#you be my fire and i'll be your gasoline

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

jaskier in you be my fire

[gangplanksorenji]

Clandestine

Pairing: NewJeans’ Danielle x Male Reader

Word Count: 6,000

A/N: Hello Orenjideul! This is probably the last fic I'll be writing and releasing this year because I'm getting occupied with my own endeavors. This is purely 97% a BFH fic because this Dani look is killing me.................. (god, that waist) Enjoy reading it! <3

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“Try and keep it secretive, please.”

Those words define what’s the goal—mouths shut, all within yourselves.

You’ve been living your life on the edge, playing with fire and Danielle is the gasoline that keeps igniting it and it piques you, delving for more. It’s scary, outrageous to the very least but in the greater perspective, it’s blissful and fun and that’s what matters at the end of the day.

Try, like what’s stated. It’s ultimately the goal and you’d revolve around that single word every damn time.

You have a reputation to protect, and it’s all in the means of Danielle because a single mistake can bear a scarring loss, because she has everything to lose and you’re to blame if it were to happen (the latter is speaking in hypothetical terms).

“Can’t wait, hm?” Your eyes gaze towards her, plastering a faint smile as you continue to pepper her neck with kisses that felt too euphoric on Danielle’s end.

“Ahh—how can I wait?” Her moans bless your ear, and you absolutely take that as an affirmative with her delight. She knows on herself that you’re insatiable and she hates it—temptation breaking as the both of you are speaking, and she’s feeling every ounce of your energy all over her skin.

Her hands roam around your body, feeling your kisses get herself acting up and writhing under your control. You turn, tilt her chin to face you and all you can see is a visage worth an awe. “You’re so goddamn pretty, Dani.”

These compliments just ignited the utter bliss she feels, lips curling into a smile of sincerity adding up to her impeccable beauty that no one can rival. You rest your nose onto her neck, then peppering it all over again as your hands handle her with care and the absolute ambition to let her know how much you adore her.

“You—you’re kissing me so, so good…” Danielle’s accent is candy to your ears, and you’re just replying with more intimacy. Her hands find the hem of your shirt, dexterous fingers lifting it as her primal instincts kick in until your hands hinders her advances.

Danielle whimpers, a hot breath brushing against your ear as you locked eyes onto hers. “Not yet, Dani.”

A visible pout by your sunshine, and immediately, you’re captivated but not enough to break the façade. “B-But why? Oh…”

Patience is what she needs, and as selfish as this sounds, your needs would be the priority for fulfillment.

Like what’s stated at the beginning  you’ve been living at the edge with her and thankfully, there’s no instance enough to bear such a result that would crumble a reputation. It’s just not helping where you’d be damned to live if ever Hanni catches you with such mess with Danielle and it’s doubled down with Minji—you’d be gone for good, that’s for sure, but Danielle has this hold against them that wouldn’t let you go and stick this risky relationship that could bear a scarring demise.

But who cares about that now? Not when her figure is all for your eyes to drool upon, in full display with her pants and that shirt curled into a crop top unleashing something within you—she looks unreal, sculpted to perfection as the outfit accentuates her undying hotness, a gift for you to admire and lastly, savor.

Your hands roam around that tiny waist of hers, abs flexing with your enervating touch that earns faint, sultry moans escaping her lips. You caress it and she continues her vocalization, ceaseless with your aims of adoring every inch.

“God, this fit—” Your power was evident, pulling her towards you as she gasped with your domination, and then smiled as she anticipated. “—is insane. I never thought you could be any hotter.”

It’s true, factual even, because numerous people would agree to you on how hot she looks with these kinds of fits. It does help knowing how she’s cognizant to push your buttons, and with just the tip of the iceberg, you melt and those eyes of yours tell a story.

“I knew you’d love this.” Danielle’s expressions smoulders a little, her face contorting confidence as she knows how she’s your kryptonite, and it’s mutual—even if it’s ego-driven, you can’t deny the fact that she’s alluring and you love her confidence because she knows she’s fucking hot.

You’ve seen multiple cases on the Internet, ever-so-liked within the people in various social media platforms sharing Danielle’s impeccable figure and the raises alongside it. You’re glad you’re in the first row of her show, always hitting and selfish because it’s all for you eyes to see—only you. Her fragrant smell hypnotizes you and it’s effective, luring you in and investing in more efforts into worshiping her. Kisses, suckles and licks is her threshold, currently shivering with the pleasure you give her as her ragged moans are enough for a conclusion. 

“God—please, stop…” You stop once she calls your name again, hoarse, feeling that she can’t possibly handle the way you’re treating her—you assume she’s more sensitive with you and nothing else. You’re visibly puzzled, lingering that assumption within you as you’re vocal enough to address her sudden words to feed off against her needs.

“Anything wrong, Dani?”

“I—” Her lips are quivering, hands fiddling the hem of her shirt as her doe eyes invite you to listen, and you're all ears for that. “—want this.”

You know where she’s going with this as her hands run down to your pants and near the vicinity of your nether regions and god, her fingers alone would make your beast stand up in vigor. Your hands hold hers, guiding her through the zipper as your other hand finds its way onto the valet of her curves, teasing the skin of her spine that’s enough to make her release a dulcet moan towards your lips. “How do you want it, hm?”

Your voice is alluring, predominantly teasing as the last hm signifies your interest. Danielle just moans with your repeated touches, and she’s barely coherent and mostly mumbling, what more if you're going a level further? “Can’t quite hear you, baby.”

You’re now pinning her against the wall, you weight pressing against her slightly as you eyes then face her and begged, “Just kiss me first, please.”

That please of hers was so lovely and sincere you can’t afford to lose this opportunity. You were surprised with Danielle’s initiative, cupping your cheeks as she pulled you in for a kiss and you quickly reciprocated. The sloppy sounds and the sultry moans escaping your lips signals the deprivation, and it’s all fulfilling every second that passes.

Her lips are soft and you won’t get exhausted kissing those all day, even if it means your own lips to be numb. It’s sweet and hers is torrid, the exchange heating up the permeated humidity she exuded just by herself and she’s just igniting it all throughout.

“Kissing me so good, Dani…”

“Can’t blame that you taste great.” Danielle spits the truth, her lips curling up on a smirk as she bites her lip, currently in this state of need and her face alone just lit the fire inside your heart. “Now I need this.”

She cups the apparent bulge, visibly poking onto the fabric of your pants as her daring advancements makes you utter a faint moan in which she chuckled, a victory in her possession.

“Getting too bold, are we?” It’s straightforward and lustful, and definitely, you like it. 

You’re not going to introduce the necessities for foreplay and more, and with the lust growing inside you that’s matching hers, you’ll let her do what she’s great at and with a single command, reply with immediate compliance. “Drop down to your knees, baby.”

It felt like her knees faltered, dropping down with a thud onto the cold floor as her hands then found its way onto the edge of your pants, tugging them and licking her lips in anticipation. Now loosened up, she pulls them down and lets gravity do the work, making a puddle of your clothing onto your ankles. She’ll steal glances towards you while working her wonders, and the contradicting natures of the sight just below your waist sends you into overdrive—her gleeful yet seductive smile covers up to the sins that he’s about to do, and it’s aligning all too well.

“God, I’ve never done this for a while…” Danielle’s tone permeates that self-doubt since it’s factual, marking maybe months until she’d indulged herself into something like this and it doesn’t help with the group’s busy schedules and everything that’s making their time occupied prior to this.

You tilt her head, facing towards you as her eyes meet yours, and you reassure her. “You’re a natural, Dani—besides, just let yourself be what you are.”

Let herself be, and ultimately, she knows that it’s always what she is in situations like this. Letting the doubt aside and her hunger to take over, she impatiently yanked your boxers down, joining it onto the puddle of worthless clothing down to your ankles. Danielle’s eyes glimmer with that lingering captivation as soon as the beat inside you unshackles from its clothed prison, almost hitting her in the face as it stands tall and stiff, waiting for her touch to enchant it.

She coos, hot breath within that reddish crown and you moan because of it. “Still a-as monstrous as I remembered.”

The teases probably get into you (even though her tone laces with sincerity), uttering a laugh as her lips part, a pout on display, gently kissing the leaking slit and her hands roaming around your base and onto those balls she always loves to taste. Of course, the sunshine descends down into the darkest sins, carnally worshiping your cock with an eager suck to collect that liquid you’re leaking and the profound spit that she lathers all around your length. You doesn’t leave any inch untouched with her lips and sheathed with her saliva, as her attention averts down to your balls and plays with it, her hands pumping you with a leisure pace that’s enough to wring that pleasure you’re always seeking.

“Looking great so far?” Your legs are probably viable to give out, knees shuddering as her touch sends you into the abyss of gratification. She knows the answer to such a rhetorical question, living up with the compliment you withdrew earlier and it’s factual, she's naturally skilled. “You know the answer to that, Dani—fuck…”

She replies with her tongue now dancing around your throbbing cock, her snug mouth encapsulating half of your length as she eagerly bobbed, up and down, and no stopping. Your hand finds its way onto her messy bun, tied upright with a clip and you could just let yourself feel every ounce of pleasure being brought by Danielle. 

It was hurried, ephemerally increasing the pace as her mouth gets messier, her own saliva seeping out of her mouth supports the fact. You kept moaning and it invigorates her for more, until she knows she;s approaching her limit.

She gagged and immediately pulled out, and your mouth just showered her with compliments and those eyes of her shine with your approval. “You’re incredibly gifted, god…”

“Can’t help it tastes really, really good, daddy.” The name, the word, god, she knows what buttons to push against you. 

She always does, in most cases and you’re here to indulge with the fact that she’s controlling you slowly. You would give in to her dominant nature against your cock but here, you still stand and it’s contradicting—you’re nowhere near being precarious, and you’ll take that heavenly mouth of her anyday (like you would resist it).

She voiced out your insatiability, impaling her mouth with your own length and bobbed frantically, her immediate actions sending your sensitivity onto the roof and so is the pleasure. She treats your succulence like it’s her favorite popsicle, sucking onto every inch of it and savoring the flavor that’s probably inviting her more roughness and you could feel it.

