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citrus-moonlight · 17 hours ago

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Tara, I love this chapter so much!!! The way that you manage to create such a tangible desire between the two of them even though she doesn't even know what he looks like (and as far as she knows hasn't met him yet 😏) is incredible.

Reader being able to have a different type of release first when she blocks her mother's number was so satisfying. I love how she's finally able to let go of that part of her as she realizes that it isn't worth it anymore, that she is worth so much more than someone who didn't and doesn't want her, now that she knows what it's like to have someone who does.

"You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage? You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost."

I love how gone she already is, how everything is building so intensely and she doesn't even know what he looks like yet. And then when she finally lets herself go to the thought of him, and the realization that the relief barely lasts because now the floodgates are open and she only wants more?? LORD. The tension is so good, and I love how delicious it feels as he metes out little details in pictures and words and how they're all so precious to her as she tries to form a picture in her head to focus her desire on (and I am forever screaming at "I'm not going to describe my cock to you" 😂).

"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin." >I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.

Good lord, that man is so smooth. And I am also enjoying that she picks out a maroon one (because now I am thinking about that silk robe, and how they would go so well together 😏).

You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in him—which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourself—and because he would delight in never giving it back.

The duality that of him that you show is so good, how he swings from >I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I? to the vulnerability admitting that he wants her to touch his face, the "but I think I will if you do it." I love that contrast between the predatory part of him, the part that's truly so dangerous (and yet so intriguing), but then you continue to show how needy he is underneath that, something he's trying to hide under his own mask (he's so pathetic and touch starved, I need him).

And then of course the smut is always so incredible, the way he talks I am just 🥵🫠😵‍💫. The >Only me. Only I can see you like this and >That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name. He's so possessive and demanding I'm going to lose it.

>It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore. >Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!

Ok, knowing it's speech to text makes this is so fucking hot, imagining how desperate his voice must sound, and then THE FUCKING PICTURE?? EXCUSE ME???? And her almost tipping and that feeling of freefall adding to everything when she comes, oh my god that was such a perfect parallel to this whole experience with him, LIKE JESUS CHRIST TARA THIS IS SO GOOD.

Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when their just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! (truly I am gnawing on the walls, your slow burns are always so amazing, it drives me crazy and I love every minute of it!) 💖

Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when they're just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! Truly I am gnawing on the walls, the way you write and and slowly ratchet up the need and tension is always so mind meltingly good, that slow burn drives me crazy and I love every minute of it! 💖💖💖

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 4/? (12.8k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, sexual harassment, workplace sexual harassment, alcohol consumption, religious trauma

A/N: To all of my fellow readers with mother issues, this chapter is for us 💖 Because those troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags hit real hard this chapter (I'm not projecting, you're projecting). But I eventually make it up to you, I promise. (As a reminder from my notes last chapter, David uses voice to text when they're chatting 😏) Also, I changed the formatting for texting conversations because eventually there will be texting while there is external dialogue, and I don't want it to be confusing. So his texts continue to be in italics and Reader's are in italics AND quotes.

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from Tanaka Mhishi's poem in Literary Sexts II. Text divider 1 is from Francisco de Goya's Witches Flight. Text divider 2 is from Caravaggio's Sacrifice of Isaac.

Chapter 4 - I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat.

That night, after calming down from your conversation with David, you finally do the thing that you've been putting off for far too long. The thing that causes panic to swell in your chest and your mind to recoil whenever you start to examine it.

You think about your mother.

So you pour a glass of wine, set your phone off to the side, flop down on your couch, and you begin to metaphorically unpack.

You've always prided yourself on being an intelligent woman. You know, logically, this will help you feel better in the long run. It will help you heal. Help you grow. And right now that's what you yearn for—to know and embrace yourself as you truly are, not who you pretended to be for so long that you almost believed it. Not your mask.

The mask that you built because of her, you think. One crafted out of fear and shame. Other people may have honed it, but she laid the foundation.

You also know she's the reason you have so many hang ups and difficulties forming connections with people. You know it's part of the reason you've been miserable for so long. You know this needs to be done. You know that.

It still…well, it hurts.

You learned at a young age to be fiercely independent because you couldn't count on her for support. Or encouragement. Or warmth. Her answer was always the same: "Pray or go to confession." As if all of your problems were your own fault or stemmed from a lack of faith.

And the message was clear—The only love you'll ever get is God's love. Maybe he can fix you.

You wanted it, though. God, did you want her to gather you in her arms and tell you, just once, that she was proud of you. That she truly loved you. You did everything you could to please and placate and impress her, hoping if you were good enough or hid well enough, you might finally get all of that. You got good grades, you were well-behaved, and you went to church, even when you stopped believing. You gave up your dream of being an artist for her, for christsake!

Sure, a part of that was because she tainted the piece of yourself you turned to for expression and escape. But since you're already unpacking every horrible bit of this, you can finally admit to yourself that you also gave it up for her.

For nothing.

Because it didn't work. Getting a business degree and an office job didn't make her proud, it only created a new direction in which you were lacking. You lost a part of yourself and got nothing in return. The thought of it makes you so angry that hot tears prick your eyes.

You get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.

You don't even know why your mother treated you the way she did. You think that if you could at least know why it might be easier to stomach. Then you wouldn't feel so confused and lost. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be something solid you could sit with.

Perhaps she saw that you weren't what she would call normal, and she hated it—wanted to spurn you into changing and hiding. It's ironic, then, that her disgust just fueled that darkness within you. Gave it the sustenance it needed to grow, devoid of warmth, in the corners of your heart and mind.

Maybe all of this would have turned out differently, if only she had loved you.

Or perhaps that's just who she is, and, even if you had been everything she wanted, it still wouldn't have made a difference. Still wouldn't have been good enough. You got it from somewhere, after all.

You'll never know either way.

What you do know is this: If you couldn't count on your own mother, then why would you ever think you could count on or trust anyone else?

Why wouldn't they brush you aside eventually as well? Why bother getting close to anyone—assuming they didn't bore you in the first place? Why wouldn't they see the real you and look just as disgusted as the one person that should have loved you unconditionally?

And people continuously proved you right by walking away when you didn't thaw under their attention or they caught a glimpse of that darkness—until David. Until he looked and saw the real you, and it only made him want you more.

Well, you're thawing now.

No.

You're melting.

You wonder what your mother would think of you if she could see you at this very moment. On one hand, you've laid waste to the life you built for yourself for a man that stalked you. She'd have a few choice words for you there, such as disappointment and embarrassment. "What will people think?" But on the other hand, you finally have someone and he's rich, which would go a long way towards forgiveness. Because, even though she prides herself on her piety, pride is her greatest sin. She would tell everyone she knew, as if it were her achievement, while conveniently leaving out the rest of it. Like the fact that you're happy.

As you're pouring your third glass of wine, you debate calling her. It's not too late. She should still be awake. You can finally ask her why. Why nothing you've done has ever been good enough. Why she cared about God and what everyone else thought more than her own daughter.

You can ask her why you can't remember the last time she hugged you or told you she loved you. Because a daughter should be able to recall that, shouldn't she? Oh, she said it plenty in front of other people. She gave you scraps with no meaning behind the words or warmth in her eyes. But in private, where no one else was watching her performance? You got nothing. You starved for affection. Maybe you can ask her why.

But you know that's the alcohol talking.

And it wouldn't do any good anyway. You won't get the answers you seek or the apology you need. You won't get promises to do better. You won't get a mom.

This was all for nothing.

Instead, you pick up your phone and block her number.

No contact. A clean cut. Never again.

You expect that to hurt, too, but for the first time since you started this, you feel lighter. Because you're finally done looking for hope where there isn't any to be found. You're also finally acknowledging that you deserved everything she never gave you. And that isn't a failing on your part—it never was. It's her failure. Another one of her sins. Now it's her loss.

Maybe you should have done that years ago, but you're doing it now. You're moving forward and letting go, and that's what's important.

While your phone is in your hand, you check your messages to confirm that David hasn't sent you anything. You aren't surprised. You hadn't expected him to. But that doesn't mean you didn't want him to.

You want it all the time now, you realize. It's only been a couple of hours since you ended the call, but you'd still love nothing more than to get back on and talk to him again until the early hours of the morning.

You may have been able to stop yourself from angrily calling your mother, but the combination of wine and your already weakening grasp on your self-control when it comes to him means you're typing before you even realize it.

"Thank you. For everything. I can never say it enough, David, because you've done more for me than any person in my life EVER has. I mean it. Truly. I'm so grateful."

"Also, for the record, I'm certain I could pick you out of a crowd now."

You're welcome. Always.

And I'll keep that in mind the next time I need coffee.

You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage?

You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost.

The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhausting—you're certain the wine didn't help either. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.

Or speak to your mother, you think with a contented sigh.

You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed, and now you have the freedom to do so.

Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this lounging would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown... Oh, now there's an interesting thought. You could get something new and sexy. Maybe something with lace. Or more silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.

You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.

You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what he would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.

It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.

You grin. You wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purpose—baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away. You know better than to trust a coincidence.

Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?

"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You're smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.

Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.

Any other exciting plans for the day?

"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."

Depends on what kind of book.

"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.

I see. Two very different types of thrilling.

"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."

It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.

And what would the romance novel stimulate?

"My heart, David. What else?" You bite your lip in excitement as you continue to type.

"Now tell me which one you would like best."

If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.

"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching me."

There's another pause.

All of them.

"All of them?! But there were so many!"

I'm certain. I liked all of them.

Especially since you'd be the one wearing them.

A pleasant heat unfurls in your chest and creeps up your neck at the thought of him sitting there, watching you browse, picturing you in every outfit…and maybe even saving a few of the links for later.

"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin."

I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.

Fuck.

The mental image of his hand trailing up your thigh��pushing the hem of the nightgown higher and higher while the fabric and his palm slide over your quivering flesh—flashes vividly through your mind.

You had been enjoying a morning of relaxation and contentment just a few minutes ago. Even with a bit of light teasing about the lingerie, it had been peaceful. Now? Now that feeling has been reshaped and is nothing more than a memory. Now a slick heat has ignited in your core, and you're left nearly panting and writhing in your blankets from the intensity of it.

How quickly he can send you reeling.

God, you're definitely buying that one. Later. Right now, however, you finally have the chance to flirt with him—really flirt—and you're going to take it. Because you know where this is headed. You know where it could have resolved yesterday but didn't because you were at work.

And you're so glad you're not at work right now, stuck squirming and struggling at your desk as you try to ignore the swollen ache between your legs. Instead, you're squirming in the privacy of your bed, and you no longer have to ignore anything. Now you have no intention of stopping.

This is how you want to respond to him.

You're also really enjoying feigning innocence, and you're curious to see how much longer he'll play along. Because you have no illusions that he's buying a second of it.

"I don't think I'll be getting the black one with the sheer lace top, though. It didn't look very comfortable. I wouldn't be able to wear it for long."

Before he can reply, you quickly type out, "Wait. You're not busy, are you? I should have asked first before carrying on about my online shopping. That was rude of me."

I'm not anymore.

"Just get out of a meeting?"

I just canceled my last meeting because I've suddenly found something much better to do.

"Is helping me pick out pajamas really that thrilling?"

You can stop playing dumb now. You and I both know exactly what you're doing.

"What am I doing?" You straighten up and hold your breath in anticipation. You must be getting to him. You expected him to hold out just a little bit longer. Not that you're complaining. Not when you know you have his full attention.

You're trying to get me bothered as payback for yesterday.

"Is it working?"

You know it is.

"And just how bothered are you?"

Very.

You let out a shaky breath as you sink back into your pillows and begin to settle in. "Good. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this, David."

Is that so? What other reason do you have?

"Because I want to. Because I'm enjoying having the freedom to respond to you the way that I want."

Intriguing. And how are you doing that?

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." You shift your phone to your dominant hand to keep it steady. Then your other hand disappears beneath your covers and continues traveling down to the waistband of your panties.

Will I?

"You will. As long as you continue to please me." You nudge the fabric out of the way to give yourself the access you need and eagerly slip your hand inside. When your fingers finally brush over your arousal, you groan with relief.

There's nothing I want more than to please you.

"Is that so? How are you going to do that?" You repeat his words back to him as you rub a little harder along your damp folds. The added pressure makes your eyelids go heavy with lust. You spread your legs wider, seeking even more of that friction.

By giving you what you need.

God, you want that. From him. The thought of it makes you ache. Your fingers move to circle over your clit, dragging some of your wetness with them, and you moan into your empty bedroom. You shakily type out, "And what do I need?"

Me.

Shit. You had planned to go slow and tease yourself. You wanted to draw out the banter so you could savor your first time touching yourself to him. Because, despite the fact that he's turned you into a horny wreck several times already, you've held off until now. But as you read his text—that single word—it's as if your body has been doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Your hand speeds up.

"You seem awfully sure of that."

I'm very sure.

Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong? Or are you going to be honest?

You quickly debate finding a way to deny it. To get him to push harder because his arrogant confidence is stoking the flame in your belly and you want more. But every response you come up with sounds so flimsy. You know it won't work. He'll just call out the lie. He knows exactly how you're responding to him now, and he won't let it go, like a shark sensing blood in the water.

Well, if he wants to circle, then you'll give him prey instead—something he can't resist.

"Honest."

There's a good girl. Then be honest for me. Tell me what you need.

You cry out and your hips roll to meet the rhythm of your fingers. Your other hand is still gripping your cell phone, holding onto it for dear life so you don't drop it and miss a single word. "You."

That's right. And are you thinking about me right now?

"Yes." You are. You're thinking about his hands all over you, driving you wild and breathless and working needy little whimpers from your throat.

Very good. I hope you're thinking about all of the things I plan to do to you when I finally get my hands on you.

"Tell me. Please." More, you think. God, you need more.

And spoil the surprise? You'll have to use your imagination for now.

You grunt in frustration. "That's a little difficult when I don't know what you look like."

That is unfortunate, isn't it?

He's so god-damned smug! Jesus, it's infuriating!

There's a responding surge of wetness beneath your fingers, and the slick sound becomes obscene in your quiet bedroom.

"I've told you, it's unfair."

Nothing about this is supposed to be fair.

Your grip weakens and your phone nearly slips from your grasp, but you frantically right it. You're getting so close… "David, please!"

I promise when we move forward, you'll find out for yourself. But only when you're ready.

Unless you're done hesitating?

You know he's dangling that in front of you, tempting you with what you want so you'll say yes. You want to say yes. You want to call him right now and let him hear you say it as you moan and beg into the phone.

But that's giving him too much.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we? I would hate to ruin the surprise."

Now who's being unfair?

"I'm only playing by your rules."

Clever.

My clever, beautiful girl. I can't wait to see you like this. I bet you look so good for me right now. Don't you?

"Yes!"

That's right. So fucking good and needy for me. God, I want you so much.

Your grip goes slack again, and this time you do drop your phone onto the bed. But you don't stop to pick it up. You're too far gone now, and you couldn't type even if you wanted to. Instead, you redouble your effort and greedily chase your orgasm, your hand moving in rapid strokes against your clit.

It's fast and messy and desperate. You haven't masturbated like this in years, but the tension has been building inside of you. It's grown under all of his teasing, his suggestive comments, his perceptive observations, and his unrevealing photos until you couldn't ignore it any longer. Now you need to release it at last—to immolate yourself in your desire.

For him.

"David," you moan. His name rolls off your tongue for the first time in ecstasy. It happens so naturally, as if you've said it that way a hundred times before. As if your mouth knows the way to give shape to your longing.

Hearing his name, when you're already poised on that edge, is your undoing.

You throw your head back into the pillow and arch off the bed with a cry as that tension finally snaps, sending a white hot fission through your veins in its place. Your toes curl and your newly freed hand bunches a fistful of your sheets, pulling them taut while your whole body shudders with every violent swell of pleasure.

As you come, all you can think about is him. "Fuck!" The movement of your fingers over your clit becomes jerky, but never slows. You're determined to make every second of this feel so fucking good. "David!" It rolls and rolls and rolls through you, weakening and yet seemingly without end as you work every last bit of rapture from your sensitive flesh—

Until, finally, you collapse against the bed with a whimper, and your hand flops weakly down onto the mattress next to you. You lay there, gasping for breath, your eyes closed, and your limbs and your brain and your belly humming in the heady afterglow of your release.

By all accounts, this should bring you a bone deep satisfaction. It should have quelled the fire that burns for him, even if only temporarily.

But as your mind clears, you feel quite the opposite. As if something has awakened inside of you, stirring from a deep slumber in that same way he roused your darkness.

And it's ravenous.

You grope along the bedspread for your phone.

When you pick it back up, your hands are still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

"I think I'm rather enjoying my new freedom."

So am I.

A groan is wrenched from your chest as you glance up at his previous messages and wonder just how much he was enjoying it. You have a pretty good guess.

"God, David. I miss you."

I miss you, too. But not for much longer.

"Would you like to chat now?" There's a renewed flutter of interest from your swollen sex as you think about doing this again, but for him.

There's nothing I want more. Unfortunately, I have some important personal matters to take care of this afternoon, but I promise the evening is yours. How does 6 o'clock sound?

There's a pang of disappointment in your chest. That's hours from now! But before you can pout, you remind yourself that you're an adult. You can control and entertain yourself until then, for christsake. Besides, he said the evening was yours. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him later.

You also really want to ask what sort of personal matters because you're curious about what they could be, and about him in general, but he would have elaborated if he wanted you to know. The word personal also denotes a certain level of privacy. So you leave it be. For now.

"That sounds lovely. I'm looking forward to it."

Me too. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your date with the book on your nightstand.

"I've changed my mind there, actually. I have a lot more shopping to do instead." You give your phone a little grin.

Oh?

"Yes. It's been so productive and satisfying thus far. Who knows what other wonderful things might result from it?"

I see.

"I hope you enjoy your afternoon."

I'm certain I will. Enjoy your shopping.

You end up purchasing some of the lingerie that gets you particularly worked up whenever you think about him—especially the maroon one. Then you spend the rest of your day purging your wardrobe of your boring work clothes and whatever else reminds you too much of your old life. The result is a sparse apartment and an even barer closet, but you like it. It's a reflection of where you are in life and of all the room you have to grow and rebuild the way you want.

You may occasionally take breaks from downsizing to browse for new outfits and dresses, but it's to figure out what you like so you can eventually replace what you're getting rid of. It's definitely not to keep David intrigued throughout the day and looking forward to talking to you again. Not when he's so busy. That would be cruel.

You can't remember ever smiling this much.

You log on several minutes early. You don't care that it's probably a little pathetic. You don't even care if it lets him know exactly how eager you are for this. You've been checking the clock since five and you were getting impatient. You can only pace so many circles in your living room before you lose your mind. Not that sitting there and staring at your own face is any better, but at least it gets you closer to him.

To your relief, he logs on a few minutes early, too. Possibly because he knows you're already here, but you hope it’s because he was impatient as well. The electronic chime makes your heart swell in your chest.

"Hello, David."

Hello, darling.

The image of you on the screen practically swoons at his greeting. There's no other way to describe the gentle tilting of your head, your dreamy smile, or how your eyes soften with affection.

You barely recognize this woman.

You're not sure you've ever made that face before now. Or if you have, it was when the National Gallery rotated Cornelius van Haarlem's Two Followers of Cadmus devoured by a Dragon back into display after you hadn't seen it in a while. Never for another person. Certainly not for a black square not even three centimeters wide.

This man is dangerous.

Getting impatient, were you?

"I knew you were going to say something," you grumble as you fight off a sudden wave of embarrassment.

How could I not? You have no idea how lovely this feeling is. It's gratifying to have such a beautiful woman wanting to talk to you.

You lean in close and lower your voice. "In that case, I was very impatient."

Hmm. I'm so very pleased to hear it.

Did you have a productive afternoon?

"I did, actually. I accomplished quite a bit."

Good. And did you have fun shopping?

"You know I did." You give the camera a heated smile. While it wasn't as risque as the lingerie, the clothes you were looking at—low cut silky blouses, high slit skirts, backless tops, skin tight pants—were still sexy, just in a more subtle way.

Do I?

You roll your eyes and ignore the obvious bait—something that would have irritated a response from you just a few days ago. "How was your afternoon?"

Also productive, despite the circumstances.

"Circumstances?" You cock an eyebrow, no longer able to ignore it. He really does know how to push your buttons, after all, much to your chagrin. "Do you mean with your personal matters or do you mean spying on me?"

Both, but I wouldn't call it spying.

"Well, I would! So it serves you right." Despite your fake outrage, you're thrilled he was still paying attention, even when he was busy.

Do you want me to stop?

You pause to consider your answer. You think you should probably be unsettled that he's monitoring all of your activity. If any other man did that, you would be furious and horrified, but he's not any other man. He's also not holding it over you, making you feel bad, or controlling what you're doing. So far—your answer would change if he were. He's simply looking.

And you enjoy knowing that he's looking. In a strange way, it makes you feel connected to him, even when you aren't chatting, as if it's just another aspect of your relationship. It also makes you feel like you're the most important and interesting thing in his life—you'll admit that particular feeling has become quite addictive. You enjoy being able to take advantage of it as well, like you did this afternoon.

However, there may be times when you do want privacy for a specific reason. He certainly doesn't need to know every detail about your hygiene purchases or your embarrassing Google searches. Well, future embarrassing searches, anyway. It also makes it very difficult to surprise him if he can see what you're up to.

"No, I don't want you to stop." Your lips curl into a seductive smile. "I like it quite a bit, in fact. I just have one condition."

What's that?

"If I do ever ask for privacy, you give it to me. No questions asked and no looking."

Of course. Then you'll have it.

"I mean it," you say seriously. "I need to trust you'll respect my wishes."

You have my word that I will give you privacy whenever you request it. You only ever need to ask.

"Alright." You relax in your chair, mollified by his response. Because you believe him. "Thank you, David."

You're welcome.

Now tell me about your productivity.

"That's not a very exciting topic of conversation, I'm afraid. In fact, most of it was quite boring."

Tell me anyway.

"Well, I went through my flat and got rid of everything that felt like it belonged to the person I was pretending to be and not me."

I see. That doesn't sound boring. You shed another one of your layers.

I bet it felt good.

"It did! It felt freeing. I didn't realize before how much my place felt like a stage. As if the performance didn't stop, even when I was alone. And when I had a roommate? God, no wonder I was always so miserable."

It's also probably why you grew to resent every roommate you've ever had, no matter how much you didn't mind or tolerated them when they moved in. It didn't matter if they were quiet or cleaned up after themselves. Their presence meant the only place you could truly let your guard down was your bedroom. It was exhausting.

"But now the set dressings are gone. No more calf length pencil skirts or tacky lingerie. No more gifted kitchen gadgets and holiday candles. No more cheap art prints of pieces that I don't even like.” Then you grumble, “God, I swear I had like, half a dozen versions of Irises.”

No more mask.

"No more mask," you repeat out loud with a sigh of relief. Even saying it feels incredible. "Speaking of, you'll be pleased to hear I've also been doing some reflecting since we talked yesterday." You can't help the smug grin that creeps onto your face.

Oh?

