#oc-insert

[wiltyard]

perseverance at its worst | undertale

masterlist Prologue, [You are here] pairings: Sans x Reader warning/s: n/a a/n: LOTS of references, hi its been 3 years since i touched this fic

"Sena?" A small voice asked. Feeling small hands on her arm, and a wet face burying into her arm too. "When are you…When are you gonna wake up? I– I miss you. Please, wake up. I want to talk to you again. Even if you don't talk much. Please. Please."

...

" Y o u ' r e   n o t   w a r m a n y m o r e . "

…

…

Sena’s eyes shot wide-open; the pale-yellow ceiling was the first thing she saw. She felt surprisingly well rested. Even though she still felt like an airplane ran her over after getting hit by a truck, she felt relatively ‘fine’ as most people would say. 

She sits up, wincing, her hand quickly finding its way to her head when she felt a sharp pain, once it faded she began looking around, her eyes scanning the room, looking for at least the slightest hint of anything that would tell her where she is.

All she knew was that she seemed to be in a shared room. Two twin beds on both sides. The side she resided at was decorated with photos, stickers and posters of constellations on the wall that reached up to the ceiling. With furniture such as a nightstand with a framed picture of a blue bone (?) along with a lamp, a dresser, a desk with a computer on it, and shelves stocked with pictures of people along with trophies and certificates. The other side of the room was almost identical to the side she was in, only that it was more so empty. 

Seemed like it’s been a long time since anyone ever used that side of the room. Dust particles resting on the surfaces of all the furniture were key evidences, but the bed seemed to have been used, perhaps someone watched her? Her eyes found its way on top of the dresser, her clothes folded neatly along with her gear placed right next to it. Except… where are the knives?

She felt her cheeks warm without her permission when she realized that someone must’ve changed her clothes and seen her in that vulnerable position. With her line of work, you’d think she’d be more or less numb to it, always getting hurt and getting sent to the clinic, but she still did not like the idea of someone seeing her like that.

She looks down, seeing the baggy worn down t-shirt, it was old, but very comfortable. Her head snapped back towards the pile of clothes−realizing that her pants was there as well, she frantically pulled the covers up, looking at her legs−she felt herself relax slightly, thank god, she still had a pair of boxers on? Her eyes trailed over to her wounds, realizing they all have been patched up, ones that already healed weren’t bandaged but had been cleaned.

Examining her arms, they were bandaged as well, with a few ban-aids here and there. By this point, questions began to swirl in her head. Where is she? Why is she here? Who changed her clothes? Who took her in? Who patched her up? Her eyes widened, realized who she should be worrying about the most−where’s the kid?! 

She struggled to move, but eventually got off the bed, almost tripping when she tried to walk but still managed to catch herself. Using anything she could get a hold of as support, she eventually made it to the door. Her anxiety spiking as worry filled her soul as she turned the doorknob. Opening the door, its quiet creaks filled the air, and then a click when she closed the door behind her.

Once she exited the room to the hallway, she took note that the house was quite large. Probably larger than she thinks it is. Scanning the area, doors notably reached to the end of the long hallway. In the middle of it was a staircase down. Now, she didn’t know where to go next, it would take a while for her to go through all the rooms, but it was for the kid. She made the choice to check the rooms first—

“Help!” A voice screeched from downstairs. Sena’s eyes widened in alarm. It sounded like it belonged to a kid, like it belonged to him. She took off running, the sound of her bare feet thumping rapidly against the ceramic floor echoed in the hallway, no doubt throughout the house as well with how hard she ran.

Ignoring the sharp stabs of pain on multiple parts of her body, she pushed through, the only thing on her mind was to make sure he was okay. She didn’t care about herself. It’s all about him to her. Even if it meant risking her life. 

The staircase was carpeted, so it wouldn’t matter that much if she tripped on the way down, resulting in her carelessly running down the stairs. Amazingly, she didn’t trip once as she reached the next floor down. Another hallway, another set of stairs leading down, but there was a room before her that was open to the hallway, a living room that was connected to a kitchen with a simple doorway.

The moment she ran through, all eyes were on her. Well...eye-sockets more specifically. Whatever they were doing, watching T.V., reading a book, solving a puzzle, or playing a board-game, they stopped, just to look at her. The expression on their faces was more of shock rather than confusion.

How many people were there? Two, three—no, five, there were five people here. She knew there might be more, with how big the place was. It wouldn’t make sense if there were only five people residing in such a huge house.

