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whore-ibly-hot · 4 months ago

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THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR @yanderereblogs THE FACULTY HAVE BEEN FOYND AND RETURNED TO US! PRAISE BE TO REBLOGGERS, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARCHIVISTS!

Yandere Boarding School Part 2, (Faculty)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, smoking, horny posting.

(AN: Part Two has been reuploaded after a takedown, godspeed @yanderereblogs for saving it! Mmmmmm, old men. Everyone pictured as a student is OF LEGAL AGE TUMBLR MODS HOP OFF MY DICK.

Background: Thinking about a Headmasters Son or Daughter!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Ridgemoore Academy being an all male school, this makes it easier to imagine a world where reader is allowed in the school. Now, let's focus on the faculty...

◇ Mr. Joel Murphy, who teaches the majority of the 'life skills' classes at the school. The school being all-boys is very traditional, and teaches things like game hunting and orienteering, which is why they hired a manly-man like Joel. If only they knew what a bitter grump he is. An ex-sheriff of the nearby town, he decided to leave the force after realizing there was no real crime in the small, privileged town, and decided to take up an easy job at the school. Unfortunately, he realized his love for camping and hunting is warped into what he considers 'frilly shit for rich little boys'. He's gruff, barking out orders and easily been exasperated at the sheer incompetence of the boys.

"Shoot one quail, and these boys act like they killed a bear..."

He thought about retiring from yet another job, as living on the ritzy campus just doesn't feel like home to him, and lord knows he's not fond of his job. However, things change when you arrive. Whether you're a delinquent or a little more sweet and obedient, he likes you. If you're a delinquent, he likes seeing a little hell-raiser kick up some shit at the fancy school. If you're sweet or shy, he gets protective. Nice youngins' like you shouldn't be thrown in amongst these spoiled weasels.

He's sure to help you if you need it, a gentle hand on your back as his burly chest presses against your shoulder blades, adjusting your position against the butt of a rifle. Standing by while you're on hands and knees trying to light a fire, making sure none of the boys are trying to get a look at your assessts. Not that he isn't going to, but he justifies it to himself as just making sure your school shorts/skirt is regulation. He's protecting your modesty. After class hours, come to him with any issues, or shit, even his room. He'll put on some coffee and ask you to help him create a curriculum that 'reaches the kids', as your father instructed him to. It's cozy, the fancy school adnorments thrown away for medals and plaques, national parks posters and a few old family photos. He'll keep you tucked in on his warm couch while he strays from curriculum talk to stories of his time in the scouts and on the force. Tells you about how much he loves just... laying out under the stars with somebody special, to sit around a campfire with friends, then slyly ask is you've ever had somebody to do that with. He knows you're younger than him, and he struggles with the idea that you won't want him cause of it, so for now, he'll bask in the feeling of seeing you curled up in his room, keeping the idea of picking you up and having you accept his cock to himself. If you can get pregnant, his fists his cock to the thought of that too. He's not some horned up boy, he wants you in the long term.

He looooooves the yearly orienteering final, in which the students in the class are made to go on an actual camping trip. It's possible a tent will 'accidentally' go missing, leaving you to bunk with him. Don't worry, nothing bads gonna happen while you've got this burly bear of a man practically spooning you, warm gut from his dad-bod pressed against you as he tries his best to make sure he doesn't scare you.

"Sorry those damn boys left your tent back at the school, kiddo. I... wouldn't be suprised of one of them did it on purpose, little bastards." He grumbles, hoping you'll take the hint to separate yourself from those immature preps and stick to being with a man who can treat you right. "Remember that lesson from a couple weeks ago, on body heat? I know it's awkward, but we've only got one sleeping bag. You feel like you can trust this old man to keep you warm?" Unfortunately for his ego and trying to keep down his urges, the trees aren't going to be the only wood in the morning.

◇ Mr. Paul Burton, head of the arts department. He's so over this, a once decent artist who dabbled in pop art and theatre only to stop getting gigs and be black-listed after offending several more famous artists, calling their work 'sell-out chic', he's now a burn-out who smokes and ignores his students all class. He's passionate about art, but frankly he doesn't want tow aste his time teaching when he knows these rats are taking his class for easy credit. He's only teaching here to utilize the facilities and studios so he's not living in a van in the Walmart parking lot. A mix of hippie culture, live and let live and cynical burnout, he's so. Fucking. Done. But... maybe you change that for him.

You're interesting, a headmasters child who doesn't fit in to your fathers perfect mold? Maybe a rebellious student who goes against the grain of this perfect school. Or a blooming ray of sunshine in this dark den of privilege and conformist curriculum for the future lawyers of the world. Either way, he's found a new muse. See him after class.

He'll be thrilled if you're into art, let him guide you. Tell him your favorite artists and he'll tell you when he threw up on there shoes by accident in his hey-day. Gossip about a student you don't like, he'll listen while he smokes and tell you about how that guys mom hit on him. He loves to gossip, but he loves to watch you create more. The way your hands shape a vase or brush across a canvas light a fire in him he hasn't felt in a while. He's more willing to forgo the age gap between you, while it's never something he considered before, he knows he's not gonna let go of the one thing that makes him feel like he lives again. Besides, he's always been unconventional.

He'll have you stay after class, maybe he'll have you pose nude for a painting, assuring you it's fins, it's platonic, it's just for the love of art. He chooses and extra large canvas, it lets him paint while he relieves himself as you explain you're getting cold. He'll put on some artsy, silent, black and white film from the 30s, and while you watch and slowly realize it's pornographic, He'll grin to himself while he watches you flush. He'll ask you all sorts of questions about your thoughts on the film, the actors, what they're doing. He really wants to figure out how experienced you are. "What do you think of the composition? It's really carnal, you know?" He puts out his cigarette. "I'm glad I can show this to you, you'll actually appreciate it. You're not giggling like an idiot when some guys penis is out on the screen." He groans, thinking of his other students.

He does actually like one student, though they make an odd pair. Joseph's easily spooked and shy personality clashes with the brash older man's, but he's glad to have someone he can think of as a protege. Someone who loves art as much as him, but get isolated for it. He was doing a portfolio look over when Joseph accidentally turned in the wrong folder. Joseph feels like he might die as Mr. Burton, a man he admires, flips through nude pictures of the object of his affection, and at a distance no less. A part of him wants to rip it away, but he needs this scholarship.

"Please, please, sir! I-I'll never do it again, it was just a phase, I didn't mean for you to see-"

"They're good." Mr. Burton flips through the folder. "Real good. You could really get somewhere with these, maybe not in the fine art scene, but... tell you what." He adjusts his glasses and leans forward on his desk. "We'll do a special session, you and me, yeah? I'll get your friend here, and I'll vouch for your integrity so you can take some less-" he purses his lips. "Stalker-ish pics- Jesus, kid, is that taken from a tree?"

☆ Anatoli Sidorov, probably the best paid staff given how they got him here. He's a Russian coach for a former Olympic Russian swim team, and he joined the prestigious American school to escape shame after he 'resigned' post a doping scandal which he swears he wasn't involved in. (Whether he was or not is your choice.) Still, he's led the boys swim team and track team to nationals several times, and he's a legend among the wealthy benefactors of the school. He's outwardly very serious, hard on his team but respectful of them. He doesn't put up with any unruly or unsportsmanlike behavior from his boys, at least not what he can see. He's very nice deep down, intellectual and funny, though he still struggles with American humor and English.

He adores you when he meets you, milking about with the other students before class. You seem genuinely social, and wanting to fit in. The idea someone could be so welcoming warms his heart. Deep down, he misses his home, and he misses the friends he once had. You're warm, and he likes that. Not to mention, you're a looker. He's embarrassed, especially if you're male, seeing as he never considered swinging the other way, and much less with someone younger. But he can't help but stare when your pretty tits bounce as you run, or the way those jogging shorts hardly conceal your bulge. He even pulled you to the side one to scold you for not wearing regulation gym clothes, before realizing they were and awkwardly sending you back into class. That was a moment of self-reflection for him.

He's not necessarily outwardly softer to you, you might even think he doesn't like you, given that he has you stay late to run or jump rope, or constantly pulls you into time out mid-game. It's all for your own good, trust him. He doesn't like the way some of the boys were looking at you, and he could tell Evan was a only a play away from trying to practically hump you while trying to 'get the ball'. He's made Harrison, who he loves as a player, run laps for talking to you for only a few minutes. He hates feeling like a jealous boy, but he can't help it. You make him feel young.

He establishes a private locker room area for you, since you're the headmasters kid and not an official student. Besides, you're clearly being harassed by the others! So, he's got a nice little closet for you, with a not suspicious air freshener that's not a hidden camera, and a private key only you have access to. (Technically that's true, he just has a bypass key for himself.) He'll snatch a pair of boxers or some panties, slipping them into his track coat for later. Eventually, he'll tell you he's worried you aren't able to catch up to the others, given that you arrived later and started the gym curriculum later than the others. He'll start having extra 'make-up' workouts with you, starting with stretching. One leg uo on the bar, you'll have to excuses his cold hand running along your thigh, or stroking over your chest as him just admiring how your strength and flexibility is evolving. He relishes the feeling of your body on his, groping you under the guise of training and resisting the urge to just slip aside your gym shorts and veg you to take him.

"Little star, part 'dem a little, there ve go." He keeps your legs parted as he works you into a position on your back, against the rubber mats the tumbling team had laid out. He lays just over you, pushing your legs back a little further with his arms, just far away enough to keep you from noticing his hard on, but enough to lightly press it against the plush swell of your ass. Good, let's just- fuck- hold. Let's hold."

☆ Kory Koffman, English teacher and part time librarian! The school outs so much effort into sports, both admin and students seem to forget about him. Hell, the library is used so little they fired the librarian, and he took it upon himself to try and care for the building himself. He's a sweet, shy man, who just wants to share his passion for literature with others. However, unlike Mr. Burton, he was never popular or famous, so he's content to keep to himself, but the loneliness does get to him.

When you wandered into his library one day, maybe looking for a book or seeking refuge from a hoarde ofadmirers, he was happy to welcome you into his little safe haven. He'll give you some warm tea from the little coffee machine he has set up, and sit you down. Let him help you find a book, or tell you about his creative writing class? He'd let you join, even late in the semester! It's not a very full class.

For the first time in his life, he finds himself craving the attention of another, of someone else's company, other than his books. He hasn't felt that need for connection since he was a boy, after his momma passed. He'll do anything to keep you there, and if reading isn't your thing, much to his chagrin, he'll add a DVD section to the library, but only good films and classic for you! No Adam Sandler, those movies are to overstimulating for poor Mr. Koffman.

As his feelings turn romantic, he's ashamed. You're a student, and he's a lonely old man, you deserve someone better, someone your age. However, the thought of you being with any of the many students who mock him in the halls or disrupt his class, the thought of hand you over to those-those imbeciles, hurts him. He wants you, and he's ashamed at the way his trousers go tight when you bend over to get a fallen book, or when you hand him his glasses after he misplaced them (again), the fact he just stares at your finger prints for awhile and refuses to clean the lens. He's not had sex in a long, long time, but he finds himself masturbating more than he ever did when he was younger. He'll watch library security footage openly, moaning and whimpering at his desk with no fear anybody will stop in, no one ever does but you. He wants you as his spouse, you already make his library, his home away from home seem brighter, imagine what you could do for his actual apartment.

"Oh, hello! It's good to see you, it's been a bit." He's a little bitter at that last statement, but adjusts his glasses and continues. "Just remember to stop by often, okay? I'd really, really hate to impose the late policy on you..."

☆ Atticus Critch, the schools latin instructor and head sponsor of student body, (not to mention the man in charge of detention), is a strict disciplinarian. He takes no nonsense from anyone, and despises the behavioral pardons given to boys like Evan or Harrison simply because they are athletes. Peter is obviously his favorite, and when he catches wind of the ways the boys around campus are speaking about you, he decides to take it upon himself to remove the distraction, by having Carter trail you and give you detention for minor inconveniences. Carter isn't particularly thrilled at always having to send you to detention instead of extorting you to get his rocks off, but he's hoping maybe he'll get to 'monitor' detention one of these days.

Initially, Mr. Critch has you doing small tasks, writing lines or organizing things, but soon he starts to see the appeal. If you're a good student for the most part, he's determined to keep you good, and away from all the vermin in this school. If you're bad, he's had plenty of experience in taming brats. He's open with his sexual desires, it his growing affection for you that makes him struggle.

If you've stayed out too late and broke curfew, you can spend detention on your knees, suckling his cock into the late hours. Maybe you've been running around with Tyler. He'll make you lay down on his desk and deny you your climax over and over again, asking 'if not making you cum' is what that boy does to you, never fully satisfying you. He'll make you beg to finish, and to promise you'll be good from now on.

"Come on, repeat it. Tell me you'll be good now, that you won't bother with BOYS-" He annuciates with a thrust, "When you have a man right here, whose willing to take time out of his day to discipline you!" One the amorous session is over though, he definitely softens, trying to prove he's more than a boy in many ways, including good aftercare. He'll dress your limp form back up in your uniform and walk you get you a cup of water from the fountain. "Only ten minutes till your detention is over, dear. Just sit there, take some time to reflect on how you got here." His tone is demeaning, but as he pets your scalp, his touch is so feather-light. Don't expect is to last into the next day though.

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contact-guy · 22 days ago

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📚Watson's Sketchbook PREORDER!📚

Hello! In response to ~unprecedented levels of demand~ for print versions of Watson's Sketchbook Volume 1, I'm doing another print run, and will be opening preorders here on MONDAY, NOVEMBER 11, at 9:00am PST/12:00 noon EST/5:00pm GMT.

DETAILS:

-This run is much larger than the two previous ones, but still limited, so being prompt is a good idea. Last time it sold out in 2 minutes, I do not think that will happen this time, but...early bird, etc.

-They will take a bit longer to arrive than previous orders, but should arrive for everyone by the end of January 2025, print- and shipping-gods willing. Thanks in advance for your patience, as I'm working with a small press printer and a small local distributor.

-If your address changes before the book ships, you can always send a message to the shop to update it. In general, any messages or questions about shipping should be sent there rather than by reaching out to me on here.

-I'm really hoping this run is large enough so that everyone who wants one can get it! Thank you always for your support of this ridiculous project that has consumed my life (positive) and for your support of independent art and queer art!

