If you're still looking for a Slasher Supercut with the scary parts either removed or timestamped, I made it yesterday. :) I can't link it, but it's the first post on my blog. :)
I'm so sorry to get to this so late but you are. An Absolute Gift. I will DEFINITELY be watching this THANK YOU SO MUCH
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So I went ahead and caught up with the latest chapter of the bungo stray dogs manga so spoilers for that
First of all apparently we need to add Kenji to my "Bungo Stray Dogs characters that are actually hiding a superpowered dark side that is somehow being kept in check and would actually be terrifying if released onto the world but I still want to be their friend" list
secondly LOOK AT KENJI I AM SO PROUD OF HIM
third I have been waiting for Kenji and Tecchou to become friends since they met and I am extremely happy right now
fourth please let Kenji have that nap he deserves a nice very very long one after all this
and fifth apparently this has turned into a Kenji appreciation post so please have a picture I found of our precious sunshine farmer boy
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❀ ˎˊ- prompt: sunday hates having to beg, but you've given him no other choice.
❀ ˎˊ- sunday x gn!reader
❀ ˎˊ- wc: 887
❀ ˎˊ- warnings: suggestive (tension), but overall sfw (ik the prompt is sus there's zero spice, its just him wanting a kiss)
❀ ˎˊ- a/n: he actually makes me insane. everyone say thank you to naru for this fic because i cannot stop thinking about this
❀ ˎˊ- img credits
Tapping fingers, ever impatient, a constant shifting and readjusting on his seat, wings that rustle and flap and flare in annoyance, and of course, those eyes, housing rings of gold that encase sapphires, glancing at you and then away, and then flicking to you again - the tell-tale signs of Sunday’s irritation.
The head of the Oak Family was known for his composure. Nothing could break that smile of his, and no one could ever crease that suit of his. Everything was under his control, as it had to be.
Everything, of course, except for you.
He doesn’t know what it is about you that just - no pun intended - ruffles his feathers. When the Family treats him with the respect that he is due, you grin impishly, tauntingly as you dare him to even try to control you. When he can make anyone else bend without raising a finger, it’s with your touch that he finds himself as the one on the brink of falling apart - and you know it.
The power you hold over him, you dangle over his head like a treat, and you abuse it - bringing it close enough where he could almost taste it, close enough that he’s fooled enough to try and take a bite, only for you to yank it away again.
Even now, he thinks scornfully, you meet his narrowed eyes with innocent ones, and he knows that you’re enjoying his predicament. You flash him a smile, and his fingers dig into his thigh as he restrains himself from pouncing on you then and there. If he did, after all, he’d lose, and you’d just mock him again.
“Are you okay?” you ask, faux concern dripping like sweet honey. “You seem a bit… agitated.”
You already know the reason, he knows that you know, but he can’t lose just yet.
“Is that so?” he replies, eyes gentle and voice barely level. “I guess it’s been a long day for me.”
He looks pointedly at you, and you only hum in response.
“Poor thing,” you coo sympathetically, and Sunday has to hold himself back from ripping that shit-eating grin right off your face. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
And that’s it. You take your teacup in your hands and raise it to your lips, sipping at the sweet beverage. Sunday’s wings flap angrily as he stares daggers into you. Meeting his gaze, you only raise a brow.
Realistically, he didn’t have to go through all of this if he just asked - no, begged. Sunday knew you would never be satisfied with a simple request; you had to see his pride crumble and turned to nothing before giving him anything. Between the two of you, Sunday may have had the smoother tongue, but you beat him in terms of pure stubbornness.
And perhaps, that’s why he still wants you so badly despite all of this.
He bites his lip, weighing his options, before sighing in defeat. His wings droop, and his tense shoulders relax. Blood rushes to his face as he instinctively hides behind his feathers.
And then it comes, his surrender.
“…please.”
As if a switch had been turned, you instantly brighten. Setting your cup down, you lean forward, your elbows resting on the table.
“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
Sunday’s wings lift for just a moment to glare at you, but it’s enough for you drink in his delicious expression. Flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes, and gritted teeth through which he hisses out his words.
Really, he’s just so adorable like this. Embarrassed and defeated, his glare appears more like a pout - almost enough to tempt you, but not yet. He has to say it first.
“Please,” he repeats, his voice strained as he shuts his eyes.
“Please what?”
With a slam, he shoots up from his seat. It would’ve startled you if you didn’t already know what Sunday acted like when he broke. His footsteps ring through the empty mansion as he marches over to you, pushing your seat back as he looms over you, wings framing your face and his nose brushing against yours.
Despite having done nothing, Sunday’s breath is ragged and heavy. Exasperation, annoyance, embarrassment, yet also desire melt together into a beautiful rose that blooms across his fair skin.
“Please…” he whispers, voice akin to a whimper or a whine. “Kiss me already.”
His breath shudders in his chest as he swallows back his pride.
“There, happy?”
You laugh airly, and your hand comes to rest against his chest, feeling as he shivers under you. His heart pulses against you rapidly, caught in a frenzied dance. Looking up to meet his desperate gaze, you beam in satisfaction.
“Very,” you murmur, your fingers closing around the lapel of his suit to tug him closer. Sunday doesn’t bother to hide his gasp as you pull him into you, at last rewarding him with your kiss.
The second your lips touch, his hands come to clutch at your shoulders, holding you in place as he dives greedily into you, slipping in his tongue to taste you.
And you let him, eyes drifting closed as he devours you, drinking you as if you were divine nectar, given to him by the Aeons themselves.
It was what he deserved, after all.
reblogs w comments are appreciated !!
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masterlist.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's the talk of the town once he moves and settles in. The gossip started to pool in mostly due to his looks. He wasn't necessarily what one would call "conventionally attractive" but there was this air to him that was impossible to ignore. It was hard to find him anywhere throughout the day because he spent almost all of his time in the morgue, regardless if his work hours had long since passed. The only time he could really be seen was if you would be lucky enough to see him in the wee hours in the morning, large briefcase in hand and heading straight towards the usual destination. Small amounts of people would gather in the coffee shops and spy on the man. Gossip spread like wildfire but no one had the guts to actually approach him.
One chilly October morning, you decided to be brave. Pushing your insecurities aside your curiosity ended up getting the better of you. There was no turning back.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's caught off guard by your sudden and bold approach but he doesn't mind.
As a matter of fact, he finds it quite refreshing.
He's not saying much as the day is just a bit too early for him and despite his drowsiness, he is paying attention to you like a hawk. His soft brown eyes are focused on your lips, listening to your every word. You invited him out on a coffee but he frowns - he has to work. A serial killer has been on the loose recently and due to that individual his work keeps piling on. Families need closure and he is an important part of that process. With a sad sigh he declines your generous offer and your demeanor is like that of a balloon which was violently popped, by his own hand none the less. He feels a bit guilty and proposes the idea that you actually come to his place of work if you're so keen on getting to know him. It was a little twisted of him but he was curious to see how fast you would shoot him down on this offer but the opposite happened.
You accepted it in a heartbeat.
Well, now he has to tidy everything up.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who can't help but to feel a little starstruck once he actually meets you on this would-be coffee date. He actually prepared a selection of teas in advance just in case you didn't actually like coffee, along with an assortment of snacks to boot. You sit in the lobby and make small talk with each other. The atmosphere is comfortable as soft music plays in the background, ranging from the latest pop music to classical violin. He doesn't like the quiet, he confesses to you. He can't do anything properly because the silence is too deafening to him.
He doesn't tell you that the sound of your voice is like lovely rain on a hot summer day to him. Cooling, refreshing. Perhaps a little bit necessary. His work hours are long and odd and the only people that surround him are not even alive.
That's his own fault though. His urges are too much to handle, sometimes. He has no one else to blame for enhancing his work other than himself.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to make room in his schedule for you whenever he can. Ideally, he doesn't actually like bringing you to the morgue. The place where he works is dark, desolate and cold.
That is no place for the likes of you.
No, he likes to see you bask in the warmth of the sun with a hot beverage in your hand, a goofy smile on your lips as you tell him the plot of the last book you read or the game you had played. He never has the heart to tell you to stop, your excitement is far too precious to him.
He is aware that he is not the easiest person to approach. Aside from the fact that people get a little jumpy once they learn that he works with the dead, his personality isn't much to brag about either. Whilst polite there's a level of dryness to him, a lack of humanity which other people are not so keen on. His shoulder black hair is always messy and, yes he will admit it, his fashion choices are a tad bit archaic. He's gotten an earful from strangers that he looks less like a man from the 21st century and more like a vampire from an 18th century gothic novella.
He knows those are not meant to be taken as compliments but he still sees them as such.
You like to tease him for his fashion choices and make an attempt to improve his wardrobe but you don't want to do too much. Truth be told, you like the way he looks but you don't dare tell him.
If he were to find that out his ego would go through the damn roof.
Within weeks, his closet was filled with comfortable blazes, a sweater or two, some casual t-shirts and some fresh, crisp white button ups that go along with pretty much anything and everything. He gave you the liberty of picking everything out for him.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to act more like a member of polite society rather than a reclusive shut in. You took his hand and showed him a glimpse of the world, just how beautiful everything can be. There are so many colors and smells, all so dominating and sweet. You take every chance you can to get him outside even if he's not very fond of the sun. You chastise him for how pale and sickly he looks as you shove food at him, his lanky body showing obvious signs that he was not eating properly.
He simply was not hungry. Food could never satisfy him. He only ate because his body demanded so of him. And for you, of course. He would never turn down any food you gave to him. Ever.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to become sloppy. His cuts are imperfect and his concentration has never been worse. He stares down at the corpse on his steel table, the bright light above him giving the dead hunk of flesh an unearthly aura of peace. With his gloved hand he reached for the poor victims cheeks, which have now gone hollow and dead. Your face suddenly flashes through his head, your giggles filling his ears, in a manner similar to that of when a person is submerged under water.
What would happen if this were you?
He never could have imagined that he could ever be this charmed by another human being.
For his entire life all he has ever had were his books, notes and his own gloomy company. He was not deserving of someone like you, a creature that thrived among the living. He suddenly stabbed the corpse beneath him with his scalpel, his hand shaking from the rage which overtook him.
Why couldn't he be alive like that?
What was wrong with him?
He could never get along with human beings, no matter how hard he tried. He stopped trying ages ago because the harder he tried, the more he failed.
There was no denying the fact that he was a freak of nature.
An abomination.
If he cannot function around the living he could always turn towards the dead. They made for much better company anyway, always there to listen to him and his woes.
It was frightening how much he relied on you now. His sanity was in your hands and you had no clue.
How cruel.
He hated you. He was beyond envious of your ability to function like a normal human being. All the things which you had perceived to be normal were nothing but pure anomalies to him. And yet, the more he hated you the more he craved you. He could never regret the decision of allowing you to enter his life. It was nice to be wanted.
He loved it when you wanted him.
Do you want him in the same manner in which he wants you? Did you possess the same wicked desires which he did? Human beings are all the same when push comes to shove. Their true colours are shown once they're faced with death.
And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do later that week.
🥀 𝐀/𝐍: I'm not good with creating original characters and I apologize for that. However! I keep having the same dream over and over and I just thought that it would be neat to turn them into entertainment for the rest of the world to see. Please share your thoughts and opinions with me, they are always highly appreciated!
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Never Have I Ever
Pairing — Chan, Changbin x fem!reader
Wordcount — 8,913 words
Genre — 18+
Includes — Mentions of body insecurities and past romantic relationships. Struggles with sex and sexuality. Consumption of alcohol (but no sex under the influence). Explicit sexual content, smut warnings under the cut.
Author's note — It's been a while since I've post something this lengthy... I have to be honest, I started writing this last year (July 2022) but I felt so unsatisfied with it that I never got to post it. I made some corrections, added some more details and now I'm ready to share it with you! Hope you like it. Please remember to leave a comment, reblog or ask if you liked this. And! This is the yearly reminder that I own a ko-fi. If you wish to support my work further, you can leave me a tip there! The link is on my pinned post. Thank you for reading me.
Smut warnings — Use of pet names (baby and princess). Dirty talk, threesome activities, mutual masturbation, oral sex (m. receiving), double penetration, first time anal, description of pain and crying during sex. Multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, pulling out and facial.
"Never have I ever..." Chan hummed, his right hand swirling the green bottle he had been drinking from for the past minutes, "had sex in a public place".
He looked at you and then at Changbin, his curious gaze wondering how he missed an opportunity to make either of you drink from your alcoholic beverage.
"I haven't had sex in a public place," Changbin mumbled, "but I have done other things".
"You have to drink either way," Chan insisted.
"You said sex," the black-haired complained, "next time try to be more specific".
You sat there in silence with a look of amusement as you witnessed the silly discussion your two best friends were holding.
"There will not be a next time," Chan sighed, leaving his bottle on top of the small coffee table next the shared couch, "at this rate, we are going to be wasted and she will remain sober".
You smiled with victory imprinted on your face, imitating Chan's action and leaving your beverage on top of the table, "we should've betted money on who was the most innocent one among the three of us, I could've ended the night with more bucks than the ones I have on my wallet".
"I can't believe you dated that asshole for 3 years and yet you didn't do anything with him," Changbin murmured with disbelief.
"Do you think I am lying?" You questioned him, tilting your head slightly backwards and resting it on the wall behind.
"I know for a fact you are not," Changbin replied, "that's why I’m impressed".
"Well," you took the bowl of chips that was placed between you and Chan, "sex isn't everything in a relationship."
"You say so because you haven't fucked," Chan scoffed, his characteristic dimples showing as soon as the sound of his laughter escaped his lips.
"We did fuck though".
"You say so because you haven't fucked properly," Changbin corrected his best friend's statement, the choice of words making your skin burn in embarrassment.
"Just because I am not into the kinky stuff you guys like doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the sex with him," you whined, throwing a cushion at Changbin, "plus, why are we making my sexual life a topic of conversation? that's something private".
"It's just amusing," Chan mumbled, taking a sip from the bottle, "you didn't drink from your soju the whole time".
"You guys asked such odd questions," you admitted, "threesomes, sex in public places... how was I supposed to drink when I have no interest in those sorts of things?"
"Alright, alright," Changbin interrupted, both of his arms doing signals for you and chan to be quiet, "we will start small".
You looked at Changbin and then at Chan, unsure of what the twisted game your dark-haired friend was thinking about. Nonetheless, your hand reached out for the bottle of soju and you returned back to your previous position, back against the wall and head tilted slightly backwards.
"Never have I ever given my partner oral sex," Changbin mumbled, both pairs of dark eyes fixed on you as they waited for your final answer.
Placing the tip of the bottle in between your lips, you made sure to drink just a small sip from it. Not being too fond of the taste of alcohol nor the feeling of being drunk, you tried your best to limit your consumption during the evening. Of course, playing this kind of game was rather easy for someone as inexperienced as you were.
"Never have I ever received oral sex," Chan continued the attack, expecting you to hold the bottle again and drink from it.
But, after a few seconds of awkward looks and odd grimaces, he understood that you were not going to take another sip of alcohol.
"Never have I ever tried anal sex," Changbin queried and, again, no response from you. "Well, that one was a bit obvious".
You darted him a killer gaze and he scoffed, looking absolutely unimpressed by your sexual inexperience.
"Never have I ever tried more than 2 different sexual positions with my partner," Chan questioned with a teasing smirk and, for the first time that night, you felt a bit shy at your lack of experience.
It was true that your sexual life wasn't the best, not even with your ex-boyfriend of 3 years, but you wouldn't dare to admit it out loud. For some reason, the thought of having to talk about how much he sucked at those things embarrassed you and, knowing your best friends, they wouldn't be able to forget such a confession.
"No wonder why you broke up with him," Changbin whispered, diverting your attention from Chan's image all the way to his. "Let me guess, missionary and doggy?"
You were not the type to get your cheeks blushed but still, the skin on your face was burning in shame.
"Never have I ever faked an orgasm with my partner," Chan added, capturing your whole attention once again.
You knew Chan and, if you were to take a wild guess, you would say that his countenance changed from amusement to concern. In his face, you could catch a glimpse of almost the same reaction he had when you told him all about your break up and how your boyfriend cheated on you several times before you found out.
Even though his reaction was rather odd to you, you still took a sip of your bottle, "shit".
"This is way worse than I thought," Changbin sighed, stretching his body and placing both of his hands behind his neck.
"Just one more question and I will let this go," Chan hummed, trying to satisfy his curiosity without making you uncomfortable, "alright?"
You nodded with resignation, "shoot".
"Never have I ever had an orgasm with a partner," and, as soon as you heard those words, you couldn't help but fix your gaze at your shoelaces that were a hundred times more interesting than whatever was going on inside the tiny living room of your apartment.
"Damn," Changbin's harsh voice interrupted, breaking the awkward silence that was starting to fall down upon the three of you, "are you serious?"
"Why would I lie to you about these things?" you asked with a high-pitched voice, your mind bringing back the memories of the few times you got to spend with your ex.
To be completely honest with yourself, you couldn't deny how hideous the sex with him was. It was rushed, fast, boring. He was focused on his pleasure rather than yours, lasting for not more than 5 minutes and calling it a day. "I'm exhausted", "I came so hard", "I'm so sleepy" were just a few of the things he used to mumble right after overcoming his high and, as much as you loved him at the time, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed after each session. He made you feel like an object who was only meant to give him pleasure without receiving any and, for the longest time, you thought it was completely normal.
