#read syllable by syllable ( as in make it more clear )

[mariasont]

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear. 

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen. 

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly. 

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest. 

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped. 

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily. 

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand. 

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip. 

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down. 

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all. 

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny. 

You went back to your phone.

Hi

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud. 

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter.  It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip. 

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood. 

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side. 

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or seeing him with someone else.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i might be posting another chapter in a few days hehe,,, i've been thinking about making a post about the kind of outfits this reader wears, lmk if you'd be interested!!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

you looked down at the conversation you'd had with MalachiConstant last night, a small smile on your face as you read the messages between the two of you.

MalachiConstant: that was such a long drive MalachiConstant: i'm ready to crash

YOU: whaaat? no late night conversation with your favorite internet grandma?

MalachiConstant: as if. i'd stay up for a week for you, grandma.

YOU: now now. you're making my cheeks all warm.

MalachiConstant: i wish i could see that.

your feet dangled in the water and music played in your earphones, the sky still grey, shades of orange slowly starting to paint it. you hummed softly, kicking your feet in the water and making it splash, the diary you'd just finished writing an entry into in your lap.

"takes to the sky like a bird in flight..." you sung softly along to the song, swaying your head back and forth, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of the early morning breeze on your face.

only your reverie was cut short by someone grabbing you by the shoulders, making you jump and yelp out as you scrambled to take your earphones off. you looked to the side, seeing the boy you'd talked to at the party you'd attended, his eyes wide with panic, making you furrow your brows in confusion, not noticing your diary was starting to slide down your bare legs and into the water.

"shit!" you heard him exclaim, the boy diving forward, holding his arm out at your knees, which finally got you to notice that your diary was nearly in the water, making you scramble to try and grab it.

a loud splash! echoed around you.

your sudden movements had caused the boy to lose his balance, your eyes widening in shock when you noticed the boy had fallen into the water.

he emerged from under the water, the boy joining his cap and your diary amongst the things now floating on the surface. he looked to you, the two of you bursting into laughter at the exact same time.

after he'd clambered out of the water, the two of you made your way towards the main cabin, the boy having to remind you that his name was 'rafe' and not 'random frat boy'. but when you'd tried to remind him of your name, he'd stopped you before you could get the first syllable out, with a cocky 'i remember.'

the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, a towel wrapped around rafe who now resembled a wet rat, and you pushed a cup of tea towards him, "i don't drink tea, so." he said, feigning arrogance, making you roll your eyes, "you might get sick." "i never get sick. i'm the god of health." "hmm. and let me guess, you're also the god of... humility?" "absolutely right i am." the boy gave you an exaggerated wink, making you chuckle under your breath.

you watched as he wrapped his red hands around the mug, "you're hands... you've gotta be freezing." you mumbled, and without even thinking, you brought your hands to cover his. but when you looked up at him and noticed that his eyes had widened from the sudden contact, you quickly withdrew them, clearing your throat, "sorry."

"no, uh, it's cool." rafe cleared his throat in the same way you had, as if trying to get rid of the remnants of the awkward moment, "can i, uh, ask you something?"

"sure." you said more eagerly than you should've, hoping that the change of topic would take the tension you felt rising, and the boy cleared his throat once again. "can you tell me about your friend?" he started snapping his fingers, "the, uh, the one..." "viv?" "no, no, the other one who drove with-" "oh, emilia!" you interrupted him, and he nodded, rafe's cheeks slightly red as he scratched the back of his neck. "yeah, her..."

"she's amazing. like, one of the most talented people i know. i swear, she's gonna be, like, an olympic gymnast one day. or a professional bassist. she's funny, but she's not hugely social. she prefers when it's just the four of us." you smiled softly, rafe's lips pursing in thought, "does she, uh, have any pets?" he asked hesitantly, "oh, yeah!" you smiled, "she has a cat. i'm not sure what her cat's name is, but he's adorable."

when rafe answered with nothing but a simple hum, you narrowed your eyes and smiled at him teasingly, "do you think she's cute?"

"do i think she's cute?" rafe snorted, "what is this, middle school?"

"hey!"

"and to answer your question... she feels familiar. but at the same time not." "rafe, you might be the weirdest guy i've met." the boy snorted, "right back atcha."

"well, i should get going. i don't wanna be here when normal people wake up. i'm not a people person." you stood up, the boy letting out a hum "what makes me not normal?" rafe asked.

"i dunno. guess it's that i don't mind your company." you smiled softly, "see you, rafe."

that evening, you, vivian and emilia were in the cottage you three were sharing for your stay, vivian and emilia both getting ready while you were on your phone, vivian still working on her makeup while emilia was trying on clothes, the girl only having a pair of fishnets and a leather skirt on as she looked through her bag as you stared at the private messages between you and MalachiConstant.

YOU: you there? sent at 10am YOU: i miss talking to you. sent at 1pm YOU: i'm booooreeeed :( sent at 4pm YOU: sorry if i'm bothering you :) sent at 6pm YOU: sry i'll stop now!!! sent now

you couldn't help the small frown that made your lips twitch down. you didn't know why you felt this way. you knew he had a life and you knew he'd be busy. he didn't owe you anything. he wasn't your boyfriend, or anything.

but for some reason, it felt like someone had plunged a knife into your chest.

your attention was pulled by emilia's question, "viv, do you have anything that goes with this skirt? i got cranberry juice on the shirt i was gonna wear." the girl asked, making vivian shake her head, "not unless you're going for the whole pastel goth vibe. i didn't bring anything black." "fuck..." emilia mumbled.

"why are you so fussy?" you asked with furrowed brows, making emilia groan, throwing her head back, "this one guy told me that he wants to get to know me. and if i wanna get over you-know-who, i should... try." emilia's admission made vivian squeal, "what guy?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement, "the guy who drove with us." "rafe?" you questioned, "yeah, him."

"hm." you chuckled softly, "i might actually have something that goes with that. if you're not terribly against band t-shirts." "at this point, i'll take anything that doesn't look like it was puked on by an unicorn. no offense viv." emilia said, the pink-haired girl sticking her tongue out in response. you dug through your own bag, throwing her one of your fleetwood mac shirts. emilia took a look at the shirt, cocking her head to the side, "i'm more of a hole girl..." she mumbled, before turning to you, "you mind if i DIY it a bit?"

"knock yourself out. but you pay for it." "you know i'm good for it." she winked back at you, and what used to be your band t-shirt ended up becoming a tank-top, the sleeves showing most of her bra.

when you went outside to join everyone else, the three of you stuck together for the first few hours, but as the hours went by... first vivian was gone, going off to spend time with topper. and although emilia stayed for another thirty minutes, eventually, he went off to find rafe. and you were left alone.

tipsy, and so unaware of your surroundings that someone could've snuck up to you that you'd react to it after five seconds, you looked for your friends. you knew they were busy, but a part of you also hoped that they'd somehow telepathically know how much you wanted to be there for them.

but vivian was still making out with topper, his hand slowly going up her sk— ew. then when you looked for emilia, you saw her where you'd expected to see her. talking to rafe. and although you didn't want to admit it… a part of you wished that for once someone would've wanted you. you didn't even know what caused it. maybe the fact that he didn't feel like a stranger, that you didn't nearly faint from anxiety when you talked to rafe. but of course he'd choose her. of course he'd choose anyone but you.

why didn't anyone choose you?

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[ba9go]

(nsfw) bakugou katsuki finds you annoying (you drive him crazy)

mdni 🔞 katsuki being down bad for reader. heavy petting with a lot of sexual tension! 🫢

can be read with part 1 and part 2, or as a standalone too

after coming to terms with his feelings for you, bakugou thought that things would get simpler for him.

he was wrong. very wrong.

the two of you started spending more and more time together. eating lunch together, visiting each other's room after school, going to the gym together.

at some point, bakugou became "katsuki" to you.

"kat-su-ki," you said slowly, dragging his name out as if every syllable was meant to irk him. bakugou freezes, sitting cross-legged in front of you on your bed.

"katsuki." you repeat, watching him carefully with a small, tentative smile that makes his palms annoyingly sweaty. "is that okay?"

"yeah." bakugou, no, katsuki, clears his throat, and runs a hand through his hair. "katsuki's fine."

you ask katsuki to spend the night in your dorm room, and though katsuki disagrees with you calling it a sleepover (to him, it's not a sleepover unless there are face masks and pillow fights involved, but he's not telling you that) katsuki finds it hard to say no to you.

later, you fall asleep in his arms, breathing softly against his chest, and katsuki thinks he's going to die from how hard his heart is beating against his ribcage.

he stares into the darkness and tries to fall asleep, but all he can think about is how soft you feel against his body and the way your warm breath gave him goosebumps when you whispered "goodnight, katsuki" into his neck.

katsuki thinks you’ve ruined his own name for him, because now he doesn’t want to hear it unless it’s coming from you. and god, the things he would do to hear you say his name, over and over and over again.

katsuki wants to. he wants so badly, to make you say his name over and over again, and he thinks it would be so easy to do too. you’re easy to fluster, easy to tease. katsuki wants to make you come apart at his touch, under him. katsuki wants to take you, piece by piece, wants to watch the way you unravel before him.

it gets worse when you started stealing katsuki’s shirts.

katsuki’s heart damn near burst when he came back to his room after the gym to see you cuddled up in his bed, completely engulfed in one of his shirts. he closed the door behind him quietly and stared at your peaceful sleeping face. ‘this must be what cuteness aggression feels like’, katsuki thinks, as he’s hit with the sudden urge to reach over and bite your face off.

he feels stupid, sneaking around in his own room as he tries his best not to wake you and fails miserably. he freezes as you stir awake, sitting up in his bed. your hair is sticking out in ways that katsuki wants to make fun of you for, but he’s too transfixed on the little yawn you let out as you stretch like a content house cat on his bed.

“katsuki,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes groggily. you smile at katsuki and it’s so sleepy and a little droopy and it drives katsuki fucking crazy, and you don’t even know it. god, you piss him off.

“you’re back,” you say sweetly. “you gonna shower?”

“i should shower,” katsuki responds, but makes no move to prepare for said shower. instead, he walks over to his bed, to you, and you open your arms invitingly and how could katsuki ever deny you?

he lets you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face into his chest. he’s still sweaty from working out, but here you are, nuzzling into his shirt, again like a damn cat that’s all too affectionate. you hum happily when katsuki pats your head.

“you smell so good,” you moan the words into his shirt. it’s innocent, but it drives katsuki insane all the same. he can never think straight when it comes to you, not when you’re all he can think about. his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and he never knows what to do with himself.

“i’m dirty,” katsuki’s throat is so dry when he chokes out the words.

“so?” you giggle as you look up at him with big, happy eyes, and katsuki is fully reduced to putty in your hands. he’s wrapped around your pretty little finger. “i like it when you’re dirty.”

“yeah?” katsuki lets his hand fall to your neck. he holds your neck gently, barely even squeezing, but the effect it has on you is instantaneous. you become almost limp in his hold, eyes half-lidded as you let out a shaky sigh from your parted lips.

“‘suki,” you whisper. “come here,” you say, but you already have him in your arms, so katsuki presses his lips against yours instead.

katsuki never really knows what to do when it comes to you; he just knows how much he wants you, how you drive him crazy with want, so he listens to those desires until he has you moaning into his mouth when he sucks on your tongue, until he has you rutting your hips back and forth when he slips a leg between your thighs, until he has you coming apart the way he’s always fantasised.

“thank you, ‘suki,” you sound so pretty breathless and it makes katsuki want to steal your breath away even more. “feels so good.” katsuki realises that you’re still grinding against him and it’s so, so adorable.

“yer so annoyin’,” katsuki scolds you lightly, but the smirk on his face is anything but annoyed as he slips a hand between your legs and touches you properly, right where you need it most.

it’s so fucking annoying, the way you drive him insane, but watching you twitch and writhe under him, listening to you beg and moan, so pretty and needy for him, katsuki thinks it’s not so bad, being batshit crazy for you.

maybe part 4. i need to write a bratty yn who loves talking smack just to piss kats off so he’ll fuck em harder 🤪🤪

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[mullermilkshake]

Praise the hard work

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

When there's aid to help the country after the loss on Jeju Island, Jinwoo takes things up a notch.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader

I just finished S2 and I had to write something dark for Jinwoo, I am so in love with this man it hurts. I have only seen up to the anime and haven't read anything further from the manhwa so please no spoilers thank you! <3 MILD SPOLERS? I don't know. If you haven't watched the anime, you might wanna go watch it if you want nothing spoiled from the last arc.

Tags- Yandere!,Solo levelling AU,Mentions of Breeding,Snatching kids away,Jinwoo's villan arc,Killing,Murder,Blood and violence

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

“Ah, Hunter Sung, glad you could finally make it.”

Jinwoo could have made it in time, but he preferred to level up one more time. The S-Rank gate turned red, his time was stretched as thin as he made it in truth. 

Realistically, he wanted some peace and quiet for an hour before the dungeon boss. Meetings like this were rarely interesting or exciting enough to keep his attention.

Though what made him attend altogether was you. A recently awakened Mage type S-Rank hunter, gentle in temperament most of the time with an ability that was truly remarkable. It even put Jinwoo’s shadow exchange to shame without a cooldown.

You had so much potential that Jinwoo wanted to explore. 

He stepped inside the meeting room and took up a seat opposite from you, your expression flustered and exasperated. A beautiful display of the rosiness of your cheeks and agitated biting of your bottom lip to set the tone. Next to you was Hunter Choi, a man who everyone knew was entirely devoted to you and totally besotted with you in the little time since you had awakened. Everyone but you seemed to notice.

Jinwoo noticed immediately before anyone else. Hunter Choi seemed to take notice of Jinwoo’s judgement as well. An unspoken rule between the two and no one ever mentioned it, because speaking out about it made it real, and Jinwoo kept his disinterest verbal to the good of the association and respective guilds.

The chairman cleared his throat and perched himself back down into his seat, lacing his fingers together as though in prayer whilst he hid behind his softened smile. “I’ll give Hunter Sung a brief run down and we’ll continue our discussion.” He raised his hand up to dismiss you before you could utter a syllable. “Please. After I have briefed him. I’d like to hear all of your thoughts afterwards.”

“Hunter Sung.”

“Yes, Chairman?” 

Jinwoo was curious now, what could make you want to interrupt and sweat bullets? You ignored Choi’s not-so-subtle exchanges to gain your attention and rather looked to Jinwoo instead. Was that for comfort? Or a glare to get him on side to understand the absurdity about to inevitably leave Chairman Go’s lips? Either way, Jinwoo welcomed the glassiness from your eyes and helpless look across your face.

“Since Jeju Island, Korea has only welcomed one new S-Rank hunter awakening in the last year. And with no A or B-ranks awakening, it is up to the hunters association to put counter measures in place to secure the safety and protection of this country.”

So far he was making sense, yet why was there a ‘but’ coming with it? “Yes, it is, sir.”

“We must take every conceivable option to prevent dungeon breaks and secure the safety of the people… So we are putting forward a programme, a fall back plan if you will to try and awaken more hunters in the coming years.”

“Okay…” Where is he going with this? Nothing's been reported on forced awakenings, and when people do awaken, it's rare enough as it is. 

He shot you a glance and saw that your expression was unchanged, hardened, desperate. Just what was going through your mind right now?

“We would like to get as many hunters who are of age to participate in a programme for pairings to procreate in order to give this country the highest chance for more higher rank hunters awakening.”

The room’s silence weighed on each hunter's head, they all lowered, some more than others. Hunter Cha’s head mimicked your own, though Hunter’s Choi and Baek seemed only to bow their own in respect to you and Cha.

“So…” Jinwoo adjusted his position and tapped his fingertips on the table to break the long pause. “You want hunters to have children in the hope they awaken as hunters themselves?”

“Yes.”

Okay, well this meeting just got way more interesting. 

“But, how will you pair them, is it-”

“It’s randomized via a written code we’re developing for the best chances. This won't just be S and A-Rank hunters, we hope that lower rank hunters will participate too, if we get lucky their children may awaken with higher ranks than their parents. Though that being said, this will be an international effort.”

Jinwoo held his breath, it wasn’t just Korea doing this. “Japan is participating too?”

The chairman nodded with his usual air that humbled those in front of him. “They lost many S-Rank hunters too, we must all work together to bring our dwindling numbers up.”

So, if Jinwoo agreed and this went ahead, there was a chance he could be paired with you? He’d agree immediately, but would allow you to speak so that you felt heard. Jinwoo would give a little pushback to appear part of the resistance, but the thought of potentially getting to sleep with you in the name of ‘protecting the country’ he’d do that in a heartbeat.

Something he'd been fantasising about for a while.

You happened to intrigue Jinwoo more so than he originally first thought and being able to rub the fact in Hunter Choi’s face that he’d seen you naked and touched your body in ways that man had only dreamed of, well, how could he say no? Just the thought of your body under his in the name of science when it was bliss for him drove him crazy enough to keep it hidden. 

The pregnant pause was enough to set you off, you stood up to get your point across. “Chairman Go, please reconsider this- there’s barely any research to ever suggest that this will even work, it’ll put us out of commission for years, at least until those children come of age. That's if they even inherit anything from us- you won’t see any results at least for two decades and that’s even if any of them awaken. We need a plan for right now. Our country has already lost four S-Rank hunters to Jeju island last year and we’ve never recovered.”

You would have been the eleventh S-Rank hunter to awaken after Jinwoo had the others not perished.

“No, just nine months. After birth, we’ll take the children to a facility where they’ll receive care expected from children of ranked hunters to allow you to resume your duties in your guilds-”

“So ripping children from their mother’s arms is the right solution? I’m not about to be some broodmare, I refuse to participate.”

Hunter Choi adjusted his glasses and touched your arm as though he wanted to soothe you, but it was just a lame attempt to show his bullshit side to pander to you. Like that would get you interested in him. All it did was was make Jinwoo's eye twitch.

“I think we should maybe take the voluntary approach, Chairman Go. While I understand the importance of this initiative, it’ll take numerous hunters who would normally make their living during the raids unable to participate in them.” He spoke your name with a fondness. “I understand where she’s coming from, there’s nothing to suggest that two S-Rank hunters could reproduce and gain another S-Rank hunter in the process and in numerous cases, I don't think there's enough evidence in the last ten years to go on with certainty. And how will those who participate be compensated? Especially if the baby doesn’t awaken?”

Chairman Go nodded along to the concerns, “I understand those concerns, that’s why we’re going to provide living quarters and cover costs the entire time from conception to birth, if hunters want to keep and raise their own children, they can, but if taken to the facility, the children will be cared for whether they awaken or not. They will become wards of the state and given considerable opportunities for their service, the hunter parents can try again or be compensated for their efforts too.”

Fucking most days, impregnating and then trying again whilst also being able to still resume his duties as a hunter? Jinwoo was tempted. For the country of course.

“Well, I’m not doing it.” You said, sitting down in a slump, looking at your shoes away form the audience.

Hunter Baek rubbed his chin and huffed with a gruff exhale. “I… I’m not sure how I feel about this. It will be voluntary, right?”

Chairman Go nodded, “It is, for now, but if all of the countries listed to trial this agree, then we’ll have no choice but to participate.”

You gasped, it caught Jinwoo’s attention. Hunter Cha said nothing, holding her handkerchief to her nose and avoiding gazes from everyone in the room.

Jinwoo requested more security before he agreed, hoping it would serve your nerves before the inevitable. “Chairman Go, please make me understand. Will this really help us?"

“We strongly believe so.”

He feigned conflict, agitation to his words. Yet inside, he was excited to begin. “I’m not sure either, but if it’s compulsory, we should at least get to choose who we’re with, right?”

“Jinwoo.. Please don’t tell me you’re okay with this?” Were you about to cry? Your eyes were glassy enough.

“I’m not saying I am, but if the government makes it law, we’ll have no choice. But we can make it as painless as possible with our own demands, isn’t that right, Chairman?”

The Chairman shuffled though kept his solid gaze to hide his uncomfortable position. “Well… unfortunately, that’s why we have agreed to use a code to define suitability based on abilities and temperament. I cannot allow pairings by choice, I trust you understand?”

“This is ridiculous… Jong-In, Yoonho…” Your eyes begged Cha to say something. “Hae-In… Please say something- someone say something.”

Nothing.

“I assume we’re in a majority rule then?” The Chairman stood and his smile returned. “I appreciate the valiant, hard work you will do for our country. We’ll return here in a week once we have more information and will determine the lottery of who is paired with who. We’ll trial run S and B-Ranks first whilst A-Ranks take on the majority of the gates, and then we’ll take on A and lower rank hunters and all who want to participate.”

After the Chairman left, you shot out of your seat to leave, Choi took your wrist to hold your exit. “Wait a second, we should talk about this together-”

“We had the opportunity to talk about it thirty seconds ago, Jong-In, and you said nothing. None of you said anything. We’re putting the country at risk and we have little protection as it is and now me and Cha and every other person who can carry a child are being used as cattle while you three just sit there with no changes to your lives. Some hunters you are.”

Jinwoo watched you leave with magnetism. You fought for what you deemed was right, but that assertiveness- no, that helplessness. You hid it as trying to be assertive, but Jinwoo saw right through it. He wanted to see more of those raw emotions, preferably in a bedroom, with your clothes off.

Baek called after you when you left and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit. Stay here, I’ll go after her-”

“No.” Hunter Choi held out his hand. “Let her go, she’ll need time to cool off. I’ll go and see her later, maybe we can come up with a plan in the meantime.”

Jinwoo got up from his seat and decided to call it a day, despite Choi being clingy and trying to get back into your good graces, he had a point. He’d let him have that for now.

“Hunter Sung, you’re leaving?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s not much else I need to discuss. But I do have another gate to get through today, I was just stopping by in between raids.” Jinwoo left without another word, taking in the information and your reaction proved more than just a light conversation.

Chairman Go had a point, who was Jinwoo to defy it? If he could still level up and attend S-Rank gates, what more could change? You were right, nothing much would change, only that someone would be sleeping with you now until you got pregnant.

That’s what would change. Jinwoo wanted to be the one to do it.

Six days later, it was all Jinwoo could think about, the changes, the expectations and the possibility that Jinwoo could be paired with someone other than you.

There’s an odd number of S-Ranks so someone will be left out. Their workload will be doubled, but with there only being two women, two pairs will be decided tomorrow. 

Jinwoo had to be one of them. So in order to make that happen, Jinwoo attended headquarters to ask some questions.

“I’m sorry Hunter Sung, but I can’t divulge who is being paired with who, it’s confidential until we make the announcement later today.”

Well that wasn’t convenient. “Listen, I don’t think it’s that hard to get the answers up, do you? It’s not a test to pass, so just tell me and I can be on my way.”

The man by the computer in the little cramped room he hid in, trembled under Jinwoo’s aura, eyes wide at Igris stepping into reality. Jinwoo didn’t need him to threaten the man, but it sped the process up without killing him. He didn't really want to do that if he could help it.

Jinwoo bent down to him in his chair, his aura flowing more violently like a flickering flame in his eyes. “And I’d hurry up if I were you… I’m growing impatient.”

“I- I can’t, I’m sorry! I’m under strict instructions from Chairman Go, I just know that you've been added with the pairings, but I can’t tell you who because it’s computer generated, they’ll know if I look before it’s time, I have to use my fingerprint to even access it!”

Jinwoo wouldn’t give him a second chance if he kept the whiny baby act up, it was crucial to know. “Open it, now.”

“N-no…” Before he could blink, Jinwoo stabbed his dagger through his chest to avoid exaggerated blood splatter.

“Arise.” Before his body even hit the ground, the man’s shadow split away and stood there, billowing by the computer and ready to do as he was told. 

“Now… Do I have to ask you again?”

The shadow shook its head and turned to the computer, running it’s fingertips over the little scanner tucked away to pull up the file. Nifty. And just as expected, Jinwoo had been partnered with Cha, and-

“Not cool, man.”��Hunter Choi’s name sat right under yours. “Change it. Swap them around so Cha is with Choi. They’ll be happy with each other.” 

Igris shot Jinwoo a look, he knew what that look meant, a ‘you can’t be serious’ type stare. 

“What? It’s the only way to keep her close to me. I can’t miss this opportunity-” A notification popped up in Jinowoo’s view. “Well, look at that.”

