepthroating Chan. He rubs your slit slowly and the unexpected contact pushes you forward, taking in Chan a lot more than you had planned, leaving him groaning into your shoulder.

He pulls out barely before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused on making you feel calm too. Chan moves back and watches you taking him so well and he knows it's a sight to behold — your pretty lips wrapping around his length, taking him so well as if your mouth was made for him, crafted to perfection. His fingers rub small circles into your vulva, tapping against the clit accidentally once or twice.

Another gag rumbles out of you as you fight the reflex. The vibrations against his member is felt and he grips on your arse, pulling you into him, your nose rubbing against his pubis. Your finger trails the underside of his shaft before rolling his balls between your fingers. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision as you oppose your gag reflex, taking him as deep as you can.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the walls of his bedroom, followed by the deep moans and sighs spilling through Chan's lips as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway, your throat constricting and eliciting a groan from him. He also diverts your attention to rubbing you, now and again slapping your cheeks, eliciting moans from you against his girth.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva as you dig into the flesh of his thighs. Your mouth is stretched as wide as you can physically make it and tears roll down your cheek continuously, while you willingly take him completely in your mouth. You look up through the flutters of your eyelashes, enthralled to see the Adam’s apple in Chan's throat bob up and down while his head is thrown back in pleasure.

Chan pulls your head back; his cock comes out from your mouth with a light pop followed by you gasping for air. Your eyes droop, your cheeks hollow and your jaws ache but everything counts to how hot you felt, to how hot the tension between you still is. His hand trails back to your hair, gripping on it and jerking your hair back so you’re forced to look at him.

"This is a fucking sight to behold. Look at you, darling," he groans.

Chan's thumb grazes your skin and he latches his lips onto yours in a sloppy, messy and wet manner and nothing else seems to matter other than your need for each other. You lean forward, tugging at his pinna as you bite down on it lightly, before mumbling, "I'm on top today."

Chan doesn't care because all he can focus on is how you said today, like this isn't just a one time thing. He gazes at you with such affection that has your heart racing telling you to let go of that stupid cages you keep around your concepts.

As your folds, dripping down with thick, sticky arousal coating Chan's cock with that and your saliva, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you throwing your head back, squeezing your eyes at how his length stretches you out, your walls wrapping around him tightly. He holds your waist, helping you down on his length.

You rock your hips into him, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick cock. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate, licking your lips. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord. Chan's right hand rises upwards, massaging your breast, flicking your nipple and sending a rush down your spine, arching your back. His cock hits you at an angle and a soft moan leaves your lips.

Chan takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Chan,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and Chan lifts himself up to kiss you.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Fuck, Chan, oh my god, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock, gyrating around it and tightening your walls. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you, leave him trembling under your hold.

He groans, "Your cunt is so pretty. Look at it, baby. Look." He gapes down and you gasp, moaning quicker.

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the third time that night, all because of this man. Chan's finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge.

“Are you going to come, baby?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes, please, please,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, please, please, you feel so good, Chan.” You lean forward and the motion causes him to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours, tugging and pulling at it and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Chan, fuck. Oh fuck. I'm going to come soon. Oh my god." Your voice reaches a pitch higher.

“Then, come.”

Chan moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Baby, come all over my cock. You deserve that for being the good girl you are.”

Chan's other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find its place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke, gasping for air. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Chan's cock tightly, your hip gyrating around it for all the friction.

Your fucked out expression as you choke for air makes Chan plunge into you harder and you choke harder, his hips lifting up and thrusting into you.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Chan's sides, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you. Thick strings coating your walls till it seeps from your vagina and drips down.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He kisses your forehead and your hair, pushing it from your face. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side, the semen slipping out. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him, nuzzling into the sides of your breast.

In his warmth, with his arms over your stomach as he snuggles closer to you, you feel your eyelids heavy and fluttering shut. His lips are close to your skin, feeling his steady breathing and listening to it calms you down, steading you and increasing your melatonin, slowly drifting away to a state of peace, all in Chan's arms.