"You never talked to him about these things?" Changbin questioned you, making your heart sink at the realization that he was just as worried as Chan was about the whole situation.
"It is not a big deal guys," you tried to convince them, even when you knew that it was, in fact, a big deal, "luckily we are not together anymore so I can leave those boring experiences in the past".
"Still," Chan's words felt like he was scolding you, "you went down on him several times and he couldn't even do that for you".
"Yeah, well-" you sighed, standing up from your seat and stretching your whole body, "I will make sure to get a better and trustworthy fuck buddy next time, I have learned my lesson".
Chan and Changbin remained silent as you started to pick up the mess from the living room, gathering the empty bottles of soju and the wrappings of the snacks you had been eating that night.
"Why don't you help me clean up?" you queried, looking down on them while they spared complicit glances at each other, "the living room is a mess and I don't have plans on doing chores tomorrow morning".
"Hey," Changbin hummed, still sitting on the floor with both of his palms against the rug, "we uh-"
The way your dark-haired roommate stumbled upon his words made you curious about what he was going to say next.
"We would like to help you out with your other issue," Chan spitted, bluntly. Still sitting on the couch with his legs spread, he lifted up his gaze to meet yours.
"What other-" you started the sentence with a smile on your face but, as soon as you realized what they meant, the smile and fondness was transformed into nervousness and curiosity, "oh".
"Oh," Changbin repeated almost with the same intonation you did.
"Listen, you don't have to agree to this," Chan rushed to say, standing up from the couch almost as the same time his friend did from the floor, "me and Changbin, we have discussed this for a while now but we just- we never knew how to approach you about it".
You looked at the two men standing in front of you, suddenly feeling your knees and legs ten times weaker than before. For a while, how long is a while?
"When you say a while, what do you mean?" you asked him, slowly placing the empty bottles on top of the table again.
"We both thought you were attractive the first time you moved in with us," Changbin explained, clearing up his throat as he watched you take a seat on the couch again, now they were the ones looking down on you. "Of course, at the time you had a boyfriend and everything, it was never really a plan, just a thought".
"A thought?"
Changbin looked at Chan and then diverted his gaze to something else, trying hard to avoid giving more information than he needed to.
"One night we were just talking about how much we both liked you," Chan spoke slowly, trying to find just the right words to portray their twisted and perverted fantasies with you, "how much we wanted to be with you, like that"..
"And you have decided to tell me that right now because…"
"We just saw an opportunity to bring the topic and we took it," Changbin continued without even daring to make eye-contact with you, "we don't really lose anything by asking".
"A threesome, then?" you queried with your pair of eyes fixed on them. It was new how nervous they looked right then and there in front of you, clenching their jaws and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
Both of them nodded.
"I... will think about it," you concluded shyly, expecting them to say something else rather than nodding and continuing on picking up the trash that you had placed on top of the table after hearing such revelation.
Other than agreeing and whispering a series of "okay, yeah's", your roommates didn't say anything else. The tension in the environment changed but, at the same time, it didn't feel awkward or overwhelming. If you had to describe it, you would dare to say it was almost pensive.
"You have work tomorrow?" Chan asked, interrupting the silence that was quick to build up after your last words.
"No, I am taking this weekend off," you replied, carrying the green bottles all the way to your kitchen counter.
"I'll get those," Changbin mumbled, picking up the bottles that you had left behind because you could only carry that much.
You didn't want to give them the wrong impression, one where you felt awkwardly uncomfortable at their proposal to the point of not wanting to interact with them in any way, but it was almost impossible to talk when your mind was filled with thoughts.
"Everything alright?" Changbin queried, closing the trash bag and leaving it on the floor right next to the trash can.
"Yeah I just- I'm feeling very tired," you replied, blinking several times before fixing your gaze on him, "it has been a while since I drank".
Liar.
You drank less than half a bottle of soju and all three people in that room knew that.
"You should go to sleep, " the black-haired murmured, not daring to look at you. "We will clean the rest of the living room and continue on working for a bit before going to bed, it's still early".
You unlocked your phone, without having any notion of time, and realized that he was right. You thought it was already midnight but the clock was barely at 10 p.m.
"Thanks," you politely replied, brushing your hands against your denim jeans and standing there for a while before excusing yourself, "goodnight".
As you walked from the kitchen and back to the living room, Changbin's gaze burned on your skin like a fresh cut. He wasn't nervous or uncomfortable, no. He was probably regretful, thinking that the two of them had screwed up an adorable friendship with their best friend just for the sake of wanting to get their dicks wet.
"Goodnight Chan," you mumbled while walking across the living room, Chan's eyes lifting up to meet yours without hesitation.
"Hey," he said, clearing his throat and turning his whole body around to face you, "me and Changbin, we wouldn't want things to get awkward".
"Me neither," you faintly smiled, trying to give him the reassurance he needed in order to understand that you weren't uncomfortable nor scared after their proposal. "I'm alright, don't worry too much about it".
And after he offered you a smile back, you closed your bedroom door right behind you.
Saying you were alright was a lie, especially when your whole body stopped being numb and regained its consciousness. The wetness between your thighs betrayed you once again, just like every other time you were around those two.
"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes and swallowing hard.
Only then, you started to mentally curse yourself. You knew how bad you wanted them, how many nights you spent touching yourself wishing it was one of them making you feel good. You, who even while being in a committed relationship, spent hours and hours daydreaming about any of them bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking you until you couldn't do anything but take them completely.
I will think about it.
There was absolutely nothing to think about and you knew it. What was stopping you then? Trying to act all collected and insightful when, in reality, there was not a single day where you could go without pleasuring yourself to the thought of them.
What is stopping me?
You stood there in silence for a few more minutes until you heard their room's door closing, rushing to grab a towel and a pair of clean clothes before running into the shared bathroom of the apartment. It was safe to say that it had been a long day.
Letting the hot water run and taking every single article of clothing before stepping right into the shower, you asked the same question one more time: what is stopping me?
And, as your eyes found your reflection in the foggy mirror, you understood the answer.
You could dream about them as much as you would like, but the nervousness of being not one but with two new partners scared you to death.
They proposed to you.
The idea was appealing, but the anguish that it represented was too strong to be fought in such a small period of time. You trusted them with your life, you really did, but you also knew them more than anyone else in the whole world. You knew what kind of girls they dated and what kind of things they did. You were nowhere near those qualifications and the fact that they even brought that idea was as flattering as it was confusing.
Either way, the mere thought of knowing they desired you like that made you wonder what kind of perverted ideas they thought about whenever they saw you around. What did they see in you that you failed to appreciate?
*
Standing in front of their bedroom's door, you breathed three times before finding the courage to knock on it. The clock would strike 12 a.m. and you knew for sure they were still awake. That excited you as much as it scared you.
The door opened before you could knock again, unsure if they had heard the first pair of faint knocks. Just as you had predicted, both of them were still working on some of their projects.
"Everything alright, princess?" Changbin queried, his dark eyes scanning your figure with discretion.
Princess. Changbin called you like that sometimes for as long as you could remember and it never failed to have the desired effect on you.
Wearing a black oversized shirt with nothing underneath but a pair of pink panties, it struck you only then that maybe you had executed your idea wrong. In your mind, you completely missed the part of the small chat before telling them your verdict about the proposal.
"Can I come in?" you asked, his body walking just a few steps back as he opened the door for you.
Chan turned around on his chair, welcoming himself with the sight of your body.
"I thought about it," you murmured shyly, sitting on the edge of Chan's bed before daring to look at the hungry gazes of your best friends, "and I want it".
"Hey," Chan rushed to call out your name, his parted lips inhaling more air than usual, "don't feel pressured to do it, if you decide not to I promise things are still going to be the same".
"I mean it," you assured him, "I just- I have a condition".
The three of you looked at each other for a couple of seconds in silence.
"Go on," Chan spoke, his whole body leaning forward.
“You said you often thought about me in that way".
"We do, yeah," one of them voiced but the two of them nodded, eager to hear the rest of your demand.
"I-" for a short moment, your breath got caught up in your throat and you wondered if the sudden courage and bravery were sponsored by the cheap alcohol or your undeniable arousal, "I want to know what you think about me".
Changbin looked at Chan and then at you, his body language changing drastically from relaxed to tense in a matter of seconds.
"Is that what you really want?" He queried. His voice was as seductive as it was intimidating, his question seeming more like a warning than an invitation.
You simply nodded.
"I know nothing about this," you murmured, the warmth on your skin spreading throughout your body as Chan's and Changbin's gaze fixed on your eyes, "and you two are the most trustworthy men I know".
"So you want us to teach you?" Chan asked with a soft scoff, the lowness of his voice taking you by surprise.
"I just want to understand what is so appealing about sex to other people," you admitted, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head, "I just want to know how much I have missed".
Chan couldn't help but smile with fondness at your words, the warmth in his chest mixing up with the warmth between his legs. It wasn't just the fact that you trusted them enough to give your body to the two of them —it was the knowledge that, now that you had accepted their plea, they had the opportunity to make you feel like no one before.
Changbin walked up to your figure, the mattress slightly sinking as he took a seat right next to you. Whether it was out of nervousness or pure excitement, you couldn't help but shudder once the fabric of his black shorts brushed against the naked skin of your thighs.
"Don't be afraid," he cooed, his right hand moving upwards to find the left side of your face and turning it towards him, "you trust us, right?”
Your eyes met the curvature of his lips and, while his face approached you softly, you melted into his hands. The way his breath was stupidly close to be felt and his hand burned deliciously against your skin had you letting out a soft sigh before making the desired contact with him.
And it felt just like you had imagined it. Even better, you would dare to say.
Alcohol, a pinch of cherries and faint cigarette smoke were how you would describe his taste. He was gentle, maybe more gentle than you had expected him to be. His tongue dragged across your lips without going any further, teasing you and almost making you beg for more. He wasn't running out of breath but you were, letting out small whines while you tugged at the neck of his black t-shirt.
Only then, he interrupted the kiss by sinking his teeth on your lower lip and softly pulling at them, earning a sweet hiss from you.
"Should I go next?" Chan softly joked as he stood up from his seat, walking towards the available space of bed right next to you and sliding his hand up your naked thigh. Your parted lips found him immediately, but he remained in his position without going in for a kiss. "But first, you have to promise us something."
"Anything," you whispered out of breath, both men smiling proudly at how eager you were to have your way with them.
"If you don't feel comfortable with something, you have to tell us," Chan warned, his eyes glued to the way your lips were inviting him to devour them.
Easy task. You nodded almost automatically, knowing that the odds of wanting them to stop were minimum to zero.
"Contrary to that, if there's something that you want, you will have to beg for it", he cooed, a faint smirk appearing on the corner of his lips as he saw the nervousness in your face, "promise?"
You let out a jittery laugh, feeling your accelerated heartbeats in the deepest parts of your throat, "it's embarrassing".
"It is not," Changbin intervened, his breath caressing the crook of your neck and making your eyes close for a quick second, "we will do anything you ask us to”.
"What do you get from it?" you questioned softly, your mind dizzy from both confusion and arousal.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" Chan asked, tilting his head and brushing your lips with his, completely ignoring your question.
"Yes," you whispered, your heartbeats going at a mile per hour. Chan smiled against your lips without going any further, trying to give you the clue that you were not following one of his rules, "please Chan, kiss me".
Only then you felt his hand wrapping around your wrist, guiding it towards his lap. He soon placed it on top of his hardened bulge without a warning, his hips moving ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. "Do you see what you can cause if you beg nicely for us?" his hoarse voice inquired and you nodded almost automatically, both of your eyes probably opened like plates at his grittiness, “good”.
He then gave you what you were wishing for so long, his plump lips moving against yours at a much slower pace than you had expected from him. It was almost as if he wanted to taste every inch of your lips that were mixed with your own taste and Changbin's.
Unexpectedly, Changbin's hand caressed the skin on your thighs making you tremble against their bodies, Chan's lips drowning one of many pathetic whines that were urging to leave your mouth. Changbin dragged his touch further, lifting the fabric of your oversized t-shirt and finding the pleasant surprise of your pink, laced panties.
"You wore this for us?" he asked against your ear, the sound of his voice and breathing sending shivers down your spine, "you should've thought about it twice because i'm going to rip it off of you”.
Another chill traveled throughout your body and your skin got covered in goosebumps, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the black-haired one. "You get turned on by words easily," he hummed, nibbling at the skin of your neck, "I'll remember that".
Chan broke the kiss to grasp for some air, the eyes that once looked at you with fondness were now completely clouded by nothing but lust.
Changbin continued on kissing and biting your neck, that only contributed to the wet patch between your legs becoming way noticeable as Chan's fingertips threatened to make contact with your underwear, the fear of being exposed making you dwell in embarrassment.
"Now, tell us," Chan requested while his fingers reached for the skin of your inner thighs, "why did you change your mind?"
"I-" you tried to give an answer but Changbin's lips attached to your neck and Chan's touch lingering in between your legs were making the simple task feel ten times harder, "I was curious".
"That’s it?" Changbin asked, dragging his tongue along your skin and making you squirm under him, "I know there's something you are not telling us, princess".
And he was right.
But how were you supposed to tell them that, even long before knowing that they were sexually attracted to you, you fantasized about them every single night?
Even when you were in a relationship.
"I like you two too," you mumbled in between sighs, fearing that Chan's playful smirk meant that he knew exactly what was going on in your perverted mind, "I thought about you as well".
"And what is it that you thought?" Chan questioned, his digits making the desired contact against your clothed core making you part your legs ever so slightly for them, "you can tell us, we know how to keep secrets". Even though the sentence was rather sweet, the hidden meaning behind it increased the tension on your lower abdomen, "after all, we are your best friends, right?".
"I thought about how good you two could make me feel," you whispered, Changbin's figure withdrawing from your neck and fixing your gaze on the masterpieces he had created on it, your skin now decorated with red bruises along it, "I thought about your fingers, often".
Changbin let out a soft laugh, the tip of his digits dragging along your t-shirt and clothed breasts only to end up brushing his thumb against your mouth, "show me how much you have thought about them, then".
With a curious look, you wrapped your lips around his digits without breaking eye contact. You sucked on them slowly, unsure if that was the action he was expecting from you. But, when he let out a soft groan, you understood that you were on the right path.
"Is this what you dreamt about, princess?" he questioned, pushing his fingers deep inside you as you nodded eagerly.
While you were too focused on Changbin's task, you didn't notice how Chan was lifting up your t-shirt to expose more of your thighs and underwear, the wet patch now becoming completely visible for him. He gently caressed your lower abdomen and made its way to your clothed slit, dragging one finger in circular motions and earning a sudden sigh out of you that was repressed by Changbin's digits.
"What was that, baby?" Chan scoffed, impressed by how sensitive you were.
Changbin took his fingers out of your mouth as Chan slid your panties to the side, licking his lips at the sight of how wet you were.
For a moment, you felt shy. Exposed.
You wanted to close your legs and tell them that you didn't think the whole thing through but Chan's voice was what took you out of those intrusive thoughts.
"You are beautiful," he hummed, his heavy breathing ringing into your ears, "so fucking pretty".
You swallowed hard at his compliments, the skin on your whole body heating up in shyness as you got used to your best friends praising you in that way.
Changbin's digits turned your chin to face him, placing his index and middle fingers in front of your lips as a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
"Tell Chan how bad you need him to touch you," he ordered, his eyes fixed on the way your lips parted almost instinctively as he brushed them against your lips.
"Chan-" you tried to speak, but your breath got caught up in your throat too soon, "please-".
"Tell him exactly what you want," the dark-haired spoke again.
Your gaze turned to Chan who was sitting on the opposite side as Changbin, his fingers swirling around the skin of your thighs without actually making contact where you needed him the most.
"Will you touch me, Chan?" you queried, the way your eyes looked at him sending a pinch of electricity to his already hardened erection, "please".
He smiled at your words and, almost immediately, followed your request. Your whole body trembled against them due to the unfamiliar feeling of having someone else other than you touching you like that.
"What else does our princess need?" Changbin cooed, forcing you to face him once again.
"Your fingers," you sighed, trying hard to maintain eye contact as Chan rubbed your clit painfully slowly, "can I please suck on them?".
It was the way you politely asked and not really begged that had them over the edge. It sounded filthier, more humiliating, they would say.
Changbin pushed both of his fingers inside your mouth and, as he pounded them deeper, a loud moan from you that was caught around his digits sent waves of pleasure throughout the whole body.
"Suck them properly," he commanded, admiring how your head acquired a pace of its own as you gag on them, "I’m fucking your pretty pussy with them".
Chan's digits kept on teasing your clit, your hips instinctively moving against them while you tried to intensify the feeling.
"Right there, princess," he cooed, smiling at how your body was more than ready to be fucked, "you are behaving so well".
Changbin's fingers went in deeper, making you gag and drool all over them. Judged by the way he was watching you, you would dare to say that he loved it. He loved how messy you looked, with your innocent gaze fixed on him and your chin completely covered with your own saliva.
"Baby," Chan hummed, leaving kisses on your shoulders and clavicles while he made your way to your ear, "do you think you are ready to take our fingers?"