“God, Dani—shit!” You’re unable to utter coherent sentences as you’re involuntarily shouting out the pleasure she brings, and you could look down and see that smile printed onto her lips, even with a mouthful of your length. You caress her cheeks, run your fingers through her dark-colored locks that’s messy enough to compliment the disarray of her doings. 

Here it comes, those eyes of hers locking onto yours, so innocently-looking with the scintillations telling a story full of her wonders and with those very eyes of hers, you’re hypnotized. Her pace never falters, almost pumping her head and kissing your base everytime she buries her throat full of your length, and it almost makes your foundations meet its crumbling outcomes. Her gags are apparent, jerking her head onto you but she fights, because she wants to deliver the utmost pleasure you deserve and with that determination, you’re absolutely going to reward her.

The inevitable is bound to happen, as she ejects onto your saliva-sheathed length, strings of her drool connecting onto her lips and your tip, marking her shirt and soaking so little of it and she catches her breath, chest heaving with what she’d done. “G-God—oh, I—”

“Hey—you did fucking amazing, holy shit…” You’re vulgar and bold, and she doesn’t mind it because it’s mutual when you did your own oral expertise onto her—possibly no one heard her swear so much as ever before whenever you eat her out, and it’s a concealing fact that’s only exclusive between the both of you.

Her lips, swollen and pink, shiver with the sin she has done but she never regretted it, and instantly becomes gleeful once your praise is registered within her. “All for you, daddy.”

Of course it is, and she was giving her hundred percent with every second of this opportunity. There’s still a soft heart within you, consulting her as your eyebrows furrowed, subtly worried. “Are you okay, though?”

“Hah… yes, daddy—I just want more of this cock.” She’s a little exasperated from such an impressive act she’d done to you, and her smiles reassures you and with the eagerness of her livid strokes says a lot. 

Danielle holds onto your rod with a vice grip, tight enough for more moans to escape your lips as her lips find its way onto your tip, lapping up the scrumptious taste that she’s addicted to. It was evident, utterly in need for you as she didn’t build up a pace slowly for yourself to get used to, and did the opposite. The pace counts for your release, and it’s evident with the way she’s doing everything in her power to inch you closer to her deserved reward. She takes more than half of you and fondled your balls, earning the sultriest and knee-shuddering moans that urges her for more.

You avert your eyes down, and she’s occupied with your cock, hammering her mouth with it and hollowing her cheeks whenever she feels wringing out the best gratification she can muster. She’s closing her eyes, feeling every inch of you until the back of her throat, gags following and you persistently throbbed in reply with that. She tames it and you admire it, fighting the urge to release her vice grip around your length.

Your eyes then drool all over her impeccable figure, even when she’s down onto her knees—the perfectly sculpted curves of her waist to her hips while her head fades onto the sight with a bobbing blur just ignites the thought of ruining her.

You're lost under her spell, and you wanted to see those beautiful eyes of hers, as she does what she’s best at. Lifting her chin up with your index finger, you gulp and give in to your desires. “Look at me when you're sucking me off, Dani.”

She obliges as she meets your gaze, your face contorting slightly with the pleasure as her ruined visage is enough to know how much she’s enjoying it.

It’s the same cacophonous sounds that deafens your ear with, the same music you won’t get tired of listening if it means to make Danielle feel the delight she always deserves—the concoction of slurps, gags and sloppy sounds are the things at the tip of the iceberg.

Her pace increases, and now, your hands find her hair again as an outlet against the ultimate pleasure she brings, drilling into her mouth deeper without your awareness, balls slapping against her chin due to her breakneck pace. You would want to prolong the dopamine rush within your veins, but the curtain calls out to a painful denouement tha would conclude the first part of an exquisite show she’s laid upon between your legs.

The throbs are persistent, and she doesn’t have a plan to pull out and you have your own desires that’s ready to be fulfilled.

“I’m close—c-can’t hold it anymore—” You gulp right after, breaths uneven as the both of you are just savoring every second, eyes closed and yearning for more. You assess every pump her mouth does, how tight and pleasurable it is and you can’t absolutely hold it anymore until something disturbed the force of things.

A loud pop is what you’ve heard, and you can just see Danielle stroking your messy length with the fastest velocity her wrists can muster, and it just earned more moans from you. “I’ve always wanted to do this, daddy…”

You know where this is going, lips curling up a smirk and pretending to be oblivious. “Do what, exactly?”

You can feel the familiar tingle within your groin, and it’s only a matter of seconds before the inevitable paints her white. “Add up to the mess I made myself, daddy.”

“Open wide, Dani.” She does as she's told to, releasing the grip that almost strangled your length and did it yourself. 

That sullied countenance of hers is a sight to cherish, savor every second and every detail on how messy and beautiful she has become as everything concludes down to the most important act. 

You groan and point it where it belongs, a pretty canvas painted white as every inch is possibly covered with how thick your load is. Every spurt hits the features where everyone leaves with an awe, living up to the words she let go of and you did just that. Nose, cheeks, forehead, mouth and even her neck—it’s incredibly lucky how none of your load got up to her clothing, possibly writing the script of just ruining what’s just worth defiling.

If these walls could just talk, you hope they wouldn’t say anything because you will be damned if anyone catches the both of you doing such unforgiving sin.

Her lips quiver, still kneeling down as she grips your stiff cock, stroking it leisurely and then inviting you with a gleeful smile that possibly refutes the sinful sight, faking the convincing innocence. 

Those eyes of her pleads, and there her dulcet voice goes and you know you can’t turn her requests down. “May I clean your cock, daddy?”

You cup her cheek, maintaining that eye contact as your fingers trace the cum you left onto her, and then directing it onto those soft, kissable lips of hers that’s known for an abundance of talents. It was agonizing with the way you trace her features, and she suckles onto your fingers needily like she hasn't sucked the life out of you just a minute ago. She closes her eyes, relishing and humming in satisfaction with the taste she’s longing to lay her taste buds on.

You pulled out and earned a whine, and then replied with a jovial approach. “No one’s stopping you.”

No one is, and not even herself. 

Her lips parts against your engorged tip, tongue swirling around it and tidying up the mess she made. It’s sensitive and it’s the guilty pleasure—it’s slightly making you turn on even more, pushing your limits and as well as the buttons for your lust. 

“You’re fucking gifted, Dani.”

It’s these small admirations of her actions that urges her to complacency, but giving everything that she got up her sleeve. Her mouth swirls around and it and eventually, she pulls out and stares at you, reeking that anticipation that lingering within her because she knows you’re not done with her.

Once she pulls out, she remains on her knees, and you take the opportunity to scoop out the cum that stained her heavenly-sinful face, directing it onto her mouth and cleans it repeatedly. It’s nearly cleaned up, but nowhere near the finish line as the both of you are just getting started, and you’re vocalizing your frustrations evidently yet nowhere near hostile.

“Get up, Dani.” She obliges with your command, your feet kicking the clothing and deeming it useful and the sunshine that gleams innocence brews a storm, and you know she’s ready for phase two.

“Dying to be balls deep inside me, daddy?” Of course you fucking are, and she’s just asking that to rile you up and it’s effective, cock twitching up in the air as soon as she let go of such sinful words.

She knows you, and it’s just making things worse in the right ways.

Danielle’s face is just inches away from you, and you’re just dying to get that feeling of her utter tightness. You grew impatient, controlling her lithe frame with a grab on her waist, and let herself face the wall and her arms resting on it as well. She gasps with your roughness towards her, chuckling a little as she wants this kind of treatment and she deserves it. A wiggle of her petite ass invites you to just undress her bottom half, but you would admire the hourglass figure she possesses, every inch of her curves urging you to defile the living life out of her.

You deeply adore her with all your heart, unable to hurt her but whenever she invites you to be one, you wouldn’t waste the opportunity and give in to your carnal desires.

Your hands roam to her clothed butt, feeling the softness of it and how it’s perfectly sculpted and all too right. Unable to deprive yourself of such a sight, you wrap your arms around her hips, undressing her pants and unshackling her heating slit and there it goes, all for you to feast upon.

“You promised to be rough, right, daddy?” She looks over her shoulder, tone laced with high expectations as a moans follows, feeling the cold air brush against her skin. 

“If that’s what you wanted—” The restraint is now onto her ankles, then off to somewhere in the vicinity. Your eyes meeting the last bit that conceals your grand prize, but it didn’t come without a reverberating sound that earned the sexiest moans Danielle could muster. “—I’m not thinking a single thought of giving you mercy.”

Fuck, she unleashed the monster within you, and it’s all for her to take.

It wasn’t just one, but a barrage of slaps onto her petite ass, making her writhe a little and her arms shaking with the pain and pleasure you’re treating her. You mark it red, imprinted with your hands before stopping and she whines, knowing the best is yet to be introduced. 

It was another moan that escaped her lips, and with the last bit of defense down and destined to be useless, you know she’s up for a show.

“Da—oh god, daddy!” Danielle whimpers once she feels you, going deeper and earning more moans that made her body shudder with the gratification. You plunge not too deep inside her, and immediately, you are met with an overwhelming tightness that puts you in the same boat as hers in correlation with the profanities you both voice out. You grab her hips and her waist, drawing herself closer to you as she’s barely standing on her ground with your control, and you’re just within the tip of the iceberg in terms of your pace.

You give herself a breathing space, but Danielle’s plans weren't in accordance with yours, her voice coarse yet still, surprisingly sweet that urges you for more.

“More, daddy—f-fuck me harder!” Your hips increase your velocity, the initial speed of it sending her thighs in a recoil with your harshness, drilling deeper and withdrawing repeatedly that’s enough to fuck her up, senseless. Somehow, she’s even coherent to articulate words, urging you for more and yearning for you to go deeper.

“Fuck—oh my fucking god, more—aw!”

“God, you’re just so tight, aren’t you, hm?” You’re pumping her like you’re marking up your dominance against her, and it’s fulfilled, now filling her up to the brim. You marvel with her unparalleled tightness, hugging your length like it’s suffocating it and repeatedly groaning because of it. With her repetitive pleas, comes resonating spanks that just makes her leak more of that nectar, creating that wetness that runs down in rivulets on her thighs. She’s creating puddles down onto the floor due to your own rough endeavors into her pussy, legs shaking and rippling in every thrust you do that sends her into overdrive.

