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missdynamighttt · 1 day ago

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imagining your older brother's bestfriend! katsuki bakugo walking in on you... masturbating.

"fucking hell..." you grumbled as the steady thump of music from your brother's party downstairs interrupted your studying.

your brother's parties were usually a messy affair, with plenty of noise and chaos. but lately, he seemed to be throwing them more frequently and with more intensity.

the sound of him and his friends playing beer pong and laughing loudly, the sounds carrying up from upstairs to your ears.

despite your best efforts to ignore the noise and concentrate on studying, the sound of music and loud chatter kept pulling your attention away. you tried blocking it out, focusing on your notes, but it was hard to ignore.

you closed your laptop in frustration, abandoning your efforts to study and grabbed your phone instead. scrolling mindlessly, you eventually came across something that caught your eye.

it was a photo of katsuki bakugo, your brother's best friend, smiling and looking as handsome as ever. his muscles were clearly visible through his tight shirt, and his spiky hair was tousled just right.

seeing him always made your heart race, but this time it was different. you felt heat wash over your body, and a feeling of excitement that you couldn't quite explain.

you couldn't take your eyes off the photo, as if katsuki's beautiful vermillion eyes and his god-like physique was hypnotizing you.

then, you realized.. you were feeling horny.

"shit. whats wrong with me?" you mumbled. but you couldn't resist the urge any longer, let alone fight it. your body was aching with need, who were you to tell it what it should do?

closing your eyes, you stifle a moan as your hand snuck underneath your pants and started to rub your folds in slow, lazy circles.

you huffed, biting your bottom lip as you watch yourself rub your clit through your panties. the other hand abandons your phone, crawling beneath your shirt, moving your bra out of the way to play with your tits, rolling your forefinger and thumb over your nipple.

your thoughts slowly drift to katsuki again, imagining his muscles framing his strong body, what it would be like if it was his hand down your pussy instead of yours.

you couldn't help but let out a loud whimper at the thought of his hands running over your body, his lips on yours. you could almost feel the heat of his touch, as if he were really there in the cramped space of your room, his presence a maddening pressure against your skin.

you let out a soft sigh, your hand moving faster as your imagination ran wild. it was wrong, really wrong. but you couldn't help it. the ache in your body was overwhelming, and you needed release.

the only thing that could make it better was if it was him, not you, imagining him there, his hand, his body, his voice. all there just to take care of your poor, needy little clit.

suddenly, someone pushed open the door without knocking, someone intending to ask you something about the party.

a gasp escapes your lips as the door slammed open, eyes snapping open to see katsuki standing in the doorway. your hands scrambled its way out of your body, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment but there was no denying it.

the sight that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized what he had walked in on. you, on your bed, a flush on your cheeks and your hand very recently hiding beneath your clothes where it wasn't supposed to be.

but katsuki heard you. he didn't want to assume and gets his hopes up, until now. katsuki saw you, masturbating. to a photo of him, no less. and to the thoughts of him fucking you.

he stood there in the doorway, stunned, his eyes fixated on you as you tried in vain to hide what you were doing, hiding evidence he'd already seen.

"shit, 'm sorry.." you mumbled, clearly very embarassed. "i thought the.. door was locked."

katsuki processed your words for a moment before he stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

"don't worry about it," he leaned against the door, his eyes never leaving yours. "should have knocked."

there was something about the way he was looking at you, a mix of surprise and... something else that made you feel self-conscious. you shifted your legs, clenching down on nothing in an attempt to relieve the aching need inside you.

"wh-what did you need?" you looked up at him, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

he pushed himself off the door, his movements slow as he took a few steps forward. he stopped several feet away from the bed and looked down at you with a hint of amusement.

"wanted to ask you something about the party. but i think there's something more.. important."

his eyes wander over your face and down to your body, lingering on the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. he swallows hard, his jaw tight.

"you looked like you were having a good time," he says, his tone almost teasing.

a hot flush spread across your cheeks, face burning with embarrassment. you dropped your gaze to your knees, unable to face him

"forget about it. didn't mean for you to see..."

katsuki chuckled, the sound deep and dark. his eyes roved over your body, as if taking in the sight of you in a way that made you feel naked, vulnerable.

"m pretty sure i won't be able to forget about it anytime soon."

he took another step forward, a few more inches between you. he sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. he was so close now, you could almost feel the heat radiating off his body.

he reaches out, his hand brushing against your knee, feeling your body tense under his touch. his proximity made you feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive.

"don't be embarrassed. it's normal to have needs."

your breath catches in your throat as his hand touched your knee. the simple touch made your heart race, the shame and embarrassment of being caught in the act evident on your face.

"it's not normal," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "especially for you to see me taking care of my... myself like this..."

katsuki lets out a low chuckle, his hand sliding from your knee up to your thigh.

"well, i'm... not bothered i saw it," he says, his voice a little huskier than usual as he squeezes your thigh gently, his fingers warm against your skin. "it was... quite a show."

you look up at him, and your mind struggles to remember what he had come in for in the first place. he was glad he saw it? how long was he even watching?

"wh-what did you want to ask me about, again?" you managed to say, your eyes locked onto his. you were trying to stay focused, but it was hard with him standing so close, his presence making your mind fuzzy.

katsuki doesn't reply right away,his hand still on your thigh. his expression is unreadable, watching his hand trickle along your thighs in slow, lazy strides before looking back at you.

finally, he seems to remember what he came in to ask. "ah, right. i was wondering if you were coming downstairs," he says, his eyes flicking down to you, his gaze lingering on her form for a moment before returning back up to her face.

"but... i'm not sure i want you to leave anymore."

his eyes flick down to your phone, seeing the picture you had been looking at when he walked in. it's the picture of him, the one that had inspired your... activities.

he looks back up at you, his eyes dark as he lets out a low chuckle, the sound making you shiver. "were you looking at this before i walked in, hm?"

you cursed under your breath, fumbling for your phone to turn it off, your embarrassment painfully obvious, trying to compose yourself.

"shit. shit, that was... i'm sorry. i don't know how it... i didn't mean for you to see that."

katsuki chuckled, a deep, rough sound, his hand still resting on your thigh, squeezing it. "relax. 'm not mad."

he took the phone from your trembling fingers, the brief contact of his fingers on your skin sending goosebumps on your arms, setting it down on the bedside table with a soft thud. "in fact," he continued, his voice lowering. "i'm intrigued."

he leaned in closer, his body nearly flush with yours, his hand sliding further up your thigh until it was barely hovering above the hem of your shorts. a shudder ran through your body at his touch, sending tingles down your spine.

"you..." he asked, his hand stopping at your inner thigh. "were getting turned on by me, perv?"

your breath stuttered as he began to move his hand in lazy, repetitive circles against your crotch, the sensation making your body tingle with need. was this really happening?

for a moment, you wanted to tell him to stop. but why? you wanted this. you needed this. you needed to finish what he interrupted and he was willingly offering to help you. so, fuck it. you liked it anyway.

clinging to him, your face flushed with an intense heat, your body reacting to his touch. "fuck... y-yeah."

katsuki's eyes narrow, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. his presses a thumb against the thin fabric of your shorts, feeling your damp panties against him, your mewls sending vibrations down his hand.

"were you, really?" he leans in even closer, his face just inches from yours. "thinkin' of me, all alone up here in your bed, touchin' yourself to me?"

you nodded slowly, a soft whimper escaping your lips. your fingers clenched at his shirt, body trembling against him as you feel your warm, wet cunny flutter from his touch.

katsuki shifted his hand, his fingers wandering higher on the waistband of your panties, getting his hand down your shorts.

"and what, exactly, were you thinking i'd be doing to you?"

a soft moan escaped your lips when he starts tracing slow patterns on the sensitive skin of your bare folds. your head lolling back in response, your body arches into him, wanting more of him.

"your hands... how good they'd make me feel, all over me..."

"my hands, on you? touchin' you, explorin' your body, makin' this pretty pussy feel good?"

you nodded eagerly, face flushed as your panted, body shivering with pleasure of his hands on you, rubbing your poor, needy clit.

"yes... wait.." you bit your lip, your mind attempting to shift through your hazy thoughts, eyes looking up at him.

"sh-shit, you're supposed to be downstairs..." you reminded him. "won't my brother notice you're gone..?"

he scoffs, brushing your hair behind your ear, his hand gentle on your face but firm in between your legs. "don't give a fuck," he says, his voice gruff.

"right now, the only thing i care about is you."

he leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his presence almost overwhelming. he seemed to be completely focused solely on you, his hands roaming over your body, exploring the curves and soft skin beneath his touch.

"besides," he says, his hand starts to move harder on your wet cunny. "your brother can handle one shitty party without me. i have something i need to take care of right here."

his calloused fingers assault on your clit with fast rubs, teasing your wet hole. he groans, feeling his dick get hard watching you squirm.

"oh, you like that, hm?" he whispered, his voice a low, rough purr. "you like the way i play with this fuckin' cunt, huh?"

another whimper of pleasure escapes you when you feel his finger dip into your folds, your head tilting back as you cling onto him. "yes, fuck, yes... feels better than i imagined..."

he hums, his hands continuing to wander over your body. he leans in, his lips brush against your ear. "y'know, i've been imaginin' this too..."

breath hitching at his words, your eyes lock onto his, your chest heaving with each pant as katsuki rubs your throbbing clit silly.

"yeah?" you murmur, the thought of him actually thinking about this too was insane. too good to be real.

the thought of him, maybe jerking his dick off to your pretty face, imagining all the ways he'd make you feel... it was enough to make your velvet walls clench down on nothing, the sensation painful by the second.

"yeah," he nods slowly, putting a finger in between your folds, spreading them to tease the pulsating hole gushing with your slick. "been thinking about this for a while now.... you have no fuckin' idea how hard it's been to keep my hands off you."

"it's been torture, y'know. seein' you around, knowin' i can't have you the way i want you."

katsuki pressed his lips to the tender skin of your neck, his breath coming out in puffs. his lips leave a trail of kisses from your neck to your collarbone, possessive and with tender care.

"but not anymore. tonight, i'm gonna do exactly what i've been dreamin' about."

"katsuki..." you whimpers his name, your voice a soft, needy sound. you clutch at his shoulders, your entire body trembling with need.

his words were like an invitation, the whispered plea to take care of you like he's wanted to do for so long making you gasp. "please... please, katsuki... make me feel good."

he grins with a predatory gleam in his eye. "with fuckin' pleasure."

he stands up to pull away from you, his body towering over yours. he stands there for a moment, just looking down at you, admiring the sight of you looking all vulnerable. he reaches behind your ass, patting it softly.

"lift your legs up f'me, sweet girl."

your heart pounds in your chest, but eagerly lifts your legs up, spreading them a little. you're completely at his mercy now. you've never felt more vulnerable yet so, so fucking horny.

katsuki kneels down, his hands sliding up your thighs again, tracing patterns on your skin. "so soft..."

he tugged gently on your shorts along with your panties, his fingers tracing along the bare skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps along his path. "these are in the fuckin' way.."

he tossed your clothes aside with a flick of his wrist, letting them fall somewhere lost in the room.

you were left there, legs bare and exposed, the cold air caressing your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. you felt shy, cheeks flushing with embarassment and desire.

but even in the cold air, katsuki thought you looked absolutely gorgeous, every inch of your body on display for him and his gaze alone.

katsuki was struck speechless, his jaw slack as he drinks in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.

"you're so damn beautiful.. so eager, too" he murmured, his thumb trailing down to your wet slit. "but we gotta be quiet, okay? party's still going on down stairs."

a huff escaped your lips as you tried to pout, but it only served to highlight your lips in a subtle way. you knew katsuki had a point, but you still couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.

"meanie," you muttered under your breath. "how am i supposed to be quiet when you're doing thi—"

"shhh," he shushes you, his finger brushing against your lips as his thumb slowly goes in and out of your hole. "you know we have to keep it down, or your brother will hear. don't want him comin' up here, do you?"

"fine.." you pouted at him, clearly annoyed as you looked up at him.

your tongue darted out, licking and then lightly biting his finger on your lips, drawing it into your mouth with hungry motions. your eyes never left his, your gaze full of defiance and unabashed want.

a smirk tugged at the corners of katsuki's lips as he watched your lips wrap around his finger, the sight and feeling enough to send a bolt of heat through his body. he could see the hunger in your gaze, and it only intensified the need building up within him.

he pulls his finger out of your mouth with a pop, leaving you with a small gasp. "is that supposed to be an apology for callin' me a meanie?"

raising an eyebrow, a soft smile plays at the corners of your lips. "maybe. did you like it?"

he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "i'd be lyin' if i said i didn't. but you know what i'd like more?"

katsuki moved his hand, his fingers trailing down your warm cunnt, slowly putting a digit inside of you, rubbing your throbbimg clit with his thumb.

"this pretty little thing right here," he murmured, his fingers slowly curling inside of your walls, exploring your sweet spots. "all wrapped around my dick."

a soft gasp escaped you as he continued to curl his fingers inside you, the sensations coursing through your body, making you writhe beneath him. it just felt so good, your body was responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control.

"but i gotta get you ready, okay?" he loved how responsive you were, how your body reacted to him. he continued to tease you, his fingers still softly running through your wet walls, the gummy skin beneath it growing warmer with every pass. it only fueled his own need. "need you all nice and wet f'me first.."

you bit your bottom lip, trying to muffle the soft moans that kept slipping out as your hips squirmed against him, seeking friction and more of the wonderful sensations he was making you feel.

"it... it feels so good," you mumbled, biting your bottom lip to stifle a moan. "don't stop, katsuki.."

he loved how you sounded, breathless and needy under his touch. his fingers continued its pace inside you, moving slowly, as if trying to edge you closer and closer to the release you so desperately longed for.

he could tell how much you were enjoying this, could tell how desperately you wanted more. and he was more than happy to give it to you.

"i won't. i could do this all night."

your gaze flicks down to the spot where he was most vulnerable: his aching boner. it looked so big. so hard. so painful. you just had to help him, right? you looked back up at him, your bottom lip caught in between your pearly whites.

"can i.. can i touch you? can i make you feel good, too?"

katsuki took a sharp breath at your request, his body tensing slightly in anticipation. he was torn between wanting to give in to your touch, to know what it feels like and wanting to be in control, to see you crumbling apart all for him.

eventually, though, his desire for you won out. "yeah. you can touch me."

you hesitated for a moment, unsure what to expect. he looked big, sure. but what if you squeezed it too hard or something? what if he hated it?

katsuki continued to watch you, his own desire growing as he thought about what you might do next. but it was obvious you were nervous. "go ahead, pretty. don't be shy."

you nodded, taking a deep breath as your hand trembled slightly, reaching out towards him. you gently placed your hand down his boxers, feeling his hard cock trapped in his clothes, aching with warmth only you could fix.

katsuki groaned softly at your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he felt the warmth and softness of your hands envelop his cock.

he feels his breathing growing shallower as you explored him. he wasn't used to being touched like this, but the way your hands felt on him was making him want more. of this. of you.

he reached out to take your other hand, his large fingers intertwining with yours as if to reassure you. "just relax. you're doin' great. keep goin'."

your eyes met his gaze, a hot flush spreading across your cheeks as you continued to move your hands down his pants. while he has his hands down yours.

"this is so..." you swallowed, your voice catching whimpers in your throat. "...so lewd."

"yeah," his murmured, watching you react to him. "fuckin' lewd."

"but you like it, don't you?"

you couldn't even deny it. he was right. making each other feel good... and the thought that he'd rather be with you instead of a stupid party downstairs.. you were enjoying this.

"mhm.. y-yeah."

katsuki's smile widened as he heard your admission. it pleased him, very much, to know that you were enjoying this as much as he was.

"good," he pants, his breath hitching when you start to stroke his cock faster. "because i plan on doing.. a lot more than this."

his hand holding yours lets you go, moving to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. he was enjoying this far more than he’d expected, every second pulling him deeper into the moment.

the sight of you like this— it was intoxicating. and what made it even better? knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this, raw and vulnerable, just for him.

"fuck.. fuck, you're so beautiful.." his words were filled with such awe and sincerity, he almost sounded like he was yearning. yearning for the taste of you. what you'd feel like around him, clenching down on his cock instead of his fingers.

your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. instead, you let out a soft, breathless laugh, trying to play it off.

“don’t... say things you don’t mean,”

"hey," he panted, his voice low and steady, laced with a softness you couldn't ignore. "look at me."

you couldn't ignore the gentle command in his voice, and slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. "what..?"

his thumb brushed across your cheekbone, the touch gentle but firm as his fingers continued to play with your warm insides.

"i meant what i said. you're... the most beautiful thing i've ever seen."

you let out a soft whimper, his words and touches starting to stir something inside you. the only thing that was keeping you grounded was keeping your hands occupied, stroking him, thumbing at his tip leaking with white pre.

"stop that," you protested, your voice a soft, breathless plea.

a low chuckle rumbled in his throat, drinking in every reaction and twitch of your body you couldn’t conceal, beating his fingers deeper into you. "why should i stop, hm?"

you gasped aloud at the feel of his digits pressing into your cervix, feeling the heat and strength of him. "b-because.."

"because what?" katsuki pants, his breathing shallow from the way you stroke his cock. how could he have it all? how could he sweet talk to you like this and finger you like pro? "sh-shit, you feel so good, god.."

you let out a strangled sob, your body arching instinctively into his as you felt the evidence of his desire on your folds, his pre all over your clit. the friction between them was exquisite, sending shudders through your entire being.

"b-because..." you tried again, struggling to articulate your thoughts. "because... it's embarrassing.."

his lips curled into a smirk at the sound of your breathless whispers and gasps. it was like music to his ears. he loved how you couldn't seem to keep yourself under control.

his mouth hovers a mere millimeter from the skin of your neck, before taking a nibble out of the supple skin. "s-so what? i like it when you’re.. embarrassed."

"shut uppp," you whine, tears of pleasure spilling from your eyes as his fingers fuck you harder. "katsukiii.. im.. close.."

the sound of his name slipping from your lips, breathless and almost desperate, caused his heart to leap in his chest and desire to flare hotly within him.

katsuki couldn't take his eyes off of you, your head thrown back, eyes glossy of how good he makes you feel, your words a plea. he wanted to tease you, to make things last, but he was just as close as you were.

“me too,” he growled, groaning as he bucks his hips into your fist. "fuck, i want you.. so bad, it fuckin' hurts.."

"katsukiii," you whimper, voice shaky and broken by sobs. his name is the only word you can form, the only plea you can make. "i'm... i'm..."

he can see it in your eyes, the way your body quivers beneath his touch, begging for release. your voice, shaky and broken, is the sweetest sound he's ever heard, and he knows he's close too.

katsuki's hand continues to move, slowly sliding across your folds before settling on the smooth skin of your clit, rubbing it feverishly.

he knew exactly what you needed, what you both needed.

"i know," he whispers, his voice a breathless growl. "i know. just cum for me, sweet girl, c'mon."

your body tenses at his words, your breath hitching in your throat at the feel of his fingers reaching your sweetest spot.

you let out a soft, guttural moan, your body arching against his as you lose yourself in the waves of pleasure that crash through you, painting his fingers white.

he feels your body tense, face buried in the crook of his neck as you cling to him, shuddering and writhing against him as you ride out your high, and it's almost too much for him to take.