Sena was pissed once she realized she couldn’t see the kid anywhere, the blank look on her face changed into a scowl, glaring daggers at the skeleton closest to her. The skeleton man started to look visibly nervous.

“You. Where is he.” It sounded more like—a demand, like she’s not giving the guy any other options rather than to answer her. He only tilted his head in question as his expression morphed into confusion.

“Uh, wha—”

“PERCY, WHERE’S PERCY.” She snarled at him. Gripping the collar of the guy’s t-shirt then she shook him.

“O-okay, calm down, the kid’s alright—” Interrupting him mid-sentence was another scream. More desperate this time from another room. Sena narrowed her eyes at him, glancing at everyone else as theirs widened. The guy paused, holding a finger up. “Okay, that? It’s not what you think I swea—”

Sena didn’t let him finish, shoving him back on the couch, she turned, about to dash towards the direction where she heard Percy’s voice. But by now, everyone in the room was closing in on her. Of course, it was out of the intention of calming her down, someone in her position should not be running around like this after waking up from a literal coma.

Thing is, in this scenario—Sena would be like an animal. A very, enraged, and distressed animal just from the look in her eyes. (Especially after hearing another squeal from Percy in the other room) And one thing you should never do is corner an enraged and distressed animal, because when you do, they don’t see your pure intentions of wanting to help it, all they see is a threat to their safety, an obstacle in their way that they can either avoid—or remove.

Sena isn’t stupid of course, knowing the state that her body is in, she knows she can’t fight all of them off. Maybe she can dust the closest ones, but at the cost of her losing energy and not being able to ensure that Percy is safe. So naturally she settled with another plan, avoid them and push them away. She saw a tall skeleton monster getting a bit too close for comfort in her peripheral vision.

The tall lanky skeleton who wore some sort of armor, costume? And a red scarf. In her eyes it seemed like he was going to capture her to hold her still. But the truth was Papyrus just wanted to give her a hug, it always calmed Chara down when Toriel gave them a hug after experiencing a panic attack, so he figured it would probably work on Sena too.

It was obvious to everyone, Sena was panicking, no need to perform a CHECK on her soul to see that she was worried for the kid. But these guys were more worried about her wounds. This crazy bitch was running around and putting so much strain on her body like she didn’t just wake up from a fucking coma.

Cherry though, Cherry was already panicking because he could see what Papyrus was trying to do, but he knew the human didn’t. Preparing to block the human’s attack, only for her to duck in an effort to avoid him. Much to Cherry’s relief. 

Trying to calm Sena down wouldn’t work, in fact, it made her even angrier. Her movements are more aggressive now compared to before. Facial expression wise, there were no indications that she became angrier, she still bore the same determined, scowling look she had when she first heard Percy scream.

Cherry sighed in exasperation; this was why he was so against keeping them here. But thanks to Sena’s soul being too fucked up and fragile, they couldn’t even use basic healing magic on her!

Sena backed away from the tall skeleton, while doing so, her eyes landed on a possible escape route, the doorway to the hallway, and no one was blocking it, let alone near it. All she needs to do is beeline her way through the crowd of bones, you know, while running. She glances at the direction where Percy’s voice was coming from, seeing that doorway blocked by three more skeletons, she noticed it looked like a kitchen area.

Recalling that there was an entrance to the kitchen from the hallway, she makes a run for it to the doorway to the hallway. But before she could even blink, someone appeared in front of her, making her slam into them.

Instinctively, Sans reached for something that could stop him from falling, in this case, that something was Sena’s shoulders. So by accident he pulled her down with him. She struggled to break free, coherently shouting curses at him.  Well shit, now she definitely thinks they’re trying to capture her.

"Let me go!" She barked at him. Squirming and struggling more violently than before. 

"Alright buddy, ya really need to chill out, no need to be so violent—"

Too late for that. She started kicking his legs. “Ow! What the—hey!”

When it became clear to the skeletons around her that anything that comes out of their mouths won't calm her down. One of them decided to use another tactic.

"Do you not care for what happens to that child you carried here?" Edge demanded, the sentence sounding more of a threat than a question to Sena. She finally did stop, but now her attention is on him.

The hands gripping her shoulders were gone, Sans had let her go. Which he later regretted and realized was a mistake, because she immediately bolted to Edge right after, lunging at him. Grabbing the tattered scarf around his neck, she pulled him down to eye-level.