#sherlock holmes #watsons sketchbook #acd holmes #my art #comics

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eff4freddie · 2 days ago

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Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

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nanenna · 21 days ago

Text

Meeting the Mayor

Sleepy King Master Post

Mayor Masters had left their little group waiting for far too long. It was clearly a power move, something Batman expected of someone like Lex Luthor, not the mayor of a small town that had been all but swallowed up by the nearby larger city. It was so predictable that he even started a mental countdown on when they would be allowed to meet Masters. He was, of course, right.

On entering the mayor’s office, Masters was sitting behind his desk, an oily smile spread across his face. He didn’t even stand to greet them. “Good afternoon, it’s not every day…” Masters trailed off as his face scrunched up. “Strawberry shortcake! Did some youths play a prank on you?”

Batman glanced briefly towards his fellow League members, they looked just as confused as he was. Diana squared her shoulders, “What do you mean?”

“You don’t…” Masters frowned as he looked them over, “Nevermind, my mistake. What did you want to discuss?” The man smiled brightly as he leaned over and pressed a button on a small desk fan, the blades whirred to life.

Diana smiled just as brightly and just as fakely as she sat down in front of his desk. “We’re here to make sure you’re aware of the resources the Justice League has made available to any municipal body.”

Constantine took his cue and lounged in the chair next to Diana while Batman chose to loom over her shoulder.

“Resources?” Masters asked with a raised brow.

“Yes, we understand that attacks on a “super villain” level can leave a lot of collateral damage that smaller cities may struggle to repair, especially those that haven’t had to deal with such things before. The Justice League provides aid to anyone who applies.”

“Ah, how generous!” Masters gave a smile that made Batman’s skin crawl. “But I’m sure even you have limited funds, would not they be better left to those truly in need? As you’ve seen, our little town is doing just fine without your help.”

“And how is that?” Batman asked. “There’ve been reports of numerous attacks over the last two years, where is Amity Park getting the resources to repair the damage?”

“Believe it or not, ghosts are incorporeal and thus don’t cause as much collateral damage. Also, the appearance of ghosts has caused a spike in tourists, which has been quite the boost to our economy. And lastly, as the mayor is it not my civic duty to support my town, which I love so dearly? Of course I’ve been supplementing Amity’s budget, and I’ve been making sure to hire only local businesses to keep Amity Park’s money inside Amity Park.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. He chose not to mention that Vlad had only moved to Amity Park shortly before running for mayor, or that he had bought and combined a few local construction companies and has been using them exclusively. Certainly everything about the man was suspicious, but that wasn’t what they were here to talk about. Instead he pulled several pamphlets from his utility belt. “While you’ve been lucky so far, it would be in your best interests to be fully aware of the resources available to you and your fine town in case something larger scale happens.” Not that it hadn’t already, he couldn’t imagine anything larger scale than the entire town and neighboring city getting pulled into another dimension by an undead tyrant king.

While Batman and Diana painstakingly went over the pamphlets with Masters, who’s smile wilted more and more the longer they took, Constantine kept muttering under his breath and making motions with his hands where Masters couldn’t see them, staring intensely at the mayor the whole time. Batman was curious what he was seeing.

The wall suddenly burst, small bits of plaster and wood showering over Masters and the cape Batman had used to shield himself and his fellow League members.

“Vladdie!” A familiar voice called boisterously, “You won’t believe what happened! Oh, I didn’t know you had guests.”

Masters was brushing debris from his person as he spoke with clear disdain, “Yes, well, if you would use the door as. I’ve. Asked! Numerous time. This whole situation could be avoided.”

“Hello again,” Dr. Jack Fenton said cheerfully with a little wave. “What are you doing visiting Vladdie?”

“We were just ensuring Mayor Masters was aware of all the JL resources available to him,” Batman said as he let his cap fall back around his body.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Diana said brightly. “We also have support available for minors doing hero work, you wouldn’t happen to be able to get in contact with Phantom, would you?”

Dr. Madeline Fenton, along with both their children, approached as Diana asked her question. Masters’s eyes trailed over to the group before focusing back on the League members. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s a ghost, you know. Likely he spends most of his time in the Ghost Zone, only comes here to play around with his ghost friends and cause collateral damage.”

“Hey!” Danny said indignantly. “Phantom is a hero who’s working really hard to keep the town safe!”

“Yes yes,” Masters said while waving his hand at the family. “I know you and all your little friends think Phantom hung the moon and stars. Wait, shouldn’t you two be at school?”

“There was an incident,” Jack said proudly.

Masters sighed, “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with these fine people, would it?” He waved at the League members as he spoke.

“Good guess, Vladdie!”

“I thought so.” Masters swept the pamphlets into his desk drawer. “Well thank you very much for your concern, I shall make sure to keep these in case we ever do need assistance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to contact someone about repairing my wall. Have a lovely day.” Masters stood and simply walked through the busted wall with the Fenton family.

Batman watched them leave through narrowed eyes.

“Not the oddest town I’ve been in,” Diana remarked thoughtfully.

Batman simply turned to look in Constantine’s direction.

“The mayor is also dead as a doornail, but fully alive.”

“He also clearly smelled your demon blood,” Batman added.

Constantine nodded. “I'm getting all kinds of odd readings off the mayor, no I'm not explaining it. Just know he's weird, but still not as weird as the kid, though he's close."

"Should we not follow them?" Diana asked.

"I put trackers and bugs on all of them," Batman replied.

"'Course you did, mate."

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dc comics #justice league #fanfic #nenna writes #fanfiction #sleepy king #i honestly have no idea what the endgame is #i'm pantseating this bitch!#no editing we die like danny

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benevolentbones · 5 months ago

Note

Part two to the clumsy au?

clumsy | spencer reid x reader part 2

part 1 | part 3

warnings: clumsiness (obviously) just fluff

word count: 1.2k

a/n: thank you for your support on part 1! i hope you enjoy<3 maybe i’ll write a part 3!

spencer released his hold on you, making sure you had your footing before the two of you scrambled onto the jet. everyone was seated for takeoff so you quickly plopped yourself down on the couch, spencer taking a seat beside you.

the flight was around three and a half hours give or take, and as the team were already fully briefed, there was no work to be done on the plane. spencer pulled out a book from his to go bag and began scanning the pages.

you took this as an opportunity to get some well needed sleep, you shifted your position on the couch, kicking off your shoes and stretching your legs over spencer’s lap. the hazel eyed man didn’t even flinch, he turned another page in his book before letting his hand rest against your calf.

you cuddled down into the couch, hooking one of the cushions under your arm and within five minutes you were out like a light.

spencer continued flicking through his book, every so often casting his hazel eyes on your sleeping form as you stirred slightly.

you shifted in your sleep, adjusting your position so that now your feet were once where your head was, and your head rested gently against spencer’s lap.

how you managed to do this and not wake up was beyond spencer.

“i need to get a picture of this.” morgan chuckled out, the tall male now standing in front of the couch with his phone in hand.

spencer had migrated his arm to rest on your shoulder, in a protective manner, his book still secure in his other hand.

his eyes met with derek and he gave the older man a sarcastic smile.

“don’t worry pretty boy, i’ll send it to you.” he winked before snapping a photo and shuffling to the other end of the jet.

once the plane landed you began to wake up, rubbing your eyes to escape the sleep, spencer was still at your side and he shot you a small smile, closing his book.

“good morning sleeping beauty, ready to do some work?” you heard derek call out from across the jet, as the team began to assemble their respective belongings before exiting the plane.

your cheeks flushed as you got up, slipping your shoes back on.

“thanks for letting me sleep on you, you’re very comfortable.”

“was no problem.” spencer replied, walking out of the jet.

it was cold. that’s all you could think about as the team worked into the night. everyone had set up in the local police station, running through case files and attempting to put a profile together for the unsub.

hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowing as he scanned page after page. it was nearing one in the morning and he could tell the team was starting to lose focus.

“alright, let’s head to the hotel. we can resume in the morning.” he announced, earning nods from everyone.

the team piled into a car which drove to the nearest hotel, hotch handed out keycards to the rooms and everyone said their goodnights.

you shuffled down the hall, to go bag slung over your shoulder with spencer following beside you.

derek was about ten doors down and emily, hotch and jj were one floor up. and as it turned out, spencer and you were one room apart.

spencer came to a stop outside his door, leaning against the wooden frame as you stumbled with your keycard.

“i’ll see you in the morning, y/n. sleep well.” he mumbled in a hushed tone as to not wake up people in nearby rooms.

“night spence.” you whispered back, finally pushing your door open and walking into your room.

spencer ran a hand through his dark locks, letting out a small sigh before retreating into his room.

you adjusted the bag strap on your shoulder, looking around the room. it was nice, there was a double bed positioned in the centre of the room, the oakwood headboard pressed snug against the wallpaper. there was a small desk to the right which was made of the same wood as the bed frame, and a tv mounted on the wall.

there was another door to your right, which you assumed to be the bathroom.

“mm a shower would be great right now.” you mumbled to yourself, walking into the bathroom. you switched the light on, dropping your to go bag at your feet and turned on the shower to let the water heat up.

spencer had collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. in all honesty, he missed you. he enjoyed being around you, he liked that you felt comfortable enough around him to sleep on him during the flight. and in the last few weeks of knowing you, he had fallen for you.

he shook the thoughts of you from his mind, rolling over in his bed attempting to get some sleep. he was just drifting off until rhythmic knocking caught his attention.

spencer sat up, running a hand over his face before ambling over to the door. the door creaked open, revealing no other than you.

you muttered out a small “hi” folding your arms around your torso. you were drenched, head to toe, still in your clothes from earlier. your shirt practically stuck to your skin, droplets of water hung from your face.

“y/n- what happened?” concern lacing spencer’s voice.

“the pipe broke…in the shower.” you paused running a hand through your wet hair. “all the towels and my bag- got wet.” you gave him an awkward smile, rocking back and forth on your feet.

without another word spencer ushered you into his hotel room, you stood in the doorway as you watched him get a fresh towel from the bathroom.

you had never seen him look so, casual, but then again he was wearing his pyjamas. these consisted of a plain black tshirt and grey sweatpants.

“here, you can go into the bathroom and dry off, i’ll give you something to wear.” he mumbled, averting your gaze as he didn’t want to stare too long at how form fitting your clothes became when wet.

“thanks.”

spencer walked over to his bag, digging around for a spare set of anything you could wear. he opted for a rather baggy hoodie and his spare pj pants.

“i’m leaving them by the door, y/n. come out when you’re ready.” he affirmed, going back to sit on his bed.

a few minutes later you emerged from the bathroom, your hair was still a little damp and the hoodie came down to your mid thigh.

“sorry about all of this, i know i’m a bit of a handful.” you let out a shy chuckle, wandering over to spencer’s bed and taking a seat beside the taller man.

“no it’s no problem really… i actually like the hoodie on you.” he gave you a smile which made your face heat up.

“anyway…i don’t mean to be keeping you up so i’ll see you in the morning.” you mumbled out, beginning to stand up.

words flooded out of spencer’s mouth before he could even think.

“why don’t you stay here, with me?” immediately his face flushed a bright shade of pink. “or-like you can go it’s- you don’t have to.”

a small giggle escaped your lips, you placed a hand on spencer’s forearm.

“i’d like that spence.”

taglist: @0108s22m

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

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bigsoupspoon · 1 year ago

Text

A Safe Respite

Summary: You take Astarion on a private evening date to a bath house inside of Baldurs Gate.

Pairing: Astarion x Afab Reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut, minor angst, bathing,

Word Count: 2300 approx.

Rating: 18+ - If you are under 18 please do not read.

The day had been difficult and dangerous, multiple citizens abruptly transforming into mindflayers and the Absolute cultists posing a threat everywhere they go, not to mention attempts to infiltrate Baldur’s Gate for leads to destroy the Elder Brain. By the time sunset came, you and your companions were all accounted for back at camp, and decided to start the night with a celebration of the victories earned thus far.

“I think we all deserve a little fun after today’s tiresome events, there’s a tavern close by I used to visit from time to time. They make the best honeyed mead in the Gate.” Wyll promptly suggests.

“Aye, I second that suggestion.” Agreed Halsin, already nearly finishing a bottle of wine.

“Are you coming?” Shadowheart nudges, hoping you would join.

“Although that does sound fun, I actually have something else for the two of us planned for the evening,” You reply, now looking at Astarion, “Unless you’d prefer the tavern of course?”

“A private rendezvous planned by my lover? How could I ever say no.” Astarion gushed coyly.

The group collectively threw you several looks that implied “Have fun,” and with that, you took Astarion’s hand and walked up towards the bustling streets of the city.

* * * * * * * * * *

You make your way to the local bath house, one you had seen earlier in the week and decided to pay a visit to soon. The same clerk is working who recognises you from your interaction just hours before.

“Everything you had requested has been organised, I hope the room is to your liking.” They smile, and lead you around the corner to a private room.

The scent of the lavender oil bath embraces your noses as you walk into the room. It is dimly lit, containing multiple candles surrounding a circular wooden tub in the centre, filled with freshly drawn warm water. Leafy vines have grown to obscure the windows and further around the roof and sides of the room, some of the smaller fronds hanging down with flowering buds beginning to grow. Your specific request of wine and fruits was dutifully fulfilled, as they sit on a small table placed next to the tub for easy reaching.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion says.

“I wanted some space just for us, someplace where we could take it easy for the night.” You reply.

“Well, how thoughtful of you, my dear.”

You take Astarion’s hand, and lead him into the room, and begin the remove your clothes and then his. He seems pleasantly surprised by your offer to remove his clothes for him, but lets you do so anyway. He helps you into the tub first, supporting you as you take your first step into the water, and he follows a second after. You’re sat next to him, getting used to the warmth of the water for a few moments. You then begin to pour two goblets of wine when you feel his eyes watching you.

“Come here, my sweet.” Astarion invites, as his hands find your hips and pull you towards the front of him, so you are placed on his lap, your inner thighs caressing the outsides of his.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to seduce me with all of this.” he teases.

“There’s actually something I’d like to do first, if that’s alright.” You poke back.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” You ask, eyes searching his for consent.

“Darling,” he coos, “I thought you’d never ask.”