"f-fuck," katsuki groans, bucking his hips into your hand one last time before spurting ropes of cum on your pussy, thick and sticky all over you.

his hand pulls away from the tight hold of your cunt, gently putting your hand away from his now soft cock. he held you close, the both of you trembling in the aftermath.

feeling you shiver in his arms, your breath slowly beginning to even out, your face buried in his neck, is the most satisfying feeling he's ever experienced.

he gently runs his hand along your back, soothing you and trying to bring you back down to earth. he slowly pulls back, his body still close to yours with his arms still wrapped around you.

he can't help but smile at the sight of you, flushed and panting, your hair mussed up and your eyes half-lidded. he reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "you okay, pretty?"

you slowly opened your eyes, nodding shakily, your breaths starting to even out as you slowly come back to earth. you can still feel the aftershocks of the orgasm rippling through your body, making your limbs feel deliciously heavy and boneless.

"y-yeah. i'm okay. just... i just need a second. that was..." you trail off, not quite sure how to put into words the intensity of what just happened.

he chuckles softly, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. he loves the way you look right now, all flushed and breathless, and he can't help but feel a sense of pride that he's the cause of it.

"yeah, that was.." he trails off, his words escaping him as well. he glances at the top of your head before giving it a soft, lingering kiss. "you were amazing, by the way."

your face flushes hot again as you lift your head from the crook of his neck, your eyes meeting his, a playful grin spreading across your face. "you were pretty amazing too. even if you made a mess all over me."

you glance back down at the gooey mess katsuki made at your folds, feeling his creamy slick ooze down there to your thighs.

katsuki barks out a laugh, the sound rough and amused as his eyes roam over your face. "and who's fault is that, huh?"

his gaze drops down to examine the mess he made, before reaching for his hand that was down your cunny, licking his fingers clean, tasting your sweet slick on his tongue. "don't act like you didn't make a fuckin' mess too..."

you watch him lick his fingers with an almost unbearably seductive ease, feeling embarassed just watching him. "shut up. don't pretend that you didn't like it."

"oh, i definitely liked it," he purrs, enjoying your bashful response. "and i'll have you know that i liked a lot of things we just did."

he reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. "shit... you really are a sight when you're like this, y'know that?"

you glance up at him and scoff, your embarrassment evident as you avoid his gaze. but before you can say another word, the music from the party begins to fade. your brother's party was coming to an end.

the realization hits you— your older brother would soon be looking for katsuki.

he realized that the night was winding down as well. he knew that he'd have to face your brother soon, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought.

katsuki reaches out, gently tilting your chin up so that you're looking at him. "i guess that means i'm gonna have to let you go now, huh?"

you look up at him, biting your bottom lip, and give a small, subtle nod, too bashful to voice how disappointed you were at the thought of him leaving.

he notices the tiny bite on your lip, and he can't help but feel a flicker of something warm in his chest at the sight. his hand moves to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, freeing it from between your teeth. "trust me, i don't want to leave too."

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you try to play it cool, acting like it didn’t matter whether he stayed or not. still, your nerves get the better of you as you gently bite down on his thumb. "then don’t go. text my brother that you already left or something..."

he laughs at your attempt to appear nonchalant, your actions betraying what you reallt wanted. he can feel how much you wanted him to stay as you gently bite down on his thumb, and it only fuels his own desire to stay. "you're askin' me to lie to your brother, huh?"

you roll your eyes, your teeth sinking into his thumb with a little harder. "oh, please. it wouldn’t be the first time you lied to him."

he winces slightly as you bite down on his thumb, his smirk giving way to a wry chuckle. "fair enough.'

his thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand resting against the side of your neck instead. "you're a bad influence, y'know that?"

"and all this time i thought you were just my best friend's sweet, cute little sister."

"all i heard was sweet and cute, thanks."

he scoffs and rolls his eyes, shaking his head but still unable to hide a smile. "tch, smartass."

you lock eyes with him, the connection electric, as the both of you lean in slowly, the world around you seeming to fade. just as your lips are about to meet his, the sound of footsteps reaches your ears—your brother's voice calling out to katsuki, drawing you both back to reality in an instant.

panic flashes across your face, and in a rush, you both scramble to get dressed, fumbling with your clothes as you try to hide any trace of what just happened.

katsuki hastily throws his shoes on, and your eyes dart nervously toward the window. without a word, you push it open, offering him a quick escape.

he glances back at you, his expression unreadable, and just before he climbs out, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

its affectionate, its sudden, but it sends a spark through your chest, leaving your heart racing and a warmth spreading across your face amidst the cold air from the window.

after that, katsuki leans in once more, his lips grazing yours before he whispers. “i’ll text you, okay? don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily."

but before you could respond, his lips found yours again, this time more insistently, a rush of warmth flooding through you. he pulled away just enough to glance at you, his gaze full of mischief.

"i'm serious, pretty," he murmured, placing another quick kiss on your lips, his hands lingering on your waist.

you laugh softly, the sound light despite the tension between them, pushing him gently towards the window.

“you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as he attacks you with kisses, unable to hide the smile on your lips. “gooo, before my brother comes in here looking for you."

katsuki smirks, catching your lips in another kiss, this one more lingering, more desperate. "promise me you'll text back."

you chuckle, shaking your head but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "yes, yes, i promise. now go, before i change my mind."

reluctantly, he pulls away, planting one last lingering kiss on your forehead, looking at you longingly and brushing your hair behind your ear. "i’ll text you, i promise."

and with that, he slipped out of the window and disappeared into the night. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. the sound of your brother’s knock on the door snaps you back to reality.

you brother opens the door, peeking out of your room for a bit. "hey, did you see bakugo anywhere?"

you force a calm smile, hoping your heart isn't pounding too loudly.

"no, i haven’t seen him."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ ohmygosh!! finally!! im done!! this was so stressful to write but so fun, i hope you enjoyed it!! lemme know if youre interested for a part two^^ anyway, here are the tags: @thatone16216 @spltbtch @katsuisbaby @natsukicookies @dragonscribble @katsucookies @r11k4

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moonlitwitchdaisy · 2 days ago

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virgin loser bff!nanami had been your closest friend ever since the time in preschool when your doll’s head broke, and he came over with his toy truck, offering to play together instead.

the fact that you had such different personalities never got in the way of your friendship. you were always the most popular and social person at school, while nanami didn’t even have any friends other than you. whenever you called him over to join you, and your friends asked, “how are you even friends with this guy?” he thought it might bother you. but when you’d respond, “ken is the most important person in my life. if you have a problem with him, you can fuck off,” it made him realize just how much you truly cared about him.

to nanami, you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. even if he knew he didn’t deserve you, he would do anything for your affection.

it didn’t take long during high school for him to realize his feelings for you had shifted from simple friendship to what he could only describe as “real love.” the way his dick would get hard whenever you hugged him, the way he’d sweat with excitement, and the constant desire to kiss you — these were definitely not things a friend would want.

the more time he spent with you, the harder it became to suppress these feelings. he thought about confessing to you, just to get it off his chest, but he knew you’d reject him. someone like you would never look at a loser like him. besides, it would mean the end of your friendship, and he couldn’t risk that. so instead, he chose to endure it silently, watching you hang out with other guys and resigning himself to a life filled with pain and self-loathing.

until tonight.

he had no idea how it happened. maybe someone had slipped something into his coffee because there was no other explanation for why he was inside you right now. you were supposed to be out with that handsome guy from the university club, but apparently, you could only stand the date for an hour before coming home.

“you’re such an idiot, ken. how can you not see that i love you? every guy i meet, every guy i date—i’m looking for you in them, but none of them are you,” you yelled at him through your tears, and all he could do was stare at you in shock.

had you wanted him all along?

“i don’t understand…” he muttered.

you cupped his cheek with your hand, your tearful eyes locking onto his. the heat in his face was unbearable as he felt your fingers gently stroke his skin. you’d never touched him like this before.

“why don’t you see me as a woman, ken? i want you to touch me. i want to touch you.”

he wanted to—more than anything.

“you’re only doing this because your date didn’t go well. otherwise—”

“otherwise what, ken? you think i’m lying?” you snapped angrily.

nanami sighed deeply, his voice breaking as he said, “how could someone like you love someone like me? i’m just a loser.”

you never saw him as a loser. to you, he was the funniest, kindest, and most handsome man in the world. who wouldn’t fall for someone like him? you knew people didn’t want to get to know him because he was shy and quiet, but the real nanami was so much more than that.

you said with longing, “ken, kiss me.”

he tried to ignore how painfully hard he was as he stammered, “i can’t…”

“shut up and kiss me.” standing on your tiptoes, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned in closer. whispering again, you said, “kiss me…”

when nanami finally pressed his lips to yours, he closed his eyes. it was his first kiss, and he had no idea what to do. thankfully, you guided him, moving your lips against his, teaching him. he followed your lead, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, making you moan into his mouth as the kiss grew messy and heated.

“let’s go to your room,” you managed to whisper when your lips finally parted.

that’s when nanami started to panic. he had just had his first kiss—how was he supposed to satisfy you in bed? if something happened and you regretted it, he’d never forgive himself.

“i-i’ve never done this before,” he admitted, embarrassed.

you smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “it doesn’t matter. i just want you, ken. just kissing you is enough to make me cum. but if you don’t want to—”

before you could finish, nanami scooped you into his arms, silencing you. as he carried you to his room, he said, “of course i want to. i’ve always wanted to, angel.”

he loved calling you angel.

and that’s how it happened. now, here he was, fucking into you with uneven thrusts, his cock buried deep inside the tight heat of your pussy — something he’d dreamed about for years.

you couldn’t understand how this man hadn’t had sex before. when he was preparing you, he was like a professional. sure, his excitement made his movements a bit clumsy now, but his mouth had worshipped every inch of your pussy, giving you exactly what you needed.

“ken… you feel so good,” you moaned, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as the thickest and biggest cock you'd ever seen stretched your tight walls with audible intensity, his face buried in your neck.

“angel, this is so—so…” nanami pressed kisses to your neck, pumping into you with desperate, erratic movements.

“k-ken, i love you,” you whispered.

if this was a dream, nanami never wanted to wake up. having you like this, feeling you so deeply while you told him you loved him, it couldn’t end.

lifting his head from your neck, he straightened up, moving your legs to rest on his shoulders. gripping your thighs for support, he began thrusting faster, his hips slamming into you with a rhythm he didn’t even know he had.

“oh my god, ken—this is too much—ugh…” you could feel him in your stomach, his cock reaching places no one ever had.

“i saw this position in a porno… i always imagined fucking you like this—shit,” he confessed, his voice full of raw emotion.

“ken…” his words made you blush even harder because, for years, you’d wanted this too.

you had always wanted his thick, 8-inch cock to pound into the deepest corners of your pussy with a merciless rhythm, his sweat dripping onto your body as he claimed you completely.

“i-if i’m doing something wrong, tell me,” he said, throwing his head back with a groan. the muscles in his neck were taut, making him look unbelievably sexy. “teach me, angel, please…”

if anyone needed to be taught, it wasn’t nanami—it was you. despite his inexperience, he was giving you the best sex of your life.

“ken, if you insult yourself again—ahhh—i swear…” you gasped as he kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, your back arching off the bed. your fingers moved to your nipples, trapping them between your fingers and playing with them as you kept grinding against nanami’s cock.

“angel, i—i can’t last much longer.” your pussy was gripping him so tightly he could barely hold himself together.

still pinching your nipples, you gasped, “cum, ken.”

“fuck, i’m sorry…” he muttered.

after pumping his thick, sticky cock into your delicious pussy a few more times with quick and uneven thrusts, his grip on your thighs tightened, and he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his warm seed.

breathing heavily, he slowly lowered your legs from his shoulders to the bed and gently pulled out of you. his lips left a trail of kisses from your waist to your neck and finally to your lips. as he nuzzled his nose against yours, you closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of his woody cologne.

“you didn’t cum, did you?” he asked, regret evident in his voice.

opening your eyes, you kissed him and pulled back slightly. “you made me cum twice with your fingers and mouth, ken. trust me, i got everything i wanted.”

his cheeks flushed red. “i’m sorry, angel.”

“don’t apologize, idiot. even though you’ve never done this before, you gave me the best sex of my life. and this won’t be the last time—you’ll have plenty of chances to make me cum again.”

“do you really love me?” he asked, still unable to believe it.

“ken, if you ask me that one more time—”

“okay, okay” he said quickly, pressing a kiss to your neck before whispering, "i love you."

you looked into his bright, honey-colored eyes, placed your hands on his cheeks, and pulled him closer for a kiss. “those rumors from high school were true.”

nanami furrowed his brows. “what rumors?”

“the girls used to call you the big-dicked loser,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

nanami looked at you, utterly defeated “big-dicked loser?”

“uh-huh.”

“they talked about me?”

“ken, no matter what you wore, there was no hiding that massive thing, but thanks for giving us the view,” you said, finally unable to hold back your laughter.

“you’re welcome?” his confused response only made you laugh harder.

“i love you, big-dicked loser,” you said between laughs.

nanami didn’t respond. instead, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you under his weight.

“we’ll see who the loser is. get ready, angel, because this time, i’m gonna make your pussy squirt.”

you didn’t protest as he slid his still-hard cock back inside you, burying your face in the pillow and screaming from the sheer pleasure.

tag: @aishi-toru

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

dividers by @aquazero

#nanami kento headcanons #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jjk x you #jjk x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n

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nochepsicodelica · 2 days ago

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"Morning, doll," Toji greets, placing a kiss on the back of your head before scooting past you to grab a glass of water. He stops in his tracks, taking a second look at you as you stuff a random document back in its envelope. Your outfit looks very familiar.

"Hi, baby. Was just about to head to-- What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Toji comes closer, until he's standing right in front of you. He pulls on the taut, yet, stretchy material of your shirt and watches it snap right back into place, snug against your chest. Then, he tugs on the waistband of your light grey sweatpants, to see how neatly the hem of your shirt is tucked into them. There's no outline of the shirt on your thighs and when he walks behind you and takes a look at the back, there's no outline of the shirt on the butt part, either. He whistles, looking you up and down, absorbing the entirety of the sight you offer.

"You're dressed like me, pretty girl. Tell me you're gonna wear your black shoes."

"I'm gonna wear my black shoes."

"Oh fuuuck. You trying to kill me?" You smile when he comes up behind you, again, lingering, this time. His arms encircle your waist and his chin rests on your shoulder. "Where were you planning on going, without me, dressed like this?"

You laugh. "It's not like i'm going out in lingerie or something fancy looking. Nobody's gonna be giving me googly eyes. This is comfy clothing, 'cause i'm going to the store, not some formal event."

"Well, i'm giving you all types of googly eyes, right now, so you can't go." He emphasizes this by tightening his arms around you, his hold unbreakable, now.

"Baby," you groan.

"Ahh, too bad. You can't go, yet, and you can't go without me. Someone might snatch you up like a damn seagull." He grins at the deflated look on your face. "Mmm... look at that pout. You want a little kiss?" You huff, and turn your face away from Toji, luring a deep chuckle from him. "Ooh, you're so grumpy. You want a big kiss, huh?" You feel his head lift off your shoulder to peek at you on the other side, but again, you huff and turn your head in the other direction. He clicks his tongue at your stubbornness, an amused smirk adorning his face, regardless of your games.

This continues a couple more times, before finally, he wins. He shifts his strong hold around your waist to one arm and brings his free hand up to cup your jaw, so he can look at you without worrying about you turning your head, again.

"Feisty girl, I got you, now," he says, watching the smile unfolding on your face. Your giggles are music to his ears.

"That's not fair," you say, your voice strained as you try and fail to turn away from him, again.

"Yeah? Just like how it's not fair that you look better than me in my own outfit." Toji scoffs, releasing your jaw and returning his arm to it's previous position, around your waist. "I've been wearing that combination for years. This is the first time I see it on you and you have me sweating."

"Okay!" You laugh. "I'll go change my shirt or my pants. Just let me go to the store, please. Please!" You cry out, exaggeratedly.

"Nah, nah, no need to be so dramatic," Toji says, smirking when he feels your body trembling against him as you laugh. "It's too late for you to go change. You were just about to leave dressed like this, no?"

"Um... yeah, and then you said no. So, I have to plead my case, somehow. Can I try again?" You ask, giddily.

He sighs, heavily, like it'll kill him to give you another shot. "Sure, but who knows if i'll change my mind?"

"You love when I beg for things, don't you?"

"Absolutely, not. Well..." he hums.

"Ah, shut up," you say, pinching his arm. "Not like that you... you."

"See, now you're being mean, and that's not gonna help your case, at all."

"Wait, wait! I'm sorry. Look," you say, lifting his arm up to your lips with both of your hands and kissing the spot you pinched. "See? I'm sorry."

He takes half a step back, allowing you to turn and look at him.

"Say it to my face."

"I'm sorry," you say, quick and simple.

"Do it the right way."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, slower, this time.

"You must really not need to go to the store that bad. That's not right, either."

You can tell he's loving this, he's got that stupid smug grin on his face. He loves seeing you get it wrong knowing there's no right answer, because you feed into it and you get all frustrated. It's a rigged game.

"Baby! What do you want me to say? I said I was sorry, already."

"I don't know, doll. I don't think I should have to teach you how to apologize properly."

You sigh, and keep trying. "Do you want a hug?"

"Do I?" He asks, pushing you to keep going.

"Or a... a kiss? Lots of kisses?"

"Hm... do I want lots of kisses?" He asks himself, looking contemplative for a second. He never gives you an answer, and just goes back to waiting for you to get it right. You're starting to look like a kicked puppy, your pout returning as you think of what else you can offer him as an apology. You pull out one last card. If this isn't it, then you forfeit.

"Do you want my body?"

Toji sees your light flicker. It's not disappointment, but more like you're hoping something isn't true. Like you don't agree with what you just said. You've never been good at hiding your feelings. If you're happy or excited, you have this enormous, gorgeous smile on your face and your eyes shimmer like moonlight on the sea. If you're sad or feeling emotional, you don't like being seen. You turn away, hide your face in your hands, put your hood on—anything to hide your vulnerability. This, though, is just wrong. It's something he's never seen on you before and he doesn't want to keep seeing it.

"No. Not like that. Never like that. Fuck, doll. Jokes over, come here. I'll take that hug, now."

He envelops you in his arms. It's a tight embrace that brings you comfort through the love and warmth that radiates from it. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and caresses the back of it with one hand, while the other one rests on your back.

"You don't ever have to use your body as a way to make me feel better, or like you were implying before, as an apology. You hear me?"

You hum, affirmatively. "Yeah, I know, baby," you mumble, squeezing his side, to signal that you're okay and that your mood isn't drained.

"If we ever get into an actual fight—and that's not me saying we will—but if it ever happens, we're gonna talk it out properly, like the adults we are. No sex until things are fixed and we're on good terms, because I love the fuck out of you, doll. Shit doesn't feel right when you don't talk to me. Okay?"

"Okay. I love you, too, Toji," you respond.

He releases a soft breath through his nose and presses another kiss to the top of your head.

"You fucking inspire me, ma. I just... had to make that clear. There's no way i'd ever let you feel that way with me."

"I understand, baby," you assure, rubbing his back, to return the comfort.

"Okay, good. Now that we've tackled that, I guesss we can go to the store. You still wanna go, right?"