Your one year side quest has arrived. ??? Failure to complete the quest will result in and appropriate penalty. 

“I better get on with this then, Who knows what the penalty will be…” So, Jinwoo had a year to get you pregnant and have a child to show for it. Seemed simple enough.

The only thing delaying the inevitable was you.

But Jinwoo would change your mind easily, you only had to let him into your life properly.

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[scirelistener]

FAIR TREATMENT

sanji x gn! reader

synopsis : you firmly believe sanji’s charms were so threatening that he should be locked up. unexpectedly, sanji also had the same belief concerning you.

things to note! : not beta read! honestly this shit is kinda cringe 😔 i wrote this with zero hours of sleep and the dialogues are very fucked up. sanji is also very cringe, trying to be the next shakespeare and failing greatly

The cook was undeniably handsome. Charming like he always prided himself to be.

You further leaned your face against the palm of your hand, eyeing the way Sanji danced around the galley like a routine. His hands expertly handling the pan, the flick of his wrist controlling the movement of the pan with an ease only a chef like Sanji exuded.

Strands of his golden locks flowed down from its usual position, threatening to cover the eyes that shined with a blue that the ocean couldn’t even rival. His eyes, even when he was busy swooning over women to the point where the shape of his eyes changed, held an endless depth of emotion. Sometimes the blue became a melancholic color that offered sympathy to others, other times the blue rivaled the color of the sky on a bright sunny day that lightened up the environment.

You sighed dreamily, head already several feet deep into your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized the cook had halted his cooking and had walked over to where you were sitting.

“A berry for your thought?”

You flinched out of the daze and came face to face with the cook who had taken the seat besides you. The expression Sanji had on looked painfully fond; his lips curled into a smile that made your heart want to pound out of your chest, his eyes softening with a particular glisten to the blue orb.

“Sanji. You should be jailed.”

The cook blinked, his eyes no longer half-lidded with fondness. His eyes widened, lips parted yet no words were spoken.

He looked good in any expression, you thought and felt a frown form. It wasn’t fair. It was enough that he looked handsome while doing nothing at all, but Sanji also had to look dangerously cute when he looked surprised.

Your lips pursed to an unbidden pout. “You’re too handsome. You’re also too cute, do you know that?”

“… P-Pardon me, dear?”

You let out a huff of bemusement, feeling a wave of frustration wash over. “It’s a little annoying at this point. You already look illegally charming when you’re cooking, especially when you wear that god forbidden pink apron. When you fight? Oh god, I think my heart skipped a beat at some point. You look so hot whenever you kick ass. But then when you’re acting all stupid over women, you look weirdly cute as well? Actually, no. It’s not weird at all. You’re cute, but you’re charming, but you’re also just really-” You flailed around your hands, the frustration restraining your usual vernacular. “You should be locked up. That’s it. It’s the only way I can get inner peace.”

The galley became dead quiet, the only audible sound was you two breathing except Sanji’s breathes started to sound a lot more.. frantic?

You looked over to the cook only to find him in a rather frazzled state.

If you squinted, you swore you could see steam emitting from the cook’s bright red cheeks. The redness was so visible despite the cook’s clumsy attempt at hiding his face by covering the lower half with his hand. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood, making you worry before realizing it was coming from his nostril. Both nostrils to be exact.

“… Sanji?”

“Don’t-” Sanji’s voice cracked, only further deepening the redness of his face. The cook cleared his throat and looked away, unintentionally allowing more view to the tip of his ears that burned in the same color as his cheeks. “Don’t look at me right now, please. I beg of you.”

It was a little concerning how shaky his voice was, each syllable wavering unlike the cook’s usual smooth flatteries. Perhaps you spoke a little too much, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck with a guilty wince.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Sanji. That’s wasn’t my intention at all. I could leave if you need some space-”

You hadn’t even left your seat yet, but Sanji quickly interjected by whipping his head back to you and wrapping his hand around your wrist as if to keep you from leaving.

“No!” The walls of the galley threw back the echoes of the cook’s booming exclamation.

You blinked, the warmth of his grip on your wrist surging throughout your body. His grip didn’t falter even a bit as Sanji burned in embarrassment once more, never leaving your wrist.

“I don’t- You don’t have to-” Sanji grumbled in frustration, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words. You waited patiently as the cook attempted to speak his mind all the while trying to not pay attention to how his hand never let go of your wrist.

With a sigh of exasperation, the cook stood up with a dramatic flair.

The blond kneeled in front of you like a prince, the way his hair fluttered behind him almost imitating a halo. (His nose was no longer bleeding, not a single trace of bleed left behind on his face. How and when he wiped it away was beyond your comprehension.) With a gentleness that tugged your heartstrings, the cook took your hand in his and bowed his head until his lips lightly grazed your knuckle.

Even without touching, you knew your cheeks were hot to the touch as all the blood rushed to your face.

A twinge of relief lessened your embarrassment when Sanji looked up with a persistent red hue across his face. At least you both were burning up like strawberries.

“If I should get jailed for my supposed charms, I must ask you to get the same treatment.”

“… Huh.”

The amused smile that borderline looked like a smirk should’ve been the warning sign.

“My dear, do you have any idea of your own appeals?” Sanji stood up once more, but never let go of your hand. Instead, he beckoned you to place your other hand in his and gently squeezed them both.

Then his mouth opened and words of flattery waxed out endlessly.

“Have you any idea of the jealousy that emanates from the sun when you’re happy? You shine so brightly that celestial bodies above can’t help but envy. Need I mention your smile?” The cook let go of your hand to do a very necessary twirl before grabbing your hands once more, eyes threatening to change into heart shapes. “I struggle to keep my composure when you smile, I hope you know. The way your eyes light up and the way your nose slightly crinkles.”

Was the room deprived of air all the sudden? You found it harder and harder to breathe as the cook went on and on, dealing an even bigger damage than what you did to him.

“When you so sweetly enjoy my food and compliment aspects of the dish, my heart sings! Oh and when you help Chopper treat us after a rough battle, I only pray that my heart does not melt from how hard I swoon! That damn mosshead does not deserve your gentle treatment at all, one should do nothing but cherish your kind actions! Not just huff and gruff, then walk away.”

Before Sanji could let out another syllable, you hurriedly clasped your hand around his mouth in an attempt to shut him up.

“Okay, okay! I get it! Holy shit, Sanji.” You suddenly understood why Sanji always got a nosebleed, suddenly feeling lightheaded all the sudden. You closed your eyes in hopes of you regaining your inner peace, letting out a shaky exhale.

You then opened your eyes to send a glare that had no actual effect on the cook who only saw it as another cute expression of yours, just on the verge of going into another swooning session. “This isn’t how I thought this would go.”

Sanji only replied with an amused chuckle before leaning down to gently but firmly place a kiss on your cheek. The contact was brief yet it lingered like the way cold breezes of wind left a numbing sensation to the touch.

The smile that Sanji had on when he leaned back was full of satisfaction. “I only speak the truth, dear.”

You huffed, suddenly not wanting to lose this weirdly one-sided battle.

Without a shred of hesitation, you tugged on the collar of Sanji’s (probably expensive) button-up shirt and pulled him in. Brushing away Sanji’s confused protests, you placed a hand against the back of his head before leaning in closer.

The moment your lips touched, a spark ignited in both of your hearts.

You leaned away just enough to be able to see his face and sure enough..

“SANJI!? HEY, SANJI!”

The man’s soul was threatening to escape from his agape mouth. His eyes looked dead yet tears streamed down his burning red cheeks. The nosebleeds that had finally halted re-emerged, trickling down his lips.

“I’ll die a happy man..” Sanji barely mumbled before his body fainted against yours, his full body weight falling over your struggling form.

“CHOPPER!!!”

While you desperately called for the doctor, Sanji slowly drifted away into unconsciousness with a lovesick smile plastered on his face.

a/n : i think i like sanji a normal amount. also i’m pretty sure, in all my years of writing my thoughts out, this is the first piece where i wrote an actual kiss scene 😔 listen i love me a good kissing montage but god i do not know how to write kisses. what i do know is yearning.

[olderwomenenthusiast]

southern accent (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: spencer is fascinated, maybe more than by your southern accent CAUTION: swearing, the usual smut, a flustered spencer WORD COUNT: 4.6k AUTHOR'S NOTE: proof read? obviously not x

You were frustrated. More than frustrated, actually. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk in the BAU bullpen, knuckles turning white as you glared at your computer screen. The case report you had painstakingly typed up had just disappeared into the void of your glitchy system. And then, to top it off, the printer jammed when you tried to get a hard copy of what little had been saved.

Spencer had been watching you for a while. He always did, though he’d never admit it. But this time, he noticed something different - something fascinating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, voice sharper than usual.

He tilted his head slightly. There was something about your voice… a shift he couldn’t quite place at first. Then you exhaled harshly and muttered again, this time with an unmistakable drawl, “Lord help me, I swear this stupid thing is ‘bout to get thrown across the room.”

Spencer’s breath hitched. That was not how you usually sounded.

He blinked, taken aback, his analytical mind scrambling for an explanation. He had known you for quite some time now, and while you had once casually mentioned growing up in the South, your accent had always been faint, almost nonexistent. But now? Now it dripped from your lips like honey, slow and warm, curling around your vowels and stretching them out in ways that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand and not the way his stomach suddenly felt like it was flipping over itself. He knew accents could resurface in moments of high emotion, but knowing that intellectually did nothing to prepare him for the way yours affected him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice slightly uneven, betraying his intrigue.

You groaned, pressing your hands to your temples. “No, Spencer, I ain’t okay. This dang system just ate my report, and now the printer’s actin’ like it was built in the Stone Age.”

There it was again. That thick, sweet twang wrapping around every syllable. Spencer felt his pulse quicken. He wasn’t sure why this was affecting him so much, but he couldn’t ignore it. He found himself leaning in slightly, completely absorbed.

“I—uh—I can help,” he offered quickly, clearing his throat. He hoped you didn’t notice the faint pink rising to his cheeks.

You sighed, frustration ebbing slightly as you finally turned to look at him. “You sure, sugar? ‘Cause at this point, I’m ‘bout ready to throw in the towel.”

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath. Sugar. You had never called him that before. He suddenly felt like his brain had short-circuited.

“I—uh—yeah. Yes. I’m sure,” he stammered, quickly reaching for the keyboard to avoid making eye contact.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, but Derek, who had been passing by, certainly did. Morgan shot Spencer a knowing smirk, arching a brow before strolling off without a word.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He was going to fix your computer. He was going to focus. He was definitely not going to think about how much he suddenly wanted to hear you frustrated more often.

Or worse, what else that accent would sound like in different circumstances.

Later, in the breakroom, Spencer found himself cornered by Morgan, who was leaning casually against the counter with an all-too-knowing grin.

"So, pretty boy," Morgan started, crossing his arms. "You got a thing for accents, or just hers?"

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee. "W-what? I don't..I mean, it's just. It's fascinating how regional dialects can resurface under stress. It's purely academic."

Morgan snorted. "Right. Purely academic. That's why you looked like you'd been hit with a freight train back there." He smirked, watching Spencer squirm. "Be honest, man. You like it when she gets all riled up, don't you?"

Spencer opened his mouth to protest but, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'd like to hear it in my bed."

The room went silent. Spencer’s eyes widened in horror as Morgan's grin stretched impossibly wider.

"Oh-ho, Reid," Morgan laughed, shaking his head. "Now that is something I did not expect."

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is going to haunt me forever, isn't it?"

Morgan laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, pretty boy, you have no idea. This one's getting filed under 'Reid's Greatest Hits' - right at the top."

Morgan, of course, didn’t keep it to himself. Over the next few hours, he made sure to drop little hints whenever you were around.

“You know, sweetheart,” he said casually when you grabbed a file from his desk, “it’s real funny how some people find accents so… intoxicating.”

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And what’s that got to do with me?”

Morgan smirked. “Oh, nothin’. Just an observation.”

Later, when you reached for your coffee, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “I bet that drawl sounds even better behind closed doors.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “What the hell, Morgan?”

He just laughed and walked off, leaving you thoroughly confused - and curious.

By the time you finally cornered Spencer, you had a strong suspicion that whatever Morgan had been hinting at involved the good doctor himself.

“Okay, what the hell is goin’ on with you?” you finally demanded, catching him in the hallway when he thought he was in the clear. Your accent was softer now, but still present, and Spencer cursed the way it made his stomach twist.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his satchel, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your gaze. “You’ve been actin’ weird all day. Avoidin’ me like I got the plague. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were runnin’ from me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, knowing he was caught. His brain was screaming at him to say something, anything that wasn’t the truth. But instead, his mouth betrayed him. Again.

“I, um… I just—I didn’t mean to say that earlier.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

Spencer turned red. “What I said to Morgan. About… your accent. And my—uh—bed.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Spencer wished the ground would swallow him whole. But then - then you smiled. It wasn’t mocking, nor cruel. No, it was slow and teasing, a wicked glint in your eye.

“Well now, Dr. Reid,” you drawled, voice dipping into that honeyed Southern lilt. “That’s quite the confession.”

Spencer’s brain short-circuited. Again. He opened and closed his mouth, his thoughts scrambling like papers caught in a windstorm. He had no idea how to recover from this. How did one backpedal from such a blatant admission?

“You—uh—weren’t supposed to hear that,” he finally managed, cringing internally because he basically just told you that himself – aloud. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, gripping the strap of his satchel like it was a lifeline.

You took a slow step forward, and Spencer, for all his intelligence, had nowhere to run. He was effectively trapped, his back against the wall, your voice curling around him like a warm, velvety ribbon.

“So… you like my accent, huh?” You let the words roll off your tongue lazily, like you had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

Spencer’s breath hitched. “I...it’s—um—linguistically speaking...”

“Oh, bless your heart,” you teased, reaching out to lightly tug at his tie. It was barely a touch, but Spencer felt it like an electric shock. “You can dress it up however you like, sugar, but the way you reacted earlier tells me all I need to know.”

Spencer swore his heart was trying to escape his chest. “I—uh—”

You leaned in, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear. “And just so you know… I don’t mind one bit.”

His brain completely flatlined.

You pulled back, giving him one last lingering glance before turning on your heel and sauntering away, hips swaying just enough to be intentional.

Spencer stood there, stunned into silence, pulse racing, mouth slightly parted.

“Oh-ho, pretty boy,” came Morgan’s unmistakable voice from behind him. “You are so screwed.”

Spencer groaned, pressing his forehead against the wall.

He was so in trouble.

The bullpen was eerily quiet now, empty save for the two of you. Everyone else had left ages ago, even Morgan, though not without throwing Spencer one last knowing smirk before heading out.

Spencer had tried, like really tried to shake the feeling that had been simmering in his chest ever since your little exchange in the hallway. But it was impossible when you were still here, moving around like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

He stole a glance at you as you gathered your things, your soft hum filling the silence, that accent of yours still lingering in his mind like an unsolved puzzle he desperately wanted to figure out.

He was so screwed.

“Y’ready, sugar?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Uh yeah. Yes. Ready.”

You smirked, clearly amused by how frazzled he still was, and led the way toward the elevator. The ride down was quiet, but not awkward. The air was thick with something unspoken, something Spencer wasn’t quite sure how to navigate.

When you stepped outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. You started toward your car, and Spencer, ever the gentleman, fell into step beside you.

It was a short walk, but with each step, Spencer felt his nerves coil tighter. He knew he should say something, should at least attempt to recover from his earlier humiliation, but his words failed him.

Finally, as you reached your car, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Well, uh… goodnight,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

You raised a brow, lips quirking as you leaned back against the car door. “That’s it?”

Spencer frowned. “What do you mean?”

You tilted your head, studying him, clearly enjoying the way he fidgeted under your gaze. Then, before he could register what was happening, your fingers hooked around his tie, giving it a gentle tug.

Spencer barely had time to gasp before your lips crashed into his.

A soft, muffled sound of surprise escaped him, but he didn’t pull away. No, he melted into you, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your waist, fingers twitching against the fabric of your blouse.

Your lips moved slowly, deliberately, and Spencer - despite his usual awkwardness - was a quick learner. He responded in kind, his breath hitching when you deepened the kiss just slightly, your body pressing against his.

It was intoxicating.

Everything about you, the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers tightened around his tie, that damn accent still lingering in the air, had him utterly undone.

When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s lips were parted, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown wide.

You smirked. “Goodnight, sugar.”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. You had kissed him. You had kissed him. And it had been… electrifying.

He swallowed thickly, adjusting his tie like it would somehow fix the fact that his entire body was burning from the inside out. His lips tingled, still carrying the warmth of yours, but he forced himself to take a step back.

“Uh - goodnight,” he said again, voice weak, shaky.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he turned and started walking away.

You watched him go, amusement flickering in your eyes as you leaned against your car. Bless his heart, you thought, shaking your head.

But Spencer only made it a few steps before something inside him snapped.

No.

No, he couldn’t just walk away from that.

Without another thought, he spun on his heel and strode back toward you, determination flashing in his eyes.

Before you could even register what was happening, Spencer’s hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks with a newfound confidence.

Then he kissed you.

Not hesitant, not unsure - this time, it was fierce.

Your back hit the car as he pressed against you, his fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just the way he wanted. His lips moved against yours with a hunger you hadn’t expected from him, but damn, you weren’t about to complain.

A soft noise escaped you, and that sound, that sound, sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. His grip tightened slightly, one hand slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It was overwhelming, the way he kissed you now. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like he needed to make up for the mistake of walking away in the first place.

And God, he was good at it.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“That,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, “was the actual goodnight.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips still tingling. Then, with a slow, wicked smile, you whispered, “Well, sugar… if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer.”

Spencer’s breath was still uneven, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your words echoed in his head - if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer - and something inside him snapped.

He kissed you again, harder this time, as if the act itself might ground him, might make you more real in this fleeting moment. His body pressed against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, and you let out a soft moan against his lips, the sound like a spark to dry tinder.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice hoarse, desperate, like he was fighting a battle with himself.

You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer, your heart racing with both anticipation and something deeper, more vulnerable. “Don’t you dare stop, sugar.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low growl, Spencer’s hands moved quickly, his fingers fumbling with the car handle before it gave way with a soft click. His urgency had you breathless as he guided you inside, never breaking contact, never letting you slip away from him. The car was cramped, but neither of you cared.

The moment you pulled Spencer into the backseat with you, any hesitation he might have had melted away. His body pressed flush against yours, his lips moving hungrily over your own as the car door slammed shut behind him.

It was rushed, desperate, like the two of you had been holding back for far too long, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping the flood.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere - trailing down your sides, gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. He groaned against your mouth when your nails raked lightly over his scalp, tugging at his curls just enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaky as he rested his forehead against yours. “You.. this..God, I want you so bad.”

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you rolled your hips against him again, grinning when you felt just how hard he was through his slacks.

“I can feel that, sugar,” you teased, your accent dripping, knowing damn well what it did to him.

Spencer let out a strangled moan, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, but there was no frustration in his voice - only pure need.

“Mm, not before I make it worth your while,” you whispered, slipping your fingers down between your bodies to work at his belt.

His breath hitched, his entire body tensing as you made quick work of the buckle, then the button, then the zipper. The second your hand slipped beneath the fabric, wrapping around his cock, Spencer whimpered.

“Jesus Christ --”

His head dropped to your shoulder, his hips jerking into your touch as you stroked him slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he trembled beneath your fingers.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you mused, kissing the shell of his ear.

Spencer groaned, his teeth grazing over your neck before he retaliated, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, slipping between your folds.

“Shit --” Your back arched, a gasp tearing from your lips as he teased your entrance, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured in awe, sliding one long finger inside of you, then another, curling them just right. “Is this all for me?”

You moaned, rocking against his hand, your grip tightening around him. “All for you, baby. Just you.”

Spencer groaned at your words, capturing your lips in another desperate kiss as he worked you open, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

The car windows were completely fogged now, the space thick with the sound of your heavy breaths, your moans, the slick slide of skin against skin.

And then, just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled away. His hands suddenly gripping your hips as he pushed you back against the seat, his eyes dark with hunger.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasped.

You didn’t hesitate.

You lifted your hips, shoving your jeans down just enough, and Spencer did the same, his movements frantic, desperate.

And then - God, then - he was there, his tip pressing against you, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You cupped his face, brushing your lips over his. “I need this, Spencer.”

That was all it took.

The second Spencer thrust inside you, a ragged groan tore from his lips, his forehead dropping against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers gripping your hips, nails digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. “You’re so - Jesus, you’re tight.”

Your body clenched around him at the filth in his voice, at the way his words were completely wrecked, breathless. He was already losing it, and you’d barely even started.

“You like that, baby?” you murmured, voice thick with your accent, teasing as you rolled your hips up against him. “Like how good I feel wrapped around you?”

Spencer groaned, his hands flexing against your skin. “Yes—I can’t—God, I can’t even think.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him whimper. “Just fuck me, sugar.”

And he did.

He pulled back and slammed into you, deep and hard, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, Spencer --”

The words barely left your lips before he set a brutal pace, thrusting into you again and again, deep enough that you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you to the point of pure blissful pain.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough and shaking as his hips snapped against yours. " I need to feel more.”

His hands roamed your body, greedy, desperate, palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you cried out.

“Spence --”

He swallowed your moan with a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucked into you harder, faster, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he needed to own you completely.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he panted against your lips, his voice thick with lust. “You like this, don’t you? You like letting me take you like this?”

“Yesyes, baby, don’t stop..”

He growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

His fingers found your clit, circling it just right, making you arch against him, nails clawing at his back.

“That’s it,” he groaned, watching you unravel beneath him, his pace turning even more frantic. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, I wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Your whole body tightened at his words, the filth of them pushing you even closer to the edge.

His thrusts turned brutal, deep, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you, over and over, dragging you closer and closer to pure bliss.

“Spencer, oh my God..”

“Cum for me, baby,” he groaned, his fingers pressing against your clit just right, his cock hitting deep, his breath hot against your skin. “I wanna feel it, I need to feel you fall apart for me.”

And you did.

Your whole body clenched, your back arching as you screamed his name, pleasure crashing through you in wave after wave.

Spencer cursed, his hips stuttering, his grip on you bruising as he followed, a wrecked moan leaving his lips as he buried himself deep inside you. His whole body shaking as he came hard, spilling into you with a groan that was damn near filthy.

For a long moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside.

Spencer’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm. Then he let out a breathless, wrecked laugh, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin.

“Well,” he murmured, still catching his breath, “that was… insane.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “That was just the first round, sugar.”

Spencer groaned, already hardening again inside you.

“Oh, fuck.”

Spencer’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as he pressed his forehead against yours, barely able to keep his hands still as he traced patterns down your back. But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

Without warning, you flipped yourself around, swift and confident. Spencer's eyes widened as he realized what you were doing, and before he could process it, you had already positioned yourself over him, your knees on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist, his fingers digging into your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice raw, desperate. He could barely take his eyes off your body as you lowered yourself slowly onto his still-hardening cock, the slow stretch sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

You could feel every inch of him filling you, stretching you out and the tightness in your chest twisted with desire as you began to ride him slowly at first. The feeling of control was intoxicating, and you moved deliberately, savoring every moment.

Spencer’s hands couldn’t stay still again. One hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple, making you gasp in pleasure. The other hand trailed down, gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, helping you move faster, deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” Spencer moaned, his eyes glued to your body as you rocked against him, your breath coming in shaky gasps. “You’re gonna make me lose it again…”

You responded by grinding harder, faster, desperate for the release that was building between you. Spencer’s hand tightened around your breast, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipples, drawing out soft moans from you. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your body trembling as the pressure in your core built.

“Spencer, I - oh God - I’m close,” you breathed, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased that release, that perfect feeling of completion.

“Me too,” he rasped, his voice so strained with lust that it made your whole body ache. “I want to feel you come all over me. Do it, baby. Let go…”

You did.

With one final, desperate movement, your body exploded in pleasure, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You gasped his name, gripping onto him as the waves of ecstasy swept through you. Spencer wasn’t far behind, thrusting up into you as his own release finally overtook him. His hands were gripping your hips so tightly it left marks, pulling you down against him, ensuring every inch of him stayed buried deep inside as he came with a groan.