“Where is he.” She hissed, venom dripping from every word. The way she yanked the scarf would've choked someone if they had lungs. Normally, Edge would have impaled anyone who would have dared to do something like this to him, but something was telling him not to do it, instead of a scowl on his face, there was a look of shock and surprise. Not liking the silence, she pulled at his scarf harder, Sena furrowed her brows as anger boiled in her chest. “If I see a single scratch on him, I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

Another high-pitched scream was heard from the other room. Sena’s head snapped towards the direction the noise came from. She shot a glare at Edge but immediately let him go before she ran, dodging them. Grabbing the doorway to help her turn with ease as she ran through the hallway. She called his name again. “Percy!”

Hearing him squeal again, she eventually finds the door where his voice was coming from. She zeroed in at it, eyes narrowing, breaking the door down. Expecting the worst, Sena stood in a stance, looking around quickly to search for the threat, ready to fight off whoever was hurting him. But then, the scene she sees before her completely leaves her speechless. The raging desire in her chest to kill anyone in the vicinity who hurt the child dissipated. Her on-guard stance and expression fell as she stood, confused.

Her fists still raised but her intent was no longer to hurt anyone. She watches, in silent confusion, seeing the young child giggling as he plays with—floating giant dragon heads?

What the fuck???

She didn't move or say anything, she just stared. The others followed. Some appearing, or the term, teleporting while others just walked through the doorway. Sort of, some of them ran in. Only to see her frozen on the spot, figuring she’s calm now after seeing Percy, they left her alone, none of them advanced towards her to detain her. At least now she wasn’t thinking of jumping anyone for a misunderstanding. Edge could swear to gods above that when he said what he said, he didn’t mean that he’d hurt the damn kid.

Percy finally noticed her. But being distracted, he gave one of the… skeleton head things the opportunity to push him a little bit too roughly, causing him to fall from the chair he was standing on to the floor with a hard thud. Sena snapped out of her confused daze, running over to Percy, pulling him up and grabbing him by the shoulders, immediately throwing him questions; “Are you okay?” “Are you hurt?” “Did they do anything to you?”

Percy never answered, he only stared at her, dumbfounded as his eyes began to swell with tears. Sena stopped talking the moment the first tear rolled down his cheek. Her expression remained blank, but her eyes betrayed her, widening in surprise once Percy hugged her out of the blue, much to her further confusion. He didn’t even say anything, sobs breaking out of his throat as he tightened his grip around her. Sena exhaled out of her nose, bringing a hand up to his head, patting it, albeit awkwardly, comforting others was never her strong suit.

The two dragon heads were confused about the whole situation though, they wanted to continue their play session with the kid. But with the look Cherry was shooting at them, they decided not to interfere and only watched from a distance after joining their owner.

He was the first to pull away, tears relentlessly streaming down his cheeks as he began to blabbering out words that were hard to decipher, but one thing she knew was he was glad to see her. In the end, he managed to calm down a bit, enough to actually make the words spewing out of his mouth understandable. He told her how worried he was, that he thought she was gone, that she left her too.

Before he could even sputter anything else out in his state. Sena gripped his shoulders a little more tightly—not to hurt him—but to reassure him. Then gave him a small smile. But Percy knew that it meant something more. Way more. These smiles, they were a rarity, from her at least. Like a shooting star that disappears as quickly as it appeared. He couldn’t help but smile back, and hugged her again.

“I’m just so happy that you’re okay.”

Sena blinked, watching him for a bit, eyes softening a little. Before returning the hug. “I’m happy that you’re okay too.”

The hug lasted for a little while, Sena was the first to let go as she let her hands fall loosely, then she let out an exasperated sigh. 

"I thought you were dying." She deadpanned at the boy. Well, she was blunt, no surprise there, she was as blunt as Percy had described her a multitude of times.

"But I'm not, Sena!" Percy responded, giggling. He pats the large dragon heads, who made their way towards them, laughing as they nuzzled him. "I woke up, feeling toasty! You and I were wrapped in a really fluffy blanket! And your wounds were patched up and everything too!"

Just hearing that made Sena instinctively reach a hand over her right arm. Looking down, he was right, her wounds were relatively fine, and her broken bones weren't so broken anymore. No bleeding. Nothing. She felt a bit okay? But her throat felt dry. Another proof of this is her raspy voice.

And then, remembered that someone must have changed her clothes. She tensed. She shouldn't be bothered by it, she had many wounds that had to be treated by the present medic, or whoever had enough experience, in the past—whether it be man or woman. But still, she can't help but feel… flustered of anyone seeing her bare.

It seems the other skeletons knew what she was thinking. At least one of them seemed to realize what she was thinking when he saw her looking down at her attire and examining it and the look in her eyes when she seemed to remember she wasn’t wearing the same clothes she was wearing when she got here. Blue spoke up.