"Yeah, but can we go later?" You ask, lifting your head to look at him. "I just wanna lay in bed with you for a little while." You give him your most charming smile, despite the fact that it borders on looking sheepish, because you were the one who wanted to go to the store so badly, and now you're trying to delay the trip. "Please? Oh god, please! Pretty pleaaaase? For the love of all things good, baby, pleaseeee!" You cry out, exaggeratedly, like before.

"Oh my god..." Toji mutters, under his breath, utterly stunned by your acting. "You are literally the most dramatic thing ever. You know that?" He takes in the proud nod you offer and the confident "mhm!", with a dumb grin. "We can go back to bed, but only if those kisses you offered earlier are still valid."

"They are! I'll give you so many kisses," you explain, nodding with widened eyes, because you want him to believe you.

"Alright, alright. Give me one now, as proof. A big, juicy, wet kiss, right on my mouth."

You stand on your tippy toes and he meets you the rest of the way for what you intended to be a warm smooch, but instead turned out to be a feverish lip lock that made your insides feel like melted marshmallows. As always, one kiss is not enough. Toji saying he wants a single kiss is a trap. You know this already, and yet you walk into it every. single. time. His arms become vines that wrap around you and hold you steady while he indulges in as much of your sweet lips as he wants, or until you break into a giggle fit.

What broke you this time was the feeling of his tongue gliding over your lips, before he went back to sloppily kissing you. It was definitely the juicy wet kiss he asked for and eventually you had to pull away because you couldn't even try to kiss him back without laughing.

Your hand goes to his chest to keep some distance and for a solid minute or so, you can't look at him without cracking up.

"Alright," he says, a low rumble of a chuckle vibrating against your hand. "Let's go back to bed. Gimme all those kisses." He bends down slightly and scoops you up, waiting for you to wrap around him like a koala so he can start heading towards the room. "You look really fucking good in my clothes, ma. I'm gonna shamelessly ogle you all day. Even in public."

You smile against his neck and roll your eyes. "Yeah... remind me to never wear this combination again."

"Nah."

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strnilolover · 3 days ago

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dealer!chris takes care of soft!reader after she accidentally takes an edible

warnings : edible. weed. reader is high for the first time. little bit of a freak out. and more?

“chris,” you murmured, your voice shaky as your body leaned up against the wooden frame of his bedroom door. your wide eyes darted around the room, not quite focusing on anything. “i don’t feel right.”

he was on his feet instantly, crossing the room to you. “what do you mean? what happened?”

your bottom lip quivered as you clutched the edge of the doorframe for balance. “i… i ate something. from the kitchen.” you paused, trying to collect your thoughts, though your words came out slow and slurred. “it was a brownie… in a bag… and now i feel weird.”

chris froze. he didn’t need to ask which brownie you meant. he’d left them on the counter for a friend to pick up later—edibles that were definitely not meant for you. his stomach dropped.

“angel,” he said cautiously, running a hand through his hair. “that wasn’t a normal brownie.” your brows furrowed in confusion. “what do you mean? it tasted normal.”

“it had weed in it,” he explained, his tone gentle. “a lot of weed. those are for people who’ve, y’know, built up a tolerance. not for someone who’s never smoked in their life.”

you blinked at him, the information processing in slow motion. then, your hands flew to your face. “oh my god. am i gonna die?”

chris bit back a laugh, his worry softening into affection. “no, babe. you’re not gonna die. you’re just really, really high right now.”

your shoulders sagged in relief, but only for a moment before panic set in again. “i don’t like it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i feel like my body’s not mine, and my thoughts won’t stop racing.”

his heart ached at the fear in your eyes. “okay, come here,” he said softly, guiding you to the bed. “sit down. i’ve got you.”

you leaned away from the door fran, your feet dragging against the floor as you made your way to the bed. you sat obediently, but your hands fidgeted in your lap. “chris, everything feels… big. like my hands, my feet, my head.”

he crouched in front of you, his hands gently covering yours to still them. “hey, look at me,” he said, his voice steady. “you’re okay. i promise. you’re just feeling things more intensely right now, but it’s all in your head. i’m here, and i won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, clinging to his words. “promise?”

“i promise,” he said, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “i’m gonna help you through this, alright?” you nodded again, leaning into his touch. “okay.”

“good. now, first things first—water.” he stood, turning and walking out of his door—disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water, a cold washcloth.

“drink this,” he said, handing you the water. “and take small sips, okay? don’t chug it.” you followed his instructions, the cool water soothing your dry throat. chris sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders, grounding you with his presence.

bringing the glass away from your lips, you hand it to chris. he takes it gently, setting it on his bedside table before returning his attention to you.

you managed a weak laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “i don’t get how people like this. my brain won’t shut up. i keep thinking about… about how time feels stretchy. Is that normal?” you ask, your words coming out slowly.

“yeah, that’s normal,” he said reassuringly. “it’s just the weed messing with your perception. it’ll pass. you’re safe.” you let out a shaky breath, sinking further into his side. “you’re really good at this,” you mumbled.

chris smiled, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back. “i’ve been around enough people to know what to do. next time, ask me before you eat random stuff, yeah?” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “this is so embarrassing.”

he laughed, pulling your hands away to press a kiss to your forehead. “nah. it’s kinda cute, honestly. no need to be embarrassed baby.” his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “now lay down. rest a bit. i’ll be right here if you need me.”

you did as he said, turning out of his hold to crawl up in the bed—chris following as you curled up on his bed. his body slotted next to yours, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. the water started to help, and his steady presence calmed the storm in your mind.

“chris?” you murmured after a while, your voice drowsy. he looked down at you, tugging you closer. “yeah?”

“thanks for taking care of me,” you said softly, your eyes fluttering closed as your body shifted—laying on your side as your own arms wrapped around his middle. your face snuggling into his chest.

he smiled, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “always, baby. always.”

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leilawanderingaround · 2 days ago

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Having brainrot about Yandere Phainon again... I should go see my therapist.

"I will have to reject you, fair lady. For I already have someone waiting for me beyond this wall."

Phainon- the ever gentleman, kind hearted hero of Okhema has many suitors on his tail be it man or women but it is undeniable that he only has eyes for one person only.

This person is considered the biggest mystery of Okhema. They would occasionally catch Lord Phainon gaze ever so lovingly at a locket but would soon put it away after noticing he was being watched.

Even the Tribios were curious enough to ask him. The deliverer would only shyly chuckle, scratching his neck. "It is someone I left behind at Aedes Elysiae. I hope to reunite with her one day."

Hearing that they would pale and soon apologies. All people know that Aedes Elysiae was destroyed by the black tide. Its fate is left undiscovered to most people. Only a few people know what truly happened to Aedes Elysiae and the supposed beloved of the saviour of Amphoreus.

"Still mourning for her, deliverer?" While most of the time, Mydei would have knocked or raised his voice to announce his arrival. Today was quite different. To lock oneself in a room of the departed and forbid everyone else from going inside on the day of their death anniversary is quite rude. Especially when it's you.

The crown prince carefully picked the lock on the door before gently opening it to walk inside. Not wanting to affect anything that belonged to you.

"Mydei, sorry but I am not in the mood to banter with you today" Phainon said, still not turning from your bookshelf to face his friend-rival.

"Hm, not like I am here to fight you. Where is it?" Mydei shook his head. Now is clearly not the time for such a thing, even he knows that. "Her locket as well as her weapon. Aglaea told me you kept them, handed them over."

"Surely the crown prince of Kremnos would know better than to ask for something that is not his" Phainon still keeping that nonchalant attitude, turn around to smile at Mydei.

The crown prince has to stop himself from hitting the deliverer on the face. After all, they have promised Aglaea to not wrought havoc on a day such as this. "Well, it is not my kingdom that killed her."

"She is not dead" Of course that sentence alone was enough to anger Phainon.

Mydei let out a huff, crossing his arms "Right, right, as if being frozen in time, waiting for her death is any different than truly dying."

"Mydei, we have talked about this. Once the prophecy is completed, she can be rid of Oronyx's influence and return to Okhema. Let's not lose hope, my friend." Phainon said, lending an olive branch to the crown prince. A final act of putting down the flame of hate between the two.

"She does it all for you. Betray her god, sacrificing herself, and frozen Aedes Elysiae in time. To save your home, family and dear friend. I can only hope you return her as much as she has give, Phainon." Mydei said, reaching Phainon's side and took the bow near him- your weapon before walking out. "Priest of Oronyx, helping Kephale's soldier, how laughable"

Phainon watched as Mydei left the room, his hand held tight onto your locket "You don't have to worry. For her..."

"I'm willing to forsaken my tilte as the hero and burn Amphoreus down just to see her again..."

#amphoreus #phainon #yandere hsr #hsr x reader #phainon x reader #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #hsr mydei #hsr mydei x reader #hsr phainon #yandere mydei x reader #yandere mydei #mydei x reader #mydeimos #(•^°) the kitchen is burning. Cooking is hard

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velarisdusk · 2 days ago

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No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,’” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper.

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore.

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more.

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer.

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him.

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant.

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression.

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react.

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall.

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #acotar fanfic #acotar smut #azriel smut #acotar reader insert

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hitomisuzuya · 2 days ago

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Scara waking up to a needy reader sitting on his chest patting his head wanting to be eaten out? After she was making out with him when he was like, asleep to half asleep and playing with his cheeks and stuff because he's cute and she's cute and they find EACH OTHER CUTE?

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. cunnilingus. fluffy fluff fluff. soft!scara.

i am feeling kinda really down, and writing this made me feel a little better. i hope everyone is well.

it is extremely rare for you to wake up before scaramouche. his arm around you kept you possessively tucked against him, like he was afraid someone was going to snatch you away from him in the middle of the night.

you sat up as gingerly as possible, smiling softly at his oddly serene expression. you are instantly struck by how lucky you are. you reach up and brush some hair out of his eyes before you straddled him.

"you are beautiful, do you know that?" you murmur, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his lips. "and amazing," you kiss one of his cheeks, "and so strong," you kiss his other cheek. "you are the center of my world," you give him another soft kiss. "and i love you. i love you so much," another kiss, this time lingering.

if scaramouche woke up and legit asked you to go the altar with him, like right now, right this second, you would. no questions asked.

pulling away, you look down at his mouth. even his mouth is beautiful. a mouth that could do so many things. things that made your pussy clench and wet dampen your panties when you thought about it.

your lips hover over his again, gingerly rolling your hips down into his lap. you are starting to feel very, very needy.

"hm. cute," you let out a startled squeak as scaramouche opens his eyes, smirking a little up at you. through the haze of grogginess, he'd heard every word you said.

oh please, go on. he knows how great he is.

he chuckles softly seeing your reaction. "it's always nice to wake up to something cute in the morning," he is entirely teasing, which only flustered you more.

"sc-scara, i, uh, was just-" you began, a blush dusting your cheeks. you really are cute when you are embarrassed. he decided to let the cute unfold and let your embarrassment play out. you are just way too adorable for him not to.

you sigh, and squeeze your thighs together. "and i just really want you to eat me out," you conclude, looking away shyly. you truly hadn't known the definition of what needy is until you got together with scaramouche.

scaramouche taps your hip, a signal for you to roll off of him. no sooner had you roll off of him onto your back and spread your legs, he is slotted between your thighs, moving your panties aside. he hums in sleepy approval tasting how wet you are as he parts your folds with his tongue. "so needy for me, even early in the morning. adorable."

you shiver as his tongue glides over your clit. "u-use your tongue, right there. please," you moan softly, raising your hips to grind your swelling clit on his tongue. you card your fingers through his soft hair in encouragement.

scaramouche groans sleepily into your pussy as you tug on his hair, gently pushing his mouth down more onto your cunt. he flattens his tongue on your clit, kitten licking and swirling, lazily bullying the sensitive nub. he always gives his precious girl what she wants.

your moans become more consistent the more your clit throbs. his warm, greedy tongue laps long, indulging stripes up and down your pussy. moving his tongue back up to your clit, he stroked your thighs soothingly when you start to whimper.

you offer yourself so sweetly, how could he possibly resist indulging himself?

pleasure burst behind your eyes, the tip of his tongue prodding methodically at your clit while he sucks is making you see literal stars. he vibrates a lewd moan of bliss on your pussy, you always get so wet when he works your clit over.

his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head feeling your pretty pussy clutch his tongue like a glove as he sweeps it inside you. "fuck, pretty. you taste so good," he groans, lapping at your hole. he was already hard when he woke up, getting harder still the more your sweet juices saturate his tongue.

you gasp softly, your orgasm starting to build in your core. "ah, scara! only your tongue can make me feel this good!" you cry out, your legs shaking as you shamelessly grind your pussy on his mouth.

his grip tightens on your thighs, his cock pulsing and leaking precum. you are oh so good for his ego. you are so close to cumming he can taste it. feel it in the way you are twitching.

"ah, ah, make me cum, scara! please!" you whimper desperately, holding his mouth down on your pussy as he returns his tongue to your poor, neglected clit.

"it sounds so good when you cry for me," he moans, kitten licking your clit and sending your walls to clamp around nothing. you writhe restlessly, the building of your orgasm stealing the breath from your lungs as you moan.

scaramouche nearly cums tasting you squirting on his tongue, sweeping it back inside of you to taste you cumming. lapping up your release, he sucked on your pussy, determined to overstimulate you before he makes you cum again.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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beloveds-embrace · 1 day ago

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AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

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moonreader1010 · 2 days ago

Text

How your FS will act after your first night together 💋

-by Valerie 🧿

Please pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- 1. Pick the pile that calls you.

2. This is an 18+ reading. Mdni

3. The pictures used don't belong to me. All rights go to the original owners.

4. Have fun 💋

Pile 1

The Eternal Dream

The morning after your first night together feels like stepping into a romantic dream they never want to end. They wake up before you, lying still, watching the rise and fall of your breath. Their heart swells as they take in the sight of you—hair tousled, your skin glowing in the golden morning light. It’s not just lust or infatuation; it’s something deeper. They reach out to softly brush a strand of hair from your face, their fingers lingering just a moment longer as if savoring your presence.

When you wake up, they greet you with a gentle, almost shy smile, their eyes holding a new softness you hadn’t seen before. “Good morning,” they murmur, their voice lower than usual, and it sends a warm shiver through you. They can’t help but pull you closer, their lips grazing your forehead. They whisper something vulnerable, like, “You’re more beautiful than I even imagined.” The intimacy feels different now—deeper, more magnetic.

As the morning progresses, they’re utterly attentive. They insist on making breakfast, but only after stealing kisses along the way. There’s a playfulness in their actions, but beneath it, a raw sincerity. Over coffee, they speak of the future in subtle ways, mentioning how they’d love to wake up like this every day or teasingly asking, “How would you feel about dogs running around the house?” Their mind races with images of shared moments—lazy mornings, cozy nights, and everything in between.

But when you least expect it, their passion flares. They lean in mid-conversation, pinning you with their gaze, and kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” they confess, their voice thick with emotion. They aren’t just falling—they’ve fallen, and they’ll spend the rest of the day showing you just how much.

Pile 2.

The Passionate Realist

They wake up with a fire in their chest, the events of the night before replaying vividly in their mind. For a moment, they lie still, their hand resting on your waist, feeling the warmth of your body against theirs. It’s a grounding moment, as if they’re telling themselves, This is real. This is mine. When you stir, their lips curve into a slow, devilish smile. “Good morning,” they say, their voice husky with lingering desire.

They’re not shy about their admiration. Their gaze is bold, their touch purposeful as they trail their fingers along your skin. “You’re stunning,” they murmur, their words dripping with sincerity. They kiss you again, their lips hungry yet tender, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. There’s an intensity in the air—an undeniable chemistry that leaves you both breathless.

As you pull yourself out of bed, they watch you with a smirk, leaning back on the pillows like they’re the luckiest person in the world. “Don’t get too far,” they tease, their tone light but their eyes holding a spark of mischief. Their energy is contagious.

But as the day unfolds, their deeper side emerges. They’ll sit with you, their voice steady as they speak of their dreams, their fears, and their hopes for the future. They’ll share things they haven’t told anyone before, their walls crumbling because of the trust you’ve built together. By the end of the day, they’re more certain than ever: you’re not just someone they desire. You’re someone they’re willing to build their life around.

Pile 3.

The Protective Lover

They wake up as if guarding a sacred treasure, their arms wrapped protectively around you. Their first thought is simple: I need to keep them safe. I need to make them happy. The sight of you beside them is almost too much to take in—your bare skin glowing softly in the pale light, your warmth still lingering in their embrace. They kiss the top of your head gently, as if not to wake you, their lips brushing against your hair in a gesture of quiet reverence.

When you stir, their eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. “Hey, gorgeous,” they whisper, their voice thick with emotion. They trace patterns along your shoulder, their touch slow and deliberate. They’re not just admiring you—they’re memorizing you, engraving every detail of this moment into their mind. You notice something different in their gaze, a blend of adoration and something deeper, like unspoken promises and unshakable devotion.

As the morning unfolds, they show their affection in practical yet endearing ways. They make sure you’re comfortable, fetching whatever you need before you even realize you want it. They’ll bring up little memories, like the first time they noticed your laugh or the exact moment they fell for you, weaving a thread of nostalgia into the morning. But beneath their gentle exterior lies a hint of insecurity, a fear they keep hidden. They might hesitate before speaking, their voice soft as they say, “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

Later, they’ll tease you playfully, their eyes sparkling as they suggest spending the day together doing something spontaneous, just the two of you. But as they hold you close, their touch lingers longer than usual, and you feel their need to protect this connection. They won’t say it outright, but you’ve broken down their walls, and they’re utterly, irrevocably yours.

---------

DM for paid readings 💋💋

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siri-ike · 23 hours ago

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"Nightwing, report."

"He woke up again. He was much better physically, but he still didn't recognize anyone." Dick rattled off roboticly. "He tried to jump out the window, so I sedated him. Temperature's come down, and he hasn't thrown up or seized in 3 days. But-" He hesitated for a moment.

"But?"

"It's, ah, it seems that, he. Well, he -looks-, a, a bit, uhm, shorter. Than he was." Nightwing forced out. "I could just be mistaking. But, the first time I cleaned him, he had a few baby chest hairs, and now he's soft as a newborn. His cheeks also look a little bit fuller."

"..."

Bruce was right: Dick hadn't been sleeping, and it showed. He must just be seeing things. "How are things on your side?"

"The Fentons have been arrested, we found their other clones, they were, unviable." B's voice faltered, Dick guessed he had had to speed up their decomposition rather than let them die slowly. "We found their daughter, too. She's agreed to come back with us." At least there's some good news. "Still no lead on who the other cloning expert was. We're looking into all the Fentons' current and former friends with a science background." Batman sounded tired, too. They were supposed to have a hotel room, but Alfred wasn't there to force them to sleep. Not that Nightwing had any room to judge.

"Are there any Vlads on that list?"

"Yes, three." B responded.

"Danny keeps thinking someone named Vlad is taking care of him or holding him hostage or something. Start with those. And you better not be making Dami stay awake as long as you are."

"Copy." Click. Avoiding, out of all his brothers, Damian is surprisingly the best at keeping a healthy routine. But that all goes out the window whenever he falls for one of B's obsessions. Dick's been there, remembers what it's like.

"You ought to take your own advice."

