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

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

After so much time, I finally came back to my game!Geralt x show!Jaskier story, and to mark a new beginning, made a header that I actually love and that conveys the atmosphere beautifully.

You can see the masterpost right here ✨

[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

[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?

[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, 26 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

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

Bada + daddy kink

NoZe:

Making out with NoZe

Lee Jung:

Hard dom Lee Jung

[shaisuki]

So..

I read this writing once where Sukuna and Yuji (twin, like Sukuna isn't in Yuji's body) using the aphrodisiac to the reader and manhandling her. I forgot how the story goes but it's basically how they both were away from the reader for a mission and missing her so much but neither of them wanting to reach out to her because they had an argument before(forgot what they were fighting about 💀). Somehow they both went feral for missing her touch, voice, etc and that leads to using the aphrodisiac on her because she's stubborn and trying to deny the tension when they both seeing her to make up for their mistake.

I've forgotten about this but i try my best to remember.

I don't know how to type and describe shit and there might be spelling errors cuz English ain't my first and i hope you can understand it. AND PLEASE, i love your writing so much like I'll be barking and all.😭

𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗗

FT. TWIN! ITADORI YUUJI AND SUKUNA RYOUMEN

content warnings: twin brothers! yuuji and sukuna, dubcon, aphrodisiacs , biting, double penetration, anal, fingering, bite marks, blood, fondling, bits of manhandling, usage of nicknames, sukuna is sukuna.

notes. i apologize it took so long. i hope this one did justice to your request. thank you again for the support!

synopsis: an argument took place before they are sent for a mission and now, they are back. working for the forgiveness of their beloved girlfriend they only know how to please.

“don't be so stubborn, princess.”

a scoff and you turning your back from them is the only response they received from you. from yuuji's view he can see the pout visible in your face and he sighs. the younger twin shoots a "it's-your-fault" look at his older twin and he retaliates with an annoyed glare.

he was adding gasoline to the fire from an argument far long gone forgotten after the mission they were sent and you were still troubled from it.

the silence are killing them and everytime when they come back from a mission you always greet them with a smile and shower them with kisses. telling them how much you've missed them and they were pampered by you. the hottest of make out sessions and them fondling your soft body while engaged in some grinding that left you breathless and it's not like they are going to be rewarded for now.

the tension heavy in the air and the drawing of breaths can be heard. an exasperated sighs from yuuji and the clicking of tongue coming from sukuna in annoyance and that whine leave from your mouth. no one wants to address the elephant in the room and you were just equally stubborn as them. this won't end well.

the younger pink-haired sorcerer cracks first. shuffling in the room and getting seated in front of you where you sat in the side of the bed. he tentatively touches your cheeks and when you didn't flinch only avoiding his gaze. yuuji's gaze softens. finding you so adorable and he would be lying if he didn't like you all this pouty at him.

“talk to us please.” raising your head to look in his eyes but you remained to be stubborn. oh no. yuuji knows how difficult it is when you're sulking and in desperate need of attention. he eyes the bags of souvenirs laid in the floor. the contents are chosen according to what you may like and to their tastes. always been effective to win you affection but now, it is not.

he glances at his twin with a annoyed expression in his tattooed face and is clearly impatient in coaxing you to open up with them. he looks back at you and his gaze lowering below to your face. itadori gulps. a thin sheet of sweat glazing in his skin from the mere sight of your clothed body in front of him. it's been a week since he got a taste of you and he's been dying to get a taste.

the swell of your chest in your shirt and the pudge of your stomach straining your shirt and your creamy thighs peeking in that short, he don't think he's going to last. depraved of what he's been desiring for days. his cock straining uncomfortably in his pants.

desperate times calls for desperate measures. you leave him with no choice if you're not going to talk it out with him.

your hand are curled in his uniform while your other hand is being held by him. kissing your cheek until it descends to your neck and finding the pulse in your neck. “no...” you softly whined and it makes his cock throb more. normally, yuuji would apologize but not this time. biting your neck gently but enough to draw blood and he began to inject you with small amounts of aphrodisiacs. unbeknownst to you mistaking it only as nipping on your skin. it is but it's different.

he hears you gasp, “what are you doing, yuuji?” you asked him and weakly pushing him away. the younger twin only kisses the bite mark. murmuring, “apologizing.” kissing the skin under your jaw and nibbling on the skin there. “i won't accept it.” he hums and you feel another pair of hands snaking around you.

a deep growl coming from behind you. “then accept it, brat.” sukuna takes out on you. frustrated and annoyed with this little charade you are on. you can't even read the room of how they both longed for you after a week of being in a mission and only you for act this way. depraved of what they sought and he's far from nice to deal with this unlike his twin who has done all to get to your good graces.

“—kuna!” you yelp, almost jumping if not for the older twin's vice grip on you. two of his sharp canines pricking at your delicate soft skin. blood making way to outside as exchange for the small lethal doses of liquid aphrodisiac he secretes from his fangs. it mixes in your blood and he sucks on the blood trickling in your neck. he might done it hard but he wasn't the one to worry about it knowing you can take it.