“Um, if you’re wondering who undressed you, I promise on my soul that it wasn’t any of us?” That sounded more like a suggestion, but Blue already looked flustered mentioning it, Sena looked at him, the expression of sheer anger, and blood lust filled eyes were gone, replaced with a look that mirrored his own, flustered, a bit flushed, glancing away from him before looking back.

Whether her flustered state was from realizing they weren’t enemies and didn’t hurt Percy, or from knowing someone undressed her, he didn’t know. He pointed at someone who was currently wearing a sky-blue sweatshirt. 

“We called in one of Sans’ friends! The former queen of monsters, Toriel, she’s the one who undressed and healed you from your wounds. She’s not here at the moment though, she left around lunch time because she had to pick up her kid.” Blue said. The guy mentioned, Sans raised his hand up as a form of greeting her, a lazy grin on his face that was more relieved knowing that she no longer wants to murder anyone. Sena looked down at the ground.

“...thanks,” she says, sounding unsure, she was probably just in shock, surprised and still processing the events that took place. Which was a little ironic considering most of today’s events were because of her. Blue decided that maybe she just needs to sit down for a while, they need to get some questions answered after all.

Approaching her, he put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump in surprise. She looked at him with a slight frown on her face and threw him a hard stare, but once she saw the caring look on his face, she couldn’t help her mask cracking.

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 47

prompt: self-insert/OC-insert

fandoms: bnha, knb, mdzs, naruto, svsss

bnha

Causality of Temporal Paradox by MirrorDaltokki

"A tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use." - Washington Irving

In which you are very clearly not having a good time slipping through time and space.

Lucky for you, there's at least one constant. Hawks seems to not mind you showing up in his bed over and over again throughout his life.

But hey, look at the upside. There's pro-heroes, so that's kind of cool.

Cleaning Crew; Teaching Kids to Value their Safety, for Fun and Profit by Reavv

Takenaka Hideo is a thirty-two year old, in mild desperation for money, who has just been hired as a new janitor for UA's support staff. He has a quirk that lets him find lost objects, a liaison with the police because of it, and desperate desire for competent co-workers.

Oh, and he's already lived a previous life, in a world where quirks and heroes didn't even exist.

Not a big deal, though. It's not like you ever see the janitor playing a big part in action movies. He's here to get paid, and that's it.

On the opposite side of the equation, class 1-A has to wonder at the new UA cryptid that always seems to show up when things are on fire, and who keeps trying to convince them to let the adults handle the fire extinguisher.

knb

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades by Vroomian

You don't care about sports, and you didn't ask for this nonsense.

so miracles happen after all. by リリス - riris (arurun)

Paralyzed from the neck down, a former basketball star wished only for one thing.

And like a miracle, he wakes up in a new world, in a new body-- and there's only one thing he wants to do now, so he starts running.

"Wait, is this that basketball anime?"

Ball Is Life, But You Still Need To Pay Rent by vermillion_crown 

Here's the thing. Taiga has a little breakdown (politely, in the cabin restroom at 3:37 AM PST while the other passengers are dead asleep) and gets over it in the span of the eleven hour flight into Tokyo. The leftover memories in his head really help with perspective, let's just say.

He likes basketball. Loves it, even. Sure, maybe another team sport might do the trick in a pinch, but his body and reflexes are optimized for basketball. It'd be a waste of time to change tracks

Ball is life, but you still need to pay rent. Okay, well officially, his dad's paying the rent. But the sentiment still stands, right? There are other things to worry about.

Who the hell peaks in high school?

(SI/OC as Kagami Taiga, who just wants to ball—all the chūnibyō shit be damned.)

mdzs

by foot it's a slow climb by Vroomian

(graphic depictions of violence) (major character death)

So. Let's get this straight - I didn't set out to derail any plot. My plan was to lay low and stay away from canon. It's just...

My plans tend to fail.

Spectacularly.

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized

(mature)

A modern OC arrives in Yiling before the start of the Sunshot Campaign. She has no friends, no money, and no cultivation. She knows what's coming, but what could she possibly do about it? *** “Well…” I looked down at my fingernails and tried not to squirm. “If there were a way to separate Wei Wuxian from Madam Yu without ruining his relationship with his siblings, I’d encourage it. Like, as an example, marriage.”

Xichen blinked. “To you?”

“No. Absolutely not. What even—?” The thought was so abhorrent I couldn’t hold it in my head. My brain spat it right back out. “To your brother.”