Dick spun around from the batcomputer. "Alfred." He delighted. "You're back."

"Am I?" He sassed. "What a perfect excuse for you to take a break." He stepped closer. "Take a shower, I'll prepare some "fast food"." He joked. Alfred's version of "fast food" was food they could eat quickly and with little mess. Things like crustless sandwiches and baked buns.

Dick glanced back at the computer. He should stop. He knows he should stop. Just stop. But it felt like he was velcroed to the screen. He tore himself away and went with Alfred. It's this exact kind of work ethic he doesn't want for his brothers. It's too late for him, and it's definitely too late for Tim. Jason and Cass have separate problems. Steph seems to be 50/50. But he had such high hopes for Damian. And now there's Danny, who, from what he could tell, was already prone to overworking himself. "When he gets better, do you think he'll stay?" Groggily, Dick dared to ask. Alfred will be understanding. He always is. It was something Dick had tried most of his life to emulate.

"Ready to be a big brother again, master Dick?" He smiled proudly, yet teasingly.

"No."

Silence.

"If he had nowhere else to go, then ofcorse he can stay, but, every time he wakes up, he, sounds relieved. And he's always convinced he's with Vlad. Maybe Vlad is a comforting figure to him. Maybe he does have somewhere to go." He paused. "No one should live like us."

The air was heavy. Mostly with guilt.

"If the boy wants to go back, I'm certain he will do so. Whether or not we want him to. And I know you know that too. So what is this really about?" Hard to fool the original.

Dick's face went through seemingly every emotion before he spoke. "It hurts... I rub his back when he throws up, I change his sheets when he sweats through them, I make sure he gets all the nutrients he needs, but every time he sees me, he just gets scared. I'm worse than a stranger to him, I'm an intruder, sometimes a kidnapper. One time, he woke up, and he was so sure that I was keeping him there as a backup body. And, and every time I hear the monitor-. I dread going up there... I shouldn't think these things. He's sick. He needs help. It's not his fault. he's-"

"That doesn't mean you can't be frustrated." Alfred cut him off. "Emotions aren't right or wrong. They just are." He stopped infront of Dicks bedroom, and handed him a food bar. "Shower, sleep, in two hours, I will retrieve you for dinner."

Dick considered the door for a moment. "Could you check on Danny for me? He usually wakes up at 4:43 in the afternoon. He tends to have a better reaction if he's left alone for a while first."

"Duly noted."

Dick didn't bother showering. He went straight for his bed. Didn't even finish his food bar.

Alfred checked his pocket watch. 5pm on the dot. Well, he was already in the family wing. He made sure not to step in the ecto juice spot that keeps popping up where the opposite Danny keeps dying.

There was a list of possibilities Alfred expected to see upon entering Danny's room. At first, he thought he might have hidden, but the trail of wet footprints from the bathroom told him otherwise.

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

#4.4.3 #danny phantom #Nightwing #batfamily #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #nothing i love more than foreshadowing

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dark-and-kawaii · 2 days ago

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You ask your sweet loving Choso to smack you around during sex~

Cw: face slapping - big dick Cho - stretched pussy - he gets all teary eyed ♡

Choso hesitates, "Are... you sure that's okay?" His cheeks already tinged pink, and his hand trembles slightly, uncertain, as he searches your face with visible concern.

But your breathless moan of, "yesss~ please Cho~ wan' you to get rough~" makes his blush deepen further and he nearly dies on the spot when you continue to beg... And fuck, the way you stare up at him with such trust makes his hesitation break.

So, as his cock stretches you out perfectly, your gummy walls cling to him tightly with the anticipation of the rough fucking he's about to give you. The way you feel wrapped around him right now has his breath hitching and his cock throbbing, he never knew someone could get off on something like this... Pulling his hips back, until only the tip of him is still nestled inside you, his grip on you tightens, his breath shallow, and the instant you think that he is just going to slowly press in again, his hips snap forward so roughly that the breath is knocked from your lungs and you nearly scream

His hand never once stopped shaking as he finally obliges, but the impact is harder than he attended... And your head lolls to the side from the force of his smack. It all happened so fast, your eyes rolled to the back of your head before your lashes closed as consciousness slipped away. Despite it, you still cum, your pussy fluttering around his shaft and drenching him with your slick.

Choso immediately stops, eyes wide with not only fear but tears brimming as you lie beneath him limp. His voice cracking as a tear falls, "no no no! Wake up, please!"

He cradles your head frantically, checking for injury while repeatedly saying your name in increasingly desperate tones. His hands shake as he gently pats your cheek. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- Please be o-!"

You whine as his cock leaves your body, making him stop mid sentence, "Ny'o- no, don't- mmm- pull out Cho, just- nghh-"

His expression twists with concern, but the way your pussy is clenching and dripping down your thighs has him groaning. He wants nothing more than to continue, to finish inside, to cum all over you, to have his filthy half curse half human seed flood every inch of you, but...

The sight of you passed out is a little too close to reality, and it sends a chill down his spine.

When your eyes finally flutter open, he nearly collapses with relief, “Thank goodness," he breathes, pressing trembling kisses across your face, "I was so worried. I-I can't bear the thought of hurting you-even if it's something you wanted, I- I'm so sor-mphm?!"

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. Your tongue pushing past his lips to curl around his, licking into him as if trying to clean the taste of his worry and apologies from his mouth.

When you finally release him, his lips are plush and kiss swollen,

"Choso, it's okay. I'm okay, see? You didn't hurt me, but- nnh- I want you to do it again~" your finger comes up to your lip, an attempt to make yourself look innocent and cute, "Please Choso- don't hold back. I- I want you to wreck me..."

... You were going to be the death of him.

#choso #choso kamo #choso my beloved #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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orangeblossomsintheair · 1 day ago

Text

GRIEF ASIDE (2/4) | MV33

summary : Every corner of the estate was consumed by a single, unspoken truth: Lord Jos was returning.

warnings : jos verstappen, child abuse, physical abuse, sexism.

an : thx for waiting loves! ‘25s been busy for me!

Max Verstappen prided himself on his composure.

He was a man who thrived on control, who wielded power with ease and commanded attention with the slightest inclination of his head.

Yet in the last fortnight, he had been reduced to something unrecognizable. Restless. Irritated. Unmoored.

By you.

It was your behavior that had unraveled him. So pointedly, so maddeningly deliberate.

The endless excuses, the sudden vanishing acts, the way you refused to meet his gaze when once you had met him head-on.

You had become a master of evasion, and it was driving him to distraction.

It started off with a simple question.

“Where’s your Lady?” Max asked, turning to Oscar with a box of chocolates in hand.

His fingers tightened slightly around the ribbon tied to it, his nerves betraying the confidence he usually wore so well.

He had waited weeks for the box to arrive. Painfully long weeks, during which the confectioner’s meticulous work and the rarity of the ingredients had only fueled his anticipation.

Chocolates were rare in the north, almost impossibly so.

The delicate cocoa beans were difficult to import, often ruined by the harsh weather before they could even cross the border.

Securing this batch had cost him more than he cared to admit, and not just in coin.

And now here he was, holding it awkwardly as your knight stood before him.

“She is occupied, my Lord,” Oscar said with a slight bow, his voice steady, polite, and frustratingly indifferent.

Max blinked, thrown off by the answer. “…Occupied?” he repeated, as if he’d misheard.

“Yes.” Oscar straightened, his hands resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “She has asked that her business remain private.”

Max faltered, his expression briefly betraying his confusion. “Private,” he echoed under his breath, tasting the word. He glanced down at the box in his hands, the chocolate suddenly feeling heavier than before.

For a moment, he considered the sensible option: handing it over to Oscar and letting him deliver it.

That was the proper course of action, wasn’t it? Courteous, efficient.

But that wasn’t why he’d gone to so much trouble. He hadn’t waited for weeks, chased that damned merchant, and secured a confectioner skilled enough to work with the temperamental cocoa just to have someone else deliver it.

No, he’d done all of that for the sake of seeing you.

To see the surprise and delight in your eyes when you realized what he’d brought.

To see the way your lips might curve into that rare, unguarded smile that always made the world feel a little brighter.

“Is she…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Is she well?”

Oscar’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “She is, my Lord.”

Max exhaled softly, his chest tightening. That should have been a comfort, and yet it wasn’t.

A part of him felt a flicker of unease. Was he intruding where he wasn’t wanted? Was this foolish? The thought stung, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t the kind of man to walk away without trying.

With renewed resolve, he squared his shoulders and nodded, his voice steady. “I see. Then tell her this: I humbly request a moment of her time.”

Oscar inclined his head, though something in his eyes seemed to shift slightly. Was that curiosity? Amusement? It was impossible to tell. “As you wish, my Lord. I will deliver your message.”

Max nodded again, but as the knight turned to leave, he found himself lingering, still clutching the box. His thumb ran absently over the ribbon, tracing the folds as he stared down at it.

For weeks, he’d imagined what it would be like to give this to you. To see your face when you realized what it was.

Chocolates weren’t just a gift. They were an impossibility here, a piece of warmth and sweetness in a land defined by cold and scarcity.

And they were for you, only you.

—

He’d gone to Lando next. That had been quickly proven to be a mistake. Lando, with his quicksilver grin and eyes full of mischief, was the last person to approach for a straight answer.

“My Lady?” Lando had echoed, leaning casually against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest. His grin stretched wide enough to make Max immediately regret speaking. “Ah, yes. I believe she’s occupied at the moment.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Occupied doing what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know…” Lando’s hand flicked through the air as if the explanation were so obvious it barely needed saying. “Official lady business. I think she’s teaching the geese to curtsy this morning.”

“…The geese,” Max repeated flatly, his fingers tightening on the ribbon of the box.

“Very unruly creatures, geese,” Lando went on, his expression completely serious now, as if he were sharing a great truth. “It takes a lot of effort to get them to dip properly. I think one of them might’ve tried to bite her earlier. Terrible mess.”

Max stared at him, weighing whether it was worth the energy to argue. “Are you being serious right now?”

Lando’s grin only grew. “Do I look like the kind of man who isn’t serious?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m deeply wounded.” Lando placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “But I promise you, my Lord, her time is very well spent.”

Max exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. I’ll wait. When she’s done with… the geese, let her know I’m here.”

“Absolutely, my Lord,” Lando said with a little bow, the picture of polite deference. But the laughter in his eyes didn’t escape Max’s notice.

—

With that failure, Max even stooped to seeking out Lily in the servants’ quarters.

He caught her coming down the hallway with a basket of linens tucked under one arm, her steps brisk and purposeful. She spotted him before he could call out, muttering something under her breath (he swore it was a curse) before plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Lord Max,” she greeted, shifting the basket on her hip. “What brings you down here? A rare sight for the likes of us.”

“I need to see her,” Max said bluntly, holding up the box as if it explained everything.

Lily’s gaze flicked to the box, and for a moment, something unreadable passed over her face. Amusement? Pity? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant, replaced by a steady, practiced neutrality. “She’s… unavailable, my Lord.”

“I’ve heard that every day this week,” Max replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “And not one person will tell me why. Are her knights sworn to secrecy? What about her maids now?”

Lily let out a short laugh, dry and faintly resigned, as if she’d expected this conversation. “It’s not that, my Lord.”

“Then what?” he pressed, stepping closer. “If you know where she is, tell me.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“You mean you won’t.”

“I mean I can’t,” Lily repeated, her tone firmer now, though there was a spark of humor in her eyes. “I’ve been given strict orders, my Lord.”

Max narrowed his eyes, studying her. “You know why she’s avoiding me.”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something— guilt? —crossing her face before she sighed, shifting the weight of the basket again. “I do,” she admitted quietly.

“Then tell me,” Max demanded, his tone bordering on pleading now. “Is it something I’ve done? Something I said?”

Lily shook her head, though she didn’t meet his eyes this time. “No, my Lord. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting down the hall as if to ensure they weren’t overheard. “You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

“I can’t ask her if I can’t even see her,” he snapped.

Lily’s faint smile returned, tinged with something like sympathy. “Then maybe you’ll have to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient,” Max muttered, his grip tightening on the box. “Do you have any idea what I went through to get this?” He held up the chocolates as if they were proof of his effort, his voice softening as he added, “I just… I just want to give them to her. That’s all.”

For a moment, Lily’s expression softened entirely, and she almost looked as if she might break. But then she straightened, her professional mask slipping back into place. “She’ll come around, my Lord. You’ll see her soon enough.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Lily said firmly, then added with a faint chuckle, “Believe me, my Lady is stubborn, but not that stubborn.”

Max stared at her, his frustration bubbling under the surface, but he could see he wouldn’t get anything more from her. “Fine. Just… when you see her, tell her I’ve been waiting.”

Lily nodded, her smile softening once more. “I will, my Lord.”

She dipped into a quick curtsy and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the hallway with the box of chocolates weighing heavily in his hands.

—

Now, Max was no stranger to avoidance.

He knew what it meant to intimidate, to be held at arm’s length by those too timid to face him.

That was the life he led, and he accepted it without question. But you?

You were supposed to be his refuge, the one person who didn’t cower in his presence.

And yet here you were, skittering away from him as though he carried some plague, avoiding him at every turn.

It gnawed at him, an unfamiliar ache burrowing deep into his chest. By the fourth day of your nonsense, he could bear it no longer.

When he spotted you in the hallway that afternoon, halfway to the drawing room, his decision was instant.

You froze the moment your eyes met his, caught like a deer in the hunter’s sights. He could see the panic, the frantic calculations as your gaze flicked to the nearest door.

“Do not dare,” he bit out, his voice cutting through the charged silence.

You flinched, your hand hesitating mid-air as though you’d considered bolting but lacked the courage to see it through.

Max advanced, his long strides purposeful, the hem of his jacket sweeping behind him like a battle flag.

“This farce ends now,” he declared. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his every muscle taut as he forced himself not to reach for you. Not yet.

“My Lord, I-”

He hated that. He was Max with you. He was supposed to be only Max with you.

“No,” he snapped, his words slicing through your protest. “Not this time. You’ve spent days running from me, avoiding me as though I’m some specter haunting these halls. I will not tolerate it a moment longer.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of his fury. “If I have somehow offended-”

“Offended me?” he interrupted, a sharp, humorless laugh escaping him. “You think this is about offense? This- this performance?”

He gestured sharply between the two of you, his frustration palpable. “This is not you. I know you, and I do not recognize the woman before me. What have I done, pray tell, to deserve this... this coldness? This game of cat and mouse?”

“Nothing!” The word tumbled from your lips, too quick, too desperate.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Do not lie to me,” he said, his voice like a thundercloud on the verge of breaking. “I have seen the way you pale at the sight of me, the way you vanish the moment I enter a room. Am I so intolerable to you now? So monstrous?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed, your composure slipping. “You are not intolerable! Far from it. It’s not you at all, it’s-” You stopped abruptly, as though you’d realized you were on the brink of revealing too much.

“It’s what?” he demanded, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, but his eyes burned with something raw, something unguarded. “Tell me. Speak plainly. Do not force me to claw the truth from you, piece by piece.”

“I- I cannot,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will.” His gaze bore into yours, his frustration radiating from every line of his body. “You owe me that much.”

His nearness was unbearable, his scent, his presence, his intensity.

Everything about him seemed to crowd the air, leaving you breathless, cornered.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” he asked, his voice breaking through the silence like a whip. “Do you think I want to stand here, begging for answers from the one person I consider my friend? For God’s sake, just tell me.”

“I don’t know how to act around you anymore,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could swallow them back.

Max paused, his sharp gaze flickering to you, his composure splintering into something unreadable. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know how to act,” you said again, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound resolute. “Not now. Not after... not after realizing I-” You stopped yourself, frustration biting at your tongue as your courage faltered. “This is impossible. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His brow furrowed, and his voice, low and insistent, pulled you back into the moment. “After realizing what?”

You exhaled sharply, the breath almost catching in your throat. If the truth was going to ruin everything, better to hurl it like a stone and get it over with. “After realizing I have feelings for you.” The words tumbled out too fast, harsh and unpolished, as though you were flinging them away before they could sear you further. “And now I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I? I’ve ruined everything.”

Max froze. For once, his infuriatingly unflappable demeanor slipped, leaving him uncharacteristically wide-eyed.

“Feelings,” he echoed, as though the word itself confounded him.

“Yes, feelings,” you snapped, your voice rising despite your best efforts to contain it. “Ridiculous, inconvenient feelings for you, of all people. And now you’re going to tell me how absurd it is, and I’ll have to live with the mortification of this moment haunting me forever.”

“Absurd?” His lips quirked, and you bristled at the hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Max,” you warned, feeling your face burn.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though his voice betrayed the faintest trace of mirth. “I’m simply... astonished.”

“Well, forgive me if I fail to see the humor in any of this!”

“You think I find this funny?” He stepped closer, the low timbre of his voice setting your nerves alight. “You, confessing something I’ve wanted to say for... weeks? You, standing here thinking I don’t-”

He broke off, and you caught the way his jaw clenched, his hand flexing at his side. His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “You think I went to all that trouble for chocolates because it was nothing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “The chocolates?”

“Yes, the chocolates.” His frustration sharpened, his free hand gesturing toward an invisible point as if grasping for the right words.

“Do you know how rare they are here? How much effort it took? The merchants, the confectioner... and all for what? To watch you run from me? To feel like an idiot carrying them from one corner of the estate to the other while you slip away again?”

“I didn’t ask for them,” you said softly, though the words stung even as you spoke them.

“No,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less fierce. “But I wanted to give them to you. For you. And now, they just... feel like a waste.”

“Max...”

“No,” he interrupted, the raw vulnerability in his voice stopping you cold. “They’re not a waste because of you. They’re a waste because you won’t let me in. Because you’ve spent days pretending I don’t matter to you when all I’ve wanted was a chance to prove how much you matter to me.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching as his words hit like a thunderclap.

“Do you think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, stepping closer, his tone both accusing and desperate. “Do you think I’ve spent all this time chasing you for nothing?”

Your voice trembled as you whispered, “You feel the same?”

“Yes,” he said simply, the weight of the word carrying everything he hadn’t been able to say. “And I thought I made it obvious.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to make myself clearer.”

And before you could think, Max closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and consuming. The world seemed to fall away, the weight of your unspoken feelings pouring into the space between you.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his urgency tempered by an almost reverent care.

Time seemed to stretch, each second filled with the warmth of him, the heady sensation of finally letting go. He tasted faintly of the cold wind outside, of something intoxicatingly familiar yet completely new.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own. His eyes searched yours, still stormy with emotion but softened now by something quieter, more certain.

He whispered, “perhaps I should have said something sooner.”

“You think?” you shot back, and to your dismay, he chuckled, a warm, rich sound that melted some of the tension twisting in your chest.

“Darling,” he murmured, and the tenderness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, “you never had to wonder.”

“Well, I did,” you managed, your voice cracking slightly.

“I see that now,” he said with a sigh, his gaze steady and unwavering as he reached for your hand. His fingers slipped around yours with a deliberate tenderness, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. The touch was so soft, so impossibly gentle, that it made your chest ache.

“I’m glad you told me,” he murmured, his voice was warm as if sharing a secret shared only between the two of you. “And I’m glad you like me. Because I…” He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unspoken, something heavy. “I would’ve settled.”