You both collapsed against each other, sweaty and breathless, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. The only sound in the car was the rhythm of your heavy breathing. Slowly, you lifted yourself off him, a satisfied moan slipping from your lips as his softened cock slid out of you.

You both just stared at each other for a moment, the air between you thick with tension and satisfaction. A small trickle of his cum dripped from you, slowly running down his cock as you both took in the aftermath. Spencer’s hands were still on your body, unable to let go, even now.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his lips still swollen from your kisses.

You grinned down at him, wiping away a bit of the mess from your thighs with a teasing finger. “Yeah. That was perfect.”

Spencer’s grin grew, though his eyes still burned with want. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said softly.

After everything, the both of you sat there for a moment, catching your breath, the cool night air gently brushing against your skin. Spencer’s hand was still resting on your thigh, his fingertips lightly tracing over the sensitive skin, the aftermath of what had just happened still hanging heavily in the air between you.

With a deep sigh, you slowly pulled yourself off of him, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your release. Spencer watched you, his eyes dark and full of desire, as you reached for your clothes, grabbing your top off the floor. He followed suit, his motions slow but deliberate, as if he were savoring every second of this.

He didn’t break eye contact as he began buttoning his shirt back up, his fingers working with practiced ease, but you noticed the faint tremor in his hands, the evidence of how much you had completely undone him.

You did the same, pulling on your jeans with a quiet hum, your movements deliberate as you slowly dressed, taking your time. There was something undeniably intimate about the way you both silently communicated with every motion, the connection between you thick and palpable.

Once you were both dressed, Spencer ran a hand through his tousled hair, sighing as he leaned against the car. “I—uh, I’m really not ready for this night to end,” he said softly, his voice still low with the remnants of desire.

You stepped closer, your body brushing against his as you reached up to adjust his collar, your fingers lingering on his skin. “Then it doesn’t have to,” you whispered, lips close to his, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

His gaze softened, his lips barely a whisper from yours as he cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching yours with something deeper than just lust. “Next time, we’ll go out—dinner, drinks, something nice. I’ll take you on a real date. I promise.”

Your lips quirked upward into a teasing smile as you reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft, lingering, as if the promise of what could come next hung in the air between you both.

“You better keep that promise, Reid,” you murmured against his lips. “Or next time, I’ll make you regret it.”

He grinned, eyes still glimmering with desire as he kissed you once more, deeper this time, a soft growl rising in his chest. “I’m counting on it,” he whispered back before pulling away slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to walk away or pull you back in for more, before he finally let out a breath. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice almost a plea for just a little more, a touch more.

You heard his plea in his voice and smiled softly, moving closer to him again. "Come home with me?"

[randombush3]

let me get what i want

leah williamson x reader

part 2 to this

summary: you meet leah in a VIP bar and can't decide what to do with her

words: 4106

content warnings: smut, mentions of drugs

notes: ok here is part 2. thank @p0orbaby for the smut because i couldn't do it 😵‍💫

Leah’s knee brushes yours as she leans over to grab a beer. You’re sitting on the woven rug outside her yurt – part of those pop-up hotels that are more wood and electricity than flimsy tent poles – and the conversation is still going. It’s about one in the morning. The diffusers dotted around the field have done little to mask the smell of mud and grass. 

You don’t know when you were led here. Perhaps it was during the migration from the mainstage to the bars. Perhaps she had taken your hand and pulled you through the crowd, losing the rest of your company in the process. 

Leah is bold in a different way to you. You get what you want. You take without giving back. But she… convinces. Ensnares. Waits like a leopard perched in thick branches, stalking its prey until the perfect opportunity arises. 

It’s difficult not to bring it up. You should mock her the way she’s playing host in her little den, practicing xenia like a devout Ancient Greek, but the words die in your throat.

The pretence has been abandoned now. 

“LSD?” 

You’re currently listing the drugs you have done between you. Interestingly, the athlete has tried cocaine. Two years ago, sometime in the off-season. Says she gets why people are addicted to it. 

She shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink which technically disrupts the nature of never-have-I-ever. You’d have thought she’d follow every rule. Leah’s a captain. A footballer. Breaking rules is supposed to be sacrilege. “You have?” 

“I thought we’d established I was going to win.” 

Her spirit is competitive and you see her jaw tense at the notion of losing. You’re not going to admit that in the grand scheme of things, she isn’t. 

“Did your parents never… find out?” she asks, and her syllables are slurred but the nosiness is loud and clear. “Mine would have clocked. Immediately.” 

You say, “they knew. They didn’t care.” 

Leah laughs like that’s funny, like there’s something charming about that particular kind of glamorously-dressed neglect. Her laugh is too big for her mouth. It doesn’t match the rest of her: the sleekness, the discipline, the control. 

She shifts closer. 

Her hand grazes your thigh. Stays there as she leans to set down her drink. Casual, confident, asking you to notice but not pointing it out. 

This is the point where people usually lie to themselves. They construct a fantasy where this is chemistry or a connection. Where it’s romantic and life-changing – as if sex ever is – and that the memory will be surrounded by an imaginary shrine. You don’t like lying, though. You like practicality, efficiency. You like getting what was needed, avoiding the superfluous. 

All you’re thinking about is logistics: how close the bed is, whether the yurt’s walls will muffle sound, whether she’ll want you to stay after. 

Her fingers splay out to hold your knee, as if she is determined to not let you disappear. She’s not being subtle. 

You don’t move. But when she leans in, slow and trying to read you, your hand goes to her shoulder to parry her away. Not forceful. Not mean. But a rejection, of sorts. 

“No,” you say and your voice does not waver. “You can’t kiss me.” 

That does it. She’s unaware of your general rule, so you don’t blame her for recoiling like she has touched something sharp. You watch her recalibrate, eyes darting from your lips to the rest of the field, mouth parted in a half-formed apology. She wears that awkward expression – fuck, did I read this wrong? – and it makes something in you flicker. It’s not quite guilt. 

Her mouth widens, words bubbling at the back of her throat. 

You get there first. 

“Don’t worry. You can still fuck me.” 

A beat. Her blush deepens, pooling high on her cheeks. She looks like she has forgotten how to smile. She swallows and her gaze steadies again. 

Leah is trying to recover. 

Her jaw sets. Shoulders straighten. 

You’ve already decided this is the last time you’ll see her. She doesn’t know it yet. She probably won’t until you’re gone. Not that it’s your problem; you never made her a promise. 

This is just a transaction. Clean. Contained. Predictable. 

A rare occurrence at 1AM at a festival, but one that you deal in with expertise and precision.

By morning, you will be out of here, high in the sky above this tiny island. Your tour of Europe starts in four days. There’ll be plenty of other women to fill plenty more nights like these.

And Leah is already moving again, this time with certainty. 

You don’t stop her. 

You stand only when she does. No ritual, no ceremony. She takes your hand. Functional – she’s learning. 

It’s dark inside and the threshold lip is steep. Her grip is warm, though. Dry. It occurs to you that, between various escalations of alcohol percentages, she hasn’t stopped drinking water all night. Her discipline is far from enviable. 

The inside of the yurt is less curated than you expected. Her suitcase contains folded clothes, but beside it crumpled fabric piles up. Her wellies are crusted with dried mud, set by the door. There’s a book next to the bed (what kind of PR-manager-pet brings a book about leadership to a festival?) that looks partially read, front cover weighed down by a half-eaten protein bar. A pair of compression socks hangs over the footboard of the double bed that takes up most of her £3000 real estate.  

She hesitates near the bed. Shirks under your blatant judgement of her space. Straightens as though to remind herself she shouldn’t care.

You walk past her. Sit. Your fingers deftly untie your boots; deliberately, calmly. You don’t look up as you say, “I didn’t think you’d be nervous, Leah.” You’re sure many women have thrown themselves at her. The allure of fame and stadia and superficial relationships with money… it must be like wasps to a toddler’s melting ice-lolly. 

“I’m not nervous,” she says, and she almost pulls it off. Almost. 

It’s a tiny wobble in her tone that betrays her. You don’t mention it, but you keep score. 

You lean back on your hands, head tilting to look at her fully now. She hasn’t moved yet, still standing beside the bed like she is trying to decide whether she should unlock Pandora’s box. The look is familiar. She’s trying to convince herself that this doesn’t mean anything. That if she keeps her hands steady and her mouth shut, it won’t.

You want to help her. Not out of kindness, but rather impatience. A clean break. 

“I’m not going to stay,” you say. “If that’s what you were wondering.” 

She exhales. It could be relief. 

“Didn’t ask you to,” she replies. 

You nod. That’s that. 

There are footsteps outside the yurt – someone is staggering past with the elegance of a drunk zombie, probably heading back to a stranger’s bed. Neither of you look. Her eyes are trained on yours, as though she is willing you to forget that the world is still turning. You want to forget. 

Leah steps forwards, pulling her tank top over her head in a single, efficient movement. No fanfare. 

You stand again. For a moment, you think you see her frown.

By the time you touch her, everything else has left the room. You’re both dead and alive, here and not. As soon as this starts – and it already has – you will be free. Just for a moment, for a sweet, sweet moment. 

You breathe out like it’s your last. 

Her skin is warm. Tense in places. You can feel the edge of control she is refusing to let go of and the hard sinew of muscles which should intimidate but don’t. You wonder if she fucks like a footballer – how do they do it? If it’s good, you might develop a taste for it.

She watches you as you undress, gaze unashamed but quiet. She’s curious, not worshipful. Your body is not her new altar. You are not her new religion. And that’s good, because you’d hate that. 

You don’t speak again. There’s nothing left to clarify. 

Her hands wrap around your forearms as steps into the gap between you. She’s confident again, earlier hesitation long erased. Her fingers settle at your waist – firm, controlled. This competence was not unexpected. You remain unimpressed. 

Your back hits the bed. You let it. The covers are still warm from where you sat down, and the air is cool against your skin. You’re left lying there for a moment, no body surrounding yours, not yet. 

Then her mouth is on you. The bed sinks lower where her weight falls as she straddles your waist. She kisses your stomach, your ribs, the flesh of your chest left exposed by your skimpy bra. 

Her mouth is hot. Too slow. Too careful. Each movement calculated, precision replacing hunger. 

Irritated and impatient, you arch your back. It’s a clear hint, yet her tongue continues to glide over your sternum as though she wants to change the pH of your skin. She’s being too careful, and you don’t believe in half-measures. You’re not some precious thing she can’t afford to crack. You hate that it feels that way. You’re not a thing. Neither are you precious. Neither is this anything worth handling with care. 

You will Leah to get it: you’re here because you’re horny and bored. She’s beautiful and she will do. 

Your hand grabs her hair, grip tight. You twist until she lets out a sound – low, strained, the first real thing she’s offered. Better, comes your brief satisfaction. 

“Think less,” you say, voice flat, not a command but not far off. She takes it like one anyway. Her mouth opens wider. Her teeth graze your rib, harder this time. Not gentle, not sweet. You loosen your grip and drop your arm. The bed shifts beneath you as she lowers herself, lips dragging down over the curve of your chest. She mouths at your bra, wet tongue pressing through the lace. She lingers at the edge of your nipple, sucks it through the fabric, tongue flattening hard over it. 

Your fingers stretch the elastic of your knickers as you shove them past your knee, letting them fall off the edge of the bed. She unclasps your bra, and suddenly you’re naked. You breathe heavily at the thought – anticipating something, despite it seeming rather ambitious with her pace. You can already feel the way she’s looking at you, seconds elongating so that she can stare more. She looks like she wants to memorise everything. Tragic, really. It’s just a fuck. 

She hooks her fingers under the waistband of her own shorts, yanking them down unceremoniously. You scoff as you see the pair of Calvins she’s wearing underneath. She’s half-dressed now, straddling you, the air still damp with the smell of rain and sweat and smoke from two-thousand cigarettes. 

When her fingers touch you, finally, you don’t gasp. 

You make a noise low in your throat. Disappointed at first, then distracted, then something else. Her fingers drag through slickness and quickly find a rhythm. She adjust and fine-tunes and repeats like a battle strategist with a tactics board – slow, precise, greedy for information. You hate how good she is at this.

Your head tips back. Her fingers curl just right. Her thumb is on your clit now, soft pressure, then firmer. She watches your face. Shameless. Focused. It’s a deliberate assault. She’s trying to win. 

Her fingers move again, exploiting the angle until you are forced to grace her with a whine of appreciation. Your body is responding without thought and you can hear it: wet and sticky, every push inside louder than the last.

Her eyes meet yours. You hold her gaze. 

“Show-off,” you mutter.

“Say that again when I’ve made you come all over my fucking face.” 

She pulls out with a slick pop. 

Before you protest, her mouth replaces her fingers. 

Your hips jerk. Your legs spread wider. You swear. 

She doesn’t stop. She groans against you. The sound sends a pulse through your being. 

You grab her hair again, forcing her closer, holding her where she is. Her tongue circles once, twice, and then pressed flat, dragging. She sucks. She buries her face between your thighs. Her tongue is relentless, like she needs this, like she’ll take it all. 

You moan loudly. No attempts are made to muffle it. 

Like a reward, she fucks you with two fingers again, tongue working your clit while she curls inside you. She pushes hard. You’re soaked – her chin’s wet. 

You bury one hand in the sheets and the other in her hair. The sheets are wet too. Her tongue moves against you. It’s obscenely good.

This is making you hate her. You’re half-inclined to let her know. 

You don’t. 

You let your body speak instead. It twitches and rises, pressing into her mouth with newfound desperation. 

“Fuck,” you hiss through your teeth. You don’t mean to, but the gasp that follows is of her name.

You feel her smirk. As you cry out again, you glance downwards to see her hand thrusting in and out and her mouth flush between your thighs. You want to burn the image into your skull. 

You are not sentimental, but she looks so fucking good down there. Like it’s where she belongs.

You fuck yourself onto her hand and let yourself make noise. There’s no point holding back – she’s earning it. And the coil inside you pulls tighter because of it. Sharp. Hot. 

Your thighs begin to shake.

She’s wrecking you.

Her tongue flicks, flattens. Her fingers thrust faster. She angles her wrist, hitting the spot hard. She doesn’t stop. 

You cry out. You can’t hold it; it’s ripping through you. 

You come with a broken, sharp breath.

Jerk. Clench. Release. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. 

And still, she does not stop. 

You’re overstimulated; nerves screaming, thighs twitching, but she does not fucking stop. Her mouth is wet, tongue merciless. It’s unbearable and too much and perfect all at once. 

She groans, licks again, and pushes deeper. 

You shove at her shoulder. “Okay – fuck, okay.” The only sound you can hear now is the thrum of your pulse in your ears. 

Leah stops, pulling her fingers out. Your wetness is smeared all over her face and she shines like she has just been polished with it. She licks her lips. 

For a moment, she is looking at you and you are looking at her. Your chests rise and fall. Your breathing mingles into one satisfied chant of exertion. 

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you address the wild eyes and messy hair. “You done?” 

She shakes her head. “Not even slightly.” 

You raise your eyebrows. She crawls over you again. Kisses your neck – just about avoiding your lips as you turn your head slightly. 

“Take them off,” you say between her biting down on your collarbone and her grinding her hard, lean body against yours. She makes no move to follow the order. Your jaw clenches. “Take the fucking pants off now, Leah. Or I’ll do it for you.”

…

This time, the glitter is not going to come out.

“I said no to the glitter cannons, didn’t I?” Your question is pointed as you and your manager march back to the greenroom, her assistant tentatively handing you a water bottle, recognising this warpath. “In fact, I’m sure I even reviewed it–” 

“We thought it might be boring without them.” 

“Boring?”

Your voice reaches a pitch that indicates your offence, fingers ruthless as you scratch through the layers of hairspray to loosen some of the bastard little glitter particles from your scalp. It’s not very nonchalant but you’re annoyed and tired and you’re already growing sick of the tour. Zürich, Switzerland. One quarter down. August is only seconds away. 

You slam the bottle of water onto the greenroom table and glare at the assistant, who startles like you’ve hurled it at him. “Could I have a towel?” He jumps into frenzied action but doesn’t quite know what to do. “Warm. Not one of those threadbare things from catering.” 

Another crony follows him as he bolts out the door. 

Your manager, seasoned in your moods by now, just sighs and takes a seat. Her phone is already out. She’s probably texting someone to apologise on your behalf, or crafting a well-timed tweet. You don’t care. You’re too busy yanking off your boots, making the beige carpet sparkle fucking blue. 

Zürich was loud. Glossy. The crowd was ravenous, excited to add you to their events calendar. You’d fed them what they wanted: your voice, your body, your image. Except their screams did not fill the hollowness of the stage. And that glitter had pushed it over the edge. 

You grab a makeup wipe and press it against your eyes, dragging your mascara sideways across your temple. “I feel like a fucking firework.” 

Your manager doesn’t look up. “You’re a pop star. It’s part of the job.”

“I hadn’t realised my title was synonymous with ‘disco ball’.” 

You throw the spent wipe into the bin and reach for another. You’re supposed to have people to do this for you but you suspect one of those devious texts your manager has been sending was to alert your team to leave you alone. At least for the moment. 

“You said yes to the new visuals.” 

“I said yes to minimal pyrotechnics and some fog.” Even then, that had felt unnecessary. “Glitter is not fog.”

She shrugs, one shoulder rising. “They loved it.” 

You make a sound of disgust. “Of course they did.” 

You lean back in the chair, muscles tight from the performance and tension and barely-slept nights. Your mind, however, is clear. Or, more accurately, emptying. 

Time moves too quickly. 

There had been no note. No lingering kiss to the temple. Just silence and the early rustlings of a hungover festival field. An easy severance.

And then Zürich. 

And this. 

The assistant returns, mercifully, with a towel. It’s warm and fluffy and folded like a hotel robe, and you accept it with a nod. Your face welcomes the material and your neck itches for the same treatment. The towel pulls away just as a sparkly as the carpet. 

There’s a knock on the door. Your tour photographer peeks his head in, camera still dangling from his neck. “Hey,” he starts, knowing he walking into the lion’s den, “quick question: you okay with us using the shot from the second chorus as the official still? The one with the glitter–” 

“No,” you cut in sharply. 

He blinks. “Oh.” He clasps his hands together in supplication but he doesn’t push. You glare. “Uh. Got it. Cool.” 

The door clicks shut behind him. You press the towel to your eyes and let yourself breathe, hard and slow. 

You are not sentimental. You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Another knock sounds. 

“I already told you!” you shout so the stupid photographer can get it into his stupid head. “I don’t–” 

A phone is thrust in your face. You don’t know to whom the hand belongs. A voice comes with it. “I’m sorry. She said it was urgent.” 

You glance at the caller ID, quickly recognising the device as your own as well, before pressing the phone to your ear. 

“I literally just finished,” you grumble, anger still bubbling but ebbing just in case Jess isn’t lying. She could need you and you’re not a terrible friend. 

“Alex is cross with you.” 

“What?” Your manager’s head turns, ears perking up at your loud confusion. She raises an eyebrow but you shake your head, signalling she continue her damage control of the tempest you are going cause. 

Jess repeats what she said. 

“No, I fucking got it. But why? What have I done?” 

“Well,” Jess says, and it makes you fairly certain that she is projecting. “She’s cross with me.” Point proven. “BECAUSE of you.” 

“I haven’t done–” 

“Leah’s in Zürich.”

You dismiss it. You need to get to the root of the problem without superfluous facts about a woman you slept with drunk and high at Glasto. 

“Why is Alex cross with me?” 

Jess, from the other end of the phone, sighs with the theatrical flair only she can get away with. Sometimes you really do consider blocking her. “Because you slept with her best friend a month ago and then vanished like a ghost.” 

You force a blink, wincing as another fucking glitter particle scratches your red eyes. The towel drops to your lap as you sit up straighter in the chair. 

“I didn’t vanish,” you say. You don’t have superpowers. “I left.” 

“That’s vanishing, babe.” 

“She knew what it was.” 

She did. She must have. She was still asleep when you woke up and if she heard you escape, she didn’t plead with you to stay.

But still, Jess snorts. “Did she? Because from what I’ve heard, it sounds like you left a very hot, very flustered England captain high and dry in a yurt.” 

You’re too tired to correct her second adjective. Instead, you close your eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I told her not to kiss me.” 

“Yeah. And then you let her eat you out like it was a Champions League final.”

You don’t dignify her crudeness with a response. Fucking footballers and their brainwashed girlfriends. 

Even though she has reduced herself to sports-related similes, Jess manages to take the silence as a victory.

“She’s not upset,” she continues, and you’re glad she doesn’t say her name. “Just… prickly about it. You fucked with her pride, I think. Thought I’d let you know because Alex is threatening to somehow find a string to pull and cancel your Wembley show if you don’t at least text her.” You exhale softly. “Alex only found out that she was going to your concert through the woman she’s here with.” 

Probably another footballer. Surely Leah doesn’t need your shabby company and forced text messages if she is able to enjoy a nice night-out in Zürich with a friend.

“Alex doesn’t scare me,” you reply indignantly, because the rest is too much to address. Not all of your one-night-stands have been left content with you just moving on, but you had assumed that with Leah it would have been different. 

It was a good night. Why would she want to stain its memory? 

“Okay, well, she fucking scares me, so…” 

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Glitter in your hair. Sweat at your temples. Lips chapped. 

Leah has watched you tonight. 

This is why you draw the fucking lines. 

“I’m going to Munich in two days,” you mutter. 

“That gives you forty-eight hours to grow a conscience. Or at least the decency to say, ‘thanks for the mind-blowing orgasms’.” 

Your jaw clenches. “It was just a fuck.”

Jess wants to say something – you can hear her mouth open. The words catch in her throat. She retracts them for rephrasing. 

There’s a beat while she does this. Your manager points at her watch and motions for you to hurry up, sensing the privacy of the conversation but interested in herding you to the dressing room so that you can be de-glamoured and everyone can go back to the hotel. 

“Leah doesn’t know the rules yet.” 

You hate how she uses the word ‘yet’. You don’t want her to know the rules. You don’t want her to think there are rules. 

Because rules imply a pattern. 

And patterns imply that you and Leah will have sex again. 

“Do you want me to say something?” Jess asks gently. “To smooth it over?” 

You stare at your reflection, slightly horrified by it. 

“No,” you say. 

“Then text her.” 

“I don’t have her number.” 

Jess’ sigh is profound and visceral, felt in her bones. Your manager hears it and laughs.

“I’ve just sent it to you,” comes Jess’ verbalised exasperation. When you fail to respond, she continues, stifling a yawn. “Anyway. Congrats on another killer night. I love you, I’m proud of you. Try to sleep.” 

She hangs up and you’re not sure who won that battle. 

Your manager clears her throat and you follow her to the dressing room. 

You sit in silence as they professionally melt everything off you until you feel human again. 

Type. 

Delete. 

Type again. 

Eventually, you settle on: you were good. 

Then, after a pause, because something in you – not guilt – twinges…

Thanks.

You hit send and hope Jess gave you the wrong number.

[aspenmissing]

I'm so happy your requests are open again!! But I'm glad you closed them for a while since you get so many and write so much for each one.❤️❤️

Could I, pretty please with a cherry on top, request arcane characters (specifically viktor, jayce and steb, if you write for him if not that's ok) with a reader that's usually well spoken and composed, think before they act kind of person. But once they're comfortable and let their guard down, they start stuttering and stumbling over their words because their mind is quicker than their mouth, and they keep getting frustrated because they can't say what they want. Kind of like an autistic person automatically unmasking when they're around someone that makes them feel safe, but they weren't planning on unmasking so they're frustrating with themselves.

Hopefully, I managed to explain what I mean😅, please do take your time. You can write it whenever.❤️❤️

~🍒

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ? || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5306 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ! ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛʟʏ! ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴛᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ! ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴀᴍʙʟɪɴɢ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ?

JAYCE

Piltover adored control. It thrived on meticulous planning, on rules and order, on minds that could bend chaos into something neat and palatable. You had spent your entire life mastering that balance, shaping yourself into something sharp-edged and refined, a presence that commanded respect in every room you entered.

You had learned early that precision was power. People listened when you spoke, when every word was deliberate, calculated, and polished to perfection. You were the kind of person who could dismantle an argument before it was fully formed, who could read a room and adjust accordingly, who never let emotions cloud reason.