“it hurts.” you complained. squirming away from him but sukuna only holds your arms down. “oh it won't, got you in me and it will feel good, princess.” biting your neck again and he smirk in triumphant as he watches you unconsciously rub your creamy thighs together. squishing and doubling in size. “quit watchin’ brat or i'll have her myself.” threatening his younger twin whose dead staring at you. sukuna rolls his eyes. thinking he could have a cuck for a younger brother.

wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. the bed dips from his added weight. “you'll feel good okay.” holding your round cheeks before kissing you.

yuuji was always a messy kisser. sloppy and wet and kind of lewd that leaves you wanting for more. lips locking and licking each other's tongue was his favorite. “hmm—more, yuuji....kiss me more.” you say in between kisses. catching his tongue and sucking the pink muscle in your own. a slight blush coating his cheeks. eyes half lidded from how good you kisses when you're turned on and being needy. the aphrodisiac taking effect and turning your thoughts into a mush.

while you and yuuji sucks each other's faces. sukuna busies himself by ripping your shorts along with your panties. grabbing your thighs and prying it open to accommodate his hands. fingers spreading apart your chubby pussy lips and rubbing your slit eliciting a moan from you. “you like your pussy being played, hah — brat?” sukuna mocks. you nodded while still kissing his twin. annoyed from your brief response, he slaps your pussy making you jolt. effectively disconnecting your lips with yuuji. “yes, suku! love when you play my pussy.” you moaned out. sukuna grabs your jaw moving it to the side to meet his lips. swallowing your moans whole and without missing a beat. two of his thick fingers plunged inside your dripping hole. simultaneously pumping inside and out and his thumb circling your clit.

“you're going to cum, aren't you. nasty brat.” sukuna tuts. your pussy squelches with your juices dripping from how fast he was pumping his thick fingers inside you. his lips finding the juncture of your neck. your skin is trapped between his teeth and your body tenses, shaking when he plunges his fingers deep. “s-suku!” you scream. gripping his arm when he bit you and the orgasm you're currently recovering from.

he pulls his thick digits out from you. drenched in your juices. “suck.” he orders you and you opened your mouth obediently. sucking his digits and swirling your tongue around them. moaning at your taste from his fingers.

itadori removes his clothing one by one until he's only clad in his boxer. his bulge pressing uncomfortably and aching for it to be taken care of. nerves tingling from anticipation and he can barely wait to sink his teeth to you.

you smell heavenly.

both of your bodies glistening in sweat while you sweetly moan above him. his cock deep inside your asshole after stretching and prepping you to accommodate his girthy length. the soft rolls of your back, a contrast to his hard muscles while his hips moves upward rutting deep inside your asshole. his hands holding both your creamy thighs open wide to welcome his older twin's cock inside your pussy.

“does it feel good?” yuuji whispers to you, licking the shell of your ear. “why are you asking her, you fool.” sukuna interrupts him. a cocky smirk in his lips. watching as your face turns into a cock drunk whore. “of course, it feels good. see how our stubborn princess turns obedient once she gets our cocks.” his gaze locked at you. noting of the tears rolling down from the corners of your eyes from how they were fucking you.

grunts can be heard from the younger twin and his older twin continues to pound the tight hole of your cunt. large palms closing in a tight grip to the softness of your waist.

your vision is blurry from the tears pooling in your lids. you're glad that you can still even produce a sound from how many times they fucked your holes. your body is sore and yet it continues to burn for more. putting you in many different positions where your back is forced to arch more while you suck the other twin off, taking a pounding from behind but you can never get enough of the feeling of their cocks drilling your insides. letting them stuff you with their seeds full until it drips and makes a mess out of you.

“please, please, please—g-going to cum again” you helplessly warned them of your upcoming orgasm. the tightness in your stomach beginning to come undone. “cum on my cock, you nasty brat. want me to praise you for that?” sukuna chuckles. roughly thrusting inside of you and yuuji follows the same rhythm of his twin's movements inside you.

it's so good. their cocks rubbing inside you. never felt so full in your life and you're going to be bred again and again. the vein running in sukuna's cock hitting your clit over and over again. adding to that pleasure that you don't want to end.

you cum screaming for both of their name. the same time they roughly shoved their cocks inside you to fill you to the brim of their thick cum.

you lay there panting. both of the twins pulling their still semi-hard cock. sukuna admires the cum flowing both out of your used holes. scooping them using his fingers and pushing them back. “how much can you take, huh.” sukuna commented, nose flaring a bit and he caught the scent of your body still wanting to get stuffed both of them. he gave his younger twin a knowing look. yuuji who was peppering kisses all over your skin.

it looks like they're not going to stop until the aphrodisiac wears off and until you accepted their apology.

[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.

[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 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 shop

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 shop, 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. "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 later 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, 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 store 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.

[applesooyoung]

That you for answering my Wonbin ask, I sound so out of it sorry I was half asleep while typing it, but you perfectly portrayed how I see him honestly.

Can I ask for your opinion on him being extra sensative? Like say a flick of his nipple and he's leaking precum, a kiss on the neck and he's heard, he cums easily and quick too.

You can call me Chevy or 🎨 anon!

ZNNSDNKEJDWKSO ofc pookie! My blog is always open for your thoughts big or small, hard or soft or just somewhere down the middle >< welcome to my anon club, chevy!! 。。(〃_ _)σ∥

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YESSSS HE'S SUPER DUPER SENSITIVE TOO! Like trust me, he's so damn whipped for you, every single thing you do is jeopardizing to him and everything is masked in that stoic and often nonchalant demeanor of his— it's not a demeanor, really, it's all a facade.

He's made out of glass, he's just so sensitive and fragile. (in a cute way, of course) All it takes is one little kiss and he folds better than origami omfg, I also love to think that this man has so MANY erogenous zones I'd like to name them all but here are a few: nipples, ears, neck, collarbones, and thighs. Since I love you so much, I'll give it to you— I'll elaborate each part (*´－｀*)ﾉ (also, to make up for my late reply to your ask )

( NIPPLES ) – As you mentioned, YES a single flick on his sensitive nipples would make him a mess and toying with it would make it torture for him. God, just the feeling of your skin graze upon his nipples would make him darn flustered and please, quite sure he appreciates nipple clamps to some extent 👀.