"Yes. I've figured out where my reflex to apologize when I think I've upset or inconvenienced someone comes from."

Have you? Does that mean you're ready to talk about your mother?

You huff out a laugh and shake your head. Of course. You should have seen that coming. "You're frighteningly good at that."

It's a gift.

You can feel his smirk through your screen. "So it is. And I'm glad to know that I'm predictable."

I never used that word.

"It's true, though." You shrug, unbothered by your own statement. "It's a behavior that's usually learned in childhood. In this instance, I'm not particularly unique."

I disagree.

"I just meant that a lot of people have troubled relationships with their parents." A lot of them developed the same issues from it as well, you think to yourself. Granted, the cliche is that women in the sex work industry have daddy issues, not mommy issues. So perhaps you're not entirely predictable.

And yet, they're not you. They didn't become what you are.

"And just what am I?" That's another thing you haven't looked at too closely. You've been so consumed with the "who," you haven't really considered the "what."

You're something entirely different. Something more like me.

"That's not an answer."

I assure you, it is.

"It's not, David," you insist. "I still don't fully know what that means!"

If you're expecting me to pathologize you instead, I'm not going to.

"Why not?" You tilt your head curiously. You weren't actually expecting him to, but now you're intrigued as to why he won't.

Because that's not an answer to your question either. Those terms and labels are just more costumes that don't suit you. You're far more than that.

Before you can object that you disagree and that it might actually help you understand yourself better, he continues on. As if he anticipated what you were going to say.

It would also imply there's something wrong with you. But there's nothing wrong with you, despite what anyone may have told you in the past.

"You really do have me all figured out, don't you?" There's more affection in your voice than you intended.

I told you. I see you.

"You do. And I'm guessing you see my text message history, too." You raise an eyebrow at the camera in challenge, daring him to deny it.

You thought a lot about what else he would have access to after he blindsided you with the knowledge of your side bank account. Reading your texts would be absurdly easy in comparison, so of course he knows about your relationship with your mother. It's also how he knew that threatening to tell her your secret would be so effective.

That as well.

"I think that's the first thing I know you've seen that I feel embarrassed about."

Why?

"Because it means you've seen the worst of my mask," you say quietly.

I wouldn't say that. I saw a daughter desperate for her mother's affection and approval.

"Oh, god," you groan as you rub a hand over your face, completely mortified by his phrasing, but unable to find fault in it. "That's exactly what I mean!"

You're not the one who should be embarrassed by those messages.

"I'm the only one that is. Or will be. Trust me, she thinks everything she's ever said to me was righteous and justified, and you can't get blood from a stone." You flop your hand back onto the desk—a little harder than you meant to—and it makes your webcam shake.

You can already feel that mixture of hurt and anger rising in your throat and threatening to spill out. You quickly swallow it down and take a deep breath to regain control over your emotions. You're not going to have a breakdown on camera because of her. You're done letting her hurt you.

It's not righteous or justified, but I'm guessing you know that already.

"I do, but I appreciate the reassurance anyway." You give him a soft, grateful smile. Then your face falls as you glance back down to your keyboard. "What else did you see?"

Most of your text conversations with her are arguments. I suspect your phone conversations are similar.

"They are," you confirm without hesitation. "I don't think we know how to communicate any other way."

But you're not the instigator, are you?

"No," you sigh heavily. "I do everything I can to avoid an argument because I'm just so tired of it, but it usually doesn't matter. She can always find fault with my tone or something I've said. And of course there's also the fact that I don't go to church, don't have an important career, haven't gotten married, and don't have or want children. You can imagine her disappointment."

I shudder to think.

What an exhausting, horrible woman.

"That she is," you can't help but laugh. Despite the heavy topic of conversation, his irritation on your behalf is endearing. "I hate calling her or answering the phone. And God forbid I need something! You'll note that when I needed money to keep my flat, I became a camgirl before I even thought about asking her for help."

I had noticed you never considered doing anything else. Then I read your messages and it wasn't difficult to understand why.

You try not to feel mortified once again at the reminder that he's seen those. Instead, you tell yourself that he saw them and he kept looking. They didn't disgust him or scare him off—from you anyway. Even after reading them, he still wanted you.

You truly understand now what he's always meant when he says he sees you. It's a very assuring, lovely thought.

"It turned out to be a wonderful decision, at least." You give the camera a coy smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I would have to agree. A very wonderful decision.

"She wouldn't have helped me anyway, so I knew it was pointless. The few times she did, she lorded it over me constantly. As if I should be forever in her debt because she paid for my university textbooks years ago."

Is that another reason you were so afraid to take my money? Or why you were worried about feeling as though you owed me?

"Huh…" You lean back in your chair as you mull THAT one over. You hadn't quite connected those dots yet, but now that he's pointed it out, you have always been bad at accepting any help or gifts. Every single one felt like it came with an unspoken expectation or debt of some kind that would be called upon later. Now you know why.

You briefly wonder what other sort of connections you'll make in the future. Because you're starting to realize there are still plenty of them left to be uncovered.

"I think that was part of it, certainly, but you have to admit, the circumstances were also a very big factor as to why I didn't want your money."

Of course. You thought I was trying to buy you.

"I absolutely did! And in a way, you were," you tease. "It was just my attention you were paying for."

I made no attempt to hide that what I wanted was you, but it really was a gift. I knew the money would give you the freedom to think about everything I said, and once you did, you could no longer ignore your mask. Then maybe you would finally rid yourself of it. I wanted that for you.

And I wanted to see what would become of you when your strings were cut.

"Well, are you pleased with your handiwork?"

Quite pleased. I'm enjoying seeing the real you and how beautifully you've flourished in the light, now that you're no longer hiding.

"I have flourished, haven't I? I feel at home in my own skin for the first time in my life." You arch your shoulders, stretching lazily as if to savor the truth of your statement, before resting your forearms on the desk. You look quite pleased with yourself as well. "For so long I've been afraid to peel back all those layers and confront what's underneath, but now that I'm finally realizing who I am and what I want, I can't stop picking. I like what's underneath."

So do I.

You deserve to be proud. You've been working very hard to find your truth.

A warmth radiates through your chest at his praise.

"I have." Then you smile sadly. "Unfortunately, the truth hasn't always been painless."

No. It's never that.

"But every second has been worth it to have this." You glance up at the camera and let the double meaning hang in the air.

I'm glad. And I would have to agree. Wholeheartedly.

After a hesitation, you say, "One of those painful truths was realizing that my mother probably had a big hand in making me what I am."

Darling, NO.

The only thing she had a hand in was making you feel ashamed of yourself or like you had to hide what you are. She tried to destroy something exquisite and she failed. You are what you are despite her.

Do you know why? It's because you're better than her. You always have been and she knows it. Why do you think she treats you the way she does? That woman is a monster and she doesn't deserve any part of you.

Your eyes immediately fill with tears as you read the chat box. No one's ever told you that before. You may have come to the same conclusion last night, but you had no idea how much you needed to hear it from someone else, so to speak. Now hearing it from him?

"God, David. I've never…" you trail off, your voice choked with emotion. It takes you a second to get control over yourself enough to continue. "Thank you. And you're right." You sniffle and quickly try to blink away the tears. Then with more force, you say, "I've endured her for too long. Thankfully, I never have to again. I blocked her number last night and I'm cutting her out of my life."

You did?

"I did. Once I realized there was nothing good there to hold onto, even the idea of removing her from my life brought me more peace and happiness than having her in it ever did."

Good. I hope it does.

"So far, so good." You give him a teary smile.

I'm sure that couldn't have been easy.

"It wasn't. Or at least the process of coming to that conclusion wasn't, but it was all far more anticlimactic than I thought it would be."

Is that why you sent me that message?

"Oh, god." Your face begins to burn with embarrassment as you remember texting him while more than a little tipsy. "Yes," you finally answer sheepishly while you glance up at the ceiling.

Why are you embarrassed by that?

"Because, if I'm being honest, I was two and a half glasses of wine in when I sent that."

Were you now?

"I was. I knew it was the only way I would be able to cope with that whole process."

And did it help?

"I think it did. I got through it, anyway. I'm just glad that I didn't call or text her. God, that would have been a trainwreck." You glance suggestively up at the camera and lower your voice. "I have far less self-control when it comes to you, apparently."

You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing that.

"But we should both be grateful that I didn't send you anything messier than I already did."

I don't know, sounds intriguing.

"See, you're thinking about me sending you something sexy, but I'm worried about sending you something frantic and emotional," you laugh. "Which would have been far more likely given the circumstances."

Hmm. I see your point.

"So anticlimactic really was for the best all around. And it's done now."

Good riddance.

"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" This time there's a bitterness to your smile, and it doesn't meet your eyes. "Through all of this, I never stopped wanting her to love me. I tried so hard. I never stopped trying, but she did. A long time ago. She'll never be the mom that I want, just like I was never the daughter she wanted. I know that now and I've finally made peace with that reality. Plus, realizing I would never understand or get any sort of closure was another big catalyst for me to finally pull that trigger the way I did." Your face finally softens. "But I never would have confronted any of that if not for you."

You would have gotten there on your own. Eventually.

“Possibly. I was getting exhausted from it. To the point that everytime my phone rang, I considered tossing it out the window rather than answer it.”

I could make her life miserable, you know.

If you asked it of me.

"Tempting." You let out a chuckle and wipe away the remnants of a tear drying on your cheek. "But I'd rather her not be in my life at all, even through you. I'm making a clean cut so she can no longer use me to build herself up, and for her that will be a worse punishment than anything you could think of."

I don't know. I have a very vivid imagination.

But I will leave it be unless you change your mind.

"I do appreciate the offer." You smile gratefully. "That's twice now you've given me the opportunity for vengeance."

It won't be the last, should you ever feel the need for it.

"Is it strange that I find the thought of you wanting to make someone miserable for hurting me sweet and endearing?"

No.

I would hurt anyone you asked me to, even if all they did was annoy you.

"You would?"

I would. Without hesitation. For you.

"Fuck," you gasp as you squirm in your seat, suddenly very turned on. "I really like the thought of that."

Do you?

"I do."

How much?

"This much." You bite your lip as you bring your hands to your top. Then you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. The heat that started between your thighs rises to your belly. This is finally happening.

There's a pause.

You're sure?

"Yes. I'm so sure you didn't even have to ask." Your fingers continue to methodically work each loop as you speak, driven on by determination. "I'm done hesitating. I want this, David. I wanted it last night before I got interrupted, and I wanted it this afternoon."

You’ve found closure for so much of your past—all the ties to your old life, your social media, your friends, your job, your mother—and you're done looking back. All you want now is to move forward. After all the emotional turmoil you went through to get to this point, all you want is to fall into him.

Once you’ve finished, your top spills open, revealing the cups of your bra and your bare stomach on the screen. The chat box sits, unmoving, and you realize he must be watching very carefully. So you slide the fabric down your arms, seductively arching your chest towards the camera to make a show of it, until it comes free. You toss it to the side without looking. Then you're left in nothing but your bra and skirt.

"I want you to see me. All of me. I want to show you what you're missing, hiding from me behind that screen. You could be here with your hands and your mouth on me, instead, you know. I want you to think about that, and I want you to touch yourself while you do." You look directly into the webcam with all of the desire, need, and heat that has been building up inside of you for the past week. "Because I plan to as well. Again."

You have no idea how much I’ve resisted doing all of that. It's taken every ounce of my self-control to resist you.

"Why can't we just give in then?" You beg for the camera. "Why can't we just skip this part? Come here now. Tonight. Touch me instead."

You aren't ready for that yet.

"I strongly disagree!" You scoff, almost offended at the implication that you don't know what you want.

Besides, I get to see you like this first, remember? I get to see you in a way no one else ever has. I've earned it.

"You have," you sigh in acceptance. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. "Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Not just because I'm too fucking horny to argue with you properly right now, but also because I said I would, and I'm still going to enjoy letting go for you. Just know that it's a poor substitute for you. Because what I really want is to hear your voice as you tell me how good it feels to fuck me. I want to hear the way you moan and gasp when you lose control of yourself inside of me. I want to know your face when you do. Because I want you, David."

It takes a moment for him to reply. You're aware you'll never get to know exactly how he responded to you. You'll never get to see the look on his face or hear the sounds he made as you said those things to him. But, you think with no small amount of smugness, you can take a very good guess.

Then you'll have me. Soon.

Until then, show me what I'll have.

Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to see you.

You stand up from your chair to do as he instructed. The angle of the camera means your face is no longer in view, and it reminds you so much of your streams that it's momentarily jarring. But once you unzip your skirt, you bend forward to push it down your hips, and the sight of your own face brings you back to the moment.

The one where you're stripping for your stalker slash blackmailer, and it's the sexiest, most romantic thing that's ever happened to you.

Your skirt hits the floor with a soft thump, and you step out of it as you nudge it to the side with your foot. If you remove one more thing, it will be the most he's ever seen of you. Now each step forward is not only new, but is one step closer to getting what you really want: Him.

The thought is thrilling.

So thrilling that you waste no time. You hook your thumbs into the thin elastic of your panties and slip them—slowly, inch by inch to continue teasing him—to your knees, baring your lower half to him.

You stand there for a few seconds, letting him take it all in. That's what he wanted, after all. To see all of you. For you to show him all of you. Every moment between you has been leading to this, and you won't deny him now.

When you sit back down, you slide your panties the rest of the way off. They get thoughtlessly added to the growing, scattered pile. Then you stay there on your repurposed dining room chair, bare skin on wood, and you wait.

As you do, you're very careful to keep your legs closed. It wouldn't do to rush this and give everything away all at once. Especially not when you currently hold all of the power. He may have earned this, but so have you. And you’re going to relish it for as long as you can.

Except there's still nothing new in the chat box. You tell yourself he's probably just settling in and enjoying the view, but the silence is unnerving. You have no way of knowing what he's thinking right now, if he's even enjoying it, and that makes you feel exposed. You’ve gotten so comfortable with the back and forth—of getting some feedback—that not getting it is a sobering reminder that you can't read his expressions or hear the tone of his voice. All he really is to you is text on a screen.

“David?” You call out hesitantly.

Another minute passes and you start to wonder if he's intentionally trying to make you squirm. He does enjoy it, after all. Or perhaps he recognizes how the balance of power has shifted, and he's trying to take some back for himself. It does seem like a very David thing to do.

Then, without warning, your mind offers up the possibility that he's disappointed. That you aren't what he was expecting and now he’s—

God, you’re beautiful. I knew you would be.

Relief courses through you, alleviating the weight that was settling in your chest.

Or maybe he was just taking his pants off, too.

I want to see the rest of you.

That's all the reassurance you need to banish that momentary doubt completely.

You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp of your bra. Rather than remove it, you hug the material loosely to your chest and give the camera a coy glance.

“You mean like this?” You tease as your fingers play with the straps.

Yes.

Take it off.

You slowly lower your arms, letting it fall away from your breasts. And just like that, you're naked on screen—something you never thought would happen. Something you swore would never happen. But there you are, running the tips of your fingers enticingly up the tops of your thighs and over your bare hips. For him.

Seeing you like this was worth every second of waiting. You're stunning. Just perfect.

“Thank you, David,” you say softly, touched by his compliments. It’s sweet, but if he keeps this up, you’ll be feeling more affectionate than horny.

You have no idea how much I want to be the one touching you right now.

That's better.

"Oh, but I think I know exactly what it's like to want you to be the one touching me. Do you have any idea how much I've fantasized about your hands on me since you sent me that picture? God, if I hadn't been at work, I would have made myself come so many times."

That's why I didn't want you distracted.

"I wasn't distracted this afternoon," you say in a husky voice.

No you weren't.

Did it feel good to finally give in?

"Yes." You bite your lip as you remember the way that growing tension in your belly finally gave when you moaned his name. "It felt so good to respond to you."

Did you think about me touching you like you wanted?

"God, yes. In every way I could think of."

Where did you imagine me touching you? Show me where you like to be touched.

You run a finger from your jaw, down the column of your neck, and then trace along your collarbone. "If you kiss me here, I'll be weak in your arms. But if I feel your tongue here, you'll have me begging."

Then I'll have you weak and begging.

Is that all?

"I was getting there." You smile playfully. “So impatient.”

You continue to run your fingers down your sternum, letting your knuckles skim against the swell of your breasts. You stop and move to cup the soft flesh with your hands.

“I want your lips and your hands here,” you moan as you start to gently massage yourself. Your nipples harden under your palms as you rub over them, causing a pleasant shiver to snake its way through you. Then you arch into your own hands as you think about what it would be like to have his hands here instead. Whether his touch would be gentle like this, or harsh as he wrenches a shudder from the sensitive peaks.

I'm going to enjoy doing just that. Especially if you'll be this responsive for me.

“More so,” you vow, breathlessly, "because it would be you. Are you touching yourself now?"

Yes.

“Fuck,” you hiss. "Are you imagining that it's me instead?"

You know I am.

"Good because I want it to be me. I'm aching to put my hands on you, too.” Your hands lower from your breasts to brush across your stomach. “Where do you like to be touched, David?"

By you? There's nowhere I wouldn't want your hands.

Intriguing, but you know he can give you more than that. "Then where should I start?"

There’s a brief pause that almost feels like hesitation.

My face.

"Your face?” You blink in mild surprise. You weren't expecting that answer, but now you understand the hesitation. He was preparing to admit something vulnerable to you. “That's very intimate."

Is it? Maybe that's why I've never liked it before, but I think I will if you do it.

Despite how sexy all of this is, your heart flutters at the sweetness of that line. He wants intimacy with you, not just the sex. You're reminded of what he said to you yesterday: ‘I want you to be mine in every way it's possible to want someone.’

“I like the thought of that.” You lean in towards the camera, letting your eyelids go heavy as you lower your voice to something both seductive and tender. "Do you want me to cup your cheeks and stroke my fingers over you as we kiss?"

Yes.

"Then maybe I could…” You drop to a half whisper, “kiss along your jaw as well."

It's like you read my mind.

There's a pleased flush in your chest that creeps onto your face as the hint of a smile. "Do you have facial hair?"

No.

"Good to know." You imagine your lips moving over smooth, tanned skin. You wonder if it will be soft, or a little rough with age.

Do you prefer beards?

"I don't have a preference. What looks good depends on the person." You tilt your head curiously. “Have you ever tried growing a beard?”

Once. It didn't suit me.

“Then I'd prefer you without one.”

You're assembling these new, small pieces together with your existing mental image of him. It's like staring at a magic eye puzzle—if you look hard enough, you can almost swear you see the shape of him. But then you blink and it's gone.

You need more.

“Where would I touch you next?”

My chest.

"Is that so?"

Yes.

"Please tell me you don't shave your chest, too. Promise me you have chest hair."

I promise I have chest hair.

"Oh, thank god,” you sigh with relief. “Because you have hair on the backs of your hands and wrists and it's so fucking sexy. I can only imagine how sexy the rest of it is."

You like that, do you?

“Yes.”

Then I think you’ll be pleased.

"Christ, I like the sound of that.” You squirm a bit in your seat. “Where else do you like to be touched?"

My cock.

You nearly choke on a whimper.

Up till now, this felt like an exploration—or as much as it could be with only you on the screen. You were expecting a buildup of teasing and touching and sharing before you both truly let go. Instead, he sent you reeling. Again. He must be getting impatient.

As you stare at that line, there's a painful ache of arousal between your legs. You unconsciously grind yourself down onto your chair to alleviate some of it. The seat is going to be a mess by the time you're done, you think.

"I plan to touch you there a lot."

Yes you will.

"Are you circumcised?" You can't help the curiosity that seeps into your voice.

I'm not going to describe my cock to you.

"David!" You pout at your screen. "I'm not asking for numbers, here. I just want to know what it would be like to stroke you."

And you'll find out eventually.

“That's not fair.” You are completely naked, after all.

I already told you it's not supposed to be fair.

“Yes, yes, you’re very mysterious,” you huff in disappointment.

Like I said, you’ll find out eventually.

“Soon, I hope.”

Soon.

Now I want you to go back to showing me where you want my hands.

“Do you?” You lean back in your chair. “You want more to think about while you're touching yourself?”

That's exactly what I want.

“Hmm, how can I ever say no to that?” Then you lean even further back so you can caress over the curve of your hips. “You can run your hands along here as you feel your way over my body. It will feel lovely, but I'll enjoy it even more if you grab me instead. Because I want to feel how much you need me.”

That's good because I want to grab you by the hips to hold you still as I slam my cock into you.

“Fuck, David!” You cry out. Your hands reflexively grip and squeeze your own hips at the mental image, your fingers digging almost painfully into the bone. Your sex clenches in anticipation, hoping you’ll get what he said would come next.

If he was there with you and not still on the other end of the call. God, you wish he was there.

After that, you also know the teasing and buildup has come to an end. You can't hold back any longer, and he's made it very clear that neither can he.

"Do you know where else I liked to be touched?" Before he can reply, you finally tilt your hips and spread your legs wide, exposing your sex for the camera. You settle your knees on either side of the seat of the chair with your calves tucked against the wooden legs.

You like to think, if he were there in person, he would have been opening his mouth to answer as the words died on his lips. Instead, you imagine his fingers frozen over his keyboard as he gets to see the part of you he's been waiting for. You're certain he's been going slow—stroking himself enough for it to feel good, but not so much that he loses control. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until he's gotten this.

You end the exploration of your body by reaching between your thighs. Then you cup your mound and begin teasing your fingers along your folds. God, you're already so wet. "Right here. Especially by a hand that knows what I need."

Show me what you need.

You plunge a finger into your entrance and moan at the intrusion. You can't remember the last time you did this. Usually you focus on just your clit with your fingers or your vibrator, eager for the release and not caring much about indulging in the process. You didn't have a reason for it other than getting off to relieve some tension.

Now, as you slide your finger out and draw it over that sensitive nub, you want it back inside of you. You want to be full as you think of him. So you press two inside of you instead.

"I want to know what you look like so badly," you gasp as your fingers begin to work your cunt.

Do you?

"I do. And I want to know what you feel like."

You will, that I promise you.

"God," you whine and slip a third finger into your opening. "This feels so good. I haven't fingered myself in a while."

Why not?

"I haven't wanted to. I just wanted a quick orgasm."

Then I continue to keep my promise, don't I? I made you want to.

"Yes! Christ, I want to," you gasp and rock your hips up to meet your hand. "I want to touch myself like this for you. I love knowing that you're watching me, David, and that you're getting off to it. But more than that, I love pretending that it's you."

If you're pretending that it's me, you need to go deeper because I intend to fuck you properly.

You slam your fingers into yourself as far as they will go, and your head falls back with a cry. “God, I want you to fuck me. Please!”

While I grab your pretty hips and make you take every bit of me?

“Fuck! Yes, exactly like that!” You whine. “I can't believe you're going to make us wait for this! Because you don't have to. You could have me now."

I could.

I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I?

You glance down at the camera, your eyes heavy with lust. "Would you like that?"

You're not answering the question.

"That's because I know better than to say yes," you pant. Your fingers are still working inside of you, stretching you in a way that is both satisfying and not nearly enough. It's driving you crazy.

What does that mean?