Pulling away from Changbin's digits you nodded eagerly, the sinful scene of your teary eyes and drooling mouth was enough for the both of them to cum right then and there, completely in love by the ruined image of their beautiful best friend.
"I need them inside me," you whispered, "please fuck them inside me".
Changbin lost no time into guiding his hand all over your wet cunt, the digits that were previously fucking your mouth now grazing against your hole and threatening to force themselves into it.
"Are you always this wet when you think of us?" Chan queried, looking at how his bedsheets were now stained with your own juices.
"I am," you admitted, placing your head on his chest while he held you tight against him, "I am always so wet".
Changbin pushed both of his fingers inside you knowing that, with how wet you were and how good you had lubricated his fingers, the feeling was going to be everything but painful.
"Fuck-" you hissed, moving your hips unexpectedly and feeling that foreign tension on your lower back, "God-".
"Do you want to know a secret?" Chan asked, admiring your face of pure bliss as Changbin's fingers fucked your cunt and his palm rubbed against your swollen clit. You weakly nodded. "We often talked about you, me and him," he sighed, "we wondered how many times you had been walking around the apartment with your underwear drenched or how many times you had touched yourself in your room while we were sleeping".
"She is dripping wet," Changbin hummed, his lips approaching one of your ears, "I bet it would be so easy to just bend her over any surface of the apartment and put our cocks inside her pretty pussy, don't you think so?"
"Fuck yes," you whined, your vision getting clouded with each of Changbin's movements, “it would be so easy for you two to have me whenever you please".
"Only for us?" Chan scoffed, your words having the desired effect on him as his bulge grew harder and harder, "you are adorable".
Both of your hands traveled to their laps, your right one on Changbin's and your left one on Chan's. Shyly, you started palming them through their clothes, earning a faint laugh from Changbin who was still working on your cunt.
"Tell us what you want, princess," he cooed, "we might give you permission if you use your words."
As soon as you were about to speak, Chan's digits replaced Changbin's palm and continued on rubbing your clit while the dark-haired fucked you at a rougher pace, the soft moans becoming louder and louder as the seconds passed by.
"Please, let me touch you," you whined, moving frantically against their hands, "I want to touch you too".
"Go on," he allowed, his voice becoming lower as your timid hands palmed him through the thin fabric of his shorts.
And without losing any more time, you snuck your hands under their clothes, being welcomed by the warmth of their skins as your hands wrapped around their lengths.
However, you were rather impressed by what you found underneath those clothes.
"Don't be scared," Chan murmured as he noticed your countenance, "we will make them fit”.
You cursed again at his words, the tension on your lower back increasing as well as the frantic movements of your hands around them.
They couldn't help themselves but let out small grunts and sighs as you jerked them off, pulling down their clothes to give you even more access to their cocks.
Moving your hands up and down, the movements soon started to become sloppier and messier, your eyes started to roll to the back of your head and incoherent words and mumbles were escaping your lips as an unfamiliar feeling took control over you.
"You are clenching so fucking hard around me," Changbin groaned, increasing the pace of his digits, "does that feel good, princess?"
"Fuck yes," you sighed, the overwhelming feeling causing tears to prick into the corner of your eyes, "don't stop, don't stop, don't stop".
"You look so pretty like this," Chan praised, his hot breath tickling against your cheek, "all desperate and needy".
"Faster," you cried, moving your hips in circular motions against them, "please touch me faster".
And as good, compassionate best friends they were, the two of them followed your pleas. You knew that it wasn't going to take you long to reach your climax and, with all honesty, you could say that this was something you had never experienced before.
Maybe because of it you looked too desperate and eager in front of them, moving your hips frantically and trembling between their bodies as you reached your high.
The sight was something they would never forget, feeling the way your hand squeezed their cocks with roughnes as you cried and rode your orgasm.
"Aren't you such a dirty princess?" Changbin groaned, still fucking you at the same pace just when you were reaching the highest point of your climax and forcing both of your legs open, "coming for the first time in no other than your best friend's bed".
"Oh, God," you cried, biting your lower lip while your body was still shaking.
"Don't close them just yet, baby" Chan mumbled, his digits collecting all of your juices while he held you in place, "don't you want to taste yourself?"
You whined at the faint overstimulation from Chan's digits dragging along your slit, getting completely coated by your arousal. They made their way to your lips and you were quick to clean them up completely, bopping your head and drooling all over them.
Soon, the weight on the bed from your right side shifted as Changbin's figure stood up from his seat. Lowering his shorts and underwear completely, his cock was now at full disposal to you.
And God, was he big.
"Come here," he demanded, signaling for you to kneel right in front of him, "show me what you've thought about me”.
You had given blowjobs before, countless times, but your ex boyfriend was nowhere near to what you had in front of you. Your mind drifted away as it thought about his thick girth filling you up, making you cry both in pain and pleasure but, soon, those trails of thoughts were interrupted when Chan's figure came into the picture.
"We will be gentle," Chan hissed, placing his hand on the back of your head and guiding you all the way to his hardened length,
Starting off with kitty licks, you dragged your tongue along the tip of Chan's cock. He let out a soft moan that only encouraged you to explore further, taking the head inside of your warm mouth as your hand reached out for Changbin's length.
"Jerk him off while I fuck your mouth, do you think you can do that?" you nodded against his cock, "if I get too rough, squeeze my thigh and I will stop".
You nodded once again, feeling how his hands pushed you deeper into his length. You were not really trained to take him, but you were determined to prove to them that you deserved to be fucked.
"All the way in," he hissed, hearing how you struggled to prevent yourself from gagging, "don't hold back, baby, let me hear you choking on my cock".
Relaxing your throat for a bit, you were able to take more of him. Squeezing Changbin's cock everytime Chan's length reached a deeper spot inside your mouth, he couldn't stop himself from letting out grunts and groans each time.
"My turn," Changbin hissed, one of his hands gripping your hair in a ponytail and guiding your face towards his length. With drool all over your chin, and letting out small coughs, you took Changbin's cock inside as if you were an expert on it. Now, your opposite hand reached out for Chan's length as you stroked himself with your own saliva.
"You are doing a great job," Changbin praised, closing his eyes and slamming his hips slowly against your mouth, "taking two cocks at the same time".
From then on, you started acquiring a pace of your own while sucking them off. Having one of their cocks inside of your mouth while stroking the other one, you spent all the time you were able to before your knees started to hurt and bruise due to the material of the rug.
And even then, you didn't want to stop.
The sound of their groans and moans were turning you on more than you would've thought, your available hand always rubbing against your clit as much as you could, driving you to the edge and tightening the now familiar knot on your lower abdomen.
"You have no idea how many times we fantasized about having you like this," Chan groaned, caressing your hair as he slammed his cock inside your mouth, "kneeling down in front of us with your mouth drooling and wanting to take our cocks completely".
"She is so pretty," Changbin praised, biting his lower lip as he witnessed the scene of your teary eyes and ruined face alternating between his cock and Chan's, "I wonder how much prettier she will look with all of her holes filled".
A sudden moan escaped your lips as you heard those words. Of course you knew that having sex with more than one partner was a whole different world than what you were used to, but you never got to think about the implications of it.
"Is that what you want?" Chan questioned, his eyes fixed on the way Changbin's cock disappeared in your mouth, "do you want me to fuck your pussy while he fucks your ass?"
You would be lying if you said that the idea of doing so didn't turn you on.
"It is too soon to try anal," Changbin grunted, letting out a desperate sigh as soon as you withdrew from him to take Chan's cock, "she is not ready for it".
"You think so?" the brown-haired queried, burying himself inside your warm mouth, "I am sure she can take it".
Changbin gave him a worried look, but he wasn't going to deny the fact that he was dying to fuck you from behind. He knew how tight your cunt was from earlier, when he was fucking his fingers inside of you, and he could only imagine how much tighter your ass was.
Luckily for the both of you, he always kept a bottle of lube around for those kinds of rendezvous.
Walking towards the small nightstand right next to his bed, he took out a black, small bottle that caught your whole attention as you awaited on your knees for him.
"I am going to ask you this once," he softly mumbled, caressing your hair and putting a strand of it behind your ear. "Do you really want to try this?"
You knew it was going to be painful but knowing it was them who were causing you pain only turned you even more.
"If you decide that you suddenly don't want it anymore, we will stop," Chan warned.
You stood up from the floor and walked towards the bed, removing your black t-shirt that was now ruined with drool, tears and even precum.
Chan laid down on his own bed with his hardened length inviting you to straddle over him, softly guiding your movements on the bed as he held your hand. You sat down on his lap and allowed him to continue with the task, one of his hands reaching down for the base of his cock to align it with your entrance.
"Are you feeling alright?" he asked you with his jaw clenched, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit and earning a few sighs from the both of you. You simply nodded. "It's going to hurt, but I know you can take him".
You stared at Chan for what it felt like hours, and only regained consciousness of the place and position you were in once you felt the weight of the bed shifting as Changbin positioned himself right behind you, resting one of his hands on your hip while the other one held the bottle of lube.
"I think she is ready," Changbin announced and Chan lost no time in entering you, lifting his hips ever so slightly while burying the tip of his cock inside your tight cunt.
"Oh, Go-d," you breathed, leaning down on his figure while you placed both of your arms on each side of his head.
"Take me all the way in," Chan mumbled, pressing your figure down so that his cock could reach the deepest spots in you.
And even though you weren't a virgin, you had never felt such an overwhelming sentiment like this. He was bigger than what you were used to and he tried to do it delicately but awfully failed as he surrendered to his instincts, pounding himself inside you rather harshly for a beginner but just as pleasant.
They both gave you a few minutes to get used to Chan's girth, squeezing it and clenching around it every time Changbin caressed your back and neck in an attempt to soothe you before the pain.
"She is so fucking tight around me," Chan hissed with gritted teeth, completely losing his mind over how wet and warm your pussy felt around him.
Just like he imagined it.
"How does it feel to have Chan stretching you open?" Changbin asks softly, placing a couple of wet pecks on your shoulders and neck while he lazily stroked himself with a fair amount of lube.
"It feels good," you admitted with shortness of breath, feeling dizzy on top of Chan. "I've never felt something like this before".
There was something so filthy about hearing you speak in such a manner that Changbin couldn't resist you anymore. You soon felt the palm of his hand on your lower back, pushing your body, forcing it to lean over Chan's and —once he caught the signal— wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly in place.
"Take a deep breath for me," Changbin ordered, getting even harder at the cold sensation of the lube as he poured more on him and your tightest hole. "We are going to count to three, yeah?"
Changbin always appeared to be someone tough but, it was at times like these, where you truly could appreciate such a soft side from him.
"One," he breathed and you felt Chan's arms tightening around you, his face buried on your neck and chest while he felt your body shuddering on top of his.
"Two," Changbin continued and your back unconsciously arched a bit more for him. "And three".
After the last number, you felt a numbing sensation throughout your body. Your toes curled up in pain and you tried hard to muffle the pathetic cries and whimpers but failed almost immediately.
"It hurts so much," you cried and Chan started to caress your back, feeling his heart pounding at a thousand miles per hour as he witnessed your vulnerable body on top of his.
"We know you can take us," Changbin hissed, softly pushing himself even deeper inside you. "All you have to do is get used to our cocks".
You whined and Chan hugged you even tighter, allowing you to cry over him as Changbin stretched your ass carefully. There was something so twisted about feeling your painful tears landing on his neck and chest that, for an unknown reason, riled him up even more.
"Don't move," Changbin ordered and you did as you were told, your hands gripping the bed sheets harshly while you tried your best to overcome the painful –but pleasant– feeling of having them both inside you. "I want to feel you".
Chan's hands traveled from your waist to your back, caressing it while trying to soothe the pain. You spent a good minute or two with your eyes closed, the only audible thing in the room were your cries and their heavy breathing.
"You think you are ready?" Chan asks you softly, leaving soft kisses on your breasts while still having his arms wrapped around your body.
"I think I am," you finally whispered after a few silent seconds, feeling your arms trembling in fear while still being able to hold your whole weight on top of Chan.
Changbin was the first one to move, slowly withdrawing himself from you only to thrust his cock again, making you cry in pain.
"You are doing such a good job," Chan praised, one of his hands reaching out to try the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. "It's just a little bit of pain, I am sure you can take it".
Changbin continued training you, softly pushing his cock inside you while trying to get you used to his girth. The pain never really went away, but the sudden sentiment of pleasure was quick to appear in the equation and, with that, it was ten times more bearable.
"Go on," Changbin hissed, trying his best to control himself. "She can take you now".
Chan lifted his hips slightly and almost came when he saw your grimaces of pleasure and pain, his cock throbbing at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and teary eyes getting completely lost.
"Am I hurting you?" Chan asked you and you weakly shook your head, unable to focus on him —or anything, for that matter— because of the overwhelming sensations.
And as soon as they were sure you were alright, they started to acquire a pace of their own. They were going slow, much more slower than they would prefer, but it was still pleasant nonetheless.
Chan's lips captured your hardened nipples and, if anything, that single action made everything way more enjoyable. The cries and whines were soon replaced with moans and whimpers, and the gentle movements lost their softness once they both felt you were ready for a bit more.
"I don't think I am going to last long," Chan admitted between sighs, feeling his cock throbbing inside you.
Changbin was on the same page, but they both wanted to give you one more orgasm before their own. One of his hands traveled to your swollen clit and, while they both fucked your holes, he tried to mantain a steady pace while rubbing it.
"Oh my f- God," you moaned, both of your eyes opening like plates once you felt your body jolting at Changbin's touch. "It feels-".
You couldn't describe it, but they both knew what you meant by the way your holes clenched around them.
"You are dripping wet," Changbin whispered, coating his digits with your fluids while trying his best to get you to the promising orgasm. "You think you can come one more time for us?"
You didn't have time to reply when your eyes were already rolling at the back of your head and your arms started to tremble, threatening to lose any strength that was still left in them.
"God," you whispered again, parting your lips and looking like a complete mess for the both of them. "There, right there-".
Changbin increased his pace and it was only a matter of seconds before Chan started to feel your walls tightening around him almost aggressively. He closed his eyes and groaned under his breath, trying his best not to come just yet.
He wasn't wearing a condom and coming inside was definitely not an option —but God, how he wished it was.
"Just like that," Changbin praised while admiring your body shaking instinctively, his hips slamming against yours softly while you were still trying to overcome your high.
"You are making me lose my mind," Chan whispered as he saw your face, feeling completely vulnerable at the sight of your glossy eyes and parted lips. "It isn't fair to have you around and not be able to do this as much as I want".
Your arms lost all their strength and you inevitably fell on top of Chan's body, crying as you felt the overstimulation washing up on you.
"I'm not going to last long either," Changbin hissed and, with a swift movement, pulled out of you. You whined at the sentiment of emptiness, but it was also a relief.
Chan lifted your hips too and followed his best friend's actions, leaving you completely empty and a sobbing mess.
"Where do you want us?" Chan asked, caressing your cheek and pushing a strand of hair away from your face.
"Wherever you both want to," you replied with shortness of breath and feeling a bit dizzy.
Of course they both wanted to finish inside you, but it was definitely not a good idea.
At least not tonight.
So Chan looked at Changbin and he did the same, almost as if they didn't need words to communicate with each other.
"Get on your knees," Changbin ordered and Chan smiled, recalling one of those times where they talked about how pretty you were and how much each fantasized about coming on your face.
She would look even prettier, Chan had said.
You followed their instructions and kneeled in front of Chan's bed, patiently waiting for them to approach your figure.
They both stood in front of you, stroking their cocks with their gazes fixed on your face. Changbin's hand even gripped your hair a bit harshly, setting you closer to them and in place so they could finish on your face.
"Stick your tongue out, baby," Chan panted, increasing the movement of his wrist on his cock.
You soon felt his arousal landing on your cheek, tongue and chin while a series of curses and groans left his lips. Changbin, once he saw the filthy image of you covered in his friend's semen, came next. With him, it was way more messier: tongue, chin, lips, cheek and forehead.
You swallowed their cum proudly, feeling as if it was some sort of reward for being able to take all the things they had chosen to give you that night. And they both admired the scene in awe, feeling their softening cocks twitching at the sight.
"You both taste good," you murmured, still kneeling in front of them. "I never thought I would like it".
Chan caressed your hair softly while Changbin's digits lifted your chin just so they could both catch a better glimpse of your face covered in cum —one of their biggest fantasies.
"Perhaps we should play the game again," Changbin mumbled, collecting some of their semen with his thumb only to push it inside your parted lips. "And see if your bottle of soju is still full after we are done".
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mdni. minors & ageless blogs will be blocked.
warnings: sexual content, implied smut, established relationship, dom!anakin, objectification (f receiving), possession (f receiving), size difference, anakin fights with a guy mentions, vaginal fingering, alcohol mentions.
“we’ll go soon, baby, i just wan’ finish my drink.” you say, tilting your head down to sip at your thin black straw sticking out of your pink fruity beverage. sitting at the bar, you kick your heeled feet, knocking the platforms together as you ogle your boyfriend who stands next to you.
“all these people make me uncomfortable.” anakin replies, scanning the room as if to gauge every single person here. powerful brows are knit together in a disapproving frown, judging everyone for their clothing choices and how they like to spend their friday night.