You lean into Astarion closely, chests warmly pressed together, feeling his nose gently scrape the side of your neck, your arm outstretched to grab the cloth on the small table behind him, and dip it in the warm water of the tub. Once it is soaked through, you gently wipe it across his collarbones, swiping away any grime and blood brought on by the earlier events of the day. You tenderly move down his body, cleansing his chest and stomach, then proceeding to his arms and hands.

Astarion stares at you with a small, soft smile across his lips, watching you clean him, take care of him. His eyes softly caress your face, carefully taking in the moment of peace and safety, something that he wasn’t familiar with, but had longingly ached for.

Resting the cloth on the side of the tub, you check in with him again.

“How does this feel, my love?” you ask Astarion.

He initially smiles at you, but then his face becomes serious, it takes but a second for him to search his memories for a time where he was able to feel this kind of security.

“I can’t remember a time where I felt this kind of….intimacy. Its nice.” He answers honestly.

“Close your eyes, alright?” You ask.

You pick up the cloth again, gently swiping across his face, removing the last of the dirt and blood. Astarion’s eyes are softly closed, he basks in the moment as he can feel his skin being cleaned. He tenses in the beginning, his forehead creasing ever so slightly, he’s not used to this kind of gentle touch, but after a minute or so his breathing slows and deepens, relaxing into your touch as the safety of you embraces him fully.

Once his face has been cleansed, you place a small and delicate kiss on his cheek. Astarion turns his face towards you until his lips graze yours, staying in this moment for just a minute more. His hand caresses the back of your neck, prompting you to stay there. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and for those few seconds, everything else in the world fades away.

Your head spins lightly when you eventually pull away, cheeks warm and rosy, it seems Astarion feels the same way too. He rests his forehead against yours and places his hands on the small of your back.

It’s a peaceful and pure moment between the two of you, simply enjoying the quiet company of each other, a brief respite. The only sounds are your soft breaths and faint music from a tavern playing off in the distance.

“Allow me,” he gently takes the cloth and douses it in the tub, and returns your actions of cleaning him down. Astarion is careful to brush over the healing marks on your neck from his fangs the night before. He leans in and gingerly kisses the area of your neck where he last tasted you.

Your breath hitches as his teeth gently graze the sensitive area on your neck. Taking advantage of your small moment of bliss, Astarion begins to swipe the cloth across your chest and breasts, cradling them in his hands as he continues to clean you.

“This was supposed to be a night for me to take care of you, not the other way around,” you breathily confess.

“Seems like you enjoy being taken care of this way too, don’t you think, darling?” he smugly asks.

You push away his hands and place them back on your waist as you begin to trail small kisses from his shoulder up to his neck, gently massaging his chest while you do so.

Astarion lets out a small moan into your ear, quiet enough you barely hear it. Your planned priority was his sole pleasure and security, allowing him to feel safety and love as he deserves.

You pause for a moment and begin to work your way to the other side, giving equal attention to the other side of his neck. He firmly places his hands around your lower back, giving into his growing enjoyment.

“Love, although I’m loving this attention from you, we can take care of each other, you know. This doesn’t have to be about just me.” He takes your chin softly so you’re looking directly at him, and pulls you into another deep kiss. You can feel his smirk as you give into him, allowing him to kiss you more passionately than before, as his arms caress around your back, one hand nestled in your hair. He gently tugs at your scalp, pulling you out of the kiss for just a moment.

“I love you.” He whispers delicately, his pupils blown and cheeks lightly flushed.

“And I love you.” You return. He pulls you into a passionate kiss again, growing hungrier the more time passes by. You can begin to feel him grow between your thighs, so you take one hand and caress him ever so gently, encouraging him further.

Astarion lets out another small moan, more audible this time, and places his hands on your breasts again, gently swiping each nipple with this thumbs, making you moan in return. His expert fingers graze you ever so softly, then applies a gentle pressure, causing you grow aroused along with him.

His hands slither down your stomach and around your waist, firmly squeezing your behind before one hand comes back around the front to touch you more intimately. He drags his thumb slowly up your slit, even underwater he can feel your wetness starting to grow. He swipes up again, causing you to moan into the kiss, he reciprocates the moan as you rub your thumb across the top of his hardening member. You stroke him more firmly now, as he does unto you, eliciting filthy sounds from one another.

“I want more,” You breathily request.

“Only if you say ‘please’, my love.” He cheekily demands.

“Please,” You urge him. Satisfied with your instant compliance, Astarion gently pushes one finger inside of you, and begins to rhythmically pump his hand, while the other holds your waist still. You both spend several minutes like this, exploring each other’s body, teasing one another while yours and his lips remain deliciously connected.

Astarion reaches under your thighs, lifting you slightly out of water and gently onto your knees. Your cunt grazes his tip lightly, you balance yourself with your arms placed across his shoulders, crossing them over behind his neck.

“Are you sure want this, love?” Astarion asks, his lips barely leaving yours.

“Of course, baby.” You reply, your mouth leaves his for just a second.

As you slowly sink down onto him, both expelling a series of lustful sounds, you take a moment to adjust to his size. Astarion’s arms curl around your body, holding you as close to him as possible, his kisses grow more intense as he starts to tenderly thrust up into you. Wanting to reciprocate the movement, you lightly bounce on him, causing the tub water to steadily ripple.

You quickly become lost in one another, feeling nothing else but pure pleasure, love filling you both to the brim. He fits you so exquisitely, and he knows it, delicately and lovingly ruining you, over and over again.

The water begins to splash slightly over the edge of the tub the more you both continue, although neither of you notice, as the two of you are entangled with one another, as one connected entity.

The warm tingle in your stomach climbs higher, and your head swings back in reaction. Astarion takes advantage of the exposed flesh of your neck and kisses it, periodically sucking the skin leaving you sure there will be love marks come morning.

“Feed on me, please, I want you to bite me.” You beg, one hand entangled in his hair while the other grips his bicep.

“Are you sure, darling? It’ll hurt for just a second.” Astarion’s lips barely leave your neck as he speaks.

“Mhmm,” Pulling your hair to the side to expose more of your neck to him, granting him full access. Astarion needs no further encouragement, as he sinks his teeth into you, penetrating you for the second time.

It stings deliciously, the opposing mixture of the cold numbness shooting through your body, combining itself with the warmth of the fire between your thighs, you are overwhelmed by the simultaneous different sensations, causing your head to feel dizzy and your body to constrict.

Astarion removes his fangs and presses his forehead into your neck, no longer able to focus on drinking your blood and instead chasing his climax. His stifled moans exhilarate you, and you bounce a little harder, and a little faster, gripping his shoulders as you do so, feeling yourself about to come undone onto him.

His thrusts become sharp and jagged as he reaches his end, his hands gripping your waist so tight they’re bound to leave small round bruises where his fingertips applied so much pressure. The desperate noises Astarion makes are so sweet to yours ears, and are alone enough to bring you to the edge. You come undone around him, squeezing him tight as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. The sensation of you reaching climax around him sends shockwaves through his body a second time, rendering him utterly speechless, his brain only knowing the feeling of pleasure for that brief moment.

It takes a minute for you both to recover, the both of you have your arms coiled around the other. Astarion leans his head back as you rest yours on his shoulder, both you unevenly puffing, trying to catch your breath. He softly grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling you into a small kiss. After a moment, you pull away slightly, caressing his face and staring into his eyes. Astarion smiles back at you, he looks both relaxed and beautifully disheveled.

“My sweet, did you reserve this room just for the hour?” Astarion questions.

“No, I paid for the night.” You answer, breathing still uneven.

“Good,” He says softly, “Because I’m not quite finished with you yet, my love.”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion smut #astarion x fluff

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merakiui · 8 months ago

Text

RABU.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, brief nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, implied murder/death, implied cannibalism, pregnancy, obsession note - i chatted with @heyyy11 and we discussed noodle shop owner jade!! :D this fic is the result of our thoughts. additionally, it's inspired by maretu's "binomi" and lyrics featured are from mitski's "me and my husband."

i. i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute. and then i’ll be nothing forever. and all of my memories and all of the things i have seen will be gone. with my eyes, with my body, with me.

There’s a pot of perpetual stew sitting on the stove.

It fills the small shop with savory scents, enthralling all who catch its delicious aroma on the air. Your husband of twenty years tends to it every now and then, lifting the lid to stir through its contents with a large wooden spoon. Regulars stop by for a fix of his food and comment much the same thing each time: “That husband of yours sure loves his stew.”

“Oh, he can’t get enough,” you would always reply, giggling at their observations.

You would then scrawl their usual orders in your notepad and they’d give you a knowing look. Still so infatuated even though two decades have passed—aren’t you the sweetest? But you can’t help it. Your husband is everything: affectionate, attentive, a masterful chef…

His forever single twin brother often groused that Jade got all the good fortune. “Y’know, if you’re ever tired of Jade, I’m here for ya,” he’d say, leaning over the counter with a sleazy smirk. “Shrimpy’s free to visit whenever she wants. My arms are always open.”

And Jade would smile tightly at him, brush him away with his broom, all while saying, “I’m afraid the shop’s closed now. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, Floyd.”

He acts in jest. Mostly.

Shortly after your wedding, on your first night as newlyweds, the two of you made a compromise. Jade wanted a family; you weren’t ready to start one. And so, in order to work through this dispute, you came to an agreement: He would be in charge of the prep work for the noodle shop he intended to open—a metaphorical child more than anything. In return, you would take orders and chat with customers. A fair deal, one you thought was attractive in its own right. Jade, ever so patient and understanding, lounged beside you in bed, gesturing towards the ceiling as if attempting to spell out the vision before your very eyes. He spoke so eagerly of his dreams. It warmed your heart.

Naturally, just as passionately, you would support him in his every endeavor.

“What do you think of this name? Rabu Rabu Ramen.”

You rolled over on your side, snuggling closer. You couldn’t snuff the overwhelming elation and tenderness that wrapped itself around you whenever you looked at him. And he was all yours—your husband to love forever, to grow old with, to experience life’s highs and lows together. Your wedding night was just the beginning of what would surely be a riveting romance.

“It’s silly.”

“It’s lovey-dovey.”

“If you like it, I like it.”

“Truly?”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. ��Absolutely.”

It wasn’t long before fantasy bled into reality. The both of you found a quaint spot in a quiet neighborhood. It was more hole-in-the-wall than you would’ve liked, but Jade didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes tourists stumbled in, commenting that they would’ve missed it had they not ventured down the narrow path. Jade liked that aspect. It was secretive, peaceful, off the beaten track…

By the end of your first year running the shop, plenty of praise had spread throughout the neighborhood. You learned the locals’ names and faces quickly, committing each to your memory as if there might be an exam later on. They thought you were the cutest, the way you’d take charge of the front while your husband worked diligently in the back. Grandmothers adored you, and they made sure to point out the obvious at every opportunity.

“Omago-san, it’s too quiet in here! You’re still so young. Plenty of time for a family. Tell that husband of yours to get busy!”

You could only offer an awkward smile. “Maybe one day.”

When that ‘one day’ would be, you couldn’t say.

It’s become something of a widely-held belief that Jade can’t make a single bad dish. Everything on the menu is scrumptious. From the homemade noodles to the variety of broths to the additional ingredients, each prepared by Jade’s adroit hand, it’s a feast for the ravenous.

Sometimes customers ask for recommendations, and if you aren’t careful you’ll end up fawning over every dish.

“It’s all so amazing, but I like my ramen with bone broth. My husband makes it better than I do.”

It was true. You couldn’t possibly replicate Jade’s skill in the kitchen. At the very least, when it comes to tea, you’re on an even playing field.

“Just what’s his secret anyway?”

To that question, you could only offer a shrug. “Maybe it’s love?”

Jade told you it was a family recipe—a cherished secret passed through the generations. You thought he’d confess at some point now that you’ve been part of the family for so long, but he’s yet to do so. It hurt at first. You’re married! Family! Jade is smooth about the entire thing, promising to tell you one day, easing all of your worries with sugared sentiments. You’re impatient and oh-so-curious, but you force yourself to wait for his sake.

It must be a special secret.

The pot on the stove is an heirloom. It’s old, yet reliable and sturdy. Jade’s mother gifted it to him in the wake of your engagement. Sometimes you think he treasures it more than anything. He’s always hovering near it, having forbidden you from lifting the lid, lest you unintentionally tamper with whatever it is he’s cooking. It smells hearty like meat stew most days, and according to Jade the process is long.

You linger near the stove. A tiny taste wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, Jade cooks things in excess to cure what appears to be an interminable hunger.

But then someone pokes their head inside the shop, calling out a greeting. You move to the front just as Jade returns from the storage room, carrying a crate of vegetables. That taste will have to wait.

Detective Azul Ashengrotto lowers onto a stool at the counter and heaves an exhausted sigh.

“If it isn’t Azul! What brings you here? Tired of the big city?”

Weary hues flick over your face. He manages a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, (Name). You’re still as energetic as ever.”

“You know it. Every day’s sunny over here.” You rest your elbows on the counter and hum. “Although it’s been awfully slow today.”

“I envy you.” He lifts his hat off of his head to card a hand through tousled hair. Now that you’re looking at him, he seems to have lost some weight. His face is thinner. His eye sockets appear hollow, heavy with shadows. “They’re running me ragged over there. Too many cases. Not enough answers.”

“You ought to take better care of your health.”

“I am—will. I plan to as soon as I wrap up this current case.”

“What’s it about? If you can tell me, that is.”

“A young man went missing near the port. They think he might’ve fallen in and drowned. His wallet was brought up from the seabed, but they haven’t recovered his body yet.”

“How unfortunate… I’m sure his family’s distraught.”

Azul drags a hand down his face and sighs again. “A mess.”

“My, my. It’s been some time since I’ve heard that familiar sigh.”

Lowering his arm, Azul fixes him with a sardonic grin. “How kind of you to join us. I was starting to wonder where you were hiding.”

Jade hums and adjusts his bandana. “Forever confined to the kitchen. My wife is eating for two now.”

A minute ticks by before the realization flashes on Azul’s face. He looks between the both of you, stunned.

“Oh, you’ve—wow. I wasn’t expecting… Ahem. Congratulations.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s talking about his stomach. I’m not pregnant.”

Azul’s countenance shifts through a catalogue of emotions before landing on a scowl. “To think I actually believed you for a moment. I rescind my congratulations.”

“My poor hara, endlessly empty without your sweet sentiments to fill it.”