You’d bet she’s seeing stars right now, the reason is stated as follows: withdrawing with just the crown inside and then slamming back into her, balls deep, just right for her to delve down onto lustful, high-pitched screams that voices the overwhelming pleasure running down her veins.

This is not great, and with a harsh spank, you retort at her and make sure she’s unable to do it again. “Quiet down, Dani—you’re gonna get us in trouble.”

If it’s ever the case, then the both of you probably are. The suspicious noises are just enough for someone outside to check out what’s with the pandemonium of noises that’s just getting too familiar. You didn’t care, to the very least, continuously pounding her tight cunt and dismissing the fact about the risky unveiling of the truth.

Danielles muffled her screams with a bite on her shirt, shutting herself up and that alone makes you ignite the carnal beast within you, testing how much she can bear.

Her legs are possibly wobbling, getting weaker with how rough you are treating her as every clash of your bodies results in an addition to the symphony of moans, an ocean worth swimming in if it means your ears to get blessed.

You surely are, and you’re at the top of the world because of it. 

“God—this pussy—” You groan, spanking her and then lean on to kiss her neck, your tongue nibbling onto the pristine, milky skin as your weight gives her reasons to be dangerously precarious. “—is just phenomenal. This will always be mine.”

You marked up your territory, and Danielle knows who owns her heat, and it’s up for you to ignite it. The kiss was ephemeral, hurting her because she wanted to feel your lips longer against her neck but she’s just grateful that you’re still ruining and impaling her up to the hilt with your length. Your hands run its way back to her hips, and immediately continue with a consistent pace that inches her closer to her own high.

With the way she’s leaking like a faucet around your rapid length, you know it wouldn’t be long until she reaches euphoria.

“C-Close, daddy—so fucking close—you’re fucking m-me so, so good!” Danielle’s clearly enjoying this, and with her compliments comes your own fulfilling reply. You kept fucking her cunt like it’s going to be your last, every thrusts your hips muster clashes against her skin that accentuates roughness. 

“Please d-don’t stop fucking me—please, please!” She’s lost in the blissful trance, lust and desperation taking over as gone is her innocent image, truly in the depth and unable to go back up. You did what she pleaded as her juices coats your length in all angles, even adding up onto the puddle onto the floor and wetting down her thighs. Her knees shake, arms flailing with the impact her orgasm brings her, but you didn’t stop and fucked her through it, being in the same boat as hers—lost in the trance.

Her walls clench around you and it earns that primal roar out of you, her tightness aiding to the pleasure you’re also experiencing. You’re just cognizant with the fact that her expression probably concludes into the epitome of ecstasy, and all-throughout cockdrunked with your own reckoning. Wanting another angle to savor how her walls feel, you pull out of her and she immediately whines, asking why would you do such a thing.

“No, d-daddy—no, please, put it b-bcack in—”

“I will.” You grab her wrists and her hips, turning her around to face you and given her small figure, it wasn’t a challenge to control her. “I just wanna see your beautiful face while I ruin you again—make you cum again.”

With your strength, you squat down to inch your arms under her thighs, and immediately lifted her like it’s nothing, and with her swift recovery, her senses became aware and directed your throbbing cock inside her tightness again. She yelps and involuntarily holds onto your arms and neck, supporting her frame and continues to stare at your eyes, glistening with lust.

Her back is pressed against the wall as you thrust upwards, not even starting off slow and introducing a harsh pace, like what she wanted all along. “God, I could fuck you like this all day, Dani—god, you’re hot.”

With the way her abs flex in every thrust you do steals your attention towards it. Maybe her workouts at the gym are worth something more than what she always loves to do, and you admire how toned and perfect it is in every angle. Her supple frame and her flexible legs makes it easier to drill deeper into her cunt, uttering the sultriest and hottest moans by Danielle. With this profound angle, you’re in total domination all over her, controlling her as she gives in to you, trusting you on how you’ll ruin her with care. 

“God, daddy—you’re fucking me way too good!” It’s just the deepest primal instincts within her that’s commending the way you’re treating her, and you love every word laced within it. You continue to hammer her upwards, feeling her tightness enveloping you again as her hands find a leverage to hold on but are unsuccessful knowing it’s just a wall behind her. 

Your lips then smashes against hers, wanting to increase the libido within you as the clash is something lingering with need and hunger. Both of your lips add up to the erotic soundtrack that’s composed out of spite, filling and permeating the room with the sounds of sex and nothing more. 

You’re not going to lie, the shirt that accentuated her figure is just the perfect example of a nuisance, and Danielle hurriedly undresses it, revealing those perky tits with a white bra clasped around it. She’s just too hot to bear, and a perfect candidate to be ruined and you’re proving why she lives up to that position. She threw the shirt onto the bed beside, and continued to rest her arms onto your shoulders, then resumed her moans as it became erratic once you suckled onto her neck, inhaling the scent that you always love.

“I can’t believe h-how much of slut you are for my cock, honestly.” Even if she retaliates for a reason, she can’t deny the truth as your length turns her into a new person, consumed with lust and following you like a leash. She can’t utter a response, not when she’s being pounded into oblivion and another high inching closer towards her.

“I can’t daddy—too good! Too good!!” Her exclamations are the voices of her lustful nature, she’s possibly built just to say the same sets of words once you’ve plunged everything inside her. The cluster of the same moans and pleas escapes her lips, and you know she’s set for another blissful  climax and it’s all thanks to you.

Maybe the walls weren’t so opaque to shackle what’s behind, unveiling the secretive assault towards Danielle and you didn’t care—you’re chasing towards the promised land, to set foot there and get lost within that hill.

“Gonna cum, da—” She’s cut, and then, she releases.

Nectar seeps out to the edge of the crevices, forming rivulets and spasms that’s felt in her body, magnitudes unlocking new heights of delight as you fuck her through it, knowing your hopping onto the same boat as hers.

All things are destined to an end, and you want a conclusion worthy to paint something remarkable for the both of you.

“Outside, p-please—cum for me, daddy—” You’re still carrying her while the pleas register within you, burying your shaft and immobilizing your thrusts while coursing your way towards the bed. You throw her, not enough to hurt her but enough to hear an audible thud as you pull out, and eyeing her figure with such hunger that fueled you for another release.

“I’m gonna fucking paint that tight waist of yours, Dani.” You stroke your cock with a breakneck pace, an identical event like earlier as she invites you, her tone crumbling down your walls and building up another reward you’re eager to give.

“Then paint it, daddy—ruin me.” It’s simple yet so hot that you can’t fathom how she’s able to choose words that could fuck up the way you’re thinking. She’s embracing the eventual rain of another hot load, closing her eyes and you could count to five and not make it past three—

Then, it comes.

You aim towards her slim waist, showering the abs with numerous spurts that can rival your first one, multiple shots earning moans from your lips due to how euphoric she made you. You lick your lips, hands wringing out the pleasure and prolonging and eventually, it subsides down for you to admire the fruits of your labor—a work specifically painted meticulously, done and worked on a canvas that’s sprayed white.

Her chest heaves up and down due to the exasperating session and roughness you bestowed, but looking into her eyes, there’s no glint of regret and just grateful you’re able to show who you really are.

“God, you fucked me so well, daddy…”

Your breaths are ragged, your cock getting flaccid as Danielle still has the power to stand on her wobbly legs, your cum running down her porcelain skin and her hands finding its way onto your beast, still urging for something more.

“All for—argh—you, Dani—all for you, god…” The sensitivity skyrockets, but it doesn’t matter, not when you’re finding her lips again, exchanging torrid and intimate kisses.

As you’re about to find your way onto the fine plane of her spine, and towards her ass, a heavy set of knocks baffles the both of you, and it’s fucked up 

“Dani, why are you taking so long right there? Hello, are you there with him? What are the both of you doing??” It’s a familiar voice and your senses are heightened, and with an anxious look, Danielle reassures you and shouted words that would possibly assure the girl that everything’s fine.

“Hanni’s gonna kill me, Dani—”

“Shhh…” Her fingers meet your lips, muting you for more advances that won’t help the situation. You help her clean up with the tissue that’s on her desk and hurriedly dress yourselves up, looking presentable as much as possible. “It’s fine—nothing’s going the wrong way, daddy.”

You’re living your life on the edge, and you would be damned for dear life if Hanni unveils the truth yet Danielle’s golden personality outshines that and it’s only a matter of time before she puts those onto the test.

You can end up on both roads of besmirchment, that expected disappointment from Hanni or a surprising turn of acceptance but one thing’s for sure: you achieved what the both of you wanted, and that concludes up onto a triumphant note, all wins and no losses.

[incognit0slut]

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you. 

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on. 

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole. 

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. 

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay. 

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen. 

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here. 

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved. 

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?” 

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture. 

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

[pascaloverx]

RAGE

Author's note: if you like this little sample of the fanfic idea, kraven x reader. Interact with the story, so I can see if I continue or not. this chapter includes mature content. minors do not interact!!!

Summary: You are secretly Dmitri Smerdyakov's bodyguard, though over time, you've developed a friendship with him. However, you share a complicated past with his brother, Sergei Kravinoff. Now that Sergei is back in town, who knows where this will lead you?

PREVIEW TWO

ONE (+18)

Sergei removes his shirt as you begin cleaning his wounds, ensuring they don’t get infected. His pained groans are like a beautiful melody to your ears.

"What brought you here? Aside from your undeniable talent for dragging your brother into trouble," you ask, noticing several bullet fragments lodged in his back.

Reaching for a specialized medical tweezer, you start extracting the shards. Sergei tenses, his body twitching under the sharp pain.

"Believe it or not, I came because I missed Dmitri," he mutters through gritted teeth, his voice strained yet oddly sincere. You can't see Sergei's face, but you can feel that he's hiding something. You know him too well to believe otherwise.