"We both know that if I bare my throat to you, you won't be able to resist ripping it out."

I would never hurt you unless you wanted it.

"I believe that you would never want to, but I see you, too. You couldn't help it.” Your hand slows, and you tilt your head as you consider your computer screen. “Could you?"

There's a moment of stillness from the chat box, and you briefly wonder if you've upset him, even though you know you're right. You know there's something about him that’s dangerous and predatory. He admitted as much himself. And it’s not like you feel the need to be overly careful or afraid of him. The thought doesn't bother you. You simply know that you can never tempt him by actually offering yourself up as helpless prey. Or he might just get a taste for it.

Because you can love a predator as long as you never forget, for even a second, that it's still a predator—no matter how much it shows you its belly and loves you back.

You know all of that. Instinctively. Logically.

And yet.

You do so love being his favorite little prey.

"It doesn't scare me, David," you say quietly to break the silence.

No?

"No. Quite the opposite." You draw your fingers out of yourself to rub over your clit with a moan. "It intrigues me."

I know it does.

Why do you think I’ve done all of this? I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you could want what I am.

“And what are you, David?”

Darling, did you really think I would answer that question? Where's the fun in that?

“But I want to know.” Your fingers speed back up against your bundle of nerves. “I want to know everything about you.”

You will.

“And I want to know every secret you keep from the rest of the world.”

Don't worry, you’ll know me completely.

Eventually.

His words feel like a promise and a threat. You shiver with pleasure.

You shift down far enough in your chair to get a better angle. Then you bring your knees up and plant your feet wide against the edge of your desk. You know this has the added bonus of giving him an even better view of your opening. It also gives him a hint of what it might look like when you finally lay back and spread your legs for him.

"Can you see how wet I am?" You drag your fingers over your clit with a gasp. “Can you see how much I want you?”

Yes. I can see exactly how eager you are.

"Good. As you're stroking yourself, I want you to think about burying your cock right here.” You move your other hand between your thighs. Without hesitation, you plunge your fingers into your entrance again. Now you’re pleasuring your clit while also getting that enticing fullness you ache for, and it feels fucking incredible. The sight of both of your hands moving on your screen only adds to the indulgence.

As if I could think about anything else.

"I wish I was watching you right now instead of myself."

You want to watch me stroke my cock to you?

Your whole body shudders, and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. "Yes! I want to watch the way your hand slides over your cock and how it throbs and twitches in your fist. I want to see what I do to you."

What you do to me…

You drive me insane. I've never needed to fuck someone like I need to fuck you.

"Jesus!" You wail as your hips jerk forward, and your knees start to shake. “David!”

That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name.

"If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to last long,” you pant.

Good. I want to see you let go for me.

“But I want you to enjoy this!”

You think I'm not enjoying this?

I finally got to see how responsive you are to my words and hear the sounds you make when you're like this. This is everything I wanted. Better, even. Now I can't imagine how much better it will be in person.

When you're full of my cock instead of your fingers.

“Fuck!” You’re driving those fingers in and out of your cunt with purpose now. You're no longer giving him a show. This is you feeling your orgasm closing in on you and scrambling for it, desperate and needy.

Fuck, that's good. Look at you. You're so god-damned beautiful as you fuck yourself for me.

"God, yes!" You gasp as you arch in your chair. "For you."

Only me. Only I can see you like this.

Say it.

"Only you, David."

That's my girl.

Now you're going to come for me.

“I'm so close,” you whine.

And I'm going to come as I imagine your tight little cunt.

“David,” you gasp, barely able to speak now through your ragged breathing. “Please.”

It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore.

Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!

“Yes,” you barely whisper. You're not even sure the microphone picked it up, but you have nothing more to give. The tension building inside of you is becoming nearly suffocating as you read every word. You feel you might drown in it before you ever find release.

As you continue seeking your own satisfaction, a photo pops up in the chat.

At the top of the photo, there’s the edge of a laptop keyboard, which is sat on top of a very ornate and expensive looking wooden desk. But that's not the point of the photo. No. That's not what strangles your breath in your throat or sets a flame in your chest that licks at your cheeks.

The polished surface of the desk is streaked and splattered with come. His come.

You imagine him standing in front of his computer, urgently stroking himself until he's shuddering out his orgasm and spending himself across the surface. All while his eyes never leave you on the screen.

You made him do that.

Your hand speeds up—the circles your fingers are rubbing over your clit are becoming almost brutal and painful, even as pleasure rakes up your belly and your whole body starts to tense. You're so close. So fucking close. You didn't know it was possible to balance on that edge for so long without falling in either direction.

You can't tear your eyes away from that ruined surface or get the thought of him fucking his own fist out of your head as you keep chasing oblivion and—

This is what you do to me.

Oh.

You bury your fingers into your cunt just as your walls clench down around them, and you come undone for the second time that day. To him.

You open your mouth to cry out, to wail his name as part of your release, but it gets choked to nothing more than a thought as your climax slams into you so hard that it knocks the wind out of you. You throw your head back from the force of it. As you try to ride each pulse of ecstasy out against your fingers, the muscles in your legs tense. Then you're involuntarily pushing against your desk with your feet.

The front two legs of the chair lift off the floor.

For a brief moment, your stomach lurches and you think you're going to topple backwards. Instead, you stay like that, hovering between stability and free fall, letting a wave of fear and adrenaline wash over you. Perhaps that should have ruined this, but the additional sensations only heighten and sharpen every breathless shudder until all of your nerve endings thrum. You’ve never felt so painfully, blissfully, alive.

Once you're fully spent, you carefully let the chair fall forward, returning to its proper position on all four legs. Then you bring one of your own legs down to plant a foot onto the carpet to ground yourself and stop that feeling of weightlessness still lingering within you.

God, you're stunning. The most exquisite thing I've ever seen. You were wonderful for me.

You sit there, bonelessly draped back in your seat, sweaty, your arms hanging at your sides, with your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. And you try to smile for him anyway because, between his praise and your orgasm, you swear you’re glowing.

But you didn't scream my name.

You let out a breathless sound of protest. “Couldn't. I tried. Seeing what I do to you…it was too good, holy shit." You swallow hard and shift forward into a more comfortable position in the chair. "But I thought it, David. You were the only thing I knew while I came for you."

Mmmm, that's very good. But you're still going to do better next time. I’ll make sure of it.

"With you?" You ask hopefully.

With me.

FOR me.

Your face burns, and there's a weak twinge of arousal between your legs. Even though it's a mere shadow of what you’ve already experienced today, you’re amazed it's even possible after that.

…You still don't even know what he looks like, you think.

God, he's dangerous.

Won't you?

"Yes," you moan. "I promise I will scream your name until my voice gives out, as long as you're the one coaxing it out of me."

Yes you will.

You whimper. "When?"

Soon.

There are some things I need to take care of first. Then I will send for you.

Your heart begins to pound with nerves and anticipation. This is really happening. "How long?"

Only a few days.

A grunt of shock is ripped from your throat. "Days?!"

Now who's eager?

"I can't help it," you purr, softening at his teasing as you run your hand along your still trembling inner thigh. "I want to see you. And I want you inside of me."

You'll have that.

I'LL have that.

"How many days?" You're almost afraid to ask.

I'll have a car pick you up Monday evening.

There's a heavy drop of disappointment in your stomach. "That's three days…"

Enough time to have all of my obligations done and taken care of. I want to be able to focus entirely on you once I have you. Like you deserve.

“But that's so long!” It's taking everything in you not to pout. You realize now you’ve been interpreting “soon” to mean you might finally get to see him, say, tomorrow. Or maybe even still tonight. It never occurred to you that it might be longer and that you’d have to wait for him.

I know, darling. I don't like it anymore than you do. And I would never make you wait if it wasn't important, but I have promises to keep.

“Alright,” you sigh. You find that you're, once again, reminding yourself that you're an adult. You can be patient.

And now that you're thinking about it, this gives you plenty of time to prepare as well. You don't have promises to keep, but you can certainly think of a few appointments you should make. When the time comes, you want everything to be perfect.

Besides, after that you’ll never have to wait again. Will you?

“No, David.” You lean forward as you stare into the camera. “Once I have you, I intend to never wait again. Because once I have you, you’re mine.”

That's my girl.

Later that night, when you go to sleep, you take your laptop with you and leave it open on your dresser, facing the bed. On your side table, you prop your phone up into its charging stand and make sure it's positioned just right as well. You want to give him two angles to enjoy this time. Then you sprawl out on top of your covers, still completely naked.

On your phone, you carefully type out, “I hope you didn't think the show was over. Because I still have more I can give you, and it would be such a shame to waste it. Enjoy, David. X”

As you hit send, you reach into the top drawer of your nightstand and pull out your vibrator. Then you settle back, and—with a desire that feels nearly insatiable now—you work several more orgasms from your clit while you gasp and moan and scream his name.

All while you know he's watching.

A/N: See? Who needs therapy when you have fanfiction?? 😌 (Christine please ignore the 🚩💕) I debated about whether or not to write a phone call with her mom, but I realized I don't actually want to give her a voice. Because this story isn't about her or even the reader's past. It's about healing from trauma, moving forward as the worst version of yourself, and falling in fucked up love with a stalker/serial killer. 😌

#tara! 🧡#needing that stalker/serial killer in a way that is concerning to feminism #he's so terrible i want him #david robey #david robey x reader #the devil makes us sin #fic rec #andy serkis

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apricotdraws · 4 months ago

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#I absolutely love mon laferte #when I found out about her covering ‘la nave del olvido’#man her voice sounded incredible and powerful #just a little doodle of billy here and how I think he would react to this song

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avocado-writing · 3 months ago

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pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot.

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan.

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him.

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope.

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time.

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name.

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours.

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you.

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero.

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow.

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat.

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life.

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being.

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed.

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable.

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts.

His heart especially, and now it aches.

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless.

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds.

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years.

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it.

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member.

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something.

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void.

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly.

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost.

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier.

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it.

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle.

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him.

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness.

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.”

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline.

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground.

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further.

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much.

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable.

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look.

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead.

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too.

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks.

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless.

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea.

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air.

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it.

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea.

He does anyway.

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size.

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands.

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his.

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile.

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt.

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine.

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough.

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be.

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate.

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going.

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture.

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest.

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that.

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door.

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking.

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days.

“Hey,” you say.

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to.

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm.

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his.

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it.

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze.

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling.

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system.

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him.

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug.

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh.

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice.

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead.

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with.

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle.

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show.

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one.

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold.

“I’d like that,” he manages.

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now.

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee.

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again.

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it.

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

He sleeps pretty well nowadays.

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace.

“Same as usual?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened.

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion.

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you.

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week.

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again.

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything.

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise.

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this.

You’d show your Logan off to the world.

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly.

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile.

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development.

He comes around more and more often.

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten.

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you.

It’s a picture of the two of you.

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out.

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with.

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides.

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well.

But not any more.

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about.

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it.

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look.

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment.

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you.

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness.

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him.

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory.

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken.

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same.

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass.

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool.

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning.

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp.

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe.

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him.

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt.

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily.

“Old man,” he chuckles.

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands.

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel.

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…”

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate.

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight.

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss.

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for.

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here.

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods.

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove.

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle.

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him.

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces.

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work.

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you.

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life.

“This is a great one,” you declare.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you.

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again.

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historiaxvanserra · 6 days ago

Text

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think.

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea.

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach.

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer.

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light.

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city.

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm.

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses.

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead.

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder.

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be.

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm.

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda.

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark.

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs.

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination.

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold.

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants.

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars.

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak.

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren.

Dangerous and inviting.

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm.

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention.

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money.

A reminder of their lethal potential.

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone.

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed.

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.”

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither.

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers.

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph.

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift.

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding.

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed.

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh.

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers.

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand, “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.”

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw.

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.”

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist.

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light.

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar.

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains.

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake.

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard.

Primal and carnal.

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns.

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire.

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.”

“An audience?” I ask.

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure.

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens.

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern.

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati.

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns.

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.”

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain.

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city.

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment.

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper.

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here.

As we all must.

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit.

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies.

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar.

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.”

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm.

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs.

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more.

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads.

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss.

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,”

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel acotar

419 notes · View notes

doumadono · 5 months ago

Note

doumaaaa! luv ur writing! could ya make dabi x nurse reader? basically him 'seducing' her or smth?

Warnings: smut w/o plot, semi-public, rough smut, pussy fingering, nurse!reader, Touya being Touya, creampie, dubcon

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll I held. I must admit, the difference between this prompt and the second-highest voted one was incredibly small! Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital seemed to flicker in time with the steady beeping of monitors. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee that had become your lifeline through the long shifts.

You were used to the routine, the endless cycle of patients coming and going. But nothing could have prepared you for him.

Dabi. Or rather Todoroki Touya. The infamous villain, arrested after the chaos of the Paranormal Liberation War. His capture had been nothing short of a miracle - or perhaps, a well-calculated move.

The new burns that marred his body, the very marks of his quirk, had left him in dire need of medical attention.

And you, as the head nurse of this ward, had been chosen to treat him.

You approached his room with concern.

The door slid open with a whisper, revealing the man who had caused so much destruction. He lay on the bed, his body a patchwork of scars and fresh bandages. His turquoise eyes, like chips of ice, flicked up to meet yours, assessing and unyielding. Metal restraints bound his wrists and ankles to the bed, a necessary precaution against the notorious villain. “Here to patch me up, nurse?” His voice was rough, a dark rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

You forced a calm smile. “I’m here to make sure you don’t fall apart any more than you already have.”

He chuckled, a low, almost menacing sound. “Good luck with that, bitch.”

Setting your tray of supplies on the table beside the bed, you began your work in silence.

The burns on his body were severe, some still fresh from recent battles. You carefully removed the old dressings, your fingers gentle yet efficient. Despite your attempts at professionalism, you couldn’t ignore the heat that radiated from him, a constant reminder of the power he wielded.

As you applied a cooling salve to his burns, you felt his gaze on you, intense and unwavering. “What’s your name, nurse?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. “A pretty name for a pretty nurse.”

You ignored the flush that crept up your neck, shaking your head slightly.

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why so cautious, sweetheart?" Dabi's voice broke through the silence, raspy and teasing, as he watched you with an amused smirk. "Afraid I might bite?"

You met his gaze steadily, the corner of your mouth twitching into a small, resigned grimace. "I'm not afraid of you," you replied, adjusting the flow on his IV. "I'm just being professional. And you called me a bitch moments earlier, so don’t expect me to become more friendly towards you."

Dabi chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Professional, huh? I guess that's a first for me. People usually just want to fix me up quickly and get rid of me."

The casual way he spoke of his own status made you pause. "Everyone deserves proper care," you said, securing the IV line. "No matter who they are."

That seemed to catch him off guard, and for a moment, he just stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes before he masked it with another smirk. "You’re different, aren’t you? Not scared, not judgmental. Just doing your job."

You shrugged, feeling his intense gaze as you checked his chart. "That's what I'm here for."

He watched your every move, noting the efficiency and confidence with which you worked. It was clear you weren’t easily intimidated - a trait he found both intriguing and useful. “I suppose it’s your job to keep an eye on me too, huh? Make sure I don’t do anything foolish?”

“Something like that,” you admitted, adjusting the monitor beside his bed.

His heart rate was steady, too steady for someone who should be in pain. Suspicion flickered in your mind.

“It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? A nurse looking after someone who can burn down entire cities.”

“It is,” you agreed quietly, meeting his eyes. “But pain is pain. Healing is healing. It doesn’t choose sides.”

“Philosophical for a nurse,” he chuckled, shifting slightly. His chains rattled, a jarring sound that matched the slight grimace of pain his movements brought.

“You’d be surprised what you learn in this job,” you responded, checking the restraints to ensure they were secure, a mandatory procedure that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Two nights later, you approached Dabi’s hospital room, a mix of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through your veins.

The night was quiet, almost oppressively so, the sterile hallways of the hospital washed in the dim glow of emergency lighting, casting long shadows that flickered softly.

The two guards who were always stationed at the door to Dabi's room and had become a constant fixture in the hallway - silent, stoic sentinels in the muted chaos of the hospital, were absent. Their absence was as puzzling as it was alarming. No explanation, no trace of their whereabouts, just an empty space where they should have been standing guard.

As you reached his room, the usual sound of the monitoring machines greeting you was conspicuously absent. A cold wave of unease washed over you. Pushing the door open fully, you stepped inside, your eyes immediately drawn to the bed that had become so familiar over the past few days.

It was empty.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your mind racing to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. The sheets were askew, tossed aside rather than neatly arranged by a nurse. The heart monitor was silent, its screen dark. Most telling of all, the metal chains designed to secure the villain, to prevent exactly this scenario, lay on the floor, melted into twisted, useless strips of metal.

Panic knotted in your stomach as you hurried forward, searching the room for any sign of him. You checked the bathroom, the small closet, even under the bed, though you knew it was futile.

Dabi was gone.

There was no sign of struggle, no alarm raised - it was as if he had simply vanished into the night, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his presence.

Questions raced through your mind. How had he escaped? Did he plan this all along, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision driven by some unknown factor?

Suddenly, the light that was pouring into the room was cut off as the door swung shut with a soft, definitive click.

A brief moment of tense silence ensued, broken only by the familiar sound of a tongue clicking. Then, a characteristic, raspy voice followed, tinged with a teasing undertone, "Well, hi there, little nurse."

Fear gripped you, paralyzing every muscle in your body. You knew well that Dabi was right behind you, yet the terror that washed over you made it impossible to turn around. Your breath hitched in your throat, heart pounding furiously against your chest as seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity.

Then, a confirmation of his presence came - not through words, but through the rough, unmistakable touch of his hands as they settled on your shoulders.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a blend of malice and allure. “You know, there’s a lot of things I’ve been thinking about doing to make myself feel better,” he murmured, his tone dripping with a dark, seductive edge. His fingers tightened around your wrists, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his control. “And since you’re the nurse, always so eager to help, you should be willing to assist with my recovery.”

His words were laced with a mocking sneer, yet his touch wandered with a boldness that betrayed his intent. He was provoking you, testing how far he could push before you’d snap or succumb. Dabi’s hand traced a path up your spine, sending shivers through your body despite your resolve. “I can think of a few therapies that might help,” he continued, his voice low and husky, teasingly listing his twisted desires. “Imagine, all the things you could do to ease my pain, to make me feel alive. Wouldn’t that be fulfilling your duty, little nurse?”

Every fiber in your being screamed to pull away, to reclaim your space and autonomy, yet his presence was overwhelming, nearly suffocating in its intensity.

“You should thank me,” Dabi chuckled darkly, his lips barely grazing the curve of your ear, sending an involuntary shudder through you. “Most don’t even get the chance to hear my voice. They’re not quick enough. Never as quick as my flames,” he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery.

You gasped. His mockery stung, a stark reminder of the dangerous game that played out between you. “How?” you whispered, barely moving your lips.

Dabi's low laugh resonated close to your ear, a sound that mixed amusement with a sinister edge. “Curious, are we?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I just turned up the heat a bit.” His smirk was palpable in his voice as he recounted his escape with a nonchalance that belied the danger of his actions.

Your heart pounded, the implications of his words sinking in. “And the guards?” you managed to ask, your voice a whisper of sound, betraying your fear.

Dabi’s tone took on a sharper edge, his amusement soaring into something darker. “There was some commotion, some urgent cries over their radios, something about a threat to the hospital staff. They ran off to play heroes.” His hand tightened slightly on your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin as he leaned closer. “Perfect timing, wouldn’t you say? Gave me just the right moment to melt away those pesky chains and walk right out. It was almost too easy.”

Dabi smoothly spun you around to face him, his movements precise and fluid. Catching your chin between his index finger and thumb, he gently tilted your head up to meet his gaze. The touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of his usual demeanor. "You're quite pretty, you know," Dabi murmured, his eyes scanning your face with an appreciative glint. "Even with those dark circles under your eyes." His thumb brushed lightly under your eye socket, his touch featherlight. "It tells a story, doesn't it? All those long hours spent caring for people like me."

Touya smiled, a wry, knowing smirk that hinted at his awareness of the toll his words took on you. "Working too hard, aren't you?" he mused, his gaze lingering on your face as if committing every detail to memory. "Caring for the broken, the dangerous. It's a heavy burden for such delicate shoulders. But what if I told you I want more than just professional care?"

Gathering every ounce of courage, you met Dabi’s intense gaze. “Please, let me go,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I'll keep quiet. You'll have time to get away from here.”

The plea hung in the air between you, underscored by the palpable tension that seemed to stretch out endlessly. Your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of compliance or compassion, hoping he would see the sincerity in your offer and realize it was his best chance to escape without further complications.

Dabi chuckled.

You felt a cold wave of fear wash over you, but you refused to let it show. "And I'm not here for your entertainment," you said, your voice steady despite the panic rising within you.

Dabi's laugh echoed through the room, a dark, menacing sound. "Oh, I know that," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you see, I'm not exactly in a position to ask nicely." His hands moved to your waist, pulling you back against him.

You could feel the heat of his body through your overall, a constant reminder of the power he held. "Let me go," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Dabi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your ear. "But what if I don't want to?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You struggled against his hold, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "Please," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "You don't have to do this."

Dabi's grip loosened, his hands sliding down your arms. "But what if I want to?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You felt his lips against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You gasped, your body betraying you as a shiver ran down your spine. "Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head for no. His hands moved to the buttons of your uniform.

You felt the fabric of your overall give way, the cool air of the room brushing against your exposed skin. Dabi's hands moved to your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. His hands were oh so warm...

You gasped.

Dabi's laugh was low and dark. "You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his fingers continuing their assault on your nipples.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dabi's hands moved to your waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants before tugging them down. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should tell him to stop, but your body had other ideas. "Please, don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dabi's laugh was low and triumphant. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his hands pulling down your pants.

You felt the cool air of the room brush against your exposed skin, your body trembling with anticipation.

Dabi's hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back against him, making you arch your back slightly.

You could feel his cock, hard and insistent against your ass.

Dabi's hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

You felt his fingers brush against your wetness, a low moan escaping your lips.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan.

Dabi's fingers worked fast, pushing the material of your thong aside, and soon they moved inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You moaned even though you hated yourself for this, your body was trembling with pleasure.

He teased you slowly, his fingers moving in and out, drawing out your moans with every thrust. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. He didn’t stop himself from leaving a hickey here and there.

You arched against him, your body pleading for more. "Please," you gasped again, your voice breaking.

“Hush,” he whispered, licking a trail up the column of your neck. He pumped his long fingers in you, faster and faster, enjoying all of the sounds you made, just for him. Finally, his fingers withdrew, and you felt a momentary loss before his hands gripped your hips, turning you to face him. His eyes burned with an intense heat as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You could feel his dick, straining his pants, pressing against your slick, naked pussy, and instinctively, your hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in your eagerness. Dabi's left forearm slipped under your ass, easily securing you in place as his other hand joined yours, and together you managed to free him, the hard length of his dick springing free.