( EARS ) – Trust me when I say that this man always ALWAYS wants your mouth on his ears whether simply whispering on his ears or as kinky as nibbling and biting on his ears. Dirty talk with him would be like adding gasoline to the fire.

( NECK ) – The most obvious one but he denies loving it when you touch him there. He enjoys your kisses, your nuzzles and the way you would choke him whenever he wants you to or he's just probs feeling kinky.

( COLLARBONES ) – This is his favorite erogenous part out of all. His collarbones are so perfect! But you don't blame him though, the thought of him being marked by you would make him hard anytime. He's the type to shyly beg you for hickeys when he's so needy.

( THIGHS ) – Wonbin passenger princess, I'm so fucking in love you guys you don't understand. All I wanna do is to rest my hands of his pretty thighs ugh, maybe a graze or two would make him leak precum. He just wants you to manhandle him by gripping his thighs real tight.

© applesooyoung

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

you be my fire and I’ll be your gasoline, Ch.7

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After three and a half years of being unable to touch this, all there is to say is: ah shit, here we go again But in all honestly, I am so sorry that it took this long. Life has been all over the place, and since the last update I have managed to get a university degree, find a new best friend, decide that I am willing to risk it all and pursue writing as a career, and gain a whole new understanding of love. For those of you who'd been with me over the years -- I hope with all my heart that you will enjoy the very much delayed continuation of this story, and I thank you a thousand times over for sticking with me through it all. For the new people -- I promise the next chapter won't take three years for me to write.

The first couple of days on the road go by almost unnoticed, the weather kind to the world, blooming more and more with what seems like every passing hour. They travel through the endless meadows and forests, keeping to the shade during the hottest hours, and the further South they get, the more the air fills with a sweet, heady scent of flowers and early fruit. Every now and then, they find themselves beneath the lush canopies of apple trees, and Jaskier reaches up from the saddle to pluck a couple of plump, crisp fruit from the branches, feeding them to Cerbin and Roach. The apples are still a bit too tangy for his taste, but the horses love them, and so, it seems, does Geralt, because he eats them with just as much appetite. Jaskier makes a face at him every time, but that doesn’t deter the witcher from his snacks. 

They fall into the rhythm of each other easily, setting up camp at night like they’ve done it a thousand times before. While Jaskier tends to the horses and lays out the bedrolls, Geralt disappears into the woods to find something to eat, the fire already lit by a snap of his fingers, Igni working its tricks every time. It’s something that Jaskier very much misses when he travels alone — no matter how many times he’d started a fire in his life, he never became much of a fan of the process. Tending to the fire was just fine by him, just not the igniting part. Geralt didn’t mind, though, never rolling his eyes or huffing with displeasure, like the other Geralt loved doing on the days when he was unhappy with whatever it was that he was unhappy with. 

And Jaskier— Jaskier loved him, he did. He’d loved him for years, and it wasn’t something that he could just will to go away — he’d tried, gods know he tried, — but that love, painful from the very beginning, twisted the knife in his heart with a new sort of cruelty now, when he saw just how different Geralt could be. For it was Geralt, other version or not — with every passing day, Jaskier could see more and more familiar gestures and habits, caught the all too familiar pronunciations of certain words.

It caught him off guard, sometimes. 

On their second evening on the Path, when they’ve already had their fill of dinner and were warming their hands and bellies on rosehip tea, Geralt was telling the bard one of his endless stories, and the way he said “The ship’s captain knew fuck all about the waters he was sailing” sounded so much like the Geralt that Jaskier was used to, down to the little huff of amusement, that for a moment, he just froze in place before shaking his shoulders, like he could physically make the sudden ache lift. If the witcher noticed — and Jaskier knew that he probably did, — he didn’t say anything, continuing with his story without pause. It was something that Jaskier had noticed about him even before they set out on their way to Cintra — Geralt didn’t pry. It was impossible to hide anything from him, at the very least because he was a witcher, and witchers could tell emotions apart by scent, but despite that, Geralt let him be time after time, not asking questions that Jaskier wasn’t ready to answer. 

Jaskier wondered, sometimes. when they were riding in comfortable silence, the only sounds between them the soft knocking of their horses’ hooves, if Geralt knew. If he knew of the feelings that Jaskier carried in his heart for his other version, the feelings that he hid so expertly in the furthest corners of his heart, afraid that the slightest ray of sunshine would bring ruin if it was to ever touch them. And though they hurt, though they made Jaskier feel like he’s going to choke on his own blood one day, his heart finally giving out and ripping itself apart in his chest, he couldn’t give them up. He carried all that love, all that deeply-rooted, aching longing in his heart like a glass shard, but a shard of something dear to him, something that he protected like a precious stone. It didn’t matter that the sharp edges were leaving cut after cut on his heart, that one day he would shift something in his chest with not enough caution, and the shard would finally cut too deep for him to survive the blood loss. 

It meant too much to him; it made him whole, in a way that he couldn’t explain even to himself, let alone someone else. The pain was part of him, had been for so long that he could barely remember a time without it, and in Jaskier’s mind, it was almost a sign of him being alive, something vital, like the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the blood in his veins. It is what it is, he would tell himself over and over again, If this is how the gods will it, then it is how it’s supposed to be, no matter to what end. 

He didn’t really believe in the gods before he met Geralt eight years ago, but then, as time went on and the only warmth the witcher would ever show him would be a reluctant parting embrace, Jaskier found some solace, some consolation in the thought that it was all happening to him because it was meant to be happening. That it wasn't his own poor choice of loved ones, that it wasn’t some sort of cruel fate but was, instead, simply what it had to be. It was easier that way, it was a means to protect himself, and the recent years of hunting taught him that when it came to protecting yourself, you were to use any and all possible ways to do it. What mattered was that you shielded yourself from pain and death, how you did it had no role to play in the equation. 