And then there was Jayce.

Jayce Talis, all boundless enthusiasm and effortless charm, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve and let his emotions lead him before logic ever caught up. He was brilliant, yes, but he was also reckless, a man of impulse and grand gestures. You should have found him insufferable.

Instead, you trusted him.

That was your first mistake.

And now, you were paying for it.

=

"Y/N?"

Jayce’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, low and filled with something dangerously close to concern. You blinked, refocusing, only to find him watching you intently. His head was tilted slightly, brows drawn together, his lips pressed into a soft frown.

"You okay?"

No. No, you were not okay.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as heat pricked at the back of your neck. Your mind was still racing, but your mouth had completely betrayed you.

You had been explaining something—a theory, something important, something that had been circling your brain all day like a restless storm. The words had been there, clear and coherent in your mind, but the moment you had let them out, they had tangled, tripped, collapsed into a jumbled mess of half-formed sentences and stammered syllables.

Jayce had been patient. He hadn't interrupted, hadn't tried to fill in the gaps. He had just waited, listening, giving you the space to get the words out.

But you hadn't been able to.

Your stomach twisted. You were used to control, to confidence, to certainty. But now—now your tongue felt heavy, your thoughts moved faster than your mouth, and the more you tried to push the words out, the more they refused to cooperate.

Why now?

Why him?

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding against your throat. You had spent years perfecting this—honing your speech into something unshakable. And yet, in the presence of Jayce fucking Talis, your brain had apparently decided to throw itself off a cliff.

“I— I was t-trying to say—” The words broke, stumbled over themselves, catching on your tongue like jagged stones. Your breath hitched. Your hands twitched. You could feel the frustration rising, tightening in your chest like a vice. “It’s— it’s not— ugh! It’s in my head, I j-just can’t—”

Your jaw snapped shut, teeth clenching hard enough to ache. The silence that followed was deafening.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You couldn't even look at him.

Jayce didn’t fill the silence.

He didn’t push, didn’t try to smooth over your faltering words, didn’t do anything except stand there, watching you with an expression that was far too soft.

That, more than anything, made something in you crack wide open.

“I’m s-sorry,” you muttered finally, jaw tight, frustration burning beneath your skin like wildfire. “I d-don’t— I d-don’t usually—”

Jayce smiled. Not the politician’s smile, not the confident smirk he wore for the world. This was different. Smaller. Softer. Real.

“I know,” he said simply.

You froze.

Your eyes snapped up to his, searching—for what? Mockery? Pity? Some kind of forced reassurance? Something that would justify the knot of shame twisting in your gut?

But there was none.

Jayce just knew.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs.

How long had he noticed? Had he always known? You had spent your entire life perfecting the mask, ensuring every word was polished before it ever left your lips. But somehow, without even trying, Jayce had seen through it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. "I mean, I figured. You’re always so careful with your words, but sometimes, when you get comfortable, you just... go."

His smile widened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. "It’s kinda cute."

Your brain completely short-circuited.

Cute?

You could have handled pity. Could have handled irritation or even indifference. But this? This stupid, easy, genuine affection?

Your stomach flipped violently. Heat crawled up your neck. You stared at him, wide-eyed, caught between mortification and something you didn’t quite have a name for.

Jayce shifted, suddenly uncertain. “Not that it’s bad! Or— or weird, or anything. It’s just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just mean, you don’t have to force it with me. However you talk, however you think—I want to hear it.”

Your throat tightened.

You had spent years forcing it, shaping yourself into something the world could understand, something presentable. You had never expected to find someone who didn’t mind the unfiltered version of you—who actually liked it.

The thought was terrifying.

The thought was freeing.

Your hands twitched again, but this time, it wasn’t out of frustration. Slowly, cautiously, you let yourself breathe.

Jayce grinned. "There it is."

You scowled, heat creeping up your neck. "Sh-shut up."

Jayce laughed, bright and easy, like you hadn’t just had a full-on existential crisis in front of him.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to rehearse what came next.

Maybe—just maybe—some things didn’t need perfect words.

Maybe you didn’t need them.

Not with him.

VIKTOR

The laboratory was quiet, save for the gentle hum of machinery and the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane against the floor. The scent of parchment, metal, and something faintly ozone-like filled the air, the ever-present signs of scientific discovery in motion. Y/N sat perched on a stool beside one of his many workbenches, her hands moving animatedly as she tried—emphasis on tried—to explain a theory she had been mulling over for weeks.

Usually, she was composed, articulate, the kind of person who measured each word before releasing it into the world. A person who never spoke without intention. A person whose thoughts were always carefully curated before they left her lips.

But that version of her had been left behind the moment she grew comfortable in Viktor’s presence.

Now, words tumbled from her lips in an erratic cascade, her thoughts outrunning her tongue like a stampede she had no hope of controlling.

“So—so, if you, um, if you factor in the—the—ugh, the—okay, okay, wait—if you consider the way—ugh, no, that’s not—” She groaned, gripping her hair in frustration as she tried to catch up with herself. “Okay, what I’m trying to say is that—oh, never mind.” She threw her hands in the air and slumped forward, practically melting onto the workbench.

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound warm and indulgent, like he was enjoying a particularly amusing scientific observation. “You were doing quite well. Please, continue.”

Y/N shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it, only the kind of irritation reserved for someone she trusted not to judge her. “I was not doing well.”

“On the contrary,” he said, leaning slightly against his cane, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “I quite enjoy watching you speak when you are truly invested. It is… animated.”

She let out a dramatic groan and buried her face in her hands. “It’s infuriating is what it is. My brain is working faster than my mouth can keep up, and now I sound like an idiot.”

He hummed, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Ah, but I think it is quite endearing.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His smirk widened, and he tapped his cane lightly against the floor. “Just a little.”

Her groan was muffled against her palms, and Viktor chuckled again, watching her with the same quiet, unshaken patience he always had. She never had to apologize for her words with him, never had to fear looking foolish. He listened, even when she made no sense, even when she grew frustrated with herself. And worst of all, she knew he wasn’t just humouring her—he actually liked watching her get lost in her own excitement.

“Would it help,” he mused, “if I attempted to guess what you are trying to say?”

She peeked at him again, skepticism written all over her face. “…What, like a game?”

“Of sorts.” He tilted his head, his grin taking on a teasing edge. “Let us see if I can translate your brilliance before you become too flustered.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips now. “Alright, genius, give it a try.”

Viktor straightened, adopting a faux-serious expression. “You were trying to explain a new variable in your experiment, something that has been overlooked in traditional calculations. However, the implications are complex, and you are frustrated because you want to articulate the exact significance without losing momentum.”

Y/N blinked at him. Then blinked again.

“…Damn it,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “That was almost exactly what I was trying to say.”

Viktor’s grin turned victorious. “I will take that as a win.”

She huffed but couldn’t stop the warmth from creeping up her neck. Despite her frustration, there was something undeniably comforting about the way Viktor simply listened, the way he never seemed annoyed by her occasional verbal trainwrecks. If anything, he found them charming.

And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t mind that so much.

JAYVIK

The Piltover gala was as extravagant as ever—glittering chandeliers, golden champagne, and an overwhelming crowd of scholars, council members, and socialites who seemed more interested in flaunting their wealth than discussing anything of substance. You had attended these events countless times before, always maintaining your polished demeanor. Your words were measured, your posture poised, and your mask of composure carefully crafted.

At least, until you got comfortable.

The night had started smoothly. You moved through the crowd effortlessly, engaging in discussions on politics, technology, and academia with the same ease as a seasoned diplomat. It wasn’t that you were pretending to be someone you weren’t—you were intelligent, well-spoken, and composed. It was just that keeping your thoughts neatly packaged and your speech precise required effort.

And then, a group of scholars approached, intrigued by your involvement in the latest Hextech advancements. The conversation drifted toward the complexities of stabilizing arcane energy in compact devices—an area of research that you had poured your heart and soul into. Excitement sparked in your chest. You leaned in slightly, eager to share your thoughts.

That was when everything began to fall apart.

“Well, uh, s-so, the—the thing about Hextech, right, is that it’s—um, it’s volatile, but not—uh—ugh, no, I mean—so, like, if you—okay, okay, let me—” You gestured wildly with your hands, words tripping over themselves in a desperate attempt to keep up with your thoughts.

The scholars exchanged puzzled glances. One man furrowed his brows. “I’m… sorry, what exactly are you saying?”

Embarrassment hit you like a freight train. Your stomach twisted, and frustration burned at the back of your throat. You knew the answer. It was so clear in your head. But the words wouldn’t come out the way you wanted them to.

And then—

“She means,” Viktor’s voice cut through the awkward silence, smooth as silk, “that the instability of raw energy makes miniaturization particularly challenging. The frequency shifts unpredictably, which is why traditional containment methods fail.”

You blinked as he appeared beside you, leaning lightly on his cane. His amber eyes held amusement, but his tone carried an unmistakable warmth, as if he found your struggle endearing rather than embarrassing.

“Exactly,” Jayce added, stepping up on your other side. Ever the charismatic presence, he offered the group an easy grin, effortlessly slipping into the conversation. “That’s why we’ve been experimenting with precision-tuned matrices. We’re trying to stabilize the fluctuations instead of suppressing them.”

Relief flooded your system. The scholars’ expressions shifted from confusion to comprehension, nodding along as Jayce and Viktor elaborated on your idea with the same excitement you had intended to convey.

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, but the residual embarrassment still prickled at the edges of your composure. You turned your face toward Viktor and Jayce, lowering your voice so only they could hear.

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling warm and a little sheepish.

Viktor’s lips curled into a smirk. “No need to thank us, můj drahý,” he murmured, his voice teasing but undeniably fond. “It’s rather charming, watching you get flustered.” (My Dear)

Jayce chuckled, reaching over to brush a thumb across your cheek in an affectionate gesture. “Yeah, you should let loose more often,” he mused, his grin widening. “You’re kinda cute when your brain short-circuits.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “I hate you both.”

Viktor tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming mischievously. “Oh? Then perhaps we should let you fend for yourself next time?”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his in horror. “Don’t you dare.”

Jayce laughed, sliding a warm, strong arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Relax,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ve got you.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle before reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

With them beside you, the night didn’t seem so unbearable anymore.

VANDER

Vander always admired the way you carried yourself. Composed, measured, deliberate. A mind as sharp as a dagger, words chosen like the perfect hand in a game of cards. It was part of what drew him to you. In a place like Zaun, where chaos ruled and emotions ran hot, you were a steady presence—unflappable, always thinking before speaking, always in control.

That was, of course, until you let your guard down.

He’d noticed it the first time you'd lingered in the bar after hours, long after the usual crowd had stumbled home. A few drinks in, boots kicked up, letting yourself relax for once—and suddenly, words tangled on your tongue, tripping over themselves in their rush to be spoken. You’d furrowed your brows, lips pressing together in frustration, trying to force them into order. It had been endearing, to say the least.

And, apparently, the kids had noticed too.

Now it was a game.

=

"Come on, just one little ramble," Vi grinned, perched on the counter of The Last Drop, arms crossed with a knowing look. "Tell us about, I dunno, the history of Piltover’s trade routes or something."

You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real heat. "I—That’s not—"

"Or maybe about how different alchemical components react to heat," Mylo chimed in, a wicked smirk on his face.

Claggor, the more merciful of the bunch, just shook his head, though even he was biting back a chuckle.

You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself. "I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t—"

"You sure? You’re already hesitating." Vi dangled her legs over the edge of the counter. "Bet you can’t explain somethin’ real fast without trippin’ over yourself."

You narrowed your eyes. "I—"

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. You had the words in your head—so many of them—but as soon as you tried to get them out, they jammed up in your throat, stumbling over each other like a pileup in the middle of the bridge.

Your jaw clenched.

Vander chuckled from his spot behind the bar, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that amused, knowing smile.

"Don’t encourage them," you huffed, turning to him with exasperation. "They—They’re doing this on purpose!"

"Oh, I know." His grin deepened. "But I gotta admit, it’s kinda adorable."

Your face burned. "It’s—it’s not adorable, it’s—frustrating!" Your hands clenched at your sides as you tried to string together a proper retort, but the words kept getting away from you. "Infuriating!"

Vi and Mylo were grinning ear to ear, fully enjoying the spectacle.

Vander, on the other hand, just walked over, resting a heavy, warm hand on your shoulder. His touch was grounding, like solid stone beneath unsteady feet. "Take your time, love," he murmured, voice low and warm, meant just for you. "Ain’t a race."

You exhaled, closing your eyes for a moment, letting his presence settle you.

The kids, of course, weren’t satisfied with that.

"You should’ve seen her the other day," Vi snickered. "She was tryin’ to tell Benzo about some new Piltie security measures and nearly short-circuited. Just—" she waved her hands dramatically— "total breakdown."

You groaned. "Vi."

"And you get all fidgety, too," Mylo added, grinning. "Like your hands try to talk for you when your mouth can’t keep up."

"Probably ‘cause she’s gotta keep up with that big ol’ brain of hers," Claggor said, nudging you gently. "Nothing wrong with that."

That earned him a little glare from Mylo, but you—despite your frustration—sighed and relaxed slightly.

Vander gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting his hand fall away. "You don’t gotta be perfect all the time," he murmured. "We like you just fine the way you are—even when you trip over yourself."

You huffed. "You say that, but—"

"But nothin’," he interrupted, tipping his head slightly. "Ain’t gotta have every word come out polished. Sometimes the best ones don’t."

You glanced at him, and despite yourself, your heart softened. Damn him and his easy way of making you feel seen.

Vi, of course, ruined the moment.

"Bet if Vander asked you somethin’ real nice, you’d really start stuttering," she teased.

Your stomach flipped. "I—That’s—"

And, as expected, the words tangled up all over again.

Vander laughed, and this time, even you couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing a hand over your face in resignation.

The kids cheered in victory.

SILCO

Silco had always admired your composure.

In a world teeming with chaos and deception, you were a rare creature—one who wielded words like a scalpel, precise and measured. Whether negotiating with smugglers or diffusing tension in The Last Drop, your speech was always deliberate, your tone unwavering. It was something that set you apart, something that made you invaluable.

And then there were moments like these.

Moments when your guard slipped. When the walls you so carefully constructed crumbled, not from fear or anger, but from something far more dangerous—comfort.

Sitting across from him in his office, with a tumbler of whiskey half-forgotten at your side, you were completely at ease. It was a rare sight, one he relished. The tension that usually sat in your shoulders had eased, and for once, you weren’t calculating your every word before speaking.

Which meant—

“I j-just—ugh, no, wait, I—wh—wha—”

Silco watched with a bemused smirk as you stumbled over your words, frustration flickering across your face as your mind outpaced your tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap, gripping at fabric as if that might help slow your thoughts down enough to articulate them properly.

A lesser man might have laughed. Might have teased you for the stammer that had replaced your usual eloquence. But Silco was not a lesser man.

Instead, he simply raised a brow. “Having trouble, my dear?”

Your lips pressed into a firm line, cheeks heating in frustration. “I—I know what I want to s-say, it just—” You huffed sharply, shaking your head. “It won’t come out right.”

Silco hummed, swirling his whiskey before taking a slow sip. He let the silence settle, his gaze steady, patient. “I don’t mind.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, uncertain. “Y-you don’t?”

“If I wanted idle chatter, I wouldn’t have chosen you.” He leaned forward, placing his glass down with a soft clink. “Your words have always mattered. Stammer or not.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Silco never wasted words, and he certainly never offered empty reassurances.

Something in your chest warmed.

But of course, peace never lasted long in Zaun.

=

The room was dimly lit, thick with the scent of smoke and whiskey. Shadows clung to the corners, pooling in the cracks of the old wooden walls. A lantern flickered overhead, its dull glow barely penetrating the haze. The air was heavy, tense with the weight of yet another exhausting supplier meeting—one of many that drained your patience. You preferred efficiency, precision, but men like Varn made that impossible.

Varn was one of Silco’s smugglers, a man who carried himself with the kind of arrogance only emboldened by ignorance. He had been droning on about the Enforcers, about how difficult it had become to slip shipments past their patrols. Complaints, excuses—never solutions. You listened, expression unreadable, even as irritation prickled at your composure.

Still, you remained poised. Even as frustration coiled tight in your chest, even as your thoughts outran your tongue, snagging your words before they could fully take shape.

“The—Th-the next s-shipment will—” You clenched your jaw, closing your eyes for half a second. Breathe. Focus. Try again.

“It will arrive t-tomorrow. Docks. Late.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Varn scoffed. He leaned back in his chair, his smirk carved deep with mockery. “Didn’t realize Silco was hiring broken records now.” He tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythmic pattern. “Maybe if we give you a minute, you’ll get through the whole sentence, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap.

Not because they were the worst you had ever heard. Not because they were new. But because he said them here.

In Silco’s domain.

The air shifted.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. It slithered between the bodies at the table, curling around throats like an unseen noose. The temperature hadn’t changed, yet a cold dread settled in your stomach.

Because Silco was watching him now.

He had not moved, had not even spoken. But the weight of his gaze was enough to send a chill down your spine. His fingers traced the rim of his glass in slow, deliberate circles, the rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the simmering menace behind his mismatched eyes.

Varn, still oblivious to the razor-thin ice he had stepped onto, chuckled. He expected others to join in.

No one did.

Silco’s voice cut through the silence like a blade slipping through silk.

“Broken record?”

Varn hesitated, his bravado flickering. “I—I only meant—”

Silco stood.

It was an unhurried motion, almost lazy, yet it sent a ripple of unease through the room. He didn’t need to rush. The sheer gravity of his presence filled the space, a silent warning wrapped in elegance.

“You talk too much, Varn.” His tone was smooth, deceptively calm. “And yet, somehow, you still say nothing of value.”

Varn swallowed. The confidence that had bloomed so easily in his voice a moment ago had withered under Silco’s scrutiny. “I didn’t mean any offense, boss.”

Silco exhaled slowly, tilting his head as though examining a specimen under glass. “Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?” He took a measured step forward. “You didn’t think.” Another step. “Didn’t stop to consider the weight of your words.”

Varn flinched as Silco came to a halt beside him, his hand resting lightly on the back of the chair, fingers idly drumming against the wood.

“You see,” Silco murmured, leaning down so his lips hovered near Varn’s ear, “I detest people who waste my time.”

The room was still. Deathly still.

“Do you know why I keep her by my side, Varn?” His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it sliced through the air with precision.

Varn’s breath hitched.

Silco let the question linger, then turned his gaze toward you. Something flickered in his expression—something softer, something almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

“Because every word she says matters,” he continued, voice smooth as glass. “She does not waste them on arrogance, nor on fools.”

The message was clear.

Varn was a fool.

And Silco had no use for fools.

Without hesitation, Silco retrieved the knife from his coat pocket. He did not flourish it, did not draw attention to it. He didn’t need to. The soft glint of steel against the dim light spoke loudly enough.

Varn stiffened as the cold tip pressed just under his chin, tilting his head up ever so slightly. His pulse jumped beneath the blade’s edge.

“If you ever speak of her that way again,” Silco murmured, voice silk over steel, “I’ll make sure the only sounds you’re capable of are whimpers.”

Varn’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched into fists on his lap, as if fighting the urge to tremble.

Silco leaned in closer. “And those who whimper in my presence,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “don’t last long.”

A moment stretched—sickening, suffocating.

Then, just as smoothly as it had appeared, the knife vanished. Silco straightened, slipping it away with practiced ease.

“Get out,” he said coolly.

Varn bolted.

The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the distant echoes of his hurried footsteps. The silence that followed was deafening, your own heartbeat the only sound pounding in your ears.

Silco settled back into his chair as though nothing had happened, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a measured sip.

He glanced at you, an amused glint dancing in his gaze. “Something on your mind?”

You swallowed, still processing what had just transpired. “I think...” You inhaled sharply, pressing your lips together before continuing again. “You just scared the stutter out of me.”

Silco smirked, the corner of his mouth curling in something almost affectionate. “A pity.” He leaned back, exhaling contentedly. “I was rather fond of it.”

Your cheeks burned, though this time, frustration had nothing to do with it.

STEB

The cobblestone streets of Piltover stretched ahead, glistening under the dim glow of the hextech lamps. The city was quiet at this hour, a far cry from the usual midday bustle of merchants, students, and enforcers barking orders at troublemakers. Now, only the occasional carriage rattled over the stones, the faint hum of distant machinery threading through the silence.

A quiet evening patrol—just another night of keeping order.

Y/N walked beside Steb, hands tucked neatly behind her back, each step measured, uniform pristine. Composure was something she valued, something she cultivated. Every action was deliberate. Every word carefully chosen. In a city like Piltover, where reputation carried more weight than gold, she refused to be anything less than precise.

But somewhere along the way, she had grown comfortable.

And comfort, she was learning, came with its own set of problems.

Because comfort made her talk.

And once she started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“…and it’s just, you know, ridiculous that the new regulations say we need approval for every hextech enhancement when—no, actually, it’s not ridiculous, I get the safety measures, but���I mean, does it really make sense to lump minor repairs in with full-scale augmentations? Like, say you have a gauntlet with a minor power fluctuation—”

Her words tripped over each other like a pile of toppled playing cards. She exhaled sharply, trying to recalibrate, but the second she opened her mouth again—

“—and, and it’s like, I get it, okay, regulation is important, but if we’re—ugh, damn it—if we’re patrolling and need—ugh—if we need to—gah—words!”

She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her temples as if she could physically force her brain and mouth to work together.

Steb, who had been walking beside her in comfortable silence, turned his head slightly.

His eyes flickered over her face, unreadable, calm. He had the kind of quiet presence that never demanded space but occupied it effortlessly. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was never more than necessary. A sharp contrast to her current mess.

Y/N let out a defeated sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. “I swear I’m not an idiot.”

A pause. Then—

“…It’s okay.”

Two words. Simple. Steady. But there was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just an automatic reassurance, like he meant it.

When she finally forced herself to look at him, he was already gazing ahead, his usual neutral expression softened by the faintest curl of a smile. Not mocking. Not pitying. Just… there. Steady.

And that was somehow worse.

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, and she hastily turned her face away, rubbing at her temple as if that could chase away the heat creeping up her neck.

“…Yeah,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “I know.”

They kept walking.

She tried to keep her mouth shut. She really did. But silence felt so much heavier now. And despite her frustration, despite the way her brain constantly outran her mouth, she didn’t mind talking to Steb. It wasn’t like talking to anyone else—there was no pressure to fill the quiet, no expectation of a response.

So before she could stop herself—before she could consider if it was wise—her lips parted again.

“Y-you—” She winced at the stumble, frustration already bubbling up again. “Ugh, damn it—you never talk much, huh?”

Steb didn’t react right away. He simply existed beside her, steps never faltering, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Then, after a long beat—

“…No.”

Y/N huffed out a small, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I, uh—I noticed.”

Silence stretched between them once more, but this time, it was lighter.

She fiddled with the cuff of her uniform sleeve, suddenly hyperaware of how unraveled she sounded. How her tongue kept tripping over itself. She never did this with anyone else.

Just him.

Why just him?

“You, uh…” She swallowed. “You ever get frustrated when you do talk?”

He didn’t answer right away, but she could feel him considering it.

Finally—

“…No.”

She blinked up at him.

His eyes, though still their usual blank, unreadable dark, held a flicker of quiet amusement.

“Oh, well, good for you, then,” she grumbled, dragging a hand down her face. “Meanwhile, I sound like I got into a bar fight with the alphabet.”

Steb exhaled—a sound that wasn’t quite a chuckle but was close enough.

She turned to glare at him. “You think that’s funny, don’t you?”

A pause. Then, a small nod.

“…You’re the worst,” she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

They kept walking.

=

The city was quiet, but her mind wasn’t. It was racing—jumping from one thought to another, desperate to form a coherent sentence before it got tangled up again.

Instead, what slipped out was—

“We make a good team, huh?”

Steb glanced at her, tilting his head slightly in silent question.

“I mean—” She waved vaguely between them. “Someone who talks too much, someone who barely talks at all. Kinda funny, don’t you think?”

Another long pause. His expression didn’t change, but she could tell he was thinking about it.