With a swift motion, he aligned the tip of his cock with your dripping entrance, and pushed it up so the head went in between your delicious outer labia. Finally, he slowly shoved himself into your dripping vagina.

As soon as he entered you, your eyes and mouth both opened wide. You looked like you were in disbelief that you were actually doing this. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his rhythm slow yet deliberate. “Gosh…” Your pussy was stretching painfully to accommodate him. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. You hated yourself for that.

His scarred lips found yours, capturing your moans as his pace quickened, each movement driving you closer to the edge. “Fuck. So fucking tight. I love how wet and tight you are f’me,” he growled, pecking your cheek.

You could feel yourself tightening around his cock, your climax building with every hard thrust he delivered. You gasped against his lips.

Dabi took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, then suck on your bottom lip, all while completely inside you. He began to bounce you on his cock faster, each upward thrust hitting deeper than before, the tip of his throbbing dick brushing against that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you.

The feeling of being suspended and at his mercy driving you wild. You rolled your hips to meet his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes,” you whined. You were painfully aware you acted like a cheap whore, but you didn’t mind at the time.

The friction between your bodies created a heat that was almost unbearable, every movement bringing you closer to the edge. His warmth of course added to the sensation. And his cock was oh so hot.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "So desperate, so needy. Fucking bitch." He pulled his cock out until only the tip remained between your parted, lower lips, then slammed his hips back against yours, burying himself in your pussy to the hilt of his shaft.

You couldn't respond, your mind lost in the overwhelming sensations. You could only moan, the sound echoing in the room as he continued to bounce you on his cock, the pace quickening. You were trembling in his arms, even though you shouldn’t. Your boobs were swaying forward and backward as he fucked you raw.

“Be fucking quiet, little nurse, or the guards will hear us if they’re back,” he slapped your cheek, and grunted as his balls hit the curve of your ass yet again.

Your bodies made a wet smacking noise each time, and Dabi could see strands of your fluids spider-webbing between your skin each time he pulled away from your heated, dripping core.

Your tits, still in your bra, pressed firmly against his chest as you leaned into him, already breathless. Your head rolled forward, resting against the crook of his neck where his marred skin was exposed. “Mmmm…. Mmmmm…. I’m gonna… I can’t anymore….” Your pussy clenched around his cock in anticipation, and a growl rose in your throat.

Your needy, seductive voice worked its magic on the scarred man.

Dabi's head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips as he came, spilling his thick seed deep within you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, his thrusts growing sloppier and more frantic. “Fuck, take it, bitch, take it all.”

With Dabi’s cock nestled within your core, you felt every pulse as he reached his climax. Every pulse and eruption of cum filling your tight pussy sent twin waves of pleasure and a wonderful, comforting warmth through your entire being, and three or four pulses in, you found herself cumming as well, pussy spasming and clenching around Touya’s cock, milking it of his wonderful, hot cum.

You felt his cum filling you to the brim and beyond, and spilling out of you, dripping to the floor, even though you two were still connected.

Dabi's hands moved to your waist, his fingers gentle as he pulled out of you. He gave himself a few more jerks before grabbing your overall and wiping his flaccid cock in it. After that, he tossed your uniform aside, and improved his pants and belt. Dabi's voice was low and dark as he spoke. "You're quite the little slut, aren't you?"

As you hastily tried to dress, your cheeks burning with a mix of emotions, you muttered, "It was a moment of weakness…" Your gaze drifted nervously toward the door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment.

Suddenly, Dabi was before you again, his presence imposing. His hand shot out, capturing your cheeks with an intensity that made you wince. He squeezed firmly, his eyes burning into your very soul as he seethed a harsh reminder, "Not a word until five minutes pass. Understand?" The threat in his voice was unmistakable, echoing in the charged air between you.

Releasing your face, he moved swiftly to the window with the fluid grace of a predator. His silhouette framed against the dim light from outside was both menacing and mesmerizing. As he swung one leg over the sill, he paused, turning to fix you with a piercing look. "You'll never be rid of me, not until death takes me." His words hung heavy in the room, a promise or a curse. Then, he jumped out, vanishing into the night like a ghost.

You stood frozen, the imprint of his fingers still tingling on your skin, his final words echoing in your mind. You waited, counting each second of those five minutes he had demanded. You were scared to see him again, yet part of you wondered, perhaps even hoped, for that very possibility.

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dissapointu · 4 days ago

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hi!! i love your writing! i was wondering if you could do how arcane characters would react to their partner looking really good??

OMG YES, LET’S GO. You’re serving looks, and these characters are LOSING it.

Jinx

Jinx is walking into the room, probably rambling about some crazy plan she has to blow something up, but then she sees you. Full stop. Like, rewind sound effects stop. Her jaw drops, her eyes go wide, and she’s just standing there with a completely dumbfounded look on her face.

“WHO LET YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?!” she yells, pointing at you like it’s your fault. And then, without waiting for an answer, she’s giggling and spinning around you like a little tornado, tugging at your outfit and gushing about how good you look. But it’s Jinx, so she’ll probably throw in something like:

“I could never wear that—I’d blow it up in five minutes. BUT YOU?! You’re, like, my shiny bombshell baby now!”

Okay, so Vi acts all tough and cool, right? But when she sees you? Girl is GONE. She leans back in her chair, smirks, and tries to play it cool.

“Damn, babe, where’s the fire? Oh wait—it’s YOU.”

She totally thinks she’s being smooth, but her ears are turning red, and she cannot stop staring. She’ll make some excuse to touch you, too, like fixing a stray hair or adjusting your jacket, just so she can get a closer look.

“You’re killin’ me here,” she mutters under her breath, and yeah, she’s absolutely whipped.

Sevika

You walk into the bar looking too good, and Sevika’s mid-drink when she sees you. She chokes. Like, literally sputters into her glass because she was NOT READY. She tries to recover, clears her throat, and narrows her eyes at you like you did this on purpose.

“Alright, who are you trying to impress?” she teases, but her voice is all low and growly, and she’s totally jealous of anyone else who gets to see you looking like this.

If you’re lucky, she’ll slide an arm around your waist and pull you close, her mechanical arm whirring a little as she leans in to murmur, “You keep lookin’ like that, I’m gonna have to start a fight just to keep people’s eyes off you.”

Silco

Silco’s usually composed, right? All cold, calculating power. But when he sees you, he goes silent. Like, dead silent. His heterochromatic eyes narrow just slightly, and you can tell he’s looking you over, taking in everything.

“Impressive,” he finally says, his voice smooth but with just enough edge to send a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t say more because he knows you know exactly what he’s thinking, but the way his hand lingers on your arm when he passes you? Yeah, you’ve officially ruined his ability to focus for the rest of the day.

Vander

Vander is polishing a glass behind the bar when you walk in, and the man literally freezes. The glass slips from his hand, clattering onto the counter, and for a moment, he’s just staring at you with this big, goofy grin on his face.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice all warm and soft, like he can’t believe his luck. He’s not one to gush, but you’ll catch him sneaking glances at you all night, shaking his head like, How did I get so lucky?

And when you catch him staring, he’ll just laugh and say, “Can you blame me?”

Ekko

Ekko’s mid-sentence when you walk in, and he just stops talking. Like, whatever he was saying? Gone. Deleted. Replaced by you.

“Uh…damn.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to do with himself, because holy crap, you’re stunning. “Okay, but why are you trying to flex on me like this?”

He’ll pretend to pout for like two seconds before breaking into this huge grin and pulling you into a quick spin. “You look incredible. Seriously. You’re making it really hard for me to focus.”

Jayce

Jayce is a talker, so the moment he sees you, he’s throwing out compliments like confetti.

“Wow. Just…wow. Is this legal? You’re stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Should I keep going? Because I could keep going.”

He’s like a golden retriever, so excited and genuinely in awe, and he’ll definitely try to take like 50 pictures of you, “for science,” but really just because he can’t get over how good you look.

Viktor

Oh, Viktor is a mess. Like, full-on short-circuiting. He notices you immediately, but he’s so shy about it, he pretends to be focused on his work, even though the pen in his hand is hovering three inches above the page.

“You, uh…you look very nice,” he finally mumbles, his face going completely red. But when you catch him staring (because he’s DEFINITELY staring), he’ll push up his glasses and awkwardly add, “I mean, you always do, but tonight, especially…uh…”

Just kiss him already. The poor man can’t handle it.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s the type to notice right away but say nothing—at first. She’ll just smile, that soft little oh, you’ve outdone yourself this time smile, and let you catch her admiring you.

“You look incredible,” she says, her voice calm but with just enough warmth to make your cheeks burn. She’ll offer you her arm, all proper and elegant, and lead you into whatever event you’re attending, acting like it’s your moment to shine.

But don’t let her fool you. Inside, she’s absolutely glowing.

Mel Medarda

Mel is a queen, and she acts like one. So when she sees you, she doesn’t react immediately. No, she takes her time looking you over, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“You’re stunning,” she purrs, her voice dripping with admiration. “But then, I’d expect nothing less from you.”

She’s totally the type to dress even better next time just so you two can be the most powerful, glamorous couple in the room.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa doesn’t do subtle. The moment she sees you, she lets out this low, appreciative hum, her eyes gleaming with approval.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” she says, stepping closer, her presence almost overwhelming. “It’s…intoxicating.”

She’ll rest a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but affectionate, and you can feel the pride radiating off her. She knows everyone else is looking at you, and she loves it.

Heimerdinger

“Oh, my stars! My dear, you look absolutely radiant!”

Heimerdinger’s ears perk up, and his little mustache twitches with excitement. He’ll walk around you in circles, marveling at your outfit and making a bunch of overly enthusiastic comments about the “design work” and “craftsmanship,” even if it’s just a plain dress.

“You must let me take a closer look at this fabric—it’s magnificent!”

It’s adorable, really.

Salo

Salo’s not one to gush, but he’ll give you this small, approving nod when he sees you.

“You clean up well,” he says, his tone casual but with just enough edge to let you know he’s impressed.

If you’re lucky, you might catch him stealing a glance at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

Scar

Scar sees you and immediately whistles low under his breath.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, his grin all crooked and playful. “What’s the occasion, doll?”

He’ll definitely tease you, but you can tell he’s really into it by the way he keeps sneaking closer, like he just can’t help himself.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie is blunt, so when she sees you, she just blurts it out:

“Damn, you look good.”

She doesn’t sugarcoat it, doesn’t make it a big thing. But the way her gaze lingers a little too long? Yeah, she’s head over heels.

Lest

Lest is normally composed, but the moment she sees you, she falters.

“You look…” she pauses, searching for the right word, and then just gives up with a little smile. “Amazing.”

It’s simple, but the way she looks at you? Like you’ve hung the moon? That says it all.

#x reader #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #character x reader #imagine #headcannons #arcane #arcane headcanon #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #arcane sevika #silco x reader #arcane silco #arcane caitlyn #arcane victor #victor arcane #arcane vander #lest arcane #arcane ekko

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nicestgirlonline · 1 year ago

Text

Something Sweet

Pairing: Sugar Daddy! Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut ahead!!! Thigh riding, public stuff, dirty talk, sugar relationships, power dynamics, dom/sub undertones

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary : A chance run in with a handsome stranger turns out to be the opportunity of a lifetime

a/n: for @the-slumberparty September Bingo Challenge! No bingo for me this round, I got it in JUST UNDER THE WIRE! Takes me waaaaayyy to long to write lol. Thanks for reading, I’d love your feedback! Reblogs and comments are love <3

You placed the candy bar on the counter in front of the very bored cashier. You dug through your purse and pulled out your debit card and handed it over. A queue had started to form behind you as you tapped your hand in anticipation.

“Declined.” The cashier said, holding out the card for you. Your stomach dropped. You were afraid this was going to happen. You were so sure that you had enough in your account for at least a candy bar. You had paid the overdraft fees from last month, so you should have been set. Your stomach gurgled a bit. You were so hungry.

“Um, can you try it again?” You asked, hoping it was some sort of mistake, that the bank was just a little slow to catch up with your account. She let out a sigh and placed it in the machine again.

You could feel the stares behind you. You looked back at the line; directly behind you was a tall man dressed in a suit, checking his watch. He looked like he must be very important. He had dark brown hair that was neatly styled and just a touch of a five o’clock shadow. It was incredibly handsome. His icy blue eyes flicked from his Rolex to you, making you quickly turn back to the cashier.

“Declined. Again.” The cashier handed it back this time with a look insisting you take the card from her. Humiliated, your cheeks began to turn red.

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you shoved your card back into your purse so you could clear the shop as quickly as possible. In your haste, you accidentally ran into Mr. BusinessMan. You collided with his body like a brick wall. “Sorry! I’m so sorry! Fuck I’m a mess.” You cried out as you ran past him this time.

You ran directly out onto the street, the cool air filling your lungs. You dropped down onto the curb to spend a minute catching your breath. You could feel your heart still racing, your body going into fight or flight mode.

Money, money, money. It all always came back to money. If you didn't have the money for a god damn candy, how were you going to make rent in less than two weeks? Tears threatened to escape your eyes and you squeezed them shut.

Here you were, no food in your stomach and soon to be no roof over your head. You looked at your phone, a flip phone from 2013 that miraculously still worked. The last text you had gotten was from your mom “Fridge broken. Send more this month.”

God fucking damn it.

“Hey! I think you forgot this.” A deep voice called out behind you. You turned to see the business man from the shop! Confused, you grabbed your purse and checked to make sure you hadn’t left your keys or something. The man held the bar you had left at the counter. He held it out to you. You didn’t go to grab it, you just stared.

“Oh. Um, you didn’t have to…” You began but he squatted down next to you and placed the candy on your lap.

“We all have bad days. Doesn’t cost me nothing to be nice. You look like you deserve something sweet.” He had a very kind smile on his face. It did cost him something though, it cost him more than what was currently in your bank account. “You ok?”

“I’m…I’m ok. I’m going to be ok. Thank you, really.” You could feel the tears spilling over and you started to wipe your face so he wouldn’t see.

“You must really like candy to be crying over it.” He lightly joked, which only made you want to cry more. You let out a little laugh that sounded more like a strangled gasp. It was so overwhelming, the simple act of charity.

“It’s just…really really nice of you.” You gasped, the tears finally flowing freely. “I don’t remember the last time anyone has ever given me something…I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “I’m James.”

You gave him your name, finally ceasing your tears. You took a deep breath, you couldn’t just fall apart in front of this kind stranger, he was probably running late to some sort of business meeting anyway.

“You have a way to get home?” he asked, he pulled out his phone and began to tap on it. You nodded your head.

“Yes, yes I do. I have money left on a bus card, really thank you so much James.” He smiled at you when you said his name. He placed his phone back into his suit jacket. He took your hand and helped you up. With your spiral into darkness slightly stalled, you took in your savior. He was so classically handsome. When you looked into his blue, blue eyes you felt like you were drowning in them. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, your heart raced.

“Get home safe, alright doll?” You nodded, clutching the candy bar to your chest. You took off down the street after giving a soft goodbye. The kindness of strangers had given you more hope than you had in a long time.

You idly wondered about James as you ate on the bus. Your money problems were still lingering in the back of your mind but your thoughts were clear.

You tore open the candy bar, taking a bite of the delicious treat. The chocolate melting on your tongue, the sugary sweetness coated your mouth. You got a rush from the sugar and let out a sigh.

Maybe things were going to be ok, it was a sign that the universe was on your side.

{}{}{}

You put on your waitress face and did your best to keep up the highest energy tonight. You were all bubbles and giggles throughout the shift. You would smile and laugh at every lame joke a customer would tell you.

Half way through your shift the place was packed. You should be grateful it was busy, you were getting good tips but hadn’t had a moment to breathe since you walked out onto the floor. You carefully balanced a tray of shots and an order of bacon-wrapped dates to drop off before you made it to the party that just sat down in your section. The hostess had put them back in the booth that was partially tucked away with velvet curtains. Big spenders for sure. You smoothed down your dress and tossed your hair over your shoulders as you made your way over.

“Hiii how are we doing tonight Gentle--” You began your usually bubbly opener, voice high pitched and energetic but as you took in who was sitting in front of you, you stumbled.

James. Your candy savior. The bodega hero. Him and three other men were waiting to be served. He was wearing a new suit, this one with no tie and a few buttons undone from his shirt. Damn he could really rock a suit, he filled this one out perfectly too. FUCK.

“Ahem, excuse me gentlemen. So what can I start you off with?” You quickly recovered, grabbing your pad and pen and focusing your eyes on the paper. You prayed that with your heavy makeup and fluffed up hair that maybe he wouldn’t recognize you, or maybe just wouldn’t even remember.

“Hey there sweetheart, hope my good looks didn’t startle you.” His charming grin grew as you bashfully waved your hand at him.

“Oh I'm used to handsome, it's just a little busy in here tonight. Are we just starting out the night? Maybe with some shots?” You offered with a grin of your own. He seemed pretty pleased with your flattery. James was silent as the other two ordered a round of shots, his gaze was fixed on you. You went to turn to put the order in but as you went James’s hand shot out and he grabbed your wrist.

You froze and stayed.

“Hold on a minute Doll, you didn’t take my order yet.” His voice was low and easy. You lightly moved your hand out of his grasp to put pen to paper. You nodded to him hoping to get his order. “I want a whiskey. Neat. And bring the whole bottle out.”

“Whoa, we’re getting bottles tonight?”

“Sounds like you guys are going to have some fun!” You said quickly writing down the order with a flourish. This time you managed to escape to put the orders in. As you waited by the bar for the orders you felt your heart racing. It wasn’t just the adrenaline of the fast paced night. Seeing James again had put you completely off kilter. It was humiliating, the last time he saw you, you were crying in the street. He must find you so pathetic. If he even recognized you?

James and his party stayed practically til closing, ordering more and more. The bill they were racking up was so notable that Jeremy himself came out to thank them for their patronage. The other girls were all playfully jealous, it wasn’t you who could normally hook in the big spenders like that.

“Sadly, it seems we’ve got to end it here. Little guy can’t hold his liquor.” James said motioning to the one you learned was named Sam.

“M’fine.” He slurred. The blonde man who was called Steve laughed and threw an arm around him as he swayed. The two made their way to the exit leaving you alone at the table with James. He smiled at you expectantly. You just wanted the night to be done with.

“Whenever you’re ready!” you placed down the bill on the table.

“Hold on Doll, I’m ready now.” He pulled out a shiny black card from his wallet, and quickly scribbled down on the receipt. You took the card with a smile, ready to go charge it. You glanced down on the tip and your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

He had given you a 100% tip.

“Problem?” He asked, innocently cocking his head to the side. You glanced at the bill again, rereading it as slowly as you could to try to make sure you weren’t mistaken.

“I think you might have mixed up the tip and the total-”

“No mistake. I’m tipping for the fantastic service.”

“I really don’t know how comfortable I am with that James. Is this because of this morning?” Your voice was pathetically small.

“Oh so you do remember me?” He asked flatly. You looked up at him. His sudden tone made your stomach clench.

“I mean…of course I do but that’s not very professional of me. I’m sorry-” You immediately tried to amend the situation. This was somehow your fault, you could tell.

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to be sorry for getting something you want.” James’s tone was no longer angry.

“I don’t need pity.”

“It's not pity, Doll. You gave me a service and now I’m paying you what I think is fair. I know you probably aren’t used to people giving you what you’re worth. You probably don’t even know what your worth is, do you?” When his icy blue eyes met yours it was like you were really being seen for the first time. You loved it as much as you hated it.

“I’m not…I’m not worth anything much. Here’s your card sir, have a good night.”

You ran off, your face hot with humiliation.

{}{}{}

You had hoped that would be the end of it. Even with the insane tip from James you were still on the outs with your money. Now that rent could be made there was the electricity, gas, and water. Then the money you would send back to your family, oh and food for yourself. You couldn’t forget that. You kept all ten shifts that you had managed to beg Jeremy for. The big night with James made him much more amenable to your requests.

It was only for a split second but you saw him at the hostess table. With two different men at his side, there stood James for the second night in a row. You whipped your head around and scurried to the back.

“Wanda, he’s here again. Again!” You squealed to your co-worker who was just preparing to start her shift.

“Who, Mr. Moneybags? Well aren’t you lucky.” She said, giving you a playful glare.

“I don’t want to deal with him again. Please take my table?” you pleaded.

“Don’t need to ask me twice, I’ll be getting that nice tip tonight.” She tossed her coppery hair over her shoulder and smoothed down her dress one final time before strutting out onto the floor.

He wasn’t here for you, you told yourself. You were just being paranoid. Wanda was going to have all of them eating out of her hands by the end of the night, you told yourself as you started out towards your first table. You pushed it from your mind.

But you couldn’t help but glance over to his table, and the glance was more than enough to see that James was not happy. Wanda and her incredible curves didn’t seem to distract him at all. You could see her laughing and chatting but James was a dark cloud.

Fine, who cares, he was going to give Wanda a ludicrous tip because he was a generous tipper. He wasn’t pitying you, he wasn’t trying to give you charity, that's just who he is. You scamper towards the kitchen to put in your orders and hopefully hide out a while.

Wanda came back towards the kitchen, placing her orders and grabbing the food that was ready. Her beautiful smile fading into a line when she made eye contact with you.

“They were really really insistent that it has to be you tonight. Even just to go over and say hi. ” She said, her tone was dry. Nervous butterflies erupted in your stomach. You bit your lip. What could this possibly mean?

{}{}{}

You were normally pretty steady in your heels, but the floor was suddenly uneven as you approached James’s table.

“Well hi there, gentlemen. I-I can take your drink orders tonight. Give Wanda a hand.” You babbled, trying not to flub over any words.

James smirks at you victoriously. He doesn’t need to say anything, his eyes say it all. He had gotten his way.

The party once again racked up a ridiculous tab. Nothing was stopping him. The rest of the table had cleared out quickly, leaving just you and James.

He opened his wallet and laid out the tip, bill by bill. He pushed the fat stack to you, not breaking eye contact once.

It was multiple hundred dollar bills, but you were too stunned to count. The anxiety that had been building since you first caught a glimpse of James again finally came bursting out of you in a tidal wave. You tossed the cash back on to the table.

“Please stop. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this, I don’t know what you expect from me.” You gasped, allowing your facade to crack as you stared up at him with tears wetting your eyes.

You weren’t scared. But you were confused. This sort of attention must have meant he wanted something from you and…you were fairly certain of what that was.

“This is how this business works, you did something for me, and I paid for your services.”

“I -- I--” Your breath was caught in your throat as he leaned closer to you to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Poor thing, you’ve never been treated well in your whole life, have you? I know why you’re so nervous. You’re not stupid, you're really smart. I don’t expect anything from you tonight.”

He took a breath and it was like he was stealing the air right from your lungs. “But. I would like to make an offer, if you’d be interested. I just want one hour of your time.”

“I’m not a whore.”

He caught your chin in his hand and made you look back at him, his eyes dark and humorless.

“What an ugly word. Nobody’s calling you that doll. Have dinner with me.” His thumb traced over the apple of your cheek.