None of that he talked about with Geralt, though he knew that the easy, near-instant trust that grew between them had space enough to allow for it. And he doubted that it would’ve been any different even if the topic of the conversation was someone that Geralt had never even heard about.

They did, however, talk about Coën. 

Jaskier confessed to Geralt — after some persuasion — that he wasn’t completely honest with the Wolf before, and that when he said that he’d spent a couple of weeks with Coën, he only meant that he’d spent a few weeks with him the first time they’d met. After that, over the years, their paths have crossed again and again, and each time was as sweet as the ones before. With a part of his heart that was still his own to do with as he pleased, Jaskier loved him, of course, because Coën was impossible not to love. 

That , Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt, but he could tell that he knew. 

That was an easy love, though. The kind of love that Jaskier was used to from his years in the Academy, intoxicating and heady, but also gentle, kind to his jaded heart and his restless mind. There was, of course, the ache of missing him when he was gone, but Jaskier had Coën’s sword on his back as a reminder of the witcher, a part of him that linked them together. Coën, in turn, carried with him a necklace that Jaskier had worn for years before giving it to the witcher. 

“When’s the last time you saw him?” Geralt asks, his golden eyes shifting to an rich amber, reflecting the campfire burning between him and the bard.

Jaskier can tell that there isn’t the slightest trace of jealousy in the witcher’s voice, that he’s genuinely interested to know. Coën, Jaskier reminds himself, is dear to Geralt in the other realm, the closest thing to a brother that a witcher can have, second only to the other Wolves. 

“Seven months ago now,” Jaskier says, at length. “Almost twice as long as it usually takes us to find each other again. But then again, he is quite preoccupied with the Poviss court.”

Geralt lifts a brow in surprise, taking a swig of wine from a bottle they’d bought in a town they passed by in the morning. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and passes the bottle over to Jaskier. 

“The court?” he asks.

The bard nods. “He’s with the Intelligence.”

Geralt’s surprise at the information becomes so apparent that Jaskier snorts, nearly choking on his wine. He’s never really had the chance to tell anyone that one of his lovers is part of a grand spiderweb of Intelligence here in the Northern Kingdoms, and it feels a little too good to finally see a reaction to take it all back, claiming it was a joke. 

“That is, I imagine, how he always knows where to find me,” Jaskier goes, as a way of explaining. “I like to think that he looks out for me in the months that we’re in different kingdoms.Though he would never admit to it, naturally.”

Jaskier falls silent for a while, looking into the fire with the slightest of smiles curing his lips. Geralt doesn’t break that silence, though the bard can feel the witcher’s gaze resting on him. He wonders, distantly, if he’d be able to listen if it was Geralt that was telling him about someone that, in one way or another, had claim to his heart. If he was being completely honest with himself, he knew that the answer was “no”. Whether that made him the lesser man, he didn’t know, but Geralt wasn’t forcing him into finding out. After he’d mentioned Ciri — the daughter of a woman he loves , — on Belleteyn, he never spoke of either one again. It is yet to happen in this realm, and I’ve got no right to tell you the future , he said, allowing Jaskier to believe that that was if not his only, then his main reason, at least. 

“I take it, Coën that you know is not the same?” Jaskier teases, passing the wine back.

“That, or he’s damn good at keeping secrets,” Geralt huffs. “Which is, I suppose, one of the main requirements to being a spy.”

Jaskier laughs, casting a glance sideways, where he can hear Cerbin rusting in the bushes. Roach is grazing somewhere nearby, flicking her ears at the stallion, too young and too impatient to stay in one place for long. 

“What’s he like?” Jaskier asks, finally, after days of keeping his interest at bay. “ Your Coën?”

Geralt considers it, shifting to lie down next to the fire, one arm behind his head. With the other, he pats the space next to him, and Jaskier doesn’t need much more persuasion — putting his lute, that he’d kept on his knees before that, — aside to come lie next to the witcher, the evening warm and heady with the scent of jasmine. 

As he lies down, Geralt wraps an arm around his shoulders, turns his head to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s hair, effortless with his affections. Jaskier shines with it, moving even closer and letting out a content breath, his eyelashes fluttering closed. He doesn’t think about the days slowly but surely creeping up on them, about how every new stretch of road brings them closer to the moment when they will inevitably have to part — he allows himself to be in the present, basking in the attention and the warmth. 

“Well, he’s certainly not a Poviss spy,” Geralt begins, with a chuckle. “He's surprisingly much more like a Griffin than a Wolf, really, which is to say that if he wasn’t like a brother to me, I would’ve called him a knightly know-it-all. More than anything, he loves to talk about his principles, and it’s those that let him to—”

Abruptly, Geralt cuts himself off, and Jaskier can feel his body tense before relaxing again. But before he can ask, before the sharp pang of alarm in his chest transforms into words, Geralt goes on, not allowing him enough time to speak:

“It’s those that have led him into trouble more than they’ve ever led him to anything good. But, of course, trying to change his mind or convincing him of something that doesn’t align with how he sees it is about as fruitful as trying to convince a fucking foglet to stop ripping people to shreds.”

Jaskier laughs, quietly. 

“Sounds like him,” he says. “He’s got his ideals that he protects vehemently, and if he decides on something, no amount of pleading, reasoning or threats will ever change his mind. Not to mention that he, naturally, has to know all there is to know about everything and everyone. Pretty sure that that’s the main reason why he’d joined the Intelligence. They need people like him there.”