Then, in that same steady, measured voice—

“…Yeah.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest easing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steb didn’t say anything, but his lips twitched—just a fraction, just enough for her to know it was there.

She decided she liked it.

And though she still stumbled over her words, still fought with her own tongue, she didn’t feel so bad about it anymore.

Request Answer Continue: My dear Cherry, I hope you enjoyed the Steb! And no need to apologise! I am willing to write for characters one off! And from what I've read about Steb, he may or may not talk, so I went with the headcanon where he does talk, but barely. So I do hope it's alright! <3

[tacobacoyeet]

father's day with... levii's jeans!art

warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, wildly self indulgent but everything in this au has been, AAHHAHGGHFAGHSGAHF, yk?

read levii's jeans!

The morning starts slow.

Art wakes up to the sound of birdsong and the distant hum of cicadas, the air already warm and sweet with early summer. The sheets are tangled around his legs, one arm slung over your waist, his nose buried in your neck. He doesn’t move at first— just breathes you in. The quiet of the room, the weight of your body curled against his, the soft rustle of the breeze through the cracked window— it’s peace in a way he never thought he’d know.

You stir slightly and mumble, "Happy Father’s Day."

He smiles into your skin, voice still rough with sleep. "Best thing I’ve heard all year."

The kids aren’t up yet. Miracle of miracles. So you stay there for a few more minutes, wrapped around each other, letting the stillness linger. His hand rubs slow circles along your hip, thumb brushing the hem of your sleep shirt.

"You want coffee?" you whisper.

He groans. "I want ten more minutes."

But ten turns to fifteen, and then you’re both reluctantly rising— you to the kitchen, him to tug on random pants and a soft, worn tee. He grabs the morning paper from the porch while you start the coffee. When he walks back in, the smell of cinnamon rolls is already thick in the air.

The kids wake up not long after, barreling into the kitchen barefoot and grinning, each one clutching a hand-drawn card and shouting, "Happy Father’s Day!" with voices that crack and trip over syllables.

Art drops to his knees and lets them tackle him. He kisses their foreheads, ruffles hair, pulls them in tight. One card has glitter glued into a crooked heart. The other is a drawing of him in his cowboy hat, muscles comically oversized.

You hand him a mug— black coffee with a splash of vanilla, just how he likes it— and watch as he reads each card aloud, his voice thick with that quiet kind of joy that only ever shows up in moments like this.

"You’re the best daddy because you make the pancakes and you fix the barn and you’re strong like a bear," one reads.

He chuckles, eyes wet. "Strong like a bear, huh? I’ll take it."

Breakfast is a team effort. You flip pancakes while the kids set the table, Art sneaking in behind you to kiss your neck between batches. The kitchen is chaos— sticky fingers, flour footprints, syrup drips— but it’s perfect.

Later, after the plates are cleared and the kids are out back with the hose and the dog, Art catches your wrist and pulls you into his lap on the porch swing.

"You did all this?"

You nod. "They helped."

"Still. Thank you."

You press your forehead to his. "You deserve it."

He hums. "Think I’ll take them fishing this afternoon. Give you a little peace."

"What about you? Anything you want?"

He pauses, looks at you with that soft smile. The one that still makes your stomach flip.

"I’ve already got it."

And for a moment, nothing moves but the swing and the warm breeze, and the world feels exactly right.

He takes the kids to the pond after lunch, old rods slung over shoulders, tackle box in hand. You watch them go from the porch, Art walking slow in the heat, your youngest swinging a pail and already talking a mile a minute. He looks back once— catches your eye and tips his hat with a grin before vanishing down the tree-lined path.

You waste no time.

By the time he returns, cheeks sun-warmed and kids bragging over the "biggest fish ever caught" (which is, at best, a slightly plump bluegill), the house smells like heaven.

You’ve set the table on the porch. White linen cloth. Candles in mason jars. His favorite bourbon on ice. A dinner straight from his heart— ribs slathered in his granny's sauce, sweet corn charred just right, deviled eggs the way he likes them, and homemade cornbread fresh from the cast iron.

He looks stunned when he sees it.

"I didn’t see this coming," he says, voice quiet.

"Good," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Go wash up. Dinner’s ready when you are."

He doesn’t stop smiling the entire meal. Not once. He makes a show of tasting everything like he’s a food critic, but you see the way he closes his eyes on the first bite of ribs. The way he leans back in his chair, glass in hand, completely content.

The kids fall asleep on the porch swing before dessert. You carry them in together— him with one kid on each shoulder, you trailing behind with a blanket and quiet laughter.

By the time you return to the porch, the candles have burned low, the fireflies are out, and the bourbon’s still sweating in his glass. He’s sitting back in his chair, eyes closed, boots crossed at the ankles.

You curl into the chair beside his, your head on his shoulder.

He hums, lazy and low. "You know… I never got dessert."

You smile. "There’s still some cobbler in the fridge."

He glances over at you, mouth twitching. "Not what I meant."

You tilt your head. "No?"

"Nah," he says, voice lower now, more deliberate. "Been thinking about you all day. That dress. That smile. Everything you did. Everything you are."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "So you’re saying I’m dessert."

"Damn right you are. And I’ve been starving."

You barely make it past the bedroom door before he’s got you pressed to the wall, his mouth already on your neck, hands dragging your dress up. When he drops to his knees, it’s fast but focused— like he’s had this in mind since breakfast.

He pushes your panties down and kisses up your inner thighs like he’s tasting sunlight. Then he’s on you, mouth hot and wet and needy, tongue flicking and curling like he’s making a goddamn meal of you.

And when you gasp and brace against the wall, hips grinding against his face, he just groans— hands gripping your ass, keeping you right there.

"Fuck," you moan, tugging at his hair. "Art— yeah, right there—"

He doesn’t stop. Not even when your legs start shaking. He holds you through every wave, licking and moaning until you're breathless, completely wrecked.

And when you pull him up, panting and flushed, he’s grinning. Mouth slick. Eyes wild.

"That was just the appetizer," he says.

You drag him to the bed, shove him back, climb on top. "Then shut up and let me finish my plate."

He laughs— but the second you sink down on him, it cuts off into a sharp, broken fuck. His hands grip your thighs, then your hips, then your waist— like he doesn’t know where to touch first.

You ride him slow at first, teasing. Then you start bouncing, just to watch his head fall back and his stomach tense. He’s loud. So loud. Cursing. Babbling. Gasping your name like it’s the only thing he knows.

You lean over him, hands pressed to his chest, and whisper, "You love this, huh? Me all over you."

He nods, frantic. "Love it. Love you. Fuck— don’t stop."

You don’t.

You ride him until you’re both on fire. Until the bed is creaking and the air’s thick with heat and sweat and moans that never stop.

And when you come again— clenching around him, body shaking— he lets go with a shout, holding you tight as he spills into you, breath caught in his throat.

After, you collapse on top of him. Both of you sticky and trembling and high on it.

He’s the first to speak, voice barely a whisper.

"Best Father’s Day. Hands down."

You kiss his chest. "You earned it."

He groans, still breathless. "I’m never eating real dessert again."

You laugh. "Liar. I know you wanted that damn cobbler."

He laughs too— deep and warm and full of love. And when he pulls you close and kisses your forehead, you know you’ll never top this day.

But you’ll sure as hell try next year.

-----

@kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow @soulxinxthexsky @voidsuites @elsieblogs @deeninadream @nozhdyved @asheepinfrance @love-ella333 @jesuistrestriste @cha11engers

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[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXVI/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et @aliciax3

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, gore, violence

A/N: GOD WE MADE IT. Okay I hope y'all enjoyed the ride, because GODDAMN IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS. What are we gonna do now huh? I'm kidding, I see y'all's requests and I'll be working on them. Thank you for sticking around for this long ass fic that took over my Tumblr. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The wind out on deck had teeth, but I needed the bite. Inside the ocean liner, there wasn't a single noise I could stand anymore; laughter, yelling, crying. I knew it was time to bolt when I saw some of the boys exchanging addresses—one last attempt to postpone losing ourselves to the real world.

I had made up my mind about it long ago. Contact would just make everything worse. What the fuck would I write, anyway? 'Hey, I hope you're good. Everything still hurts.'

I leaned against the railing, one palm braced against cold metal, the other flicking my lighter under the lip of a bent cigarette I'd pull out of a half empty pack on my way out.

Flick. Nothing.

Flick. Nothing.

"Piece of shit." I muttered, shaking it once. I gave it one more try. Still dead. Two set of footsteps walked by and stopped right at the turn. I didn't care, so I didn't look.

"How did you manage to get through the war with that shit lighter?"

My heart just about gave out.

I turned slowly, disbelieving. Y/n's eyes meet mine as she retraced her steps and approached me, mouth curled around the ghost of a tight-lipped smile. It read as a bittersweet greeting, as much as an apology.

"Fuck." I breathed, frozen halfway through the motion. She snatched the cigarette out of my mouth, trapped it between her teeth and lit its end in the blink of an eye. Handed it back and stared at the side, overlooking the fact that she had knocked the air out of my lungs with what had become a mundane motion between us.

Because I couldn't remember the last time we had shared a cigarette, nor the last time I'd seen her smile. I couldn't remember much, I was realizing just now, aside from blood splattered on the hotel's hallway and sheer fear and white-hot rage.

Three Months Earlier

Fist met cheek with a wet crack. Ramirez didn't hold back. None of us were. Not after what this bastard had done.

The private—the fucker who'd pulled the trigger—was sagging in the chair, split lip pouring red, eye already swelling shut. I had a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head up harsh enough to tear it every time his head dropped.

"Where's the damn gun?" Bull insisted.

The private didn't answer. He had stopped answering around thirty minutes ago. Maybe he thought he could sit through this, take the beating, walk it out. So I leaned forward for him to hear me loud and clear.

"You're gonna give us that fuckin' gun," I hissed through gritted teeth, voice steady and mean. "Then I'm gonna shoot your brains out with it."

I meant it. Every syllable.

The bloodshot eye he could still open dragged away from me and over my shoulder, widening with sobering recognition.

"Do I ring any bells?" she asked, voice lethal, carrying through the room and straight into the replacement's ears.

My hand kept the iron grip on his locks as I spun to check I hadn't gone insane. Sure enough, there she was, leaning against the far wall of the lounge. Her tank top clung to her like gauze, stained with the dark crust of blood that hadn't quite dried. Barefoot. Pale. Skin slick with sweat or fever—I couldn't tell which.

I couldn't tell much aside from the fact that she shouldn’t be standing.

"You sonofabitch." in the blink of an eye, she was on the move, stalking across the floor like death itself in cotton and blood. The lightbulb made a flash of metal flicker in her hand. A blade.

"Hey—no," I dropped the culprit's head to intercept her halfway. Her body crashed into mine, all heat and tremble, and I took the opportunity to keep the blade at bay by restraining her wrist. It felt wrong how easy that was. "What are you doing?"

Her breath came in short, hard puffs; her glare, glassy and furious, trained on the slumped man behind me as she spat, "I'm gonna bleed him like a pig."

"When you think she can't get more stupid," Martin muttered somewhere in my left, and God was he right.

She was shaking, too light and too hot, holding herself together by the same furious grief that had left my knuckles busted and my sleeves blooded.

"Let me go." She writhed in my grip, trying to push past me. I halfheartedly held firm.

"Not happening."

"Let her try."

"Shut up, Alton." Don jumped in, pushing himself off the chimney's corner. He moved closer, catching Y/n's elbow from behind to gently make her step back. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Y/n shook him off hard. Too hard. She gasped and staggered, one hand flying to her side as if pressing the dressing would stop the stitches from pulling.

"Shit—" I cursed, catching her again before she toppled over. "Stop. Fuckin' stop, alright? Please." With one arm desperately wrapped around her waist, I walked her back a step. Two. She was burning through the cloth and I couldn't do anything to fix it.

Her forehead hit my shoulder for half a second, like she was just so goddamn tired.

The door flung open with a thud, grabbing our full attention. Speirs' boots stopped right before the beaten up soldier, who was still trying to look smug through a face that was more pulp than person.

"Where's the gun?" Speirs questioned, faux calm reining in his ruthlessness.

The bastard had the nerve to smirk as he threw the same quip that had been earning him the punches. "What gun?"

The back of Speirs' sidearm caught him across the face, splitting the other cheek clean open.

"When you talk to an officer," Speirs' tone lacked patience and dripped with danger. Not a good sign. "you say Sir." He raised the pistol. Pointed it directly at the private's forehead.

Everyone stepped back, almost unnoticeably. We all heard the stories. No one wanted to look. No one but Y/n, whose chin was tilted just enough to watch the scene over my shoulder, her free hand holding onto my jacket for support.

The room held its breath for a second or a minute, before our commanding officer spoke again. "Let the MPs take care of this piece of shit."

On cue, More and Bull got a careless hold on the private by his arms and dragged him out of the room, a chorus of muted grunts echoing behind them.

Talbert, who had trailed into the lounge after Speirs, asked tentative, "Is Grant dead?"

"Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." He announced while shoving his sidearm back into his holster. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Y/n straightened up the best she could, her palm rapidly tapping my shoulder. "Joe, let go."

I didn't have time to react before our Captain entered my peripheral vision, his crimson splattered hand wrapping around Y/n's bicep to pull her away from my arms.

"The hell are you doing on your feet, Sergeant?" He inquired, sharp gaze scanning Y/n's covered ribcage. She didn't get to make up an excuse. "First Sergeant Talbert, why isn't Y/l/n in the hospital?"

Talbert hesitated. "Sir, Spina—"

"Spina's a medic, she needs a damn doctor." He peeled her away from me, aiding her with more care than the man would admit to later. "C'mon, we're driving you to the hospital."

Maybe I should've said something. To her, to Speirs, to anyone. Should've gone with her. I just stood and watched them carry her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I willed my brain snap out of it, shaking my head imperceptibly as if to physically pull me out of the stupor.

"Thought you got shipped to the States." I attempted.

"Got shipped to England." Y/n corrected me. "Got word the Toccoa veterans were leaving, so I hitched a ride." She tucked the lighter into her pocket and leaned back against the railing, her moves obviously slower and more mindful despite her pretending otherwise. "Surprise."

I dragged hard on the cigarette, just to keep my hands busy. "No one said anything."

"Wasn't trying to make a big entrance."

"No shit." I turned back to the dark water, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, the sound of waves against metal echoing below. "Malarkey knows?"

"I'll look for him."

The Statue of Liberty was still a distant speck behind gray clouds.

"We won." she commented matter-of-factly, trying to build a conversation from scratch. As if that had ever worked with us.

Still, I indulged her effort.

"Yeah. We did."

"You hear about Japan?"

"Who didn't?" I flicked the ashes off board. "Whole world's gone to hell and back."

She nodded, foot tapping the planks. "Heard some of the guys stayed back in England."

"Can't blame them." I said, because 'I considered it' would arise questions I didn't want to answer. Not to her, not to anyone.

At the turn of the deck where Y/n had come from, movement caught my eye—someone lingering at a cautious distance, arms crossed, watching the scene. It took me a second to recognize Andrew. He looked different; older, duller. Out of place, just like we'd all be in a couple of hours.

"Where'd he come from?" I asked, nodding toward him, doing my best to keep my tone in check.

"He came to see me at the hospital." She threw a look over her shoulder, not so much to check what was I looking at as it was to make sure he was still there. "Found me pretty quick. Guess being the mail boy has its privileges."

I nodded, exchanging the sight of the man for the horizon's; the faint outline of New York parted the sky from the ocean.

I could've looked for her when we got to England. I should've asked around. Wouldn't have been too hard—tracking down a female paratrooper. Why didn't I?

"Why don't you go in?" I said after a while, mentally drawing a line in the sand. "Let the fellas see that pretty face of yours got the color back."

She shrugged, tugging at a loose thread on her fatigues' sleeve. "I'd rather stay here."

The silence stretched. Only the churn of ocean filled it, that and the creak of footsteps from restless soldiers wandering behind us. I glanced over at her.

"You going back to Norfolk?" I asked.

She breathed out a single laugh, almost amused. "Where else would I go?"

I bit back a reckless offering. 'You could come with me' wasn't something she'd like to hear. It wasn't something I'd like to lay out between us either, bare and desperate like a child begging not to go home yet.

What was home, anyway?

"You going back to San Francisco?" she echoed my question, her observant gaze skimming over me.

"We'll see about that."

Another pause. Another crack in the conversation we couldn't quite patch.

"Luz is asking for everyone's address," I said it like an afterthought, pretending I wasn't desperate to push her away before I spilled unwanted truths all over the outdoor deck. "You should go give him yours before he realizes you're on the ship and chases you for it."

"Maybe I will." She gave a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What's your address, Liebgott?"

I looked down at the cigarette burning between my fingers. Hesitated. "Can't remember." That was a lie, yet it felt cleaner than the truth.

Her face fell when she put together the pieces, reading between lines what I'd already decided. She took a breath. Resignation. "Tell you what," she folded her arms over her chest, the words sticking halfway in her throat. "I think I'm gonna miss you."

A joke, most likely, but it didn't land like one.

"Don’t worry," I ran my free hand through already disheveled locks. "one month with lover boy Andrew and you won't even remember my name."

She stared at me like I had offended her. Maybe I had. Maybe I deserved to see her scoff, turn heel and leave me there.

With a sigh, she reached for my hand. Took it in hers. Pressed something into my palm.

Her lighter.

"Keep it," she said. "Or throw it overboard, I don't care. I hate smoking anyway."

She lingered for a beat, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. Quick. Chaste. Soft enough to fucking kill me. I tried to catch her lips with mine on instinct, but she was already pulling away. Like she knew. Like she had felt me move and decided to purposefully beat me to it.

She squeezed my arm, warm and final, and walked back to her friend without another word.

I stared at the lighter in my hand.

America grew closer, and I felt my heart break.

We'd run out of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The noise at the docks was deafening, overwhelming—cheering, crying, shouting names into the chaos. The second our boots hit New York's soil, the world broke open in celebration.

We were being swallowed by the crowds. Men from Easy jostled shoulder to shoulder, some already sprinting toward waiting families, others standing still, lost. Flags waved, hats flew, the scent of salt and steel mixed with perfume from people who hadn't known the inside of a uniform. Someone threw a bouquet. A woman screamed someone's name and collapsed into his arms.

In the middle of it all, I felt a hand close around my bicep, forced gentleness barely masking urgency, and tugged me slightly away from Andrew before anyone could clock it. The ruckus swallowed the movement.

"What's the lighter for?" Joe's clipped question went right into my ear.

Thrown by a question I didn't expect to hear, I turned to face him. We were being pushed and pulled by bodies on all sides, but he kept me tethered. "Smoking, hopefully." I tried. "Don't burn shit up with it. It's got my initials."

He exhaled sharp through his nose, tugging on my arm just enough to pull something else out of me. I didn't have it in me to fight it, so I gave in.

"Don't want you to forget me." I confessed, fear, heartache and embarrassment bubbling to the surface all at once.

His grip tightened, and his voice raised. "Don't need a fucking lighter to remember you."

I opened my mouth, but someone bumped me from behind. I stumbled forward, into him. His hands caught me like it was second nature at this point.

"You don't have to keep it," I insisted, placing a hand on his chest as a leverage to push myself a step back. "I told you to throw it away if you—"

"I'm in love with you."

It hit harder than a gunshot, straight to the chest.

"Head over heels for fuck knows how long," he went on, not looking away from me for a second. "It's fuckin' pathetic. I don't need a lighter to remember that, alright?"

My pulse was too loud in my ears. A lump in my throat blocked any response I would have wanted to give him. Someone shoved through again, knocking him slightly off balance. His hand left my arm for a second.

"Keep it," was the only sentence I managed without having my voice shattering. "Please."

Joe muttered something under his breath—'fuck', maybe—and reached for his dog tags. Before I could ask what he was doing, he slipped the chain over his head, the rusted star of David glinting under the sun, and looped it over my neck instead. They were warm from his skin.

His hand lingered at the base of my nape for a second before he leaned in, kissed my temple, and spoke against my hair, "Take care of yourself."

I grabbed the front of his jacket. My fingers found his collar and brought him into a kiss, quiet, barely there, but enough.

Enough.

He kissed me back.

And then he let go.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, into a hundred people moving in a hundred directions, oblivious to yet another goodbye among all the reunions.

"Y/n! God, I thought I'd lost you. C'mon!"

Andrew's voice called behind me, so I walked back toward him on reflex, leaving my heart somewhere on the dock.

'I'm in love with you'.

Too late for it to matter.

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

☆ o-o-obsessed!

— a blue lock fanfic // when ness needed some reassurance, you were there for him. now he needs to make sure he's there for you. always.

synopsis: working as an escort, you encounter a sad looking man one fateful night. what starts as making easy money soon turns into something much different. pairing: afab!reader x stalker!ness [aged up.] wc: tw: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. STORY CONTAINS DARK THEMES LIKE STALKING, TOXIC CO-DEPENDENCY, YANDERE BEHAVIOR. READ ON YOUR OWN RISK. CONTAINS SMUT. nsfw includes: stalker!ness. dubcon. manipulative behaviour. STALKING. touch starvation. orgasms [both male and female]. obsessive behaviour. m.list

"hey, a sad looking man is here. wanna take him?" your manager asked you, looking at you through your reflection in the mirror. her tamed hair was packed into a neat bun and she was adorned in a black blazer.

"huh?" you groaned at her request, "do i need to take him? i just finished up. i'm so tired-ugh!" the syllables mixed together as you slumped back in your chair.

the vanity was lit up with lightbulbs as it shone down on your figure. the show glitter shimmered against your skin, your hair was tousled in loose curls, and your makeup was still caked onto your skin. on your desk was a bag you were preparing for your commute back home.

a few other girls got ready on their respective counters while others chattered amongst themselves, recounting idiotic men and their even-so-more idiotic anecdotes. laughter mingled with the slow, steady rhythm of music that had managed to seep in from the main lounge into your common dressing area.

your manager crossed her arms, giving you another chance, "are ya sure? i mean i can ask jessica or carrie but he looks real sad, and i know you love those men. they bring in easy money."

"okay." you set your packed bag down, giving her a pointed look, "what kind of sad? creepy sad or pathetic type?"

your manager bored you down in return, "if it were the creepy type, i wouldn't be offering you the job."

"fine." you gave her a resigned sigh, "how sad?"

"sad enough to throw in a biiiig cheque."

you met her eyes in the mirror, thinking about the offer once over before nodding, "alright. give me five minutes. which room?"

"205." the older woman gave you a small smile, "you'd be there, right?"

"yeah, yeah." you shrugged her off, "i'll be right there. not gonna run away. don't worry."

🎀─────♡

meet 01: are humans replaceable?

you took in a deep breath, shifting your body weight from one feet to another as you stood at the door. no matter how many clients you entertained, the first meeting was always nerve-wrecking. what if he was insane? or worse... obsessed with you?

you shrugged off the chills, twisting the door knob and slipping in.

when inside the sensual, lightly-dimmed room, your eyes made sense of a young man sitting on the loveseat. his face was tilted downwards, messy purplish locks obscuring his eyes and most of his face from your vision.

weird. most of the men who pay for a private room would've jumped your bones till now, if not atleast look at you. but this man... he was too mesmerized mapping out the glittery, geometric pattern of the floors to really notice your presence.

but... you knew better than anyone that these men weren't as simple as they looked. the more inconspicuous they behaved, the worse their desires were. so, you steadied your breath, put on a smile and you cleared your throat softly, locking the door behind you, "hey?"

the man looked up suddenly, as if your presence had jolted him out of his thoughts. his brown eyes met yours and you noticed the man shudder, "h-hey."

"my name's honey." you knew better than to give away your real name. deepening your smile, you allowed yourself to create a false illusion for your client. "i'll be your entertainer for tonight. what's your name?"

the man scooted a few inches backwards on the loveseat as you inched forwards toward him. but no matter what he tried, he couldn't quite escape you as his back was finally against the cushions. his bottom lip trembled as he looked up at you, "n-ness... alexis ness."

"that's a cute name, ness." you stopped yourself half a meter short from the loveseat. eyeing his frail face, you wondered aloud, "do you mind if i sit next to you?"

he shook his head softly, scooting sideways to the extreme end of the loveseat and practically offering you the rest. you sat down on the leathered surface, maintaining your distance at his discomfort.