{}{}{}

One hour of your time. You kept thinking about it over and over again. It was just one hour. This ostentatiously wealthy man was paying you to have dinner with him. It’s not a crime. But it felt so dangerous. Sneaky and dirty. Part of it was terrifying but it was also…exciting.

This restaurant was leaps and bounds above your place of work. It was all very classy. You tugged on your skirt just a bit, hoping you weren’t going to stick out. You were brought through the restaurant, up some stairs to a private party room. It was a huge table, with only two places set, a glow with dozens of candle’s soft light. The walls were all windows, looking over the restaurant the other a breathtaking view of the city.

James was waiting for you when you arrived. He looked you up and down appreciatively, his eyes lingering. He stood up like a gentleman when you got to the table. He pulled the chair out for you.

“Oh um, thank you.” You said as he pushed you into your spot once you were seated.

“No thanks necessary, Doll.” He placed the napkin from the plate on your lap before returning to the seat across from you. The waiter who brought you up took your drink orders before leaving you alone.

The door clicked closed and suddenly there was a tense silence between you two. What was next? Were you supposed to say something? Or should you wait for him?

“I trust the ride over was pleasant?”

“Yeah, um, no issues at all. I’ve never been here before, any recommendations?” Why were you so awkward? Should you be seductive? Should you be professional? Was this a business transaction or a date? Every time your eyes met his he looked hungry. For you. It made you flush.

“You can get anything your heart desires. Pick out whatever has the most zeros next to the name.” He grinned. “The seabass is pretty good too.”

You wrinkled your nose a bit. “It's not too…fishy is it?”

“Well it is fish.”

“But is it fishy fish?” James laughed at that.

“It's a fishy fish. The steak is good too, but it's a steaky steak. So you know.” He joked. It made you laugh a bit too. It was like a spell was cast over you, the tension was released and your nerves vanished. The conversation flowed between the two of you easily.

Your food came, he didn’t bring up anything. He had asked for an hour of your time, because he was going to propose something to you. You had friends who had “boyfriends” who weren’t really their boyfriends. Men who would pay for the fun that night, but they got paid back in other ways.

You never had thought of yourself as that girl. But here you were. The anticipation made you nervous but you couldn’t deny the excitement.

He ordered dessert for the two of you, champagne and strawberries with cream and chocolate.

You glanced at your phone, there was about ten minutes left of “your time” that he had purchased.

“I hope I’m not so boring that you’re counting down the minutes.” James commented as you put your phone back in your purse. You shake your head.

“No I just…we have some things to discuss right? And an hour is what you asked for…”

“I am willing to pay overtime, if you’re still enjoying yourself. But if we’re down to the minute here, we should talk.” He folded his hands on the table.

“I like you, I think that we can make something together. You seem like you need some help and call me old fashioned but I just can't resist a damsel in distress. I’m a busy man, with a lot of work and a full schedule, not really much time for dating. Not a fan of the apps either. What I am looking for is an arrangement. I want a companion and can keep you very well compensated for it.”

“So you’ve had…arrangements like this before.” You asked slowly. It didn’t make much sense to you. He was so unbelievably handsome. How could he have trouble finding anyone to be with?. He filled out his clothes so well, his strong square jaw made you want to swoon. How could it be you that he wanted?

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

“I-I’ve never done anything like this before.” You admitted. You cleared your throat. “What sort of things are you looking for from your…companion.” Your eyes were suddenly very focused on the bowl of strawberries in front of you. You hadn’t had a boyfriend before, but you’d been with men. Your idea of a sugar daddy was always a creepy old man, desperate for a young thing to fuck. But he didn’t seem desperate at all. The way he pinned you with his gaze was making you feel desperate for him.

James reached out and placed his hand over yours.

“I am looking for everything. I want someone who’ll keep me company at home, someone I can buy gifts for, someone I can take out on dates.” He squeezed your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your wrist. “I’d like someone who’s going to stay the night too.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew what he meant.

“Ah, like, sleepovers?” You giggled nervously. “I was never allowed to have those, as a kid. I always had to watch over my siblings.”

“I didn’t have any either. Romanian immigrant parents. They didn’t really…get it?” James smiled, it was different from the grin that had been on his lips all night. It almost seemed shy. “So maybe we should make up for lost time, hm?”

“But what would it be like? Being your…companion?” You were testing the waters. He was being a bit too vague for your liking. The word sugar baby had never been said but that’s what this was going to be wasn’t it? He wasn’t asking you to be his girlfriend. But he wanted you. And you wanted him.

Should you get a contract? Or was that only something that happened in trashy romance novels?

He picked the bottle of champagne, his veins bulged in his strong grip. He easily flicked the cork off, popped the champagne with a loud bang that made you jolt. He smirked at your reaction. He poured himself a glass effortlessly then stood, walking to your side of the table. He was completely relaxed, in total control the whole time.

He towered above you as he poured the bubbling liquor into the champagne flute in front of you. You could smell the rich musk of his cologne. He picked it up to offer it to you.

“If you agree to be mine, I would take you out to nice places like this, buy you whatever you like and then we would keep having fun all night.” His eyes sparkled. Your heart began to flutter, his eyes making you feel like you were the only person on earth. And you could get anything you wanted.

You took the flute from him. You took a sip of the dry sparkling wine. It tasted expensive.

“Do you want me to quit my job?” You said plainly.

“Being CEO means I don't exactly have a 9-5 schedule and neither does a cocktail waitress. I don’t want to have to deal with scheduling around each other. Part of this is about you being available to me. You can take a leave of absence?” He was still standing, but had leaned against the table facing you. The CEO drop gave you a slight pause. You knew he was rich but…you were nervous to ask just how rich. Did it matter? You wondered to yourself. He was so handsome, you didn’t need specifics. You needed him.

“I don’t think that's an option for me.” You said trying not to roll your eyes.

“Trying not to seem too pushy Doll, but…I want you to quit your job. I’ll be your job from now on. I can cover any of the expenses you’d need a job for. Being mine means spending late nights at my apartment, weekend trips to Europe, I don’t want you to worry about anything but me. If you agree, of course.”

He held out his hand to you. “Or is my time up?”

You grabbed his hand. Your fingers interlocked. You nodded your head. James smiled and pulled you out of your seat. You quickly stood, eyes looking up into the icy blue pools that captivated you. His lips lightly pressed against yours. It was so soft and romantic, you surrendered to him easily. Your lips moved against him, assuring him, assuring yourself, you could do this.

“You know why I got the strawberries right?” He asked as he pulled away motioning to the nearly forgotten dessert.

“Yes…I’ve seen Pretty Woman. They bring out the sweetness of the champagne” You replied smartly. He laughed again. You made him laugh a lot, and every time you did your heart would race.

“I got them because I’m pretty sure you have a sweet tooth. And I thought it could be fun.” He scooped a dollop of cream onto a berry and brought it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, taking a bite of the fruit. The bright, sharpness of the berry was contrasted by the fluffy sweetness of the cream. It was so decadent you needed a minute before you could take another bite.

He pressed his hands against the small of your back and guided you slowly towards him.

He eased down onto the chair, planting his feet on the floor.

He gripped your hips and pulled you to straddle his thigh. He guided you down and you followed his lead. You slowly lowered onto him.Your crotch rubbed against his thigh, you grabbed onto his shoulders to try and steady yourself. His fingers went to your dress and hiked it up to your waist.

You let out a gasp, your eyes quickly darting to the door. He grabbed your chin and pulled your focus back to him.

“You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. You just have to be mine.” He murmured, his breath fanning over your face. Your face was burning with embarrassment, you’d never been so intimate in public before.

He began to tap his heel making you bounce up and down. His hands went to your ass. The delicious friction made you bite down hard on your lip as your arousal started to mount.

“James ahh--” You tried to ask but pleasure started to rocket up your core. Your eyes rolled back as he continued to rock you on his thighs. He shushed you, burying his face in your neck. His hands finally left your hips and grasped your breasts. You moaned at the sensation. You wrapped your arms around his neck, arching your back bringing his face to your cleavage.

Your hips moved of their own volition now, faster as the sweet ache between your legs grew.

They glided over and over his thick thighs, building in speed as you chased after your high. Bouncing up and down, no longer concerned with anyone who might see.

“What do you want?” he gasped. Suddenly stopping you mid thrust, his grip on your ass held you still.

“Huh?” you whined, wiggling your hips a bit, but he held you firm.

“Tell me sweetheart, how do I close this deal, what do you want?” James whispered in your ear, letting his breath tickle you.

“I--” You took a moment. Your panties were soaked through, you could feel your slickness on his pants. You felt so wanton, but this was what you wanted. “I want my rent paid.”

“Done.”

“And I want a new phone.” He just nodded as his lips connected with your neck. You moaned as he lightly bit down on your neck alternating between pain and sweet kisses. You suddenly felt powerful, more powerful than you ever had in your life. “I also have student loans and money for savings a-and my sister’s starting high school this year and she’s going to need a laptop, so--”

His lips had finally worked your neck enough and collided with your lips. He kissed you so fiercely, so overwhelmingly hot that you completely lost your train of thought and surrendered to it.

“Deal.” he panted as he pulled away from your lips, his forehead resting against yours. You started to ride his thigh again, desperate for a release as the coils inside you wind together tighter and tighter.

“Fuck Doll that’s right, use me, ride my thigh, you’re mine now. Show you how good it is to be mine.” James grunted as you chased your high.

Waves of pleasure came crashing over you. You writhed on his thigh, your panties sticking to the sides of your walls as you collapsed forward. Pressing your head to his shoulder, you could feel him chuckling.

You liked being his. You felt small in his lap as he smoothed down your dress. He wiped some of the sweat off your brows.

You take another sip of the champagne. It wasn’t sweet, but you could get used to it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #navy and roo's sleepover #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #sugar daddy! bucky barnes #avengers fanfic #Ceo! Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #winter solider fanfic #sebastian stan #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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stealingyourbones · 1 year ago

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Short DPXDC Prompts #881

The Daily Planet hired a new journalist for their politics sector. According to the gossip Lois heard, the new hire is a meta who impressed Perry on a potential scoop on a major violation of the Meta Protection Act. Perry instructed her to show the new guy the ropes, it’s a bit under her pay grade but she accepted. She can take a small break writing columns to train a newbie. A knock on her office door had her pause writing a new column on another Lex Luthor scandal. “Come in.” The door opened. On the other side was a man even larger than Clark. His flaming hair, red eyes, clawed fingers and massive frame cast him as an extremely imposing figure. Good thing that Lois is used to imposing, but this man was a different form of towering than Clark. While Clark did his best to look small and as unassuming as possible; this man’s shoulders stood tall. His dark suit and circular sunglasses gave him a powerful and menacing energy that was fully intentional. It’s eerily similar to how Bruce held himself during his business meetings, not nearly as menacing as his Batman persona; but still strikes as serious and imposing as he directs his company as the CEO of Wayne Industries. The looming figure met her eyes and nodded, giving her what she assumed to be a grin meant to make him less menacing, his razor sharp canines prevented it from being very effective. She mentally makes a reminder to get him lessons from her husband on making his approach more friendly. Clark has lots of experience on the matter. “Mrs. Lois Lane.” His voice was low and gruff, a deep rumbling tone that equally sounded soothing and dangerous. Shutting the door and walking over to a chair opposite her desk. He stuck out a hand, his claws glinting in the light. “The names Dan Phantom ma’am. It’s very nice to meet you.” She noted with mild surprise that he moved more deftly than she suspected a man of his bulk would. Smiling, she grabbed the outstretched hand and shook his hand firmly. Lois smiled and shook his hand firmly. He had the same gentleness as Clark’s handshakes. Still incredibly strong, but a feeling of carefulness. Like her hand was made of glass and he was afraid it’d shatter if he grasped it too firmly. Lois mentally filed ‘Superstrength’ in the lists of potential powers this man might have. “Likewise Dan. Welcome to the Daily Planet.”

#dpxdc #bones prompts #this is written p damn janky but im trying yall

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muzansfangs · 25 days ago

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Shinji arguing with wife reader cuz he don't want her going on missions turning into passionate breeding 🙏🙏

Maternity leave.

Starring: Shinji Hirako x f!reader;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, mention to pregnancy, turn back the pendolum arc, power imbalance, dirty talk, established relationship, married couple, altercations, overprotective Shinji, jealousy, kind of toxic Shinji;

Plot: When you decide to request a transfer from the Fifth Division to the Twelfth, your husband feels the ground shake beneath his feet. All of his efforts to keep you away from supposedly dangerous missions had turned out to be useless. Maybe, then, it is time for him to assure your absence from the battlefield for nine months.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did ya say?” the Captain of the Fifth Division disinterestedly asked you, cheek propped onto the upturned palm of his hand, his posture indecent for a man of his rank. Trying to keep Shinji Hirako in line, however, was impossible. You had given up on it long ago, leaving the absurd and tiresome task to the brilliant Lieutenant your husband had just appointed.

Anyway, biting your tongue not to reprimand him for his deleterious habit of slacking off early in the morning, you huffed and threw your hands in the air in frustration “I said that’s my last day in the Fifth Division. Do I have to ask Captain Unohana to check your hearing?” you replied pointedly sarcastic in the inclination your voice took.

He blinked. A reaction. This time you had his full attention.

“What the heck? — he scoffed — I don’t think I get it”.

“Well, that’s not my problem. I’ll keep my rank of Fourth seat, but I’ll be working for Captain Urahara starting from tomorrow” you informed him, narrowing your eyes at his scornful attitude. You expected him to hamstring your initiative. After all, he was your husband and your Captain. He refused to let you go.

Despite that, Captain Hirako had it coming. After decades of denying you the consent to go on ‘risky’ missions in the World of the Livings, you had officially decided you were not going to accept such a treatment any longer. You were even better than the Third seat he had promoted a couple of years ago, yet he had confined you to a lower rank for the sake of his obsession to keep you safe and sound. You were so fed up. His decisions were questionable and even your collegues were starting rumors about ‘the Captain’s favoritism towards his wife’. On the other hand, arguing daily with your husband hurt you. The best solution was for you to be another Captain’s underling.

“Why? Do ya really think I’m gonna sign the documents to allow—”.

“It won’t be necessary” you cut him off, unfolding a paper signed from the Captain Commander himself. Of course you had outfoxed him. You were far-sighted, sadly. Your husband knew how sneaky you could be, when you wanted something so desperately.

He tsked, scrunching up the paper in indignation and tossing it in the bin underneath his desk “You can’t do that to me! What have I done to deserve this?”.

“And what did I do to be perpetually the last choice for missions? You secrifice lower ranks to spare my life, when I could easily get the job done unscathed and save them from a miserable death!” you snapped, watching your husband clench his fists down his sides and circle the desk to stand directly in front of you.

The tension was palpable between you two. Shinji knew you were right. He had sent the ninth and tenth seats to fight off a couple of Hollows in Karakura only for them to never return. The mission was initially yours to take. The kind Lieutenant had even offered you his support, suggesting your husband to let you make your experinces under his watch.

The idea of you in another dimension with a man that was not him revolted Shinji. Sending two young recruits to die had been incredibly reckless from his behalf, but it was not yours the name your comrades were mourning now, right?

“You should be grateful I’m protecting you!” Shinji retaliated, staring you down coldly and expecting you to fold like you always did when this got messy.

The moment you bitterly laughed at his face and shook your head at his declaration, he realized how serious you were about abandoning the Division and spit on his face for loving you a little too much “This is your excuse for making me cast off my role of a shinigami? I have been serving the Gotei 13 longer before we started dating. I am a warrior, Shinji. No matter what happens to my sentimental life. I have sweared to protect this place before you decided protecting me was your priority”.

You watched his eyes widen in horror, hand palming his forehead before he closed his eyes in what you assumed was defeat. There was nothing he could do to prevent you from working for Urahara. Still, there was actually something he could do to temporary keep you out of the battlefield. You had been talking about it for years now, but the longevity of your lives somehow alleviated the pressure of procreating. Here. This was what he had to do. He had to impregnate you, fucking you so hard and intensely you were going to beg him to fill you up over and over again.

The hot minute of silence between you two made you think it was time to leave to pack your stuff, but you were suddenly spun around by your husband whose lips stole a scorching kiss from you.

The initial surprise left your body almost instinctively as you began to reciprocate his kisses. His hands fumbled with the sash of your hakama to yank your pants down your thighs. You could sense some eagerness in his frantic actions, his nimble fingers working their way insides your underwear to pry your dewy folds open. Sharp intakes of air filled the silence of his office, whilst he began to rub your clitoris furiously.

“You can’t solve your problems with sex” you pointed out, a strained moan erupting from your throat the moment he sank his index into you hole.

“Too bad you let me fuck your attitude out of you every damn time then” Shinji rasped out, teeth nipping at your earlobe while he heedlessly backed you to his desk. How many times he had wrecked you on the office forniture. How many times you had let him do that. Today was not an exception.

You rolled your eyes at him, legs finally free from your trousers as he lined his shaft to your entrance and hovered over you completely. Your legs enveloped his narrow his, a blond waterfall of silky hair draping over your face as he snapped his hips forwards. You moaned out in pleasure, his cock splitting your warm walls apart gradually. How beautiful you looked like that to him.

Mouth ajar, you spasmed out in bliss, allowing him to bask in your beauty.

“C’mon, tell me I’m a massive idiot for putting your safety above anythin’ else” he flaunted himself, pulling himself half way out before plunging back into you with force.

The desk creaked, you whined “You think a quickie can change my mind? Bold of you to assume I’m so shallow” you retorted, hands tugging at the long strands of his hair as he liked you to do.

But Shinji knew what he was doing, when he did not pull out that night. He knew what he was doing when the following day he sent you to Urahara with wobbly legs and his seed leaking out of you with each step you took. He knew he had won when you got pregnant and Urahara granted you a maternity leave.

After all, he was not going to lose the argument, or you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Happy Halloween, guys! I have literally picked a random thirst from my inbox and … Well, I have written it down impulsively. Hopefully, this does not suck. Anyway, let me know your precious opinions and remember to support your favorite blogs by liking, commenting and, above all, re-posting!

Love,

– Luce

TAGS: @j-u-u-z-o @jesurum-says-hi @villainsrtasty @yeowangies @my-my-my @dehemetera (un po’ di Shinji non guasta mai), @noirfan12 @pin-k-ink @persuasivus

#hirako shinji x reader #shinji hirako x reader #shinji hirako smut #bleach smut #bleach x reader #shinji x reader #shinji hirako x you #shinji x y/n #shinji hirako

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ayyy-pee · 2 months ago

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𝔼ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕆𝔻𝔼 𝟚 - 𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊 ℙ𝕋. 𝕋𝕎𝕆

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Last Episode - Masterlist

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: Introductions continue! Which one of these contestants will be the first to make an impression on your heart?

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219, maron.jp Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: sorry for the wait yall! i'd give you an excuse but i know yall don't care LMFAO. enjoy!!!

The ground is actually shaking as the King of Curses approaches you step by step. Suddenly, you feel a lot like the chauffeur from just a few moments before. Terrified, trembling and sweaty. He was smart, now that you think about it. Hell, you’d have run too if you could! Sukuna’s aura is so heavy, so scary, so damn intense you feel like you may vomit. You’re hoping the camera doesn’t catch the sweat that you can feel beginning to seep from your pores. Every step closer to you, you swear shaves half a year off of your life. And when he’s right in front of you, his four eyes landing on you, so full of disinterest and maybe a little disdain, you pray you don’t piss yourself on live television.

It’s only then that you begin to realize how incredibly massive this man…curse…is. You have to crane your neck, struggling to peer up at his enormous form. He folds his (again…FOUR?!) arms over his chest and frowns, deep and unsatisfied.

“They should teach you some manners, woman,” he grunts. His deep and gravelly voice sends a chill traveling straight up your spine, and you straighten up, causing Sukuna’s lips to curl down in further dissatisfaction. “You hold your head too high,” he speaks.

You raise a brow, and it must be the adrenaline coursing through your veins, because like an absolute idiot, you open your mouth and dumbly mutter, “How? You’re like ten feet tall.”

You could hear a pin drop, hear the way every single crew member inhales and doesn’t dare exhale that breath. You know the cameramen should probably pan over to catch what’s next, but they have more sense than you clearly, because they don’t deign to move an inch. It’s complete silence in the driveway as Sukuna’s gaze pierces yours.

This may be the end for you. And honestly? You’d be okay with that. Sad, sure, but you’ve lived a decent life. Aside from this very brief experience, it was nothing special. But it was comfortable, full of good times. If it’s meant to end here, you don’t think you’d be too upset about it. You just hope that they’ll do you the favor of censoring your probably gory and untimely demise.

Sukuna lifts an arm (one out of four…oh my God, will you ever get over that?), and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.

‘Here it comes’, you think. The finishing blow. One shot from him and you’ll be wiped from this earth, a smudge on this world’s history. You’ll be forgotten shortly after your end and the world will move on without you.

You blame Utahime for this, because again, if you hadn’t listened to her drunk ass you would be sitting behind a desk doing paperwork. Not on the verge of death before the most powerful being of all time.

But after several seconds, you realize you’ve felt no pain, heard no screams or cries. But instead, a sound of something akin to a chuckle. You open one eye, peeking up to see Sukuna’s large hand come down to pat the top of your head. Gently, at that.

“Funny. I suppose I won’t kill you and your entourage.”

His eyes roam the landscape behind you and the confusion is clear on his face. You suppose it would be rather confusing for an ancient curse to see all the lights, large buildings and technology of today.

“What is this–” he waves a hand in the air. “This place? Why did you all bring me here?”

Now you’re confused. Didn’t he sign up for the show himself?

Satoru throws his head back, cackles hysterically. “I just thought it’d be fun!” A wide grin sits on his features as he leans back in his seat casually, as relaxed as ever. “Just imagine the strongest modern day Sorcerer alive and the strongest curse in history competing for love of all things.” He sighs, wiping at his eyes as he comes down from his laughter. “Fucking hilarious.”

He’s quiet for a second, then he doubles over, arms wrapping around his core as he succumbs to another fit of giggles. Suddenly, his laughter dies, then he’s throwing his head back in a groan this time. “Dammit. If he goes on a killing rampage, then I’ll have to work!”

BACK OUTSIDE…

“It’s…The Bachelorette,” you answer Sukuna’s question, your fear slowly dissipating as your casual conversation continues on. Which may be a stupid move on your end. You should keep your guard up. This is the King of Curses in front of you, after all. From what you know, he loves to make someone feel safe only to literally crush them a moment later.

But also, this is the damn King of Curses in front of you. If he deems it so, your death is already guaranteed. You couldn’t do shit if you had to face a normal curse let alone the strongest among them.

The cameraman has finally panned around to capture your interaction and Sukuna doesn’t seem the least bit impressed. His expression is flat, very obviously bored. “The what?”

“The Bachelorette,” you repeat and when he fixes you with a deadpan stare, you elaborate further for some reason. “It’s a dating show. Jujutsu Sorcerers compete for the heart of one Bachelorette –” you point to yourself. “Me,” Sukuna frowns further and you match his expression with a frown of your own. “And– alright, don’t look so upset about it.”