"No lies, Kravinoff. Tell me the real reason you're here, or I'll make you regret it," you say while pulling another bullet fragment from his back. He suddenly turns, catching your wrist in his grip. His touch is firm but not forceful.

"I missed the old times," Sergei murmurs, his hand sliding down your thigh before traveling up to your waist, pulling you closer.

"You’re trying to distract me so I’ll forget what I really want to know. That doesn’t work anymore," you reply, even as you find yourself leaning into his touch.

Sergei watches you with a smirk, clearly enjoying your attempt to resist. "Doesn’t seem like it’s not working," he whispers, his lips grazing your neck as his fingers toy with the fabric of your clothe near your neckline.

Your eyes meet his and is like fire meeting gasoline. His hands press against your chest with deliberate firmness, drawing a sharp gasp from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regain control, but his touch burns through the fabric of your clothes, unraveling whatever resolve you had left.

His lips press against your neck, deep and deliberate, his teeth nearly grazing your skin. You grip his back tightly, your nails digging into his flesh, drawing a low groan from him. You can feel the warmth of his blood on your fingertips—your nails must have broken skin—but if Sergei is still the same, you know he’s reveling in the pain. His body has always been too resilient, turning him into someone who finds pleasure in just a little bit of suffering.

"Sergei, why are you here?" you murmur, pulling him closer, an insatiable urge building inside you—a craving to taste his lips.

"If I tell you," he breathes, trailing kisses upward, his mouth dangerously close to yours, "you’ll want to kill me."

You grip his face, your nails digging into his skin as you force him to look at you. "Does this have anything to do with your brother?" you growl, your teeth nearly grazing his cheek.

"I'm hunting someone—someone who had the nerve to use Dmitri to provoke me. I came to make sure he stays safe," Sergei admits, his tone carrying that infuriating certainty, as if he knew this would enrage you.

Your hand slides down to his throat, squeezing tightly. "You son of a bitch," you snarl. Sergei tilts his head back, his breath hitching—but not in fear. If anything, he seems to enjoy the pressure of your fingers around his neck. His hands grip your waist, yanking you onto his lap, pressing your bodies together. You could kill him. You should kill him. But instead, you release his throat, letting him gasp for air.

"I would never put my little brother in danger," Sergei rasps as soon as he can speak. Your hand flies toward his face, ready to slap him, but he catches your wrist mid-swing. Before you can react, he tugs you forward, his grip firm on the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss—as if he’s trying to silence your fury, or maybe just redirect it.

As you are consuming each other in a fiery kiss, you take Sergei's hand and puts it over your panties. You press his fingers against your panties making it clear how wet you are. "I want you to feel how this night could have ended if you were a better man, but you're still the same pathetic guy who only thinks about himself," you say looking into Sergei's eyes as you abruptly move away from him. He seems immersed in your scent and your touch as he tries to understand what mistakes he keeps making.

You storm out of Dmitri’s apartment, leaving Sergei behind. You almost lost yourself again, entangled in his grasp, but you refuse to make the same mistake twice. Gritting your teeth, you get into your car and speed toward the venue where Dmitri should be finishing his performance.

There are security guards stationed at the entrance, but you’re too focused to acknowledge them. Your priority is making sure Dmitri is safe. As soon as you step inside, your eyes find him on stage, his presence radiant, as if the entire room brightens around him. He’s singing Fly Me to the Moon—the same song that was playing when you first met him.

"And now, this special song is for my favorite person," he announces, his voice filled with warmth as he plays the piano. He looks happy, at peace.

But then, you notice a disturbance near the stage. Something feels off. And of course, your weapon is still at Dmitri’s apartment. You’ll have to make do.

Your eyes scan the room quickly, and you spot a couple dining nearby. Without hesitation, you snatch the knife from the man’s hand and bolt toward the first suspect, driving the blade into his throat. Chaos erupts. Smoke fills the venue as screams echo around you.

People panic, scattering in all directions, but you keep your focus on Dmitri. He’s searching for you with wide, worried eyes, pushing through the confusion.

“Y/N!” Dmitri shouts, trying to reach you. But you don’t have time for distractions. Two more attackers rush toward you, and you brace yourself.

“Dmitri, get down!” you yell, dodging the first strike and countering with a swift move that takes out one of the assailants.

The smoke obscures your vision, making it harder to predict the next attack. When you finally reach Dmitri, he suddenly calls out— “Behind you!”

You react instantly, spinning around and using a defensive maneuver to block and counter. The force of the impact sends you crashing onto one of the tables. Your attacker lunges at you, but you wrap your legs around his torso, using the leverage to land a series of sharp, precise blows to his face. His movements grow sluggish under the assault.

As soon as he falters, you release your grip, shifting your weight to land a powerful kick to his legs, forcing him to his knees. Without hesitation, you grab hold of his head and snap his neck with a sharp, decisive motion.

The body drops. The room is silent. You turn to Dmitri—only to find him staring at you, frozen in shock. His face is pale, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, once filled with warmth, now hold something else entirely.

"Who are you?" Dmitri breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, as he looks at you like a stranger.

[anonymouswh]

I fully believe that Duke has an elaborate scheme running in the manor at all times where he convinces his siblings that he has never gotten in trouble with Bruce once in his life, he is lying to their faces but Bruce is so bad at communication that he *dosent notice*

Dick: Hey Duke! Want to get icecream and catch up? It's been a while since I was in Gotham.

Duke (who is grounded for replacing all of the food in the house with icecream replicas): Sorry I can't, I'm benched :(

Dick: Oh! I hope your okay :)

Duke: Just a small incident with some ice, I'll be okay! Bruce is such a worrywort.

Dick brings Duke icecream as a get well soon present, Bruce fully believes his sons are teaming up to mock him.

Jason: Hey Duke could you give me a hand with some results on the batcomputer?

Duke (whoes banned from looking at cases for a week becuase he submitted a case report for his creative writing assignment on purpose): Oh can't sorry Jason, Bruce has recommended that I take a break from screens for my health :)

Jason:...he's such a mother hen.

Barbara: Duke...why does your tracking data show you our right now? Bruce told me you were taking a break to focus on school.

Duke (sneaking out for the 5th time that week, forgot to edit his tracking information): Oh no that's so weird, do you think it's a glitch? Will Bruce be mad at me! 🥺

Barbara: Don't worry probably a glitch, no need to tell him, I'll reboot the systems!

Cass:....

Duke.....

Cass:....

Duke: I won't tell them that it's you stealing their clothing if you keep you mouth shut.

Cass: I'm not a snitch

Tim: Hey Duke I know your grounded right now but can you help me fuck with Bruce real quick? I'll tell him that I forced you!

Duke: Fuck yeah let's go, also I'm *benched* not grounded

Tim 'I lie to Batman for fun' Drake: That's the sprit!

Damian: Thomas I require your assistance in the kitchen

Duke (banned from the kitchen as he set it on fire after doing a science experiment involving gasoline and chicken tenders): nooooo thank you, I burnt myself last time, I'm waiting for Alfred to teach me :(

Damian: Fine I'll wait for Todd

Stephanie (Grounded after paint bombing Bruce): Gosh how does Duke get away with everything? I swear Bruce is oblivious!

Duke (grounded...for also paint bombing Bruce): So strange! But I'm not testing his good will this week so no parties for me!

Whenever anyone askes Bruce he says Duke is benched not grounded becuase it's the same thing right?

[ttdamian]

Rock your world !

⸺ summary ; In which Jason todd falls in love with a rockstar (˶˃ ᗜ ˂˶)

⸺ Authors note ; Jason todd x fem ! reader. reader smokes and uses make up here. lowk was thinking of nana osaki as i wrote this.. I'll probably write this trope for different characters as well, but for now it'll be just Jason (ily april for the trope). English isnt my first language. feel free to send requests (please..) while i figure out how tumblr works. Wc: 1,1k. Not beta read.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Wrong bar. Wrong night. Wrong side of town.

But the music—God, the sound—dragged him in like a lit match to gasoline. Raw, unruly. Loud enough to shake the bones beneath his skin.

It hit him like a punch.

And then your voice— Velvet and venom. Cold as frostbite and just as sharp.

He found you center stage, bathed in red light. All lips and leather. Legs crossed like a warning. Eyes like a dare.

Your guitar hung low against your hips, your fingers wrapped around its neck like you meant to strangle every last note out of it.

The rest of your band blurred in the background. You? You burned.

Every line of you was unapologetic. Bold lipstick. Bare skin. The kind of outfit that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. You moved like you owned the night and everything it touched.

And when the set ended— You didn’t bow. Didn’t beam. Just tossed your pick into the screaming crowd like a coin into a wishing well and walked off the stage with the cool detachment of a god leaving her altar.

He watched you disappear behind the curtain like a man hypnotized.

Just a crush, he told himself.

But then he saw you again.

Different bar. Same grit in the air. Brick walls sweating from the weight of a hundred secrets.

You were alone this time— Or maybe not, depending on how you counted the cigarette smoldering between your lips and the flock of hopeless girls orbiting you like moths.

You didn’t even look at them. Just leaned against the wall like you were the headliner. Smoke curling from your mouth like a love letter no one deserved to read.

He stayed back. Eyes on you.

Every now and then, one of the girls would laugh too loud, hoping you’d look their way. You didn’t.

You just exhaled, slow and bored, flicking ash to the ground like you were snuffing out stars.

It took everything in him not to step into your orbit. Not to push past the swarm and see if you’d look at him the way you looked at that guitar—like it might bleed for you if you pressed hard enough.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

He just watched.

And wondered what kind of God you prayed to— To be born with that kind of fire.

You noticed him before he thought you did.

He was good at watching. Subtle. Quiet. Like a wolf pretending to be part of a flock. But you’d been on stages long enough to know when eyes lingered. And his lingered like they had nowhere else to be.

He stayed back, half-shadowed, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other around a drink he hadn’t touched in ten minutes. You could tell by the way his fingers curled around the glass—tight, knuckles pale. Like he was holding onto something he didn't trust himself to drop.

Cute.

You blew smoke to the side and let your eyes drag toward him. Just once. Just long enough to let him know he was seen.

He straightened. Barely. A shift in the weight of his stance. A tell.