“i promise-promise. almost done. you paid for it, wan’ get your money’s worth.” you assure, long claws coming to caress his rotator cuff appreciatively. your touch soothes him, glancing down at the contact, and his expression softens the slightest bit in the dull light. it makes you smile at him with the straw still tucked in the corner of your lips.
past him, on the other side of the bar, a commotion draws your attention. you crane your neck to see around anakin’s huge frame, large enough to obstruct a lot of your view point. you hardly even notice when his large hand settles on your bare thigh, creeping up to the short hemline of your dress.
“i’m not interested.” a voice says, loud enough for you to hear over the music. your eyebrows furrow, suddenly alerted to distress. alarms ring in your head.
“what’s wrong, princess?” anakin asks with concern. the only strain of concern he knows how to show, glancing over his shoulder to follow your eyeline. you didn’t even realize you’d started to pat at his arm with fervor. you set your glass down, the ice clinking together from the impact, and you push off your seat.
“no, i don’t wanna go with you-“ the voice says again, a girl’s voice. you don’t even give it a second thought as you stride to the source, and anakin’s gotten the picture now, following closely after you.
“c’mon, don’t be a prude. jus’ wanna show you my place.” a man’s voice comes into play, the bass of it now able to be heard over the music now that you’re closer. you’re able to see he’s putting his hands on her, and trying to lead her towards the exit and everybody’s too busy to notice!
“ani-“ you whirl around to address your boyfriend, but he’s way ahead of you.
anakin surges forward, cutting you off with his body to shield you as he invites himself onto the scene. you stand, watching, as he doesn’t hesitate in fisting the guy’s collar to yank him from the girl. ani’s taller than him by far.
“do we have a fucking problem?” you nearly jump at anakin’s mean voice, meaner than the one he uses when you’re in trouble for being a brat. the guy turns, not expecting to crane his neck to look up at anakin, coming face-to-chest first. he suspends his hands with a nervous smile, and the girl seizes her chance to back up now that she’s released.
“we’re jus’ havin’ a li’l fun. mind your fucking business-“ the guy says, slurring his speech. you’re sure he smells like alcohol, and ani hates that smell.
you blink as anakin says nothing and latches a hand on the guy’s upper arm for proper leverage, dragging him towards the door easily. as he gets further, you’re able to creep to the girl. you know anakin wouldn’t want you anywhere near this, wouldn’t even want you to see this side of him, but you’re sure she needs someone right now.
“get the fuck out.” anakin tosses the full grown man outside, letting his knees buckle to land on the pavement from the force of his push. “if i see your face around here again i won’t be so fucking nice.” you stand next to the girl, both hypnotized by your boyfriend demonstrating his domineering personality. the guy wallows on the ground, scraped up but otherwise fine. he sways in place, and looks over his shoulder to see anakin’s back is turned. he takes the chance, picking himself up to get his revenge. being as drunk as he is, it’s child’s play for perpetually-sober-anakin to hear him coming, facing him and leaning back to dodge the punch thrown. it’s effortless, a perfect and swift incline of his body away from the man who stumbles because he missed. anakin raises his leg, connecting his hefty boot against the guy’s stomach and the air is kicked right out of his lungs. anakin’s chain rattles against his pants. the man falls back, clutching his aching abdomen as he rolls on the concrete.
at this point, the conversations in the bar had gone silent, watching with bated breath. some had even pulled out their phones, hoping to capture a viral video probably captioned “handsome hero kicks asshole out of bar.” you’re kinda swooning. anakin lumbers back, swiping at his nose with his thumb, and he looks positively masculine. an aura of power radiates off of him, as if he had fun teaching that idiot a lesson though you could tell he was holding back.
he rejoins you and the girl. “thank you.” she says, croaking. anakin only nods. he’s so humble, you think, he gets so uncomfortable when he’s thanked for stuff like that. he comes to stand behind you, nearly caging you against the bar as he addresses the tender. you beam with pride, and pulse with a need. the fact everyone just saw your boyfriend kick someone’s ass and now he’s right behind you acting like he didn’t just do that.
“an ice water.” he orders, and promptly it’s given to him. he slides it to the girl.
“you don’t have to-“ she begins.
“it’s okay.” you tell her. “you need it after something like that. i’m so sorry that happened.”
she doesn’t say another word, gratefully taking the glass to sip it. anakin runs a hand through his hair, and then his fists rest at the edges of the bar on either side of you. if you’re not mistaken, it’s almost possessive. as if he’s keeping you safe from any other offenders that may be lurking, shielding you with his body.
after a bit of chatting, you keep your promise, the two of you getting ready to leave since you’d abandoned your drink. she appears she’s getting ready to leave too. “ani, walk her to her car.” you gaze up at him when you tell him, and he looks to her expectantly.
she glances between you. “oh, no. that’s too much trouble, you don’t have to do that.” she objects, and you feel that sense of protectiveness wash over you again. her shaken expression of upturned brows too pitiful to ignore.
“nonsense. we’re happy to do it.” you insist, and interlace your fingers with anakin’s. “c’mon.”
after escorting her, she thanks you both profusely, and drives out of the lot. anakin doesn’t say a lot, but you’re used to that. you can’t stop ogling him with doe eyes while you practically skip with pep alongside him.
“what are you looking at me like that for, huh?” he questions, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“no reason.” you reply in a melody.
“do i have my work cut out for me when we get home?”
you giggle at his innuendo. “you can’t blame me! you were so hot in there.” briefly, you surmise the interaction with exaggerated gestures and paraphrased dialogue, recreating the heroic scene in which he helped that girl.
“alright. i get it.” he sighs, conceding. “you sure you can wait ‘til we get home?”
“yeah… i might need a little help on the way home. drinking got me all tingly.”
“oh, yeah? your little parts hurt for me, baby?” anakin teases you, obviously making fun of you as he draws you into his side with a strong arm around your waist, practically lifting you off the ground as he curls into you, speaking into your hair.
“stop it!” you chide with an embarrassed grin as you land back down, continuing to walk in step with him.
you approach the car, but he doesn’t let you get in, pressing your back to the window with his body. massive hands cup your face, angling it to kiss you. you gasp, clutching onto the front of his shirt. he parts your lips with his, inviting his tongue inside to toy with yours. sliding his against it to coax it to attention. an involuntary whimper is drawn from you, squeezing your eyes shut as something as simple as a kiss makes your cunt quiver.
his wandering hands palm your hips, drawing you to him, arching your back as he leans more of his weight onto you. weight you wish was on you in other ways, you wanna get filled right now. as if he reads your mind, those roaming hands don’t stop at kneading your ass in your little dress, but one gets adventurous. it wedges between your bodies, seeking out where it’s needed most, cupping your cunt over the fabric.
weakly, you push at his shoulders, and break the kiss. he’s undeterred, latching onto your neck to mouth at it. “anakin, we’re in the parking lot.” but you don’t really care, the idea of his hand up your skirt out in the open has your hole slick with need.
“want my trophy.” with that, thick fingers hook under your hemline, and stroke at your folds hanging out the lips of your pussy. “thought you said you needed a little help.” his voice vibrating against the column of your neck sends a shiver down your spine.
“i meant in the car.”
you gasp, interrupting your own self as the tips of his index and middle kiss your clit. sucking on your pulse point, you moan quietly as he dips them into your slit, gathering the moisture. “mm - all this for me?” he inquires, and you have half a mind to scold him with a pat on his arm. his bicep, heavy and meaty, probably wouldn’t even feel it. “i can’t wait any longer.” his middle finger sinks into your hole, and you claw at whatever you can reach as you deal with the sting of the stretch. your thick lashes flutter when your eyes roll into the back of your head. “so tight, angel, should i have kept going? could’ve at least given him a bloody nose. maybe lose a couple teeth-“
“don’t talk about him right now.”
“imagine if i fucked you. right here, right now.” his tone has darkened.
“ani,” you whine, and he straightens to get a look at you. your face caked in a full-face of pretty make-up is becoming skewed while he fucks you on just one finger.
“right in this parking lot, right against the car.” he slams his hand against the metal, and the hardin smack makes you jump from fright. but it’s the fear tactic that makes you horny, looking up at him with wide glossy eyes and plump parted lips. he’s smug. “loosened up f’me.” he muses, introducing you to a second finger. it’s starting to make the wet noise now. “you like thinkin’ about me fucking you? is it because that guy could still be here? how embarrassing would that be, huh? i throw his bitchless ass out and then go fuck my girl about it.”
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🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃
Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader
Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.
cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh
wc: 7k+
Something must be wrong with you.
Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.
The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.
This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.
Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.
You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.
The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.
Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?
They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.
Do you want to know who your new friend will be?
This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.
You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.
You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.
A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.
Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.
He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.
It’s cold.
It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.
You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.
“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.
…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.
You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.
Or maybe you were very ready.
“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.
“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.
You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.
Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.
He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.
He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.
His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.
He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.
It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.
“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.
He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.
Because you’ve never been more aroused.
Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.
“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.
“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.
He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.
“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.
“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.
His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.
“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.
You’re going to die.
It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.
It’s empty. This damn park is empty.
Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—
Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.
It hurts—!
Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.
“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.
“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.
Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.
He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.
There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.
“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.
“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.
“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.
“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.
He was still hard.
“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.
He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.
He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.
You really are a freak like he says.
You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.
The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.
His knife.
He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?
He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.
It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.
You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.
“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.
“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.
“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.
You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.
A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.
His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.
You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.
He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.
He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.
“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.
He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.
“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.
“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”
An unexpected question.
His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.
“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.
You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.
Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.
He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.
“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.
Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.
Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.
Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.
Not his problem though.
Post dividers/@cafekitsune
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Fractalize (part 1)
Title: Fractalize
Fandom: Hunter x Hunter
Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.
Word count: 3700+
Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)
Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future.
Part 2
Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.
Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.
It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.
A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.
Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.
It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.
Imagine. Remake. Slip.
You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.
Remake, slip.
You have new vocabulary now.
"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.
"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".
"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.
"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.
"If you say so" - for everything else.
You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.
Yes this and no that.
Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.
Wasn't worth it.
***
"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.
It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.
You pull the blanket higher. "I do."
He knows it.
The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.
"What kind?"
Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.
Or-
You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.
She probably thought you abandoned her.
"Cats."
Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.
"We can get one, if you'd like."
"No."
Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.
"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.
The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.
She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.
Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."
A chair creaks. "Why?"
You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.
"Don't need it."
"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.
"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.
Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.
"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"
Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.
"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."
His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"
"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.
There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.
"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.
"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.
He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.
Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.
"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.
"On what?"
"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."
You don't respond.
To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.
Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.
His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.
"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.
"It's early."
"Mm."
He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.
You watch him. Wait.
"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."
Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.
"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."
You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.
"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."
"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."
You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.
He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.
You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.
"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.
His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.
"I'm right then," you say.
"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."
There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.
"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."
You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,
"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."
***
The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.
Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.
Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.
You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.
A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.
It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.
You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?
Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.
"Dear."
You almost jump.
Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.
"Mm?"
"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."
You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.
"Was just thinking."
"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.
True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.
For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.
Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.
He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."
His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.
"What was on your mind then?"
Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.
"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."
If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.
"Tell me."
You hate when he does that.
"It was boring."
"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."
Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.
If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.
It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.
"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."
Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.
"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."
There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.
"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"
"Yes, I got sad."
Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.
"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."
"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.
It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.
"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."
You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.
"Mm," you say.
Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.
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141Rugby!au [18+]
• Part Two - Crush •
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader
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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.
chapter summary - you're getting used to your new job now, and have a knowledge of player's injuries. but the scrum-half insists it's more than just his leg that needs attention lol.
rating - 18+
wordcount - 5.5k
chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], soap's an absolute menace, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation?, brief discussion of oral [m!receiving], light degradation/dumbification but only if you squint tbh, praise, strong language
disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3
Soap is a scrum-half, or half-back – has a wide set of skills, kicks and passes well, and is generally the smallest on the team. this position tends to work the best under pressure.
see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words
<- part one | part three ->
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You wake bright an early the next morning, the sunlight streaming through your window and bathing you in warm golden light. You stretch, joints popping, back shifting out of sleep-mode.
You ready yourself for the day, manage to eat a small amount of breakfast, and then you're out the door– the sun hovering above the horizon and reflecting onto the city below.
You're one of the first to arrive at work, as per usual. It's unusually quiet. The players usually bring the noise once they all start arriving a few hours later. So you hum to yourself as you walk down the award-lined hallway, passing by the coaches door and seeing light peeking out from beneath it. He's the first at work, before you.
You round the slight corner, juggling the files and your lunchbox in your hands, as well as your favourite choice of beverage for that time in the morning, while you wriggle your keys out of your pocket. You look up at your door, and almost drop your things in fright.
The scrum-half of the team leans against the wall beside your door, scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. He looks up when he hears you approaching, a broad smile passing over his face. He pockets his phone and kicks himself off the wall as you walk over, your heart still beating a bit faster than normal after that unexpected fright.
"Mornin', doc," he smiled, then held out his hands. "You need a hand."
"Oh!" You hand your files and your lunch over to him, now finding it significantly easier to slot your key into the keyhole. "Thanks, Johnny."
When you twist the key, it unlocks, and Johnny beats you to it– pushing the door open for you and sliding his hand inside to flick on the light. He then stood aside, allowing you to walk in as the lights beamed on.
"After you." He smiled, and you smiled back, walking into your office. It was cold and dark, so after placing your keys and your travel cup on your desk, you moved to open the curtains and then turn on the heater in the corner of the room. Johnny followed in behind you, placing your files and lunch neatly on your desk, before looking around your office with a small quirk in his lips.
You pulled the curtains and allowed golden sunlight to stream in. You then passed a look over your shoulder. "You know... your appointment’s not for another forty minutes, Johnny."
"I know," he shrugged as you moved to the heater to turn it on. "I just figured you'd probably want to get it out of the way, right?"
You laughed. "Not necessarily. It is my job."
Johnny smiled. "Well, I'm glad you don't want to get it over and done with then, eh?"
You turned from the heater, catching his sly grin and the flirtatious tone in his voice. You ignore it with a roll of your eyes, before pointing to the medical table on the other side of your office. Johnny got the memo, hobbling across the room and scooting himself back up onto the table.
You grabbed his file from your desk and walked over to him, thumbing through the pages.
"Right, so you've pulled a muscle in your calf, correct?"
"Yes ma'am," Johnny said, twisting to lie on his stomach, but looking over his shoulder so he could see you. "My right one."
"And you did it at training the day before yesterday?" You questioned him again, placing your files to the side and opening one of the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of cool, muscle rub gel.
You approached the table and unscrewed the cap as he continued speaking. "Yeah, pulled it coming out of a ruck."
"What's the pain like?"
"Not too bad, but still unpleasant."
"So it's definitely not a tear then, which is good." You said, squeezing a generous amount of the gel onto Johnny's calf. He flinched at the cold.
"So that means... it's probably just a strain?" Johnny asked, no longer looking over his shoulder. Instead, he had folded his arms and was now resting his head over them.
You began to smooth the gel over the surface of his calf, gently at first. "Most likely. They're very common."
Johnny grunted when your grip hardened– a firm massage into the skin, feeling for the muscles that were causing him the most discomfort.
"Does that mean, you know, because it isn't a serious injury, that I won't be able to come in here as much?"
You rolled your eyes. "Very funny." Your thumb then pressed down on an inflamed patch of skin, feeling a particularly tender strain of muscle beneath the thin layer of flesh. Johnny let out a low groan, and you quickly apologised as you lightened your touch.
You spent a couple of minutes working your fingers and thumb around the injury. Not too hard, like a proper massage, as the injury was still fresh. But you got a feel of the strain on the muscles, and you moved away to wash the gel from your hands.
"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Soap asked as you scrubbed the gel from your hands.
"Oh my god," you shook your head in disbelief. "What is with you boys and calling me doc?"
Soap cracked a smile, though you couldn't see him do it. "It's 'cause you're our doc."
"I'm a physiotherapist, Johnny."
"Same thing."
You shook your head in disbelief again, drying your hands and moving to scribble down a few things on Johnny's file. Your eyes lingered on the top for a moment, and you laughed behind closed lips. Johnny heard you, turning around and sitting up, his head cocked to the side like a curious puppy.
"What're you laughing at?" He asked, trying to get a peek at your files.
You tapped the tip of your pen to the top of the page you were writing on. "How'd you get a nickname like Soap?"
Johnny smiled. "Oh, that! S'cause I'm slippery like that, doc. Hard to catch on the field."
You blew out an unimpressed sigh, moving back to your cabinets and taking out a new tube of gel– this time, Voltarol. You spoke to him as you unscrewed the cap and walked back towards the table. "That's a stupid nickname and– turn back onto your stomach for me, thanks– I find it hard to believe everyone calls you that."
Johnny twisted himself back around to offer you his calf. He laughed. "It's a popular name 'round here, doc. Not many of the lads call me Johnny."
You piped a small amount of the Voltarol gel onto the back of Johnny's calf, screwing the cap back on and placing the tube to the side. You then slowly began to smooth the gel into the skin, which was now bright red from where your hands had been moving against it.
"Am I the only one that calls you Johnny, then?" You asked, carefully rolling his calf beneath your fingers and palm.
He grunted, lost in the feeling for a second, and then cleared his throat in an attempt to re-centre himself. "Uh, yeah, pretty much."
"Do you like it?" You asked.