‘The nerve of this guy!’

“Why would anyone waste time on this? Finding…love.” Sukuna spits the word out like it’s bitter before he laughs.

“A pointless venture,” Sukuna grumbles, picking at the paint on one of his many nails. Unfortunately, Sukuna’s size was severely underestimated, which is why the camera is only able to fit his torso into the screen.

Behind the lens, the director asks shakily, “You don’t believe in love?”

“How would love benefit me? It’s for the weak.” He pauses, his scowl deepening as he folds his arms together. “I should actually kill you for asking me such an imbecilic question.”

BACK OUTSIDE…

“I won’t kill you since this pathetic endeavor you’re on for love will likely be punishment enough for someone like you.” He grins, the venom in his words clear as he speaks. He’s referring to you being a Window — weak, useless, undeserving of love and probably life to someone like him. Sukuna strokes his chin in amusement, eyes roaming along your form. “It will surely be entertaining to watch.”

He looks you over once more, and the fear that returns, rushing through your body makes you dizzy. You feel like you’re on the menu. One wrong move and Sukuna will be having you for dinner…and not in a sexy way.

But instead of acting on whatever temptation he may have, Sukuna simply…vanishes. Though you’re sure he took off and is just way too damn fast for your weak Window eyes to see. Either way, when you’re sure Sukuna is gone, you - and the entire crew - breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Should we bring in the next contestant?” One of the staff asks nervously and you stare straight into the camera.

“I think I need a break,” you squeak.

Because you’re about ten seconds from shitting yourself.

- - - - - -

The next contestant pulls up shortly after returning from commercial break. You’re back in position at the end of the long red carpet as you wait for him. He exits his limousine quickly, like he’s got somewhere more important to be. And you’re not sure if this show is the important matter at hand.

He’s incredibly handsome, dressed in a nice suit that he adjusts as he makes his way towards you, face set in a serious expression. His deep brown eyes gaze down lifelessly past his large nose as he approaches and you suddenly feel as if you’re under a microscope, just waiting to be picked apart. There’s something unsettling about this man, something that’s putting you on edge.

Is it normal to feel like someone is taking note of every small movement you make, every involuntary facial tic, even the look in your eyes and filing it away to use against you later? That’s what you feel this man is doing. Just collecting little things about you to throw into your face somewhere down the line.

His glossy black shoes seem to glide along the red carpet and the cameramen must also notice, because the lenses point right to his feet as he goes. He moves so quickly, you hardly have time to breathe before he’s standing before you. And now, you feel your nerves ignite. Suddenly, you feel you should watch what you say, because you can’t help but feel as though you’re on trial for something. And it makes sense because he opens his pretty lips to speak and his words immediately catch you off guard.

“Have you ever been convicted of a misdemeanor or a felony?”

“Um…” Your eyes dart to the camera, brows pulling together in confusion as you chuckle nervously. “No?”

But it’s clear he’s not joking, not a trace of humor in his face as the question hangs between the two of you. The man narrows his eyes, his tiny pupils becoming even smaller if at all possible. “And you’re telling the truth?”

You chuckle awkwardly, your mind screaming “what the actual fuck” on loop. “Ah– What happened to hello? How are you? My name is…”

“I know your name,” he cuts you off. Then he spends the next minute listing off facts about you. He says your name aloud, the sound of it on his tongue sending chills racing up your spine. He lists off your age, occupation, even your friends and their occupations. It’s all a matter of fact, because they are fact. He doesn’t get a single thing wrong.

You think this man is abrasive. Maybe a little scary. And definitely weird.

Weirdly sexy?

Something is so very off with this man, that much is apparent by the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he fidgets with his fingers even while they’re confined in his pockets. But something may be so very off with you as well because you’re finding this mini interrogation of his oddly arousing.

‘Oh my God, can you focus?!’

“And what’s your name?” You finally counter, blinking your filthy thoughts away.

“Higuruma Hiromi,” he states without a beat. His tone is clipped, his eyes assessing you curiously.

“I suppose I will take your word for it.” He nods, and you fix him with a look of confusion. He waves his hand in the air. “Your criminal record. I’ll accept you saying you’re not a convict of some sort.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Well, glad you decided to trust me,” you smile shyly, and Higuruma frowns.

“I didn’t. Judgeman did.” He gestures behind him, and your eyes follow the path to where an enormous, terrifying blob floats in the air. You’re not sure how you missed that.

‘Probably because you were too busy undressing Hiromi with your eyes?’

You clear your throat, glancing up at Higuruma. The stitch-eyed curse behind him simply sits there, staring into space. “Seeing as there’s no cursed technique for me to confiscate from you, it’s safe to assume you’re of no actual threat here. And also unlikely that you’ve committed gross atrocities given you are currently starring in this television dating show. I would imagine they would complete a thorough background check on you.”

Now you frown. “Are you saying that I’m boring?”

Higuruma shakes his head, the tiniest of smirks sitting at the corners of his mouth. “On the contrary. The fact that you’re so normal…it actually makes you all the more endearing.” Your heart rate picks up, his honesty and compliment(?) making you the slightest bit flustered.

He sighs, tilting his head back to look up to the night sky. Like he’s reminiscing about something. “I only recently came to be a part of this world, the Jujutsu world, and I miss my old shitty life sometimes.”

The sudden deep confession surprises you. You expected this way later down the road given how closed off he was just moments before. It seems a flip has switched now that he knows you’re not some crook out to commit heinous crimes. You’re grateful for it, as well.

You can relate to Hiromi a bit. You also had no reason to be a part of the Jujutsu world, and yet you’ve found yourself smack dab in the middle of it as you chase after love with some of the most powerful Sorcerers you’ve ever laid eyes on. These are men you would have never crossed paths with in your daily life. And now, they will be fighting (hopefully not literally) each other to have you in the end.

“Well, I know this experience is so far from normal, but I appreciate you coming, anyway.” You bow slightly in his curse’s direction. “And thank you, Judgeman, for proving to Hiromi that I’m not a convicted felon,” you tack on jokingly.

This is apparently what was needed to break just the tiniest bit through Higuruma’s walls because the corners of his lips curl up just a bit more as he peers down at you. He mutters your name once more, reaching a hand out to take yours. “I’m beginning to think it wasn’t a mistake to come here. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He takes his leave shortly after, and the director calls for another commercial break. You take this time to head to your trailer offset for a quick touchup on your makeup. As you sit in your makeup chair, you wonder how the guys are doing…

INSIDE THE MANSION

Satoru groans obnoxiously from his side of the couch, beside Nanami. “Is anyone else going to show up? I’m so bored!”

“You could always leave and go back to your actual job,” Nanami quips. “I’m sure The Strongest is needed literally anywhere else but here.”

Satoru puts a hand to his chest dramatically, mouth falling open with a gasp. “You are so mean to me, Nanami.” He grins, nudging Nanami with his shoulder. “You trying to get rid of the competition already?”

He’s met with silence from the blonde, who simply folds his arms and closes his eyes, choosing to ignore his senior.

“You’re hardly any competition,” Suguru snorts on the other side of Nanami.

“I’m the only competition here. Be serious,” Satoru argues, standing from his seat. “Who wouldn’t want to be with The Strongest?”

“Me, or really anyone who loves themselves,” Suguru deadpans.

Satoru rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “You’re an anomaly. Besides, you both know I’m right. No offense, but Nanami is frugal, stiff and kinda boring. You’re a wanted mass murderer with strange looking people as followers, and I haven’t met any of the other guys to know what they’re like, but I can bet–”

The door to the mansion swings open and in walks Higuruma. His wide eyes roam across the room, landing first on Suguru who assesses him with vague interest. Then Nanami, who only glances over to him briefly before resuming his position. Then Satoru, who stands with his hands in the air, obviously in the middle of making a point before Higuruma had arrived.

“Who the hell are you?” Satoru scoffs, unimpressed.

“Satoru–”

Suguru and Nanami chide in unison.

“Must you always be so crass?” Suguru questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s been so long since he’d been in the presence of his former best friend, he’d forgotten how annoying he could be.

“Higuruma Hiromi,” the newer man states as he moves across the room, not caring in the least about Satoru’s tone. He takes a seat on the sofa opposite of the three men, observing his surroundings.

“Nanami Kento,” Nanami introduces himself when the other two fail to speak up. He offers a seated bow, to which Higuruma returns.

“Geto Suguru,” Suguru’s soft voice floats across the room, though he doesn’t offer a polite bow the same way Nanami does. Perhaps if he were the old Suguru he may have, but he’s long past bowing to others. If anything, others should bow to him.

“Gojo Satoru,” the white haired man mutters, rolling his eyes.

Higuruma nods, eyes landing at the buffet in the corner of the large space, staring. “...And who is he?”

All heads turn to the buffet where a massive man stands with a plate of food. His face has stray grains of rice littered around his lips, which is stuffed with tonight’s dinner. He scoops a large spoonful into his mouth, nodding to the other men as he chews.

He’s tall, so tall that his height rivals Satoru’s. Shaggy, black hair covers the most beautiful green eyes. And when he grins, his pretty lips spread wide, the scar running through both his top and bottom lips accenting his features.

This man is gorgeous, they’re all thinking it.

Not to mention, he’s fucking ripped. A skintight black shirt hardly does much to cover every hard muscle of his body. His wide shoulders and thick arms look as though he could crush them all without much thought. And he could. He has.

“Zenin…” Satoru and Suguru speak through gritted teeth.

“Fushiguro,” the man corrects them, taking another bite of his food.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Suguru questions, standing from his seat. His eyes narrow, hands clenched into fists at his side. It’s been a decade since he laid eyes on the man who altered his entire world, and he’s not someone he wanted to see again. He’s lucky Satoru let him off with his life after their last encounter.

“Placing bets on who the broad out there ends up with,” the man laughs loudly with a full mouth. “Bet it’s none of you, though.”

At this, Satoru bursts into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard he doubles over. “I’ll take you up on that bet. Seeing as you’ve never won one in your life, should be easy for me.”

Toji only grins, taking another bite of his food.

“Please don’t tell me you’re also participating for her heart,” Suguru sighs, feeling a headache coming on.

Toji shrugs. “Does it matter?”

At this, Satoru groans, flopping back down on the couch with Nanami. “Who invited the damn geezer to the show? Thought this was for real Sorcerers.”

Nanami inhales deeply. “She’s not a Sorcerer, either,” he states.

“That’s different,” Satoru doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s a Window, so she’s in our world at least.”

It’s true. In Satoru’s eyes, you’re weak, but at least you have enough cursed energy to see the atrocities around you. You won’t see a curse only when you’re on death’s door, you’ll see one before they strike. And sure, you can’t do anything about it, but that’s what he’s for. He doesn’t mind playing protector to someone who at least resides on his side of the fence. It’s what he’s always done anyway. Why not do it for someone he could potentially love?

It also helps that you’re easy on the eyes.

“Hardly, but I do see your point,” Suguru agrees. He takes the spot next to Higuruma on the other sofa. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here for one reason, and it’s her.”

An obnoxious yawn comes from the other side of the room, Toji now leaning against the wall. “When does she show up, anyway?”

The other four look absolutely bewildered, eyes wide and brows pulled together.

“What…” Suguru asks. “You didn’t go meet her?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Satoru yells from his seat. “How the hell did you even get in here? Past all the cameras?!”

Toji purses his lips together, scratching his head while he racks his memory. Then he shrugs, like he came up short. “Guess I followed the smell of the food.”

BACK OUTSIDE…

You fidget with your fingers as you watch as another limousine pulls up. You’re exhausted, and honestly ready for this whole introduction ordeal to be done. It’s so late, definitely after 9pm, and even after all this, you still have to head inside of the mansion to mingle with the men. You would really rather go to sleep, finally crawl into bed after such a long and tiring day. But there are several eligible bachelors eagerly awaiting your arrival.

And here comes another one.

The door to the vehicle swings open, and a very nice Prada combat boot hits the floor. Out steps the one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, muscular, and so damn pretty, you’re almost jealous. Even with the distance between you two, you can see how perfect his face is.

Already, he’s made an impression because he’s not dressed to the nines in a suit and tie like the other men you’ve met tonight. Instead, he wears casual clothing, with a loose sleeveless shirt and black jeans. His hair is messy, tied up into two high ponytails that sit atop his head. And even then, he looks just as good as the others.

Something about him looks familiar to you, though you can’t quite place where you could’ve seen him before all of this.

As the man approaches, the lights from the camera crew illuminate his face. You can make out deep purple bags that sit beneath his eyes. He looks as tired as Hiromi, more even. There’s a thick black stripe that runs along his face. A tattoo, maybe? He’s pale, the moonlight casting an almost ethereal glow over him.

‘Why the hell are all these Sorcerers so fucking hot?’

You try to keep it in your pants, focusing on the sound of the chains of this man’s boots jingling softly with each step until he’s standing in front of you. His deep brown eyes rake over your body before they find your eyes. His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s not disingenuous any sort of way. More like he’s very nervous and trying very hard to not come off that way.

“Hi,” you throw him a lifeline, the camera capturing the way you smile encouragingly.

“Hi.”

You offer him your name, trying to loosen him up because he looks like he feels so out of place. There’s something off about him that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m Choso.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Choso. Tell me about yourself.”

Your question breathes life into the man, his face brightening up as he proceeds to tell you all about his brothers. He’s the oldest of four, you find out. And he’s very doting and loving to all three of his younger brothers. You find it adorable, the way he raves about each of them and their special talents that they have. Unfortunately, you don’t have too much time to let him continue.

“You’re very beautiful,” he compliments you suddenly, and you can’t stop the shy smile now spreading along your features that matches the one sitting on Choso’s.

“Thank you. You are so handsome.”

Choso beams, and then he does something that surprises you. He wraps his arms around your form, enveloping you in his warmth. He smells incredible, and expensive. You return the gesture, and for some reason, all the stressful buildup of tonight seems to just melt away.

When he releases you, you see the soft smile sitting on his lips and you just know you can’t wait to see more of it. This man is an absolute sweetheart.

“Can’t wait to get to talk with you more tonight,” he says softly, and you don’t miss the light dusting of pink coloring his cheeks now.

“Me too.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, nibbling at the soft flesh as Choso takes your hand and squeezes gently. What began as an awkward encounter ended up being a sweet meeting between you and the man now heading into the mansion. You’re so excited to–

Wait. You think you know why he looks so familiar!

You spin on your heel, turning to call after him. He turns to face you, a questioning look at his face. “Um…have you ever skateboarded before?” You yell across the courtyard.

At this, Choso’s brows pull together, head tilting to the side. He’s so obviously confused. “Skateboarding? No, why?”

You shake your head, chuckling with embarrassment. “No reason…you just…looked kind of familiar.”

- - - - - -

Jesse appears again once the cameras are set back up after another commercial break. He’s all poised as he grins at you. You haven’t seen him since you both first arrived on set, but he lets you know that he will be seeing you more often now that the introductions are complete.

“So, you’ve met all of the men,” he begins, the camera moving back to catch you both in frame.

“Oh, that was everyone?” You could have sworn there was one more person who was supposed to show up.

“How are you feeling about them so far? Any you’re looking forward to spending more time with?”

Your mind goes through every man who has appeared so far, building a list of what appealed to you most about them. And you really like them all. There’s no way you could choose right now, not when there’s still so much to learn about each of them. You can’t wait to get some alone time. You tell Jesse as much, his response an amused shake of his head. “Looks. like you’ve got your work cut out for you, then.”

“Oh, absolutely. They’re all incredible. I could definitely see my husband being one of these men.”

And it’s a crazy thing to think, that at the end of all of this, you’ll likely be engaged and ready to marry someone.

“But—,” Jesse interjects. “You are down one contestant. Sukuna has chosen to leave the show…”

The camera moves closer to catch the nod of your head. Your brief stint with the King of Curses is not one you think you’ll forget any time soon, if ever. He could have ended this journey for you before it even began. He spared you, mainly for his own entertainment, but still. You came face to face with the King of Curses, and you of all people, lived. Not many can say that. Especially non-Sorcerers.

Jesse tells you that it’s time to get some one on one time with the guys and leads you to the mansion where they all wait. Your heart races in your chest as you approach the enormous doors, stopping just outside of them. You can hear the loud chatter inside, the men laughing raucously as they discuss whatever has them behaving so lively. You’re excited to finally be moving into this next phase of the process. You want to get to know each of them as soon as possible.

“You ready?” Jesse questions, his smile giving you a boost of confidence. “You’ve got this. Go in with an open mind, and an open heart. The man of your dreams awaits you inside.”

You laugh, and it’s all nerves, because that may be the scariest and most exciting part of this entire journey. “I don’t know how you did this, Jesse,” you chuckle dyly, to which Jesse lightly places a hand on your shoulder where he squeezes gently.

“Hey, you’re a smart girl. You’ll be able to find who you’re looking for. Remember…open mind, open heart. Can’t go wrong there.”

You swear you hear some of the staff swoon behind the camera, the crew sure to catch this interaction between you and your host, and it makes you grin. You can see why Jesse’s season of The Bachelor was so popular, and why he’s now the host of both franchises. So you nod, letting Jesse know that you’re ready to head inside to spend time with your men.

He pulls the double doors open for you and you head inside, straight through the doorway and into the living room where the men await. Jesse moves swiftly ahead of you, signaling for you to wait for a moment just outside of the living room, in the hall while he heads down the steps into the main room.

”Gentlemen,” he announces his presence, and they all stand when they see the host. There’s an eruption of noise, the men greeting Jesse eagerly. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, knowing that in just a few moments, you’ll be seeing them all again. You can’t wait.

“I know you’re all ready to see ___,” Jesse continues. “How are you feeling about her so far?” Jesse’s eyes land on the blonde man standing quietly, his hands hidden in his pockets to hide the way he fidgets nervously. “Nanami,” Jesse calls. “What’s your first impression?”

Nanami purses his lips together, carefully gathering his thoughts before he speaks. He’s unsure if there is a word that’s strong enough to describe how he felt about you upon first meeting. And he’s not sure if he’s capable of expressing how he felt upon laying eyes on you. Even still, he means it when he says, “An absolute beauty.”

The other men nod in agreement. “Definitely a sight to behold,” Choso adds. “Very sweet, too.” He says it with certainty, like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’re a kind person. He’d like to think that he’s pretty good at reading people. He’s been studying humans for quite some time, after all. You are one of the good ones, he’s sure of it. Your energy makes him feel comfortable, and he tells Jesse this as well.

Jesse beams, impressed with how the men already seem to be taken by you. “That’s great to hear. Now, I do have some unfortunate news or maybe it’s fortunate depending on how you see it.”

There’s a brief pause, which the camera crew uses to capture each contestant's face, making sure they capture any nerves on their features.

“One contestant has chosen not to continue participating in the competition.”

At this, Satoru snorts, garnering the attention of several others, but he lets Jesse continue.

“Sukuna has opted out of the competition.”

“Good,” Suguru interjects. “One less body.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit if someone left,” he yawns, leaning back against the confessional room’s sofa. “Send the rest of them home, too.”

He’s aware he sounds like a dick, too confident in himself, but why shouldn’t he be? He’s got so much to offer you, so much that the others can’t provide. He’s confident that with one person gone, he’ll be able to get that much closer to you. He picks at his nails in boredom before he asks. “Who even invited him, anyway?”

The wheels turn in his head until he puts 2 and 2 together, chuckling quietly to himself.

“It was Satoru, wasn’t it?”

BACK INSIDE…

“Can we please circle back to the bit about Sukuna?” Nanami speaks up this time. “You just casually had the King of Curses outside to compete for…” He clears his throat, as though the term itself makes him uncomfortable. “Love”. His eyes land on Satoru, because he’s positive it couldn’t have been anyone else who could have thrown this together but him.

The man in question shrugs mischievously, poking his tongue out when his gaze meets Nanami’s. He tries not to smile too hard at the scowl he receives from his colleague in return.

“How on earth were we meant to survive that?” Higuruma chimes in now. His eyes are round with disbelief. “Wait…did ___ meet with him?”

Jesse nods. “Yes, and they actually had a pretty pleasant conversation. Though Sukuna wasn’t interested in moving forward.” The camera pans over to Higuruma who now seems lost in thought, no longer paying the host much mind. Jesse takes this beat of silence as his cue to continue forward. “Well, our lady of the hour is waiting patiently to have some much needed one on one time with you. Let's get her in here.”

Now, that’s your cue.

You enter the space, feeling the tension rise between the guys immediately, even as they all applaud upon your arrival. Your eyes take in each and every familiar face. It’s nice to see all of the men you’ve had the pleasure of speaking with for a few brief moments. You can’t wait to get alone time with each —

Hold on a minute.

Your eyes land on one man who sticks out like a sore thumb. From across the room, right next to the buffet, a pair of emerald eyes bore into your own, and you feel your heart rate pick up. You’ve never seen this man before. At least you don’t think you have. You have met quite a few people tonight and it’s all been a bit overwhelming. It’s perfectly possible that he slipped your mind after meeting. Though as you drink in the way his eyes shimmer even in the dim lighting, his chiseled features and the deep scar through both his lips, you highly doubt you’d be able to forget a face like that.

Perhaps he’s another staff member, hired to man the buffet table. If so, he’s doing a piss poor job at it seeing as he’s holding a plate of half eaten food in his hands. He has to be a contestant, right? How could he have gotten past you? Even with your embarrassingly small amount of cursed energy, you feel like you would have picked up on his presence.

The camera swings around, cutting off your vision of the man, and in the blink of an eye he's gone. There’s a pang of disappointment, and a bit of confusion. You feel as if you imagined him. But you don’t have time to dwell on the mystery man your mind conjured up, because you need to focus on the men who are actually here. You turn your attention back to the ones you do know… only to be met again with the face of the stranger from just seconds ago as he stands right before you.

You almost piss yourself from the shock.

His gaze now roams your form, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. He’s incredibly obvious in the way that he assesses you. And even more obvious in the way he seems to be enjoying what he sees. He slips his hands into his pockets, eyes once again staring straight into yours as he backs away to stand with the other men. “Well,” he hums, not breaking eye contact. “I was gonna snag some food and head out, but I think I’ll stick around…to observe.”

“Sorry,” Jesse interrupts. “But this show is only for those who signed up to participate.”

The mystery man rolls his eyes. “I’m already on the list.”

Jesse shakes his head. “We didn’t see you outside. There’s a proper process to follow here. You’re supposed to meet our Bachelorette,” he motions to you, and you smile awkwardly. “Why didn’t you come through the front door?”

“I’m meeting her now, aren’t I?” He questions, and Jesse nods, because technically he’s not wrong.

“Well, yes, but you should have come through the front,” Jesse argues weakly.

Toji snorts. “Front door,back door, doesn’t really make a difference to me.” He says this shamelessly as he looks right at you, and you can’t help it! Your mouth drops open, just enough to get a reaction out of the man. The camera quickly captures the grin that spreads on his face when he sees your expression. “Unless it matters to you, sweetheart,” he teases.

You pick your jaw up off the floor, the camera moving around to get your response. You can’t possibly let him one up you on your own show. So you match his smirk, teasingly responding, “I mean…let's wait until we get to know each other a little better to find out.”