You stir in the bed, your hand reaching out for Chan only to feel the messy bed sheets and blanket. You wake up, brought to your senses well enough and you look around to find Chan only to see the light in the balcony turned on.

Putting on his white shirt messily, you rush outside to find Chan sitting and staring at the black sky. You sit by his side, shuddering in the cold and he looks at you fondly, cracking a smile.

"You're up?" You nod, teeth biting at the cold breeze that passes by, until you realise what Chan is staring at. It's snowing. It is the first snow in a long while and it's beautiful, albeit being late. He smiles at the purple mark that he has graced upon your skin. Chan stretches his arms out, blanket still in his hold as he offers to hold you close in this cold weather, to share his body warmth. He mumbles softly into your ears, "You should sleep a little more. It's going to be a tough day tomorrow. Aren't you meeting Jieun?"

"Yeah," you smile, watching the surroundings. "First thing in the morning. She seems to know a lot about everyone in this neighborhood. That, and I want to know why they treat Somin," Chan looks lost and you realise you haven't discussed it yet with him. "Kim Jihoon's widow is treated like that."

"I'm firm on this theory."

"What theory?"

"That Rowoon is the one killing people — bad homeowners — off because we'll, they disrupt his neighborhood. That or, they got drunk and it is still an accident."

"But Somin?"

"What? Anyone can be a bad homeowner! She's probably his next target." Chan chuckles and pulls you in closer. He holds you still for a while before he says, "We'll talk about the case tomorrow before you go to Jieun's. And you should clean up the mess of notes on the dinner table."

"You're the nagging kind of husband!"

"No." He is quick to deny. "I just like my house at least a bare minimum clean, alright?" You laugh out loud, falling into his hold as you try to contain your joy. Something soft hits your knees, barely visible but it settles softly.

Snow. It's snow and you see the snowflakes along with it. You watch them tumble, those feathered crystals, their chaotic flight to form a blanket that could not be more uniform, more orderly. And it's beautiful. So beautiful that it eases you and has you snuggle further into his warmth. Enough to make you forget everything for a minute there in his arms.

"I like snowflakes," you say, your head resting on his chest. There is a certain intimacy in the hour, in his hold, in this weather and between the two of you. A certain intimacy to friends who only sleep and work with each other shouldn't have. Chan looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

You do like snowflakes. A lot. Each snowflake is like a sculpture made out of paper. Each has a unique identity reflecting a crucial passage in the chosen source material with an equal amount of complexity carved out of minimal space and in the end, it falls down before someone, lighting up someone and making them happy.

"It makes me happy. It doesn't have to fit in or match with anyone else and it still means the world to someone."

Chan smiles and you know it is clearly one of your most favorite things in the world, your solace. You find the happiness growing, much as a spring flower opens. It comes from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. Chan makes sure it is like that, that the world knows when he's happy but wouldn't, when he is sad. A person smiles with more than their mouth, and I heard it in his voice, in the choice of his words and the way he relaxed. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Maybe he'll teach you not to hold in your feelings. Maybe he will let you fall in love. All over again.

And you kiss him. It's short and quick, as chaste as the love you feel for him in this minute, in his arms. He leans forward and kisses you back and maybe, you both were snowflakes, as weird as you are, as unique as you — and yet the two of you make each other happy as corny as it sounds.

"Uh," Chan pulls back and rubs the back of his head and then his nape. "I—"

"Oh, a mistletoe, look!" You point and Chan turns back, frowning to look at the tree by the side with some creepers that crawl on its branch — creepers that were not mistletoes. You smile brightly as you continue pointing and Chan looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

"That's not a mistletoe."

"It isn't? I thought it was. My bad!" You laugh, eyes sparkling in mirth and cheeks heating up in embarrassment over the obvious lie you said. You sit up straight and look up at the sky.

"It's a pretty night for whatever shit that went down today," Chan comments, staring at the moon. The moon is a warm milky glow in the sky, as if the sight of her could become a song in the eyes of anyone willing to raise their head upward. You were and you were going to seize the opportunity.

Chan's gaze is fixed on the big moon and your head thinks of him and the words from Natsume Suseki and every other anime you were forced to watch, thanks to Jeongin. In every black night, he was the spark that rekindled hope in you.