You said it innocently enough, but Johnny's brain was in a slight haze. Your hands on him, the slight twinge of pain, the smell of the gel and of your perfume. He blinked rapidly where his head was tucked against his folded arms.
"Huh?"
"Do you like it?" You repeated, fingers rubbing gently across Johnny's burning-hot skin. "Do you like when I call you Johnny?"
"Uh–" Johnny was praying that he didn't get a fucking boner.
"Or would you prefer it if I called you Soap like everyone else?" You asked, this sentence sounding more sweet and sincere than seductive like the last few.
Johnny cleared his throat again. "Oh, I mean, it's up to you, doc. I don't... you know, I don't really mind–"
"No, seriously," you assured him, the palm of your hand pressing down on his calf, making his breath hitch. "What would you prefer? Don't worry about what I prefer. What do you prefer?"
Anything. Fucking anything. You could call him whatever name you wanted to, even if it wasn't his, and he'd still love it. He'd still love the way it sounded falling from your lips. Call him whatever you want, doc.
"You can call me Johnny." He said quietly.
"Yeah?" You smiled. "I'm not cool enough to call you Soap?"
Johnny bristled. "What? No! No, doc. It's not that–"
You laughed, and the sound alone made Johnny's heart start beating a hundred times faster. "I'm just kidding, Johnny. Don't worry."
Johnny sighed into his arms, shaking his head, which made you laugh. Soon, you finished applying the Voltarol gel, and were washing your hands at the sink while Johnny gingerly put his feet to the ground, sliding off the table.
"Okay, so I've just put some Voltarol on your calf, which should help reduce the swelling and inflammation. It'll also help soothe the muscles a bit and hopefully reduce the risk of you cramping up in the near future," you said, double-checking your files once more before turning your full attention to the scrum-half. "Don't shower or put water on the area for at least an hour, and try to avoid direct sunlight if you can. It works better in the first hour if you do that."
Johnny was nodding along to everything you said.
"Oh, and don't touch it and then touch your eyes, that'll sting like hell," You finished with a smile, clasping your hands together. "Any questions?"
Johnny looked out the window briefly, and then back at you. "Yeah, uh, do I need to do anything else?"
"Well, no training for thirteen days at least. Which means no game this weekend."
He gaped at you. "What? Doc, come on–"
"If you want it to get better, Johnny, then you need to rest it," you told him sternly, and he shut his mouth immediately. You smiled. "Any other questions?"
"Am... Am I coming back?"
You laughed. "To me?"
"Yeah. I mean, you know, as a physio–"
"Yes, you'll come back to me, Johnny. Give it about a week, but if it's still feeling as though it's a fresh injury before then, make an earlier appointment. Oh! And don't let me forget–" You hurried over to your cabinets and grabbed a spare tube of Voltarol gel, handing it to him. "You can use it up to four times a day, but your injury isn't too swollen anymore, so just put it on after your shower, maybe once in the morning and again at night if it's bad."
"Okay. Okay, cool, thanks doc." Johnny said, looking down at the gel and nodding.
You smiled, heading back towards your desk. "I'll see you in a week's time then, okay?"
"Yeah, sounds good," Johnny told you, pocketing the gel. "Thanks for that, doc. Have a good day, yeah?"
"You too, Johnny."
Johnny left your office, closing the door gently behind him. His calf was already feeling so much better, but he had another problem.
He adjusted himself in his shorts, placing his hands in front of his hardening cock.
Fucking hell.
•º•º•
He felt like an absolute perv the way he would take any opportunity just to look at you.
Over the next week, Johnny wasn't allowed to take part in any of the trainings, but he played water-boy pretty well. That meant he was still limping around the training grounds, wandering through the halls, and annoying his teammates by just being himself.
But, one of the main reasons he was so happy to play water-boy for the next week or so was because he could see you.
He watched the way you hurried down the hall, files tucked beneath your arm, humming to yourself. He admired the way you smiled and greeted all of the players and staff, always so happy to be talking with any of them. He noticed how sometimes you'd absent-mindedly watch the training from your window, and Johnny got to steal glances of your pretty face behind the glass.
It was some high-school type crush. It had to be it.
Or maybe not. When Johnny saw the way Gaz looked at you, just for a split second, a fleeting moment passing each other in the halls, he felt his stomach drop. Would he have to compete with Gaz for your attention now? The way the winger smiled at you; all bright white, absolutely perfect fucking teeth. So charismatic, and charming, and Johnny saw the way it melted you. The way you hid half of your face behind your clipboard of files, and the way you averted those pretty eyes of yours.
Johnny had no reason to feel like this. But something about you... something about you had him feeling so... different.
So he did feel as though he was competing with Gaz sometimes. Subtly, of course. Gaz was still his teammate and one of his closest friends, so the Scotsman had to ensure his strategy was invisible.
For example. Walking down the hall on the way out to the field, and you'd pop your head of your office to wish everyone good morning. Johnny found it easy to just push Gaz ahead, jostling him around with false excitability that everyone predicted of the scrum-half, anyway.
Or at night, one time Johnny caught Gaz lingering near your door, waiting for you to finish up your shift and then, like the gentleman he was, walk you to your car. Johnny found it slightly less easy to tell Gaz he had a last minute appointment, and so Gaz didn't need to wait around. It was just a little white lie. Nothing major. And then, when you'd finish with your work, Johnny would walk you to your car, opening the door for you, leaning against it as he spoke to you. He'd wish you goodnight, and a safe drive home.
And then–
"Did you need a ride, Johnny?" You asked at the end of the week, looking around the empty carpark.
Johnny drove sometimes. But as of late, to keep himself moving– and occupied– he'd walk from home to the station and then take the train. If he really wanted to, he could probably walk all the way home in less than thirty minutes.
But, how could he say no?
Not with the way you were offering him such a warm, comforting smile. The night was cold, too.
"Are you sure, doc? I don't want to keep you from heading home..." Johnny said, drumming his fingers against the car door.
You smiled, starting the ignition. "Don't be silly. Hop in, it's cold out tonight."
Johnny tried and failed to hide his smile as he walked around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat. After giving you his address, he thanked you while he put his seatbelt on, and then thanked you again when you rolled out of the parking spot. He thanked you a third time when the car merged out onto the main road.
You released a small, bashful laugh, glancing at him momentarily. "You don't need to thank me. I'm sure you would've done the same for me."
Of course he would have. He'd do anything you asked of him, you know that, right? Hell, if you wanted him too, he'd let you drive him home and get you splayed out on his sofa and, because you'd probably ask so nicely, he'd press his face between your legs and make you come in his mouth. Or, or, if you let him, if you granted him even the slightest chance, he'd be so fucking happy for you to drop to your knees in front of him, pump his cock in those soft, skilled hands of yours, and then wrap your lips around him. Good god—
"Yeah, o'course I would doc." Johnny mumbled, screwing his eyes shut and trying not to focus on the image he just put in his head.
You shot him a look. "Are you alright?"
Johnny's eyes snapped open, and he realised, with heat forming in his cheeks, that he'd made a pained face and released a soft groan. How fucking embarrassing.
"Yeah, m'fine... s'just, you know, my calf." He lied.
At that time, you pulled up outside his flat. Johnny took a deep breath.
"It's still sore?" You asked with a frown.
Johnny felt guilty now.
"No..." He admitted. "It's actually feeling a lot better. I should probably thank you for that too, eh?"
You smiled. "That's okay. It's my–"
"Your job, yeah..." Johnny trailed off, looking down the dark street through the windshield. He turned back to you and found you were already looking at him. He furrowed his brows. "What?"
You squinted at him, as though trying to see him better. "What has been going on with you lately? You've been acting... different."
Johnny looked around sheepishly. "S'nothing, doc."
You hummed, skeptical, but didn't question him further. Instead, he thanked you again for the ride, wished you goodnight, and exited the car. You watched him disappear through the door of his flat before driving away.
•º•º•
Of course you had a crush on Johnny. Who wouldn't?
It was hard to ignore his charm, his infectious smile and his flirtatious compliments. It was hard to ignore the looks he gave you across the hall, or the way he always seemed to run into you after the end of your shift.
He was a handsome man. An absolute menace, mind you, but he was nice. Really nice. And you wondered whether it was a ploy to get you to actually like him.
Thirteen days after your initial appointment with Johnny, and a couple of days after you had dropped him home, he sauntered into your office, chirping out a "morning, doc!" before automatically laying himself down on the medical table.
You smiled, shaking your head ruefully, getting up from your desk and walking over to him. He was rolling up the leg of his grey sweatpants, exposing his calf to you.
"Morning to you too," you said. "Your calf looks good. The swelling's gone down significantly, hasn't it?"
He nodded. "Yeah, and it feels good too. No pain."
"No pain?" You questioned, gently prodding the target area on the back of his calf. "None at all?"
"Yep," Johnny said, popping the p. "I'm all good."
"Good," you told him, patting his calf a couple of times before walking away to write up a final statement on your computer. "Then I suppose we're all done."
Johnny jolted up, his head snapping over to look at you as he quickly lifted himself off of the medical table. He began rolling down the leg of his sweatpants. "Oh, well, I mean– are you sure? Like, did you want to check it again?"
"No, it's alright," you said without looking at him, eyes on your computer as your fingers flew across the keyboard, the clacking filling the room. "Swelling's gone down, pain is gone. You're all good to go."
Johnny frowned. "Right... okay... Do I need to, I dunno, like, come back for a follow-up appointment?"
"No." You shook your head, still typing.
"So that's it?" He was almost pouting now.
You smiled at your screen, hearing the slight sadness in his tone. "Yes, Johnny, that's it. Until you get hurt again, you don't have to come back and see me."
Johnny's frown was deep now. "But what if I want to see you again without being hurt?"
"Well, I work here, so you'll see me–"
"No, I mean, what if I want to spend time with you without you– you know– checking me for injuries."
You finally looked away from your computer, cocking your head to the side in confusion. You stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. "God, at least take me out to dinner first, MacTavish."
The way you said his last name had his cock twitching within the confines of his sweats. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the elastic of his waistband. "Yeah, actually, I mean, if you wanted, you could come 'round to mine for dinner."
You smiled at him. "You cook?"
He shrugged. "I try."
You laughed. "Okay, sure. When–?"
"Tonight," Johnny said a bit too quickly, then slowed himself down to repeat; "Tonight. Six o'clock."
Your smile didn't fade. "Okay, Johnny. I'll see you at six."
•º•º•
"For the record, this is not a date. It's just dinner, okay?" You reiterated as you walked into Johnny's flat at a few minutes to six that evening. He took your coat from you, and showed you into his flat.
"I know, doc. Don't worry," He said, and then led you into the living room. "Dinner's in the oven, but we can wait here if you'd like."
You sat down on the couch and Johnny took the armchair directly opposite. You were presently surprised, too. The flat smelt amazing, savoury smells of rendering fat and frying potatoes– a good roast, by the smell of it. And the flat was tidy, well decorated too. Not something you expected from a rugby union player.
"Your place is really nice, Johnny." You remarked, looking around the room.
"Oh, that's all Simon. He likes keeping the place clean."
"Oh, you flat with Ghost?"
Johnny nodded. "Yeah, but he's out for the evening. Gym, I think. Probably with Price and Gaz, too."
After looking around the room, you turned your attention back to him. He was already looking at you, and it was like a wave of heat passed over you– the way he was looking, his soft dark eyes and the slight pinch in his brow, made you grow hot. It was like he was studying you, an unwaveringly warm appraisal that had you shifting in your seat. The only other person that had ever looked at you like that with such admiration was Gaz.
"What're you staring at, Johnny?" You asked accusingly, trying to play it off like a joke. Something flippant. Anything to conceal the fact your heart was beginning to hammer in your throat.
He sighed through his nose, lips quirking as he looked at you. "You're a smart girl, doc. I think you can figure it out."
Your stomach fluttered at that. What the hell.
You forced yourself to roll your eyes and sigh and act the complete fucking opposite of the way you were feeling. You shook your head, a mocking smile on your face as you broke eye-contact, looking anywhere else but him. "Don't do this to me, Soap."
"Oh, no Johnny?" Johnny teased. "You're nickname-zoning me now?"
You huffed, finally looking at him. "No, that's not what I–"
"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," Johnny quickly said. "And you're more than welcome to leave, seriously, no hard feelings. But... but I have a huge crush on you, doc."
Oh. Well… it’s not like you weren't expecting it. But you still felt your mouth drop open a bit.
You tried to play it cool. "Crush? What are we, thirteen–?"
"Don't shoot me while I'm down, doll," Johnny grimaced. "My heart's beating out of my fucking chest."
Doll. That's new. You didn't know how to feel about that.
But your pussy certainly liked it. [LMAO]
That pulsing heartbeat in your chest seemed to move down your body and into your underwear, pleasure pinching at the base of your tummy, making you feel giddy. Maybe it was because it was Johnny saying it...
"Johnny..." You whined, flopping back further onto the couch.
Johnny groaned in response, his legs spreading as he lifted his hips, adjusting the way he was sitting in the armchair. Your eyes followed the movement unabashedly, causing a wicked grin to split across the Scots face.
"God, I've imagined you saying my name like that since you walked into the team room on your very first day," Johnny muttered, and you watched him with bated breath as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. You could see the hard outline of his cock, and you squeezed your thighs together.
"Johnny..." You whispered to him and he groaned again.
There was a prominent tent in the front of his sweats now. He groaned again, watching the way your eyes never left his body. "Tell me to stop doc, and I will. I'll stop. I'll... I'll stop for you."
You didn't want him to stop. Maybe you did– I mean, hello! You're job? But, just like with Gaz, all thoughts of your job seemed to fly out the window. The way Johnny was looking at you, the way his cock hardened just by you whining his name like that, had heat flooding your body and arousal dripping from your cunt.
"I... I don't want you to stop," you told him and you could see the visible relief on his face. You bit your lip to hide your smile. "I want you to touch yourself, Johnny."
"Oh, fuck yes–" he literally growled, pulling his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He hissed out a low groan when he squeezed his cock at the base, the tip already flushed red and pearling with pre-cum.
You bit back a whimper at the sight. The way he fisted his cock a couple of times, before holding it at the base; the way his cheeks burned red, eyes darting across your face; the soft grunts and groans that elicited from his chest; the light pinch in his brows as more pre leaked from his slit.
You released a shaky breath, teetering on a whimper. "You're so pretty, Johnny."
"Ah, fucking hell, doll–" He groaned, using the pre-cum rolling down his length to slick his grip, pumping his cock while his eyelids fluttered. But he willed them open, eyes finding yours. He noticed the way you were squeezing your thighs together, moving in your seat. God, he loved it.
"Come on, doc. Let me see you touch that pretty cunt, eh?" Johnny uttered, a sparkle in his eyes as you wasted no time pulling your trousers down, followed by your underwear. He noticed the damp spot on the fabric, and groaned again. "God, s'this what you wanted the whole time? Naughty fucking girl, doc. Look how soaked you are."
You spread your legs slowly, parting your thighs for him to see your glistening core. He moaned out, the pace of his hand increasing as you dragged your own fingers along your inner-thighs, dancing across your bikini-line but not quite going further. That made Johnny grunt, movements slowing.
You blinked lazily at him, pleasure stirring in your stomach at just watching him. Your clit was throbbing.
"Tell me how to touch myself, Johnny." You basically begged, and Johnny almost came right then and there.
"Fuck, fuck–" He gripped his cock hard at the base, trying to slow the building of his orgasm. But you looked so good, sounded so good. You were perfect. He slowly began his movements again, the sounds of his pre-cum alone sending soft squelches through the living room. "Play with your clit, doll, come on. Show me how you like it."
You moaned, finally dragging your fingers over your core. The pads skimmed across your wet folds, gathering your slick, before circling your puffy clit. Johnny's eyes were burning you whole.
You moaned out, a breathless "oh my god, Johnny–" following, bracketed by another long moan at the end of your sentence. You were so sensitive, your bundle of nerves throbbing beneath the tight circles of your fingers. Johnny jerked himself off to the sights and sounds of you, his cock twitching in his hand, rigid velvet beneath his fingers. His eyes flitted from your blissed-out facial expressions, to the way your fingers toyed with your clit. Your cunt squeezed around nothing, and Johnny groaned when another dribble of slick leaked out down the lower curve of your arse.
"You're so wet, fucking hell," Johnny muttered, more to himself than you. "Want you to fuck yourself now, doc. Want you to stuff that wet cunt with your fingers," he said louder this time, wetting his lips as he quickened his hand movements, hips twitching upwards to meet each thrust. "Go on."
You whined at his words, reluctantly dragging your fingers away. Your clit was buzzing with your unreleased orgasm. So fucking close. But you listened. Like a good girl, you listened and trailed two fingers down your folds to your dripping hole. You waited for him, fingers circling the opening.
Johnny cursed, then groaned. "Waiting for my permission? Really, doc?"
You whined. "Please, Johnny–"
He chuckled darkly, still pumping his cock. "Go on then, doll. Two fingers, yeah? S'that it?"
You whined again, two fingers smearing your arousal across your dripping core, heat fizzling in your lower tummy. Your hips twitched, body warming against the couch.
"I know that wet cunt can take more than that," Johnny said. "Fuck yourself with three fingers. Go on doc, you can count. Three fingers. Make yourself come thinking they're my cock."