It’s the best response you can give in the moment, in front of a room full of men patiently (and hungrily) waiting to get even a smidge of your attention. And clearly it was a good rebuttal. The man’s smirk only widens. You can hear the staff muttering quietly behind you, clearly speaking into the earpiece that you know Jesse wears. You watch as the cameras move to capture the tension between this man and Jesse, who is now pursing his lips together in displeasure. “Are you a…Sorcerer then?”

He stares Jesse down, and you don’t miss the way his jaw ticks just barely before he grits out a low and gravelly, “sure”. But Jesse doesn’t seem to notice. He simply nods, asking his name.

“Toji Fushiguro.”

Jesse sighs, his friendly host mask slipping just a for a second before he recovers. He claps his hands together, turning towards you with a grin that you’re certain is not genuine in the least.

“Looks like we’ve got another man vying for your heart, ___. How are you feeling about it?”

You tear your gaze away from Toji, nodding to Jesse. “Hey, the fun of the Bachelorette are the surprises, right? I’m definitely looking forward to getting to know Toji a little more.”

Jesse throws his head back with a laugh. “Glad to see you being a good sport about it! Speaking of surprises, we have just one more.”

The doors to the mansion swing open suddenly, cutting Jesse’s monologue off. The sounds of light footsteps fill the space, and you watch the way Toji crosses his arms, how Satoru rolls his eyes, and how Suguru’s nostrils flare. Clearly, whoever is entering the building isn’t welcome.

Jesse continues his speech. “I know you were looking forward to having time to get to know each of these men one on one, and you will get that chance, I promise. But…”

The cameraman hurries to catch the sight of shoes, slowly walking down the same steps you took into the living space and you spin around to follow the view. As the camera slowly coasts up the form entering the room, so do your eyes, trailing over the tall, well dressed young man who appears before you.

“You’ve gotten a brief moment to talk to each man, have gotten a good feel for who you want to move forward with, I’m sure.”

It’s not really a question. Jesse states this as though it’s a fact, and as far as this show is concerned, it is. Even if you don’t feel as if you’ve gotten enough time with the men, they feel that you have. And all you feel is a tight knot forming in the pit of your stomach, because you’re sure whatever’s coming is bad news.

“You’ll still get your one on one time with each guy, don’t worry, but at the end of it all,” Jesse turns to face all of the men. “___ will be giving out a rose to each man she thinks should continue forward on this journey with her. However, only one of you will be leaving here without a rose.”

“And him?” Choso questions, staring down the man standing behind you.

“Ah, right. Everyone, meet Sukuna’s replacement.”

The man moves ahead of you, taking your hand in his and pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. He’s as beautiful as the rest of the men, and you wonder again how it’s possible for every damn person in the Sorcerer world to be so damn good looking.

The man has a smile that reminds you a bit of Toji’s, but that’s the only resemblance he shares with the older man. The eyeliner around his eyes looks better than your own, accentuating the color of his eyes, and his hair that goes from blonde to brown at the tips hangs loosely in his face, giving him an edgy look. The multiple black earrings decorating his ears adds to his style, and your heart flutters when he leans forward boldly and presses another kiss to your cheek.

He stands back, letting himself fully appreciate the view. He strokes his chin lazily, nodding seemingly in approval before he mutters, “Not bad.”

Your brows knit together, head tilting to the side as you reply with a quiet thanks. You introduce yourself, gently pulling your hand from his grip. “It’s nice to meet you…”

The man shakes his head, a cocky grin on his face as he speaks. “I’m sure it’s very nice for someone of your…” He looks you up and down, almost amused at what he sees. “...standing to meet someone like me.” It’s all he says, turning on his heel and moving across the room to stand with the other men without another word.

‘Okay, kind of an asshole,’ you think. ‘A hot asshole, but–’

“I didn’t get your name,” you call after him, trying to reel your thoughts in.

He cards a hand through his hair smoothly. “Zenin Naoya.”

Jesse takes over, explaining that while the rose ceremony will still take place, Naoya will be immune as he is taking Sukuna’s place at the last minute.

As your eyes roam across the room, taking in the sight of all of the men here competing for a chance at love with you, of all people, you can’t help but feel guilty that shortly, you’ll be having one on one time with each of them only to end up sending one home. They each have made your heart race, each have left an impression on you, each have made you feel something. You’re not sure if you could imagine sending any of these amazing men home.

The camera swings towards your face, capturing every bit of tension in your features as your mind reels with the idea of making such a difficult decision.

Your 1 on 1 time begins now,” Jesse announces. “And ___?”

“Yes, Jesse?” You respond, being pulled out of your thoughts.

Jesse offers you a tiny smile, this time it’s genuine. It’s a smile that understands exactly what you’re experiencing, what you’re feeling. He gently pats your shoulder as he moves towards the exit. “Good luck.”

It's Voting Time!!!

Follow the link below to vote for the Sorcerer you think should NOT receive a rose and move on to the next round!

COMING UP ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF BACHELORETTE KAISEN:

The guys get one on one time with you, and one man will be sent home without a rose! (Remember that Naoya is immune!)

CLICK HERE TO VOTE - Voting closes in ONE WEEK on 10/1!

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diaryofaprettyprincess · 10 months ago

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thinking some thoughts about ghost x sunshine!disneyprincess-energy!reader..

OKAY THESE ARE JUST SOME CUTE THIUGHTS BUT LIKE OKAY. what if reader is just so incredibly sweet to everyone and everything n simon is just standing behind her like a guard, all scary and intimidating.. like shes such a disney princess!! BUTBUT what if she teaches him how to be gentle?? like he’s spent so many years of his life killing people for his job and using his hands to hurt others for his work. he’s been told his whole life that he needs to toughen up, so what if reader just completely brings out the incredibly soft side of him that he didn’t even know was there?

i can just imagine reader doing cute things and simon standing idly by whilst she picks flowers from the ground to put in her purse so she can make pressed flowers bookmarks for the both of them?? his heart just melts at the sight when you knelt down to pick some pretty yellow flowers in the summertime when you two went for a nice summer’s evening walk.

or you find this like baby chick by your home (cuz u both live in a cottage area, duh) and its wing is hurt so you squat down; a bright, but kind, grin on your face. you put your hands outward in a bowl-like shape, sweetly whispering to the injured creature as it chirps, “cmere, you poor thing..” when the chick waddles in your hands, simon swears you must be a fairy of some sort. simon watches you intently--one of his favorite activities. the way the chick trusts you immediately..he can’t take it you are so perfect.

the yellow fuzz ball of a chick chirps every so often, and you use gentle hands to pet it before standing up and looking up at simon, eyes wide and full of joy.

he smiles, his cheeks dimpling when you giggle and pet the chick.

“you wanna hold him?” you ask quietly, as to not threaten the bird—or possibly to relax simon’s tense body. before he can respond, you say, “here, open your hand---"

he hesitates. “what if i hurt it?“ he asks, genuine concern sounding in his gruff voice (although it's more quiet than usual as to not frighten the chicklet).

you pout slightly, glossy lips turned down.

“you won’t," you begin with a comforting smile, trying to comfort your burly boyfriend. simon nibbles his bottom lip as he glances his dark eyes from you, then to the bird, then you again. "i promise you won't hurt 'im, simmey. hold him like you hold me when im sad! okay?"

he nods faintly, letting out a small chuckle.

carefully, you bring the baby chick closer to him as you tell him to cup his hands together.

his body is stiff as he holds the chick, small chirps from the animal making him nervous.

“see? you’re doin so good, simmey !!” you encourage, running a comforting hand along his tattooed bicep. the chick is completely dwarfed in ghost’s tattooed, scarred hands.

something so innocent being cared for by someone so..not.

like the relationship between the two of you.

not that simon was a bad man—far from it. he just never knew the power of being gentle.

and he was so grateful that you brought that out of him; a soft, loving gaze and smile set on his hardened features as he watched you stand on your tippy toes and pet the bird gently with your pointer finger.

#coquette #sunshine!reader #simonriley #simonrileyxreader #simon riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x innocent!reader #simon riley x you #cod mwf2 #simon riley x sunshine!reader #ghost x sunshine!reader #ghost x reader

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hollyseb · 11 months ago

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BARTENDER (part 1)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Mob! Bucky x Reader

Authors note; this is my first fic. Pls be nice :)

Warnings; drinking. Minors DNI. Will get saucier lol.

Who am I? You were staring at yourself in the mirror of your janky apartment. Little red dress, white thigh high lacey socks. This wasn’t you. You felt silly. But you needed this

Since finishing college, the job market had been dry. You were broke. Undeniably. The rent payments are piling up, student loans begging to be paid, your unforgiving landlord constantly up your ass.

You smoothed down your dress, reminding yourself that this was temporary, just to make ends meet before finding a job in your field. You couldn’t deny that despite feeling a little on-show, you looked hot. Your dress hugging your curves, and your heels making your legs look everlong.

You’d picked up a job at a club uptown. You’d never been but you knew it was high-end, elite, and intimidating. Powerful men frequented this club. You were dreading meeting them; misogynists and man-whores, you thought. It’s okay, I’m just a waitress. Your only job was to serve at the bar, and deliver drinks to those rich enough to reserve tables. All I need to do is look good and smile.

Your best friend, Nat, had managed to land the job for you. She’d been working at the club for 6 months, and the money was supposedly “incredible”. You remembered laughing at that, accusing her of flirting with the regulars.

With that thought, you picked up your jacket, hugging it around your body, and headed out the door.

You adapted to the job easily enough; the thumping music, the strobing lights. Nat was constantly approaching you, checking in on you, “you’re okay right? Well you look amazing”, she whispered in your ear, winking at you, as you poured another drink.

She helped you climatize to the new environment. When service slowed, you found yourself drinking in those who frequented the club. The men on the floor were sleazy, approaching women while heavily drunk. The girls were dancing, swinging their hips, some finding company in those men. A part of you was envious, this had never been your scene and you felt a little excluded.

You were dragged out of your thoughts by Natasha asking you to drop some drinks off at one of the reserved tables. You felt a little reluctant, the table being hidden by a velvet curtain. You had yet to do this part of the job yet. I wish I could eye them up before approaching. Another part of you felt a little excited though, anticipatory.

You headed to the table, deep and low voices sounding. Some men were laughing, and others engaging in low conversation. Pulling the curtain back, a silence fell across the group of men sitting in the secluded area. You paused, taken aback. You had semi-expected the men to ignore your presence, you hadn’t expected this.

“H-hello. I have five whiskey cokes?” Your voice came across weaker than you hoped under the intimidating stares of the men. You hated the way your claim sounded like a question.

Your eyes fell upon the man at the head of the table. All black suit, perfectly tailored, with his hair falling over his piercing blue eyes. He wreaked power. His eyes were raking over your face. Drinking you in. You felt the breath get stuck in your throat when you met his eyes. He is gorgeous.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” a deep voice emerged from the man. It posed more of a statement than a question. Could he sense your anxiety?

“Yes I am”, you were painstakingly aware of how breathy your voice sounded, and also of how you were still awkwardly standing with the tray in your hands.

You eyed the other men, seeing the way their eyes dragged over your body, your curves. You felt naked. The eyes of the man at the head of the table had never left your face. He was enamored.

You cleared your throat and placed the tray on the corner of the table, trying to hide the way your hands were beginning to tremble. God, why am I shaking? You shot the men a fake smile before spinning on your heel and pulling back the curtain, their eyes burning into your ass.

When you had left the table, Bucky cleared his throat. “Get her name. Her social media. Her address. I want to know everything about her”.

Once leaving the room, you hunted your best friend down. “Nat, the men I delivered those drinks to…”, you waved your hands incredulously, reminiscing on the tense encounter and expecting her to have an explanation.

“Yes?” She smirked. She knew exactly what you were referencing. The intensity, the intimidation.

“What the hell was that? I mean- the guy at the head of the table… questioned me about being new, and the rest of them… ugh”, you rambled, your hands punctuating your questions.

“Oh…”, she raised her eyebrows at you, her face glowering in how she knew information that you didn’t, “the guy that questioned you, yeah he owns the club”, her smirk growing into a Cheshire Cat grin. She knew she had dropped you in the deep end.

Your eyebrows practically flew into your hairline, “the o-owner? God, Nat I’ve made a clutz of mysel-, I was stood there with the tray for so long, he must think I’m so stupi-”

She cut you off. “Well, at least he actually acknowledged you. He never even looks at the rest of us”, she explained, only exaggerating your confusion. “Shame really, considering he is probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, I mean, I would”, she winked at you again.

You laughed at that, knowing that she really would. She always knew what to say, and she was right. He really was breath-taking. But, he was also your boss. He probably only noticed me because I did something wrong.

You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the encounter, convincing yourself that you were overthinking the fire in his eyes. He was staring at you because you were so awkward. He could tell you felt out-of-place, you thought, sighing to yourself and shaking the thoughts. Serving people drinks and cleaning the bar made for the perfect distraction.

The night continued without event, you were glad. You felt yourself ease up over time, Nat making you giggle as drunk men tipped you rather excessively. You weren’t sure if it was your best friend's humour, or the feeling of knowing you’d managed to cover this week's rent, but you felt pleased.

You picked up your coat, and slung your bag over your shoulder, deciding to call a cab to get home. You felt eyes on you as you hugged Nat goodbye. Looking over her shoulder, you locked eyes with that man again. Your boss. Stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the bar. In a vast crowd of people, his eyes were narrowed in on you. You unlocked from Nat, drowning out her qualms about letting her know when you arrived home safely. You couldn't focus on anything else. He was the epitome of power; tall, broad, perfectly tailored.

You had to force yourself to rip your eyes from his, bidding Nat a farewell and heading out the door.

Bucky watched you until the door shielded you from view. He was fixated. It was only when Steve slapped his hand down on Bucky’s shoulder that he was brought back to the present.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through her body if you keep staring at her like that, pal”, Steve stated teasingly. He saw the way you commanded his friends' attention from the second you approached the table. It had been a long time since he had seen someone have such an effect on him.

Bucky turned to Steve, an exhale escaping his nose, “she is… certainly something”.

Steve continued, “… innocent, right?”, eyeing Bucky for his reaction. He tread on eggshells, he knew Bucky had taken a shine to you, he didn’t want to overstep.

Bucky nodded, his jaw twitching, “too innocent to be working here”. The pair nodded in unison.

You stepped outside and took a deep breath, relishing in the relief of being released from his intense gaze. You hailed a cab, being pleasantly surprised by the car that rolled up to you. Sleek and matte. A Mercedes. This was the nicest taxi you’d ever seen. When the taxi pulled up to your apartment block, you attempted to pay him with a remainder of your tips.

“Fee has been covered by… James Buchanan Barnes”.

Part 2 here https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737991483216494592/bartender-part-2

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel

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pantherxrogers · 4 months ago

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poolside service - jun x fem!reader (smut 18+ only)

🌊 pairing: pool guy!jun x housewife!reader (both are in their late 20s)

🌊 warnings: smut (18t only), infidelity (reader's husband cheats on her. then the reader cheats on him but he totally deserves it 🤭), explicit language, dry humping, fluff (jun is down baaaad. so is the reader low key)

🌊 summary: you and jun have known each other for a while. you're a lonely housewife, and he's the friendly pool guy. you've created a unique, sweet friendship. but, maybe you both want something more?

🌊 a/n: divider by @jilval /i'm still incredibly pissed off about the svt US tour dates. but junhui's inherent sexiness has nothing to do with that. and i love him. so enjoy! :D

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

jun came here to do a job.

he’s well aware of that. but he can’t bring himself to do it. instead, all he can focus on is you.he thinks you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

you look like a queen, elegantly lounging on your pool chair. your skin glitters in the sunlight. the skimpy, cherry red bikini makes his swim trunks feel even tighter than before. the strings rest nicely in the slender curve of your waist, teasing him to no end.

feeling like a perv, he forces himself to tear his eyes away from your body. even if it’s the last thing that he wants to do right now. but the huge diamond on your left hand is enough to knock some sense back into him.

you’re married. he knows that. but, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really give a fuck.

he’s wanted you for a while now. jun knows your husband doesn't deserve you. the man is never unkind to you, but jun would treat you so much better. maybe he can’t afford this mansion or any of the other luxuries your husband provides. but he would be wholly devoted to you and only you. something that he suspects your husband can’t say for himself.

“jun, i made some lemonade. i’m going to run inside and grab us a couple glasses. 'kay?” your sweet voice pulls him away from his thoughts. all he can do is smile and nod, infatuated by your kind nature and the way you always take care of him.

and maybe he’s also infatuated with the way your perky little ass sways as you skip back into the house.

not much time passes before you come back and stand in front of jun. he nods his thanks, gently taking the glass away from you.

you sip your drink slowly, eyeing jun the whole time. he's a tall guy, and the height difference makes you feel tingly all over. he closes his eyes as he sips. his little moan of appreciation makes your tummy stir.

“it’s really good, thank you,” jun praises, loving the bashful look on your face. he always makes sure to compliment you. it comes naturally to him, especially since he means every word. he knows your husband is too much of a tool to do it, and he’d never let you go about your day feeling unappreciated.

just like every week, the two of you chat for a while. it’s a comfortable routine. jun listens to you ramble about the other housewives in the neighborhood, while he cleans the pool and offers his two cents. everything is fine. until it's not.

“i think my husband is cheating on me with her.”

“he’s a fucking dumbass.” jun’s response is quick and surprises both of you. thick silence hangs in the air, and jun feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. he’s never spoken ill of your husband in front of you.

the sound of your soft sniffles breaks his heart into two. "oh honey, i'm sorry." his arms wrap around you in a second. this is the closest he's ever been to you, and it takes everything in his power to ignore the feeling of your soft body against his own.

"it's okay, i think i've known for a while. but lately, they've been making it more obvious," you sniffle, snuggling further into jun's warmth. as you lay your head against his firm chest, you hear his heart beating rapidly. it's kind of sweet, actually.

it's impossible to ignore the chemistry in the air. when your lazy husband hired a pool guy, you were pleasantly surprised when jun showed up on your doorstep. you've been with your husband since high school, so you don't have much experience with other men. but jun has always made you curious.

"i really did mean what i said. he's an idiot. he's got the perfect woman at home, and he can't even recognize it." the honesty in his voice heals something inside of you. jun's soft, brown eyes gaze into your own, full of admiration. you feel warmth rise to your cheeks, suddenly feeling shy beneath the intensity of his stare.

“thank you, jun.” your voice is no louder than a whisper. but jun hears you anyway. he always does.

there’s another beat of silence. the tension is thick, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is. the summer sun has done wonders for his skin, gifting him with a beautiful honey color. his body is toned and strong, yet he still manages to look lean.

jun glides a hand up your smooth neck, cradling your cheek. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes dropping down to your full pout. he watches the way you nibble on your bottom lip, the sight making him dizzy. the sound of your quiet thanks makes him smirk. you’re such a good girl. he’s done housework for plenty of the rich assholes in the neighborhood, but you’ve always made him feel good about his work.

“you're beautiful, too.” the truth in your tone surprises him. it also makes his heart skip a beat. he can’t wrap his head around the possibility that you may feel even a fraction of what he feels for you. but he could get used to the idea.

when he sees your eyelids flutter, jun’s heart quivers. before he can overthink it, he presses his lips against your own.

the kiss is sweet, spreading butterflies throughout your tummy. you kiss him back with enthusiasm, gliding your hand up his firm chest to wrap your arms around his neck. his strong arms wrap around your waist causing a stir in your tummy.

the kiss continues for a while, the pair of you exploring the other. jun can’t believe this is happening to him and fears that he’s going to wake up any second. he slips his hands down below your waist, cupping your thighs.

you take the hint quickly, lifting up to wrap your legs around his waist. you gasp, suddenly aware of the growing tent pressing right up against your center.

“shit, i’m sorry.” he sounds embarrassed, a deep blush tinting his cheeks. the sight makes you swoon. you’ve always loved jun’s soft, shy nature.

“it’s okay, sweetie. i really don’t mind.” your tone is so soft and reassuring. jun hopes you don’t notice the way it makes him harden even more.

he carries you over to your chaise, sitting down with you straddling his lap. before he continues, there’s something he needs to get out of the way first.

“so, i’ve been dreaming about this-and you-every night for the past year. but i also don’t want to put you in a position where you do something you might regret later. i should’ve asked before kissing you. and i’m really sorry that i didn’t.” his tone is firm, yet gentle. it only makes you want him more.

“you’ve been dreaming about me?” you stare back at him with doe eyes, and he swears he might cum in his pants any second. he lets out a groan, the last of his resolve slowly slipping away. “honey, did you hear anything else i said after that?”

you giggle in response, nodding your head to answer him. “i did. and i really appreciate your concern. but i’ve been wanting this for a looong time.” jun’s hands squeeze your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you. he still can’t believe you’re saying all of this to him.

he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars. you’ve never been more certain about anything in your life. you need jun. and if his hard on is any indicator, you’re pretty sure he feels the same.

“so...” you trail a manicured finger down his chest, “do you want to keep going?”

he’s nodding before you can finish your question. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. he’s on you in an instant, meeting your lips with fervor. your lips are sweet and soft against his own, the subtle hint of lemonade makes his head dizzy. he swears he’s never felt this good in his life.

you grind your hips down against him, involuntarily clenching when he lets out a deep groan. “fuck, baby. you’re gonna make me cum in my pants,” jun huffs out, head lulling back against the chair.

challenge accepted.

you lean forward, pressing soft kisses against the sensitive curve of his neck. jun lets out a quiet moan, bucking his hips into your warmth. your bikini offers no barrier. he can feel the heat of your arousal through his shorts. the sensation drives him mad. he grabs your hips again, suddenly grinding with more purpose.

“oh, jun,” you moan out. he can hear your warm little huffs of pleasure, your mouth near his ear. the way you cling to his body does wonders for his confidence, finally settling into a steady rhythm. “does that feel good, baby? hmm?” he coos, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“mmm, yes. feels so good,” you hum, matching the rhythm of his hips. you’re grateful for the lush landscaping you insisted on having. the palm trees offer protection from the prying eyes of your neighbors and allow you to fully succumb to the pleasure that jun offers.a thin layer of sweat covers his golden skin. it stems from both the heat of the sun and the intensity between the pair of you.

with every grind of your hips, jun swears he’s going to burst in his shorts. but he finds the strength to control himself. he brings his hands up to your chest, anxiously hovering for a moment. “y-you can touch me, junnie.” the nickname and the feel of your full breasts is almost too much for him. they’re soft and warm in his hands, he can’t help but grope you shamelessly.

the feel of his strong hands makes your clit throb. he rolls your hard nipples between his fingers, causing a warm shiver to run down your spine. you grind down harder against him, needing more and more. you feel yourself nearing the edge, but you never want this to end.