"Is there something on my face, Y/N?"

"No," You turn back, smiling, heart fluttering and your mind at ease. "Just," you hold your chest, feeling the beating of your heart louder than ever.

"The moon is beautiful."

It's small and fragile. Once, and then, twice, till it sounds again and again and again through the silent air of your house.

The knocking on your door is repeated and you turn to look at Chan who stirs in his sleep, thanks to the same sound. You shuffle in your bed, trying to go back to sleep, presuming it is an illusion and nothing more. However, Chan heard it too.

"Is someone…"

"I'll go check," you mumble, huffing and throwing the blanket to the side. Luckily, Chan's shirt covers you up to your thighs. You jump out of the bed and your partner decides that it is safe to follow you to the door instead.

You open the door and in comes rushing a little boy, aged not more than eight, with tear stains on his face. He runs forward hugging your frame in his reach as he cries out loudly. Chan looks at the scene before him in delusion and you relate.

Who in the world is this child?

"Is everything alright?"

The child continues crying into your frame, burying his face into your abdomen. Chan squats down to come face to face with the child. His hand carefully holds the child's back as he pats him slowly, letting him calm down for a while before he asks again.

"Where's your mum and dad?"

"Dad isn't home. M-mum is," the child hiccups, choking on his own sobs as tears roll down his face messily. "She's in the garage and there's blood around her head and—" He cries fiercely and you hold the boy close to you, heart heavy because you know the worst possible scenario. Death.

"Why don't you take us there, okay?" Chan smiles gently. The boy looks with teary eyes at him and Chan quickly lifts him up in his hold. "Come on. Let's go."

And the boy was right and his worst nightmare comes true. You cover the eyes of the child to prevent him from further seeing the horrendous sight before him.

Because before all of you was the body of Kim Jieun, sprawled in her own driveway, her head crushed to a pulp under her garage.

An overturned shelf, a couple of paint cans that look like they have been thrown and some blood splattered on the floor is all you and Chan find last night. That, and a woman's broken pastel nail extension.

You would have checked further had it not been for your undercover and that Chan had been getting endless calls from Mayor Arsehole. Changbin fumingly goes on about how he sent the two of you to put a stop to this but rather there's another case on his desk now. The man does not calm down even after Chan says that the two of you were definitely looking for a serial killer and that these deaths were not accidents. If anything, it upsets him further.

This morning however, the sun shines brighter.

Chan walks into the kitchen, looking for you, teasingly shouting out into the air, "Honey, what's for breakfast? Eggs? Bacon? Eggs and Bacon? Or maybe it's ri—"

Before him on your cluttered table of a case file, notes and photos of evidence lies a sad bowl of soggy cereal.

"Soggy cereal it is," he frowns.

"I made it though. It should count for something, right, husband?"

Chan grunts and sits down, spoon digging into the bowl of cereal as he takes his first bite soon enough. He glances over at the wall behind the breakfast table. You have mapped out the relationship between every single person in this neighborhood, affairs inclusive and Chan lifts his lips in pride.

"Someone has been a bit busy. When did you even sleep?"

"Didn't fall asleep. So I decided to work on this instead," and Chan realises you were not even kissing. Your eyes are grogging and your face is a lot gloomier even though you are smiling off the joy of mapping it all out.

"Did you crack the case?"

"As a psychological profiler, I can say," you frown. "I haven't. I just can't figure out the connection here. These murders were distinctly targeted, so, why? Why specifically these three people?"

Chan stirs the milk in his cereal before he looks at you and suggests, "Why don't you look for a common enemy?"

"Huh?"

"Y/N, babe," you blush at the nickname and try to zero in on the matter in hand. "I know you and I see way too many crimes on a daily basis because of our job and that makes you and I think that we are chasing after some blood sucking psychopath," Chan pauses and eats a big bite of cereal. He munches on it slowly, letting you grow anxious in waiting, "We may not be dealing with some headcase who likes to strangle old women with pantyhose. Maybe we are dealing with a good old fashioned murderer; you know, the kind that kills people because they pissed them off."