Xichen blinked. Again. “To Wangji?”

“Obviously?”

“This is a concern of yours?”

“I realize it’s not my business at all,” I admitted. “But you asked.”

naruto

Doing the Work by MarbleGlove

There’s more to peace than the absence of war. The work is as hard and uncertain as any Shinobi mission.

AKA: A highly self-indulgent fic in which a civilian woman helps an orphaned Sasuke and winds up saving the world.

Making Lemonade by Meeceisme

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

Waking up after dying to a whole new life in a brand new body is a little outside his frame of reference. But he'll do his best to make the best of this weird as hell situation. Worse comes to worst he'll grab all his favourite people and run the hell away from this mad place.

Featuring: Konoha's atrocious orphanage system, cynical child soldiers and Kakashi's guilt complex.

wataru, wataru by unolvrs

(mature)

“Kirigakure didn’t need help. They needed salvation.”

No one knows anything about the Mizukage. Only that she’s kind. She likes to smile. She likes seafood like every other Mizu-born. And that there’s something inexplicably wrong with her. There’s something wrong with the Mizukage whom the Kiri-nin call a ‘god’.

—or, Wataru Wataru was never really a powerhouse, in this life or the last, but she’s resourceful. She knows cults, pyramid schemes, and corrupt politicians like the back of her hand, so of course, she becomes the Mizukage and becomes a god along the way.

svsss

exec_ep=diviega/. by MirrorDaltokki, MULmul

(mature) (major character death)

AKA: Female Protagonist Fights the System Because She Doesn't Want to Live on the Lesbian Peak Just Because She Won't Sleep With Luo Binghe and She Can Write This Piece of Trash Novel Better than The Stupid Author

[skenisasleb]

OH GOD OH NO

I JUST FOUND OLD SOUTH PARK ART

WHERE I SHIPPED MY OC, TED, WITH KYLE

IM GONNA EXPLODE

At least I realized it was cringy eventually and made Oliver so that Ted and Oliver could be gay instead of OC-inserting children LMFAOO

(not dropping the art, who do you think I am, making me relive art trauma 🤨)

(also not dropping the art cause i made whole comics of the ship and i hate them cause THEYRE ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD COMICS LIKE WTF WHY MUST IT TAUNT ME SO, MAKING ME WANT TO SHIP TED AND KYLE AGAIN)

[lexithequeenofgay]

Ninjago Dragons Rising OC-Insert AU One-Shot: A Meeting of Four

(This story takes place right after The Merge, so the kids are like… I wanna say 10-11? Maybe 12?)

Izumi groaned as she woke up, rubbing her head and checking for any bumps or bruises on her body. She was surprisingly unhurt, just disoriented and dizzy (and her clothes were a little dirty and torn as well). She looked around to figure out where she was, and saw a city in the near distance. She got up and started walking towards it.

Izumi’s Thoughts: *Where in the 16 Realms am I?*

Her mind raced with the possibilities. Was she dead? Did she get transported to another realm? What if she couldn't find her way home? What if she didn't want to go home? What if-

Her thoughts were suddenly cut off by the sight of two people running along the sand towards her. She stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes to try to get a better look.

The two people also stopped, staring at her. Confused and a little worried. One of them had pink hair tied in neat space buns, and the other had short, auburn hair.

Izumi: “Hello? Who are you? Where am I?”

She called out to them nervously. They weren't close enough for her to make out distinct facial details, but they must have heard her as they were coming closer.

But neither of them said anything for a while. Clearly they were both a little nervous. The pink-haired girl spoke 1st.

Sora: “I'm An- um… Sora, and this is my friend, Kiara. You're in the deserts of Imperium”

Kiara looked at Sora curiously, but said nothing, just nodding along. Izumi glanced behind them, seeing the large city teaming with energy.

Izumi: “Imperium? Isn't that the realm with incredibly advanced tech? Looks impressive.”

Sora: “Trust me, it's anything but impressive. We left to get away from that awful place. We saw that city behind you. What's it called?”

Izumi looked behind her, seeing the large buildings that she somehow missed. She recognized the place as a place she's heard many stories about. Stories that she'd read over and over.

Izumi: “Oh, that's Ninjago.”

****

Arin stared at the fallen porch swing of his house. He stared At the sky, hoping that his parents would just be there, waiting for him. But nothing. He looked at the Green Ninja's mask in his hands, and his eyes started to sting with the hint of tears. He collapsed onto his knees, the ground beneath him started to soak as the tears fell down his face with a quiet drip. He pulled himself up, sniffling, and sat on the swing, clutching the mask tightly.