“And my hara is telling me that you’re going to starve our guest if you keep being silly.” Clicking your tongue at him, you turn your much softer stare on Azul. “The usual, right?”

“Oh, thank you, but I ate before I came. I only intended to stop in and say hello since I was in the area. I really should be leaving now that—”

“Nonsense! You’re already here and Jade has nothing better to do. You should go back on a full stomach.”

“Indeed. A delicious bowl of tonkotsu ramen has your name on it,” Jade adds from his place in the kitchen. “And I do so love busying these idle hands of mine. Should they remain idle, I fear the devil may just find work for them…”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You look so withered, Zuzu. You’ll feel better after a hot meal. I promise!”

The platonic affection twined through the nickname catches him by surprise. Huffing, his cheeks colored pink, he stuffs his hat on his head to veil the darkening blush. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll get started on tea.”

You weren’t going to give him much of a choice. Azul probably knows this by now, well-acquainted with your proclivity to play caretaker.

“This winter is particularly brutal,” he comments after you’ve fetched him a cup. It’s more of a change in subject than an observation. He shudders and burrows further into the warmth provided by his coat. “The worst time to die.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Winter is full of mistakes. Drunken mishaps at night, in which the victim slips on ice and falls into the sea… Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. I can’t begin to imagine how painful that must be—to not know where your loved one has disappeared to, only to find them just as the winter frost melts away to usher in spring.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” You set the kettle down, and Azul watches steamy tendrils curl up towards the ceiling. “Does it ever scare you—the things you find?”

“I’ve seen so much it’s difficult to know what real fear even is.”

“Ah.” You glance over your shoulder at Jade as he opens the lid on the pot of stew. Your eyes drift over towards Azul once more. “You work hard. You deserve a break after your next case.”

“I could sleep forever when that day comes.”

“Retirement isn’t too far, is it, Ojiisan?”

Azul chokes around his breath. “Do I really look so old? Oh, my heart… If these sleepless nights don’t kill me, that assumption certainly will.”

You giggle. “Sorry, sorry. I meant to say you look as spry as ever.”

“You’re too happy to hammer nails into my coffin.”

“I do it with love. It’s our secret ingredient, you know!”

“So I’ve heard.”

The rest of your conversation stalls out. You wipe the counter with a fresh rag in hopes of giving yourself something to do while Azul reads through the newspaper and sips at his tea. You watch him in your peripheral vision. Is he taking care of himself? It doesn’t look like it, but you’ve known Azul long enough to be familiar with his level of responsible efficiency. Maybe this particular case has him in the trenches.

Just how hard are they working him over there?

As his friend you worry. In fact, you worry yourself sick. Every time he visits he’s in poor shape. Though he masks it with confidence, you can see the toll life is taking on him.

“Have you ever wanted to get married, Azul?”

“If I find the right person, sure.”

“But?”

“But, seeing as that has yet to happen, I have no interest in pursuing something that might waste my time and money. Emotions are exhausting, even more so when invested in something like romance. It’s better to put them towards something that will yield solid results. Like work, for example.”

“That outlook is so frigid! Don’t you wanna fall in love?”

“Love isn’t going to crack these cases,” he grumbles at the paper.

Jade appears at the little window cut into the wall. “Someone sounds like a love killer.”

“I’m only being realistic.” Azul scoffs. “Besides, you have no right to speak as a married man.”

“Envy is a wicked vice. I’ll gladly help you overcome it.”

You take the bowl of tonkotsu ramen from Jade and set it in front of Azul. “Okay, enough of that. Let him enjoy his meal in peace.”

“But I haven’t yet had my fill of fun.”

You reach through the horizontal window to gently tug on Jade’s ear. He rumbles with laughter. “Don’t bully the guests.”

“Why, I would never, my dearest.”

Azul watches this back-and-forth with a forlorn longing in his pale blues. Wordlessly, he sinks his soup spoon into the broth and lifts the noodles between his chopsticks. He eats with such zest it makes you wonder if this is his first meal of the day. Sensing your stare, he attempts to pace himself.

You smile sadly. He looks like he needs this.

“As always, it’s delicious,” he says once he’s made a sizable dent in the portion.

Jade basks in the praise. “I’m pleased you enjoy it.”

“But… Well.” The ghost of a frown settles on his weathered features. “The broth tastes different. You must’ve used a new seasoning. Or perhaps this is an expensive cut of pork? Whatever it is, it’s different. Not bad, mind you. I’m sure if it were anyone else it would’ve been difficult to catch.”

“Is this the impressive power of Detective Ashengrotto’s taste buds at work?” you joke, to which Azul flashes you a proud grin that’s more teeth than lip.

“Well, I have been using ingredients with better qualities as of late… I’m not very fond of serving cheap products to honored guests.”

“Isn’t my Jade so considerate? He’s too cute.” You stand up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “He even grows some of the vegetables himself. Green onions and mushrooms and the like.”

“Ah, of course. How could I forget that dubious green thumb of yours?” Azul muses, recalling the time in which Jade served him a new dish in exchange for valid critique. He had conveniently neglected to inform Azul that it contained mushrooms, something he has eaten plenty of in the time that he’s known you and Jade. So many that all varieties have been spoiled for him. “In any case, what’s the secret ingredient? Imported pork? Some sort of flavor that’s seeped in when left to simmer? No, not that… It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t place it!”

Jade chuckles. “There is no secret. It’s just love.”

Azul pokes around the bowl with his chopsticks, his eyes narrowed with an intense scrutiny. “I can recognize every other flavor. The meat, the green onions, the egg, the noodles… And I can parse the broth well enough. There’s just something else—a hint of something I’ve never tasted before. This profile is missing from my gastronomic lexicon.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “Well, it’s the same broth, isn’t it?”

The both of you turn to Jade for his input. He nods. “My recipe and method haven’t changed.”

“So it’s still the same as before?” Azul’s nose wrinkles. “Strange. I was certain there was a taste of something more…”

Before he can dwell on it any longer, the radio at his hip crackles to life: “Sir, you’re needed at the port. We’ve got something you should see. Over.”

Azul detaches it from his belt and lifts it to his mouth. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t touch anything if you can help it. Out.” Releasing the button, he deflates briefly and then addresses you and Jade next. “It was wonderful seeing you again, but I’m afraid I must cut my visit short.”

“Then we won’t keep you.”

He moves to pull money from his wallet, but you stop him.

“On the house. You deserve it.”

Despite your generous offer, he still places the exact amount on the counter. “You won’t make profit if you’re giving food away for free.”

“Wha—but you’re a friend!”

“That makes it even worse. It’s not very fair to favor me to this extent.”

“Azuuul, don’t be so stubborn! You did this last time, too.”

“I surmise it will be much the same next time he graces us with his presence,” Jade says, eyeing you sympathetically.

“Ugh. Really… If you won’t let us treat you, at least promise you’ll take better care of yourself. No more skipping meals. Get a full eight hours. Prioritize yourself, too, okay?”

Azul starts for the door, so you miss the way he flusters up to his ears. They’re all very valid concerns, of course, but then he’s never been able to swallow the embarrassment that accompanies being unduly fussed over.

“I’ll do what I can,” he says instead and steps outside into the snowy afternoon.

You fold your arms over your chest and huff noisily. “What are we going to do with him? He’s in bad health and he still insists on being difficult. Must he faint before he realizes it?”

Jade emerges from the kitchen, sliding easily behind the counter where you stand. An amused glint shimmers in two-toned eyes. “I suppose we can only hope he’ll fix his bad habits sooner rather than later.”

“If only there were two of me… That way one could tend to the shop alongside you and the other could help him with his work.”

Jade embraces you firmly. With a giggle, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Two is much too troublesome.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have you all to myself.” His lips curve into a practiced pout. “What if (Name) Number Two finds Detective Ashengrotto more desirable than her own husband?”

You reach up to pinch his cheek in light scolding. “You know that would never happen.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I would never. If I did, that wouldn’t be the real me. I love you too much.” You twirl out of his arms to collect the dirty dishes. “Hey, since he’s no longer here, what was really in Azul’s ramen?”

“I haven’t the faintest inkling, my dear. I used the same ingredients I always do. Perhaps he was tasting something that wasn’t actually there?”

“Maybe… He looked pretty tired, Jade.” You peer at your reflection in the broth. “I wonder if he’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure he will.” Jade follows you into the tiny, compact kitchen. “You do know his penchant for smoking has worsened. I fear his sense of taste may be compromised from so many cigarettes. That, and age. Oh, but these are merely my own theories. He might have caught flavors of a love he’s never known before on those ruined taste buds of his.”

“Ah, right. Because everything you make is filled with love.”

“Not everything. There’s still something I’ve yet to fill with my love.”

He presses himself against you, his hands settling on your waist. You roll your eyes at his very obvious flirting.

“I’m assuming that something is actually a someone?”

“Indeed. And she’s standing right in front of me.”

His arms snake around your front so that you’re effectively trapped between him and the countertop. His hands close around your breasts to grope you through your shirt. You shiver against him when his fingers brush against the precise area of where your nipples are. It’s when he pinches both between his thumb and index that you finally shut the faucet off, surrendering to his touch instead of the dishes piled in the basin.

“At least close the front. What if someone walks in?”

“Unlikely,” he murmurs, his lips hot on your neck. His fingers slip under your shirt to undo the clasp of your bra. “It’s slow today. We can manage.”

You brace yourself at the sink and gasp when he grinds against your ass. “T-Ten minutes.”

“Only ten?”

“Would you prefer five? Your mouth is so smart today.”

“My love, I need only seconds to unravel you. You’re quite easy.”

You bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m not the one with the hard-on, my darling.”

“You’re too alluring, even in uniform. So beautiful, always and forever, my sweet wife.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of dirty dish duty.”

“How cold… You rival the snow outside.”

You shift slightly to face him, offering him an impish grin. “I’d hate for my Jade to freeze. Let’s warm up together, all right?”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

And all the while, your voices filling the kitchen in unison, bodies pressed close, the pot continues to simmer on the stove.

ii. and i am the idiot with the painted face. in the corner, taking up space. but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved.

“Can I ask you something, Floyd?”

“What’s up?” he answers around a mouthful of udon. A few strands hang out from between his lips, and he slurps them up in a motion so fluid it leaves you impressed. As for the mess he makes… Not so much.

“What’s the secret thing that’s been passed through your family?”

Floyd blinks at you, lost. “The secret thing?”

“It’s some ingredient or flavor or…whatever that Jade says is a family secret. I have no idea what it is. He won’t tell me no matter how many times I ask.”

“Ohhh, you’re talkin’ about Mama’s pot, right? That thing’s been in our family forever. She gave it to Jade cuz I didn’t want it.” Floyd points with his chopsticks, playfully accusatory. “What? You into cookware now? I can getcha somethin’ if ya want.”

“What’s this about cookware?” Jade asks, poking his head inside. He looks warm and comfortable in his nagagi and haori, a pleasant sight for your eyes, but the broom clutched in his hands tells a threatening tale.

Ignoring the fact that he so clearly eavesdropped, you wave him forwards so that you can straighten his scarf. Jade props the broom against the doorway before striding closer. He leans into your touch with a smug smile, which is shamelessly directed at his brother.

“Oh, you’re freezing! Let me fix you a cup of tea. You’ll catch your death if you spend any longer sweeping out there.”

“Thank you, my dear. I fear the chill is rather paralyzing…”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”

“I might just die.”

His dramatics don’t faze Floyd, but they do draw a chuckle from you. “We can’t have that.” You duck into the kitchen and return minutes later with a warm cup of chai. “Floyd was just telling me about your mother’s pot.”

“Was he now?”

“Only cuz Shrimpy asked.”

Jade blows at the steamy beverage to cool it before bringing it to his lips for a sampling. He hums his approval. “It’s quite special.”

Floyd slumps against the counter. “Whatever. It’s boring!”

“I suppose there isn’t much to discuss regarding an old pot.”

“Nothing we haven’t already mentioned.”

“Speaking of that… You thinkin’ about closin’ up the shop for the holidays? Pops’s been on my ass. He and Mama want you to visit.”

Jade gazes at you, but you’re already looking at him. “Should we?” you ask. “I’m not opposed. I just know you like running things here.”

“Not like you’re gonna get crazy business on Christmas.”

“No, but there are a fair amount of regulars who might stop by.”

“We should visit your parents, Jade. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, listen to Shrimpy. Mama’s been missin’ ya.” Floyd shovels more noodles in his mouth. “And afterwards we can all do somethin’ fun on New Year’s Eve.”

“That sounds great! Let’s do it!”

“S’no fun spendin’ the holidays workin’ yourself into the ground.”

“Exactly. Your brother makes a good point. What do you say, Jade? We’ll make the trip to see your parents and then come back in time for New Year’s Eve.”

Jade smiles, approving of the idea. “In that case, I should call Mother so she knows when to expect us.” Taking a final sip from his tea, he rises from his seat and disappears into the kitchen. Seconds later, you hear soft footfalls on the floor above.

“You really don’t know?”

Floyd shrugs. “No idea. The only thing that kinda fits the whole secret ingredient vibe is Mama’s pot. That’s been passed through the family. Other than that? I’ve got nothing.”

“Well… Yeah, that’s true. Maybe it really is nothing.”

Floyd laughs. “This sure means a lot to ya.”

“Of course it does! We’ve been married for two decades and I still don’t know what this ‘family secret’ is. Decades, Floyd! Surely he would’ve told me by now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“It is to me.” You gaze sidelong at the broom and inhale a steadying breath. “It feels like I’m not a part of the family if he won’t tell me something as simple as this. You’d think twenty years qualifies you as—”

“Hey, you’re always gonna be family to me.” Floyd’s hand reaches to cover yours. He hesitates and instead grabs another napkin. “Jade’s just bein’ a hard-ass. Gets it from our old man.”

“Do you think this ‘family secret’ is real?”

“Who knows? I’m sure he’ll fess up once he gets tired of playing this game.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my Jade. He’s really too much sometimes.” You shake your head and sigh. “Thanks for saying that, though. That part about me being family. It… It means a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” Floyd sets his chopsticks and chirirenge down, lifting the bowl to drink what’s left of the broth. He whistles, supremely satisfied, and slouches on the stool. “You ever need anything—doesn’t matter what it is or how much trouble you think it might be—just gimme a call. I’ll be there to help.”

“Thanks. A-Again. Truly.”