You look at the board, index finger against your cheek and your eyes widen. "You could be right!"

"Don't look so surprised also," Chan mumbles, finally finishing his cereal.

"It could work. Maybe what the victims have in common is their relationship with the killer." You continue to stare at the board. Chan cleans the plate in the sink on the other end, mumbling at you to keep calm and that you would crack the case with him soon enough. You sigh, "I don't have enough information to look for a common enemy." You tap on the first victim, Yoon Yerin. "Especially on her."

Chan folds his arm and stares at you. This look ok you is another one of Chan's favorites. You purse your lips, eyebrows furrowed together as you concentrate. Your eyes don't waver just like your heart in moments like this and Chan thinks he could fall even further for you, for your confidence.

"I'll probably swing by her place and see what I can find there. What's your plan?"

"Drop by at Rowoon's and find out where the fuck he was last night when his wife was murdered and his child was all alone." Chan stands by your side and you nod.

"Be home by 6:30?"

"Sure thing, honey," Chan laughs and he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering for a little while longer and you still, body heating up in his contact.

You nervously laugh, pushing him away slightly, "You're in character," You laugh again. "Method acting, right? that's good."

Chan looks away, avoiding contact with you and mumbling, "Yeah. Method acting."

He wonders how long he has to put up with this stupid method acting.

"Any luck?"

"Besides having Rowoon almost barf on my very nice dress shirt, no," you hear Chan speaking through the phone. You walk further down the neighborhood, lush green trees on either side. As much as you despised Changbin, you had to agree — the neighborhood is great. Just that it wasn't meant for people like you. People not rich.

"Do you want me to press a shirt for you?" You tease.

"Would my wife do that?"

"In your dreams," you roar in laughter. Chan chuckles on the other end of the line.

"Anyhow, Rowoon was out fucking one of his mistress last night. He's also pretty fucked up with the death and has not stopped drinking."

"He has an alibi?"

"Yeah," Chan sighs. "It's definitely not my homeowner's rage theory then."

You walk a little more till you stand in front of an unremarkable suburban house. You tell Chan on the other end, "I'm here. I'll get back to you soon. Bye," and hang up almost immediately. Quietly, you turn on your tape recorder and speak into it.

"184 Arbor Way. The house that belonged to Yoon Yerin, the first victim. Yerin lived alone which is uniquely for this predominantly family oriented neighborhood. That alone may have made her stand out and a target for suspicion."

You walk around the house, trying to look into it and around it, "The place is scrubbed clean. Whoever Yerin was, I'll have to find out from inside. The outside is scrubbed way too clean to get rid of any possible doubts."

You take a step back and look around to see if anyone was passing by, before you lay your hand around the door knob and try turning it. It's locked. You wonder if Rowoon had the key. Glancing around carefully, you slide a paperclip from your pocket into the keyhole and jiggle it once — twice, till the door opens.

You smile brightly, "Some skills are rooted, ha! Thank God, I dated that sketchy guy back in college."

You pull open the door. Inside, the house is spotlessly clean. Almost as if no one ever lived in it. Whoever cleaned the place did a thorough job, almost leaving it spotless. You walk around the house, looking into every corner and room there to find anything. However, you are left looking at nothing but bare floors, undecorated walls and sparkling clean surfaces enough to shine.

You turn to leave, sighing out an air of disappointment when a gold sparkle catches your eye in the light. You bend down and find a man's golden cufflink lying against the corner of the room. Taking a latex glove from your pocket, you pick it up and bag it in a plastic cover, hiding it in your jacket as you leave only to bump into Somin.

"Oh, Hey," you stammer.

"I don't mean to pry but did you just come out from Yoon Yerin's house?" She raises an eyebrow and you hesitate, fingers holding the plastic bag tightly in your pocket.

"No, no, I—" You sigh, looking down. Lying after being caught red handed is useless. "Yes. I'll admit that I did."

"What on earth were you doing there?" She asks and you realise that to anyone from outside, your actions seemed very suspicious — enough to blow off your whole cover.

"The thing is, Yerin, I was there because," you close your eyes and inhale a sharp breath of air, "I was there because I got curious."