“True,” Geralt agrees. “But I don’t think that the Coën that I know would turn your head nearly as much. I don’t want to call him a bore, and he isn’t, but he’s certainly not the one to take a human to a hunt or sleep with someone he’d just met. I cannot imagine Coën flirting with anyone, though he’s got his charms.”

Jaskier mostly ignores the second half of the sentence, because the Coën he knows definitely knows how to get just about anyone into his bed. but he does say:

 “Coën doesn’t really think I’m human.”

At that, Geralt’s surprise becomes palpable. He props himself up on one elbow, making Jaskier shift with a displeased little sound. He’d been so comfortable with his head on the witcher’s shoulder, after all. But he understands the reaction, of course. And he remembers them leaving the inn five days ago, the sudden surge of energy that washed over him like a wave when Geralt placed his medallion on the bard’s neck. Jaskier remembers the world around him coming into such sharp focus that it almost hurt, his fingers tingling with a feeling he couldn’t begin to describe despite his talent with words. Over the days, he kept coming back to that in his thoughts. 

Geralt looks at him without words, but his quizzical gaze speaks volumes regardless. Jaskier sits up, runs his hand through his hair, takes in a breath. 

“The more he trained me, the more he told me that it’s pretty much impossible for someone with just human blood in their veins to take up hunting the way I have,” he says. “That I move too fast for a human, that silver daggers lie too lightly in my hands. That wounds heal on me a little too quickly, and there are fewer scars than he’d expect a human to have after.”

He shrugs, a move of his shoulders that isn’t as easy as he’d like it to be. The topic had never really bothered him, but in the past days, he thought about it too much to now be able to brush it off with nonchalance.

“Elven blood, then?” Geralt says, after a while.

“That’s what he told me,” Jaskier agrees, but he can’t stop thinking about the fact that witcher medallions shouldn’t react to elves, let alone quarter- or even half-elves. “He even told me, once, of Hen Ichaer , Elder Blood. But that I absolutely do not have.”

Jaskier laughs, and in his merriment, he fails to catch the glimpse of a shadow that passes over Geralt's features. By the time Jaskier looks at him again, the witcher also has a smile on his lips, a glimpse of sharp canine showing.  

“Yes,” he nods. “I suppose, you would’ve known if you had in you some of the most powerful magic known to the Continent.”

The conversation trails off after that, shifting to other topics. They talk about the road ahead, about the towns that they could stop at, with Jaskier obviously insisting on Oxenfurt. Novigrad, on the other hand, as they collectively agree, is not a place that’s worth paying a visit to. 

“Is it as bad in a few decades from now as it is currently?” Jaskier asks, back in the warmth of Geralt’s arms. “With all my love for busy streets and the bubbling life, I much prefer the torch-lit cobble streets of Oxenfurt, full of students and professors. I might’ve grown too old to enjoy Novigrad.”

Geralt snorts. 

“You’re twenty-six.

Jaskier shoves him in the side.

“Yes, and the last time we visited, I was twenty-five, which is already too old to find any delight in that gods forsaken city. Life on the road has made me way too fond of peace and quiet.”

He lets the “we” slip before he can catch himself, and Geralt, naturally, picks up on it. Jaskier knows what he’s going to ask before the question is spoken:

“You and your Geralt?”

“He’s not mine,” Jaskier replies, automatically. “And, regardless, I wasn’t with him. If I hate Novigrad, then he’s deadly allergic to it.”

“Coën, then?” 

The memories, warm and brilliantly-clear, like the waters of a river in the heat of summer, wash over Jaskier as he nods, a smile playing on his lips. He’s half-asleep already, the burning fire warm on his skin, Geralt’s presence a steady, now-familiar security at his side. The visions of the past come to him as saturated and full of life as if he was still there, at an inn on the outskirts of Novigrad. 

“I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again — you’re insane, Jask,” Coën laughs, closing the door behind them and setting the logs in the fireplace aflame with a wave of his wrist. “The next time you decide that you’re in dire need of slicing the heads off a few drowners, can we please find some place that is not the Novigrad docks to do it.”

Jaskier is still high on the adrenaline from the hunt. His every sense is still sharpened, the tips of his fingers tingling with the taste of victory. It was by no means effortless, but the struggle made it all the sweeter. Coën didn’t interfere, watching from the flanks with pride burning in his eyes, and all the spoils of victory were for Jaskier alone to collect. 

It wasn’t even a contract — they went out to hunt for practice, as without Coën, Jaskier was still reluctant, most of the time, to get himself into trouble willingly.

“As much as I hate this city, I have to give credit where credit is due — it’s perfect hunting ground,” Jaskier says, putting his sword aside and undoing the buckles of his armor before falling onto the bed, reveling in the feeling of the covers under him. The night air is filled with the scent of wild flowers. “Where we killed five drowners tonight, there will be ten tomorrow.”

Coën shakes his head with an indulgent smile, comes closer, sitting down on the bed next to the bard. His green eyes catch the reflection of the flames, and shine brighter with the familiar gold. He pushes his black hair from his face only for it to fall back a second later, and leans down, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“ You , not we.”

Jaskier opens one eye to look at him.

“Hm?”

“ You killed them, Jask, not we,” Coën repeats, tugging his boots off and getting onto the bed properly to pull Jaskier to his chest, where the bard rests his head with familiar ease. “You impress me more and more every time we meet. Though sometimes I do wonder if I’ve made a horrible mistake when I’ve decided to teach you to hunt.”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier snorts. “You know I’ll be safe.”

Coën brushes his fingers over Jaskier’s cheek, drawing his attention and leaning in closer to his lips, his own upturned in a grin.

“Who’s talking about your safety? I’m starting to worry you’ll take all the contracts from me.”