The word hung in the air, brittle and raw, and you blinked, confused. “Settled?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, rueful smile. “For being friends,” he clarified, his voice steady but tinged with quiet resignation. “I would have accepted just having you in my life in some way, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted. Even if it meant being civil and… arranged.”

“Arranged,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze holding yours as if trying to convey the depth of his words. “I would’ve gone through with it, our marriage, without ever asking for more. I would’ve smiled at the formalities, kept my distance, played the role. Anything to keep you near, even if it meant pretending.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat. “That’s… That’s horrible, Max. Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because it’s you,” he said simply, his tone soft but unwavering. “Because the thought of losing you entirely… I couldn’t bear it. I thought I’d rather have something small, something manageable, than risk everything and scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Do you honestly think so little of me?”

“No,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening, as though anchoring himself to you. “Never. But I know how you are. You get this look, like the world’s closing in on you, and you start pulling away before anyone can get too close, and I thought… I thought if I pushed too hard, I’d be next.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting at the vulnerability etched into his features. “You were afraid of me?”

“Not afraid of you,” he said, his voice dipping low, the honesty in it startling. “Afraid of losing you.”

The confession hung between you, fragile but unbreakable, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you managed, “And you thought being stuck in a loveless, arranged marriage was better than just telling me?”

His smile returned, softer this time, almost self-deprecating. “When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But at the time, it felt safer. Less terrifying than this.”

“This,” you repeated, your voice catching. “What we’re doing right now?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. “This. Being honest. Saying how I feel. It’s terrifying because it matters. Because you matter.”

You felt your resolve waver, your frustration dissolving under the weight of his words. “Max, you’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

“I won’t argue with that,” he said, his smile growing. “But I’m your idiot now, if you’ll have me.”

The warmth in his gaze, the sheer tenderness in his touch, was almost too much to bear. “You’re thanking me,” you said softly, shaking your head. “For liking you?”

“I am,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Because you didn’t have to. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve held back. But you didn’t. And now… Now we have this. Something real. Something worth holding onto.”

Your heart pounded, your breath shallow as you stared at him. “And what if I told you I didn’t want to settle either?”

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stepped closer. “Then I’d tell you that you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice a soft promise.

“I suppose there are worse things,” you said, though your smile betrayed the fullness of your heart.

“Far worse,” he agreed, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you that I’m the best thing you’ve ever settled for.”

—-

The next morning, you were seated by the window in your chambers, the soft light casting a warm glow over the room. A knock at the door drew your attention.

“Come in,” you called, setting your book aside.

When the door opened, there stood Max. His gaze softened when it found you, and in his hands was a box tied neatly with a crimson ribbon.

“Are those the chocolates?” you asked, a knowing smile already tugging at your lips.

He stepped closer, his own lips curving faintly. “They are.”

You rose to meet him, your eyes flicking to the box as he handed it over. The weight of it was solid in your hands, the ribbon silk-smooth beneath your fingers.

You carefully untied the bow, the lid lifting to reveal an array of glossy, artfully crafted chocolates nestled in their compartments.

The rich aroma of cocoa and spices drifted upward, and your breath caught. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Max. Truly.”

“You haven’t even tasted one yet,” he said, though his tone was soft, pleased.

“Oh, I will.” You picked one delicately, its intricate design almost too lovely to disturb. Almost.

You took a small bite, and the flavor bloomed on your tongue, silky and sweet with just the right hint of bitterness. A quiet sigh of delight escaped you.

Max’s expression softened further, as though your enjoyment was worth all the trouble he’d endured.

“These are incredible,” you said, savoring the last bit. Then you arched a brow at him, a teasing glint in your eye. “But you said yesterday that these were difficult to get. What aren’t you telling me?”

He exhaled, leaning against the edge of your desk, his arms crossing casually. “Do you really want to hear the whole story?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, picking another chocolate and holding it up like evidence. “If you went to that much effort, I want to know every detail. I want to appreciate them properly.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head, but there was something tender in his gaze as he began. “It started with a merchant passing through the capital. Word had it that he’d secured a shipment of cocoa that are.. let’s just say, coveted by certain circles.”

“Certain circles?” you asked, biting into the chocolate and letting the flavor coat your tongue.

“Dukes and duchesses, mostly,” he said wryly. “The merchant wasn’t even planning to stop here. His route was direct, and his stock was all but spoken for.”

“And yet, somehow, here they are,” you said, gesturing to the box. “How did you manage that?”

Max tilted his head, his smile faintly crooked. “It took some convincing.”

“Convincing?” you pressed, smiling despite yourself.

“And a fair bit of chasing,” he admitted, a rueful edge to his tone. “The merchant refused my first offer, so I had to send word ahead to intercept him at the border. When that didn’t work, I had one of my men track him to the next town and… negotiate.”

You blinked, mid-bite. “Negotiate? Max.”

He spread his hands. “It wasn’t as dire as it sounds. But it took a considerable amount of effort, and an even more considerable sum.”

Your heart softened, and you set the chocolate down, looking at him with earnest warmth. “You did all of that… just for me?”

His gaze met yours, steady and open. “Of course I did. You deserve nothing less.”

Your chest tightened, an ache blooming behind your ribs. Not unpleasant, but something overwhelming in its intensity. You smiled, the edges of it trembling slightly. “Max, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Just tell me they were worth it.”

You picked up another chocolate, holding it between your fingers as you studied him. “Oh, they’re worth it,” you said, your voice soft. “But you didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

His eyes softened further, and he took a step closer, until he was just within arm’s reach. “For you, I’d go to greater ones.”

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your breath hitching. Slowly, you took a bite of the chocolate, savoring its richness as you held his gaze.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter but no less warm, “then I’ll savor these all the more. Thank you, Max. Truly.”

He gave a faint smile, his gaze lingering on you. “You’re worth it,” he said again, almost too softly for you to hear.

—

A few days later found the two of you nestled in one of the estate’s sitting rooms, the kind of quiet, secluded spot that felt made for winter afternoons, tucked in a corner, heavy drapes drawn against the chill, and the only light coming from the soft flicker of a fire.

You were curled up on the settee, your legs tucked beneath you, a woolen blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book resting against your knees.

Max sat nearby in an armchair, his posture lazy, his boots propped on a low table, a mug of tea in hand. The fire crackled, the kind of sound that settled deep into the bones.

“You know,” he began, breaking the quiet, “there’s not a single good reason for ‘pookie’ to exist in the English language.”

You didn’t look up from your book, though a smirk tugged at your lips. “I take it you’ve given this some serious thought.”

“Too much thought,” he confirmed, setting his tea down with a resolute air. “I’m just saying, there are standards. Imagine you calling me that in public.”

“What’s wrong with pookie? It’s cute.”

“It’s infantilizing,” he countered, his voice dripping with mock horror. “Do you want me to lose all credibility? Imagine you waltzing into the ballroom, calling me ‘pookie’ in front of Lord Leclerc. He already hates me.”

You smirked behind the edge of your book. “Maybe it’d soften him up. Who could hate someone called pookie?”

“Everyone,” he deadpanned, leaning forward as though the conversation had suddenly taken on life-or-death stakes. “And do you know what happens when dukes hate you? Wars. Wars happen.”

You snorted, the sound more unbecoming than you intended. “Oh yes, the annals of history are full of noblemen going to battle over ill-advised pet names.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t laugh. You’d be the first casualty. Imagine the gossip: ‘Her Lady, tragically felled by her husband’s indignity.’”

You laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Oh, come on. I think society would be more than entertained by your reaction. Honestly, it’d be a great conversation starter.”

Max’s face twisted in mock horror. "I’ll have you know that there’s such a thing as dignity. Standards. Not ‘pookie.’" He gave you an exaggerated shudder. "If you ever said that in public, I'd die on the spot."

“You’d be fine,” you said, grinning. “I think you'd survive. Just barely."

“Not a chance,” he muttered, clearly still distraught over the possibility. He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter now, his hands running over his trousers as if wiping away the very thought of the word. “I’m serious about this, you know. There have to be some boundaries. What would you say if I called you something equally ridiculous?”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Like what?”

Max paused, giving you that look, the one where he thought he had you cornered. “‘Sweet cheeks,’ perhaps.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “That’s an actual crime,” you said, grinning widely. “Sweet cheeks is... beyond reprehensible.”

He chuckled, satisfied with his small victory, but he wasn’t done. "Or, maybe... how about ‘cuddlekins’?” He dragged out the last syllable, drawing out the ridiculousness for full effect.

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "You can’t be serious. I’m telling you, that would ruin me.” You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees as you regarded him with exaggerated concern. “I might actually have to divorce you.”

Max grinned smugly, clearly relishing the reaction. “See? I knew you’d understand.” He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s why we need to establish clear boundaries. For your sake, as well as mine.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Fine, Mr. Standards,” you said, leaning back into the settee, settling the blanket over you more comfortably. “But what would you allow, then? What’s dignified enough for you, Your Majesty?”

He thought about it for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin in mock consideration. “Something classic. Elegant. ‘Darling,’ for instance.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or ‘love.’ I suppose I could even accept ‘angel,’ if you’re feeling sentimental.”

“Angel?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You want me to call you that? You’re nearly insufferable already, I can’t imagine what would happen if I started.”

“Angel is timeless,” he insisted, leaning forward with a dramatic flourish. “You’d be lucky to use it.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Timeless? You’re not a saint, Max.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Still, I’d wear it better than ‘pookie,’ don’t you think?”

You tilted your head, considering. “I suppose I could live with ‘angel’.. for now. But you’re pushing it.”

Max grinned like a cat who’d just gotten away with murder. "Good. And in return, I will grant you the honor of calling me..." He paused dramatically. "Max.”

You blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “That’s it? Just ‘Max’?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “It’s a classic. And besides, it has a certain charm when you say it like that.” He leaned back into his chair, an air of contentment settling over him.

You studied him for a moment, then let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. There was something about the moment, about the soft way he spoke, the way his eyes had a lightness to it, that made you feel oddly warm.

"Fine,” you said, glancing back at your book but unable to suppress a smile. “But I’ll say it right now: if you ever call me anything that’s even remotely ridiculous in public, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

—

The evening had started as so many did. A quiet, comfortable sort of intimacy.

The snow outside beat against the windows, the sound muffled by thick velvet curtains, while the firelight flickered across the room, painting everything in soft, golden hues.

Max lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back lazily, his other hand swirling the last of the wine in his glass. It was the kind of night that begged for diversion.

That was when he spotted it: the chessboard, tucked onto the corner of the bookshelf, its wooden box worn smooth with use. He stood and wandered over, plucking it from its place as though the idea had been waiting there all along.

“You play?” he asked, holding it up as though it were some sort of hidden treasure.

You glanced up from your seat, where you had been flipping idly through a book, the corners of your lips lifting into a subtle smile. “On occasion.”

He arched a brow at the casual way you said it, like you hadn’t just issued a challenge in the simplest of phrases.

“On occasion,” he repeated, setting the board on the low table between you. “That sounds suspiciously like the prelude to a trouncing.”

Your smile widened slightly, and you leaned forward to help him set up the pieces. “If you’re worried about losing, Max, you can always put it back on the shelf.”

His bark of laughter was low, rich, and thoroughly amused. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to provoke me.”

“Would it work?”

“It already has.”

With that, the pieces were set, the game begun.

At first, Max played as if this were nothing more than a pleasant diversion, his moves deliberate but far from calculated.

He leaned back in his chair, tossing out playful commentary, fully expecting this to be an easy, lighthearted way to pass the time.

But then you struck.

In just a few moves, you had dismantled his initial strategy, if it could even be called that, with a precision that made him pause.

Max’s hand hovered over his next piece, his gaze flicking between you and the board as though he’d missed some vital clue.

“Was that… intentional?” he asked, a faint crease forming between his brows.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, feigning innocence, though the sparkle in your gaze gave you away. “Was what intentional?”

“That.” He gestured vaguely at the board, his tone dripping with mock disbelief. “The part where you just… destroyed my plan.”

You tilted your head, your expression betraying just the faintest hint of smugness. “Max, you had no plan.”

He blinked, then laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, so you’re one of those players.”

“One of those players?”

“The ones who think they’re too clever by half.”

“Think?” you repeated, your tone as smooth as silk.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head as he moved his knight forward. “Alright, let’s see how clever you really are.”

The first game ended quickly, too quickly for Max’s liking. He stared at the board in disbelief as you leaned back in your chair, the faintest hint of triumph in your smile.

“Was that too fast for you?” you asked, the light teasing in your tone making him huff a laugh.

“Too fast? No. Humbling? Absolutely.”

The second game started with Max clearly trying harder, his movements slower, more deliberate.

He studied the board with an intensity you hadn’t expected, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair as he weighed his options. You almost pitied him. Almost.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” you said after a particularly defensive move on his part.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly as he moved his bishop into position. “I don’t intend to.”

It didn’t matter. Ten minutes later, you had him cornered again.

“Is this what you do for fun?” Max asked, his voice somewhere between impressed and exasperated as he surveyed the wreckage of his pieces. “Humiliate unsuspecting opponents?”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and full of mirth. “Only when they insist on playing against me.”

By the third game, Max had abandoned any pretense of casual competition. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, as he stared at the board like a general planning a campaign. His focus was admirable, though ultimately futile.

“You’ve done this before,” he said eventually, his tone a mix of suspicion and amusement.

You tilted your head, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of your rook. “Played chess?”

“No. Watched someone’s pride unravel in real time.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at that, and for a moment, the tension of the game melted into something softer. The warmth of the fire, the rhythm of your banter.

It all wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the storm.

“You’re a good sport,” you said after a moment, moving your queen with practiced ease.

Max glanced up at you, his smile slow and genuine.

“Checkmate,” you said softly, the word slipping out like a secret.

He stared at the board for a long moment before laughing, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “I should be annoyed,” he said, his tone wry, “but somehow, I’m not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” Max said, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made the air feel just a little warmer, “I’ve decided I enjoy losing to you.”

—

Max leaned against the doorway of your bedroom, his arms folded casually, though there was a slight tension in his posture.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the threshold he was careful not to cross.

No matter how much you reassured him or how much he’d relaxed around you, he still wouldn’t set foot inside your room.

Some etiquette rules seemed etched into his very bones.

“You might want to come to the aviary,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a faint edge.

You paused, glancing up from your writing desk. The way he lingered in the doorway, shifting his weight ever so slightly, caught your attention. “What’s going on?”

Max cleared his throat and gave a slight shrug, trying too hard to seem nonchalant. “Your father’s falcon,” he said after a beat. “It’s here. With a letter.”

You straightened, intrigued. “Father’s falcon?”

“That’s what I said.” He hesitated, one hand brushing through his hair. “You’ll see. It’s waiting for you. And... watching me.”

That last part made you grin, and you rose to follow him. Max wasn’t usually nervous, but the slight unease in his tone piqued your curiosity.

The two of you walked through the twisting corridors of the estate, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the faint hum of the household settling for the day.

When you reached the aviary, the warm, earthy scent of hay, cedar, and feathers greeted you like an old friend.

Inside, the room was alive with sound, the soft rustle of wings, the gentle coos of doves nestled in the rafters, and the occasional bright trill of a songbird darting through the shafts of sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows.

At the center of it all, perched on the wooden stand in the heart of the room, was the peregrine falcon.

The bird’s eyes followed your entrance immediately, but it was Max it seemed to focus on the most, as though sizing him up. Max stopped a few paces from the perch, his hands slipping into his pockets as if to hide any sudden movements.

“Your father’s falcon,” he said again, his tone wry. “Does it always glare like that?”

“It doesn’t glare,” you said, though you had to admit the falcon’s gaze was as intense as ever. “It’s just assessing you.”

“Sure it is,” Max muttered, shifting slightly. “If it decides I’m a threat, how fast does it usually go for the face?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It won’t attack you. Not unless you try to touch it.”

“Believe me, that’s not happening.”

Ignoring him, you stepped forward, extending your arm toward the bird. The falcon’s head tilted slightly, its keen eyes locking onto yours.

Then, with a sharp trill, it launched itself from the perch. Its wings barely made a sound as it landed gracefully on your forearm, its talons light against the leather bracer you wore.

“There you are,” you murmured, stroking its sleek head with gentle fingers.

The falcon made a soft, almost affectionate chirp and leaned into your touch, brushing its beak against your cheek in greeting.

“Of course,” Max said dryly, watching from a safe distance. “It loves you.”

“It trusts me.” You glanced at him with a smirk. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

The falcon’s sharp gaze flicked to Max again, and he raised his hands defensively. “I’m not arguing. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

You laughed under your breath, turning your attention to the small roll of parchment tied to the falcon’s leg. The wax seal, bearing your family’s crest, was unmistakable.

Breaking the seal, you unrolled the thick parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar script.

The falcon shifted on your arm, leaning slightly against your shoulder as though it, too, was eager to hear the news.

My clever one,

I’ll be arriving a few days before the winter feast, sooner than I’d planned. I hope you've been well and that House Verstappen has treated you well.

It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you. I look forward to our reunion.

With affection,

Father

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the letter, the familiar handwriting drawing a warm smile across your face.

“He’s coming back,” you murmured, excitement bubbling in your voice. “Before the festival!”

Max tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in your excitement. “Good news for once. You’ve been missing him.”

“Of course I have,” you replied quickly, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

A soft chirp reminded you of the falcon perched patiently at your shoulder, its sharp eyes watching your every move. It nudged its beak against your cheek, urging you to action.

“All right, all right,” you murmured with a chuckle, reaching up to stroke the bird’s sleek feathers. “I’ll send him a reply. You’re more impatient than I am.”

“Should I give you two some privacy?” Max leaned against the wooden beam as you walked to the small table in the corner of the aviary.

You shot him a playful glare. “The falcon’s far better company than you some days.”

“Harsh,” Max muttered with mock indignation, though his smile lingered.

Grabbing a strip of parchment, you quickly penned a short response, your hand steady despite your racing thoughts. The falcon ruffled its wings and tilted its head, watching you with the sharp attentiveness of a messenger that knew its job.

When you finished, you sealed the note and turned back to the falcon. “Here we go,” you said softly, tying the parchment to its leg with practiced ease. “Make sure he gets this, all right?”

The falcon chirped again, nudging your hand once more before spreading its powerful wings.

“You spoil that bird,” Max commented.

You ignored him, lifting your arm and watching the falcon take off in a flurry of feathers, vanishing through the open beams of the aviary.

—

"Lord Jos Verstappen is coming home."

The announcement echoed through the halls like the tolling of a funeral bell, heavy and foreboding. The once peaceful estate stirred to life, not with joy, but with a frantic, fearful energy.

Servants darted through the corridors, their faces pale and tense as they adjusted garlands that now felt like mockery against the gloom. Silver was polished until hands trembled, every blemish scoured away with desperation.

Knights inspected their armor with grim focus, their fingers twitching over hilts and clasps as though preparing for battle rather than ceremony.

Even the preparations for the winter feast, grand and excessive as always, now carried a frantic edge, as if the abundance might shield them from his scrutiny.

Cooks whispered curses under their breath, their knives slicing meat with fevered precision. The clatter of pots and the hiss of roasting fires seemed louder, sharper, grating against the silence that lay beneath.

The estate itself seemed to darken, its stately elegance cast in shadow by the weight of his impending arrival.

Red banners bearing the Verstappen crest unfurled from the towers like blood dripping onto the pale winter sky. They flapped in the wind with a mournful sound, their bold colors stark against the growing chill.