He looked up and saw three figures walking towards him in the distance. He suddenly shot up and ran towards them, hoping with all his heart that they would be his parents and the Green Ninja. But unfortunately, when he got closer, that hope vanished.

Izumi: “Woah, hello. Bit eager to meet new people, huh?”

Arin: “Sorry, I… I thought you were someone else.”

Arin turned away, and started walking back towards the porch swing. The curly haired girl put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him.

Izumi: “I know we aren't who you were hoping for, but maybe we could help? I'm Izumi, and this is Sora and Kiara.”

Izumi pointed at the other two girls behind her who both waved and smiled sheepishly. Arin waved back.

Arin: “I don't know if you can help. The Ninja were trying to save my parents when that huge portal exploded and… I haven't seen any of them since.”

Something suddenly flicked on in Izumi's head and suddenly nothing else mattered except…

Izumi: “Wait, you met the Ninja? As in, THE Ninja of Ninjago?”

Izumi's eyes glittered with interest, and Arin was a little thrown off by her reaction, but decided he might as well make conversation.

Arin: “Yeah, I did. They saved me when I got sucked up into that storm.”

Izumi: “Wow… I can't believe you actually got to meet them. They're like, the coolest people ever.”

Arin smiled, happy that there was someone else who shared his interest in the Ninja. They've been his heroes for as long as he could remember. Talking with Izumi managed to pull him out of his thoughts for a while.

****

The four of them walked through the streets of what once was Arin's hometown. There were houses missing, cars flipped over, trees uprooted, but the most noticeable part was that it was almost completely abandoned, save for the people that the Ninja managed to save before disappearing.

They noticed some people stuck underneath branches or stuck in their cars, and they decided to help them. It felt good helping the people in need.

Eventually they entered a completely deserted area void of any people, houses, or anything. It was eerily empty. They all looked around to find nothing anywhere.

Izumi: “We should probably go back. Maybe we can make a camp near where you said your house was, Arin.”

Arin: “That seems like a good idea. Let's split up and find supplies.”

They all nodded and separated. Well, except Kiara, she went with Sora. It was odd feeling such a connection to people they just met, but they could all tell they'd become close friends the more they got to know each other. Plus, it's good to have allies in a crisis.

@darkstalker1247

[firebird-inkheart]

Careful, they bite~

+++

Had a lot of fun trying out a more sketchy style. I like to think that the their lines are indicative of their emotional state. So the stronger they feel something, the more their lines "unravel" :)

[Click for quality]

[vodkassassin]

I’d be interested to see what you’ve got for your OC Obi-wan Insert?

Ah, another WIP Wednesday ask! Thank you.

Honestly I should rename it Weekday WIP at this point alfjksjd. Also this ended up being WAY longer than originally anticipated, my bad lmao

__

“You fought well, but you hold much anger within you.”

Obi-wan Kenobi pulls up short, blinking rapidly as they stare at the absolute goliath of a man that looks over them. There’s something about the guy’s presence that almost feels threatening, in a way. The emotions that emanate from him, what little can be sensed past the impressively fortified shields that befit any master, are tinged with something that tastes like judgement and final resolution.

As if this man had taken one look at Obi-wan before they had even stepped out into the tournament ring and had already decided his opinion of them.

Which is exactly what Quigon Jinn had done. In fact, even before setting eyes on Obi-wan, they know that Jinn had already made up his mind. Coming to the tournament to watch them fight had the sole motivation of finding some excuse to reject them as quickly as possible.

Which is fine. Jinn doesn’t want a padawan and Obi-wan knew that from the beginning. In fact, they find the meddling of the council — or perhaps one person on the council — quite insane and manipulative. They had no right to force Jinn to basically adopt another child when he didn’t want one.

And trying to force a child upon someone who doesn’t want one never ends well, so isn’t that sort of like putting Obi-wan themself in danger?

So, in this one thing, Obi-wan is on Jinn’s side.

But nowhere else.

Obi-Wan wants to scowl. They already have the answer to this. They have their entire life here. Quigon Jinn is a nonentity.

Except, here he is. Here to bring the mood of the room plummeting down.

Instead of scowling, though, they keep their face passive. There’s little need to give Jinn even more ammunition. Even if the fact that this grown ass adult man has decided to scorn a child for something out of either of their control absolutely burns.