Listening to him, you added a third finger and then slowly pushed inside. The stretch was there, of course– the light twinge of pain somewhere deep inside you, but you ignored it. The gummy walls of your cunt sucked your fingers in, wet and warm, until your knuckles were brushing up against you.
"Steamin' Jesus–" Johnny whispered, cock twitching in his hand, leaking pre. "That's it... now fuck yourself, doc. You can do that, can't you? Be good– fuck– be good and fuck yourself."
You did. In and out, you dragged your fingers, fucking yourself like he said and imagining they were his cock. His cock filling you up, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat, building that bubbling hot pressure in the base of your gut. You knew he'd feel so good inside you. Warm and hard and thick inside you. You were almost salivating, whimpering out to him as you neared your orgasm.
Your legs shook against the couch, trembling. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him, but the heat of his stare was making you dizzy. You whimpered "Johnny, Johnny, please–" and he grunted in response, praising you through it, uttering deep "that's it, doll, that's it" with each thrust of your hand.
"M'gonna come, fuck, m'so close–" You gasped out, eyes rolling.
Johnny was close to, grunting as he fucked his fist, eyes on you the entire time.
"Eyes on me when you come, doc. Open those pretty eyes." Johnny told you. You wrenched your eyes open, head falling forward slightly and your lips parting, a string of breathless whimpers emerging.
Johnny moaned. "You can come, doll, go on. Come 'round your fingers and tell me– fuck– tell me who you’re thinking about. Who’s on that pretty mind of yours while you’re being a good girl and coming ‘round your fingers, hm?"
Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you did as you were told– keeping your eyes on him for as long as possible before the weight of your pleasure forced them shut, moaning his name in a long, loud "Johnny–!"
He came too, moaning your name into the living room. No doc, or doll; it was your first name– moaning it as he came across his knuckles, his cum splattering up his abdomen and dripping onto his lap. He pumped himself through it, slowly softening, muttering your name over and over, eyes finally closing.
"Next time..." He breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Yours was much the same. "Next time, I'm coming down your throat."
You smiled, fucked-out, taking a deep breath as you relaxed against the couch, the pair of you basking in each other's company as your highs waned. When you breathed in again, you smelt food. Burning–?
"Oh, fuck! Fuck–!" Johnny was tucking himself back into his cum-stained sweatpants and sprinting out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Fuck! My fucking roast!"
You couldn't help but giggle, moving to slip your pants back on. "Make sure to wash your hands first!" You called, and immediately heard the water running. You laughed again.
As you got dressed, you looked back down at the couch, embarrassment flooding you. A wet stain on the fabric. Oh, fuck no.
"Uh, Johnny? Do you have anything I could, uh, clean the couch with?"
"Check the bathroom! First door on the right!" Johnny called.
Thank god for that, you thought. You didn't exactly want Ghost wondering why his perfectly clean couch had a fucking stain on it. And, knowing Johnny, he wouldn't exactly have a good excuse for it.
Speaking of Ghost...
"Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask, what has Ghost done to himself? He's got an appointment before the game tomorrow, and it only says he's hurt his hand." You asked after exiting the bathroom with an arms full of cleaning supplies.
"Yeah, something wrong with his fingers, I think. I dunno. He hurt himself sparring with Price on Monday," you heard Johnny reply. "Price made him book an appointment. He usually doesn't."
"Huh..." You pondered. "Why's he at the gym if he's hurt?"
Johnny poked his head in the doorway. "He's Ghost. It'll take more than a couple'a sore fingers to knock him down... and, by the way, dinner's ready."
You smiled. "It's not too burnt, is it?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
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Table 9
Yan Customer + Fast Food Worker Reader + Yan Entities (Mascot, Bathroom Succubus) [18+ mdni]
Summary: Tired of a frequent customer's daily attempts to ask you out, you take your spite to the next level
Warnings/Tags: Food/Cum Play, masturbation, handjobs, rimming, Reader's gender unspecified but they have a peen(amab), aphrodisiacs, slight crack
"Pick up for table seven!"
Morning rush - the calm within the neverending storm. Not even a full twelve hours since you've been away from your job, and here you were manning the front as usual. You weren't scheduled to come in until noon, but somewhere around dawn your coworker made the mistake of opening the drive-through window. Pickfork or not, an angry customer banging on the glass was a safer choice that whatever resided in there. While hectic and overwhelming at times, you welcomed the morning hustle with open arms and as big a smile your weary spirit could muster. The distraction kept your mind off what was to come. The dreaded hour and number that itched at the back of your mind with each passing customer. You don't know if you have the strength today.
"Next!"
"Good afternoon... Y/n~"
Oh no. No. Your head snaps towards the clock. 12:00pm. You duck beneath the counter to check the number of table markers left. There's only one remaining - the identifying curve of the digit in the shadows a mocking grin. Spinning to your feet as if nothing happened, you will the smile of someone held at gun point at the familiar face. A well dressed individual stood before you; neat suit, manicured nails. If you had to guess, they were about your age if not a couple years older, but the twinkle in their eye and lack of wrinkles gave them that youthful patience this job was draining you of. All in all, they appeared to be just another business person grabbing a quick meal on their way to work - but you knew better.
"Afternoon! What can I get you today?"
"Oh, I'm sure we know each other well enough by now to know what I want. I'll have the usual." They point up at the menu, but their sight lingers upon you - the only feast they sought after.
A chill worse than a night in the meat locker courses down your spine as their tongue draws over their pearly whites and smooth lips. Table 9 - whereas the number marker of most booths changed with a new order, there was only one that retained its title and customer. A tiny, two seater in the right corner of the establishment - the perfect view point for the various crimes you committed on their assorted beverages.
The first indication there was something truly wrong with this person came when they had reported finding one of your hairs in their food. When you offered to replace it, they merely thanked you for your hard work and placed the stray lock in the locket they currently wore around their neck. You later found your hair to be uneven on one end when you took a shower. The limits of their depravity had no end. You once spat in their cup in viewing range out of retaliation for their insistency on joining them on a nice walk to their van for a nice reward for all your efforts. You came to your senses as soon as the spit flew, but they beckoned you and their treat over before you could throw it out - downing half of it right in front of you. You can't help but repeat the action everytime they enter despite the joy and hunger in their eyes when you pass it off.
"Right - one small vanilla ice cream in a sundae container. Will that be all?"
"Actually, I was hoping you could make it extra special for me. You see, today is my birthday and while I enjoy everything your fire establishment has to offer - I fear I am craving something... different. I do pray I'm not being greedy by saying this, but I simply can't get enough of you."
Something different? If they're referring to you spitting in their cup - what else could they want?
"They want you to jizz in their ice cream."
The plume of heavy perfume and medical herbs assaults your nostrils in the same time that her voice has on the rest of your senses. Your coworker nibbles on the straw of her beverage, offering you a wave and a wink as your eyes shift between her and the customer. They wouldn't want that.
"Ignore her - I'm sure whatever you need won't break anymore health code violations than we already have." You slowly eye the customer up and down. "I'm seventy percent sure whatever you need won't break anymore health code violations than we already have."
Gentle blush dusts their hollow cheek. They hide the curl of their lips with their fist as they glance elsewhere. "W-well.... I wouldn't be opposed to it.
They definitely want that.
Your coworker gently nudges your arm. "Eh, I say you should do it. It's their birthday after all and your break's still an hour away. I'll handle business up here until you get back."
You raise an eyebrow. "Normally you and the rest of them are quick to get rid of anyone who so much as breathes at me after I take their order." Your shoulders slump as the realization hits you. "You predicted this somehow and want to watch me on the security cameras during your next break."
"I totally did - and do. Plus, I'm fairly certain that guy isn't human either and after seeing what those hands in the ball pit can do, I really don't want to get my ass kicked unless you're in real trouble."
"Figures.... Alright, fine - I'll do it." Taking off your apron and setting it on the counter, you smack the customer's hands away from it as you finish their order. You grab the dreaded number from beneath the desk and hand it to them. They wait patiently for your command - you roll your eyes. "Don't just stand there - you know where to go."
"Hm, true - I just wanted to hear your voice longer. To picture the blessed sounds you'll make for me back there."
"Don't push it."
Your coworker thrusts her cup into your hands. "Drink some. It'll help you finish quicker."
You mindlessly wrap your lips around the bitten draw. "How is watered down diet cola supposed to help me?"
"Infused with my spit."
Oh...right. It's fairly easy to forget your coworker is a succubus when she wears contacts to hide the blacks of her eyes and your uniform hat already comes with horns. Your head swims: vision spotty as your breathing grows ragged. Startled and aroused by the soft flesh pressed against your arm, your eyes dart to her as she nestles your arm in her chest - lacey black bra poking from her unbuttoned shirt.
You shutter as she blows against your neck. "If....we ever get that priest out of the ball pit, I'm giving him your address first."
"And I love you too - now get going."
You stumble forward as she pushes you on - shaking legs and a heavy body tugging you through the kitchen; the waypoint task of grabbing a sundae cup near impossible with the weightlessness of your limbs. You tumble your way into the empty break room, dragging your work pants down to mid thigh and your shirt over stomach as you relieve the building strain in your underwear. You flinch as the drooling tip slaps against your navel; hand firm around the base. You fist your cock to full mass as the cup flies across the table; your back hunched as you lurch across the wooden surface. Swallowing the end of your shirt to stifle your panting breaths, the cold, ventilated air nibs at your bare torso and thighs.
The stimulant in your coworker's saliva taking full effect - your mind floods with crude imagery as your cock throbs painfully in your hand. Pressing the plush of your palm to your girth, your thoughts draw back to your dear coworker and her innocent ploy of placing your arm against her breast; how they spilled out of her top daily and the way she battered her eyes when she caught you staring. Rutting your cock between her tits and waiting tongue would be too much for you right about now. You thought about that annoying customer taking her place on their knees before you; eyes cloudy with love-struck awe and desire as you stroked yourself to completion and came down their eager throat.
"S...shit...hah..." You groan loudly, the shift of the table as your hips snap against your wrist perfectly masking the creak of break room door as it glides open. The figure cranes its large body and neck to peer in at you as you attempt to fix the table while still fisting your dick in one hand. You linger in your agonizing high, unaware of its presence - until it begins to whistle.
The mascot.
You turn back in time to see that hulking figure maneuver its curving horns through the doorframe as it enters the room. Its chest extends with a stale breath; unblinking eyes training on your smaller stature and leaking member. The lack of bloodstains on its apron and leather gloves tells you its been unsuccessful with its daily hunts, but something warns it wasn't after human flesh in its preferred cut.
Lambchop the goat demon. Obviously not your choice in naming, but you settled on just calling it what it was. The humanoid devil had been responsible for majority of the disappearances around the restaurant and number four on your headache list. Whether as it met your fellow coworkers with butcher knives and their fallen companions in nugget containers, it greeted you with bouquets of flowers and signals to braid your hair as you worked. It wasn't the most annoying entity, but you'd prefer to have the extra hands it keeps chopping off. You'd never seen under its mask, but considering everything else that went on here you didn't expect to see much.
The Mascot stalks towards you, lowering its clever to the floor and its head in curiousity. You chew your lower lip as its hands come up to your sweaty, quivering thighs. The skin beneath your teeth breaks as it pads a finger to your balls - eyes worked back up at you.
"Make it quick."
You don't need to tell it twice. Gripping your shoulders, the mascot spins you on your heels and takes your cock into its leathery hand, pointed finger tips curling against your abdomen. It tucks its claws into its palm as it rubs your length; the harsh, yet tender pressure to your dick making your head spin as it did the first hit of the aphrodisiac. You hear the tear of fabric and soon find the mascot's slimy tongue coursing the vein lines in your neck - teeth locking around the sensitive flesh of your collar. You whimper at the spill of your blood over its fangs and the shameful ecstasy as it suckles the area and teases your nipple between its fingers. The mascot looks down to see the bounce of your ass against its thigh as you fuck its fist with another bout of sinful cries - suddenly pushing you over as your stomach twists in knots.
"the hell are you.....ngh!"
You grit your teeth as the mascot tanks your pants and shorts down to your ankles. Its long, heavy tongue darts out and licks the precum glazed head, dragging up the underside of your twitching cock to your balls and finally pressing against your asshole. You claw at the table for mercy as the thick appendage works its grithy slime into your tight hole; large hand gripping your cheek and spreading them apart as it wriggles against your walls. Its saliva drips down over your balls as it explodes; staining your cock black as it smears the drool into your shaft as it continues to milk you off your building worth. You clench around the muscle, legs close to giving out before its strong arms and shoulders catch - tongue fucking back atop the creaking table. You reach back to grab its horns with your noodly limbs, all remaining strength lost as you cry out.
"Fuck!... slow...slow down. I can't-"
"Y/n! You almost done in there!?"
You blink away tears as you call out. "Y-yea! I'm...ah- coming... I'll be there soon!"
The mascot slams its tongue into your ass; mixture of its length and thickness reaching deeper than you could with your fingers and hitting all the right spots that made retrieving the cup a feat. You nearly forgot about it, and the whole reason you came in here with your mind void of all thoughts beyond your impending climax. You tug the mascot's horn, begging for pause so you can fit the plastic container beneath you. It completely ignores you and swats your hand away, leaving you to struggle getting it under the table as you rock back on its tongue and snout. Your tip hits the bottom of the cup as your vision whites; full body trembling as you shoot ropes of your milky cum into the container. The mascot drills you vigorously through your earthshaking orgasm, ripping another out of you before you're able to call it off through whines. It stands up and takes the cup lose in your sweaty hands, aiming your dick at its rim as the dribbles of your spend run down its interior. The mascot pulls you up against its clothed chest, patting your head and praising you with soft hums as it picks your pants up off the floor and loops the buckle around your waist all with one hand. It stares, unblinking at you glance back - awaiting its reward. You kiss its cheek as you lower your shirt.
"Thanks."
The mascot nuzzles your cheek with its nose, watching and licking its stained hand as it leaves the way it came. It looks back at the cup - almost remorseful in its stare. Looking down at the cup, you see it filled roughly halfway with your spunk - likely increase by the effects of the naturally produced drug. You cringe as you pick it up, stumbling your way back out the break room and to the ice cream machine. You glare down the dreaded box and the spirit inside as you grab its handle.
"Do not.... fuck with me today."
The machine quietly dispenses the ice cream, the creamy white mostly masking the translucent fluid at the bottom. The machine let's you go about your day with no further issue - ghost hover off, disappointed. "A kiss would've been nice."
You wobble your way to the front; clothes wrinkled and hanging off your shoulders, body sweaty and hair clinging to your face. You fix your hat as you straighten yourself against the counter, slamming the container down - clutching your chest as you breath. "Order for Table... 9..."
"Ah!" The customer snatches the ice cream up, lips aimed directly for the freezing rizz on the edge of the cup. They sight in delight, stiff posture relaxed in favor of their newfound taste of paradise. "Heavenly~ I do pray this will be on the minute in the future."
The customer takes their spoon and another bite as they hum happily to themselves, skipping towards their table. You call up the next customer who points at them.
"Can I get whatever they had?"
".....might want to rethink that decision."
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What a Fate | Y.Jh
Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader
Genre: humor, suggestive, smut
Words Count: 3k
Summary: Who would have thought your next meeting after having a one-night stand would be this unexpected?
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Jeonghan's frustration lingered from the recent board meeting where his cousin, Seungcheol, secured the position of vice president in their grandfather's company. Despite Jeonghan's tireless efforts for the company's 60th anniversary celebration, his ambitions were shattered due to a scandal that befell him just weeks before the crucial vote.
As the CEO of their food and beverage company, Jeonghan has been diligently working towards the success of the family business. However, a sudden scandal arose when a former secretary from four years ago accused him of verbal bullying during their professional association. The accusation, given his prominent familial ties, tarnished the company's image.
Jeonghan, disheartened by the false accusations, found himself grappling with the fallout of the scandal. The situation escalated as the woman, who had once served as his secretary, admitted to fabricating the allegations. It was revealed that she had been nursing an unrequited love for Jeonghan, leading her to concoct the damaging story.
The relief of the truth emerging was accompanied by the bitter taste of betrayal. Jeonghan couldn't help but feel the weight of the injustice that had cost him the chance to inherit the family business. The emotional toll of the scandal, compounded by the familial dynamics at play, cast a shadow over what should have been a moment of celebration for Jeonghan and the company.
Jeonghan, guided by Joshua's advice, surrendered to the allure of the night and found himself embracing the spontaneity that the club offered. In the dimly lit space, fueled by the rhythm of the music, he discovered a fleeting connection with you. The chemistry between them escalated, and in the heat of the moment, they succumbed to the passion of a one-night stand.
The club's pulsating beats seemed to echo the heartbeat of the impulsive decision, and for a brief moment, Jeonghan let go of the burdens that had weighed him down. The physical connection became a temporary escape, a way to numb the lingering frustrations and disappointments.
As dawn approached, reality set in. The night, once filled with liberation, now carried the weight of consequences. Jeonghan, caught between the thrill of the moment and the complexities of his personal and professional life, grappled with the aftermath of the impulsive choice.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jeonghan muttered, the weight of realization hitting him as he hastily gathered his clothes. The consequences of the alcohol-fueled night began to sink in, and regret cast a shadow over him.