—

The heavy oak doors groaned open, and the room was instantly swallowed by silence. The grand dining hall, usually alive with movement and murmured activity, now felt cavernous, the echoes of footsteps hollow against the stone.

Jos entered, his presence dominating the space even before he spoke. His boots struck the floor with deliberate precision, the sound like a hammer driving nails into a coffin.

His cloak of black wolf fur swept behind him, its edges brushing the ground, and the lifeless eyes of the beast stared out like a warning. His face was a cold mask of sharp lines and quiet menace, and his gaze moved across the room before landing on Max.

“Max,” Jos said, his voice low and gravelly, yet it carried with ease, filling every corner of the room. “You look like a boy playing lord. Tell me. Do you believe you’ve done well?”

Max stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His posture was stiff, his hands braced against the table as though steadying himself. “Yes, Father. Everything is as you instructed.”

Jos tilted his head, his expression devoid of approval or interest. Instead, his piercing gaze shifted to you.

You were seated beside Max, your hands clasped tightly in your lap to hide the trembling.

His eyes swept over you and your stomach twisted under the weight of his scrutiny.

“So,” Jos said, his tone slow, deliberate, and heavy with disdain. “This is the Southern girl?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his lip curling into a faint sneer. “I was told you were of good stock. That you would bring beauty and grace to this family. But standing here now...” He let the sentence dangle, his silence cutting deeper than any insult.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but it felt like staring into a predator’s eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest, and the blood rushed to your face, burning with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Jos stepped closer, his movements slow and measured. He leaned down slightly, as if to examine you more closely, his eyes narrowing.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less cruel, “were they lying? Or do Southerners simply have lower standards for what they call... adequate?”

The words hit like a blow, and you fought to keep your composure. You felt your throat tighten, your nails digging into your palms.

“Father,” Max said, his voice steady but strained.

Jos turned his head sharply toward his son, his eyes flashing with impatience. “Did I say you could speak?” He scoffed. “You’d do well to learn the value of silence, child. Or did my absence made you bold?”

Max swallowed hard but said nothing, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Jos straightened, his focus returning to you. “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I care little for who you are, where you come from, or what you think you’re worth. Your purpose here is simple: to provide strong heirs for this family. That is all. If you can manage even that.”

His gaze swept over you once more, his expression one of disdainful dismissal. “I suspect even that might be a challenge.”

The room was unbearably quiet, the tension pressing down like a physical weight. You felt your breath hitch, your humiliation raw and visible.

Jos’s cold smile was fleeting. “Weakness will not be tolerated. Not from you, and not from him.”

His gaze flicked back to Max. “If she fails, you know what must be done. I expect no hesitation.”

Max’s hand slipped under the table, finding yours. His fingers curled around yours, firm but not comforting. It was a gesture meant to steady you, but it felt like an apology more than anything else.

Jos turned his back on both of you, walking slowly to the head of the table. He took his seat, motioning for the servants to bring the first course, though their presence felt like little more than ghosts at the edges of your vision.

The meal passed in tense silence. Jos ate methodically, his eyes occasionally flicking to you and Max, though he offered no further words.

His presence alone was enough to fill the room with an oppressive weight.

When the plates were cleared and the servants retreated, Jos spoke one last time, his voice sharp and deliberate. “Do not embarrass this family,” he said, looking between the two of you. “My patience is not limitless, and my tolerance for failure even less so.”

He rose from the table, his chair scraping softly against the stone. Without another glance, he strode toward the doors, his cloak billowing behind him.

The grand dining hall was empty now, save for the two of you. The chandeliers above flickered with the last glow of half-melted candles, casting long shadows across the sprawling mahogany table.

Plates of untouched food sat cold on the tablecloth, embroidered with gold, while the remnants of the night’s cruelty lingered in the air like the bitter scent of spilled wine.

You sat stiffly, your trembling hands gripping the edge of your chair.

The fabric of your gown, a pale blue that had once made you feel lovely, now felt heavy and suffocating, like chains wrapped around your body.

Across from you, Max leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, his black coat rumpled, his tie loosened as though the weight of the evening had crushed him.

His lips parted, a small breath escaping, but no words came. His gaze flitted to your face, then dropped to his lap as he rubbed the back of his neck with trembling fingers.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold, barely above a whisper. Your hands tightened on the chair, the sharp edge biting into your palms. “Don’t ask me if I’m alright. Don’t insult me like that.”

His head jerked up, his brow furrowing. His mouth opened again, but nothing emerged. He looked lost, childlike, almost, as though he couldn’t fathom where to begin.

“Do you know what it feels like,” you continued, your voice rising, cracking, “to sit there and have every shred of your dignity ripped away, while the man you thought loved you just… watches?”

Max flinched. His knee bounced nervously under the table, but he still said nothing. His eyes, glassy with regret, darted back to yours as though searching for something, anything, to cling to.

You shoved your chair back with a screech, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.

Rising to your feet, you gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself. “Your father humiliated me tonight. He dragged my name through the mud in front of all those people, and you- you just sat there.”

“I wanted to stop him,” he murmured finally, his voice rough. He stood too, but hesitated, his hand hovering over the back of his chair as though afraid to move closer.

“Wanted to?” you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You rounded the table, your skirts brushing against the polished floor, your heels clicking with every step. “Wanted to? What use is wanting when you didn’t do a damned thing, Max?”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He stepped back as you approached, the candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw, his collar undone like a man too weary to even maintain propriety. “I froze,” he said finally, the words forced, raw. “I-”

You stopped short, staring at him, your chest heaving.

The anger burning in your veins was the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “You froze?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

He pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down in frustration.

His coat shifted with the motion, revealing the slightly wrinkled fabric beneath, proof of how tightly he’d been gripping his knees under the table earlier. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said, his voice low, shaking.

Your laugh was hollow, bitter, as you took another step closer. The train of your gown caught on the edge of a chair, but you yanked it free without breaking stride. “You didn’t know what to do?” you spat. “You could’ve told him to stop. You could’ve said, ‘She is mine, and you will not speak to her that way.’ You could’ve done something, Max. Anything.”

His hands reached out instinctively, but you recoiled, stepping back so sharply your gown swished around your ankles. His face crumpled as his arms fell back to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

“Sorry?” you repeated, your voice trembling now, raw and unsteady. “You think that’s enough? You think ‘sorry’ is going to erase the fact that you left me there, alone, while he tore me apart?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t,” you snapped, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t you dare make excuses. You didn’t stop him because you’re afraid of him. Admit it, Max. You’re afraid.”

He didn’t deny it. His gaze dropped to the floor, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Your voice cracked as you took a step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as though you could hold the shattered pieces of your heart together.

“Promise me,” you said softly, each word trembling. “Promise me you won’t let him do that to me again.”

Max’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, pleading. “I…”

“Promise me,” you repeated, louder this time, your desperation cutting through the air like a blade.

“I-” His voice broke. He reached for you again, but this time you swatted his hand away, your tears blurring the edges of his face. “I can’t,” he whispered, the words breaking you more than anything else.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, painful exhale. You staggered back, your gaze searching his face for some shred of hope, but all you found was his shame.

“Then don’t you dare call me your love anymore,” you said, your voice trembling, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Don’t you dare.”

He froze, his hand still half-extended toward you. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Without another word, you turned sharply on your heel, the fabric of your gown rustling like thunder in the silence.

Max’s voice broke behind you, a desperate plea you couldn’t bear to hear.

“Please..”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t follow me, Max.”

His face crumpled as you walked away, the echo of your heels fading into the dark corners of the hall.

—-

The days following the dinner were marked by an aching, suffocating silence.

You didn’t speak to Max. Didn't even look at him.

Not because you didn’t cross paths, but because you couldn’t. The words caught in your throat every time you tried, tangled up in a way you just couldn’t seem to untangle.

It felt too raw, too heavy.

His silence that night, the way he’d just sat there while his father shredded you down to nothing, still stung like an open wound. It was the kind of pain that didn’t just hurt in the moment. It lingered, nestled in your chest, weighing you down in ways you hadn’t expected.

And Max didn’t push.

He didn’t try to force his way into your grief, didn’t demand your forgiveness or plead for you to move past it.

If anything, he seemed determined to let you set the pace, to give you whatever space you needed even if it meant keeping himself at arm’s length.

You still crossed paths, of course. There was no avoiding it entirely.

You still went on your daily walks through the gardens, wandering paths lined with neatly trimmed hedges and blooming flowers.

You still spent time in the library, the two of you occupying the same space while surrounded by the soft rustle of pages and the faint scent of old parchment.

But now the silence between you was no longer comforting. It wasn’t the easy, companionable quiet you’d once cherished, the kind that felt like the two of you could sit together without the need for constant words.

Sometimes, when you were sitting together, you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

Watching you, his face drawn and tired, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. Or some terrible mix of both.

And sometimes, when you walked side by side in the garden, you’d see his hand twitch, as though he were reaching out for yours instinctively.

It was a habit of his, something he’d always done without thinking. A casual, familiar gesture that had once brought you comfort.

But now, when his fingers brushed the air between you, he’d stop short. You’d watch as his hand clenched into a fist at his side, as though he were physically restraining himself.

There was nothing casual about it anymore. No thoughtless familiarity, no ease.

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t trying.

You could see it in the small, hesitant ways he tried to bridge the distance between you—the way he lingered in the same room longer than he needed to, the way his eyes softened whenever they met yours, as though silently asking if it was safe to come closer.

But you weren’t ready. Not yet.

Every time he looked at you like that, every time you caught the faintest trace of hope in his expression, the memory of that night came rushing back like a tidal wave.

So you stayed quiet, kept your distance even as you occupied the same spaces.

And Max didn’t say anything, didn’t press or push.

He just stayed there, hovering at the edges of your life like a shadow, silent and waiting. Waiting for you to decide if there was anything left to salvage.

—

“You should just talk to him,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence as she poured tea into the delicate china cup in front of you.

You looked up sharply, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “And why, exactly, should I?”

Lily didn’t look at you right away. She finished pouring, carefully setting the teapot down. “Because you look like you’re holding your breath every time he’s near you.”

Your frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. “It means you’re walking around like this thing between you is strangling you. Like it’s taken up every inch of space in your chest and there’s no room left for air.”

You felt your cheeks flush, the sting of her observation cutting sharper than you wanted to admit.

You glanced down at the steam rising from your tea, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t see why I should be the one to talk to him. He’s the one who...” You trailed off, your throat tightening, the memory of that night still raw and aching.

“I’m not saying you need to forgive him. You don’t have to. Not now, not ever, if that’s what you decide. But this silence? It’s not helping either of you. Maybe it’s time to say something. For your sake, if nothing else.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the rim of your cup as you avoided her gaze. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she said, her tone patient, gentle. “It doesn’t have to fix everything. But maybe it’s worth letting him know how you feel. Letting yourself breathe again.”

You shook your head, the familiar swell of anger and hurt rising in your chest. “Why should I be the one to fix this? He’s the one who stood there and let his father humiliate me. He didn’t say a word, Lily. Not one word.”

Her face softened with something like understanding, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she said quietly, “I know. And you’re right. He should have spoken up. He should have done more. But...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Have you seen him lately?”

Your brows furrowed as you finally looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he looks awful,” Lily said bluntly. “Like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s walking around with this... this look on his face, like he’s dragging the weight of the world behind him. It’s... it’s hard to watch, honestly.”

You frowned, your heart twisting at the image her words conjured. Max, hollow-eyed and exhausted, carrying his guilt like a shroud. It wasn’t what you’d wanted. You hadn’t wanted to break him. You just wanted him to understand how much he’d hurt you.

Lily tilted her head, studying you. “I’m not saying you owe him anything. You don’t. But maybe... maybe talking to him wouldn’t just be for his sake. Maybe it would help you too.”

The ache in your chest deepened, a knot of emotions too tangled to unravel.

You weren’t sure if you were ready.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be ready.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lily gave you a small, encouraging smile. “That’s all I’m saying. Just think about it.”

—

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just forgive him already, my lady,” Lando groaned dramatically, his boots scuffing the floor as he limped into the hall with a hand pressed to his ribs and the most pitiful expression you’d ever seen.

You blinked, startled, your gaze darting between his grimace and the faint scrape of steel from outside the window. “Forgive him? What are you talking about?”

Lando paused just long enough to throw you a deeply offended look before collapsing onto a nearby chair as if the journey from the training yard to the hall had nearly killed him. “What am I talking about? Oh, only the fact that your fiancé is trying to murder me. That’s all.”

Your brow furrowed as you glanced at Oscar, who had followed Lando inside.

The knight stood by the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his expression calm but tinged with faint amusement.

“What happened?” you asked, turning back to Lando, who was now slumped over the arm of the chair like a man on his deathbed.

“What happened? He happened!” Lando shot upright, jabbing a finger toward the courtyard. “Your darling betrothed has gone completely mad. I swear, he’s been possessed by some spirit of vengeance. He’s brutal- relentless! My body wasn’t built for this kind of abuse, my lady. I’m delicate.”

Oscar snorted, shaking his head. “Delicate isn’t the word I’d use.”

Lando’s mouth dropped open, scandalized. “Excuse me? This is coming from the man who sat back and watched me get beaten within an inch of my life?”

He turned to you, eyes wide and beseeching. “Do you see what I’m dealing with? First, your fiancé tries to cut me in half, and now your knight mocks my pain. I’m surrounded by cruelty!”

You fought back a smile, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating?” Lando looked positively aghast, clutching his chest as though you’d stabbed him. “You think I’m exaggerating? He disarmed me within minutes, then made me pick up the sword and do it all over again- six times! At one point, I was fairly certain I’d lost the ability to breathe. Do you know what he said to me? ‘You’re improving.’ Improving! My ribs say otherwise!”

Oscar’s lips twitched, though he didn’t quite smile. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Lando huffed. He stood gingerly, clutching his back as though the act of rising from the chair had aged him twenty years. “I’ll have you know I’m going straight to the healer. And after that, I’m taking the longest bath of my life. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the tub, rethinking every decision that led me to this moment.”

With that, he hobbled toward the stairs, muttering under his breath about sadists and swordsmen who didn’t know the meaning of mercy.

You turned back to Oscar, who had remained silent through most of Lando’s theatrics. He was still standing by the door, his gaze distant now, fixed somewhere beyond the frost-covered window panes.

“He’s still out there, you know,” he said finally, his tone dry.

“What?”

Oscar tilted his head toward the courtyard. “Your fiancé. He hasn’t stopped. He’s still training.”

You moved closer to the window, peering out into the dusky evening. Sure enough, there he was, a dark figure against the pale, frostbitten ground.

His sword moved in deliberate, measured arcs, each swing cutting through the biting wind like it was nothing. His breath hung in the air in sharp clouds, but he didn’t falter.

“Why?” you murmured, your brow furrowing as you turned to Oscar. “It’s freezing out there.”

Oscar’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes. “He’s not the type to stop. Cold doesn’t bother him, not when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

Oscar hesitated, his usual bluntness faltering for just a moment. “Like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.”

You glanced back at your fiancé, your chest tightening as you watched him swing the sword again and again, each movement precise and controlled, like he was fighting an invisible enemy.

Oscar shifted, his voice quieter now. “Look, my lady... I’m not going to tell you what to do. It’s not my place to ask for forgiveness on his behalf. That’s something he’ll have to earn himself.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone.

Gone was the sharp, pragmatic knight you knew. In his place was something softer, almost hesitant.

“But,” he continued, meeting your gaze, “as a man, I am asking you to give him a chance. Not because he deserves it. But because I’ve seen men like him before. Men who don’t know how to say what they mean.”

His words settled heavily between you, the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Oscar added, his voice even softer now. “But I think he’s trying. And sometimes, that’s worth something.”

—

The snow fell in sheets, each flake biting at Max’s skin like shards of ice. It blanketed the courtyard, piling high in thick drifts that glowed faintly under the dull gray of the moon.

The wind howled, tearing through the frozen night, cutting past the thin fabric of his sweat-soaked tunic and carving into his flesh like jagged teeth.

Max’s breath rose in ragged bursts, visible in the frigid air, each exhale trembling with effort. His hands, stiff and raw, clutched the hilt of his sword with a grip so tight his knuckles felt as though they might split.

The steel was freezing, an unyielding weight that seemed to fuse with his palm. His fingers, reddened and cracked, struggled to keep hold, but he didn’t dare let go.

He swung again. The blade hissed through the icy air before colliding with the splintered wood of the practice post.

The impact sent a jolt up his arms, rattling his shoulders, his teeth.

Pain flared in his joints, spreading through his already screaming muscles, but he ignored it. His body ached, his knuckles bled, but it still wasn’t enough. It never was.

Snow clung to his damp hair, melting into icy rivulets that dripped down his temples, his neck. He hadn’t bothered with gloves. Or a cloak.

The cold was a blessing. A punishment. It numbed the ache of his hands, the burn in his shoulders, and dulled the deeper pain lodged in his chest.

The wind picked up, sharp and merciless, whipping across his exposed skin.

He welcomed it, leaning into the sting as though the air might tear him apart, cleanse him of the memories gnawing at his mind. He swung again, harder this time, the motion wild, unbalanced.

The blade struck the post with a sickening crack, splinters flying as the impact jarred his entire body.

He stumbled, breath hitching as exhaustion clawed at him. His arms felt like lead, his legs trembling under the weight of his own battered frame.

Every inch of him throbbed, the dull, relentless pain seeping into his bones. His body, older than it should have been at twenty-three, protested with every movement.

His hands were aged before their time, the calluses and scars a map of years spent holding a sword when he should have been a boy.

Still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he stopped, the silence would creep in. If he stopped, the memories would return.

He pivoted, his breath a broken rasp as he swung again. The sword felt heavier with every motion, its hilt biting into the tender, split skin of his palm.

The wind roared, scattering snow into his eyes, but he barely blinked. His focus was razor-sharp, pinned on the shattered remains of the post as though destroying it might somehow quiet the storm inside him.

But it didn’t.

The memories came anyway, vicious and unrelenting.

Nine years old. Kneeling on frozen stone, the cold seeping through his skin as he counted the seconds between lashes. The whip cracked, the sound sharp and unforgiving, and his father’s voice followed, low and calm.

“Hold still, boy. A soldier doesn’t flinch. If you move again, we start over.”

He could still feel the sting of the leather against his back, the burn that lingered long after the blows stopped.

He remembered biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, his small body shaking with the effort to stay still. He hadn’t cried, not until his father had left the room, the echo of the slammed door ringing in his ears.

Fourteen. Standing rigid as Jos’s words sliced into him, sharper than any blade. “You’ll never be a man. You’ll never be strong enough. If you can’t endure this, how do you expect to survive out there?”

Max swung again, the blade whistling through the freezing air, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His vision swam, his balance faltering as his strength began to wane, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t stop.

Because if he did, he’d hear his father’s voice again. He’d see your face.

The memory hit him like a blow, the sound of your voice echoing in his mind. Raw. Shattered. The way you’d looked at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving. Like you didn’t know who he was anymore.

The sword slipped from his hands, falling to the snow with a muted thud. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as he struggled to catch his breath. He stood there, trembling, the snow swirling around him in a blinding haze.