The memory fades slowly, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. With it, though, it brings another one, one that Jaskier hadn’t had the time to think about, caught up in the sudden passion that bloomed between him and Geralt. The memory of their first night together, and the witcher calling Jaskier his. No matter how many lovers you’ve had or are going to have, you’re mine , he said. And Jaskier knows that he asked for it himself, knows that back then, he longed for it, ached for it — the feeling of belonging to someone. But when he really thought of it, when he thought of this realm’s Geralt, thought of Coën, he couldn’t quite find that same feeling in his chest anymore. 

Shifting again, Jaskier just barely holds himself back from cursing under his breath. 

Feelings were a complicated thing, he knew, but he still, from time to time, forgot about it, even though they’ve always, inevitably, caught up to him. Back at the inn in the middle of nowhere, it was all too easy to completely lose himself in the sudden, heady attraction, in the feeling of being desired, needed. And he didn’t regret it, not for a moment, but he also saw now, in clear view, that the three months ahead weren’t going to be the same. He wanted to be honest with Geralt — as much as he could bear to be, — and that meant facing his own heart first. 

The bond between them was undeniable, like they’ve known each other for years, but now, when his head cleared slightly, Jaskier thought about it a little more soberly. A week ago, if Geralt had told him that he’s got the means to go back to his realm that same evening and asked if Jaskier wanted to go with him, he would’ve said yes. Now, as some time has passed, he wasn’t sure that that was the decision that he could make so easily, if at all. 

This realm was everything that he’d ever known. His friends and colleagues were his, his hard-earned career and reputation were here. Coën was here. Geralt was here. 

No matter how harsh the witcher that he’d known for eight years now was, no matter how much pain he caused him, both intentional and not, Jaskier couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. And no more than that could he bear the idea of never seeing Coën again, his beloved Wolf, the only creature in the entire world that had always seen Jaskier for more than just his colourful silk and velvet, the lute in his hands. They were never in what Jaskier would necessarily call a relationship, but every time they met, it was like they never parted. 

The last time they saw each other, after Coën had, as always, found him through his spiderweb, Jaskier ran into his arms right in the middle of the dusty country road, paying no mind to the farmers working in the field that looked up at them with what was disapproval at the very least. And Coën paid them all even less mind, pulling Jaskier so close that the bard could feel something in his shoulder crack, before kissing him with everyone watching. That was one of the things that never failed to mesmerise Jaskier about Coën — the way he simply did not give a fuck, ready to challenge the entire world, his sharp canine shining brighter and more deadly than his daggers. Jaskier never felt more alive and more safe than when he was with him. 

Could he really give it all up, even if it was so easy to think it to be Destiny?

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice pulls Jaskier abruptly from his thoughts and memories. “You still with me?”

Jaskier almost laughs at the double meaning that the question has to him. Instead, he clears his throat, a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Sorry, I must have drifted off a bit,” he lies, trying to will his pulse to remain steady. “What were you saying?”

Geralt gives him a look that lets Jaskier know that the witcher can tell he’s lying, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t press. Would Jaskier have done the same, if the roles were reversed? Would he be able to just let it go if he saw that Geralt was so blatantly dishonest with him? That, as Jaskier realised with a sharp twist of something in his chest, was one more question to add to the list of thighs that demanded answers. 

“I asked if you were with Coën,” Geralt repeats, finally, and Jaskier thanks all the gods when the witcher relaxes again, readjusting the blanket that he’d thrown over them both earlier in the night. Jaskier really could’ve drifted off like this, the lie was almost believable. “In Novigrad.”

Jaskier makes himself more comfortable, rearranging their position into one that will allow him to actually fall asleep. It’s past midnight, and his worries are starting to get too much for him to keep them at bay, so going to sleep and ignoring them all together seems like the best option he’s got. It’s not necessarily the best decision, but it’s one currently available to him. He was used to baring his heart to everyone that would and would not listen, his songs filled with the bitter sting of heartbreak as much as heroics, but doing it before a crowd of patrons felt somehow… distant. Like he was saying it all with a mask on, or in another language. That veil of impersonality, thin as it was, kept him from feeling too vulnerable. But speaking about his feelings and his hears like this, one on one? Jaskier wasn’t sure he had it in him, not after everything. 

And so, pretending like none of it existed, even for a couple of hours, was all he could do. 

“I was, yes,” he says, finally, tucking himself closer to Geralt’s chest. The witcher’s medallion hums softly from his proximity, and that’s yet another thing that Jaskier can’t allow himself to think too hard about right now. “He tends to like Novigrad, actually. And, surprisingly, he knows how to make it bearable for his companions. That was probably the only time I visited that I didn’t want to leave immediately after stepping foot beyond the city walls.”

Geralt chuckles, a genuinely amused little sound in his throat, and noses at Jaskier’s hair, clearly also ready to drift off. After they’d left the inn, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for two more nights, but after that, they did settle into something more gentle, the precious hours of darkness, which were now only getting shorter with the summer heat, were dedicated to sleep rather than heady passion. As fun as it was, the Path demanded it’s due, and they were both experienced enough to know that being well-rested is more important than having fun. 

That, however, in no way meant that they’ve had enough of each other. Sleeping through the night left them with more than enough energy to spend it during the day, be it on a bank of a river, while the horses were enjoying the cool waters, or hidden somewhere in an apple grove, aways from the prying eyes of passers by.  

“If the Coën that I know heard that, he probably would’ve claimed this realm’s version of him either out of his mind or possessed by a demon,” Geralt says, with a soft laugh. “For as long as I’ve known him, he’d always hated Novigrad with a burning passion. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure that there is nothing on the entire Continent that irritates him more than the Free City. He doesn’t even like to talk about it, let alone visit it.”