“Everyone holds anger within them, Master Jinn.” They reply politely, sketching a bow that they already know doesn’t have a single fault. The very perfection of it makes Jinn’s frown even more severe. “It’s the consequence of sentience, to have emotions about the universe around you.”

It makes Obi-wan want to needle the man even more.

“Allowing those emotions to control you is a very different matter than simply having them, Initiate Kenobi.”

Wow, the emphasis on that word, as if this grown ass man is trying to make a clear point. Well, point very much made!

The gall.

Obi-wan takes a slow, steadying breath, passive mask barely flinching. Inside, though —

Maybe Jinn is right. They are filled with rage. Curious, however, that the only time they’ve ever felt like this is when confronted with Jinn himself.

Really makes one think.

Theyre lost in thought, they realize, and flit their eyes upward again just in time to catch Jinn shaking his head firmly.

“I will not take you as my padawan.”

Obi-wan simply blinks.

Feeling uncharitable, they reply, “Master Jinn? Were you looking for one? It’s only; last that I heard, you were against the notion.”

That gets him. The man straightens up, blinking in a somewhat startled fashion before his expression goes purposefully blank.

Obi-wan does not allow any victory to show on their face.

“I’m sorry if you were disappointed in my tournament exhibition. Now that the topic is brought up, though, I must say that I have to agree with you. As a practitioner of the Living Force, you’re absolutely correct to pass over me as a student. Our paths in the Force are far too different to work well together.” Obi-wan shrugs lightly, glancing across the room to watch impassive masters and knights pass by on the catwalk below the viewing room that they’re in.

He turns back to find Jinn staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“It’s unwise to claim that you have little to learn from me. Arrogant, even.”

It’s not like he even wants to be their teacher anyway! Why is he so offended at the hint that Obi-wan might reject him?

Fucking adults and their superiority complexes. Fucking men and their egos.

Also! Putting words into their mouth! That’s one of their fucking pet peeves.

Obi-wan smiles politely, as serene as can be.

Maybe going Sith isn’t such a bad idea…

No. If they did that then maybe the council would send Jinn after them. The consequences were not worth the freedom of being able to do whatever the hell they wanted (and look hot while doing it. Fuck you Palpatine, you did it all wrong).

They let their smile drop. Jinn is a grown man, and he’s right here purposefully antagonizing a child.

They are a child. Just a little twelve year old.

Obi-wan blinks rapidly and breathes in through their nose a little too sharply. They turn slightly to look away, but watch from the corner of their eye as a grimace takes over Jinn’s face.

Eat the consequences of your actions, you sorry excuse of an adult.

“Now, I know that you are close to aging out…” the man begins, likely about to say something along the lines of ‘maybe another master will chose you in the next few weeks’ in an attempt to placate them and stop the floodgates, but Obi-Wan interrupts before he can.

“It’s okay, Master Jinn.” They say, gently. They give the pathetic man standing before them a small, somewhat watery smile. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better. I have to experience feelings for myself or I’ll never be able to understand them and let them go properly. I…”

They swallow, blinking a lot — maybe more than they really need to, their eyes are feeling quite dry despite the tearful quality they’ve achieved — and take a small step back.

“My crechemate, Bruck — my opponent for the exhibition, in fact — taught me that. I’m grateful that he did, because it ensured I knew not to hope for the impossible.”

There’s an uncomfortable expression on Jinn’s face. Obi-wan’s smile widens just barely, and they hope the sharpness of it is still on the inside.

They sketch a light bow, one much stiffer than the one they’d given in greeting initially. Show discomfort, hesitance.

“I have some bags to pack, so I’m afraid I’ll be leaving you first, Master Jinn.” They say. “Please do have a wonderful evening.”

They turn on their heel and book it out of there. Ideally, it looks like they’re barely holding back tears and don’t want the esteemed master to see them vulnerable, but mostly they just need to get out of that goddamn room.

Here’s to hoping that they never have to be in the same space as Jinn ever again.

Unfortunately for them, nothing is ever that fucking easy.

[frozenkirby93]

A new update! Finishing up Sun-Speckled Terrace 🌼

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[nenoname]

the duality between six shooter and lil stanley still makes me lose it

even stan's drawings of himself being badass are adorable which contrasts with ford's dramatic as hell ones

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep��smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.

That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.

As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.

Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.

It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.

It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.

You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…

Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.

The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.

“H-hello?”

The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.

You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.

Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?

Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.

Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.

“Are you hungry?”

You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.

“Hello? Are you-“

He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.

“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.

He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.

“My love…”

From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.

You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.

Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.

“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”

And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.