So you smirked.

And turned away.

Let him simmer in it.

The thing about men like him? They never expected the fire to look back.

It took ten minutes for him to approach. Ten minutes of pretending not to notice him noticing you. Of leaning just a little more languidly against the wall. Of laughing too softly at nothing. Of licking your bottom lip when your mouth went dry from the cigarette.

He came like a storm trying to be polite.

"You always this generous with attention," he said, voice low, rough. Controlled.

You turned slowly. Met his gaze like it was a game you were born to win.

"Only when it’s earned."

That got you a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The barest hint of a smile.

"And what did I do to earn it?"

You looked him over. Up. Down. Not rushed. Not shy.

"You looked hungry."

He laughed. Quiet. Dangerous.

"And you like feeding wolves?"

You stepped closer. Just enough to blur the edge of the space between you.

"I like seeing how close I can get before they bite."

That was how it started.

A game.

You’d play with him like you played your guitar and tones—with skill, with rhythm, with a smile that dared him to keep up.

He’d show up to your gigs without announcing himself. Sit in the back. Watch like he had a right to be there. And you’d let him. Because it was fun. Because it was easy.

Because you were bored.

At first.

But then—

It stopped being just a game.

He learned the songs. Could hum the solos. Knew when you were playing angry and when you were playing sad.

He noticed when you switched your lipstick shade.

He never pushed. Just watched. Waited. Let you come to him.

You started finding him outside the bar after sets. Leaning against your bike. Smoke curling from his lips. He never said much at first. Just offered you a drag and watched the night settle in your bones.

Eventually, you started to linger. Shared silence turned into shared stories. Dumb ones. Sweet ones. Things you never thought you'd say to a stranger.

Then came the nights he walked you home.

Not because you needed protection.

But because he wanted to.

And you let him.

One night, you kissed him.

He was halfway through a sentence, saying something stupid, something low and teasing, and you just leaned in and shut him up with your mouth.

His hands found your waist like they’d been waiting their whole life for that moment. He tasted like heat and cigarette smoke and something you couldn’t name.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say anything.

Just looked at you like he wasn’t sure whether to run or fall to his knees.

Neither of you ran.

You started leaving your window unlocked.

He started knocking less.

The fire turned soft in the quiet hours. Your guitar in the corner. His boots by your door. His head on your lap while you smoked and played with his hair.

It snuck up on you, the love.

Not in fireworks.

In little things.

In the way he knew how you took your coffee. In the way you started writing new songs just to see if he’d recognize himself in them. In the way his name sounded better than the applause.

You fell. Slowly.

All teeth and smoke and danger—

Until you were his.

And he was yours.

And the game?

Over.

Or maybe just evolved.

After all—you still liked to see how close you could get

Before he bit.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[snowsinterlude]

summary: "do you think you could do snow with a large chested girl too? she thinks it’s too vulgar so she triednto hides her breasts"

c.w: reassurance, breast adoration, sexual content, praising, snow being addicted to boobs, boobs sucking, mostly fluff, snow is a pretty good boyfriend, some mentions to boys/men making reader ultra uncomfortable, p in v, smut

due to your chest being larger than some girls your age, you were terribly uncomfortable with them. especially in tighter shirts, when every men would be looking at you and make you feel like you were too vulgar for your age. thus being said you were actually surprised that such a respectful boy like coriolanus snow was actually in love with you.

with that put aside, you were too happy with him. he would always reassure you with his words and gestures towards you, like when he used his jacket to cover your lap, or your shoulders, or when he brought you white roses every month just to see you smile.

or when you discovered that he would go around threatening every boy that made any sexual comment towards you. the laugh you let out as you kissed his cheek was enough to make him melt.

during sex, however, he was addicted to them. the fact you always use bigger shirts to cover your body was somehow the gasoline that fueled his fire. knowing he would be the one to see them bounce when you ride him or when he pounded into you boosted his ego, somehow.

knowing that, he would shower you with praises, fondling your boobs and kissing your cleavage, his eyes travelling from your mouth and your pleasure contorted face was somehow incredible to him, he would kiss you and hug you by your waist, letting you stay still as he fucked into you.

"such a good girl, baby. look at you. so pretty on my dick," he voiced, kissing your lips with all the care in the world. he loved seeing you like that, so relaxed on his cock as you tried your best to take his dick into you without cumming. "you can cum, dear." he said, fondling your boobs into his hands as he sucked on your nipples and nibbled on them, feeling you squeezing him into your pussy.

"n-no," you denied your own orgasm, moaning while holding his head to your boobs. "j-just a bit more. just a bit more and i-i'll cum" you said, only to cum on him minutes later, letting him cum inside you.

he loved you too much, and so, he would help you take a shower and would cuddle you to sleep. by the next morning, you would wake up to his mouth on your nipples, sucking like he was a starving man.

his love for you, however, didn't focus on your boobs. he loved you entirely and would always prove it.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

You Love Me, Now Act Like It

Day #27 - You'll Be in My Heart | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Language, Mention of Weed | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie, Gareth/Di (OC), Previous Steve/Di (OC) | Tags: Bickering, Fools Being Fools, Love Quadrangle, Not Really, But Gareth Sure Wants to Whine About the Past a Lot

"Yeah, well, you've fucked my wife!" Gareth yells, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Every damn time? That's your only card to play?" Steve asks, not getting riled, not even a little bit. "You don't get to hold that over my head forever. You wouldn't have even met her if it wasn't for me. You're welcome, by the way."

"That's not true. You don't know that!" Gareth snaps, even if they all know that's definitely true.

"Well, technically, I'm the one that went over and said hello," Eddie adds, just to put a little gasoline on the fire.

"Eddie," Gareth says, a warning that he better take his side.

Eddie's not choosing sides in this dumb fucking fight. It's old news. 

Hopefully they both just simmer down.

They do not.

"And I'll dick her down again, remind her of what good sex actually is, if you don't shut up," Steve says, and Eddie has to turn around to hide his smile. 

Steve's choosing absolute violence today, and Eddie loves him a little bit extra for it.

Gareth explodes, and Steve is running, cackling. 

They fight like this all the time, and this is always where it ends up. 

Ten Years Earlier

"Is that Steve Harrington?" Gareth asks, and Eddie jerks his head over to where Gareth is looking. Son of a goddamn bitch, it is. It definitely is.

Steve's standing next to Robin, and has his arm slung over the shoulders of a girl Eddie doesn't recognize. Girlfriend, probably.

"I'm gonna go say hi," Eddie says, and Gareth rolls his eyes.

"Of course you are. He's got a girl, what do you think you're gonna accomplish?" Gareth asks, but he trails along after him.

"Don't know, don't care," Eddie says, and pushes his way through the crowd. He hasn't seen Steve in years, not since Hawkins, when he missed his chance. His window, when they were looking at each other, like…maybe? 

And he ran, too scared of what that could mean. For him, for them, for the band, if he tried to make a move.

Tonight though, he's older and not at all wiser, as he slides his hand along Steve's shoulders, over his back, and Steve jumps a little, turning to see who's touching him.

"Holy shit!" Steve says, dropping his arm from the girl's shoulders, and flings them around Eddie's neck, squeezing. "Eddie! What're you doing here?"

Eddie hugs back, "Playing tonight," he adds, nodding towards the stage.

"Awesome. That's so fucking cool, what a small world," Steve says, still holding on for dear life.

Eddie is the one that steps back first, he always is, however reluctantly, but he holds Steve's arms, looking at him, "You look great. You too, Buckley. And you as well, stranger," Eddie says, laying on the charm. Like he doesn't want to fuck her boyfriend. 

He definitely does.

Has always wanted to, if he's honest with himself, which he rarely is.

"Di," Robin fills in, when it's clear Steve wasn't jumping to introduce her. 

"Yes, sorry! This is Di. Diana. My girlfriend. I know Eddie from home," Steve explains, reaching over and taking her hand. Eddie sees her smile up at him. He hates her.

"This is Gareth," Eddie offers, resting his arm across Gareth's shoulders, so he isn't tempted to touch Steve again.

After the show, Eddie leans against a wall, head close to Steve's face, so they can hear each other over the music.

Gareth's on the couch, sitting between Robin and Diana, his back turned on Robin as he talks to the pretty girl he doesn't know, instead of the lesbian he does. Robin looks less than thrilled with the direction the night has taken. 

Then, Jeff and Goodie are standing over her, holding out a joint, an offer. And Eddie smiles as Robin nods, getting up and following them.

"If you're gonna be in town, we should, I don't know, catch up. Go on a double date or something," Steve says, and Eddie finds himself nodding before he even realizes what he's agreeing to.

A double date? With who? And that's when he realizes that Steve thinks he's with Gareth, which, no. But if that gets him out with Steve for the night, sure, why not? Eddie wants to spend a little time with Steve, before Steve's gone again, maybe to be seen in ten more years. Five, if Eddie's lucky.

Later, Steve and crew gone, Eddie corners Gareth, "We're going on a double date."

"With who?" Gareth asks.

"Steve and his girlfriend," Eddie says.

Gareth cocks his eyebrow, "Well, I sure hope you mean that I'm going on a date with Steve's girlfriend."

Eddie laughs, he wishes.

"I mean, if you can make that happen, kid, you'll never have to buy another beer in your whole life," Eddie says, slinging his arm over Gareth's shoulders, "It's just one night. Do it for me?"

"Fine, but this is stupid. And I hate you," Gareth says.

"You love me," Eddie answers, "now act like it."

Present Day

Eddie finds Gareth sulking by the bar. 

"Stop letting him get to you, that's why he does it," Eddie says.

"I know," Gareth grumbles.

"Does it really bother you that much? Di loves you, kid."

Gareth smiles, "I know. But, I don't love thinking about it."

"Then stop thinking about it," Eddie advises, "You're the one that always brings it up."

"He put his dick in my wife!"

"Recently?" Eddie prods.

"No," Gareth says, pouty.

"Then think about how many times he's put his dick in me since then," Eddie says.

"Thanks for that mental image," Gareth says, then looks at Eddie, with a shit-eating grin, "I could use a beer to help fix this atrocity your boyfriend has committed against me."