"so..." you started off slowly, "what can i do for you, ness? do you wanna me dance or... undress—?"

his eyes widened, reddened face looking away from yours in a hurry, "n-no! it's okay."

your brows furrowed, arms crossing against your chest to push the fat upwards and perhaps, tempt the young man. you questioned him again, "do you just want to sit?"

he nodded, "yes, please."

and so, that's what you did. in your silence, you wondered why the man was here. these private rooms were expensive, definitely not the kind that some part-timing early twenties man could afford. was he rich? maybe it was generational wealth? or, perhaps he won a lottery and his first pitstop was to hire a prostitute for fun?

but then, the way he was reacting to you — one would wonder if someone else had forced him to be here. perhaps, his friends? or someone else to take a piss out of him?

you didn't usually care for personal sob-stories or background, but you felt bad for this man. from your periphery, you noticed the man twiddling his thumb, still staring at the glittery flooring.

oh, fuck personal principles, i guess?

"is something bothering you?" you asked softly, "i mean we do have an hour together... and i can see you don't want me to do what i-" you laughed, "like what i usually do."

"i-uh..." the man stalled, "i'm sorry."

"what? why're you sorry? i'm getting paid to chat to some stranger for an hour. it's my lucky day~!" at your joke, a small smile tugged at ness' lips, "right..."

"if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. we can sit in total silence either. i don't mind—"

"c-can i ask you something?"

the man's voice was so soft that it almost got lost by the time it reached you. you took a second, easily complying at the mindless request, "yeah, sure."

"do you think humans are..." his bated breath came out in a shiver,

"replaceable?"

you hummed, quickly assessing that the man was going through some sort of post-breakup ritual or something. usually, people didn't come to talk to you about philosophical questions — atleast with not your tits still in your flimsy bra.

finally, you uttered, "well, in the grand scheme of things — yes." a small wince from his side rung in your ear but you continued, "i mean there are 8 billion of us here. we are... replaceable. but i think the question isn't if people are replaceable, it's whether people you love are replaceable... and the answer to that is no."

"no?" he echoed back, much like a child learning something for the first time.

"no." you nodded, "if you love someone, sure it could not work out. they could die, or there could be a falling out or whatever... but to claim that someone you once loved is now replaceable, that's just untrue. they will always have some place in your life. they can't just be erased. i wish they could, god knows i've tried."

there was a strange lilt to his voice, "you've loved people before?"

you drew a brow at his question, "hasn't everyone?"

"yeah..." the silence followed by confirmed your suspicions. definitely going through some sort of a breakup.

the man finally turned his face towards you, although his words were just as frail, "what you're saying is that you wouldn't... you wouldn't replace somebody you loved?"

you laughed at his question, "fuck no. if i love someone then i love them. that's it."

and for the first time that night, ness cracked open a smile, "okay."

for the rest of the forty-five minutes, you two sat in silence... weirdly with the man still smiling to himself till the very end. well, you had nothing to complain about. he had left a hefty tip at the end. what more could a girl ask for?

🎀─────♡

meet 02: do you have a boyfriend?

exactly a week later, your manager came back to your vanity. it was the exact same day of the week — another thursday. exact same hour — at nine at night. she gave you a look, "the sad man's back."

you raised a brow, turning your face to look at her, "the one from last week?"

"uh-huh." she smiled, "he asked specially for honey."

you frowned at the man's request, "but i have a booked bachelor's party right now."

"not anymore," your manager shrugged, "saddie's willing to pay twice the amount to see you. good job, honey." she smiled, "you got him wrapped 'round your finger in just one meeting?"

"i-" you smiled right back, "maybe i did."

"205. he's waiting."

and so, you twisted the doorknob again, only to find the man sitting at his usual seat towards the very edge of the loveseat. this time though, he met your eyes right on and even muttered, "hey."

"hey." you beamed at him as you closed the door, "my manager said you specifically asked for me. like me that much, huh?"

and you meant it as a joke. you even said it as a joke. but from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, he was tainted red at the sudden statement. he spluttered out meekly, "y-yes."

you sat down at your usual position too, keeping a safe distance away from him. "awh, you're adorable."

he blushed again, stealing his gaze away from you to stare at the floor again. you cooed, "do you wanna do something today, or just wanna talk?"

"uh... i had another question." you nodded, "sure. what's up?"

"do you have a boyfriend?"

your eyes widened. oh no. not this question. this was usually the question they asked when they wanted to see you outside of work... and seeing men outside of work was dangerous. you gulped quickly, acting on your thoughts even quicker, "yeah. we've been together three years."

"oh?" ness looked akin to a kicked puppy. "three years?"

that was a lie. there was no one in your life. absolutely no one. but this answer usually kept the men off of you. so, you nodded along the lie, "yeah. he's the absolute sweetest. he's really supportive of my job too—!"

and maybe you imagined it but you noticed anger mold itself in his irises. he fisted his hand, "oh?"

"yeah." you tried to maintain a cheerful expression, "why do you ask?"

"oh... no reason." he gave you a compliant smile, "was just going through a break-up, so, got... curious."

"it's okay, ness." you said his name so sweetly. so, so sweetly. how could ness ever let someone else be the reason you didn't call his name in that honey-tone of yours?

🎀─────♡

meet 03: here... all alone?

the next thursday, ness didn't show up. you couldn't help but feel his absence — or rather, the absence of cash that he gave you. from the past two weeks, the increment in your tips was highly rewarding. you had finally brought yourself a pair of shoes that you had been dying to buy. and now, you had hoped that with the next bout of tip, you'd buy a new purse that you had been eyeing.

but then, he never showed.

although dejected, you had made your peace with it within a few hours. from your last conversation, you had concluded that the man had probably taken your fake boyfriend story to heart and gotten heartbroken. well, whatever. he was just a client. a rich one, but a client nonetheless.

on saturday, you were off work. you had woken up late and to save a half-ruined day, decided to take yourself to grocery shopping. now, gliding through the produce aisle of the grocery store, you bumped into someone.

"okay. tofu, onions, bell pepper— ouch." you looked up at the sudden contact, your eyes tangling against familiar, kind set of eyes. your lips parted in shock, "n-ness?"

"hey." he smiled down at you kindly, "didn't expect to see you here."

you blinked up at him, once, twice, before regaining cognitive abilities. you laughed it off, "yeah- oh my god, me either. what're you doing here?"

"i live nearby." you scrunched your features at his answer, "you do?"

now, you didn't live in a bad part of town but... it was definitely not the wealthiest. most people around lived paycheck to paycheck and you didn't expect someone as affluent — for a lack of better word — as ness to be living nearby.

he gave you a soft smile, "what're you doing here... all alone? your boyfriend didn't come to help you shop?"

right. the boyfriend. you shrugged, expertly crafting a lie at the tip of your tongue, "oh he's really tired from work. i thought i'd surprise with some homemade food, y'know? trying to be a good girlfriend."

"i see. he's very lucky." ness peered into your cart, eyeing the ingredients, "but uh, those don't look like they'd be enough to fill the stomachs of two people."

"oh..." you laughed, your frenzied gaze quickly scanning over the single-serving proportions of your groceries, "well, i'd be ordering something in too. cannot cook too much cause i'm kinda lazy."

"if you were my girlfriend, i would do the cooking." ness muttered softly and you laughed to make the situation less awkward, "i mean... my boyfriend does help around the house. he's just tired today."

"i get it."

there was an unsteady beat between you two, one in which both you and him could do nothing but stare at each-other. at his strangling gaze, you felt a shiver start at the base of your neck and run down your spine in an electric jolt.

"okayyyy, then." you dragged the syllables, trying to finish up the conversation.

"well, it was nice bumping into you." ness gave you a final smile, "say hello to your boyfriend for me."

"of course!" you turned away quick, trying to hide your faltering expression, "see ya!"

you shopped quick, trying to avoid ness and to get out as soon as possible. even as you checked out your groceries at the self check-out, you couldn't help but feel someone's gaze boring holes into your back. the same, eerie feeling continued till you reached the gate of your apartment. god. what was up with that?

🎀─────♡

meet 04: praise me.

"hey." your manager called you as the clock struck nine on the next thursday, "the sad man's back."

"he is?" you mumbled to yourself, surprised at his sudden appearance. you had gone to the grocery store once more since your last visit but thankfully, hadn't come across alexis ness again. you had accepted your fate, chalking up that meet-up to a strange coincidence that had happened. but now... he was back again?

a nasty feeling churned in your gut and your manager took notice of it, "are ya okay? you seem outta it."

"uh..." you stalled, "yeah. i'm fine."

"is he bothering you?" she quirked up an eyebrow, "did he do something?"

he wasn't bothering you. he wasn't. he hadn't even done something weird. both of those statements was untrue. you were just on edge for some reason, and alexis ness couldn't have been possibly the source of it. maybe... you were just acting paranoid. yeah, that was probably it. probably.

you swallowed down the bile rising to your throat and nodded, "yeah, don't worry. 205, right?"

"hm. 205." your manager commanded easily and you nodded, "yeah, be right there."

this time around, when you twisted the doorknob to open the door — you found the man sitting up straighter. his posture was well, gaze intently locked onto your figure as soon as you walked in through the gate.

"hey, ness..." you gave him a polite smile, motivated by nothing but the thought of the money you'd make at the end of this hour.

"hey... uh, come sit." and this time, he didn't scoot to the extreme.

you sat down on your position, maintaining a small distance between you two. smiling kindly, you asked, "so, what do you want to talk about today—?"

"not that." he interrupted you, a greedy look flickering in his usual kind, brown eyes. he licked his lips, "i-i wanted something else."

you face bunched, "like?"

"i want you to..." he paused and your heart hammered in your chest, afraid of what the next few syllables will be. he drew in a short breath, trembling at the fate of his own words, "praise me."

"praise you?" you echoed back, part-confused and part-relieved. of course, this wasn't the strangest of request you had ever received. it was tame.

his features grew unsure, "uh, that's okay right?"

"yeah. yeah." you gave him a curt nod, "how exactly do you wish for me to praise you?"

"just uh-" his trembling hands slowly moved to his lap, his voice already breathy, "just anything. give me anything, beautiful."

your eyes widened at his statement, not because it was absurd but because it was coming from ness — shy ness, can't-even-hold-eye-contact ness. now, his rough palm was ghosting over the bulge in his jeans.

"okay." you swallowed, "do you want me to do anything else? undress or do you want my hand instead of yours—?"

"no. no." he sounded somewhat horrified at your proposal of giving him a handjob. his voice was short as he babbled, "no. if you touch me- if i touch you— no. no. just... just start."

"okay." your voice turned sweeter, the words flowing like heavenly streams of water through his ears, "you're doing so good, ness."

his breath quickened, eyes fluttering shut as your nectar-like syllables rung in his ears, "do it just like that, yeah. touch yourself. does it feel good?"

his lips parted softly, "y-yes."

"don't you want to feel yourself properly, baby? you can take off those jeans." but he shook his head, "no..."

"just like this, then?" you cooed, "that's alright. whatever my pretty boy wants, he gets."

"whatever i want?" he echoed back, never opening his eyes. you nodded, still cooing, "whateverrr he wants."

"i... i want you."

seeing his statement as nothing but dirty talk, you played along, "you want me? you already have me, baby." you leaned in closer to him, "right here."

the man shuddered at the sudden closness. his eyes were still clenched shut and the apples of his cheek were tainted red as you kept babbling. "you're so pretty, ness. i wish you could see yourself right now — face red, hands trembling... you're so, so pretty as you please yourself to my voice."

"hahh- f-fuck." his hip bucked upwards as he tried to gain more friction even with the layers of denim separation. he swallowed down the curses on the tip of his tongue, "tell me- tell me you love me."

your character broke, "w-what?"

his eyes opened wide, irises trained directly at you, "tell me you love me."

"i-" you tried to twist the words, "i love the way you're doing it—"

"no." he was stern, "say 'i love you.'"

taken aback by the sudden intensity, you had no choice but to utter, "i... love you, ness."

with a soft hiss and violent jerk of his pelvis, he came undone within the next few seconds. his body coughed up a shiver and you noticed a wet patch growing on the fabric of his jeans.

"you came?" you asked innocently as if you hadn't caused this and ness nodded, "yeah. i- uh, you can go now."

"already? we still have about forty-five minutes left."

he averted his eyes from you, reverting back to the same shy man that you had met for the first time. "i heard all i wanted to. if- if i go further, i'd regret it."

regret it? what did he mean?

you had taken your leave, just about to slip through the door when ness called out to your meekly, "d-does your boyfriend like it when you praise him?"

"uh..." you stared at the man, taken aback with his sudden obssession with your pretend-boyfriend, "he's not the praise type of guy, y'know?"

"he's really missing out then, isn't he?" he gave you a small smile and you nodded quickly, trying to leave the room.

what was his deal?

🎀─────♡

meet 05: spread wiiide open.

by the next thursday, ness was back to his regular schedule. showing up at nine in the night, you were already prepared to get summoned to 205.

this time too, he looked at you when you entered. if anything, this time... something had shifted in his demeanor. it seemed like he was staring at you, refusing to look away from anything and everything at all. his eyes scanned your beautiful face, coming down to your barely-covered tits and the sway of your hips as you walked.

once you approached the loveseat, ness stood up. you gave him a pointed look, "what's wrong, ness?"

"n-nothing." he bit his trembling bottom lip, "you can sit down."

"okay?" you sat yourself down. peering up at the man, you gave him your best doe-eyes, "you don't wanna sit?"

"no." he swallowed quickly, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. staring at your face, he muttered, "i'm gonna ask you something."

"yeah, sure."

"spread your legs for me." he whimpered at his own statement, "please."

following his request, you parted your thighs. the pair of lingerie bottoms that you had on were beautiful, lacey, enticing. knowing how the request usually went, your fingers flew to the waistband, ready to take it off. but ness' voice pitched up, "n-no! don't take it off."

quizzical, you asked, "what then...?"

"just..." he kneeled in front of you, lodging himself in the space between your parted thighs while still maintaining a safe distance from your fabric-clad cunt. he licked his lips, his eyes focused on your core and his voice wobbled, "t-touch yourself."

"through my underwear...?"

"yeah." he breathed out, "don't take it off. i don't know what i'd...do if i see you fully."

although perturbed by his request, you decided to comply with the man on his knees. bringing two experienced fingers to your hot core, you touched your sensitive nub through the little fabric. at your pressing and prodding, a small wet patch formed on the soft cloth.

ness groaned at the sight, one palm of his being used to press down on his clothed bulge. he didn't take off his eyes from your cunt, whispering, "keep going."

you circled your clit, using the buildup of honeyed slick to glide the fabric against yourself. biting down a moan, you continued the rapid motions and ness' flickered up his gaze to your flushed face, "make noises."

your lips parted, eyes meeting his as your back arched, "nghh— fuck."

"no." he leaned forward slightly and you swear you found his eyes roll back at the erotic smell. he repeated himself, still intoxicated by you, "no. say my name... moan my name."

your fingers crawled to a halt, your mind still processing his intimate request when ness spoke up again, "don't stop. please."

you quickened the pace of your doughy fingertips, rubbing the fabric against the fluttering bundle of nerves as alexis ness' name overtook the tip of your tongue, "oh-ohmygod... n-ness."

"yeah," he groaned, pressing down and palming his bulge in return. there was not one inch of contact between you two, nothing but a strange agreement you two had found yourself in. the pit of your stomach felt like an abyss, your own delicate fingers bringing yourself to your demise.

and as a tremor built up in your thighs, you choked out a sickly, sweet moan, "'m gonna- fuuuck, i'm gonna cum, ness."

"yeah?" his eyes glossed over at your admission, "you're... close?"

you nodded feverishly, not stopping the slimy motions of your fingers against your swollen, clothed clit. you managed out, "y-yeah..."

he swallowed, "you're gonna... cum in front of me?" you nodded again and the man hissed, palming himself harder, "'m close too."

and as your back arched and your pretty lips trembled out a sigh, ness groaned too. his head was thrown back, eyes watery from your heavenly sight. he choked out, "t-thanks."

you had barely recovered from the orgasm when ness stood up, his limbs shook and a similar wet patch was adorning the clothes 'round his nether regions. he sighed out, "y-you can go."

as always, alexis ness tipped you heavily and then, you left room no. 205.

🎀─────♡

meet 06: knock, knock.

"i mean i don't know, maybe it's my conscience." you muttered as your coworker squeezed down on your arm, both re-assuring you and stabilizing you as you two walked down the streets to reach the subway.

she reprimanded you, "no! a woman's intuition is almost always right. if you feel like someone's watching you, you should be careful."

"maybe..." you answered back and the girl walking next to you asked, "is there anyone from work that's following you? some man?"

a certain purple-haired man came to thoughts but you shook your head no because you had never actually seen anybody follow you. on many occasions while walking, you had whipped your head back only to be met by stark absence of anyone. you had started to convince yourself that it were in your head. that thought was even more terrifying.

"it's okay. you know, i live nearby." your work-friend went on, "if you feel like something's weird, call me and i'd try to be there as soon as possible."

you gave her a tight-lipped smile, "thanks."

two hours later, you were in the shower. the hot water washed over the ache and stress from your muscles and you sighed as you lathered shampoo onto your head. humming a random tune, you washed down the soap suds under the steady stream of water and watched them disappear down the drain.

once done, you continued humming the same tune as you wrapped the towel around your body. stepping out of the shower, your footing fell gently on the wooden floors as you walked to the bedroom. the bottoms of your feet left small imprints of water in their wake behind you.

standing in front of your dresser, you sifted through the neat rows of clothes to find something comfy to slip into, but as you pulled out a tshirt, a chill transversed through your spinal cord... and then, your phone started ringing.

you turned around at the abrupt ringing, staring at the electronic device as an unknown number flashed in your phone.

clutching your towel to your chest, you leaned forward to pick it up. your voice waivered slightly, "h-hello? who is this?"

"hey." a familiar, soft voice reached you through the speaker. your heart hammered in your chest, sweat beading at your hairline at the familiarity. "n-ness?"

"oh," he whispered softly, as if in utter bliss. "you recognize... me?"

the blood roared in your ears, your heart thumping stronger and stronger against your ribs as you replied carefully, "wh-where did you get my number from?"

"ofcourse i had it."

but he shouldn't have. giving out personal information like real name, or number, or address was forbidden. your workplace couldn't legally give that sensitive information, and you knew for a fact that you never gave him your number yourself.

"oh, no. don't worry." he cooed, "your workplace didn't give me your number. i found it... all by myself."

there was this slight lilt to his voice... something akin to victory. your skin crawled at how happy he sounded at his admission, your throat closed up as you choked out, "what do you want from me?"

"oh nothing..." he called out your name and your heart dropped to your stomach, "wh-what the fuck?! what did you j-just say?"

"oh..." he quietened, "don't stumble like that, you might have a heart attack." he paused, soaking in his own words, "well, if you did... i suppose i could always take you to the hospital right away. that's what you do with loved ones, right?"

what the fuck did he mean?

"are you..." your mouth felt dry, dry like it had been devoid of water for three long summers. you tried swallowing but all in vain. "are you nearby?"

"i'm way nearer than you can imagine."

your head whipped up, looking around your bedroom as if he would just be standing there. you whimpered, clutching your towel tighter against your body, "w-what... what do you want?!"

"open the door." he called your name again and your frenzied gaze ran to the wooden bedroom door. you traced the woodwork slowly, and noticed a blocky shadow at the base. your head spun, your weak knees almost giving out as he continued, "i would open it myself but i want you to let me in with your permission."

y-your permission? he was in your house, and now he wanted your fucking permission?!

you inched closer to the door, your wobbling limbs barely supporting your half-clothed figure. with shaking fingers, you reached for the lock, trying to lock him out and calling for the cops. though sweat broke over each inch of your formerly-clean skin, you managed, "i-my boyfriend... he'd come any second now. l-leave... leave while you can."

but ness was quicker, "oh, your boyfriend? that guy that doesn't exist?"

your jaw sagged open, "n-no... he's coming- he is." you chanted, "he is, he is- believe me."

"don't lie to me." his voice sound like it was being accompanied by a smile, "if there was another man in your life... he'd be long gone by now. i'd make sure of it."

a beat, then, "open the door."

your eyes darted between the knob and the lock.

"don't lock it." his usually timid voice was so, so loud in your ear. your hands shook, tears burning at the edge of your lash-line as he continued, "i can always just break it down. be a good girl and open it for me..."

"p-please go... away." you whimpered again, your hand frozen in air, still hovering over the lock. ness' voice was innocent, "but i love you."

"i-" he cut your wobbling words off, "you said you love me too, right?"

you parted your lips but no voice came out. ness' voice filled in the nightmarish silence, "open the door. c'mon."

weighing your lack of options against the weight of the man standing just outside your bedroom door, you inched your hand closer to the door knob. the met underneath your skin felt molten hot, charring your skin as you twisted it open.

your quick steps fell backwards, trying to distance yourself from the door as quickly as possible. the door creaked open inch after inch after inch and finally he came into view.

you rushed behind your bed as if that would help against the man in front of you. he gave you a polite smile, stepping through the doorstep, "you have a beautiful house."

"n-ness..." you barely managed out, not sure if you were begging for mercy, repentance or his absence.

"when you say my name like that..." he trailed off as he took languid steps forward. you held up a plam, backing yourself till there was no place other than the cold wall against your back. your frenzied gaze met his, "w-what do you want?"

"you." he stepped closer, meeting your eyes, "you told me, remember? whatever i want, i get. i'm your pretty boy, right?"

"i was doing my job—"

he brought a swift hand to your face, squishing your cheeks together and hissing at the contact, "don't lie. it was more than that."

your eyes watered, words lodged into your voice box like they were daggers. you couldn't speak. even if you could, what would you possibly say?

"oh..." ness hummed, "where's your little boyfriend, now?"

tears pooled at the edge, falling down in fat droplets down your face, "p-please."

he leaned forward, his thumb immediately catching the tear. his features molded into confusion, "why're you crying? you love me, right?"

he repeated, something corrupt in his once-kind smile as he leaned in close. his lips ghosted over yours, "right? and you'd never... ever replace me. never."

a/n: this is NOT normal, do NOT try to replicate this in real life. NOT PROOFREAD. m.list

[konigofmyheart]

long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 2

MDNI!

part 1

you enlist könig’s help in getting benji (your ex) back, but your grand plan might not go as expected…

(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20’s, readers ex is mentioned as destructive in the past + currently rude/a jerk. aside from that, general rom com silliness with könig! eventual smut in pt 3, i promise <3)

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you’re not quite sure how you ended up here, enjoying a slice of pie across a giant soldier who looks like something straight from one of those hero comic books benji was obsessed with when you two were growing up. well, there was the reason: benji. he’s the reason you picked up that call from an unknown number, the reason you stayed on the line when a man that definitely wasn’t benji- someone with a more weathered voice, a faint sense of… resignation? lacing ever accented syllable- told you he worked with benji, which a quick pop quiz about benji’s birthday and appearance confirmed. you were a bit disappointed when he told you how he got your number- clearly benji was still very upset at you if he just tossed your letter away like that- and you were a little embarrassed to think of this man having read it, but maybe this was a good thing…

you stayed in contact with this könig guy, bit of an odd name, but he kept you updated about benji’s well being every time you asked. it was better than the radio silence from benji himself. your contact with könig became regular, phone calls and texts almost everyday for weeks, because you needed someone- anyone- to listen to your benji-centered rants, as your friends refused to hear anymore of him (for some odd reason) and könig already knew all the embarrassing details of your “relationship” from the letter anyway.

the daily conversations with könig actually turned friendly, telling him of yourself and your days and, in turn, asking about him, unable to help being intrigued by this enigma. judging by his age, he’d have to have been at this soldier business long enough to have good stories, and he proved this time and time again, weaving each scene so vividly it was like a movie playing in your head, narrated by his voice. you’d compliment him when he spoke of victories, and wince when he’d detail injuries, even the very toned down version making your skin prickle at the mere thought of experiencing such a thing.

from these long talks you pieced together that he was a pretty good guy, a teensy bit old fashioned and a little awkward sometimes, certainly littered with scars, but you couldn’t help but find that kinda cool. he laughed on the other end of the line when you told him your analysis of him, a quiet “thank you, schatzi” curling from the speaker to your ear. it was this budding friendship that made you confident enough to meet him at a cafe only a couple miles from benji’s- and könig’s- base, him enjoying his strawberry tart and you with your slice of pie…

if he squints enough, he can imagine you’re here for him. that you’re on a date night at this kinda shabby cafe because you missed him so much back home that you had to see him now, that should he reach out and take your hand, you’d smile instead of looking at him funny. that after this you’ll ask him to take a break from work and go back home with you, and he’d do it without question because what better way to live than to spend everyday in your presence, going grocery shopping with you, then making dinner for you as you talk about anything and everything from your spot on the counter, like- “how was benji this morning? he hasn’t gotten hurt or anything?”you ask. right. stevens is the one you’d want in those scenarios, the one always on your mind.

könig clears his throat, shifting slightly as he pulls himself from the hazy pool of fantasy, his knees reaching well across the tiny booth, caging your legs in on either side, something he kept apologizing for until you waved him off. you knew he didn’t have any other choice than to fold himself like that, your jaw almost dropping to the floor when he stood upon you walking in through the door. he’d told you how to find him, but “black mask” (which he’d told you he wore everyday, and you’d assumed he’d meant like those blue paper ones, but it turns out it was more of a cloth shroud, red streaks dripping down the front) and “kinda tall” didn’t really cover his exact essence….

you snap yourself out of your reverie, and he tilted his head a bit as if playfully admonishing you for not hearing him. “i said, he’s fine, but you had a plan? about ste- benjamin?” he asked again, his observant ocean blue eyes fully fixated on you. “ah. yes, actually! you said you seen some rom coms, yeah?”