"Of?"

"I just heard what happened to Yerin and I needed to come and see the house myself."

"What could you possibly look for?" Her eyes waver and she looks back at the house.

"Some signs maybe," you look back to follow her gaze, "Maybe a blood stain or something. I know this might come out as a bit weird but I have always been fascinated by macabre. I even listen to Stephanie Soo's true crime podcasts regularly."

She smiles fondly and nods, "I understand. To be very honest, I was fascinated by Yoon Yerin too when I heard of her death. I tried coming by to see what had happened. But now," she sobs. "Jihoon is dead and so is Jieun. They say that there is a serial killer on the loose."

"It's so sad that it happened in this neighborhood," you take a step forward, trying to walk away.

"I know, right? The whole point of living in a gated community is to keep the awful things out." Somin leans forward and puts her hand around your shoulders. "Look, you seem like a really nice person, Y/N, so I'm going to be honest with you. There is something bad happening here, something very very bad. Keep your head down till it's over. It's for the best."

Her tone is lower than ever and the advice sounds scarier than usual, something as if it were to warn you of an impending danger. You call Chan and he picks up quick.

"About pressing your shirt? I think I can do that. I have some pretty cufflinks to match them."

Later that night, you sit in your kitchen, the same board looming over you. You try to map out even more connections on your chart of suspects. The whole board is so covered with lines of strings that it almost looks like a spider web.

Behind you, the door swings open and Chan comes in, strides longer and quicker to take him to you as he screams, "Honey, I'm home."

You laugh, twirling in your rotating chair as you look at him and ask, "How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Since we got this assignment. Of course, I mean," he tries putting a serious face, "It is sad that we were forced to do this by Han when he blackmailed us with that sex tape—"

"It's not a sex tape."

"The footings, but," Chan smiles widely, "It wasn't so bad to play house with you, Y/N."

"Likewise, Chan."

"Now, did you find anything?" Chan asks, resting his chin on your shoulder once you turn to face the board, his hand on your other and you freeze, surprised by the sudden contact, ironically. "This mapping just got messier."

"Yeah," you exhale and your shoulders slouch. Chan stands up straight as he tries to understand the board before him. "I tried mapping all the infidelities and affairs and this is what I got. A whole mess. It's all convoluted now."

Chan's eyes widen as he tries tracing the lines with his index finger before giving up. "Is everyone cheating on their spouses here?"

"Almost everyone."

Chan takes a step back, opens the fridge and pulling out a can of beer, he goes to sit on the sofa. You turn your chair around and watch him take a sip of it.

"Wow, you look as if you're right at home," you tease.

"There's space for two here," he pats the sofa by his side, and grins sheepishly.

You get up and take your own can of beer from the fridge, mumbling, "I can sure take a break," and walk towards him, plopping down by his side. The two of you clink your beer cans, the sound clattering through the walls.

"It's Christmas tomorrow, you know?"

You hum in agreement, "It's my first one outside home."

"I hope we can crack the case soon so that you can at least spend a few hours with your family on Christmas."

"Hey," you nudge his arm, "The thought of spending Christmas with you does not repulse me, okay?"

"I had not even said that," Chan gasps. He turns to look at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "So does that mean the thought does repulse you?"

"Don't twist my words," you laugh.

"Do you want to get married?"

You choke on your drink, eyes wide as you look at him. He pats your back as he tells you to breathe slowly. You finally ask, "The thought or with a specific person?"

"Both."

"Yes, and no," you mumble. "I do want to get married once but," you look at Chan for a minute as he drinks his beer. "I don't think I have my feelings sorted properly to have the privilege to think of thoughts like that."

Chan leans forward, eyes dazed and fixed on yours. Has he always been this beautiful, this captivating? Has he always made your heart beat so much quicker?

"Do you think you'll ever be ready to sort them out?"

You sputter and choke again. Chan smiles again; this time however, it looked sad. He stands up, placing the beer can down on the table before. "I should get some fresh air. Take a stroll in the neighborhood and make sure nothing is going around, yeah."

You turn away, face too scared to look at him in worries of your emotions being transparent. "Yeah, you should do that. I'll get back to the mapping."