Floyd flashes you a toothy smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You collect his bowl, intending to bring it to the sink, but Floyd’s next words stop you in your tracks.

“Hey, Jade’s got that pot on, yeah?”

“The pot? Oh, yes, the pot! What about it?”

“Has it been stirred lately? You gotta do that once in a while, right?”

Your nerves, which had previously been pulled taut, smooth out. He’s referring to cooking. Nothing else. Just cooking.

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Mhm! Smells yummy, by the way.”

“Doesn’t it? Jade’s food is amazing.”

“Mine’s pretty killer, too. You gotta come over and try some.”

“If you’re cooking for me, you’ll have to cook for Jade as well.” You giggle to yourself as you cross into the kitchen, only for the laughter to stick in your throat.

Jade stands at the stove. He lowers the lid onto the pot and sets the wooden spoon aside. He was so quiet you hardly noticed him. How long has he been there? When did he return from upstairs?

“Oh, good timing! Floyd and I were just saying the pot needed to be stirred.”

Jade smiles and takes Floyd’s empty bowl from you. “Did we all have a collective thought just now?”

“Ooh, like telepathy?”

“Wouldn’t that be shocking? Three-way telepathy.”

You watch Jade set the bowl beside the others in need of washing. “That would be so noisy! Three times as many thoughts… I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

“It’d be like watchin’ a show about the two of you,” Floyd pipes up from the front.

“Thankfully, that will never happen.” Jade guides you back out. You peer over your shoulder at the pot. “What a relief our minds aren’t connected. I don’t think I’d enjoy a stray listening in on our private affairs.”

You slap his arm gently. “Floyd’s not a stray!”

“Might as well be since it feels like he’s kickin’ me to the curb. So mean.”

“Not at all. I’m just making a distinction clear.” Jade’s smile is razored, his words catty. “You’re always welcome to visit so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hands off the Shrimpy. I gotcha.” Floyd pops up from his seat and stretches. It seems as if all of Jade’s remarks, each born from petty possessiveness, roll off his shoulders. “I’m not gonna steal her from you if that’s what’s got you so worked up.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Floyd’s once easygoing expression sours. “You’re beggin’ for cement shoes, ain’tcha?”

Jade feigns offense, placing his hands over your ears even though it’s a pointless gesture. “For my own blood to threaten me in front of my sweet pearl… It brings tears to my eyes.”

“All right, all right! I’m goin.’ Geez.” Floyd struts out the door, not wanting to be manually shooed out by Jade and his beloved broom. “And don’t forget about New Year’s Eve!”

You wave farewell until he’s vanished out of sight. Only then do you turn to address your husband. “You ought to be nicer to him. He’s your brother.”

“I was. Very nice, in fact.”

“Really? How?”

“I didn’t charge him for the meal.”

iii. me and my husband, we’re doing better. it’s always been just him and me together. so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow. and at least in this lifetime we’re sticking together. me and my husband, we’re sticking together.

Everyone thought the odds were significantly slimmer than that of younger women—impossible by your standards—but somehow you’re pregnant at forty-four. You suspected it when you missed your period and then, just days prior, woke up with a terrible bout of morning sickness.

Standing in the bathroom, staring at the positive test like it’s a relic from Atlantis, you pinch yourself. Hard. It stings, and with this your disbelief mellows into something astonished.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

And this time you’re ready for a family. You’re ready to raise a child. Somewhat. Amidst every positive emotion there's anxiety and fear, and they reign so tyrannical that you almost forget you’re meant to be excited. Tamping down insecurity, you turn the test over in your hands.

I’ve got to tell Jade.

But before that you think back on the timeline in an effort to pinpoint the fateful day. After mapping it out for a brief while, you arrive at what’s possibly the least romantic way to conceive a child. Going at it raw and reckless in the kitchen, bent over a sink filled with dirty dishes and pressed against the wall… At least it was in a place both of you treasure.

Not the worst place, you think. I guess it doesn’t have to be a typical rose-petals-on-the-floor situation.

You’re practically vibrating out of your skin when you tiptoe out of the bathroom. Jade’s already downstairs. You can hear him humming as he works to open the shop. Hastily, you change into your work clothes and stuff the test in your pocket.

Jade’s notorious for his surprises, but it’s never been easy to return the favor. You mull over this facet of his character as you skip down the stairs. How can you shock him with this good news when he makes it so difficult? It’s as if he’s always two steps ahead, expecting the unexpected before it can even happen.

Jade brightens when you walk into the kitchen. He meets you halfway, lifting your hand to his lips. “Good morning. How did you sleep, my pearl?”

You squeeze his hand. “Like the dead.”

He chuckles. “I’m pleased it was so restful.”

You glance at the pot then and an idea sprouts. “Is there anything else that needs to get done? Is the front opened?”

“Just about. I need to prep a few more things here and then—”

“I can do it! It’s just stocking up on what’s low, right? That’s not very hard.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” You claim the spot he had once been standing in. He was in the process of filling a container with chopped green onions before you came down. “Go on and open the front. I’ve got things handled here.”

“I do so adore you.”

“I adore you more.”

“I adore you most.” He beams and stalks off through the doorway.

Now left to your own devices, you move to the sink and turn on the water to wash your hands. If all goes according to plan, you’ll open the lid, pretend something’s wrong with its contents, and when Jade comes over to investigate you’ll act as if you’ve pulled the positive test from the pot. It’s a harmless surprise. You’re sure he won’t be expecting it, especially since he’s the one who does all of the cooking.

After confirming Jade’s still busy with the front, you creep over to the stove. That infamous pot awaits. You slide your hand into an oven mitt and grab hold of the lid, lifting it slowly. You’re immediately hit with the delicious scent of bone broth, so fragrant it almost has you salivating.

Focus! I can eat after the big reveal.

You open your mouth to call Jade over and then pause.

Has he stirred it yet? It looks a little… No, it’s definitely murky. Is bone broth supposed to be this dark? Maybe I just need to stir it.

You lower the wooden spoon into the broth and, scraping along the sides and bottom, mix expertly. The bones knock into each other from the disturbance, and you inhale deeply. It reminds you of the tonkotsu ramen Azul fancies so much. You could go for a bowl right now.

You’re about to take the spoon out and cover the pot when something floats to the surface. Without meaning to, you recall Azul’s words from last month: Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. Curiously, you scoop the object up onto the spoon. Broth spills over into the pot and then you see it.

A finger.

A human finger.

What the fuck is a finger doing in Jade’s pot?

The nail has been plucked off and the skin is sagging away, turned to pliable mush from sitting in the pot for so long, but it is undoubtedly a finger.

A very real, very human finger.

Bile slithers up your throat with thick, acidic fingers.

Fingers.

There’s another one and then another. Three fingers. You poke around in the broth, dreading what else you might see. You don’t want to find a full set of ten. Anything but that. You count five and that’s all you can stomach before you’re shakily covering the pot with the lid. You set the spoon and oven mitt down next, your mind reeling.

You want to vomit.

You’re about to vomit.

You’re going to—

“(Name)?”

You whirl to look at him. Your husband. He stands in the doorway, a dark look on his face. You can’t describe the emotion, or lack thereof. It’s more of a shadow. An oppressive shadow. An intimidating shadow. A shadow that seems to say: You’ve seen too much.

“J-Jade!” How long has he been standing there? How much does he know? “Sorry. I… I felt sick just now. I think I should…rest a bit more.”

The gloom fades away into perfect placidity. “My, my. That’s not good.” He takes a step towards you and pauses when you jerk away. “Is everything all right?”

“Y-Yes, of course! I’m just…not feeling it today…or something.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” His eyes slide towards the stovetop. “I do so dislike getting into disagreements with you. So to avoid that I’ll ask once and only once. What did you see in the pot?”

Your spine stiffens, straight and still as a board, and you hang your head guiltily. “I… I’m sorry. I saw… W-Well, I don’t want to believe it. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding or a mistake of some kind. It’s just that—um… I… I saw…”

Fingers. Human fingers!

“I saw what I think is y-your secret ingredient. The thing—” your voice cracks, and you swallow thickly to push rising bile back— “Azul tasted that day…” “And that secret ingredient is…”

Tears brim and spill over in silent, horror-struck waterfalls. You risk a glance at your husband, and a wobbly smile pulls your lips apart.

“Love.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader

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01zfan · 1 year ago

Text

bad idea, right? | s.es

ex!eunseok x reader | 6.4k words

inspired by the song bad idea, right by olivia rodrigo.

contains: drinking (reader is tipsy at most), slightly toxic relationship, randomly put in other idols for some good ole world building, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), missionary, a lil crying.

you look at the text on your phone, contemplating all the decisions that have led you to this moment.

im outside.

it started out as a normal night. you went out with your two friends to a local dive bar you recently started to frequent. but just before the last call your friend showed a text of a party near you that was “lit”. you had planned to leave this with your friends at beginning of the night. your plans quickly changed after your third shot at the party. from that moment on you were texting your ex, eunseok.

the worst part is that you had been so good about no contact. the night of the breakup you laid in your bed with tear stains on your pillow and cheeks. you had told him that you guys would remain friends but you realized that you would never be able to move on unless you cut him from your life completely. so you blocked him on every social media platform and then deleted and blocked his number as well. the solution was to not even give yourself the option to reach out to him and not let him even try to speak a word to you. you would see him occasionally due to overlapping friend groups but you were so good at pretending he wasn’t there. unfortunately, tonight was the night you folded.

the music at the house party wasn’t overbearing, but the alcohol was making you irritable.

“can they turn the music down?” you yelled into yunjin’s ear.

“i can’t hear you!” yunjin yelled back.

“can i have another shot?” you yelled at giselle this time, who had a vice grip on a bottle of vodka. when giselle looked at you with confusion you pointed at the bottle of vodka then pointed at your red solo cup.

“i think you’ve had enough to drink.” giselle laughs. you look to yunjin for support but she nods in agreement with giselle. ever since the breakup, you often found yourself in the position of being their de facto daughter. the pair had always doted on you, but you always credited that to them being two years your senior. when eunseok broke your heart (or you broke his) this increased their maternal instinct to protect you.

“i’m literally going through a breakup and you wont give me a shot?” you put on your best betrayal act to efforts to bum alcohol off your responsible friends. both yunjin and giselle laugh.

“you and eunseok broke up months ago” giselle says.

“you tend to bring him up only when you’re drunk so i’m actually starting to think the alcohol has a reverse effect.” yunjin says. giselle’s eyes light up at the realization.

“wait that’s actually true! you never talk about him any other time.” giselle agreed.

you quickly realize this conversation isn’t going in your favor. so you pull out all the stops and become the most dramatic version of yourself. you point the red solo cup towards giselle, shaking like a leaf. you paint your face with a look of dread, like you are dying of dehydration.

“need…..alcohol” you say in a fake raspy voice. giselle playfully narrows her eyes.

“okay but this is the last shot. for all of us.” giselle is pouring a little bit into all of your cups. you three clink the plastic cups together and swiftly take it.

almost immediately after that shot your mind started tormenting you with flashbacks. eunseok having your legs spread while he felt you up everywhere. being bent over the kitchen counter completely at his mercy. feeling his big hand press on the small of your back. how he used to have you like a folding chair taking it all. you tried hard to push down the thoughts but you swear you could hear him over your shoulder calling you a good girl before you sat down on a barstool. giselle and yunjin look at you.

“everything alright, buddy?” yunjin says slowly, already knowing what you’re gonna say.

“i’m dizzy.” you confess. and it was the absolute truth. flashbacks of being with eunseok made you realize that you were starved in every sense of the word, nearly knocking you off balance. you swayed a little bit and giselle grabbed your arm.

“okay i think it’s time to call it a night!” giselle giggled as she held on to you, also a bit tipsy.

giselle and yunjin left with you in tow. walking in front of you, leading you through the crowd. you made sure that they couldn’t see you pull out your phone. your tipsy fingers worked quickly texting a number you knew you shouldn’t have memorized.

heyyy

once outside the cold air sobered you up enough to the point that you made a plan. the first step of the plan was to be sent home in an car alone.

“i don’t want you guys to stop having fun because of me.” you say, turning towards giselle and yunjin.

“the party was getting boring anyways. i just want to go home and watch some tv at this point” giselle says looking at her phone. you assumed she was looking at prices to get home. “are you cool with spending the night at our place?”

before you could answer you felt your phone vibrate. someone was calling you.

you unfortunately already knew where you were going to be tonight. you just couldn’t let your friends find out.

“i want to go home honestly. in my own bed.” you said stretching your arms out and yawn.

“are you sure that’s even safe? you drank alot tonight.” yunjin says.

“yuqi is already up around this time, if i need help she will be there for me. besides the amount of alcohol i drank was like super spread out over the night.”

yunjin and giselle look to one another. time to pull out the trump card.

“i feel like ever since me and eunseok broke up you guys treat me like i’m a baby. i’m an adult i can make my own decisions.”

after saying that, you can see the faces of yunjin and giselle change. you know that they also want to be alone without you tagging along, sticking to their side like a child.

“it’s only because you’re drunk, that’s why.” yunjin says.

“the cold air is sobering me up. and i’m going to bed immediately once i lay down.”

yunjin and giselle debate on what to say. before they can come to an agreement, a car comes and stops on the curb. it waits in front of the house.

your phone has since stopped ringing, instead you get a small vibration indicating a text message. you quickly take a glance at your phone to see what it says.

black rolls royce phantom license plate cvent1

call me when you get in.

you look towards the car parked on the curb. you’re certain that it’s the car eunseok sent you based on the description.

“my ride is here” you say meekly, knowing what reaction you are going to get. yunjin and giselle look at you confused and flustered.

“when did you call a ride?” giselle asks.

“why didn’t you tell us?” yunjin sounds angry.

“yuqi called it for me, she said she owes me from last time we went out drinking.” you say, rubbing the back of your head.

you are impressed at how quickly you came up with the lie, since you are quite flustered as well. how did he know where you were? where was this car going to take you? you had so many questions but you had to seem confident that you were going home, or else they were going to tag along.

“i told you i’m fine, yuqi is going to be waiting for me outside and everything.” you assure your friends.

“okay, fine.” yunjin gives up trying to debate with you.

“text us when you get home.” giselle points at you, trying to be as authoritative as possible.

“i will. i love you guys.” you go over to yunjin and giselle to give them hugs.