It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.

The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.

After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.

You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?

He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.

Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?

[rxmye]

" 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊 — a confident athlete who turns into pathetic putty at the thought of you . . .

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / masturbation / pervert yandere (he literally breaks into the locker room for your shit) / olfactophilia/osmolagnia (scent/smell kink) / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / breath play / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: haven't wrote smut in awhile, so im a bit rusty . . .

Lucas dangled the keys in his hands, a grin playing on his face as he walked towards the locker room—using the key to unlock the door—it was pretty easy grabbing the keys from the janitor's room, not that this school was particularly secure with their locks. It would be pretty easy breaking in, if he tried hard enough . . 

Lucas scanned the area, looking through each locker trying to find which one was yours . . he had your lock combination memorized, though he did get a little help from a friend in order to figure it out.

His hands reached for the clothes that you had left in your locker, lifting it up to his face, eyes going half lidded as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, he felt his face growing warm and his body growing weak. Lucas leaned down onto the lockers for support, almost losing balance as he slid down onto the floor.

Lucas pressed the flimsy piece of clothing further onto his face, engulfing himself in your smell—so much so that he could almost taste you—all the while his other hand travelled downwards, clumsily unbuckling his pants in a hurry . . hasty movements contradicted his rational mind, not bothering to care if he'd get caught.

He slid his pants down, just enough to reveal his semi-hard cock—a soft whine escaped him at the feeling of the cold air—his free hand now teasing his tip, as he relaxed his body, closing his eyes shut . .—imagining how disgusted you'd be seeing him in this pitiful state— . . that really turned him on, he cussed under his breath at how pitiful and pathetic his thoughts were . .

Lucas wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down—his vision growing hazy—as he let out breathy sighs of pleasure—whines growing louder when he moved his hand faster.

Lucas stuffed the clothing he took, and pushed it into his mouth—drool escaped the corners of his mouth—blocking his ability make a sound, as he moved his hand faster around his cock—little tear droplets stinging his eyes, as he felt his legs shake slightly at the sheer pleasure—he used his now free hand to pinch his nose, closing his only source of air . . .

All he could taste was you, the clothing taking away all the moisture in his mouth, as tears begin to escape his eyes, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his clothing—his legs began to convulse—his back arching slightly, as he finally came, all over the floor . . .

Lucas spat out the fabric, "fuck", the bell rang . . How is he gonna clean up this mess fast enough? . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[mggslover]

Angel

In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer Word count: 3,8k A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...

The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.

What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.

You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.

He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.

The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.

As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.

Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.

—

Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.

You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”

He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”

“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”

“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.

“I’ll put them in water, come in.”

You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.

He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.

Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.

He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.

“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.

“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”

Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.

“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Only if you’d come with me.”

His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.

“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.

You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.

You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.

"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.

Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.

“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.

“No,” you lied.

“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.

You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Slowly, with a tenderness that sent a shiver through your body, he placed several more kisses to your skin. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.

“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.

You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.

“Beautiful,” he stated.

The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh, his warm hands slipping beneath your shirt as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said, his gaze lingering on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”

His expression softened, “Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.

A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.

You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.

“Can you handle more?” His voice was laced with desire. Without hesitation, you nodded, your body already screaming for more. His long fingers traced your inner thighs, goosebumps forming on your skin, his touch light but electrifying. When his thumb pressed against your covered clit, a jolt of heat shot through you, making you squirm helplessly. You moaned, your body arching toward him.

“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.

He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.

“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.

“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.

“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.

Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.

His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.

Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.

The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.

You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

Your breathing quickened, sharp and shallow, as the pressure built within you, pooling low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared the brink of your climax.

“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate whisper, barely more than a plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours, feel the frantic urgency building inside you.

And then, with a nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.

A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit, sending shockwaves of heat through every inch of you. You cried out, unable to hold back the sounds of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you to the world as it spun in a blur.

He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.

He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.

He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.

“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.

You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.

He gripped himself firmly, pumping his length a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth, teasing you for the briefest moment before you sank down on him.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.

Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.

“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.

The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.

Pulling you against him, Spencer adjusted your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.

As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.

“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”

“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”

Your breath hitched. “Will you cum inside of me?”

For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” His gaze flickered with hesitation, cheeks flushed. “I want to cum on your face.”

Your pupils blew wide, desire sparking anew at his confession. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.

Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.

It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger almost unraveled him all over again.

Unable to bring himself to leave your side, he grabbed his sleeve, using it to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh, basking in the comfortable silence that followed.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.

You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”

Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”