“a few, only because horangi- you remember him, right?” a quick nod from you, your eyes sparking as you remembered all his stories featuring the legendary horangi, made könig smile behind his mask. “-he insisted i watch some with him after one of his girlfriends made him watch first. so, ja, i’ve seen a couple, but i don’t see what that has to-“

“did any of them happen to include fake dating?” you ask, your smile a bit tense as you look off to the side, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. he opens his mouth to start, closing it again and repeating a couple of times, until he finally says “you think that’ll make benjamin speak to you again?”

sensing possible acceptance, you’re back to fully facing him, your eyes practically sparkling as you make your case. “yes! i know it’s movies, but movies are based on real life, aren’t they? it’s only natural to think that he would get jealous if he thinks he’s losing me to someone else. i’ve tried reaching out to him and that’s all gone ignored, so the only logical thing would be to do the opposite: pretend i’m done with him… right?” you ask, looking up at könig with such a delicate-as-glass hopeful expression in your pretty eyes.

könig swears you’re a trial sent by some higher power, a test of his self control and reasoning. right now all he wants to do is kneel in front of you and beg you to forget stevens, to give him a chance instead; he’ll agree to anything you ask for, he’ll make it happen, just let him try- but that’s the problem. you want to try for stevens, and he can tell you won’t give up that easily. it’s a foolish plan you’ve proposed, really, but he can’t say no to you when you’re looking at him like he’s your only hope. call it classic male bravado or the need to help a pretty thing in distress, but “ja, i’ll do it”. now you beam at him, your smile lighting up the rainy evening outside, reaching out with your soft hand to give his a giant paw a little squeeze. “thank you, könig! i knew i could count on you.”

“so, as they say in these movies, what are the rules for this act well put on, so it’ll be convincing without overstepping your boundaries?” he asks, slipping his mug under his mask to take a sip of his now lukewarm tea. “oh, please, we don’t need all that! you’re a proper gentleman, and you’ve given no reason for me to not trust your judgment, so any scandalous hand holding is fine by me” you tease, laughing a bit at how serious he is. you can’t help but notice how different he is than benji. you can’t really picture benji asking anyone about boundaries, he’s more of a do first, apologize after guy, he has been since as long as you’ve known him- “cut it out, i was just making sure, schatzi. i wouldn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable”.

“don’t worry about that, kö. i’m willing to do whatever it takes for this to work. we’ll be as sappy and clingy as we can be, without it causing you trouble at work, of course…”

“i’ve told you, it’s not exactly a by-the-book type of place. things are slow right now anyway, you can visit anytime you’d like. i’ll add your name under mine in the visitor log so you’ll be let in.”

“then we’re all set.”

“all systems go” he replies, indulging your offer for a fist bump.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

naturally, for your first visit, he got pulled in to a meeting that still hadn’t ended even now that you were parking outside. he managed to text you under the table, telling you he’d be out to greet you as soon as he could, that it was wrapping up already, apologizing profusely for the wait. you couldn’t help but be proud that his texts nowadays had zero spelling errors. when you first began communicating, it was as if he was using a toy phone, although the mashed letters made sense now that you’ve seen how big he is. you smile to yourself as you text back, telling him it’s no big deal before tossing your phone in your purse and heading to the door.

should you wait for könig? probably, but what if you could see benji and talk before even kicking off this whole fake dating sham? you wouldn’t have to bother könig, and you’d have benji back quicker. that’s the thought that makes you bold enough to get through the security check (the guard’s eyebrows almost go into her hairline as she confirms that, indeed, you are listed as könig’s guest), and then from there it’s only a matter of navigating through signs and helpful people who direct you all the way to the canteen.

you were just about to text könig to let him know you’d made it inside already when you heard his voice. “are you fucking serious? jesus christ- how’d you even get in here? you’re really so desperate you’re stalking me now?” benji asks incredulously, crossing his arms and standing as tall as he can as he looks down at you, his friends staring at you curiously. sooo he’s clearly still not over the whole break up thing. you should have known better than to expect he’d have gotten over it. before you can even answer, only getting a little puff of air out as you feel your face heat with embarrassment, he tosses his head as he looks at his snickering friends. “what did i tell you guys? i told y’all this one was like this, all clingy and-“

“i’m here to see könig” you cut in, steadying your voice as you tighten your grip on your phone. you sure didn’t miss this benji, the arrogant, rude version of him that always came out when you’d done something dumb. you can’t deny that it’s a bit gratifying seeing the way his face pales as he processes what you’ve just said, some of his friends mouths parting with surprise.

“könig?? ha, now i know you’re lying. where would you have even met someone like him?” you only have a second to mentally kick yourself for not settling on a meet cute story, torn between a day in the park or a cafe mix up, but you’re saved from answering by your new angel on earth.

“morning, men” came könig’s voice from behind you. you damn near lost your soul from that sudden surprise, the big guy being eerily silent despite his frame, and you were so thankful könig placed his arm around you as if to pull you close- steadying you, actually- ready to play the part of your new wonderful boyfriend.

“morning, sir! we were just talking to your…” pipes up one of benji’s buddies, carefully crafting his statement to corner könig. könig plays into it, clearing his throat and shifting on his feet as if he wasn’t prepared to say it, but now that they’re twisting his arm like this, well- “girlfriend” he supplies, and you put on your most convincing smile as you lean into him more. stevens has that expression on his face that he always makes when he feels the need to punch something. the various holes in your place’s drywall can attest to that, as can that little collection of ceramic bunnies you adored, before they became shards in your bin, hell, even that sketch you did for art class in grade school that he tore in half because he forgot to do his and you didn’t even remind him. he’s always been a little temperamental like that, a classic leo, he just feels a lot so-

“you ready for your tour, liebe?” könig asks softly, gently giving your waist a squeeze, bringing you out of your less than happy memories. “yes! i’ve been so excited to finally see the haunted vending machine” you gush, making sure to include a detail that would make stevens and his friends realize you and könig really do know each other, well enough for him to have even told you the legend of the old candy machine in the rec room.

nothing compares to the sense of accomplishment you feel at benji’s pointed glare burning the back of your head as you two walk away. maybe by tonight he’ll be asking for you back, apologizing for being so cold and rude! your heart flutters at the thought of seeing a message from him pop up on your phone again. “how was the drive? not too difficult, i hope?” it’s such a mundane, polite question, könig’s tone casual and quiet, yet the way he’s cupping your face and making you look up at him makes it seem anything but. you know it’s an act, that he’s laying it on thick because they’re still watching you two down the hall, yet you can’t help but feel a little flustered when he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, his glove surprisingly soft despite being so durable. guess that fits with him, hm?

this lighting is brighter than the cafe’s, giving you a far better view of his eyes, blue as a summer sky, his pupil eclipsed with a rim of icy looking waves that make your answer catch in your throat- and just like that, you turn the corner and he’s quick to put a more respectable distance between the two of you, your cheek missing the warmth of his large hand. “wow, schatzi, you’re a natural at this. that pretending to get lost in my eyes thing was genius” he praises, his eyes crinkling behind his mask as he smiles at you. you duck your head under the pretense of checking your purse, collecting yourself before you look up at him again with an easy smile. “you know me, i commit to the bit every time!“

and commit you do… any time könig has a slow day, you’re there at base. of course, in truth, he simply stays up later every night, sloughing through paperwork and reviewing plans that he put off during the day just to spend time with you, assuring you he absolutely had time for your act. you’d scold him if you knew, but your visits have become beacons of light in his otherwise dreary days. you put on a five star show everyday, starting with könig presenting you with a beautiful bouquet of perfect flowers, fresh from a local market that you make sure to loudly ask him to take you to, relishing in the way benji grips his mug tightly as he watches you from across the canteen. you sniff the flowers and smile at könig with such warm affection when he rests his hand on your thigh.

you bring in könig’s hoodie a couple days later, playfully scolding him for forgetting it at your place when he visited (has he actually visited? no, but benji doesn’t need to know that! könig simply handed it to you before you left base the day before, exactly for this set up). könig damn near coos at you, a soft “oh, liebe, i left it on purpose so you’d wear it to bed and dream of me. you looked so cute when you were almost drowning in it the other day” he quips back. the blush that blooms on your cheeks isn’t entirely fake… you’d never imagined könig saying something so cheesy, certainly not to you, that must be why you’re flustered. either way, it’s effective because benji instantly announces to his friends he’s gotta go, quickly exiting the rec area.

you could even swear benji’s about to pop a blood vessel when he sees you and könig “messing around” in the gym, könig having angled his head and bent so it seems he was just finishing kissing you when stevens walked in, a breathy, giggled “oops, we have to be more careful, baby” dropping from your lips as you pretend to be embarrassed about being caught making out with könig, making a show of brushing his hand away where it rests scandalously low on your back. you smile at könig as the loud thud of benji practically launching his bag at the floor sounds through the room.

könig truly surprises you with how committed to the act he is, performing as the perfect boyfriend every week. he gets you your favorite snacks, gets comfy throw blankets for you to use when you hang out on the weathered couch in his office, sets up a little speaker and projector so you can amuse yourself when he gets suddenly called to a quick meeting, cooks for you on days you don’t want to eat in the canteen,- he even introduced you to his friends a couple days into your “relationship” and everything! you can count on one single hand the amount of words benji’s friends have said to you, and you’re like 95% certain they don’t even know your name, yet horangi and stiletto are so kind to you.

when you first met, stiletto made a show of loudly whispering “how’d this old man score you, bella? you can tell me if he’s paying you” as horangi frisked könig, saying he was checking to make sure könig didn’t have some love spell he was using on you. könig rolled his eyes, shooing stiletto away from you, gallantly making himself their sole target. “oh c’mon, it’s not everyday we get to have fun like this, right?” she’d complained, waking over to nudge horangi. he was about to answer when könig hooked an arm around each of them, a grumbled “you two have fun at my expense everyday” leaving him before the three launched into a playful scuffle, gripping and shoving at each other. you can’t help but laugh, it’s like watching three big guard dogs romp and play like puppies.

könig’s got height on his side, though, able to capture them in a gentle headlock. “oh, don’t be so hard on them, kö!” you giggle, not even noticing benji’s walked in to the canteen behind you. könig instantly releases the trouble makers, straightening up like- well like a scolded puppy. horangi and stiletto look at könig in awe, then over to you. “where have you been all these years?? we’re gonna need you here 24/7 as the official könig handler!” horangi jokes, earning a quick slap upside the head from könig. you spent the rest of that visit chatting with them, getting an inside scoop on könig’s most embarrassing moments in the field. he didn’t even mind the stories, not when you were laughing like that, you’re entire face lit up as you leaned in to him, teasing him for that time he accidentally brought a little shack tumbling down around him when he stood to full height.

a couple weeks after your first meeting, they’re cheering you on as you punch at könig’s hand, the three of them having insisted you at least learn a little self defense. “every woman should know how to fend off a creep if need be, bella. you might even be able to help someone out, too”, stiletto assured, and that’s what replayed in your mind every time you got a bit tired or thought of calling it for the day. könig’s praises every time you landed a particularly hard hit also helped- more than you’d like to admit, really. when you actually managed to finish a full set, a long series of consistent powerful strikes and punches at könig’s hands, he caught you up, effortlessly spinning you around. you laughed and clung to him, grinning at his loud “that’s it, schatzi!”

you’re still glowing with all three of their praises as you head to the canteen, having insisted on getting them a cold refreshing drink since they’d worked out far harder than you, lifting and squatting giant weights that made your jaw drop. könig had reluctantly agreed after asking if you’re sure you didn’t want him to be the water boy instead, and you found yourself amused at the storm in his eyes as he debated between being a chivalrous hero or putting a vote of confidence in you. really, what’s the worst that could happen just walking a couple halls and back?

you quickly found out on your return trip, almost dropping the four ice cold bottles of water cradled in your arms when you rounded the corner into benji. in true, classic benji fashion, he quickly took control of the moment, exuding smugness as he crossed his arms to look down at you. “you can drop the act already. i can tell it’s fake… or at least only about as serious as we were. you’ve never once stayed the night here, and he hasn’t stayed at your place either. he’s never been signed out of base at night- i’ve checked. was i supposed to believe you’ve finally stopped being a prude just for that old man?” he sneered, smirking as if he’d caught you. he had, but you weren’t about to let all the work you and könig had put into this scheme go to waste for nothing! the coolness of the bottles helped you steel yourself as you coached your face into a relaxed expression. “it’s really none of your business, but since you’re apparently so consumed by concern, i’ll inform you that i am staying with him. tonight, actually.”

it was like you’d dropped a bomb in this harshly lit hallway, benji’s eyes narrowing at you as he gauged if you were truly serious. it had always stung a little anytime benji forgot things about you, as if your preferences and stories weren’t worth remembering, or when he couldn’t tell how you really felt, as if you weren’t worth understanding, but now you were thankful for his lack of care and insight. it’s what made every moment believable in his eyes, and he must have bought this lie too, or else he wouldn’t have called out a “if you get tired of trying to keep his cock up tonight, you know where to find me” after you, his gross attitude making you cringe as you walked quicker, wanting to be back with könig and his friends.

the metaphorical tendrils of the benji’s jealousy wove around you as you walked back to the gym, making you wonder if any of this was right or even worth it, but that all faded away to nothingness when you found könig right at the gym doors, having apparently just stepped out. “you took a while… is everything alright?” he asks, your name said so gently at the end of his question, his voice soothing your nerves and worries. “yes?” you wince at the way it sounds more like a question than an answer, and könig tilts his head, his eyes sparking, saying he knows something’s up without having to physically say it.

“okay… so i just bumped into benji- he’s in a total mood, i guess that means our plan is working well enough… although, he said he’s sure we aren’t that serious since i’ve never stayed the night, so you see how he left me no choice, right? i mean, what was i supposed to say? just fess up without him asking for me back? there was no way i’d do that! all our work would’ve gone down the drain, so… i said i’m staying with you tonight- if you don’t mind having a roommate, that is. i’ll take the couch or floor or whatever, don’t worry, anything to see his face tomorrow when he realizes i did stay the night!” you finish a little breathlessly, your face warming from your rant.

könig simply laughs a little, nodding as he takes the bottles from your arms, his hands shaking the tiniest bit. “that’s perfectly fine by me. i’m sure horangi and stiletto will appreciate having you around longer. they’re already asking about the next time you’ll visit. it seems you’ve made quite an impression on those two”.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

that night, könig sighs at you from his side of the bed, tugging the blanket up to his chest. “don’t even think about arguing again, i already said it: if you sleep on the floor, then i will too.” you warn, having fought long and hard to wrangle this stubborn-as-a-goat man into the bed with you.

by the time you stepped out of his attached bathroom, wearing one of his shirts and some shorts stiletto handed you with a wink upon hearing you needed extra clothes as you were staying the night, he was settling onto the floor, the quietest groan leaving him at the soreness from the intense work out today. he really shouldn’t have done twice as many reps each set with the barbell than he usually does, but how could he have stopped when you were looking at him with such awe, marveling about how strong he was? that’s what he gets for trying to act like he’s still some tireless 20 something year old, the price of impressing you being the ache in his left knee and right shoulder. at this point, he’s really only got about 10 more years before the higher ups will start hinting at retiring from the field, sticking him in a full time desk job, each of his days spent in dreary paperwork and bland coffee and- your confused “what are you doing?” cuts through his wallowing, and he clears his throat as he looks up at you from his spot on the floor.

“going to sleep?… what else would i be doing with a pillow and blanket on the floor, schatzi? just step over me as needed-”

“oh, absolutely not! get up right now. how are you gonna sleep on the cold floor while i’m all comfy in bed? i told you i’d take the floor. it’s my fault i’m here tonight-“

“nein, you are my guest, so you get the bed. that’s how it works. i’ve slept worse places anyway” he waved you off, internally shuddering as he recalled the time the team had to sleep in the woods during a summer storm- everything was drenched and humid that day, and the swarms of mosquitoes were a nightmare-

“which is exactly why you should spend every night possible in a proper bed! we’d both fit perfectly! it’s giant.” you never knew he had it in him to be this stubborn and difficult; he’d done everything else you said with zero pushback, yet now he was sitting on the floor, arms crossed like a kid throwing a tantrum, refusing to take the bed. it’d be laughable how you two were bickering like a genuine couple if you weren’t so mortified at the thought of being the only one sleeping well tonight.

that’s how you ended up here, könig stiffly laying in bed next to you after he caved at your threat of joining him on the floor as well. he’d literally rather die than have you sleep on the floor, hell, he was worried if his firm mattress would be comfortable enough for you, but your soft sigh as you lay down soothed his worries. “oh my god, i love your bed. it’s so supportive, especially for my back after those exercises today-” you heard footsteps at the door, seeing the shadow of feet stopping right outside, no doubt benji checking to see if you really stayed the night. you made your voice a bit louder, making sure he’d hear that you were indeed in könig’s room. “-but, this weekend, can we stay at my place? we won’t have to worry that much about being quiet…” you say, employing your most flirty tone.

“of course, liebe. You know your wishes are my command; i could never say no to you.” könig replies without missing a beat, though you mouth a silent “liar” at him, still stuck on all arguing you had to do just a while ago, grinning as benji’s shadow fading from beneath the door-apparently he heard all he needed to hear. könig offers you a conciliatory high five, and now you give in, unable to just leave him hanging.

the two of you spend the rest of the night whispering about anything and everything, sleep slowly tugging you in and out of consciousness until you’re just answering him with muffled “mhm”s and sprinkling in an occasional “hm” for variety, trying so hard to keep track of his rant about star wars, but his voice is so soothing and husky with sleep, and the scent of piney earthiness that always clings to him floods your senses, making it impossible to stay awake. you smile drowsily at his hushed apology for keeping you awake, his soft “gute nacht, taube” settling like a warm spark in your chest as you nod off, a familiar pair of baby blue eyes sneaking into your dreamland.

the morning sunlight filtering in through the high windows on the far wall flickering across your face is what lured you from your dreams, a soft groan slipping from you as you pop your back just right before snuggling against your pillow, feeling the blanket pull tight around your body. you can’t remember the last time you slept so well, blinking the heavy sleep from your eyes and bracing your hand on the pillow to sit up- wait… your eyes trail upward, your chin now resting on warm, firm chest, your breath hitching when you feel könig’s arm tighten around your waist…

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

part 3 <3

taglist (lmk if you want on or off the list <3): @distinguishedprincesstrash @practicalgauntlet @captain-ofmusic @darkangel4121 @laduenadelswing

[lawko-sama]

Walls and Whispers

Summary: Basically, it's a description of slowly getting together with Daryl.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, Merle is an asshole (XD)

Era: Prison

Word count: 2.7k

Something from me: Hello, hello. I apologize in advance for any mistakes with the appearance, layout of the post (first post on the platform). I will gladly accept any feedback. This beginning is part of the whole story I have in my head, I think there will be further parts. English is not my first language, but I think I write in it quite okay. And what.. I wish you a pleasant reading <3

It was a beautiful summer day. Or at least, it looked like one. But the moment you stepped beyond the cold prison walls, the scorching, suffocating heat hit you like a truck. The sun blazed mercilessly at its highest point in the sky, and the air had thickened, shimmering under the hellish temperature.

You stood by the entrance gate, watching as the approaching vehicle kicked up dust along the road. Since you had some free time, you figured you'd help unload whatever they had brought back. You opened the gate for them, wrestling with the locks and chains. Luckily, it didn't take you too long.

The old van rolled through the wire gate, and you quickly shut it behind them. The first person to jump out was Rick. The second the vehicle came to a stop, he was already hauling supplies out. Right behind him was Merle, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he laughed at something—probably his own joke. Daryl was the last to get out, barely paying attention to anyone as he made his way straight to the front of the vehicle. He lifted the hood, immediately getting to work as thick, gray smoke billowed from the engine.

"Where is the Korean starboy? I have his order!" Merle yelled toward Hershel, who was making his way over.

Beth peeked out from behind her father, automatically glancing up at the watchtower. Merle caught on quickly, following her gaze with an amused smirk.

"Starboy!" he hollered, even louder this time. "Ya comin'?!"

Rick shook his head in mild exasperation but said nothing. A moment later, Glenn leaned out from the doorway of the guard tower.

"What?!"

He was still fastening his belt, his bare chest saying more than enough about what he had been up to. In the window behind him, a very flustered Maggie was visible, which only made Merle's grin widen.

"Ya cummin'?!" he shouted again, this time emphasizing a different syllable before bursting into laughter.

Glenn squinted at him, clearly confused, then turned to Maggie with a shrug, saying something to her you couldn't hear.

You exchanged an amused look with Rick and continued hauling boxes of food inside. You couldn't help but notice that Merle was in an unusually high-spirited mood today. He was always loud, always a presence impossible to ignore, but today he was practically bouncing with energy. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he'd be more of a funny asshole rather than just an asshole. That would be an improvement, at least.

"What 'bout ya, Darylina?"

Merle had somehow ended up right behind Daryl. But the younger Dixon didn't even flinch, still focused on the busted engine. Every now and then, he flicked his hand back as if he was touching something way too hot to be messing with.

"Do ya even know what I'm talkin' bout, baby brotha?" Merle prodded, leaning against the van with that ever-present smirk.

The van rocked slightly, and Daryl finally looked up at him, irritation clear in his expression.

"I am doin' somethin'. Can't ya see?" he snapped, voice edged with frustration.

"Ya can talk and still do yar thing," Merle shot back smoothly. "So?"

They stared at each other for a second. You found yourself eavesdropping more than you probably should, but curiosity had the best of you. You even slowed your pace, carrying one of the bigger boxes extra carefully just so you could keep listening.

"M' not five anymore. 'Course I know what yar talkin' bout," Daryl muttered, turning back to the engine.

For the briefest second, his eyes flicked to yours. Caught. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your task, but you knew he had seen you listening. And you had seen something too. A flicker of something in his gaze—something close to panic.

"But ya know it's different when ya alone n' when ya not, right?" Merle pushed.

Daryl didn't answer. He just went back to work, which only made Merle roll his eyes. The smug look on his face said he already knew the answer, anyway.

Then Daryl bent lower, reaching deep into the engine, his entire arm disappearing under the hood. From where you stood, you couldn't quite see what Merle was doing, but there was a glint of mischief on his face—a look you had come to recognize as trouble.

And then—

A loud bang.

You nearly dropped the food in your arms as you saw the hood of the van slam down, trapping Daryl between the metal and the vehicle. Worse still, something inside the engine must have been knocked loose, because the hissing sound grew louder, and more smoke poured out than before.

Merle's laughter rang through the air.