"I'll, uhm, I'll be back in a few." Chan rubs the back of his neck before quickly stepping out of the house. You sigh, head fuzzy with the overload of emotions.

He doesn't know you were ready. He doesn't know you wanted more. He doesn't know how you confessed that night to him in the moonlight. He doesn't know of how you feel, because of you. You never told him directly, always twisting your words and actions. If anything, you had no one else besides yourself to blame.

"Chan," you whisper but it's too late. He's out.

A step too late to realise as always.

You snap out of your daze caused by the overload of emotions. Getting up, you slightly slap yourself and mumble, "Focus. Back to work now." You reach out into your pocket and take the cufflinks to file away. You turn it around in your hand when it flashes.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," you zero in on the object in your hand. "I've seen this cufflink before." You rush to the board, eyes scanning the pictures to see where you had seen it when it finally lands on the second picture pinned on the board.

You had seen it on the second victim — Kim Jihoon.

"Oh my god," you sigh, hand limp on both sides as you realise you know who it is. You know who the killer is and you know her motive.

"I know the killer. It's Somin, oh my—"

"Clever girl," you hear the feminine voice from behind you. You spin around quickly, hand on your chest as your eyes widen to find Somin standing by the door with a huge butcher knife in her hold.

"It was you!"

"That's right. Me." She takes a step forward. Instinctively, you glance back across the living room to where your gun hangs in a holster, draped over the coat rack.

Somin takes another step forward, speaking, "Sweet little Somin. Fragile, pitiful Somin. Somin who everyone always thinks they can pick on, lie to and laugh at — Ha!" He leaps forward and wildly waves her knife. She yells. "Well, who's laughing now? Who's laughing now?"

You dodge back, repeating to yourself to dawn the fact that it is true, that, "Jihoon was having an affair with Yerin."

"That ungrateful, cheating bastard couldn't wait to jump into that slut's bed. So I showed them both," she laughs. "I showed them both well."

"That I can understand," you edge closer to the coat stand to try and get your gun. "But why did you have to kill Jieun too?"

"Are you kidding me?" She yells. "That bitch stole my snickerdoodle recipe."

You huff out in disbelief, eyes narrowing at her and eyebrows furrowing, "Ah, I see. You're a full blown psychotic."

"I was going to stop after her, you know? But then you had to go and poke your nose around in the neighborhood. Stupid bitch."

Somin takes another step towards you and you know you are still far away from your gun. She is now almost at an arm's reach and you take a step backwards instinctively. She waves her knife again and you dodge it carefully.

"Who are you, huh? A cop?"

"An NIS profiler actually." She looks lost and you sigh. "A cop, yes."

"Well, Y/N," she glares. "Do you know what I hate the most? Liars." Somin lunges at you, jabbing the knife towards your throat. You dodge to the side, neatly weaving around the thrust. Somin stumbles past you, knocking over a giant carton of cereal, spilling it everywhere.

"Argh," and she swipes again. You dodge nimbly to the side again. Her knife cuts through the air with an audible hiss and the adrenaline pumps into your blood from the fear. The knife hits the fruit bowl and sends bright red apples scattering on the table, over your notes.

"Well, well, aren't you fast?"

"You've no fucking idea," you hiss, taking in as much air as you can. You back up and feel the counter behind you.

"Enough talk!"

You gulp, gripping the counter firmly. Somin dives towards you, slicing her knife at you. You reach back and grab a heavy toaster. You pull it around and holdi it out in front of you. It crackles loudly with a hot, electrical burst.

"Fuck." Somin jerks back, as if stung, the knife dropped from her grip. The knife clatters to the floor, it's tip blackened from char thanks to the electricity. Somin steps away, clenching and unclenching her hand.

"That fucking hurts, you bitch."

You drop the toaster and step back, putting your hands up defensively in front of your face. You propose, "Look, Somin, it's still not too late to surrender. We can still end this peacefully, alright?"