A sudden groan from you interrupted his frantic activity, causing Jeonghan to freeze. Relief washed over him as he realized you were still blissfully unaware, providing a temporary shield from the aftermath of their impulsive actions.
Stepping out of the hotel room, Jeonghan's first instinct was to call Joshua for a quick escape. The clock stubbornly displayed 2 a.m., an hour that should have deterred most people. However, Joshua, known for his penchant for late-night revelry, was the chosen confidant in this moment of crisis.
"My friend!" Joshua's voice, brimming with excitement, greeted Jeonghan as he opened the car door. In the midst of his own turmoil, Jeonghan found himself trapped with an exuberant Joshua. After directing Joshua's driver to head towards his home, Jeonghan couldn't escape the barrage of questions.
"I was looking for you, Jeonghan. Where have you been?" Joshua's enthusiasm clashed with Jeonghan's drained energy. Rolling his eyes, Jeonghan turned away, seeking a reprieve from the relentless inquiries.
"That's mean!" Joshua's protest echoed before giving way to the unexpected sounds of snoring. A chuckle escaped Jeonghan as he realized Joshua had succumbed to sleep, leaving the impending conversation for a more conscious moment.
The car ride became a surreal blend of exhaustion and Joshua's snores. Jeonghan, lost in his thoughts, braced himself for the inevitable talk he would have with Joshua once the overly-energetic friend returned to full consciousness. The night's events had left Jeonghan grappling with a mix of emotions, from regret to amusement at the unpredictable turns his life had taken.
The shrill ring of Jeonghan's phone pierced through the haze of his extended slumber, rousing him from a deep sleep. His body, oddly resistant to the routine of heading to work, had lingered in the realm of dreams, perhaps still grappling with the disappointment from the previous day's board meeting.
"Hm..." Jeonghan's response was a simple murmur, his voice carrying the remnants of a dizzy head after indulging in an unusually prolonged sleep—almost 12 hours of it.
As he reluctantly confronted the reality of the waking world, his secretary's voice permeated through the fog. Apologies were offered before the revelation struck like a sudden storm. "Your nephew, Mingyu, got into a fight and is now in a detention center."
Jeonghan's eyes snapped wide open, the abrupt news shattering the remnants of his grogginess. "What?!" The word escaped his lips, a mix of shock and frustration evident in his tone.
"He was bullied and made a defensive move, but they were captured by the cops as they fought behind a convenience store building," the secretary explained, weaving a narrative that only added to Jeonghan's growing list of familial challenges. Mingyu, his sister's son, seemed to have an uncanny ability to find trouble at the most inconvenient times, leaving Jeonghan to grapple with the repercussions once again. The responsibility he shouldered for his nephew intensified, adding another layer of complexity to an already tumultuous day.
A curse escaped Jeonghan's lips, a frustrated response to the recurrent challenges posed by his nephew, Kim Mingyu. The young troublemaker seemed to have a knack for causing chaos at the most inconvenient moments, leaving Jeonghan to bear the consequences.
Reflecting on recent incidents, Jeonghan's frustration intensified. Two weeks prior, he found himself reluctantly purchasing an expensive painting after Mingyu 'innocently' sneezed in front of it. A month ago, an expensive plate was shattered at a family gathering, forcing Jeonghan into the heart-wrenching position of apologizing to his grandfather for Mingyu's actions.
Sighing deeply, Jeonghan ended the call after obtaining the address of the police station where Mingyu was detained. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders once again. Determined to impart a lesson, Jeonghan knew he had to handle the situation personally.
A decade had passed since the tragic accident that claimed Jeonghan's sister and her husband, thrusting him into the role of responsibility for their son, Mingyu. Initially, the burden was shared with his parents, a delicate balancing act of familial obligations. However, as Mingyu navigated through his teenage years, his penchant for trouble escalated, prompting Jeonghan to shoulder the responsibility more exclusively.
Considering the high schooler's propensity for getting into mischief, Jeonghan made a conscious decision not to burden his aging parents further. He chose to bear the weight of guardianship alone, shielding his elderly parents from the additional stress.
As he prepared to confront Mingyu's latest misadventure at the police station, Jeonghan couldn't help but ponder the alternate scenario. Imagining what would happen if his father received this distressing information brought a shiver down his spine. The elderly patriarch, already burdened with the weight of years, would likely find the news overwhelming.
Jeonghan entered the police station, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he spotted Mingyu in the detention room, anxiously calling out his name. However, his heartbeat skipped a fraction when his eyes fell upon you, seated in front of the officer. The stark contrast in your attire from the previous night caught him off guard, and confusion clouded his features. The officer introduced you as Mingyu's homeroom teacher, and Jeonghan's mind raced to piece together the unfolding situation.
Jeonghan, torn between frustration and the need to understand the circumstances, addressed the officer, "I'm Jeonghan, Mingyu's guardian. What's going on?"
The officer explained the situation, detailing the fight and emphasizing the need for the guardian's presence before Mingyu could be released. Jeonghan's gaze shifted between you and Mingyu, sensing an air of complexity in the dynamics at play.
Other students had already been released and gone home, but Mingyu remained in captivity. You, as the homeroom teacher, withheld the crucial signature needed for his release until Mingyu's guardian arrived.
"Do you have time to talk after this, sir?" Your polite inquiry caught Jeonghan off guard as you both made your way to the parking lot. His eyes briefly flickered at Mingyu, who observed the peculiar atmosphere between his uncle and his homeroom teacher.
Jeonghan, his curiosity piqued, nodded in agreement, and motioned for Mingyu to wait in the car. As Mingyu stepped out of earshot, Jeonghan's heart raced in anticipation. What could you possibly want to discuss? Was it about the events of last night? Did you remember him as vividly as he remembered you?
The memory of the night played in Jeonghan's mind like a vivid reel. Your tight black dress accentuating every curve, flawless makeup adorned with a bold red lipstick, had captivated him. Yet, it was the sweet and unexpectedly addictive scent of caramel popcorn from your cologne that lingered in his thoughts. What a twisted charm you have.
Standing before him in your teaching attire—a baby blue blouse paired with white wide pants—your natural beauty surpassed Jeonghan's expectations. The sudden shift in his breath caught him off guard as he momentarily lost himself in the understated grace you exuded.
"Mr. Yoon?" Your voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment.
"I'm so sorry to cause you trouble. I know Mingyu's family is very busy, but your presence was rather important for him and also for me as his homeroom teacher," you explained, and Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion lingering. The events of last night loomed in the background, and he wondered if they would be addressed.
As he waited for an explanation, you continued, "If you have time tomorrow morning, I would like to have a discussion about Mingyu's future education and career. Here's my contact information: Just in case you couldn't be present tomorrow, please inform me."
*
Jeonghan found himself in the counseling room of Mingyu's high school, bewildered by an inexplicable impulse that led him to cancel a crucial meeting. Outside, he waited with a strange mix of patience and nervous anticipation, uncertain of the forthcoming conversation. The memory of the recent hotel encounter lingered—an unspoken chapter between you two.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Yoon. I just finished a class. Thank you for coming. Do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?" Your unexpected presence disrupted Jeonghan's thoughts, prompting him to swiftly adjust his posture as he graciously declined your offer.
Seated across from him, technically in front of the table that acted as a silent mediator, you handed Jeonghan Mingyu's academic report. As he immersed himself in its contents, a narrative of Mingyu's scholastic journey unfolded, a canvas painted with both struggles and untapped potential.
The room held tension, an unspoken dialogue brewing beneath the surface. Jeonghan's eyes moved meticulously over the report, absorbing the nuances of Mingyu's academic challenges juxtaposed with his aspirations.
"As you can discern, Mingyu faces academic challenges. However, he stands as our school's basketball captain with tremendous potential for a professional career," you began, extending another paper containing Mingyu's career aspirations.
The weight of Mingyu's familial background as a businessperson hung in the air. "But, Mr. Yoon, Mingyu himself expressed zero interest in the business industry; his heart is set on pursuing a career in sports."
Jeonghan gently placed the report on the table, his hand following suit. His eyes, now directed at you, betrayed a mix of surprise and realization. "I never knew about this," he confessed, the admission carrying a layer of contemplation.
Jeonghan's mouth grew dry as he spoke, gratitude laced in his words. "Thank you so much for telling me this. Mingyu and I never really had a conversation about his school or his hobby."
You nodded empathetically, acknowledging the complexities of understanding a high schooler. "I understand, Mr. Yoon. Mingyu might seem like a very happy teenager, but we never truly know what's inside his head. I recommend you have a talk with him regarding his future; it'll be a good approach in case you two have different perspectives, and I believe both perspectives are important."
Jeonghan, appreciating the advice, nodded in agreement. "Thank you so much for the suggestion. Ms...?"
You gasped, covering your mouth, in a moment of realization. "Oh my goodness, I haven't introduced myself. Y/n, Ji Y/n. I'm a Korean teacher and also Mingyu's homeroom teacher."
As Jeonghan smiled, he expressed gratitude for Mingyu having a kind and attentive teacher. The mention of considering private school after the last incident hinted at the complexities of Mingyu's situation. "Ms. Ji, I am glad to know that Mingyu has a very kind and attentive teacher in his school. My family has considered sending him to a private school since the last incident. But I don't think we have to."
Jeonghan swore he noticed a faint blush on your cheeks as a soft chuckle escaped you. "It was such a big compliment for a teacher like me, Mr. Yoon," you responded, your tone carrying a modest grace. The unexpected exchange left a subtle warmth in the air, a departure from the serious tone of their earlier conversation.
As the discussion concluded, both of you walked out of the counseling room. Jeonghan nodded appreciatively as you motioned the way to the school entrance, a tacit agreement to walk together. The rhythmic tap of your shoes against the hallway floor echoed the unspoken tension lingering between you two.
Upon reaching the entrance, Jeonghan felt an itch to address the elephant in the room. Did you recognize him from the recent one-night stand just two days ago? "Ms. Ji..." he began, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
You turned to him, your attention fully on him, a smile gracing your face. Jeonghan, in that moment, found himself captivated by your smile, his gaze unconsciously drawn to your lips. Memories of the recent encounter flickered in his mind, an unexpected longing surfacing.
"Perhaps..." Jeonghan hesitated, his mind wrestling with the question he was about to pose. "Have we ever met before?"
He shook his head hastily, answering his own question before you had the chance. "No," he said, the denial leaving a lingering tension in the air.
"Perhaps you remember me?"
Your eyes widened at his inquiry, and the sudden realization flickered in your gaze. Jeonghan's unspoken question had found its answer.
*
Your walls were clenching as Jeonghan thrust into you passionately. The way you moan around the room made Jeonghan's head go dizzy. You whisperedly asked him to speed up the pace before your lips met each other, craving the moistness caused by lust.
"You're so tight, baby." Jeonghan's sigh escaped from his mouth as his pelvis moved harder than before, earning your climax. He swore that the way you clenched him had sent him into heaven. Your sinful moans are Beethoven's masterpiece. The way your lips flushed, your cheeks stained red, and your hair stuck to your forehead were magical sights for him.
His left hand roamed your body. Praise them like you are such a goddess of beauty. His finger has met your nerves, and playing it has made your walls clench him even more, making it harder to thrust.
A moan slipped out of his mouth as he could feel your walls tighten and you hit your climax. The thrust became slopier, and it was the moment he felt that he was ready to burst because of you.
"Where do you want it, baby?" Jeonghan whispered in your ear. Thrusting you harder is a sign for you to answer him immediately, or he might burst inside you.
"My mouth, my mouth, please."
Shit, you'll be the death of him.
"Argh.."
Jeonghan's eyes are wide open. He just cummed on his bed while sleeping. Jeonghan blinked, his surroundings shifting from the intimate scene to the familiar sight of his bedroom. The remnants of the dream lingered, leaving him disoriented. He sighed, realizing it was all just a vivid fantasy playing in his subconscious mind. The sensations, the passion—all evaporated as he woke up to the reality of his empty room.
Jeonghan shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering heat of the dream. The intensity of the emotions felt so real, yet he was alone in his bed, his body untouched by the events that had unfolded in his mind.
Jeonghan, dressed in his work attire, couldn't help but notice Mingyu having breakfast at the table. Reflecting on yourr conversation from the previous day, he decided to break his usual routine and take a seat across from his nephew. It had been quite some time since Jeonghan had the chance to grab a morning meal.
As Mingyu chewed his food, his uncle's unexpected presence halted the motion of his jaw. The helper, accustomed to preparing breakfast for Mingyu alone, observed the unusual scene with curiosity. Confusion knitted Mingyu's brow as he wondered about Jeonghan's sudden change in behavior.
Jeonghan broke the silence, "How's school, Mingyu?" Mingyu, caught off guard, stammered a bit before replying, "Great, I have a lot of fun in this school."
Jeonghan nodded, deciding to share his own surprise. He casually mentioned that he had visited Mingyu's school the day before. Mingyu's reaction was unexpected, a slight protest evident on his face. Jeonghan, raising an amused eyebrow, asked, "Why are you so worked up?"
Mingyu confessed, "I don't want to be transferred to another school. What happened last time was a mistake of mine; I failed to control myself." He dropped his head, a mix of guilt and apprehension clouding his expression.
Jeonghan's brow rose, and he clarified, "Who said you're going to be transferred?" Mingyu, bewildered, tried to explain, "I heard that—"
Cutting him off, Jeonghan interjected, "I met your homeroom teacher. She told me you're a really good basketball player in school. Is that true?" A hint of pride and curiosity danced in Jeonghan's eyes, dispelling any misunderstanding that Mingyu might have had.
Mingyu's cheeks colored with embarrassment as he shrugged, "I don't know. She's praising me so much by saying that to you."
Jeonghan chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Do you want to go to a sports school in the future?" he asked, curious about Mingyu's aspirations, although he already had a good idea of the answer.
Mingyu shrugged back, asking tentatively, "Would you let me?"
Mirroring Mingyu's movement, Jeonghan replied, "Of course, why not?"
A wide smile lit up Mingyu's face upon hearing his uncle's supportive words. His laughter bubbled with excitement as he processed what had just transpired. "No way! Is Ms. Ji behind this?" Mingyu shook his head in disbelief. "Woah, Ms. Ji... Woah! I can't believe this."
Jeonghan observed his nephew's elation with amusement, his mind already brewing with a mischievous idea. "With one condition," he added, immediately causing Mingyu's smile to drop.
"What is it?" Mingyu asked impatiently.
Jeonghan rose from his seat, finishing his breakfast and preparing to leave for work. Just as he was about to go, he turned his head toward Mingyu and dropped a bombshell, "Set me up with Ms. Ji."
He walked away, leaving Mingyu stunned and taken aback by his uncle's unexpected request. The air hung with a mix of surprise and anticipation as Mingyu processed the playful twist his uncle had added to the morning conversation.
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The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd
Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions
A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!
It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.
When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.
Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.
Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.
And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.
While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.
The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.
Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.
“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples.
You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.
“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out.
He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.
You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”
“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”
He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”
You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.
He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.
When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”
“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall.
“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.
Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.
“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge.
“I can make you a pink lady.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”
“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.
As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?
“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”
He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.
You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.
As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.
“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious.
The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.
He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.
“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.
Oh, how you wish he would come back.
Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.
You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip.
Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.
“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again.
Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.
Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.
You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.
There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.
I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob
Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.
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heyy congrats on 2k! can i request delinquent & class president + stuck together with baji? thanks and congrats again
—baji keisuke // delinquent & student council president // stuck together
☆ ˎˊ˗ i went. soooo . overboard . this was too good though once i got going i couldn't stoppp omg. all this is lowk inspired by that one scene from the webtoon a reason to die, so iykyk :3 thank you for requesting anon, and i hope youre still around 2 years later to read this! enjoyyy xoxo
☆ ˎˊ˗ warning! small references from the 'a letter from baji keisuke' prequel series!
☆ ˎˊ˗ fem!reader
☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 2.5k+
masterlist || 2k masterlist
the breeze of the early evening wind was doing wonders for you at the moment; it was nice to take a moment for yourself amongst all your responsibilities and just relax.
it was even nicer that you were able to enjoy a cold beverage after completing all your student council duties; the vending machine on the rooftop was a great investment, (you’d been against it when someone pitched the idea, but you’re so glad you approved it). all of this paired with your favorite music playing through your earbuds from your iPod?
yeah, this was a perfect moment.
you perked up a bit when you heard the door to the rooftop open, looking to see who was there.
“hm? oh, baji-kun!” the boy looked over to you at the call of his name, the corners of his lips turning up when he recognized you. “what’re you still doing here? i thought you would be home already.” you asked, pulling an earbud out of your ear.
“chifuyu and ryusei were helping me with some stuff after school and we just finished up. how ‘bout you? it’s getting pretty late.” you sighed at his query, the stress coming back to you just thinking about all the things you have left to do.
“there was a lot of club budgeting to finish because a lot of the clubs are requesting more budget. all the presidents are getting mad at me for choosing another club over them, but it’s like, maybe if you were more productive with your club, i would allot more budget, y’know? gah, just thinking about it gives me a headache…i haven’t even finished the revised budgeting for half of them…” you shook your head, sighing at the predicament. when you looked back up, you saw baji adjusting his glasses awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to say.