You ran over without thinking, pulling the hood up as fast as you could. Daryl immediately staggered back, coughing violently, his chest heaving as thick smoke spilled from his lungs. One side of his face was bright red—burned. And a thin trickle of blood ran down from his temple.

"Merle! Are you insane?!" you shouted, still steadying Daryl as he fought to breathe. "That's your brother!"

"Oh, come on," Merle scoffed, still chuckling. "Ya don't understand, so don't interfere, would ya?"

"This is too much, even for you, Merle," Rick cut in, his disapproval plain.

"M' tryin' to teach him a lesson 'ere," Merle said, holding his hands up like he was being accused of something unreasonable. For the first time, he actually looked somewhat serious.

"Look at him," he gestured toward Daryl. "Havin' this pretty angel face n' all that n' not usin' it? That is a true crime, baby brotha. So he gotta learn to use it by losin' it first. Simple as tha'."

Ignoring Merle's bullshit, you turned to Daryl. His hand was covering the burned side of his face, and when he tried to touch it, his fingers flinched away instantly. The skin was too raw, too hot.

"Are you okay?" you asked, immediately regretting how stupid the question sounded.

Daryl stiffened slightly, like he hadn't expected you to be this close. He looked at you—just with one eye, since the other was probably swollen. And then, predictably, he nodded.

Behind you, chaos was unfolding. Rick and Glenn were trying to talk some sense into Merle, but it was quickly turning into an actual fight. You saw something flash in Daryl's expression. His whole posture screamed exhaustion, but you already knew—he was about to jump in.

"Leave it," you said, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "Please."

"Nah."

That was the only warning you got before he turned on his heel.

"Have ya lost yar mind, you psychopath?!" Daryl roared, effectively shutting everyone up—except Merle, who only grinned wider at the sight of him.

"That's what I'm talkin' bout! That's ma baby brotha—!"

"Shut da hell up! Ya wanna kill me or somethin'? Then fight me like a man would!"

"Stop that," you stepped between them, ignoring their protests. "Daryl, we need to take care of your wound. This isn't helping."

"She's right," Maggie chimed in, gripping Glenn's arm instinctively as both brothers turned to look at her.

"Look at that, Darlina! A little help from yar big brotha n' girls already love ya!"

"Zip it, ya punk!"

"Come on, Daryl," you urged, stepping closer.

Meanwhile, Rick had finally managed to drag Merle a safe distance away.

Daryl still couldn't tear his furious gaze away from his brother. You grabbed his arm and tried to gently pull him along, but he didn't budge an inch. You had nothing to convince him with, so you pulled a little harder. Finally, the younger Dixon gave in. He followed you, but his eyes stayed locked on Merle, who was still arguing heatedly with Rick.

Your eyes were practically devouring the archer. Especially after what just happened, you could finally be honest with yourself. Damn, you like him. From the start, he was way more interesting to you than the others. Visually, even with that brutal burn on his face, he made your knees weak. And once again today, Daryl caught you staring a little too long. And once again, you quickly looked away.

"We unpacked all the med kits in the prison recently," you said suddenly. "I saw some burn gel bandages in there. They should help."

"A'right," he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What was that about?" you finally asked, unable to accept Merle's behavior—especially his excuses for it.

You instantly realized you shouldn't have asked when Daryl's face twisted into a scowl.

"Quit bein' nosey. You heard what it was about."

So you shut up. You scolded yourself internally for your behavior around him. Silence was probably better for both of you anyway.

In perfect quiet, you reached the small room that now served as a makeshift medical office. Everything related to medicine was in here, including the burn dressings you were looking for. First, you took care of the wound that had been bleeding earlier, but it wasn't anything serious—no stitches needed.

You could feel Daryl's blue eyes on you. He sat on the examination table, leaning back against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the first signs of pain were starting to show on his face.

You didn't even know why you were so nervous. Your hands were shaking as you rummaged through the bins. Even though you had organized them yourself not that long ago, your mind was completely blank. Finally—miraculously—you wrapped your fingers around the package you needed.

You turned around quickly, trying to shake off the nerves and get rid of the million other things in your hands. You were clumsy, unable to fully control your movements, and Daryl definitely noticed. He just watched, silent and unreadable, but not exactly subtle about it.

"It might sting a little," you warned him.

He just nodded. The first bandage only covered about half the burned area. Daryl didn't even flinch when it touched his skin. If anything, he let out a small breath of relief. You immediately started searching for another one.

"...M'sorry," he muttered suddenly. "Ya know... for earlier."

His deep voice, though quiet, seemed to bounce off the small room's walls. You froze for a second, then gave him a sad little smile.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked."

"S'just..." he started, then stopped, like he couldn't get the words out. "It's okay. M'used to it. To him."

"It's not okay," you shot back, maybe a little too fast, too direct. "Being used to something like that—to someone like your brother—is messed up. But yeah, do whatever you think is best. I won't interfere if you don't want me to."

"Why do ya care?" he asked.

And this—this was the moment you knew you were screwed. Because you didn't have any explanation except the truth. And neither of you were ready for that.

"Oh—" you blurted out, seizing the excuse to change the subject. You turned to him with a smile. "I found it."

You waved the bandage in front of his face, and he seemed momentarily thrown off. At least he didn't push the topic.

You unwrapped the dressing and leaned in closer. Carefully, you covered the upper part of the burn, including his eyelid, with the cool, transparent bandage, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Once it was fully in place, you looked him over. It still looked painful, but at least he didn't seem to be in unbearable agony. Thankfully, the injury wasn't as dangerous as it had appeared—but it was still unacceptable.

Then, you caught yourself staring again. This time, you were way too close, still leaning over him like when you had applied the bandage. Your fingers had absentmindedly brushed his jawline. His blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing straight through you, and suddenly, you felt a deep pull in your stomach. Your heart pounded faster than it should've, and heat rose to your face.

"Tell me," he murmured, quieter this time, calmer. "Am I readin' this wrong?"

You looked at him with something between sadness and concern, avoiding his gaze like fire avoids water. You adjusted a piece of the bandage that had slipped when he moved his mouth and stayed quiet. 

"Are you pityin' me?" he asked, his tone strange, suspicious.

And just like that, your entire idea of how this conversation would go went straight to hell. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—not even a broken one.

"I don't need that. Don't deserve it," he said, leaning back slightly. "So quit it."

"It's not—" you started quickly, then hesitated, realizing what he had just said. "...But why wouldn't you deserve it?"

"I just don't. And it's pathetic."

What scared you the most was that he said it while looking right at you, with an empty, emotionless stare. Like he truly believed it.

"I like you," you finally admitted, barely swallowing the weight of his words. "A lot."

For once, you let yourself shamelessly watch his reaction. His brows furrowed—both of them—so you reached up again to hold the bandage in place. Something flickered in his eye, but you couldn't read what it was. Then, a smile appeared on his cracked lips, but it wasn't a happy one. More crooked, almost mocking.

"Yer funny," he muttered, leaning back against the wall again.

You blinked, once, then again, confused. Daryl didn't seem to notice your frustration—didn't realize he had completely misread the situation.

"I mean it," you insisted, emotions starting to spill across your face. "I do. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way."

The silence stretched endlessly. You knew Daryl needed time, but you also felt like you were about to explode. The smirk had disappeared from his face, so you let yourself hope���just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he had actually heard you this time.

"I don't deserve that either," he finally said, completely unaware of how much those words hurt. "Why?" he asked then, carefully, like he was walking on the thinnest ice imaginable.

"That's... it's unconditional..." you began, but he didn't look convinced. "I mean, I could list things—traits—but it's just... you. In general."

"M'a mess. Ya deserve better."

You saw it. The movement. He wanted to stand up. He wanted to leave. But you weren't about to let him.

"What's your deal with this 'deserving' thing?" you fired back, stopping him in his tracks.

"S'some people dese—"

"Say something like that again, and I'm leaving," you interrupted, finally getting some kind of reaction out of him. "Do you like me back?"

"It's not about that."

"Oh, but it is."

Daryl clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tensing so much that he looked like he was fighting with himself. He didn't respond right away. You could see his breath becoming shallower, his fists clenching slightly—not out of anger, but in a desperate attempt to keep his distance.

You took a step closer.

"Daryl" you said, softer now, but firmly. "Tell me."

He hesitated, then dropped his gaze.

"I like ya, alright?" he muttered finally, but almost immediately shook his head, as if trying to reject his own words. "But that don't mean nothin'."

Your heart pounded harder. There was something heartbreaking about him. This man, who could fight so brutally for others, completely refused to believe that he could be enough for someone.

"It does mean something," you didn't back down, even though you could feel his walls rising higher.

Daryl let out a quiet scoff and scratched the back of his neck, visibly tense.

"Listen, ya think ya want this, but ya don't. 'M too fucked up."

You sighed heavily and shook your head.

"You don't get to decide that for me."

He looked at you, surprised, as if no one had ever said that to him before.

"You think I'm blind?" you continued, holding his gaze. "The way you protect people, the way you care even when you act like you don't. You push people away 'cause you think they're better off without you, but that's not your choice to make."

Daryl remained silent, the tension between you thickening. Finally, he let out a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know how to do this."

You gave him a sad smile.

"Then let's figure it out together."

He didn't answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn't a grand confession or a sudden dramatic shift. But it was a first step. And that was enough for you.

[sister-lucifer]

“You’re Really Not Cut Out For This…”

A Toby x Gender Neutral Reader Drabble 

Content/Warnings: Porn with no plot, bottom/sub Reader, degradation, a bit of mean Toby, heavy discussion of Reader basically being a free use sex toy, no specified genitalia for Reader, Reader + Toby are both proxies

This is not fully proof read! Please let me know if you see any typos

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, USED COMMERCIALLY OR FED TO AN AI. IF YOU DO THIS I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FUCKING KILL YOU.

“You know, y-you’re reeeaaaally not cut— c-cut out for this-ss-s…t-this ‘job,’ I mean.” 

The sudden admission would make you pause if had the lucidity to do so. You can’t do much of anything with the rabid way Toby’s pounding into you from behind, shoving his cock into you with the whole of his strength without so much as a single thought to your wellbeing. You barely manage to babble out something that sounds like a question. You can feel him smiling despite the forced wrenching of his face. 

“I-I’m just saying,” he continues, punctuating that last word with a particularly acute thrust that makes you squeal, “You d-don’t—shhh!—don’t seem like y-you really enjoy this-ss-s…line of-fff-f work…hell, you’re not good at i-it— it either, if we’re being hones-ss-st-t.” 

There’s no ignoring the cheeky giggle in his voice as he insults you to your face. He leans over you a bit, putting more of his weight on you and practically trapping you beneath him. He keeps talking before you even get a chance to protest. 

“You’re definitely n-not my equal,” he growls with a chuckle, as if highly amused by the idea of your inferiority, “You’ve hardly su— s-succeeded at any mission th-the ‘Boss’ has given you— y-you…but you are so good at this—“ 

He laughs at the way you choke on nothing when he angles his hips upwards just right, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You can feel his body shudder on top of you, a series of involuntary tongue clicks and whistles interrupting him for a moment before his endless chatter continues on. 

“You’re sooo— s-so fucking good at taking my cock…” 

He can’t contain the flood of sick giggles that burst from his throat before he can truly finish his thought. 

“…Tell you what I’m gonna do.” 

You shiver at how deathly serious his voice becomes suddenly. He’s speaking lowly into your ear, making sure you hear every syllable clear as day.  His stutter even pauses for that moment; he’s focused, suddenly, and a focused Toby is rare, but horrific for anyone who happens to be in his line of sight. 

“I’m gonna talk to the ‘Boss’…y-yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I-I’ll tell— t-tell him myself, ‘I don’t t-think the n-new— new— new one is cut out for this.’”

He grabs at your arms, pinning them to the mattress as he uses his body to hold you down. He’s starting to lose his steady pace as his excitement builds, his fingers flexing and popping in ways they shouldn’t be able to as he grasps your wrists.

“And he’ll l-listen to me, you know? H-He’ll lis— l-listen-nn-n to me, I know he will, be— b-because— beep! beep!— because I’m his f-ff-favorite.”

The word ‘favorite’ echoes in your mind, making you dizzy and sick. As much as you and the others are convinced that creature can’t feel emotion at all, it does show favoritism. It doesn’t love Toby, it doesn’t even care about him; on some level, Toby has to know that, he’s smarter than he lets on, but… 

…He doesn’t care. 

All he knows is that he’s getting positive attention from something, and it’s going straight to his ego. The only saving grace is that he’s usually too juvenile and short sighted to use that power against his fellow proxies. 

Usually. 

Unless he can get something he really wants out of it. 

“I-I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him-mm-m you’d be better off as my toy.” 

You nearly choke as Toby rocks you forward with a particularly hard thrust. You can feel your legs trembling, nothing more than jello underneath you, barely holding you up. Toby sucks in a breath through his crooked teeth as he watches you put the pieces together in your mind, though you can do little to show it. 

“That’s right, that’s-ss-s right!” He repeats, sounding far too pleased with himself, “I’ll tell him you’d be b-better off-ff-f being used, just-t something I can use— u-use— use to unwind after I do all the hard work that y-you— you could never.” 

He breaks out into giggles again, wrapping an arm around your neck and stifling your air without warning. You grasp onto his sleeve, clawing at his arm, but you’re far too shaky and weak to pull it away. He forces you to look him in the eyes, not wanting even a scrap of your attention to not be on him. 

“That’s right, you h-hear that?” He manages to choke out between his laughter, “I’m gon-nn-a get you demoted to a fucking hole!” 

He pushes—throws, really—your head back into the mattress before even have the chance to argue. He shoves your face into the bed, hand tangled in your hair as you whimper pathetically, exactly how he likes. He runs his tongue over his lips as he looks down at you, completely helpless underneath him, and it sends a surge of sick pleasure through his body.

“Just enjoy it,” He hisses through gritted teeth, “Because when I-I get m-mm-my way, this is all you’ll ever do.”

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out. 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated. 

[lelengerine]

pairing. cafe owner!chenle x regular customer!reader

synopsis. chenle might just have a thing for his cafe's regular customer, based on a req!

genre. cafe au, love at first sight mixed with a little puppy love, chenle’s like a goldie retriever here :(( i swear, mentions of food, reader uses she/her pronouns for this one, ft. jisung and jaemin, pls lmk if anything was missed!

wc. 1.0k words

notes. i love this one so much (i say that almost every time i have a new thing written) but it's chenle who are we kidding ofc i have favoritism… slight. likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

chenle wasn’t the type to hover. 

he trusted his staff—jisung handled the customers, jaemin worked his magic in the kitchen. that left him to observe from the sidelines, content to manage from a comfortable distance. it wasn’t laziness, more like knowing where he fit in the daily rhythm of the café.

but the moment you walked in, everything shifted.

it was nothing special at first. the soft chime of the door, the way the afternoon light caught the edge of your face as you stepped inside, looking around with a quiet curiosity. chenle had been by the counter, flipping absentmindedly through the register logs. he wasn’t paying attention to much until he saw you. it was like the air in the room shifted, pulling his focus to you as if he’d been waiting for something but hadn’t realized it until that moment.

you took a few steps in, glancing at the menu board above the counter. jisung, ever efficient, moved to take your order, but chenle stepped forward without thinking, his voice coming out before he even realized it.

“i’ll take care of it,” he muttered, sliding in front of the lanky boy and ignoring the surprised look thrown in his direction.

jaemin, who was watching from the back with flour dusted on his apron, gave chenle a knowing look, but said nothing.

chenle paid neither of them any attention, turning his gaze to you whose eyes were eagerly scanning the menu above the counter. “what can i get for you?”

you smiled, polite but distant, ordering a cup of mocha latte—voice reaching him in soft but clear syllables. chenle couldn’t help but hold onto each word as you spoke, wanting the moment to stretch just a little longer.

when you took your seat by the window, chenle made your drink himself, pushing aside jisung’s attempts to do his job. it wasn’t even about making the best coffee; it was about making your coffee. a strange feeling stirred in his chest as he watched the milk swirl into the espresso, the heart-shaped foam settling on top with more care than he’d ever thought to put into a simple drink.

it became a routine after that. you came in regularly, and each time, chenle found himself moving before anyone else could. jisung and jaemin didn’t even try to get involved anymore, knowing how stubborn their boss could be. they’d just exchange quiet glances and sometimes a snort of laughter when chenle would rush to be the first to greet you.

he knew your order by heart—mocha latte, no whipped cream, always served in the same spot by the window. he’d bring it to you, trying not to hover too long, hoping each time that maybe this would be the day you’d stay a little longer, or say something more than the usual thank you.

but you never did.

you’d sip your coffee, eyes on your book, and the world outside would blur as you disappeared into your reading. he’d watch, just for a moment, trying to convince himself that the way you quietly smiled to yourself meant something, that maybe you noticed how much care he put into each cup, but weeks passed, and nothing changed. 

you’d finish your drink, leave quietly, and chenle would be left with the echo of your absence. he started to wonder if it had all been in his head—if maybe he’d read too much into your polite smiles and the way you kept coming back. the doubt crept in slowly, like the steady ticking of a clock, until it was all he could think about every time you left without saying more.

today felt the same. you walked in, and he already had your mocha ready before you reached the counter, your usual spot by the window waiting for you. you gave him that same smile, soft and distant, and he tried to hide the way his heart leapt when you looked just a little surprised that he had your drink ready before you asked.

“you remembered,” you said, tone light, almost teasing.

chenle shrugged, trying to seem casual even as his pulse quickened. “it’s not hard. you come in here a lot.”

you laughed—soft, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to make his chest tighten. a small thank you made its way past your lips, and then, just like every other time, you disappeared into your little corner with a book in hand, sipping your drink as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

chenle watched you from behind the counter, torn between the quiet hope that had kept him going for weeks and the creeping disappointment that maybe, just maybe, this was all it would ever be. the unspoken silence between you stretched on, and by the time you finished your drink, the weight of his thoughts had settled into something heavier.

you left, like always, slipping out the door with only a glance back. chenle sighed, staring at the empty cup you’d left behind. another day, another missed chance. he walked over to clear the table, mind already drifting to the usual routine, until something caught his eye.

a small piece of paper, folded neatly beneath the cup.

he picked it up, his breath catching as he unfolded it, scanning the words quickly, then again, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining it.

i’d like it better if you sat down and ate with me instead of staring from behind the counter next time. my treat, pinky promise.

your phone number was scribbled beneath the note, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

chenle froze for a second, blinking at the piece of paper in disbelief, then suddenly grinned, pumping his fist in the air with a quiet yet triumphant “yes!”

from behind the counter, jisung and jaemin watched him, snickering quietly, exchanging knowing looks.

“has he finally gone insane?” jisung said in a deadpan.

jaemin just shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “just let the boy live a little. it’s not always that we catch him like this.”

“that boy is still your boss.”

“eh, he’s still younger than me.”

“your point being…?”

and despite being more than aware of jisung and jaemin’s bickering from behind the counter, chenle didn’t care. all he could think about was the next time you walked in, and how this time, he wouldn’t just be serving you.

this time, he’d be sitting with you.

[aibafiles]

Deciphering the invaders' language in the Hundred Line demo

After playing the hundred line demo recently, I gathered up any screenshots I could of the script the invaders use and I believe I've managed to decode all of it so far, so I wanted to share my findings here! I'll put the rest under the cut for anyone who wants to avoid it—I don't think anything I've translated so far would reveal any huge plot twists, but the game certainly doesn't expect you to be able to understand it.

Note: I'm aware that the demo has been datamined and there is plaintext of these lines, but I do not want corrections or confirmation based on this. I like piecing this together based on what the game has presented, nothing more!

Below the cut: translations of dialogue and UI text, character charts and other observations, and an analysis of the spoken language as well! (warning: long)

First things first, this language is a very straightforward kana-only Japanese in a different script. I started with the text under each main menu option, so let's look at these:

"Press any button" はじめる Hajimeru Start

The : mark next to the second character functions just like dakuten—the base character is し (shi), which becomes voiced to make じ (ji).

"New Game" はじめから Hajime kara From start

"Continue" つづきから Tsuzuki kara From next

"Load" きろくから Kiroku kara From

Pretty straightforward—I got stuck here for way too long because I thought these were -masu verbs and then nothing else made sense, oops.

"Gallery" せってい Settei Settings

"Settings" がろう Garou Gallery

"End Game" しゅうりょう Shuuryou End

Another sticking point here—the text on settings and gallery are actually switched. One danger of putting a fake language in your game is that you risk not being able to read it and messing it up in places (hi Metaphor), and though it's not really critical, this is not the only goof so far. (EDIT: This has been patched!)

Note that the smaller characters here are are reflected in the script as well, like the っ in せってい.

Cutscene dialogue

The subtitles for our commander's transformation cutscene, and a rough translation:

いだいなほしのかみよ… Idai na hoshi no kami yo... God of a great star(/planet)...

われにちからをあたえよ…！ Ware ni chikara wo atae yo...! Grant me power...!

むげんたい…！！ Mugentai...!! Eternal body...!!

ぼくは…「ちつじょのけしん」むゔゔむ… Boku wa... [Chitsujo no Keshin] Muvuvumu... I am... the [Avatar of Order] Muvuvumu... (MVVM?)

This was the section I struggled the most with, so there could be inaccuracies, but I'm reasonably confident in most of it.

Post-Battle Dialogue

Here's the very straightforward part:

こ、ころさないで… Ko-korosanaide... D-Don't kill me...

ゆるしてください Yurushite kudasai... Please forgive me...

おねがい…たすけて… Onegai... tasukete... Please... spare me... (or help me, but spare felt most fitting in this context)

And that's about everything we have so far! Here are my very janky kana charts, one for the script and one for the spoken language:

The most obvious observation is that the general shape seems to indicate the vowel sound, and the extra swoopy bits indicate the consonant, though some vowels are more consistent than others.

There's a general pattern among each consonants as well—N-shapes have loops or curls, S-shapes have angular lines that hook over the vowel shape, pure vowels have tiny loops, etc, but there aren't clear-cut enough patterns to extrapolate the rest of the language yet. Luckily I think there's enough so far that any remaining characters won't be too hard to place.

Let's talk about the spoken component as well! Notably, the commander is dubbed differently in English and Japanese, but both voice actors seem to be reading the same set of syllables, which gave me more sample data to work with, because they inflect their vowels a little differently. Like the written language, each kana has a 1:1 replacement syllable, but the nature of these syllables changes the cadence of the sentences when spoken.

The above chart is transcribed to the best of my ability, but it's possible I got a few sounds wrong, and I can't quite make out what the tsu in chitsujo is through the voice filter. I'm considering replaying the demo with the music and sound effects off to pick these voice lines out, and if I do, I'll edit this post and drop a reply noting it! There are also some unsubbed battle voice lines I'm curious about.

What's really interesting to me is how these new syllables interact with dakuten. Plenty of unvoiced consonants are replaced with voiced ones, or the other way around—but there are a few, like ta (now tu) and te (now se). When the Japanese script uses dakuten, the new syllables get voiced too, becoming du and ze. This tripped me up a bit, and it does cause some confusing duplicates (ku is already pronounced du), but it's fascinating that it bleeds through into the new pronunciation.

One other thing I noticed when analyzing these voice lines is that the English dub of the transformation cutscene straight up uses the wrong audio clip for the final line. The Japanese audio matches the syllable count, and those syllables match up with the ones we've heard in the other voice lines, but the English line seems to have too many syllables, and doesn't match at all. JP starts with "diduwa..." and EN starts with something like "mozoku en." I'm wondering if it's possible to reverse engineer this to figure out the original line, but that's another thing that would need scrutiny from a voice-only recording.

Misc. Observations

These little guys have the character for "o" on their faces! Also pronounced "ga" in the invaders' language.

I'm really intrigued by this graffiti on the walls when Takumi chases Karua into the abandoned school district, because this game is full of Japanese graphic text in the environments, so this can't be a case of generic unreadable background text—but it doesn't quite fit the invader script, either. A few shapes sort of match the characters if you rotate or invert them different ways, but I can't parse anything readable out of this. There are repeated shapes, like the topmost "word" in the first two images that appears to be the same, but written with slightly different strokes, so I have to assume there's meaning to it. Not sure what that is, but I wanted to include it in this post just in case.

Thanks for reading! this game is going to drive me insane