“love you too bae.” yunjin says giving you a hug.

giselle gives you a hug before opening the car door for you. you make sure the door is closed before the driver says “ride for eunseok?” you nod your head and roll down the window.

“i’ll text you guys when i get home!” you shout to your friends as the car drives off.

“make sure you drink water!” yunjin yells as you drive off.

you roll up the window and click on the notification of the missed call. you expect it to keep ringing, to leave you hanging the way you left him hanging.

it can’t even get through the first ring.

“hey. are you in the car?”

you can’t say anything back. it has been so long since you’ve heard his voice. since it’s been directed at you. your nails instinctively dig into your thigh, trying to use the pain to bring you back on this plane of existence.

“hey.”

silence. you forgot to answer his question

“yes i’m in the car.”

“alright,” eunseok says and pauses for a moment. “it’s taking you home.”

“what? i thought it was bringing me to your place?” you say a little louder than you thought. the driver looks up at the rear view mirror to look at you.

“do yunjin and giselle know who called that cab for you?”

god, you hated him so much. the smile you could hear in his voice. the way he already knew you were lying to them.

“they think yuqi called it.”

“they think yuqi sent you a rolls royce?”

“they don’t know cars, eunseok.”

you can hear a sigh on the other end of the line. you wonder what he’s wearing. if he’s wearing pants that hugged his legs in all the right places. or that navy hoodie that was a little too big, showing off the area surrounding his neck. you think about sweatpants drifting a little too low, that would give you the slightest peak at his body

“what are you thinking about?”

“what are you wearing?” you try to whisper so the poor driver isn’t subjected to your suggestive thoughts you say out loud.

eunseok laughs on the other end of the line.

“how much have you had to drink?”

“i had a few but over the course of the night. i’m not plastered.”

another long bout of silence. you start thinking about yunjin and giselle’s disappointed faces when your lies eventually catch up to you. they aren’t directly friends with yuqi, but all it takes is one conversation to reveal the truth. or they could be worried that you got into a car you thought was for you.

“was it a bad idea to call you?” you say. you play with the hem of your dress.

more silence.

“well, can’t two people reconnect?”

you try to not let your smile change your tone. you grab the end of your dress, wrinkling the fabric.

“can you make this car go towards your place?”

“it already is.”

“you’re such an ass.” you groan into the phone. he was too good at playing you.

“text me when you get here. i’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

after the driver leaves you in front of the building you sent the text. you go to the door and try to punch in the code from muscle memory but nothing happens. instead you opt to sit on the steps, trying to calculate when would be the appropriate time to text your friends you made it home safe.

your thoughts are interrupted by the front door of the building opening. you look behind you and see eunseok staring back at you. you quickly stand up.

you two stand like that for a moment, staring like deers caught in the headlights. eunseok is the first to compose himself.

“pretty dress.” he says after looking you up and down. he walks back into the building holding the door open for you.

the two of you are now in the lobby, trying not to make too much noise. you walk down the narrow hallways of the lobby, muscle memory taking you towards the elevator.

“it’s out of service, princess.” eunseok used your old nickname and you stopped dead in your tracks. you turn around nonchalantly but just hearing that nickname has you ready to jump him in the small hallway.

“you live like five floors up.” you groan looking up the winding staircase. you make a loud clack with each step in your boots, your feet will be sore tomorrow.

eunseok lets out a breath and walks down the steps and bends down. “hop on.” is all he says.

now he’s giving you a piggyback ride up the countless flights of stairs. you try not to focus on how he’s palming your thigh, or how you can feel his toned body through his hoodie. eunseok carries you like you’re nothing and that feeling returns when you think about how he used manhandle you and toss you around like a doll. you let out a deep breath, inhaling his smell that you find so intoxicating.

he finishes going up another flight when he pulls you a little closer to his body. you pull him in a little tighter with your arms.

“how was the party?” he tries to sound nonchalant, looking over his shoulder at you to ask the question.

“how’d you know i was at the party?” you ask. although you already know. user36384847383 on instagram that always looked at your stories had to belong to somebody.

“you always do something after the bar.” eunseok looks away, realizing he might’ve gotten caught.

“i didn’t start going to the bar until after we broke up.” you say, smiling.

“we are here!” eunseok says before loudly letting you go. you find your balance as you walk down the hallway towards his door. with his hand on the small of your back, he makes sure you are balanced. his hand is almost like a ghost, not daring to push you towards his apartment in any way. despite this, it still feels like you’re heading towards your doom. months of no contact down the drain. all the hard work trying to forget everything about him has been reversed. just as you think about turning back, his hand slowly drifts down to rest on your ass.

you’re in front of his door now, and he looks at you while turning the doorknob. you look at him, look at his lips and the flashbacks hit you again.

fuck it, it’s fine. you use your hand to push open the door and the two of you walk in.

you kick off your shoes and close the door behind you. eunseok kicks off his sandals and here you two are, standing in his entry way. last time you were here you had the last of your things in a backpack holding back tears. now here you are. tipsy and horny and confused and…

“there’s no pressure here. i know no contact was important to you. you can sleep on the bed and i can take the couch.” eunseok leans against the wall opposite of the door. you hear what he’s saying clearly, but when you see the way he’s looking at you, you can’t hear your thoughts.

you walk over to him and you grab his hand. eunseok looks at you, waiting for your next move. you take his hand and put it on your waist. instantly his hand finds purchase in the dip, squeezing like he’s trying to check if you’re real.

you look up to him and kiss his lips. he brings you in closer. you lean even closer to him. eunseok puts his hands underneath your thighs and you jump. he catches and holds you easily, deepening the kiss.

“the couch?” you ask, pulling away. eunseok starts walking you towards his room, passing the small beat up couch.

“anton is coming home in the morning. he’s been sleeping there.” eunseok pushes open his door. you see almost nothing has changed, expect for the missing framed photos of you two.

“i thought you lived alone?” you closed his bedroom door behind you, still in his arms.

“he needed a place to crash closer to campus while he works on some music thing. and i was a little lonely.” eunseok finishes his sentence with a little laugh. he brings you back in for a kiss and you put your hands on his shoulder and cheek.

should you say you’re sorry? if he felt lonely because you iced him out for months? should you say aw because he’s is opening up to you? everything is too confusing all you want is to turn off your mind and feel good.

like he always has been able to, eunseok knows what you’re thinking. that’s why he wordlessly sits on the bed, back resting against the headboard. he sets you down on the bed and you face him. you look at his lips before you can lean in for a kiss, eunseok gently turns you around. eunseok pulls you into him, so your back is flush with his chest. he puts his head over your shoulder to whisper into your ear.

“spread your legs.”

you do it without hesitation. spreading your legs you also bend them at the knee. your dress bunches up above your hips as an effect. eunseok’s hands are on your inner thighs instantly, caressing the plush skin. eunseok laughs at how pliant you are. how desperate you must be.

“forgot how soft you are.” eunseok breathes into your ear. “remember how you’d always close them on me, baby? when i’d eat you out?”

how can he be so vulgar with all his clothes still on? you felt your face heating up, recalling the memories too. all you can do is nod and lean further into his chest. you let your head lean back, resting on his shoulder. you are giving him full access to your neck. and use your hands to push your dress further up your body, just below your belly button. you’ll never be able to voice how badly you want him to kiss you everywhere, not without dying from embarrassment.

“that’s how i know you aren’t getting fucked right. so hot and bothered just by this.” he laughs into your hair now. he’s got you and he’s got you good. nothing on god’s earth could pull you away from this feeling. especially when his slender finger pulls the elastic band of your panties, letting it snap back into place on your skin. you whimper, grabbing onto his arm.

“so sensitive.” his middle finger slowly touches your cunt. he ghosts the finger in a repeated motion up and down. “so. so. sensitive.”

“i’m just really, really horny right now.” you try to regain your composure or at least some sense of control. this is abandoned when eunseok smacks your clothed heat. you jump backwards, moving further into him. you can feel his dick against you.

“ouch.” you say in a breathy whimper.

“i’m sorry.” eunseok is all but convincing, smirking into your hair. his middle finger presses a little harder into you. “but i think you deserve a little pain.” eunseok goes back to slightly raising the waistband of your underwear to let it snap on your skin again.

you want to protest but you absolutely can't deny it. you take this as penance. for leaving him alone and ignoring him after the breakup. for blocking him with no explanation. for calling him for dick after getting a little tipsy. so you let your fate rest in eunseok’s hands as you let out a sigh.

“good girl.” eunseok knows you have completely submitted to him. “i’ll take good care of you.”

eunseok starts slowly sucking at your neck and you crane it desperately to give him more space to work with. your panties have been pushed to the side and his lengthy middle finger still slowly drags itself up and down.

“you’re so wet.” eunseok presses his finger a little deeper into your slit. he repeats this motion and you can hear the wetness, like tapping a puddle.

“has anyone else seen you like this?”

you shake your head. no one else could ever have you spread out like this. although what you and eunseok had is over, he was your first for everything. slowly the two of you chiseled away at the walls you put up in embarrassment of being in college with no experience. you found out what made eachother insane in bed. you still remember getting over the hump of showing eunseok your bare body for the first time. laying in bed naked and in embrace. eunseok telling you how beautiful you were. no one else in this world will ever have you open like this or could see you in a moment where you’re so weak.

“only you. always…only you.” you couldn’t tell if your string of words were intelligible. all you knew was that eunseok slipped his finger inside of you.

the grip on his arm only tightened as you spread your legs even wider. against your back you could feel him twitch.

“what about your fingers?”

“they don’t feel as good as yours.” you pout. now you're grinding your hips into his hand, begging for more.

“add another one.” you say, out of breath.

“say my name.” eunseok says simply.

“add another one eunseok,” eunseok uses his index finger to tease you. “please.”

eunseok has two fingers in you now. just from this and hearing his breathing in your ear you’re close to losing your mind. eunseok doesn’t even have to move his fingers anymore. you are doing the grinding all on your own. eunseok uses his free hand to pull the low cut of your dress down to expose your boobs. he pinches a nipple in his hand and you gasp out loud.

“god.” eunseok moans into your hair. you whimper in response, focusing on all the work he’s making you do. “you know i almost fucked that girl you always said liked me.”

“yeji?” you try your best to sound disgusted, but all eunseok hears is your breathy moan.

“yup. she talked big game and everything. but she can’t compare to this.” eunseok uses his free hand to squeeze your boob for emphasis.

i just…i would’ve just fucked jaehyun.”

almost instantly eunseok removes his fingers from you. he withdraws his lips from your neck. you look back at him in confusion.

“jaehyun would never do this for you. go forward. ass in the air.”

you get on your hands and knees in front of eunseoks lap. you move a little forward as you try to hike your ass in the air as high as possible. you haven't had an opportunity to practice your arch in a few months.

“it’s like muscle memory, baby” eunseok is behind you bringing your body up slightly to perfect your form. the power in his grip catches you off guard while you become a ragdoll to him.

you hear eunseok get off the bed and the zipper of his hoodie. he takes his time taking off his clothes, probably reveling in the fact you are waiting for him in such a compromising position.

eunseok comes back onto the bed and slowly brings your lower half to meet his. you feel his length and you moan purely from the feeling. you move your ass back in efforts to grind back on him but a handful of your ass keeps you in place. eunseok takes your panties off from behind you, helping you lift your knees off the bed to completely remove them. you don't say anything when you see eunseok put your panties in the drawer of his bedside dresser.

“be a good girl for me.” eunseok says it into your bottom half, so you’re unsure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. you comply anyway, staying in the spot he leaves you.

you can feel eunseok staring at your spread pussy. he doesn’t say a word, nor does he touch you. the lack of interaction the anxiety starts to kick in. what if he says he doesn’t want to do it anymore? what if you think hes looking at you but hes looking at his phone texting someone? it doesn't make any sense why you look back, afraid to see his face of regret. instead you see eunseok’s face with an emotion you can’t pinpoint.

“what’s wrong?” your voice is so quiet. eunseok’s is even quieter.

“can i eat you out, baby?”

eunseok eats your pussy like a man who is starved. he started by licking the entire length of you in one swift motion. this is followed with him tonguing your slit. you try not to think too much about his nose and how it pokes your ass. eunseok pulls away from your slit and his tongue attaches to your clit. he sucks on the sensitive nub while flicking it with his tongue. you try not to rock into his face, chasing a high you haven’t felt in months. after eunseok gets his fingers in the mix you are lifting yourself off the bed. his ministrations only pick up in intensity, trying to bring you to the brink as fast as possible.

slowly his face pulls away from your clit after straining his neck to reach it. the angle was originally pretty awkward, with eunseok on his knees spreading your cheeks to eat you out. you were under the impression that him pulling away meant you’d be getting his dick next. instead, eunseok gets on his back and pushes himself so slot in between your legs. you see his face, so serene and protected. his eyes are so brown and his lips are so plump and his hair is so mused. nothing can replace eunseok in your mind. you are too preoccupied with your feelings to stop yourself from being brought down to his face with his strength.

you don’t want to accidentally put all your weight on his face and break his neck. you try pulling yourself up, but his hands on your thighs hold you in place. he looks up at you with wide eyes, like an animal whose food is being taken away. he eats at you with a hunger you’ve never seen. before you know it all your reservations are gone and you’re riding his face.

“eunseok…it feels so goodddd.” you lean back, hands grabbing his thighs to steady yourself. “i can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“i can’t believe you’re letting me. i want to die with you on my face.” eunseok uses his hands on your thighs to bring you even closer to his face. he fucks you with his tongue, lapping up everything your body gives him.

you can feel your orgasm coming. your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire with the white and fuzzy feeling coming to you. you look down at eunseok, who is already locked into your face. he’s checking your emotions and reading you like a book. your moans are the gospel or the angel that comes to sit on his shoulder and whisper in his ear. eunseok smiles into your pussy, knowing you’re close. you want to so badly gain control of the situation, to remind him that he let you in after ghosting him. that he’s the one who got you here. so you look down at him, trying to give him the exact same knowing smirk he’s been throwing at you all night.

“you would do anything for me wouldn’t you?” you give a wicked smile as you slow your pace to grind on his tongue. “just for a taste.”

eunseok can’t speak with a mouthful of you. he opts instead to nod his head vigorously and increase the speed of his tongue.

“do those bitches that you text know what you’re doing? still just a fuck toy for your ex?”

eunseok shakes his head. he murmurs something into your clit. you ignore him again. that’s something you seem to be good at.