“you’re so beautiful, fuck. everything about you is perfect.”

jun’s praise makes your head dizzy. you know you’ll be coming in seconds, but you need more. “c-can, you untie my bottoms please?” your cheeks burn, but you can’t find it in yourself to regret asking him.

he quickly fumbles with the string, peeling your bottoms away from your wet cunt. the sound he lets out is animalistic, overwhelmed by your pretty pussy. he stares at it for too long, unable to look away. he wills himself not to cum, wanting you to experience as much pleasure as possible. wetting his thumb between his lips, he draws a slow circle on your clit.

"ah, jun. shit!” you mewl, bucking your hips. he's creating the perfect pressure against your clit, sending you tumbling over the edge in no time.

jun studies your face while you orgasm. he swears he’s never seen anything this beautiful in his life. he grips your hips gently, slowly dragging your hips to prolong the pleasure. the euphoria on your face triggers his own orgasm, making a mess of his trunks. he's seeing white behind his eyelids, lost in a haze of pleasure.

both of you ride out your highs, soft puffs of air filling the space between you. you crash into his chest, basking in the glow of an unexpected orgasm. “wow.”

“yeah. i swear i’m dreaming right now, but that was the best orgasm i’ve ever had in my life. i came in my pants like a fucking teenager, though,” he giggles, triggering your own laugh. you cuddle you further into his frame, finding solace in his body.

jun knows he needs to get up eventually and clean both of you up, but he can’t find it in himself to move. the way your body lays against his own feels like everything he’s ever wanted. he likes taking care of you and bringing whatever comfort he has to offer.

you press soft kisses against his chest, breathing in his scent. he smells fresh and clean, with a faint scent of sunscreen underneath. you could get used to this feeling.

lucky for you, jun wants nothing more than just that.

#seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #junhui x reader #junhui smut #jun x reader #svt x reader #jun smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #fics #svt smut #svt #svt hard hours #𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics

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wonyowonyo · 5 months ago

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Match Point (K. Minju X M! Reader)

GRAHHHH MY ANGEL MINJUUU! Anyways. Hello there, wonyowonyo here back again with another update! This one's about 4.9k words! This was one of the most enjoyable stories I've written so far. Now then, I hope you enjoy as always!

The gym buzzed with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floors and volleyballs thudding against the ground. As the ace spiker of the team, Y/N was at the center of it all, his powerful spikes and precise serves leaving everyone in awe. His athletic prowess made him a natural leader, and his teammates looked up to him, knowing he could turn the tide of any game. But amidst the intensity of practice, his eyes often wandered to the sidelines, where Minju, the team manager, was diligently taking notes and encouraging the players.

Minju had been Y/N's best friend since childhood. They grew up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same schools, and spent most of their free time together. They shared countless memories, from building sandcastles at the beach to pulling all-nighters for exams. Their bond was unbreakable, forged through years of shared experiences and mutual support.

Y/N cherished the moments they spent together, whether it was studying late into the night, enjoying ice cream at the park, or simply talking about their dreams and aspirations. Minju was the calm to his storm, always knowing how to ground him and make him laugh even in the most stressful times.

Their friendship was pure and sweet, filled with laughter and unspoken understanding. Y/N always felt a sense of comfort and happiness when Minju was around. She was the first person he wanted to share his victories with and the shoulder he leaned on during defeats. But he never realized how deep his feelings ran until the day his formidable rival entered their lives.

————————————————————

The joint training camp brought teams from different schools together, and Y/N's team was no exception. The camp was an opportunity to learn from others, improve their skills, and build camaraderie. Among the new faces, one stood out—Jinwoo, the star player of another school, and Y/N's biggest rival on the court. Jinwoo was known for his incredible agility and strategic mind, making him a formidable opponent.

From the moment they met, there was an unspoken animosity between them, a fierce competition that extended beyond volleyball. Their clashes on the court were legendary, each pushing the other to their limits. Off the court, they were civil but distant, the rivalry ever-present in their interactions.

One evening, after an intense practice match, Y/N found himself alone in the gym, practicing his spikes. The sound of the ball hitting the ground echoed through the empty space. He was so focused that he didn't notice Jinwoo entering the gym.

"Practicing late?" Jinwoo's voice broke the silence.

Y/N turned to see his rival leaning against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. "Just trying to stay sharp," Y/N replied, not wanting to show any signs of intimidation.

Jinwoo walked over, picking up a stray ball. "You know, you're not the only one aiming for the top. But there's more to life than just volleyball."

Y/N frowned, unsure of where this conversation was heading. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jinwoo tossed the ball in the air, catching it effortlessly. "I've seen the way you look at Minju. You're not just competing on the court, are you?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't realized his feelings were so transparent. "Minju and I are just friends," he said, though even he didn't fully believe his own words.

Jinwoo's smirk widened. "If that's the case, then you won't mind if I pursue her, right?"

The thought of Jinwoo trying to win Minju's affection made Y/N's blood boil. He clenched his fists, his competitive nature flaring up. "Do whatever you want. But don't think for a second that I'll back down."

Jinwoo chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "May the best man win, then," he said before leaving the gym, the challenge hanging in the air.

Over the next few days, Jinwoo's interest in Minju became increasingly obvious. He frequently sought her out during breaks, engaging her in conversation and making her laugh. Y/N watched from a distance, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. Minju was his best friend, and he should be happy for her if she found someone who made her smile. But the thought of losing her to Jinwoo was unbearable.

One afternoon, Y/N found Minju sitting alone by the edge of the court, her expression thoughtful. He approached her, sitting down beside her.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Minju looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, just thinking."

"About Jinwoo?" Y/N couldn't help but ask.

Minju's smile faded slightly, and she looked down at her hands. "He's... different. He makes me laugh, and he's really charming. But..."

"But what?"

She sighed, meeting Y/N's eyes. "I don't know. Something feels off. Like he's trying too hard."

Y/N felt a flicker of hope. "You don't have to rush into anything, Minju. Just follow your heart."

Minju nodded, her smile returning. "Thanks, Y/N. You always know what to say."

As they sat there, a comfortable silence settling between them, Y/N realized that he needed to sort out his own feelings. He couldn't stand by and let Jinwoo take Minju away without a fight. But first, he needed to understand why he felt this way and what Minju truly meant to him.

————————————————————

The training camp ended, and life returned to normal. But the thoughts of Jinwoo's attempts to woo Minju lingered in Y/N's mind. He found himself replaying their interactions, each smile and laugh Minju shared with Jinwoo gnawing at his heart. The realization of his feelings hit him like a tidal wave—he was in love with Minju.

One evening, after practice, Y/N decided to take a walk to clear his mind. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood. He found himself at the park where he and Minju often spent time together. Memories of their childhood flooded his mind: the time they built a makeshift fort out of blankets, the countless hours spent playing tag, and the late-night conversations about their dreams and fears.

As he sat on a bench, lost in thought, he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Minju walking towards him, a concerned look on her face.

"Y/N, are you okay? You seemed off during practice," she said, sitting down beside him.

Y/N took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "Minju, there's something I need to tell you. Something I've been trying to figure out."

Minju turned to face him, her eyes filled with worry. "What is it?"

Y/N hesitated, the words caught in his throat. But he knew he couldn't keep his feelings hidden any longer. "I've realized something over the past few days. Watching you and Jinwoo together made me see it clearly. I... I love you, Minju. Not just as a friend, but as more than that."

Minju's eyes widened in surprise, and she seemed to be processing his words. "Y/N, I..."

Before she could finish, Y/N continued, his voice filled with emotion. "I can't stand the thought of losing you to someone else. You mean everything to me, Minju. You're the first person I think of in the morning and the last person I think of before I sleep. I love you, and I can't keep it to myself anymore."

Tears welled up in Minju's eyes as she listened to his heartfelt confession. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Y/N, I don't know what to say. This is so unexpected."

Y/N's heart sank, fearing her reaction. "I'm sorry if this complicates things. I just needed you to know how I feel."

Minju squeezed his hand, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I need some time to process this. But I promise we'll talk about it soon."

Y/N nodded, his heart heavy but relieved to have finally told her the truth. As they sat there, hand in hand, he knew that whatever happened next, they would face it together. Their bond was strong, and he hoped it would be enough to withstand the challenges ahead.

In the days that followed, Y/N and Minju continued to navigate their friendship, the weight of Y/N's confession hanging between them. They spent time together, their conversations sometimes dipping into deeper, more personal territories. Minju seemed more contemplative, often lost in thought, and Y/N gave her the space she needed to sort through her feelings.

One afternoon, as they were walking home from school, Minju finally broke the silence. "Y/N, I've been thinking a lot about what you said."

Y/N's heart raced as he turned to face her. "And?"

Minju took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his. "I care about you more than anything, Y/N. You've always been there for me, and I can't imagine my life without you. But I'm scared. Scared that if we take this step, things might change between us."

Y/N took her hands in his, his gaze steady. "I understand, Minju. And I don't want to rush you into anything. But I had to tell you how I feel because keeping it inside was tearing me apart."

Minju nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "I need some time to figure out my own feelings. But no matter what, I don't want to lose you, Y/N."

Y/N pulled her into a hug, his heart swelling with hope. "Take all the time you need, Minju. I'll be here, no matter what."

————————————————————

The spring tournament arrived, and Y/N's team was determined to make it to the nationals. The atmosphere in the gym was electric, with teams from various schools warming up and strategizing for the upcoming matches. Y/N's team gathered in a huddle, their coach giving them a final pep talk.

"Remember, we play as a team," the coach said, his voice firm. "Trust each other, support each other, and give it your all."

Y/N nodded along with his teammates, his focus laser-sharp. Minju stood nearby, her encouraging smile giving him an extra boost of confidence. He knew that this tournament was not just about winning; it was about proving himself, not only to his team but also to Minju.

Their first match was against a strong opponent, but Y/N's dominance on the court was unmatched. His spikes were powerful and precise, leaving the opposing team scrambling to keep up. The crowd erupted in cheers every time he scored, the energy in the gym fueling his determination.

During a timeout, Minju approached Y/N with a bottle of water. "You're doing amazing," she said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

Y/N took the bottle, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. "Thanks, Minju. I couldn't do it without you."

The rest of the tournament continued in a similar fashion, with Y/N's team breezing through their matches. By the end of the day, they had qualified for the semi-finals with ease. As they gathered their things and headed back to their hotel, Y/N felt a sense of accomplishment, but he knew the toughest challenges were yet to come.

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The semi-finals were upon them,Minju had always been there to support Y/N, cheering him on from the sidelines, but this match felt different. The stakes were higher, and the tension in the air was almost unbearable.

Y/N's team faced off against a formidable opponent, and the match was intense from the start. Y/N's spikes were as powerful as ever, but the opposing team was equally skilled, blocking his shots and countering with their own.

As the game progressed, Y/N's team struggled. They were behind by several points, and Y/N seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Minju watched as he pushed himself to the limit, refusing to give up despite the odds.

The tension in the gym was palpable, with both teams giving it their all. Y/N's focus was unwavering, his eyes darting to Minju on the sidelines, her presence a constant source of strength.

But midway through the match, a minor injury forced Y/N to leave the game temporarily. In a particularly intense moment, Y/N went for a diving save that left him sprawled on the court. He got up slowly, clearly in pain but determined to keep fighting. Minju's heart ached at the sight of him struggling, and she found herself wishing she could do something to ease his burden.

Minju was by his side in an instant, assisting him to the medical office. They shared an intimate moment, her concern for him evident in her eyes.

"You always push yourself so hard," Minju said softly, her hand resting on his.

Y/N looked at her, his heart swelling with emotion. "I do it for you, Minju. Because you're important to me."

Minju’s heart skipped, as she heard him uttered those words. Minju had always admired Y/N. His dedication to volleyball, his unwavering spirit, and his kind heart made him stand out among everyone she knew. But it wasn't until now that she slowly truly understood the depth of her feelings.

Fortunately, the injury was minor, and Y/N was cleared to return. As Y/N returned back to the court, he reassured his team that his injury wasn’t anything serious and that he can play again. Before the match continued, Y/N once again glanced towards the stands his eyes meeting Minju’s. The contact wasn’t for long, as Y/N immediately set his focus back unto the court, as the referee blew the whistle.

On the other hand, Minju felt a jolt of emotion she couldn't quite describe. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, but also an unwavering resolve. In that instant, she realized just how much he meant to her.

It wasn't just admiration or friendship. It was something deeper, something that had been growing inside her for a long time. She realized that she loved him—not just for his strength and determination, but for his kindness, his passion, and the way he always put others before himself.

As the match continued, Minju's mind raced with memories of Y/N. She remembered the countless times he had stayed late after practice, working on his skills and encouraging his teammates. She thought about how he always had a kind word for everyone, how he never hesitated to help others, even when he was tired or stressed.

She recalled the times they had spent together off the court—how he would listen to her worries and dreams with genuine interest, offering support and advice. Y/N had a way of making her feel valued and understood, and she realized that these were the qualities that had drawn her to him all along.

Meanwhile in the center of the court, Y/N’s determination never faltered. His back continued to serve as an inspiration and foundation for his team. The title of the team's ace came with immense responsibility, and Y/N was determined to live up to it. His resolve shone through his every movement, inspiring his teammates and striking fear into the hearts of his opponents.

From the moment he stepped back onto the court, the atmosphere shifted. Y/N's presence was electrifying, and it reignited the flame of hope within his team. His eyes, blazing with unwavering determination, conveyed a message of resilience and strength that transcended words.

"Let's do this!"

Y/N shouted, rallying his teammates.

"We're not giving up now!"

With a powerful serve, Y/N immediately pulverized the defense of their opponents, sending the ball hurtling across the court with incredible speed and precision. It was as if he had never been injured, he refused to let it hinder his performance as his movements continued to be fluid and unstoppable. The spectators watched in awe as Y/N led his team with unmatched energy and skill, his will palpable in every spike and serve.

The opposition tried to counter his attacks, but Y/N was relentless. He smashed through every wall they put up, his spikes like thunderclaps that reverberated through the entire court. The intensity of his play left no doubt—he was the ace, and he would not be denied.

As the game progressed, Y/N's leadership became even more apparent. His teammates fed off his energy, their confidence growing with each point scored. They moved in perfect synchronization, driven by Y/N's unwavering resolve. He set an example, showing them what it meant to fight until the very end.

During a crucial rally, the ball soared high, and Y/N leaped into the air with grace and power. His hand connected with the ball in a spike that seemed to defy gravity, the force behind it sending the ball crashing into the opponent's court. The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound echoing like a battle cry.

But it wasn't just Y/N's physical prowess that inspired his team. It was his spirit, his refusal to back down in the face of adversity. Every time he hit the ball, every time he encouraged his teammates, he was reminding them that they were capable of greatness. His determination was infectious, spreading through the team like wildfire. And with that, Y/n led his team to victory, clinching their spot through the finals.

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After the match, which Y/N's team narrowly won, Minju found herself sitting with her best friend, Yena, at a nearby café. She needed to talk to someone about the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling.

"Yena, I... I don't know what's going on with me," Minju began, her voice filled with confusion.

Yena looked at her with concern. "What do you mean, Minju? What happened?"

Minju sighed, her eyes welling up with tears. "It's Y/N. Seeing him today, fighting so hard... it did something to me. I felt this... this overwhelming urge to help him, to be there for him. And when he looked at me during the timeout, it was like everything else disappeared."

Yena leaned in, listening intently. "Go on."

Minju took a deep breath. "I think about him all the time. Not just about volleyball, but about everything. His smile, his kindness, the way he makes everyone feel important. I don't know if it's just because we're friends or if it's something more."

Yena's eyes softened with understanding. "Minju, it sounds like you have deeper feelings for him than you realized."

Minju shook her head, frustrated. "But how can I be sure? What if I'm just confusing admiration with... with love?"

Yena reached out and took Minju's hand. "I've seen the way you look at him, Minju. The way your face lights up when he's around, and how you always want to be there for him. Those aren't just feelings of admiration. That's love."

Minju's eyes widened as Yena's words sank in. They both called it a day as they both head home, with Minju continuing to figure out her own feelings.

————————————————————

After her conversation with Yena, Minju felt a mix of clarity and confusion. She had spent countless nights thinking about Y/N, replaying their moments together and trying to understand her feelings. The fact that Y/N had already confessed his love to her added a new layer of complexity to her emotions. She knew he liked her, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to take the next step.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Minju found herself sitting by the school fountain, lost in thought. The gentle sound of water provided a soothing backdrop as she contemplated her next move. The shadows grew longer, mirroring the uncertainty that clouded her heart.

Minju's best friend Yena soon joined her, her presence comforting as always. Yena sat down beside Minju, not saying a word, knowing that Minju needed time to gather her thoughts.

Finally, Minju broke the silence, her voice tinged with hesitation. "Yena, what if I'm wrong about my feelings for Y/N? What if it's just a phase, and I'm mistaking admiration for something more?"

Yena looked at Minju with a gentle smile. "Minju, feelings can be complicated, and it's okay to have doubts. But from everything you've told me, it seems like your feelings for Y/N run deeper than just admiration. You've known him for so long, and your bond is special."

Minju sighed, her eyes reflecting her inner turmoil. "I know, but what if I'm just caught up in the moment? What if I'm projecting my admiration for his dedication and kindness into something more because I've been spending so much time with him?"

Yena took Minju's hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Minju, it's natural to question your feelings, especially when it comes to someone you care about so deeply. But think about how you feel when you're with Y/N. The way your heart races, the way you miss him when he's not around, and the way you want to be there for him. Those are signs of something more than just friendship."

Minju looked down at their joined hands, her thoughts swirling. "But what if I'm not ready to take that step? What if I hurt him by hesitating?"

Yena nodded, understanding Minju's fears. "I get it, Minju. Taking that leap is scary, and there's always a risk. But Y/N already knows how he feels about you. He's waiting for you to figure out your own heart. You need to be honest with yourself and with him."

Minju looked up at Yena, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "But what if I'm not enough for him? What if he deserves someone who can give him all the love and support he needs without any doubts?"

Yena shook her head gently. "Minju, Y/N loves you for who you are. He knows you're not perfect, and he doesn't expect you to be. What matters is that you care about him and that you're willing to work through your feelings together. Relationships aren't about being perfect; they're about growing and supporting each other."

Minju took a deep breath, Yena's words sinking in. "You're right, Yena. I need to be honest with myself and with Y/N. I need to figure out my feelings and not let fear hold me back."

Yena smiled, giving Minju's hand one last squeeze. "That's the spirit, Minju. Take your time, but don't be afraid to follow your heart. Y/N is worth it, and so are you."

————————————————————

The finals arrived, and Y/N found himself face-to-face with Jinwoo once again. They exchanged words before the match, the tension between them palpable.

"Ready to lose, Y/N?" Jinwoo said with a smirk, leaning against the net.

Y/N narrowed his eyes, determination radiating from him. "Not a chance, Jinwoo. This is our time to shine."

Jinwoo chuckled, crossing his arms. "We'll see about that. But remember, this game isn't the only thing at stake. Minju deserves someone who can give her everything, not someone who's still figuring things out."

Y/N's jaw tightened, his competitive spirit flaring. "Minju deserves the best, and I'm going to prove that I'm the one for her. On and off the court."

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "We'll see if you can back those words up."

The match began, and the intensity was palpable from the very first serve. Both teams gave it their all, every player pushing themselves to their limits. The gym was filled with the sound of sneakers squeaking, volleyballs thudding, and the shouts of players and coaches.

Y/N's team took the first set, their coordination and teamwork shining through. Y/N's spikes were unstoppable, his serves precise and powerful. But Jinwoo's team fought back fiercely in the second set, their determination evident as they clawed their way to victory.

The third set saw Y/N's team pulling ahead once more, with Y/N leading the charge. His eyes frequently darted to the sidelines, where Minju watched with bated breath. Her presence was a constant source of strength for him, pushing him to play harder and better.

The fourth set was a nail-biter, with both teams exchanging points in rapid succession. Jinwoo's skill on the court was undeniable, and he seemed to be everywhere at once, blocking spikes and setting up perfect plays for his teammates. The set ended with Jinwoo's team barely edging out a win, setting the stage for a dramatic final set.

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Both teams were exhausted, but Y/N's determination burned brighter than ever. He saw Minju on the sidelines, her encouragement giving him the strength to push through. The final set began with both teams fighting fiercely for every point. The gym was filled with the sound of cheers and the tension of the match.

Jinwoo's team gained an early lead, but Y/N's team fought back, point by point. The score was tied, and the match point was in favor of Jinwoo's team. Y/N's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced at Minju, her eyes locked onto his.

In the final moments of the game, with his back against the edge, Y/N found himself in the spotlight. The pressure was immense, but he focused on Minju's face in the crowd, her eyes filled with unwavering support

With renewed determination, Y/N stepped up to serve. His first serve was a powerful ace, the ball slamming into the ground before the opposing team could react. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline.

The second serve was equally powerful, another ace that brought the score to their match point. Y/N's teammates rallied around him, their energy matching his. The final serve was crucial, and Y/N took a deep breath, focusing all his energy into it.

The serve was perfect, the ball flying over the net with incredible speed. Jinwoo's team scrambled to return it, but Y/N's teammates were ready, blocking the spike and setting up the perfect play. Y/N jumped high, his hand connecting with the ball in a powerful spike that landed squarely in the opponent's court.

The gym erupted in cheers, his teammates swarming him in celebration. Amidst the jubilation, Y/N's eyes sought out Minju, who was making her way through the crowd towards him. She reached him, her face glowing with pride and emotion.

"You did it, Y/N! I'm so proud of you!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

Y/N held her close, his heart pounding. "Minju, I couldn't have done it without you."

As the cheers and applause continued around them, Y/N knew that this was the moment. He gently pulled back, looking into Minju's eyes. "Minju, there's something I need to say."

Minju nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath, his voice steady and filled with emotion. "Minju, I love you. I know I told you before, but I need you to know that it's real. You're the most important person in my life, and I can't imagine my future without you."

Tears streamed down Minju's cheeks as she listened to his heartfelt words. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. Minju looked into Y/N's eyes, her own filled with determination. "Y/N, I have something to tell you too. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've realized that my feelings for you are more than just friendship. I love you, Y/N. I always have, even if I didn't fully understand it until now."

Y/N's heart soared at her words, and he too, cupped her face in his hands, his eyes shining with happiness. "Gosh, I really love you, Minju. More than anything."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss, sealing their mutual love and the promise of a future together.

The world seemed to fade away as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

As they pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of their journey together. With Minju by his side, he felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges life threw their way.

And so, amidst the cheers and applause of their teammates and friends, Y/N and Minju took their first steps into a new chapter of their lives, their love shining brightly and their bond stronger than ever.

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The nationals were just around the corner, and Y/N's team was more determined than ever. With Minju by his side, Y/N felt invincible. Their love gave him a newfound strength, and he was ready to face any challenge that came his way.

As they trained and prepared for the nationals, Y/N and Minju's relationship blossomed. They supported each other through the highs and lows, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

One evening, as they walked hand-in-hand through the park, Minju turned to Y/N, her eyes filled with love and determination. "No matter what happens, we'll face it together, right?"

Y/N smiled, his heart filled with warmth. "Always, Minju. Together, we can achieve anything."

And with that, they continued their journey, ready to face whatever the future held, confident in their love and the unbreakable bond they shared.

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