"You think I'm going to give up just because I lost my knife? I need to survive." Somin bounces up and down, assuming a combative stance. "I've been taking aerobic kickboxing for four years." She bounds towards you and shoots a lightning fast kick at your head. You guard your face and block her kick. She bounces back and aims to kick at your shins, hard. You jump, hopping back neatly avoiding her kick.

"Are you done?"

"No," Somin recovers quickly, spinning in a fast arc and throwing out a devastating, high roundhouse. You throw up your hands and block the kick. She staggers back, her balance off.

You seize the moment to spin around, swing low and lunge towards Somin, jamming the palm of your hand into her chin. You slide your one leg between hers and jerk back, kicking her feet out from under her and slam her down into the ground. The back of her head hits the cold tiles on the floor. You force yourself on top of her, pressing down on her chest with one knee and pant, "Four years of kickboxing, huh? Try seven years of krav maga."

She squirms under you, huffing, "Get off," and quickly lunging to get the toaster. Your eyes widen and you try to grab her hands. However, she's already about to throw the toaster when you hear the sound of metal clinking once and the toaster falling by your side.

"Nah, you're not going to hurt my wife," you turn to look at Chan, pointing the gun. He walks further ahead to the two of you. "Kim Somin, you are under arrest for the murder of Yoon Yerin, Kim Jihoon and Kim Jieun. You have the right—"

"They were all liars. All cheaters. It's not fair," she yells, struggling under your hold. You hold her wrists tighter and Chan slams the handcuffs on her.

"It's over, Somin. It's all over. The court will hear the rest, and the dead will have their peace."

"Did you reach home?"

Your phone is connected to the bluetooth speakers in your car and you hear Chan's voice in the small vehicle. You rotate the steering wheel as you turn to the right across the street. It's a comparatively quieter day, almost as if it's in stark contrast to the shit that went down last night.

"Not yet. I'm two minutes away."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Chan laughs and you smile, your lips pressed together to prevent you from breaking into a big grin. "Don't miss your husband too much."

"Still in character, I see." You press on the gas to reach home a little quicker. "Are you spending it alone?"

"Nah," you hear voices in the background. "I'm spending it with Felix and Han."

"Don't miss me too much either then," you tease back and pull up at your place. You park the car in the garage and sit in the car as you speak to Chan. "And I'll meet you back in office in a few days—"

"Did you reach?"

"Oh, yes?"

"Then, check the backseat. It's my Christmas gift for you," Chan says. You unbuckle your seat belt and lift yourself up to turn back and search the backseat only to find a small box. You stretch your arms to grab it and finally sit back in your seat.

"Did you find it?" You hear Chan through the speakers again. You hum in response and open the gift.

It's a necklace. A beautiful thin silver chain with a snowflake pendant hanging and you gasp, heart beating way too quick. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. If you were not already flushed by the gift, the note stuck on the underside of the cover of the box has your mind fuzzy, feelings all over.

The moon is beautiful.

"Chan?"

"Yeah? Did you not like the gift? I'm—"

"I'm coming over in ten minutes. Send Han and Felix away. All I want this Christmas is you. Just you."

4K notes · View notes

criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship.

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

“That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

It was the best decision he would ever make.

So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.

Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

Until it wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

It makes Spencer sick.

His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

“There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

“Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

“Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

“Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

“You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

“Not exactly.”

The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

“Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

“There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

“The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

“Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

“I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

“Busy?”

JJ nods.

“Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

Of fucking course.

Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

“She’s not interested.”

The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

“What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

“What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

“Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

“M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

“I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

“Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

“Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

“What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

“You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

“Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

“Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

“You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

“Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

“Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

“God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

“M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

“Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

“Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

“Open.”

You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

“Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

“D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

“So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

“Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

“S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

“Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

“Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

“So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

“F-Fuck, Spencer!”

“Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

“Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

“Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

“C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

“I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

“How many do you think you deserve?”

You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

“However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

Spencer returns your smile.

“Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

“T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

“Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

“You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds.

“Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips.

Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

“I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

“So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

“S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

“Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

“P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

“You okay, princess?”

You give a weak nod.

“M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

Spencer is the first to pull away.

“Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

“S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

“Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

“You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

“Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

“Only for you.”

A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

“We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

“Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

“Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

“Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Is that a no?”

“... Look up the number.”

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