“i’m close eunseok. baby i’m so close.” you pick up your speed again, closing your thighs around his head. eunseok keeps you in place.

right before you reach your peak you start tapping his hands that are holding your thighs in place.

“eunseok i wanna come with you inside.”

eunseok looks up at you and holds eye contact. you look down at him, so determined to get you to finish. before you can come to your senses and repress your orgasm, it hits you like a freight train. it makes you throw your head back and let out a cry and you ride out your high on eunseok’s face. he takes it all in stride, tongue still prodding at your entrance.

once you come down, you realize that you definitely suffocated eunseok to death. you raise yourself off of him, still suffering from aftershocks of that orgasm. when you pull yourself off, you see that eunseok has the biggest stupid grin on his face.

“hey, are you still alive?” you laugh poking his face.

“was it good?” eunseok opens his eyes.

“it was.” you sit on the edge of eunseok’s bed, feet touching the ground.

nothing is stopping you from getting up and walking away. you could actually call an uber to your apartment and then you could text yunjin and giselle without feeling so guilty. you almost get the gumption to do it but then you feel eunseok move up from his spot on the bed to sit beside you.

“was it too much? you didn’t use our safe word so i thought it was okay.” eunseok uses a soft hand to make you look at him. he looks worried. you don't doubt that he can feel all your conflicting emotions, sleeping with your ex. you wonder if he feels the same way.

“it was perfect, really. i needed that.” you reassure him, putting your hand over his.

“then what’s wrong?” eunseok looks in your eyes then at your lips. you look at his.

“i think i need more.” you whisper truthfully.

eunseok uses his hand to bring you closer, kissing you. he pulls away after his tongue darts out to lick your lips.

“more?” eunseok smiles. of course he’s going to make this a living hell for you. but you humor him, because that feeling is building up all over your body again.

“more.” you answer.

eunseok goes to your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. he pulls away before he can leave a mark.

“more.” you don’t move your neck, hoping he gets the point.

“you want me to leave a mark? what will yunjin and giselle say? or all your other boyfriends?” voice is dripping with fake concern.

“i don’t care.” you do care, but self sabotage has already gotten you this far. you are a go big or go home type of girl.

“okay princess.” and eunseok is at your neck, sucking and biting with an energy you’ve never seen from him.

you put your hand over his dick. he’s still wearing his boxers, so you can see a wet spot. now it’s your turn to tease him.

“i never took you for the type to cum in your boxers, babe.” you give eunseok’s dick a squeeze. “you must be really pent up, huh?”

eunseok laughs and leans back on the bed, propping himself up on his hands.

“you gonna help me out?”

you nod. eunseok grabs your hand and leads you off the bed to stand in front of him. he reaches up to bring the zipper on your back as low as it’ll go. he sits back on the bed, back in his same position.

“take your dress off for me.”

you slowly take off one sleeve. you work your way to the other. you let it slowly hang off the upper half of your body as you take off your bra. you drop your bra to the floor. you can hear eunseok behind you moving, probably freeing himself of his boxers. you think about how eunseok has always liked your ass, so you make a show of taking off the lower half of your dress. when that drops to the floor, you turn around facing him.

eunseok has his dick in his hand, slowly stroking himself. you forgot how mesmerizing he looked like this. eunseok was so good at keeping his composure it always felt like a treat seeing him act on his own wants. right now, he wanted you. eunseok got up from the bed and came up to you. you had to look up to see his face. the way he towered over you made you feel something you weren’t ready to come to terms with yet.

eunseok brought you into a deep kiss, as you two were in an embrace, he was slowly moving you further and further back until you hit the bed. he brought an arm behind you and led you down. when your back was on the bed, he broke the kiss.

“i still have condoms.” eunseok said looking in your eyes. he played with your hair, resting like a crown on the bed. you really were his princess

“i haven’t been with anyone,” you admit shyly “i’m still on the pill too.”

“i haven’t been with anyone either.” you had already known, but it was reassuring to hear it from him.

“can we do it without a condom?” you ask. eunseok kisses your forehead a little too sweetly.

“of course princess.”

eunseok brings you closer with a quick pull of your thighs. the feeling of excitement and nerves shoots up your spine. it really has been so long. eunseok slapping your heat with his dick brings you back to the present.

eunseok lines himself up at your entrance, and leans over both arms at your side. you grap one of his arms for stability and comfort. you just needed to be touching him.

“let me know if it hurts too much. you remember the word?”

“i remember.”

“okay.” eunseok kisses your forehead. he kisses it again and you can feel slight pressure. he starts attacking your face with kisses everywhere as he sinks deeper and deeper in. he ends with a kiss on your cheek before he bottoms out. you both moan in unison, so much time has been lost between you two. you already feel tears welling in your eyes. before eunseok can look you in the eyes, you pull his head into the crook of your neck and hold it there. without saying anything, you move your hips back and forth.

“feels good?” eunseok huffs into your shoulder. he tries to sound cocky, but you know it’s getting to him too. you can’t stop yourself from clenching around him. how the pressure feels so good and you feel so full.

“please keep going.” you whimper.

“okay princess.” eunseok kisses your neck and he pulls back his hips to thrust back in. you settle into the pace eunseok has set. slow and deliberate, trying to hit all the spots you thought he would’ve forgotten by now. a soft hand grips your breast and you arch into his touch.

“it’s still sensitive eunseok.” you haven’t gone for a second round since you and eunseok were together, getting yourself to be relaxed while climbing towards your second climax was hard.

“i know baby i know. you don’t want me to stop though right?” eunseok took your earlobe into your mouth. his pace was getting faster, you had to reach for the wall behind you to steady yourself.

“no. please don’t stop.” you used your other arm to pull him closer. you weren’t sure if you were about to cry due to the overstimulation or the fact that you missed the man on top of you. his teasing nature, his attentiveness. how warm he was always. it was hard to remember why you ended things in the first place, especially with him moaning in your ear.

“feels so good.” eunseok kissed your cheek. he brought his arm underneath your body, bringing you into an embrace while still fucking into you.

“i miss this. i miss you.” he admitted into your shoulder.

“i miss you too, eunseok.” you couldn’t stop the tears.

“i want you back more than anything, you know that right?” eunseok’s pace was increasing, he was close.

“i know. i like it…” you try hard to piece your thoughts together, but your mind is becoming filled with eunseok.

“like what? me watching everything you post like some fucking stalker.”

“shows me—shows that you care.”

“can i look at you baby?” eunseok asks, the most desperate you’ve heard him all night.

you pull his head from the crook of your neck and let his forehead rest on yours. for a moment worry crosses his face as he sees your tears. he uses his thumb to wipe an eye clean. the silent acknowledgement has you wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. eunseok grabs one of your legs and helps you put it over his shoulder. this new angle has you digging your nails into his skin.

“god i missed this pussy,” eunseok smiles down at you, wiping away tears from your other eye. “she’s always been mine hasn’t she?”

“yes. she wants you to come inside.” your brain fog is letting your lewd requests come out quick and jumbled.

“of course princess.” eunseok comes back down to you, bringing desperate lips to you. you can hear when he cums inside, letting out a line of profanities with your name mixed in. you can feel when he cums inside, dick pulsing. you cum after he brings a hand to your clit, rubbing revolutions on the bundle of nerves. you grip onto his arm, biting your lip to hold back a love confession.

you two ride out your highs together. eunseok’s hand comes to a slow top and he slowly pulls out of you. you both whine at the loss of warmth, but he lays next to you and pulls you into his chest. you want to protest, that it’s a bad idea for you to spend the night at his place.

instead you opt to fall asleep when he gives you his hoodie to sleep in, head rests on yours, and he begins to rub gentle shapes into your thighs. this was arguably a bad idea, perhaps the worst one you’ve ever had. tomorrow you will deal with it, but the rest of the night belonged to the two of you.

#01zfan: eunseok #eunseok smut #riize smut

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reiding-writing · 30 days ago

Note

For a Halloweeny fic you could do like a bau!reader and Spencer going to a haunted house while away on a case.. you could make it more fluffy or more a thriller/drama thing, whatever you're feeling like <<3

HAUNTED HOUSE — SPENCER REID!

you and spencer search a ‘haunted’ house, that might actually be haunted.

a/n — a little halloween blurb, thanks for the idea !!

masterlist.

You and Spencer are sent to investigate an old, crumbling house on the outskirts of a small town in rural Illinois, a place that even the locals keep their distance from.

Supposedly, it’s haunted—whispers of creaking floorboards and flickering lights drift around like the dust in its empty rooms. But it was also a likely suspect for where kids kept going missing around the area, so it couldn’t be left unsearched.

Spencer looks slightly pale as he stands beside you, adjusting his flashlight, gaze fixed firmly on the front door like he's trying to psych himself up. He’s heard the rumours too, and you know how superstitious he can get.

“Ready to meet our resident ghost?” you ask, a grin twitching at the corners of your mouth.

Spencer tries to hide a frown. “I don’t believe in ghosts, you know,” he mumbles, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “But historically, homes like these… well, they do tend to have unusual histories.”

You give him a mock-solemn nod, widening your eyes dramatically. “Right. Unusual histories. Very rational.” And with that, you push open the door, stepping into the cold darkness beyond.

The house is dimly lit, with thick shadows pooling in every corner. Your flashlight beam skims over a musty rug, tarnished wallpaper peeling at the edges, and a cracked mirror that only reflects your flashlight’s weak glow. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You see Spencer shiver slightly as he steps in behind you, his expression determined but slightly uneasy.

You let a silence hang between you, just long enough for him to start looking around nervously. Then, slowly, you lean in and whisper, “You feel that, right? Like… something’s watching?”

Spencer visibly tenses. “Don’t start,” he murmurs, but his eyes dart around as if he’s trying to catch sight of something shifting in the shadows. “There’s no statistical evidence to support hauntings—”

A floorboard creaks sharply underfoot, and Spencer’s voice dies. He goes completely still, clutching his flashlight like it’s a lifeline. You suppress a laugh, barely.

“What was that?” he whispers.

You lean in, voice low and conspiratorial. “I heard that the ghost here likes to knock… three times…” You knock three times against the nearest wall. The sound echoes through the empty house.

Spencer flinches, his face a mix of surprise and mild horror. He opens his mouth, probably to throw some scientific reasoning at you, but then, down the hallway, another knock answers. A hollow, soft thud—just once, but loud enough to reach you both.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to Spencer. “Was that you?”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes wide. “No. That… that must have been… the house settling.”

“Right, right,” you say, not buying it one bit. “The house settling. Just like all those stories about people hearing whispering voices or seeing strange figures here. Probably just… wind, right?”

You watch his face, noting the way his brow furrows. He’s still holding onto his skepticism, but only by a thread.

You press on, deepening your voice and dropping into your best spooky narrator impression. “I heard the ghost is a woman who lost her eyes in an accident… can’t see, but they say she walks these halls… blindly searching for her next victim.”

Spencer’s mouth opens slightly, but he’s too tense to even object now. He flicks his flashlight down the hallway as if daring the ghost to appear.

The moment is perfect.

You slip behind him as he takes another cautious step forward, and in a low, breathy whisper, you murmur, “Spencer…”

He spins around, eyes wide with sheer panic. His flashlight beam swings wildly around the room, and he barely contains a yell. He narrows his eyes, catching your grin, and lets out an exasperated breath. “You— You’re impossible.”

You chuckle, but before you can answer, there’s a soft scratching sound from somewhere upstairs. The mirth fades a little from your expression. That one didn’t sound like it came from either of you.

Spencer glances at you, his look equal parts accusation and genuine fear. “You… didn’t set that up, did you?”

For a second, you almost want to tell him yes, that it was just another part of the prank. But the scratching continues, persistent, and… you can’t deny the chill creeping up your spine.

“It’s probably just a rat,” you suggest, not as confident as before. And, Spencer’s nod is just as unsure.

“A rat, right….”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg

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warabidakihime · 5 months ago

Text

Rules and Roses Chapter 2

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic).

★ content warnings : implied violence and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n:

hello!!!

first of all, i am so sorry for taking so long to update this story. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

life happened and i got sooo busy. the time i uploaded this fic was when i just started at my new workplace and shortly after a few weeks, i was already preoccupied with work. at first, i was laser-focused on getting used to my new work and the culture. then later on, i found myself playing a more important role in the office that required my undivided attention lol. besides that, so many things happened in my personal life as well that i didn't have the time and energy to write.

btw i'm now a writer by profession as well so oftentimes i would feel drained af after writing corporate write-ups. tbh, i also got hit by writer's block, especially for this fic because the plot i have in mind for it is lowkey intricate, and for the most part, i haven't decided on what route i should take story-wise. so during those 2 years, i was constantly trying to reconstruct the story in my head, and here we are!

i'm back but i'm not so sure about updating regularly as i'm still incredibly busy, but i will do my best! the latest kny seasons inspired me to write again (aka my crush for muzan lol).

hopefully, everyone is still here to read this. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

as always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

happy reading!

"Can you outline your key policy platforms should you be elected President of Phario? Given your extensive background in the human resource industry as well as your rich connections owing to your business ventures in Obelisk Kibutsuji, do you first plan to address the pressing issue of the national unemployment rate?"

"Indeed, that's correct. As President, one of my top priorities will be to strengthen our nation's workforce, which is crucial for advancing our economy. I have a comprehensive plan focused on job creation, vocational training, and support for small businesses. These initiatives will not only reduce unemployment but also stimulate innovation and competitiveness within our economy.

I also aim to implement policies that ensure equal access to education, equipping our citizens with the skills needed for the evolving job market. Healthcare reform is high on my agenda. I'll ensure healthcare assistance is accessible to everyone, public hospitals are well-maintained, and healthcare workers are fairly compensated and protected by the state in any dire situations. Additionally, I'll push for technological advancements and infrastructure development to attract both local and foreign investments.

Addressing social issues is equally important, and as a devoted ally of these communities, I'm committed to fighting all forms of discrimination, especially against women and the LGBTQ+ community. We must ensure everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, or identity, has equal opportunities and protections under the law.

Moreover, I'll advocate for the rights and welfare of people with disabilities, ensuring they have access to the necessary resources and support to lead fulfilling lives. This includes improving accessibility in public spaces and promoting inclusive employment practices.