Eddie laughs, but opens his wallet. 

Sure, he's had to buy a lot of beer over the years, and Gareth didn't really steal Di from Steve, that fizzled on its own, but it's still been the best deal Eddie's ever made.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[fanfiction4sooya]

Masterlist

Hi guys! Just a quick introduction: I'm Lua, 27 brazilian woman who loves to write. This blog is for kpop girl groups and gg's only. I write for fun and for fun only, so I don't like angst and will probably write it only under request (and I can say no if it makes me uncomfortable bc I'm really bad at it).

I try to be as polite and gentle as a human possibly can, but I can and will set boundaries (and be mean) if I have to. (Some people tend to go crazy since they are anonymous)

Mainly a NSFw blog focused on Sub F!R x Dom Idol and Idol x Idol; but feel free to request Dom Fem!R :) I write imagines, thoughts, MTL, polygamous relationships (3 people only) and honestly a lot of other stuff, just check with me on my ask box and I'll let you know!!

I only write smut for girls with legal age/people I'm comfortable writing for;

If I see spam in my ask box I won't respond and probably will delete it, I definitely do not to want to bring any negative attention towards anyone, nor shame anyone.

I don't write about any disorders at all.

Do NOT call me mommy under any circumstances, I'll be rude to you if you do.

Please be kind to each other! 💖

My favorite groups are:

BP, Dreamcatcher, Itzy (Top 3). Twice (For the n*zi shirt incident I chose to NOT write for Chaeyoung, no hate for her or those who write for her), Red velvet, IVE, Loona, WJSN, New Jeans (But I don't write for them), Le Sserafim, XG, G- Idle, aespa, SNSD and VIVIZ

Soloists: Yena, Bibi, Eunbi, BoA, Sunmi, CL, Chungha, Soojin

Dancers: NoZe, Lee Jung.

So here are the links for what I write. Fics are blue, imagines are pink, asks and requests are red!

BlackPink:

Crazy over you - Jisoo x Fem! Reader

Dom! Jennie x bimbo reader

Dreamcatcher:

Office game - Handong x Yoohyeon

Happy Su-A day!

Itzy:

Annoyingly you (A! Chaeryeong/ O!Lia)

Hot wife Chaeryeong

BFF's Yeji and Chaeryeong

Power Bottom Chaeryeong

Soft love making with Chaeryeong

Pervy neighbor chaeryeong

No rush (Yeji x F!R)

Le Sserafim:

Make me yours (Sakura X Yunjin)

Can't save you now (Sakura x Chaewon x Kazuha)

Speak up (Dom Kazuha x F!Sub reader)

Lakers Yunjin fucking you

Sloppy head with Yunjin

Puppy needs (Hybrid Yunjin x F!Reader)

Dog hybrid yunjin claiming you

Just a quick lesson (Yunjin x F!Reader)

Twice:

Fire & Gasoline (A! Jihyo x O! Reader)

Pretty Pet (Sana x F! Reader)

Mornings with you (G!P Momo x F!Reader)

G!P Mina x F! Reader

Jealous Step mommy Sana (G!P)

MILF Sana x Maid F! Reader

Fisting with Step mom! Sana

G!P Doctor Sana x F! Reader

Rewarding Idol!Jihyo

Cockwarming w/ Jihyo

Masc! Jihyo

Possessive G!P Momo

Deep throat w/ G!P Mina

Sana x miyeon

GF Jeongyeon

Brat tamers Jeong and Sana

Loophole (sub nayeon x sub reader)

Sana overstimulating you

Twice as hybrids (g!p)

Jeongyeon bottoming for you

On edge (sana x F! Reader)

Cry for me (Dahyun x F! Reader)

Forbidden dream (G!p Nayeon x Fem! Reader)

G!p jeongyeon making you cum

Momo x chubby Fem! Reader

IVE:

Double Trouble (G!P Yujin x F!Reader x G!P Gaeul)

Rough G!P Yujin x innocent F!Reader

Yujin degrading F!Reader

Nerdy student Yujin

Cockwarming Yujin

G!P Gaeul w/ innocent tutor F!Reader

Birthday Sex w/ Wonyoung

Wonyoung x Bratty F!Reader

Riding hung Gauel

Wolf hybrid Yujin

My dream girl (Wonyoung x Liz) - Fluff

Possessive hybrid wonyoung

Loser yujin giving you head (G!P)

G-Idle:

A little relief (Shuhua x Miyeon)

Miyeon x Yuqi

Miyeon with a breeding kink

Somnophilia & Mimin

Thoughts on mafia boss Miyeon

Red Velvet:

Addictive (Wendy x F!Reader)

Possessive mommy Irene

Loyal dog (Sub A! Seulgi x Dom O! Reader)

Cult leaders RV fucking you

Alpha Seulgi helping on your first heat

Dirty thoughts about Irene

Joy + innocence kink

Aespa:

Mommy Karina

The closest to her (G!P Winter x F!R)

Gamer winter neglecting you

Dirty thoughts about ningning

Somnophilia with puppy minjeong

Call her now (Karina x Fem!R)

SNSD:

Let me help (Tiffany x F!Reader)

Fox hybrid yuri

Possessive alpha Tiffany

How big is alpha Bada/ Tiffany

Jessica Jung and F! R first time

Tiffany with younger gf

Somno w/ Tiffany on her birthday

WJSN:

Use me please (Exy x Dayoung)

XG:

Pillow princess Harvey

Loona: -

I'll be your sweet dream (Heejin X F!Reader)

Camgirl! yeojin

Thoughts on G!P Kim Lip

VIVIZ: -

KISS OF LIFE:

Kitty cat (Hybrid Julie x F!Reader)

SOLOISTS:

Yena:

Married Reader x Yena

Car sex w/ Yena

Eunbi:

Bitter (Eunbi x F! Reader)

BIBI:

Touchy BIBI

BoA:

Dom coded BoA

Sunmi:

CL:

Chungha:

Soojin:

DANCERS:

Bada Lee: NOT TAKING REQUESTS

Sly fox, dumb bunny (G!P Bada x F!Reader)

Alpha Bada

How big is alpha Bada/ Tiffany

Alpha Bada in rut

NoZe:

Making out with NoZe

Lee Jung:

Hard dom Lee Jung

[candyredmusings]

Creepcast Sentence Starters

Random assortment of things said on the Creepcast Podcast Feel free to change pronouns/gendered words as fit

CW: NSFT/Angst/Humor

"Mayonnaise is the sauce of the aristocrats."

"I just wanted to give him something to think about."

"Your wife looks mad funny in that box, bro."

“WHAT? YOU CAN’T HANDLE A COUPLE OF DEAD KIDS? YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT AT NICKELODEON.”

"So...monster hunter, huh?"

"He's right behind me, isn't he?"

"I pray he just breaks the kids legs”

“I shouldn’t have sold a snow cone to that ghost…”

"DON'T TELL MY MOM I LIKE GIRLS!"

“Pool floats are the balloons of the water”

“Can you imagine a 7 foot tall women named [NAME] for me?”

"How am I going to kill this monster you’re asking? Well, that’s simple - I’m going to douse myself in chemicals and gasoline, light myself on fire, and tackle it!"

"[NAME] your mom died three days ago GET OVER IT."

“Maybe your mom was a bitch.”

“Quick someone check his twitter dms”

"I'm the one they call when shit gets spooky."

"OH YEAH, we are soooo back! WE ARE SO BACK."

"Who am I? I'm a motherfucking angel."

“That’s not how cops work!”

"Peanut butter is in the Bible"

"Do you wanna know where vampires come from [NAME]?"

"...Now how did you know that...?"

“Yeah give it to me slender man."

"As an affront to both god and man what choice did I have?"

"What's wrong? Did someone else die?"

[Hitting own forehead] "STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!"

"I'm in my own hell."

"I just wanna say fucking ACAB, dude. Fuck the cops."

"COME ON, GET IT TOGETHER, [NAME]."

“I’m doing a little podcast with a guy high on fentanyl right now.”

"Oh we put his ass in a home" 

"I thought I had something, but I was just yapping."

"If you're gonna aim for the stars, might as well aim for every single goddamn one of them."

"Do I look like Dionysus, baby? 'Cause I can be." 

"Sometimes the cucumber tastes better pickled."

“I hope you burn in hell, you tired old goat”

"Erm... you're gonna wanna see this..."

“WHAT’D I TELL YOU, HE LOVES IT DOWN THERE!"

"Who is 'help?' Stop asking for him that's not my name."

"I don't go for even, I go for winning."

“Man, I thought I had it bad with [NAME]'s shoe addiction." // “Man, I thought I had it bad with [NAME]'s shoe addiction, but. fuck me. Your spouse is in here collecting eyeballs.”

"I only got on because I was able to take out all of his bodyguards in a sort of hand to hand combat trial." // "I only got on because I was able to take out all of his bodyguards in a sort of hand to hand combat trial. Guess all those trips through the police academy finally paid off."

"You fake the paintings?"

"We were adventurers, we were explorers, We were friends."

"I miss you, [NAME]. I'm sorry that you chose me, but I'll always cherish my memories of you." 

"we keep trying to read the names of these gargoyle s out loud but we keep going blind as we read them"

“Is something funny, [NAME]?"

"You think I don't see that? Dad's upset!"

“That’s always been your issue [NAME], you lack imagination.”

"You’re just a fucking disappointment, aren’t you?"

“Remember this moment the next time you want to have a bonfire. Do I make myself crystal clear?”

“YOU GET IT? MY COCK!"

"What level of pain would you allow your family to go through if the alternative is they die?"

“A frothy ejaculate of ants would not feel good.”

"His lips ... they are far too fat."

"I don't negotiate with terrorists."

"You are never going to escape [NAME]."

"He shot that damn dog!"

"I'm sorry, [NAME], is something funny?"

"I shared an apartment my sophomore year of college with a 53 year old mexican custodian who did not speak any English."

"We have been battling Ben Shapiro for far too long."

"I don't care about him. You can do whatever you want to him."