The frost clung to his lashes, melting into cold trails that streaked down his cheeks.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as a fresh wave of pain rippled through him. He welcomed it, needed it, but it still wasn’t enough.

The memory of your face refused to leave him.

You’d been standing in the hall, your gaze darting between him and Jos as though you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Max could still hear the venom in his father’s voice, the cruel, cutting words that had torn into you like claws.

And he’d done nothing.

He’d stood there, frozen, his body locked in place as his father’s fury spilled out. He’d wanted to move, wanted to speak, to defend you, but he hadn’t.

Because when Jos turned his gaze on him, sharp and filled with that same disgust Max had seen since he was a boy, all his courage had turned to ash in-

“What are you doing out here?”

Max flinched at the sound of your voice, the syllables cutting through his thoughts.

He didn’t turn to face you, his broad back stiff against the wind. “Training,” he said after a long pause, the word rasping out of him, half-choked with exhaustion.

“Training?” you repeated, stepping closer. The frost crunched beneath your boots, your breath clouding in the cold air. “It’s freezing, Max. You shouldn’t-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice low, hollow. His hands moved behind his back, fingers curling into fists as though he could hide them, but even from this distance, you could see the raw, bloody skin.

“Max,” you whispered, horror prickling at the edges of your voice. “Your hands-”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced at himself, sucking in a shaky breath. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point,” you said, stepping closer, the hem of your cloak brushing against the frost-laden grass. “What are you trying to do to yourself? It’s the middle of the night, you’re bleeding, and it’s so cold you can barely breathe.”

“I’m used to it,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground as though it could swallow him whole.

“Are you?” you challenged, your voice cutting sharper now.

He didn’t answer, the silence between you heavy and brittle. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over his hunched figure, illuminating the tension coiled in his frame.

You exhaled slowly, your breath visible in the icy air. “You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll go inside later,” he said, his tone dull, lifeless. “You should go ahead first.”

“Max-”

“I told you,” he said, spinning to face you, his voice raw and fraying at the edges. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the depths of his anguish.

The shadows, the guilt, the broken pieces he couldn’t seem to hide. “I will settle. As long as I have you in my life, even if you hate me for the rest of it, I’ll settle for that silence. I’ll take it. I’ll endure it.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the cold biting sharper now as the weight of his words fell between you. “So that’s it?” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not even going to try?”

His shoulders sagged, his breath hitching as he shook his head. “Do I even deserve to?”

Your chest tightened, and you took another step forward, your voice rising with the desperation clawing at your throat. “It’s not about deserving, Max. It’s about trying. About fighting for the people you care about, no matter how hard it is.”

“I’ve grown soft,” he murmured, the words barely audible as he turned away from you. His hands twitched at his sides, trembling as though they carried the weight of his shame. “If I had stood up to him- if I had spoken out- my father would’ve dragged me to the dungeons. I haven’t been there in years, and still… the memory-”

His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands like he wanted to rip the thoughts from his skull.

“Max,” you said, your voice softening despite the anger still simmering in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought to keep his composure. “I was afraid,” he whispered, the admission like a knife slicing through the air. “That’s why I froze. That’s why I didn’t defend you. I was afraid, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I let him humiliate you. I hate that I let you sit there, waiting for me to speak, and I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Max exhaled. “And I’m sorry. I would let him whip me a thousand times if it meant you’d look at me with softness again.”

The world seemed to stop. Your stomach dropped, your blood turning to ice. “What?” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “What do you mean, whip you?”

Max’s silence was unbearable, the way his head bowed under the weight of his words. It was as if speaking them had drained the fight from him. But then, slowly, he sank to his knees before you, his hands trembling as they moved to rest in his lap.

“Do it,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice raw with desperation. “If it will make you forgive me- if it will make things right- hurt me. However you like. I deserve it.” His head hung low, his body tense, as though bracing for some cruel blow. “I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but if pain is what it takes-”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp, horrified. The sight of him kneeling before you, offering himself up like some sacrificial lamb, sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. “Max, get up. Please.”

He didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to fold further into himself, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “I can take it,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken worse. I’ll take it for you.”

“No,” you choked out, the word trembling on your lips. You crouched before him, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to reach for him or pull away. “Max, this isn’t- this isn’t how this works. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He flinched, as if your words themselves were a blow. “But I hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I stood there and let him- let him say those things to you, and I did nothing. I froze. And now I’m here, training, trying to- trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But it’s not enough, is it?” He raised his head then, his eyes wet, his expression pleading. “So tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. Tell me how to be better.”

Your throat tightened, a lump rising that you couldn’t swallow down. “Max,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “This… this isn’t the answer. You don’t have to punish yourself to be forgiven. You don’t have to prove your worth to me like this.”

He blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and anguish. “Then what do I do?” he whispered. “I don’t know how else to-”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not your father. You don’t have to fight like he did. And you don’t have to hurt like this- not to earn love, not to earn forgiveness.”

For a moment, Max simply stared at you, his lips parted, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His breath hitched, and he froze beneath your touch, like he didn’t believe it was real.

“You deserve kindness, Max,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word. “Even from yourself.”

His shoulders shook, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against your hand

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he let himself cry.

—

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vaspider · 2 days ago

Note

Spider, can I ask you and your followers for some input in a situation? I want some unbiased opinions, especially from parents of adult kids (bonus if your adult kids are disabled). I've tried to be as unbiased as possible and include both sides. I am aware that you're under no obligation to actually answer, but I'm hoping that if you're not able to provide any input, then one of your followers might be able to.

TLDR at the end.

The context:

Basically, I am an adult in my late 20s. I haven't lived with my parents since they threw me out at 19 for being diagnosed with autism and they were told that I wasn't capable of living independently without years of occupational therapy. I was homeless for 13 months. Like literally two days later, they dropped me off at work, confiscated my house keys, and said to find somewhere else to sleep because I wasn't coming back home. (My parents insist that I wasn't actually homeless because I already had my current job and was able to afford to stay at a youth homeless shelter. I say "what the fuck do you think Homeless Shelter means??") After that, I was able to get a government grant for chronically homeless youth that allowed me to get a room in a student housing complex. It's not dorms, but it works like a dorm. I do have a private room.

My bedroom of my apartment is a mess. My bedroom has always been a mess. I have AuDHD and multiple disabilities, including extreme fatigue so that's not unexpected. During lockdown, it was especially bad. I had to move out of my last apartment in 2021 because one of my roommates was a bigot and my building wanted a new tenet so they could charge more rent, so between the two of them, they forced me out for being a "safety concern" due to the mess (the roommate did things like lie and say I didn't bathe, even though I was literally still wet from the shower). My parents ended up helping me pack up my stuff and move to a new place. I've been here for a few years and my roommates here have always been okay with the mess because it stays confined to my room.

(Also I wrote this at like 5AM and I'm half asleep but I wasn't going to be able to go back to bed until I ask someone unbiased. So please excuse any typos, and I hope everything makes sense and nothing came out as gibberish because sometimes by brain refuses to Word Good.)

The problem:

My mother decided when I moved in that my dad was going to be inspecting my bedroom in order to make sure it's clean. He's been putting her off but she's been on his ass about it for three years so he's finally caved and said that next time he's here to bring me something (I cannot drive due to disabilities), that he would be inspecting my room.

I do not want my room inspected. I've been very clear about that since day one. Yes, my room is a mess, but I'm also a grownass adult. My parents say that since they've given me some money for my rent over the past few years that they're entitled to inspect my room. I say that it's a violation of my autonomy. My room is my safe space. My mother is an obsessively clean person so growing up, my room wasn't really mine, and everything had to be to her standards whether I liked it or not (including things like what color I paint my furniture that I owned).

My parents do not care about my boundaries, and would say that since I've proven incapable in the past (re: because I'm disabled, not that they'd ever admit it), that they're trying to protect me by keeping me from being kicked out again.

I am skeptical about this and believe it's more about controlling me (see: throwing me out for having autism and just generally being extremely controlling my entire life). My parents have refused to stop giving me money for my rent every now and then (I have a job and pay at least the majority of my rent, but there are some months where business is slow and I don't get many hours, and no one wants to hire me because I act Autistic and use a cane) and I end up short. I have resolved to do everything I can to not need their help, including having my sister pick up my prescriptions, in order to avoid my parents coming over and inspecting my room.

Also, my building already does quarterly inspections and they've always been okay with my room, but I know my room won't be to my parents' standards. I don't have any local friends that I could ask for help cleaning up, but like, I'm a Spoonie. I clean my toilet and then have to go lay down because I'm getting dizzy. I am not making much progress myself.

The question:

Are my parents right? Have I shown that I cannot be trusted to keep my room clean, thus entitling them to come inspect it to make sure it's not a mess. They will definitely yell at me and have threatened to withdraw what support they do give me if my room is a mess or I refuse to let them inspect it? Or am I right to put my foot down and enforce my boundaries?

Side note, my parents have a history of being abusive and controlling. That's something I had to prove to the government to get my grant. They would insist that it's not abuse. Some of it was quite bad but I'm not going to get into it here.

TLDR:

I'm an adult with disabilities who has my own apartment. My parents think they're entitled to come inspect my room to make sure it's clean. I say that it's my apartment and I say no. They have threatened to withdraw what support they do give me if I refuse. Are my parents being unreasonable, or am I the one being unreasonable for refusing?

Your parents have no right to inspect your room. You are an adult. This is your apartment, not theirs. Your mother is wrong. Your parents are being invasive. I think they think they're being reasonable bc they care about your well being, but they aren't respecting your autonomy.

Sometimes, being a parent means you gotta let your kids not do things the way you would or even not do things the way that is best for them. It's hard, but it's necessary.

If you still lived with your parents and your lack of cleanliness was affecting their lives, it might be different ... but this is just your parents being fucking weird.

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spiderb00 · 2 days ago

Text

- BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL

Sophia Laforteza x reader | (request)

"You and Sophia hate each other, but maybe it's not quite like that..."

Genre – Fluff Warnings – Not reviewed (sorry, I'm sleepy)

Now playing – Still Into You, by Paramore

A sigh of breath came from your lips as soon as you parked your car in front of the house of one of your childhood friends. The moonlight illuminated part of the street and when you turned off the headlights of your car everything seemed to have become a little more tense. Getting out of the car, you took a deep breath, bottle of red wine in hand to at least say that you brought something to the small party.

When you rang the doorbell, your whole body shuddered, not only because it was a little cold outside, but because of the anxiety of seeing all your childhood friends together again, especially one of them.

When the door opened, you froze, staring intently at the person who had opened the door for you. Sophia Laforteza, in all her glory. Many might say you were sworn enemies in high school, but you couldn't disagree more.

"Oh, it's you..." Her tone showed that maybe she hadn't let go of the little disagreements you had.

Giving an awkward smile, you watched Sophia move out of the way, a silent permission for you to enter. The house was full of conversation and laughter, and before you could think of what to say to Sophia, one of your longtime friends clung to you.

"YN!" Maya screamed, hugging your neck with excitement. "I didn't know if you would actually come, you seem to be always so busy with your company. Come on, come in." the woman said, pulling you by the wrist.

If you had turned your face, you would have seen Sophia roll her eyes, walking up to one of the closest friends she had at school and collapsing next to her on the couch.

"Wow, it feels like you've come back with one of the heaviest energies I've ever felt in my entire life. Who was at the door? O Nosferatu?” Abby, Sophia's friend, asked.

"Worse, Yn." Sophia said, crossing her arms like a tantrum child.

"Yn? Like, that girl who had a crush on you?" Abby asks, taking a sip of her martini.

"She didn't have a crush on me, she hated me. She always tried to steal my roles in school plays. Not to mention when she tore up the letter someone wrote to me on Valentine's Day." Sophia's gaze was watching the kitchen, maybe she wasn't in her right mind, and just maybe she wanted to throw the hollow of the coffee table on your head.

"Girl, that girl liked you, I'm not crazy. By the way, I'm always right, remember?!"

"What? Don't you remember how it happened?"

- High School, Manila – six years ago.

At that school, every sixteen-year-old's dream was to get a Valentine's Day letter. It was a school custom for a post office to be made during Valentine's Day, so when the day came, everyone would write letters to the people they had a crush on, and that letter would be delivered to each other's lockers during class.

With the classroom still empty, Sophia and Kylie talked freely, cheerful and super excited to see if their passions had sent them something.

"I don't know, I just wanted Yn to stop being so boring and like me, at least a little bit." The young Sophia said, organizing the materials for the next class and leaving them metrically positioned on the table.

"I've already told you that I think she only does all that to get your attention." Abby said, looking at herself in the mirror as she smeared lip gloss.

"You'll still admit that I'm right, Sophie." Abby said, making Sophia roll her eyes at the nickname. "Do you think Dylan likes my lip gloss?" The girl asked.

"He'd be an idiot if he didn't like it." Sophia says, making Abby laugh. "It seems lovely to receive a letter from him."

"He's adorable." Abby said, a cocky tone coming out of her words.

"I don't think he likes me." Sophia said, pointing to a pencil, so she wouldn't have to do this during class.

"Of course he likes you, he's just shy." Abby said, not wanting her best friend to think bad things about her boyfriend.

"yes, it could be." Sophia said, not paying much attention to the words of the girl next to her.

"Anyway, let's hope you get your letter today." Abby said, making Sophia laugh lightly as she shook her head.

While Sophia and her friend laugh at the conversation, Yn enters the room, accompanied by Zack, one of the nerdy boys who always hung out with her. Choosing Sophia's back seat, Yn sat down, and the Filipino girl observed the girl's different behavior.

"Have you finally decided to pay attention in class instead of sleeping in all of them?" Sophia asked, her tone sounding too sarcastic for Yn.

"Why don't you take charge of your life." Yn said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, making the Filipina furrow her brows at her. Turning in her chair, Sophia missed something very important, the sigh and the look of sadness that Yn had on her face.

After school was over, young Sophia was crossing her fingers. Sophia had asked her faithful friend, Abby, to open the door to her closet, wanting to be quick to pick up the letter, but too afraid to look first. The Filipino girl had her back turned, and when she heard the soft creak of her closet door, only one question crossed her mind.

"And then? Is there something in there?" Sophia asked, the tone of her voice evidenced how nervous she was.

"Yes." Abby said, positioning the letter she had ordered inside Sophia's closet, in front of the Filipina's face.

Sophia's breathing was quickened, her hand rose and her hand was aching, tingling to have the letter finally in her possession. As Sophia's fingers brushed against the envelope's paper, a gust of wind hit her, and along with it Hurricane Yn. On top of her battered skateboard, Yn had just stolen the letter from Sophia's hands, paddling her feet faster on the ground, practically flying with the board on wheels.

"YN! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Passing like lightning through the students, maneuvering and dodging all possible things, Yn tried to go faster. Looking back, the problem girl saw Sophia running towards her, like an angry bull, a bomb about to explode, like anything that could hurt a lot, and Yn was the target.

Luckily, some students passing through the front door of the school kept it open, giving Yn easier access to the parking lot. With the passenger door open, Yn's nerdy and rich friend, Zack, was waiting for her, nervous that one of them would get into serious trouble. When the boy finally saw Yn coming towards him, he quickly shouted, warning Yn that Sophia was right behind her.

"YN, COME BACK HERE!" Sophia screamed, still trying to reach the girl, who was now hanging from the door of Zack's Jeep.

"SORRY!"

It was the only thing Sophia heard Yn say before the car accelerated.

"Now do you remember? You ran with me, the whole school thought we were crazy!" Sophia said, finishing remembering the story to Abby.

"It doesn't matter, we were children. I remember very well how you wanted to receive a letter from her that day." Abby countered Sophia's line, making the woman roll her eyes. "You always rolled your eyes at me in high school, and I was always right."

"There's no way she'll like me." Sophia muttered.

"There's no way she'll like me." The same phrase was repeated in the kitchen.

Yn, who had now begun talking to Maya and Zack about her complicated relationship with Sophia, took a big sip of the beer she had in her hand, trying to forget what a little disaster she was when Sophia opened the door.

"I never understood, why did you steal her letter anyway?" Maya asked, making you look at Zack.

Seeing as you were looking at him, the man quickly prepared a shot of tequila for you, which you readily accepted. The liquid burned your throat, and when you finished feeling the consequences of alcohol in your system (just for now), you hit the small empty shot glass on the counter.

"Let's go..."

Games has always been one of your favorite topics of conversation with Zack, but when you got close to the classroom, something a little more interesting caught your eye.

"He's adorable." Abby said, a cocky tone coming out of her words.

"I don't think he likes me very much." Sophia said, pointing to a pencil, so she wouldn't have to do this during class.

"Of course he likes you, he's just shy." Abby said, not wanting her best friend to think bad things about her boyfriend.

Stopping abruptly, you began to pay attention to the girls' conversation. Zack, slightly confused by your extravagant, looked at you as if to ask what was wrong.

"What are you doing? Let's go in." Before he made the presence of the two of you recognized there, you grabbed him by the back of his shirt, putting your hand on his mouth as he tried to protest.

"Shut up and listen." You whispered aggressively, causing your friend to raise his hands in surrender.

"yes, it could be." Sophia said, not paying much attention to the words of the girl next to her.

"Anyway, let's hope you get your letter today." Abby said, making Sophia laugh lightly as she shook her head.

That was it, all was lost, your plan to deliver a letter to Sophia and finally confess your feelings to her was over. Every time you tried to do projects in pairs, discreetly changing the teacher's list of names, or every time you auditioned for the male role in a play just because Sophia would narrow down as the princess who needed to be saved, all of that had gone down the drain, she liked another boy.

Finally understanding what was happening there, Zack put his hand on your shoulder, your sad look made the boy feel bad for you.

"I'm sorry, Yn." Zack said, trying to comfort you about your first broken heart.

"Alright, I mean, at least she doesn't know I like her, it would be a clime." You said, laughing falsely as you tried to mask your pain.

When Zack was going to tell you not to pretend, your eyes widened, a sensation taking over your body, making you shiver from head to toe, the only thing your mind weighed was that Sophia could NEVER see that letter.

"Zack!" You whispered aggressively, grabbing the shoulders of the boy in front of you. "She can't see the letter!" You said, shaking your best friend's shoulders.

"Hey, I'm going to get dizzy..."

"As soon as class is over, wait for me in the parking lot with your car running! I have a plan." You said, dropping Zack and entering the classroom.

"After that, I think she started to hate me even more." You said, taking one more shot. Grabbing a plastic cup with something Zack mixed.

"But you know what, I don't care, I don't feel anything..."

Without paying much attention, you ended up missing the moment when Sophia entered the kitchen, turning around just in time and spilling all your crazy drink on her clothes. Her mouth was open, the perfect shape of an 'o', just like Zack and Maya's.

"Sorry, I..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, the Filipina was already going up the stairs towards the bathroom.

With a sigh of defeat, you rubbed your hands over your eyes, thinking about why you couldn't do anything right when it came to Sophia.

"Go over there." Maya said, pointing with her drink towards the stairs.

"I can't, she'll tear me apart." You said, crestfallen.

"Or you can finally have a conversation as adults and sort out whatever high school craziness you have to sort out."

Taking Maya's words as an encouraging, you walked determinedly upstairs. When you came face to face with the bathroom door, leaning your body completely against it, you let out a deep sigh, before finally knocking.

"It's Yn..."

"Go away, Yn."

One more sigh. Maybe those shots were a bad idea, now your head hurt.