Animal welfare will also be a significant focus. We need to enact and enforce laws that protect animals from abuse and ensure humane treatment.

Lastly, I'll champion the rights of minorities and immigrants. Our nation is built on the strength of its diversity, and it's imperative we create an inclusive society where everyone feels valued and respected. This includes reforming immigration policies to be fair and humane and implementing programs that support the integration and empowerment of minority communities.

In essence, my administration will be dedicated to creating a sustainable and inclusive economic environment where every Pharian has the opportunity to thrive and contribute to our nation's progress."

Muzan stood confidently at the podium, a modest yet proud smile gracing his face after addressing a journalist's question amidst a room bustling with media personnel.

Today was the day where presidential candidates shared their platforms, which also served as an open forum for engaging with the press and fielding inquiries on a wide array of topics—from current events to personal matters.

With his seasoned composure before cameras and crowds, Muzan navigated the spotlight effortlessly. His articulate delivery drew admiration from all corners as he outlined his plans for the presidency, filling you with pride as you watched from the audience.

Among the attendees, your smile beamed with pride and unconditional support for him. Akaza, who is sitting right beside you, maintained a stoic demeanor outwardly, though inwardly, he couldn't deny a hint of impressed regard. Muzan's comprehensive platform and commanding presence left an undeniable impact on him.

Eloquence had always been Muzan's forte, a skill honed through years of being a businessman and somewhat of a public figure, as among his peers and in the business landscape in general, he is well-revered and widely celebrated.

Beyond his ability to articulate ideas, he possessed a magnetic charisma—an invaluable trait for navigating the intricate world of politics and public service.

Several hours later, the policy speech slash press conference finally ended, and now you were on your way to meet up with Muzan at the lobby of the hotel where the gathering was held when a few journalists spotted you among the sea of people who were also exiting the function room.

Akaza was right behind you and is also on full alert, an important instruction your husband told him when he appointed him as your personal bodyguard a few years back. Committed to his duty, he stood there in a stance where he is ready to take action should anything happen that is out of the ordinary.

Mics were stretched out and placed within just a few inches of your face, and one of them took the liberty to ask you a question: "What are your thoughts on Kibutsuji Muzan's campaign platforms?”

Very much like your husband, you also wore a modest yet confident smile on your face as you held eye contact with the journalist who asked you that question before displaying your own version of eloquence as you answered,

"To say that I am proud while listening to him share and advocate for the causes he wholeheartedly believed in would be the biggest understatement of the decade," you said with a fond chuckle before continuing, "even before he filed for his candidacy and even way before he became the man we all know now, he has always been outspoken about these things. He would always share with me his desire of making significant changes in the world, hoping no more children would have to endure what he did. As many of you know, Muzan, my dear husband, came from very humble beginnings, and unlike me, he has faced challenges far beyond my own. His vision and intuition surpass that of most, and so, as cliché as it may sound, his words and strong convictions carry a weight and authenticity that are strong enough to enable him in doing the impossible and inspire others to believe that a better future is within our grasp."

Akaza listened intently to your answer, finding himself captivated by your words. The way you addressed the press made you sound like a candidate yourself who's also sharing her platform. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of pride as he continued to absorb your statements.

The journalists surrounding you mirrored his sentiment, clearly impressed by your response—no surprise from the esteemed Ballerina Queen of Phario.

It had been quite some time since you last entertained interviews, having retired and chosen to stay away from public engagements.

"Among the plethora of initiatives he wishes to take action on once he's elected, what resonated with you the most?"

You paused, contemplating the list of campaigns your husband had presented earlier. Just as you were about to respond, an arm encircled your waist and gave it a tender squeeze.

It was Muzan.

"Knowing my wife's love for animals, I'm certain she's most excited about what I have planned for animal welfare," Muzan interjected warmly.

You playfully rolled your eyes, eliciting amusement from not only your husband and your respective bodyguards but also the press. "You say that as if it's a bad thing," you quipped.

Muzan chuckled fondly. "Not at all, my love. Your passion for animals is one of the many reasons I fell for you."

The same journalist who had asked you the second question now directed his attention to Muzan, eager for his response. "Based on the most recent public survey, you're likely the most favored candidate to win the elections. What can you say about that, Sir Kibutsuji?"

Muzan smiled bashfully at the reporter, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and determination. "I'm incredibly honored and thankful that our fellow countrymen have placed such faith and confidence in me. It's a humbling reminder of the trust they have in our vision for a brighter future. This campaign has always been about bringing real change to Phario, addressing the pressing issues our nation faces with innovative solutions and inclusive policies. The support we're seeing reflects not just my efforts, but the collective desire of our people for progress and unity."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across the room, before continuing with renewed conviction, "Though I would like to emphasize that I don't take this trust lightly, it actually fuels my commitment to serve with integrity and purpose, to listen to the voices of every Pharian, and to lead with compassion and foresight."

By now, the press was highly satisfied with the answers both of you had given, granting you the freedom to depart. Clearly spent after the eventful day, you exchanged farewells and well-wishes before going your separate ways.

With Muzan's arm still draped around your waist, he guided you towards the grand entrance of the hotel. Meanwhile, Akaza made his way to the basement parking lot to retrieve your car, preparing to drive you both home. Kokushibo remained close to Muzan, ensuring your security as you awaited the car's arrival.

Turning to Muzan, unfazed by the bustling activity around you, you placed a tender kiss on his lips, smiling warmly. "Great job out there, my love. You did so well today. I'm incredibly proud of you."

Clearly elated, Muzan mirrored your smile and returned your affection with a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Thank you, darling. Your support means everything to me."

"Truly, I was beaming throughout your speech. You were absolutely amazing. Phario is fortunate to have such an admirable leader like you," you praised sincerely.

Right there and then, Muzan couldn't help but raise his eyebrow and playfully smile at you, prompting a confused raise of your own eyebrow.

"What's that look for?" you asked.

Muzan shook his head with a playful smirk before replying, "You're not showing favoritism now, are you, my love? I know you adore me, but let's keep it fair, hmm?" he teased, his tone light-hearted and affectionate.

You rolled your eyes at his playful accusation. "Ha-ha. Very funny, Muzan. I'll take it back, then."

Muzan laughed wholeheartedly, drawing attention once again. "I was just joking!" He then smiled warmly at you, his eyes reflecting pride. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Hearing that from you means more than any applause, you know?"

You reached out to pinch his cheeks. "You play too much sometimes, you know?" you said with a chuckle before continuing, "But like I said, hearing you speak today—and in all those times you shared your aspirations with me from when we were students up to now, as you finally have the opportunity to make all come true—it's evident how deeply committed you are. Beyond your skills and capabilities, your passion is what makes you so compelling, Muzan. It's what makes me believe in you, too."

Minutes later, while waiting by the entrance, Akaza finally pulled up with the car. You and Muzan bid farewell to those around you before stepping into the comfort of your vehicle.

As the city lights blurred past the windows, you reflected on the day's events.

"You know," you began, glancing at Muzan beside you, "I have a feeling your speech today touched more hearts than just mine."

Muzan smiled softly, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I hope so. Though the election is still months away, and who knows how things might shift, that's why I don't want to take any of this for granted. I'm in this for the long haul. You'll be there with me, won't you?"

He looked over to you, and in that moment, despite his big words, he looked absolutely adorable, with his ruby eyes shining at you and his lips slightly pouty as he waited for your response, which you gladly provided through the means of placing yet another sweet and passionate kiss on his lips and squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"I'll always be here for you, Muzan, through every challenge and triumph."

"I love you," he whispered lovingly, his expression sincere and heartfelt.

"And I love you," you replied with equal affection.

With a comforting squeeze of your hand, you nestled against Muzan's shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment as the car navigated through familiar streets towards home.

Meanwhile, in the driver's seat, Akaza's face remained unreadable. He was outwardly indifferent to the tender exchange between you and Muzan, but inwardly, he was seething with rage.

You think you're so clever, spouting all those promises and pretty words, playing the saint for the public eye. But I see through you. You're nothing but a manipulative snake, a liar wrapped in a facade of righteousness.

His gaze hardened and his grip on the wheel tightened as he stared ahead, the streetlights casting shadows on his determined expression.

One day, your mask will slip.

I will fucking rip it off your face, even if it's the last thing I do.

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tenderleavesbob · 5 months ago

Text

Warriors moved before anyone else even realized what was happening. He grabbed the guard's wrist in mid-strike, grip bruising and unyielding. His other hand settled deliberately on the hilt of his sword. To his right, Wind stilled and watched the pair with wide eyes. Around them, the laughing and chattering quieted.

The guard stared at Warriors with such disbelief that it might have been funny in different circumstances. He tried to yank his arm back, but Warriors only tightened his grip. The guard yelped in pain. "How dare you? I am a --"

"Cowardly fool," Warriors interrupted. Ice dripped from his words. Fury burned cold inside him. The guard blanched and tried to pull his hand free again. Warriors didn't budge. "Pray tell, why would a soldier feel it necessary to raise a hand to a child?"

For once, Wind didn't protest being called a child. He pressed back against Hyrule, who wrapped his arms protectively around him. They had been laughing and joking, perhaps a little loudly, at a fruit stall. Simply playing. The guard took offense.

Unfortunately for the guard, Warriors took offense at his offense. He tightened his grip. The guard whimpered and shrank away. Coward. "Answer me, soldier."

The soldier looked around for support, but the other shoppers only looked back at him. Perhaps this was a trend. No more. The soldier turned to Warriors and proudly raised his head. "Whatever I do is no concern of yours --"

"Captain," Warriors interrupted. He used his free hand to shift his scarf, revealed the rank on his tunic. The soldier paled more. "Were you trying to figure out something to call me? Captain will do, soldier. Now I will know your name, rank, and commanding officer."

The soldier hesitated. He looked around again. The villagers formed a tight circle around them. Wind and Hyrule remained quiet, but Warriors saw several familiar figures approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Speak, soldier," Warriors commanded.

There was no support coming. The soldier's voice trembled as he rattled out the information Warriors demanded. Warriors nodded, unimpressed.

"I will let you go," Warriors said coldly, "and you will report to your commanding officer for punishment for breaking your vows as a soldier and forsaking your duty by attempting to harm one under your sworn protection. If I discover you ever raising a hand to another child or another innocent again, I will claim that hand for my own. Am I clear, soldier?"

The soldier flinched and didn't answer. Warriors shook his arm once. "Am I clear, soldier?"

The soldier looked like he was going to faint. Shameful. No wonder the others detested soldiers and Knights. "Clear, Captain," the soldier rasped.

Without further ado, Warriors released the man. He watched with open scorn as the soldier stumbled backwards. At last, the crowd moved, providing him a clear exit toward the castle and nothing else. After the soldier ran away, the townspeople closed rank again. Voices rose in chatter with a careful deliberateness, like nothing had happened.

Wind pulled away from Hyrule to press against Warriors's side. Warriors smiled at him and squeezed Hyrule's shoulder in quiet thanks. Hyrule looked too solemn when he nodded back, leaving Warriors to wonder how many similar instances he observed in his era.

"Everything all right, Captain?" Time asked, stepping beside him. His expression was bland, but Warriors saw how his own hand rested on his weapon.

Warriors smiled brightly at him. "Of course. Just a small conversation with a local soldier." He wrapped his arm around Wind's shoulders and squeezed. "You were getting some fruit, right? What would you two like?"

The answer proved to be one of everything, and no one said anything about the unexpectedly cheap price of the fruit. No one said anything about the unexpectedly cheap price of everything else that day, as well.

No one said anything about how Warriors kept one arm around Wind for the rest of the market trip and one hand on his sword, either. Warriors made clear that there were far more cheerful topics to talk about instead.

#lu warriors #tl scribbles #lu wind

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gammija · 2 years ago

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[CECIL]: "So, as we move into the final hours of the competition, vote! Whether it's for your favorite, local, Night Vale community radio host or some... pile of bones, don't let your voice go unheard.

Also... Well, this might be a little bit outside the rules, but you could even make a second account to show a little more support for whoever you think should win. You probably won't get caught. As City Council declared in a recent press release, "Voter fraud doesn't exist."

"There is no such thing as voter fraud," City Council said last Wednesday, their many mouths moving as one. "No one can vote more than once. We certainly can't. Ha, ha." Some of their feet shuffled. "We definitely did NOT commit voter fraud by using the recently developed cloning technology to make copies of ourselves, force them to vote for us, then bus them into the Whispering Forest where we threw them out. That. Never. Happened," they added emphatically.

Immediately after the press conference they disbanded the City Council's, 'Night Vale committee for Fair Elections', by eating them."

[A door creaks.]

[CECIL]: "Listeners, someone has just entered my studio.

Uhm, excuse me! You're not allowed to be in here!

It looks like it's a small man, with a smoothly bald head, and dark empty eyes...

Oh no. They're sockets. This must be him, this 'Snas' the skeleton. He's coming to defend his title...

Listeners, as I prepare myself for what will surely be a fight to the death, seeing who takes who out first, I take you... To the weather."

[CECIL]: "Welcome back. I know you're all dying to know whether I won the Tumblr sexyman poll, and if I defeated the small skeleton. Well...

I was all ready to fight, getting into a stance, when the skeleton held up his hands. He said that he didn't want to fight, and that he'd come here to concede and hand me the title.

I'll admit, I was a bit taken aback by this at first. Of course, I had to protest. Wouldn't that be unfair to the few people who voted for him, I asked?

But he explained that, since he already won last year, he wasn't really looking forward to all the attention and hassle from winning a second time. And seeing as it apparently meant a lot to me, he'd rather just let me win than miss his wedding.

Yeah, apparently he's about to be wed to someone named Komaeda in a few days? Good for him.

Dear listeners, after his heartfelt plee, I felt I had no choice but to accept the win.

Which means I am now, officially, Tumblr sexyman of 2023. Yay!

Stay tuned next for muffled sounds of celebration, overheard from a neighbour's house nearby.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

#wtnv #audio #undertale #polls #cecilsweep #i am manifesting #cecil palmer #fanfic #i guess #sexymanotd #wrote this in 30 mins so its not good but i had fun #night vale stuff is so hard to do justice to in writing when the voiceacting is such an element #welcome to night vale #wtnv fic #Spotify #btw this is not a call to cheat on the poll #but i just think Cecil would ask people to

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

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3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds ; masterlist

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she�� well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

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