"Would you just, I don't know, hypothetically say that maybe that potentially had some effect on your development that led you to where you are now, perhaps, perchance?"

"Holy shit. He took his kidneys. He took his fucking kidneys."

"You somehow lost your left kidney last night. We don't know how, though. Sorry, [NAME]."

"You could take my left kidney, that's fine. But now you've really started to go too far."

"While you played your sports, I studied literature."

"I hope you burn in hell, you tired old goat, is what I would say to my mom."

"Yeah, looks like one of the goddamn teenage mutant ninja turtles. Just like, he's like, cowabunga, asshole."

"I thought you said you were done collecting funko pops"

"I would be thrilled if he dropped an anvil on one of the kids."

"Are you doing the nice fentanyl flop right now?"

"Hi. I got punched in the face. It was fun, I guess."

"I'm a bit of a clown. I'm a bit of a jokester. I'm a honey roasted ham."

"You know that. That's a good piece of cringe. I appreciate that. Thank you so much."

"I'm literally doing a podcast with guy high on fentanyl right now."

[thewebcomicsreview]

so what's your take on the recent "stonetoss is a much better comic than haus of decline because it has fewer words" over on twitter?

I really wanted to reply with a snarky dismissive one-liner. I had one written and everything, but then I wanted to make sure I understood the context and looked into this and ugh. Now I have to explain Twitter drama, this sucks.

Okay. Christ.

Haus of Decline makes this comic

The comic pops up again, and a person named Basil sees it and has a take that it has too many words.

As arguably the most prominent Webcomic Critic out there (which is the say, the only one still doing it), I kind of prefer the wordless version as well, but it's a matter of taste, more than an "objectively correct" take.

Basil then follows up on that take with a rather spicier one

It's worth noting here that Basil is saying Hans Kristian Graebener is "better" in the sense that they believe it's more effective propaganda, not in their own personal opinion of quality. And that's....arguable? For one, Haus of Decline isn't really trying to be left-wing propaganda, it's just shitposting, and for two I think Hans Kristian Graebener's effectiveness is way more complicated and sophisticated than just "brevity". And for three, saying Hans Kristian Graebener is "better comics" is really ill-advised, especially given some context I'll reveal shortly.

Haus sees this, calls Basil a moron, and it turns into a dumb stupid internet argument where both people look bad. And being, again, the top Webcomic Critic, I can confirm that sometimes when you call a webcomic bad the creator will get mad at you over it and that's just something you have to expect and live with and try not to beclown yourself in response to. I don't think Basil responded well here, and "just learn to take criticism" is a pretty common and loaded phrase in Webcomics Discourse. Still, whatever. A questionable take led to a short slap fight. That would be the end of it.

Except. The context.

Seven or eight months ago, Basil made this tweet.

Which is a far better tweet, and is now a meme used by liberals in intra-left twitter discord fights to dunk on the anti-voting Trump-curious twitter left. This tweet also came around the time Will Stancil was whipping a lot of normie liberals to push back against the anti-Biden narrative and obviously the election itself has led a notable shift in the vibes where you're seeing a lot more "Biden's not that bad" takes and even a bit of "Actually, Biden is good and I'm tired of pretending he's not" in leftist spaces. And if you follow my personal account you'll know that my vibes have also shifted in that direction a lot. Basil obviously didn't cause the shift, even Stancil didn't, it was the election, but it's their name on the top of the tweet that's used as an anti-anti-voting meme that the left still doesn't has a great response to, so a lot of leftists fucking hate Basil. The kind of passionate hatred you only feel when you're getting clowned on by Matthew fucking Yglesias. So there's a huge hate mob against Basil in the way that hate mobs tend to occur.

This all attracts the attention of Hans Kristian Graebener, who pops out a comic taking a shot at Haus over this. Which is, honestly, a much better example of why Hans Kristian Graebener is effective propaganda than the brevity thing, because god damn did that pour gasoline on the fire, and....well....tldr:

My take is that this whole fight is incredibly stupid, no one involved looks good, and the only one benefiting from it is the literal fucking Nazi.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

you be my fire and I’ll be your gasoline, Ch.12

[prev][masterpost] [next]

Jaskier barely notices the week go by. 

He spends his days at the library, hidden away in a secluded little corner, away from the prying eyes of bored guests. Understandably, there aren’t many books that have any information on curses, nor magic as a whole, but Jaskier still searches, looking through aisle upon aisle. 

He flips through more medicine books, which there are a considerable number of due to medicine being the traditional field of work for the women in the Denesle household. Eyck’s mother, as far as Jaskier is aware, has been working as a medic at the Tretogor court for years now. 

What little Jaskier does manage to find about curses mostly talks of the kind that either turns the unfortunate soul into some sort of a cold-blooded creature like a toad, or the kind that makes the person gravely ill. Neither seem to fit the situation Jaskier’s got on his hands. He also reads a very long paragraph written in a confusing mix of Common and Elder about curses that turn men into vukodlaks, and how those that are cursed hold on to their human consciousness but cannot fight the hunger that claws at them from the inside and drives them to kill entire villages full of people that were once their friends and neighbours, that were once their families. Jaskier shudders as he reads it, and the feeling sticks with him throughout the entire day, only letting up late at night, when he falls asleep, exhausted from all the hours spent reading. 

Geralt asks him, once, where Jaskier keeps disappearing to, and the bard tells him simply that he’s occupying the library because it’s been a while since he’d had the chance to read and compose in peace. It’s not entirely a lie, and Geralt buys it just enough not to ask again. Jaskier knows that the witcher can tell he’s hiding something but then again, so is Geralt. If the witcher wasn’t so adamant about not speaking a word of the supposed future, Jaskier would’ve asked him directly and saved them both the need to keep secrets. But Geralt was adamant, and Jaskier could not stand not knowing what’s happening to him.

After that first night that he spent at the library and barely made it back in time for Geralt not to notice that he was gone, Jaskier forbids himself from sneaking out with no warning. He cares for Geralt, he genuinely does despite all the things that hang unsaid between them, and he does not want to ruin the relationship they’ve built over the little time they’ve had together. If the witcher was set on finding a mage that would send them to Cintra by portal, then they did not have much time left, to begin with, and Jaskier really, really didn’t want to fuck that time up, regardless of how long or short it might be. And so, he stays in bed through the night, even if he can’t bring himself to sleep. He listens to Geralt’s even breathing, studies the lines of his face and body, tracing them idly with the tips of his fingers from time to time, soft enough not to wake the witcher up. 

In the mornings, more tired each new day from the lack of sleep and the constant turmoil of theories and anxiety in his head, Jaskier slips away again, staying only long enough to share breakfast with the witcher. The maids that bring it probably gossip about them sleeping in the same bed but, naturally, say nothing. 

[Keep reading]

[corey-beepington]

me: lol those yes man self-shippers are silly! they love that robot so much. good for them. i don't get it me: *watches your animation of the courier touching yes man's face and then yes man gets flustered, nuzzles the hand, and says he loves them* me:... Oh. me: That is the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I'm obsessed now. I have to ship my oc with him right now. No I need to make a new oc. No I need to write a fanfic where I ship them and think about this at work for weeks. (anyway lol thank you; you are the gasoline for my creative fire. wrote a scene too where the courier and Yes Man hold hands that is based on another of your animations. not sure if i'll ever publish it but it sure does exist!)

my work here is done.

[kyokutsu-sama]

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My Swordsmith

A/n- I've been obsessed with this man lately and I needed to dedicate something to him. I wrote an enemies to lovers because this man gives me so many vibes of that🤭

I'm sorry if this seems too short, I have other scenarios for him that I'll bring soon.

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It had only been a few months since you had become an hashira. Your techniques had evolved a lot and the missions no longer seemed as hard as before. Your life seemed stable, but there was someone that had always bothered you since the time you joined the demon slayer corps.

Haganezuka Hotaru, your swordsmith. He was unbearable and you always argued a lot with each other.

It was normal for a sword to break during a mission in which you had to annihilate demons, but he always went completely crazy when he heard the words "Broken Sword". That words made him very mad.

The last time you came back from a mission, he was pretty pissed at you when you arrived with only the hilt of the sword and a piece of the blade.

"But is it possible that you don't know how to do the things right, you idiot? I made the sword for you three days ago and today it is already broken. You're useless!!" Haganezuka said with anger at the broken sword in your hand

"What about you, you half-baked swordsmith?! You're an incompetent who made the sword with a defect! You're the one who's negligent, you idiot son of a bitch!" You replied with the same anger, which was like putting out a fire with gasoline

"Come on, don't argue, you two." Kanamori tried to calm the situation but it didn't work out since you were determined to argue more and more

"I told you to be careful. And now look here, look here! What's left of here? Come on, tell me?" Haganezuka picked up the broken sword from your hand and placed it in front of you but you just crossed your arms and looked away. "Hard work for nothing."

"Oh, shut up. You know perfectly well that it was your mistake." You said and he widened his eyes at you, feeling even more angry. "See if you do your job properly or I'll go to another swordsmith so I never have to look at you again."

"DON'T YOU DARE VISIT ANOTHER SWORDSMITH, YOU HEAR ME?" Haganezuka yelled at you

"OR WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?"You yelled back

Kanamori put his hands on his masked face, in despair as he watched you two argue. This all seemed to be going too far.

"Listen here, you insolent girl. I'm going to tell you something," The swordsmith put a finger near your face, preparing for the next words. "If you talk to another swordsmith here in the village, I'll beat your ass up, got it?"

"Go head then. I want to see you try, you piece of shit." You said with a teasing chuckle before leaving his forge

Kanamori looked at his friend and he was seething. He knew that Haganezuka had feelings for you, but he was quicker to show hatred than love, and that was what made people run away from him many times.

A few weeks had passed since that ugly arguing between you two. The swordsmith was calmer and more committed to his work. He was an exceptional swordsmith but he preferred to make mistakes on purpose just so he could see you again. He wasn't good with feelings but he definitely had a good strategy.

You had arrived at the swordsmith village before going on a mission to get your new sword and the first person you crossed paths with was Kanamori. He went to you as soon as he saw you to talk to you.