Jaskier echoes Geralt’s laughter, trying to imagine the man that he’d never seen but, in some way, knows. Geralt had told him that Coën’s counterpart from the other realm also has black hair and green eyes, that he’s also tall and never dresses in anything other than black. He does, however, have a beard that Geralt had confessed to being jealous of, and that is not something that Jaskier can imagine.

“I don’t think I would’ve recognised him if I were to run into him in a tavern, like I did with you,” he finally says, and Geralt hums, like it’s a question that they’ve both been trying to settle for a while. “But then again, you are more recognisable. With the hair and all.”

“I’m quite surprised, actually,” Geralt says, shifting again and making Jaskier groan with frustration. He’d already learned that the witcher loves tossing and turning before finally falling asleep. “At how quickly you believed me. You know, with your Geralt being—”

“Not mine,” Jaskier corrects him, without even thinking anymore.

Geralt barely stops to acknowledge his words.

“Yes, yes, not yours,” he says dismissively. “With him being the famed White Wolf and everything. I could’ve been an imposter or a mage disguised behind an illusion, for all you knew.”

Jaskier’s already half-asleep, and he’s not willing to think about the what’s, if’s and maybe’s of the whole situation. So in response he just grumbles:

“I’ve asked you questions that only Geralt could know the answers to, and you knew the answers.”

The witcher, it seems, is in no mood to sleep, for he goes on, and Jaskier has no idea where he’d gained that sudden burst of energy right before going to bed. The fire warms him, makes his body feel pleasantly heavy, and Jaskier allows himself to drift further and further off, without really listening to Geralt and his lectures about how the bard should be more careful with trusting strangers. 

After a while, the length of which Jaskier would not be able to determine even if he wanted to, he realises that there’s been a stretch of silence, indicating that Geralt is waiting for some sort of an answer from him. Having missed most of what’s been said, the bard just waves his wrist, pulling the covers closer to his chest.

“Alright,” he says, the words slightly slurred by sleep. “If I ever meet yet another version of you, I promise not to trust him no matter what he tells me.”

Behind him, Geralt makes a sound of approval, like Jaskier had passed a test that the bard wasn’t even aware he was taking. 

“And what of Coën?” he asks, after a few more seconds, jerking Jaskier out of his sleep once again. The bard frowns, having lost the thread of conversation. 

“What of Coën?” he repeats, willing himself to stay awake long enough to finally answer all the questions that Geralt has decided to ask him instead of keeping them to himself until the morning.

“Say that you were to recognize him, somehow,” Geralt goes on, and it sounds like he’d either explained it thrice over already or it’s simply the most obvious thing one can think of. Jaskier doesn’t have the willpower to figure out which one it is. “Would you have approached him, slept with him? That is, if we pretend that the Coën that I know is a bit more easy-going. That is to say — would you have done with him all that you have done with me?”

Whether Geralt is trying to figure something out for himself or simply has nothing better to do, Jaskier does not know, and he’s way too tired to try and figure it out. But, regardless, he replies:

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m too—”

“You’re too used to your Coën,” Geralt says, before Jaskier can finish. Despite the stress on the possessive pronoun, he doesn’t sound jealous, rather wistful, like he’d found another part of an equation that he’s trying to solve.

This time, Jaskier doesn’t correct him, finally falling deep into the dreamless darkness of sleep.

[read it on ao3]

[lesbicosmos]

six of crows is so incredibly hozier coded and to prove it ive assigned each character/couple a song and given a specific section of the lyrics

(i feel entirely normal about this i swear)

the books in general are 100% eat your young

There's money to be made, whatever's still to come Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

kaz brekker - arsonist's lullabye

When I was 16, my senses fooled me Thought gasoline was on my clothes I knew that something would always rule me I knew the scent was mine alone All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash

inej ghafa - would that i

With the war of the fire My heart moves to its feet Like the ashes of ash I saw eyes in the heat Feel it soft and as pure as snow Fell in love with the fire long ago With each love I could lose I was never the same Watch it still live in roofs Be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Lay in waste of my lovin' long ago

jesper fahey - someone new

There's an art to life's distractions To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through Some like to imagine The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do Would things be easier if there was a right way? Honey, there is no right way

wylan van eck - through me (the flood)

Any time I've struggled on Against the course Out on my own Every time I'd burn through the world, I'd see That the world, it burns through me

nina zenik - angel of small death and the codeine scene

Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

(this is so nina post-parem)

matthias helvar - foreigner's god

Her eyes look sharp and steady Into the empty parts of me But still my heart is heavy With the hate of some other man's beliefs

kaz/inej - work song

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

(this is just so i would come for you and if i couldn't walk i'd crawl to you i cannot)

matthias/nina - in a week

A thousand teeth And yours among them, I know Our hungers appeased Our heartbeats becoming slow We lay here for years or for hours Thrown here or found To freeze or to thaw So long we become the flowers Two corpses we were

(they're also incredibly work song coded, it was a struggle choosing between helnik and kanej for that one)

wylan/jesper - like real people do

So I will not ask you Why you were creeping In some sad way I already know I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

[rekino2114]

Sleepover date with yoru

Pairing:yoru x gn reader

A/n:This is inspired by a conversation I had with my brother. It's kinda stupid, but I thought it was kinda funny and sweet

You were having a sleepover with your girlfriend yoru, well technically asa was there too, but she was more than happy to let her take full control as you were basically the only human she liked and so wouldn't try to turn into a weapon.

You spent a while eating snacks and talking about whatever when you got an idea.

"Hey yoru, do you know what video games are?"

"Yeah I think asa has a couple she likes to play why?"

"Well I have some I think you'd like"

"Why do you think that?"