"I'm sorry. Not just for the drink, for everything. I was really stupid, I just thought it was the best way to get your attention, but then you started hating me, and I can't shut my mouth." You keep talking as you slide through the door, sitting in the middle of the hallway.

"It was all a bad idea, I shouldn't have stolen the letter from you, I shouldn't even have sent it..."

As soon as you closed your mouth, the bathroom door opened. You fell on your back with a dull thud and groaned as your head hit the ground with some force. As you sat down again, you were sure that those shots were a bad idea.

"Were you the one who sent the letter?" Sophia asked, genuinely interested in what you had just said.

"It's... I..."

"Yn, was that letter yours?" Sophia approached, lowering herself to your height and looking at you with a look you had never seen on her face.

"Yes." You confessed, another sigh coming from your lips, followed by a sob, which left you half embarrassed. "I heard you talking about another guy that day, you know, when I was walking into class." You confessed, another sob coming out of your lips, making you lower your head so that Sophia wouldn't see how embarrassed you were.

"Wait, man? I wasn't talking about any guy..."

"Yeah, you were talking about how sure you were that he didn't like you, and then Abby made sure he did. I was just scared of ruining something you really wanted."

Analyzing your words, Sophia couldn't believe it. You liked her too, you were both hiding your real intentions for fear of something silly getting in the way. Finally remembering the conversation she had with Abby that day, Sophia started laughing, it was a little funny and sad to think that the two of you could have been together all this time.

"I was talking about Abby's boyfriend, you stupid." Sophia said, pushing your chest, making you look at her with a confused expression.

"So you didn't like any guys?" You asked, making Sophia deny it with her head.

"No. In fact, I really wish you had sent me a letter that day, if you had arrived a little earlier to eavesdrop on my conversation, you would have listened." Sophia said, sitting next to you and touching her shoulder with yours.

"You know, I never wanted to go into the theater to steal your role in the cast." You said, another letting a sob escape. "I wanted to be your date."

Smiling, Sophia looked at you, the Filipina's gaze going down your chest, until it landed on your hands, which were on your lap. With a slight smile on her face, Sophia took your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers, making you look into her eyes for the first time.

"Do you still want to be?"

Hey guys, sorry for the delay with the requests, I'm trying hard. But lately I've also been very busy taking care of my farm and my WIFE Haley, we have a son now, her name is Ani (like anora)

Anyway, now seriously, I'm trying to make the requests, but I'm trying to enjoy my vacation, in a little while my college classes start and then it will get more complicated.

I also created another profile to write about women outside of kpop, the name of the profile is Sipderb00bs (in honor of the anon who always read my name wrong), I will be receiving requests there too, in case you want to take a look.

Stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

#katseye imagines #katseye x reader #kpop gg #gxg #kpop fluff #sophia laforteza x reader #spiderb00 #wlw imagine #gxg imagine

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dadvans · 12 hours ago

Text

without a base, without a trace

bucktommy (9-1-1) :: 5 medical emergencies buck has after breaking up with tommy + 1 he has when they get back together

slightly based on this post by @epiphainie. for @rcmclachlan. art by @wortwood. verging on crack fic. this is the dumbest thing i have ever written.

ONE.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

It’s a rare day that Josh is working the lines, not that he cares. It’s important to not get rusty in a job like this. And if he’s being a little too honest with himself, the rush he gets on certain calls make his shift fly by way quicker than when he’s supervising or working breaks.

“Josh?”

This is close to his thirtieth call of the day, so it takes him a second to place the familiar vocal fry on the other end of call.

“Buck?”

“Shit,” Buck says, “well, this is embarrassing. Uh, hey. Can you not tell my sister about this?”

“Your sister who is sitting across from me?” Josh glances up, catching Maddie’s attention. Her eyes double in size when he mouths Buck to her and gestures to his own headset.

“Yeah, please, I—Josh—“

“Hey, hey, of course, don’t worry, Buck, I’m still a professional.” He rolls his eyes as Maddie peers over her monitor, and he mouths again I’ll tell you later, before returning his attention to the line. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Buck sighs on the other end. “I have a Coke can stuck up my ass.”

Josh almost chokes. This wouldn’t even be the first call this week where someone “tripped and landed on something wrong,” but the mental image of one of those calls being Buck practically knocks the wind out of him.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that.”

“Coke can,” Buck repeats, and there’s something to be said that his bitchy tone could be genetic the way he sounds so much like Maddie on her last nerve, “stuck up my ass.”

“Oka-a-a-y,” Josh says slowly, logging rectal foreign body and Coke can appropriately. “Can I ask how this happened?”

“How do you think, Josh? My boyfriend broke up with me, I missed him, and Tommy was—he was big, you know?”

“Sure,” Josh replies, trying to keep his tone neutral as possible. “Have you ever heard the adage ‘without a base, without a trace?’ Without a flared base, nearly ten times out of ten you’re bound to—“

“Look, I know, okay? I’ve responded to plenty of these calls myself, I just thought I had a good grip and was feeling desperate, and with all the lube, it slipped, and—“

“You know what, I think I get the picture. Are you at your home address?”

He hears another sad sigh from Buck’s end of the line.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’m dispatching paramedics to your location, okay? And for future reference”—he lowers his voice—“there are plenty of places online, or The Pleasure Chest off of Santa Monica that can provide you with a more appropriate, uh, instrument to help you with your needs, got it?”

He hangs up shortly after, and Maddie immediately rounds their desks to sit on the lip of his. “So?”

“Let me just tell you that you don’t want to know,” Josh says, shaking his head. “But if you piss me off someday, I might tell you.”

TWO

It’s barely a week after Josh takes Buck’s call that another one comes in. Josh is the supervisor on shift when he hears Maddie’s tone go from a measured neutral to thin and tight in seconds.

“Buck?” She says. “Buck, are you okay?”

There’s no possible way, Josh thinks. But just in case, on a hunch, he pulls up a chair and connects himself to her line.

“Buck, this is Josh, I’m acting shift lead.”

Maddie gives him a weird look that he ignores, but Buck says, “Oh, thank God. Maddie, can you let Josh just take this?”

“Um, n-no, no. This doesn’t work like that. What’s going on, Evan?”

“Maddie,” Buck groans, “please?”

“Please, sir, I need you to state your emergency,” Maddie continues, voice settling. Her hands, which had been starting to shake, still on her keyboard.

“It’s an eggplant,” Buck says. “I have… an eggplant.”

“An eggplant?” Maddie repeats.

Josh chokes past a cough so he doesn’t laugh out loud. Real fucking amateur hour. “Buck, what did I tell you last week? Did you completely ignore my advice?”

Maddie turns to him, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother has an eggplant lodged in his ass,” Josh replies, shaking his head. “Am I right, Buck?”

“Look, I did take your advice, or I thought I did. I thought if I started at the smaller side, the other end would act naturally as a flared base, but I got uh, carried away.”

Josh closes his eyes, listening, and counts to three. Maddie may have stopped breathing next to him. “And Buck, uh, what kind of eggplant was it? I’m assuming—“

“Italian,” Buck confirms, “the big kind.”

Damn. Josh is kind of impressed. Buck sure isn’t doing things by halves.

“This time it may require, uh,” Buck continues, “surgical assistance. It feels really deep.”

“Buck, I can’t assure you of anything, but you’d be surprised what the human body is capable of. Just stay calm, and we’re dispatching help to your area. Are you still at home?” Josh asks.

“Yeah,” Buck admits. Josh has had years of faceless conversations across a wide range of disasters, emergencies, human experiences. Someone else, even Maddie, would probably say he sounds embarrassed, but Josh knows sadness when he hears it.

He doesn’t call any attention to it, just nods. “Okay, thank you. Help is on the way.”

When the call disconnects, Maddie turns to him, face distressed. “What did he mean, ‘This time?’”

THREE

Josh is supervising a new trainee’s line when Buck’s third call comes in. It’s been maybe a week and a half, and the first to come so late, almost three in the morning. Josh has just come back from a break, having closed his eyes in the back for forty-five minutes, and is wondering if he’s still dreaming when Buck’s unmistakable voice cracks over the line. Unlike the first two calls, he slurs from the first word and Josh is pretty sure he’s been crying.

Josh rolls his eyes and unmutes his side of the line. “Hi, Buck.”

His trainee almost jumps a foot when he does it. He covers his mic with his palm and turns to her.

“Repeat callers, you’ll get used to them. This one is kind of my regular,” he assures her, hoping she doesn’t work with Maddie anytime soon.

Buck hiccups on the other end of the line and moans. “Josh, I did something stupid.”

“Wait, what was that? Buck, can you tell me what’s going on? Are you safe?”

“I dunno. Did something stupid. Dumb,” he repeats. “Wine bottle.”

Jesus Christ. “Wine bottle?”

“Wine bottle. With wine in it. Neck not big enough. Stuck. Wine is—izza—fillin’ me up but is, it’s, doesn’t feel right.” Half of his words are slurred together. It sounds like he’s saying Dozen-fee-ruh. He says, “Mucus membranes. I looked it up. Too much.”

“Got it, got it, you home, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck admits softly. “Alone.”

“I’m sending help to your location.” Josh takes over his trainee’s dashboards and dispatches a team accordingly.

“Not the one-eighteen though, right?” Buck asks. But with the way he sounds, it takes a second for Josh to decipher.

“No, not the one-eighteen,” he says, then sighs. “But Buck, I can’t guarantee that they won’t be dispatched to you next time. And if it’s me on the call, that’s who I’m definitely sending. I don’t expect you to remember me saying this, but if this happens again, you might force my hand if that’s what gets you to stop.”

“Okay, okay. Just miss him. Miss him so much. The way he filled me up—“

Josh abruptly ends the call. Which isn’t great. Help has already been sent out, but still.

“What just happened?” She asks.

“Something,” Josh says on an exhale, “totally normal in the broad scheme of things. But for my sake? Please pretend this call never did.”

FOUR.

Josh was supposed to be off tonight, but dispatch has been busy, busy, busy since a low five-point-something and several aftershocks slammed everything sideways from Puente Hills. Sue called him in hours ago, and the only thing that’s keeping him alert through the hours-long queue of anxious callers is the promise of that sweet, sweet, time and a half overtime pay.

He’s ready to lose it by the time the calls start to finally die down only to have Buck end up on his line.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he sighs. He pulls

Buck, on the other end, grumbles what sounds like There have to be more than five dispatchers in all of Los Angeles, right? away from the receiver, before he says closer and direct across the line, “I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean, ’stuck?’” Josh asks, fingers flying over the keyboard. He hasn’t heard of any infrastructure damage near Glendale, but maybe he’s making assumptions. “Are you trapped?”

“No, I’m—not exactly.”

“‘Not exactly,” Josh repeats. “Buck, where are you?”

“My apartment.” Buck doesn’t sound scared, or even urgently in danger. He sounds resigned. “I got a toy, by the way. Like you suggested. Flared base. Suction end, even, so I wouldn’t have any more accidents.”

Josh stopped believing in God a few decades ago, but he finds himself sending out a quiet prayer anyway that none of his calls with Buck have randomly hit the auditor’s desk. “Is that relevant to the call, sir?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t—shit. I was riding it when the earthquake hit.”

“Okay,” Josh says, when Buck doesn’t elaborate. “And?”

“I had it suctioned to my coffee table. And I’d been riding it for a while, so my legs were already shaky and I slipped—you know what, not important. What’s important is that I’ve been glued to my coffee table with a dick in my ass since noon. I can’t get up without the table—everything pulls, I can’t feel where the silicone ends and wood begins.”

“Jesus,” Josh says. Again, he really hopes this call doesn’t get audited.

There aren’t enough first responders to get to Buck right away. Josh lets him know that, in between asking a series of invasive questions where he learns that Buck is also somehow upside down, struggling to reach the poppers bottle he wants to swat out of the line of sight when someone inevitably rescues him.

“We’re experiencing a high volume of emergency calls at the moment, but I’ll get someone to you as soon as I can. But Buck,” Josh continues, “you have my number. Let me know when you’re okay. And then we can talk. Because I never, ever want to get one of these calls again.”

FIVE.

Josh watches as Maddie suspiciously sidles up to him in the locker bay several days later. She’s half-dancing, hips swaying and arms circling in a sad attempt at salsa.

“Do you have bedbugs? Did Howie give you bedbugs?” He asks her. “Because if you have bedbugs and you give them to the rest of us, I swear to God, Maddie.”

“No!” She says. Even when she doesn’t laugh out loud, she laughs with her eyes sometimes, wide and alive and catching all sorts of life. Had he been straight in another life, he would have been in so much trouble. “Okay, remember how we discussed Evan’s, uh, recent maladaptive coping strategies?”

“If by ‘discussed’ you mean ‘completely evaded the subject,’ and I gave him the number of a man whose penis defies God—“

“Yes, yes, anyway. They’re on a date!” She whips out her phone to show Josh the text message confirmation from Buck that not only had he’d reached out to Josh’s friend a few days ago, but was also now on his way to a dinner and movie. “Look!”

Josh’s eyes close with relief. “Oh, thank God. I can finally rest easy for a shift and not worry your brother is going to end up on my line with something stuck up his ass.”

Maddie’s smile fades and her shoulders slump. “Tell me about it. I’d do anything to go back to a time where he was just baking too much and I didn’t have to worry about where all the candles in his apartment went.”

“Stop.” He closes his eyes and throws his head back. “End of conversation. Even if I’m happy you told me, so I won’t have to spend the next twelve hours worried your brother is going to finally puncture his colon and die. Because the past few weeks have been so much.”

“Well, maybe your Prince Charming is the one who will finally break the curse,” Maddie replies, squeezing his shoulder.

Josh really hopes so. He needs Big Dick Eric (the guy’s Christian name, according to how Josh had saved him in his phone after a slightly overwhelming Grindr hookup) to seal the deal with Buck tonight. It doesn’t have to be forever, just as long as it takes for Buck to stop trying to fill the hole in his heart with dick. For Josh’s own mental health.

He wants to be optimistic.

The first two hours of his shift are as normal as normal can be for a seven-to-seven night shift. He handles an ugly domestic call, several drunk teenagers, a broken skate park ankle, and multiple people reporting the same car alarm going off at their apartment complex. His heart rate picks up when a new homeowner calls to report a squatter in her attic, but it just turns out to be a bat infestation.

And then, as if even thinking the word “quiet” is a thought crime that welcomes chaos, Josh takes his next call and is greeted with screaming.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” He asks, voice slightly elevated to challenge the screams warping the call.

He’ll give Buck credit later: when the emergency isn’t necessarily specific to his own bad decisions, the guy is effectively, professionally cool in a crisis, to a degree that Josh doesn’t immediately recognize him.

He requests an ambulance immediately to a residential address for a single adult man who he believes has fractured his penis.

“Can you tell me what happened that has lead you to believe this man has fractured his penis?” Josh asks, trying to discourage his own balls from shrinking back up inside him.

“We were, uh, in flagrante,” the guy on the other end responds, and that’s when Josh knows it’s Buck, because the pitchy, worried waver in his voice haunts Josh’s dreams. “We were—well—there was a popping noise while he was still inside me, and everything got hot and wet different from lube, you know, and I looked down and there was blood everywhere. And then he started screaming.”

Yeah, that sounds pretty fractured. Poor Big Dick Eric.

“Oh-kay, sir,” Josh replies, “Well, I am dispatching help to you right now. While you wait, you should try to treat the afflicted area with ice—“

“—Already on it,” Buck replies, harried, and Josh can hear him roughly digging ice out of a freezer, he thinks.

“Great. Help will be there soon, Buck,” Josh confirms, and then the shoveling sound stops briefly.

“Josh?”

“Yup,” Josh replies.

“Of course, God—hey, please don’t tell Maddie about this one, please? I’ve already traumatized her so much.”

Josh sighs, and professionalism be damned, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Buck, I won’t tell Maddie, but I’m absolutely telling all of Gay Los Angeles to steer clear from you until whatever sex curse you’re dealing with is fixed”

Buck hums sadly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Josh listens to him return to Big Dick Eric’s side, equal parts miserable and beguiled at the soft, direct way Buck offers a baggie of ice to a wailing Big Dick Eric. He finds himself feeling bad, though he’s not sure who for. All parties involved, maybe. Himself especially.

Despite all his years as a dispatcher, he still ends the call with a migraine.

PLUS ONE

“I think,” Maddie had said between several sips of decaf, halfway through their shift, tone light and bubbly, “that they might get back together. They’ve been talking.”

“‘Talking,’ huh?” Josh had replied, shutting his locker. “God, I hope so. Spare the rest of Los Angeles from whatever in the Grey’s Anatomy that’s become your brother’s life.

The look Maddie had given him, six months pregnant, patience thin, emotionally volatile and absolutely not amused, shut him up immediately.

That was hours ago. Seventeen calls ago. Their shift ends as the sun starts rising outside their windowless floor. Josh shrugs his jacket on thinking about the Egg McMuffin he’s going to get before he returns home and passes out in a sodium coma for approximately seven hours. Maybe he’ll dig through the graveyard of Trader Joe’s meals in his freezer to get the frozen bottle of Absolut that sits in back and make himself a Screwdriver to wash it down with.

“Plans for the rest of your day?” He turns to Maddie, only to find her distracted and scrolling through her phone.

“Sorry, I—I have like, several texts and five voicemails from Evan and I’m trying to read the transcripts first,” she says, brow knitting together with worrying familiarity. “Let’s see, it sounds like—oh. Oh. Oh wow.”

Josh commendably does not scream. “What now?”

She turns the phone to him, expanding the first message.

Hi Maddie, it’s Tommy. We’re—me and Evan—are headed to the ER. Nothing huge, just thought you should know, he said you had plans tomorrow. He kind of got carried away tonight, and, you know what? Doesn’t matter. Not a big deal. He’s having a little trouble speaking right now, but wanted me to call you so you don’t worry.

“What,” Josh says.

She thumbs open the transcript for the next voicemail.

Hey, Maddie. Tommy again. Buck’s voice is still out of commission. He, uh. It sounds like he ruptured his airway. He’s being given the good drugs, but will not be able to meet you tomorrow, and is definitely going to be on a text-only basis for at least a week. At the very least it isn’t bad enough for him to need surgery, so we’re getting discharged soon. I’ve got him for now, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the next couple of days while we’re off. Feel free to give me a call or swing by if you have any questions.

“Did he really—?”

“Yup, yes he did,” Maddie says, swiping over to her texts to open up a selfie from Buck, looking smug and high as a kite while reclining in a hospital bed.

“Jesus, how big is Tommy,” Josh says, before he can stop himself.

“At a certain point it just has to be uncomfortable for everyone involved, right?” Maddie frowns down at the picture of Buck grinning back up at her from her phone.

Josh sighs. “They really found love in a hopeless place. I think this is one of those situations where two people belong together, if only for the public safety of everyone else.”

“I just hope it sticks this time.”

“If it doesn’t, I might just have to quit my job,” Josh says. “Anyway, tell them congratulations for me. I’m going to go drink celebratory screwdrivers until I pass out.”

Maddie’s nose wrinkles and she turns her pout on him, one hand moving to her stomach. “You’re a cruel man, Josh Russo.”

His looks down at the phone she still holds with the other pointedly. “I think you and I both know I could be much, much worse.”

#bucktommy #911 abc #delaney writes

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