"Y/n, you're back! Did you come to get your sword?" He asked and you nodded

"Has Haganezuka prepared it yet?"

"Yes, he must already be putting the finishing touches on it, if you want to stop by. But see if you don't end up arguing like last time."

"Nah, I'm just going there to grab my sword and leave. I don't care what he keeps saying to me."

"It's just his way to be. Stubborn and short-tempered, but he actually had a good idea in making the sword defective." The swordsmith said, realizing later that he had let the cat out of the bag...

"Wait...what did you just say? Does he do it on purpose?" You frowned, questioningly about what the other was implying

"Well, uh... What I meant was... I didn't mean it...It's just" The man tried to create a story but didn't know how to cover up the truth at that moment

"Kanamori, what are you hiding from me?" You crossed your arms, taking a step towards him and he flinched a little, embarrassed."Why would he do something like that?"You asked

"Okay, Y/n, wait a minute. I'll tell you the truth."The man said with a long sigh. "I know Haganezuka likes you, not the way friends like but lovers like. He told me that from the first day he handed you your first sword. The reason he makes your defective sword is because he wants you to come here again so he can see you, but lately he's gotten scared since you threatened to change swordsmiths." The man had confessed everything to you and you felt embarrassed at that moment.

You would never guess that all that fuss he usually made was to hide his feelings for you. All this time he was hiding something more valuable and you hadn't even realized it.

"Please don't confront him with this or he'll know it was me, okay?" Kanamori begged you and you just nodded

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him without having to put you through this. Trust me." You winked at him

"Thank you, Mrs. Y/n." He thanked you before saying goodbye and you made your way to the sweetest who must have been waiting for you

When you entered the forge, your heart skipped a beat when you faced Haganezuka's broad, bare back turned towards you.

"But since when did he have all that build?" You thought in shock at that revelation.

But what shocked you the most was the fact that you saw the strands of his hair that extended along his shoulders and the middle of his back. You looked carefully and realized that he wasn't covering his face with the mask. Which went a little against the village's rules since the blacksmiths were the only ones who created blades capable of killing demons, so they had to protect their identities.

You felt very hot in there because of the fire used to forge the blades and you thought that was why he was without his upper clothes and without a mask. You couldn't help but be a little curious to know what the face of the man who had feelings for you looked like.

"Did he take off his mask on purpose so I could see his face?" You thought again

"Is my sword finished yet?" You asked after a moment and he just stopped what he was doing, still keeping his back to you

The man took out a brand new sword and you knew in that instant that it was the one.

You shivered a little when you saw him slowly turn around, as you had never seen his face before. When he turned around completely, you could have sworn your knees were going to give out at that moment, he was as hot as the fire that was lit there.

You looked him up and down as he approached you in short, slow steps.

He was very handsome man even with some dirt and strands of hair stuck to his forehead due to sweat. His muscles look very prominent as do the veins in his hands and forearms.

He stopped right in front of you and extended his hand with the sword, you looked from his eyes to the sword and back to his eyes that didn't leave yours.

"Is that my sword?" You asked and he nodded. "Let me see it-" You were going to reach for the sword when he pulled it away from you

You then tried to grab it but he raised his arm preventing you from reaching it, since he was much bigger. "Seriously! Are you going to start with your bullshit?" You said already feeling a little upset with his action

"My bullshit? I'm just saying goodbye to this work of art before handing it over to your negligent hands." The swordsmith said before bringing the hilt of the sword to his lips and giving it a "goodbye kiss."

You grimaced at the that and soon after he lowered his arm slightly and handed it to you, grabbing your hand that was now also holding the sword and pulling you towards him so that you were almost glued to him. This man's presence was intimidating. You looked up and he bent down slightly to speak to you.

"If you get here again with a broken sword, I'll kill you without thinking twice." He threatened and you gave a teasing smile

"But I'm the one with the sword right now, so you should be careful." You said, bringing your face closer to his, with a teasing smile that made him more upset

Well, if really he had feelings for you then you knew he wasn't serious but was just teasing you.

"I'm leaving now, let go of my hand, Haganezuka." You said, trying to pull your hand away but he didn't let go and you looked at him. "Let me go."

The swordsmith pulled you towards his lips and kissed you with passion, taking you by surprise. They were very soft lips for a rough man like him. A perfect contrast.

When you were both out of breath, you pulled away and stared at each other for a moment.

"Well, it seems like today I've had enough surprises," You said with a giggle. "First, I see your face after so long hidden and now I find out that you're in love with me. You really are a box of surprises."

"Come back to me. Kill those creatures and come back alive." He whispered against your lips, panting and flushed. "But bring that sword intact too, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I got it." You nodded. "But when I get back, I also want you to start showing me more love than you do your swords. I'm a little jealous, you know?" You teased, pulling your hand away from his

"Hey idiot!" Haganezuka shouted from the back and you stopped by the door and turned to face him. "I didn't forge the sword with a defect this time. I want you to win."

"I will," You winked at him seeing how much more handsome he looked when he showed his feelings. "But if it breaks, I'll go to the swordsmith next door!"

"Don't you even think about it." He said with a knife in his hand pointed at you

"Don't worry, I'll come back to you. My lovely Haganezuka."You said and he felt his rough heart melt for the first time

He looked at you until you left the forje and sighed. He could be quite explosive and stubborn but he knew he had finally found someone who noticed him and would stay by his side even though he was like that.

[thornsnvultures]

pride

lee bodecker x wife!reader

cw: 18+ nsft, smut, p in v sex, creampie, lee being a neglectful husband at first, 640 w

a/n: something short and sweet for @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event. I missed writing for Lee and wanted to write a smutty little fluff piece for him 🖤

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"I'm the luckiest man on earth."

At first you weren't sure that you heard him right. Lee didn't talk much when he was fucking you, at least not lately. For a while he would just get his rocks off and roll off you, immediately falling asleep while you laid there and stared at the ceiling until you fell asleep.

God only knows how long it's been since Lee talked to you sweet at all. But it happened in every marriage, the eventual slough off into the mundane, right? No more flowers or date nights. No more Lee taking his sweet time with your body like he used to. You almost didn't want to jinx it by asking him to repeat himself, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast that brought the old Lee back to you.

But he broke it for you.

"You know why I'm lucky, sweetheart?" His big hand brushes your cheek, turning your head on your pillow so he could see your face. His hips had stilled as he looked at you, those bright blue eyes roaming your face. He was waiting for you to answer.

"W-why?"

Lee leans over you, draping his big body across your back, his belly pushing into the dip of your arched spine, and kisses your cheek. The angle pushes his cock into your inner walls and you gasp, squeezing a groan out of your man.

"Cause I got a pretty little thing like you in my bed, that's why."

"Oh, Lee."

Your husband presses more kisses along your jaw as he grinds his cock into that same spot. You're on fire, your insides lighting up like a fire doused in gasoline.

"M'sorry I haven't been takin' care of you like I should, darlin'. Not when you take such good care of me." Lee's words whispered in your ear sends shivers down your spine.

"It's alright-"

"It's not-," Lee growls, shooting up straight and drawing his cock out almost all the way only to slam it back in with a harsh slap that makes your teeth rattle in your head. "It's not alright."

Lee grabs your hips, gripping your soft flesh as he pounds into you.

"You're my wife," he growls again as his hips set a punishing pace. You can barely breathe, gasping and whining as you scramble for purchase on soft sheets so he doesn't fuck you into the headboard. "My perfect, sweet little wife. With the sweetest little pussy I've ever known." He punctuates nearly every word with a thrust of his hips, his cock bullying your tight walls in the most delicious way.

"I couldn't be any more proud of you, darlin'," he says as he drops to a hand by your head so he can reach under you, reach that aching bud that'll push you over the edge, the one he's ignored for way too long. "Couldn't be any more proud to call you my wife."

Lee's thick fingers circle your clit and within seconds you're crumbling, crying out and shaking to pieces as you come around his cock. Moments later Lee's right there with you, shouting into the nape of your neck as his balls empty, filling you near to burst with his sticky cum.

"I'm sorry I haven't been treatin' you right, darlin'," Lee tells you again when he comes back to bed later with a warm, wet washcloth. "Been so busy at the station and I got the election coming up," Lee sighs and shakes his head. "But I won't let it happen any more."

"You mean it, Lee?"

Once you're clean he wraps you up in his arms, his big hands rubbing your back as you settle into his chest.

"I said it once and I'll say it again," Lee smiles, "I do. Cause you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me."

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🖤

[ohdorothea]

more info about the tournament here and the lyrics for both songs are below the cut <3

Gasoline (Remix) lyrics

You took me back but you shouldn't have

Now it's your fault if I mess around

I took a drag but I shouldn't have

Now I'm coughing up like I've never smoked a pack

Gasoline, pretty please

I want to get off but you're such a tease

Throw the keys back to me

Go on and kick off your boots

In the passenger seat

I get sad, you know I get sad

And I can't look past what I'm sad about

You did me bad (Did me bad, did me bad)

And I did it back (Did it back, did it back)

You needed ass, well

What's wrong with that?

Gasoline (Gasoline)

Pretty please (Pretty please)

I want to get off (Gasoline)

But you're such a tease

Throw the keys (Throw the keys)

Back to me (Back to me)

Go on and kick off your boots (Gasoline)

In the passenger's seat

(Strike a match, strike a match, watch it blow)

We're watching the sunrise from the kitchen counter

(Want you bad, want you bad, don't you know?)

When you're lying between my legs it doesn't matter

(Strike a match, strike a match, watch it blow)

You say you want to go slower but I want to go faster

(I want you bad, want you bad)

Faster and faster

Gasoline, pretty please

I want to get off but you're such a tease

Safe & Sound lyrics

I remember tears streaming down your face

When I said, "I'll never let you go."

When all those shadows almost killed your light

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone,"

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window, darling.

Everything's on fire

The war outside our door keeps raging on

Hold on to this lullaby

Even when the music's gone

Gone

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be safe and sound

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

La, la (la, la)

La, la (la, la)

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

La, la (la, la)

Just close your eyes

You'll be alright

Come morning light,

You and I'll be safe and sound...

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, oh, oh