"They're based on war, and you're the war devil, so I thought you'd enjoy them"

Yoru looked confused for a second before starting to laugh

"Seriously? This is rich, I thought you humans hated war, there are seriously video games based on it?"

"I don't know what to tell you, so you wanna try?"

"Sure, it does sound like fun"

You spent a few minutes teaching yoru the controls and making her play the tutorial. She was actually a natural at the game and started playing against the cpu and winning. She also pointed out all the historical inaccuracies on the model of guns used and stuff like that

Since she was doing so well, you decided to let her play online which.........

"NEXT TIME YOU KILL ME I'LL TURN YOUR SPINE INTO A SPEAR AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR-"

"Yoru please calm down"

In hindsight, was a really bad idea. Your girlfriend already had a short temper, and introducing her to online gaming was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

"All these stupid humans, they keep killing me. How? I'm the war devil for crying out loud. I should be slaughtering them without issues"

You moved to hug her, and even if a bit hesitant, she accepted

"It's alright sweetheart everyone lose from time to time"

"I don't need your pity, I'm gonna go outside and kill the first human I see, I need to let out some steam"

"Please don't do that, I'm not ready to deal with a murder today, how about we play a calmer game?"

"Who do you think I am? The girl I'm possessing might, but I don't give up easily I'll continue playing until I win, whatever it takes"

"I.....am genuinely concerned you'll either break my controller or go on a murder spree if you keep playing, can we cuddle instead? that will calm you down"

"Fine, you're lucky I love you"

You wrapped your arms around her tighter as she did the same. You two fell on the couch hugging each other

"Oh! I just had an idea, wanna watch a war movie?"

"Yeah"

You opened Netflix and asked yoru to choose a movie. You started to watch it while eating whatever snacks were left

"You know most couples watch a romantic movie during a date"

"Who cares what human couples do? I love seeing all this bloodshed and destruction almost as much as I love you"

"Awww that's so sweet, I love you too"

Yoru put her head on your shoulder and continued to look at the movie while smiling

"thanks"

"For what?"

"Loving me I guess, it feels really nice"

You smiled brightly and kissed her forehead

"Thank you for loving me back then"

[icarusredwings]

GUYS Hozier is feeding the Poolverine community.

I already wrote a fic with Logan and "Nobodys soilder" called Dog tags and now im thinking about doing one with Arsonists Lullaby with wade.

Arsonists Lullaby- Wade Wilson

When I was a child, I heard voices

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices

I learned the voices died with me

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

When I was 16, my senses fooled me

Thought gasoline was on my clothes

I knew that something would always rule me

I knew the scent was mine alone

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

When I was a man I thought it ended

When I knew love's perfect ache

But my peace has always depended

On all the ashes in my wake.

Just a little rush, babe

Sedated- Logan Howlett

To feel dizzy, to derail the mind of me

Just a little hush, babe

Our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy

Any way to distract and sedate

Adding shadows to the walls of the cave

You and I nursing on a poison that never stung

Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it

Somewhere for this, death and guns

We are deaf, we are numb

Free and young and we can feel none of it

Something isn't right, babe

I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin

I'm somewhere outside my life, babe

I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in

So we're slaves to any semblance of touch

Lord we should quit but we love it too much

Sedated we're nursing on a poison that never stung

Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it

Somewhere for this, death and guns

We are deaf, we are numb

Free and young and we can feel none of it

Darlin', don't you, stand there watching, won't you

Come and save me from it

Darlin', don't you, join in, you're supposed to

Drag me away from it

Any way to distract and sedate

Adding shadows to the walls of the cave.

Boys workin' on empty

Work song- Poolverine

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

But the last bit is kinda Logurt coded.

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissin' on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamp light I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me.

[wave2tyun]

haze

pairing: taehyun x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

summary: absolutely no plot just pure taehyun brainrot (i genuinely can't get this boy out of my mind)

warnings: none i think??

word count: 342

a/n: hi. i drank. (and this is the result of that). i kinda wish this was longer but at the same time it feels good enough leaving it just as it is???????😵 either way i hope you'll guys enjoy<33 i'll be a bit more active tomorrow i promise today was just stressful and alcohol makes me sleepy😖😖

3 am.

coffee liquor and hushed whispers.

lovingly stares evolving into tiny pecks.

and pecks, turning into heated kisses.

it seemed like the adoration you felt towards taehyun grew at least 10 times stronger whenever you drank, it was like gasoline being added to a fire.

and taehyun?

oh- taehyun enjoyed it all.

your never-ending blabber and love dedications towards him, it was so endearing to hear you pronounce your love out loud. the way you melted underneath his gaze, unable to meet his eyes and stumbling on your words. he had never felt quite so loved until he met you. he loved you more than the word love itself, and he made sure that you knew that well.

now, as you were lying down on top of his chest, heartbeat wildly drumming against his own, loud enough to be heard by him despite the sound of indie rock music softly coming from his speakers- taehyun couldn’t wish for anything more than kiss you. his hand came to rest upon your jawline, leaving a chaste kiss there. you looked down at his chest, playing with his silver necklace as you silently chewed on your bottom lip. the courage to speak up and ask for more just like when you declared your affection towards him was gone, despite the alcohol not having fully left your system yet.

frustrated, you downed the remaining contents of the glass on your nightstand, the liquor still burning your throat as you grabbed his face to connect your lips with his. taehyun’s own cheeks started to burn, the taste of the liquor lingering on your lips too sweet for him to pull away from the kiss. you were sitting on top of him, and yet he felt the need to touch you more, to feel you closer, it wasn’t enough that his arms was circled around your waist, or that your hands were tangled in his hair, he was yearning to feel your skin on his, not leaving a single spot to grow cold.

taglist: @huekalover3000