“sorry about that, baji-kun. i just came up here for a small break from it and ended up complaining about it to you.”
“nah, it’s fine. ‘m kinda like that with studying too.”
“oh, right! how has the studying been going for you-? wait, hm…” noticing that he was still standing, you paused, slipping your school blazer off and laying it down next to you, patting it. “here, come sit down! you don’t have to keep standing, y’know. i’m not gonna bite!” you teased, feeling satisfied when he came and sat down next to you.
“anyways! how has the studying been? have your test scores been alright lately?”
“yeah, they’ve been alright. enough to pass.”
“i’m glad to hear it! you’re improving so much, it’s so impressive! oh, you can also always ask me for a tutoring session or if you need anything. that’s what i’m here for!” you offered, smiling at him. “i admire your diligence, so i’m happy to help with anything!”
baji nodded at your words, a small smile on his lips. “yeah, thanks.”
after a few moments of silence, you offered one of your earbuds to baji, who accepted. you weren’t sure if the two of you had the same music taste, but you figured it was worth a try, and surprisingly, he didn’t seem to complain at all. in fact, he even complimented your song choice, which made you feel a very normal amount of happy. a very normal amount.
˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗
you were scared awake by a sudden yell, jerking as you immediately sat up, wondering what was going on.
“hey!! open this door right now!!” the banging on the door drew your attention to baji, who was no longer by your side and was yelling at the door. “hello?! shit…” he walked away from it, sighing a bit.
now that you were a bit more awake and coherent, you realized that it was dark outside.
oh shit…
“ohhh my god, i’m gonna be in so much trouble, ohhhh my god…” you mumbled, scrambling for your phone to check what time it was. when you finally found it and flipped it open, the only thing that popped up on the screen was the dead battery symbol, making you groan.
“uh…” baji started, seeming a bit awkward. “the door…is locked.”
“what?!” you exclaimed, shooting up and walking towards the door. you tried the doorknob to no avail, proving baji’s words to be true. “oh my god…dude, i’m so dead. school administration might actually kill me if they find out about this…”
baji was running a hand through his hair, also seeming to be very stressed. “my mom’s gonna kick my ass…”
now that you were looking more closely, you realized that baji had ditched his glasses and that his ponytail was gone, making him seem almost unrecognizable. in fact, you might not have recognized him if you’d passed by him on the street looking this way.
in all honesty, he actually looked so much better without the thick lenses of his glasses blocking the view of his amber eyes, and you thought that his dark hair being free from a hair tie suits him a lot better. you’re curious to see how he dresses outside of school now; he would probably fit streetwear pretty good-
wait, you have to focus. there are more important things to be thinking about right now.
right, right.
focus.
“baji-kun, does your phone have any battery?”
“no…” he mumbled, his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked at the sky. you sighed, trying to think of something. in the midst of your thinking, a chilly breeze blew by, making you shiver a bit.
“ahh, i can’t believe this is happening.” you murmured, laughing a bit at the ridiculousness of the situation. “actually though, i’m sorry about this, baji-kun. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.” you said, feeling a bit guilty. after all, you had been the one who had offered for him to sit down with you, and from what you remember, you were the one who fell asleep.
“it’s fine, i fell asleep too.” he said, leaning down to grab your school blazer off of the floor. “here, put this back on. it’s cold.” he tossed it over to you and you gladly accepted it, brushing some of the dust off before slipping it on. it helped a bit against the cold, but you supposed you underestimated how chilly the nights get in the spring.
baji sat back down, taking his school blazer off and setting it beside him, loosening his lie. he leaned his head back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. he seemed to have given up in trying to get someone’s attention, instead accepting the situation. you were about to sit down again and do the same, but you suddenly got an idea, shuffling around in your pockets for some spare change.
“yes! 500 yen!” you whispered excitedly, walking up to the vending machine. “hey, baji-kun, do you like red bean?”
“huh? yeah, why?”
“one sec…” you answered, putting the coins in the machine. you picked out two red bean buns, watching as they slowly dispensed and fell into the bottom compartment. reaching into the bottom, you grabbed both of them, walking a few steps and sitting next to baji.
“i mean, it isn’t exactly dinner, but it’s something!” you said, offering one of the buns to baji. he accepted it, saying something about paying you back as he opened the wrapper, immediately taking a huge bite. you did the same, not realizing how hungry you were until you started eating it.
“i’m actually such a genius for this!” you exclaimed, continuing to munch on the bread. “it’s so lucky that i ended up approving the budget for this vending machine!” silence fell over the two of you as you continued eating, but you felt more content than awkward. you’re glad that you ended up stuck here with someone nice like baji.
speaking of baji, you were still a bit caught off guard by how different he looked without his glasses and ponytail. of course, you’d noticed how cute he was even before, but the word you would go with now is more like…attractive?
really attractive, but still cute.
“what?”
“huh?”
“you were lookin’ at me.” you felt your cheeks flush, a bit embarrassed at the fact that he caught you looking at him.
“oh, i was just thinking, you look a lot different without your glasses. do you actually need them?” baji seemed to think for a moment before he spoke again.
“nah, i jus’ don’t want people gettin’ the wrong idea about me.” he ended up saying. “i’m trying to get better with school, so if i go around lookin’ the way i do…”
“girls will be attracted to you?” baji sputtered at your words, almost spitting out the bread that was in his mouth.
“hah?! no!! it’s ‘cause i don’t want people knowing i’m in a gang!!” your jaw dropped at his words, and he subsequently smacked his hand over his face.
the information was a huge shock to you. of course, you’d heard the rumors, but you’d chalked them up to just that; rumors. after all, even though baji wasn’t someone with perfect grades, you always saw him trying his best to get his grades up, and you really admired that.
“you…pff…you’re in a gang?! riiight…” you managed to get out, giggles starting to overtake your words. “baji-kun, you literally dressed in a sailor school uniform to get extra tutoring-!”
“hey! that was one time!” he grumbled, his ears turning pink. you finished laughing, wiping some tears from your eyes as you calmed down.
“okay okay, sorry. i mean, are you being serious though?” you asked, feeling a bit curious.
“yeah. only losers lie about stuff like that.”
“okay, which one then?”
“toman.” again, your mouth dropped at his answer, but you recovered quicker than before.
“t-toman, like tokyo manji gang…right. yes. wait, would you get arrested if people found out you were in a gang? why can’t anybody know?”
“it’s ‘cause then random dudes start showin’ up at school to fight, and then i get in trouble for fighting.”
“ohh, i guess that makes sense. why would they bother you at school though? school isn’t the place for that stuff…”
“dunno. it just gets annoying to deal with after a while, and my mom always kicked my ass when the school called her, so it was kinda crap.” you nodded thoughtfully at his words.
“well, your secret’s safe with me, baji-kun! pinky promise i won’t say a word to anyone!” you held your pinky out, but he just looked away from you.
“i believe you, you don’t have to-”
“c’mon!! it’s not a pinky promise if you don’t lock pinkies, y’know.”
“...fine.” you cheered as baji relented, gently wrapping his pinky around yours. you shook your crossed pinkies and let go, feeling satisfied, (why did that small contact with him make your heart skip a beat?)
“there! and you can beat me up or something if i break it.” you joked, leaning your head back against the wall.
“i’m not gonna beat you up.”
“eh? why not?”
“i don’t hit girls.” he said matter of factly, his tone quite serious. “only assholes hit girls.” you stared at him for a moment, seeing the dead serious look on his face before you smiled, closing your eyes.
“y’know, you’re a pretty stand up guy, baji-kun. i like that about you.” you hadn’t meant to say the last part, but you were hoping he would just ignore it.
“...thanks.” after that, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you, the only light source being the moon. you enjoyed living in tokyo, but if there was one thing you didn’t like, it was the fact that you couldn’t see the stars at all.
“this wall is so uncomfortable…” you muttered, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep again. you’d long since given up on trying to get off the rooftop, so you figured that you might as well get some sleep since you were sure tomorrow was going to be interesting, (you weren’t looking forward to having that conversation with the principal).
abruptly, you felt baji’s arm across your chest, pushing the side of your head to land on his shoulder.
“better?” he asked, seeming to have no reaction.
“uh, yeah…isn’t this uncomfortable for you though?”
“nah.”
“o-okay…” you said hesitantly. if you weren’t so tired, you probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep from how flustered you were right now; after all, you’ve never had a boy offer you his shoulder to sleep on, so why wouldn’t you be flustered?
it definitely wasn’t because it was baji.
definitely not….
it was definitely because it was baji.
˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗
bonus:
chifuyu and ryusei both looked down at the sight in front of them, shock filling their bodies.
they’d been worried when baji had skipped the toman meeting yesterday evening, and they had been even more worried when his phone had been switched off, spending the rest of the night trying to find out what happened to him. however, now that they knew what had happened, they were about to burst their seams from laughter.
“pff…do, hah, do we wake them up?” chifuyu whispered, his cell phone out and snapping pictures.
“n-nah, haha, they look pretty cozy…pfff…” ryusei whispered back, his cell phone also out and snapping pictures from every angle.
in front of them was baji and you, your head resting on his shoulder and his head resting on top of your head, dozing off without a care in the world. he had draped his blazer over the both of you as a blanket, and if one didn’t know any better, they might think that the two of you were a couple.
“pff…this is some good blackmail stuff,” ryusei chuckled, exuding a proud aura. “look at toman’s little keisuke, all grown up now and sleeping with his crush! that’s what dreams are made.” chifuyu spluttered at ryusei’s words, a shocked expression on his face.
“baji-san has a crush on (y/n)-san?! isn’t she the student council president?!” he whisper-yelled. ryusei nodded and shrugged.
“the heart wants what the heart wants, or something.”
“both of you, shut the fuck up.”
“eek!”
“gah!”
baji glared at the two boys in front of him, holding up a finger to his lips, telling them to shush.
“what’re you still doin’ here? scram.” they both immediately made a beeline for the door, fearful of baji’s wrath after being woken up from sleep.
baji rubbed his eyes, yawning a bit as he looked around. he’s not sure what time it is, but he’s glad that it was only those two idiots who saw the two of you and nobody else.
we should probably get up and get to class before someone else comes up here.
he turned to the side to wake you up, but he stopped, looking at your sleeping form. he chuckled a bit when he saw your messed up hair, wondering how it got so messed up when the two of you were sleeping sitting up. he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the clouds passing by.
just five more minutes.
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there's this cafe near the base that soap likes to frequent. he's a regular, and he goes there everyday when he can. it's a nice, cozy cafe where he can sit back and relax, enjoying the quaint atmosphere away from sweaty soldiers running around the base. sometimes, he even brought price and ghost some coffee or tea, if they so prefer.
now, the base has a pretty great coffee machine, sure, but johnny likes to dabble on some other beverages. perhaps try some matcha latte or some hot chocolate, but if anyone asked him if he's there for the drinks, he would lie and nod at them, saying how the latte or the chocolate was the best thing he's ever tasted.
the drinks are amazing, don't get him wrong. the ingredients were high quality, and the prices were a little bit on the pricier side for a local coffee shop. but it was the cute barista that got him hooked in the first place.
you were the barista on the morning shift, and johnny would walk in at around 9am sharp if he could drop by. he'd always order whatever you recommend, being the lovestruck boy he is, and happily give them a try with your pastry of choice. and then, you'd always ask for his name, but he'd give you some funny names that would make you laugh instead. one time you asked him for his name, he'd say "pope turté the third" and you kept giggling while making his order. when you called the name of the order, it drew a laugh from everyone at the cafe, and johnny would proudly pick up his drink and pastry from you, giving you his signature smile before leaving.
it was just that, your whole friendship with him. he makes you laugh with his ridiculous names, and you'd make his drinks the way he asked you, perhaps give him a few cakes or pastries for free if you're feeling generous. both of you were too scared to go further, afraid of being too forward. but you knew that you adored him, and he adored you too.
so, the next time he comes over for a cuppa, you simply hand him a paper cup with a lid, already made fresh, together with a single croissant by the counter.
"thank ye, bonnie. hoo muckle?"
"seven quid with the pastry." you replied sweetly, a small smile on your face.
he happily paid for it with his card, handing it over to you. you processed it as he wanted, returning it with a receipt and his orders. as he bid you farewell, he took a sip of the cup, finding it to be a delicious hot chocolate, with some spices in it.
turning the cup, he sees his name, john, written on the paper cup with a marker, a heart as the "o". just below his name, a number with a "text me" was written, together with your own name.
somehow, his hot chocolate tasted sweeter than usual.
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Steal Your Heart (Part 1)
When the calling card of the infamous Knave of Hearts arrives, he’ll rob his victims blind of their most treasured items on the appointed date. Enter ace detective Yuu accompanied by rookie cop Deuce Spade, both seeking to apprehend the Knave and bring him to justice.
Will they succeed, or will the phantom thief steal their valuables--and their hearts--first?
This was originally meant to be one fic, but it was getting to be WAY too long. I decided to split it in half and release this part now and the second part (which I am still working on!) later. This first part focuses more on Yuu and Deuce; the second part will be more Yuu and Ace.
(Please note: there are slight romantic implications in the form of an Ace/Yuu/Deuce love triangle, but those elements could also be interpreted as platonic or as just playful teasing with no additional meaning. It’s all in the eyes of the reader!)
Imagine this...
The police station’s waiting room was a familiar sight.
With time, the shiny checkered floor had grown matte, marred with scratches and scuffs from the boots that crossed it on a daily basis. Someone had taken to attempt to pretty up the otherwise dull space by hanging out abstract paintings on the cream-colored walls, and a vase of white roses dripping with red paint at the check-in desk. There was as even a glass tank which housed a small family of colorful hedgehogs.
Maybe they were meant to be welcoming—but really, they were more clashing than anything. Certainly not a fit for the stiff atmosphere of the station.
Still the fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed faintly, flickering in and out on occasion. The sound distracted from the old television mounted in a corner to entertain guests. It seemed to play commercials on a loop more often than it played actual shows. Currently, an Olympus Corp. branded tablet was being toted as the next big technological marvel—though the TV’s audio was fuzzy at best, and the image half static.
A coffee table pushed to the wall, stacked with a new stash of magazines. Whoever updated the reading materials—most likely the friendly senior officer with orange waves for hair—was into the latest trends, often selecting fashion magazines with high gloss finishes. A dangerously beautiful man graced the covers of many of them, dressed in the hottest summertime styles while looking the part of an untouchable ice queen.
As usual, the station was scented with coffee and tea, the beverages of choice for many officers burning the midnight oil or working overtime. The chief demanded it at times to meet deadlines and goals—he was such a stickler for them—and the caffeine helped those under him stay sane as they went about their duties.
In the afternoons, most were either out on lunch or on patrol, lessening the foot traffic at HQ. There was only one man in uniform, seated behind the desk and filing some papers.
Yuu shifted in their own chair, adjusting the rim of the baseball cap upon their head. They were suited in an inconspicuous jacket and sneakers, fingers toying with a badge in a pocket, hidden out of view. To the common man, they were a jogger--but one flash of their lilac gemstone bound to a black and white striped ribbon, and there would be no doubt as to what their true identity was.
The smell of coffee and tea grew stronger, and Yuu glanced up from behind the bill of their hat.
The bespectacled man from behind the fro
nt desk had approached. He had a sheepish smile, bearing a paper cup filled with hot brown liquid and a napkin with a donut laid upon it. Bright pink icing dusted with sugared violet petals crowned the golden fried pastry.
“Detective.”
“Mr. Clover.” Yuu nodded—a terse, polite greeting. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Please, just ‘Trey’ is fine.” He offered the treats, which they readily accepted. “Sorry for calling you in on such short notice. I’m sure you’re busy juggling your other cases—but I think I speak for the entire department when I say we’re thankful that you were able to make it.”
“No worries, I’m used to it in this line of work,” Yuu replied. “It must be something pretty urgent this time around. The Chief sounded frantic over the phone.”
Trey rubbed at his chin, grasping for the right words. “Let’s just say he’s not in the best of moods right now. You’ll need that sugar to get through this in one piece.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“Just trying to avoid any trouble. You’d better finish them before you step into his office. You know how he hates it when there are crumbs or spills in there.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Yuu gave a joking salute before starting to pack away at their snack. The drink was the instant kind, and practically scalding, but it was easy to tell that the donut was homemade. The pastry, flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, dusted with sugar granules and sweet icing. “Wouldn’t want the Chief to be blowing a fuse again.”
“No, definitely not. He’s done too much of that lately.” Trey carefully eyed Yuu’s donut, now only half of it left. “Oh, but be sure to brush your teeth a thorough cleaning tonight, or I might have some problems with you. Cavities and staining are real dangers, you know.”
“Are you Assistant Chief of Police or my dental hygienist?” Yuu took a generous swig, then a bite just as big. “You worry too much about everything.”
“Ahahah… Do I? It’s a habit, I guess. Comes with the job.”
“That stressful, huh?”
“Well, I do what I can to smooth things over. Hopefully you can too. It’s been difficult on our department with the Chief all rattled up about the… situation.” He stopped himself. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from him.”
So the case is top-secret, Yuu concluded with the last of their donut. Not to be discussed in the public.
They ran their tongue across the length of their mouth, lapping up the remains of sugary residue. “I understand. The details are not to leave his office.”
“You catch on quickly. No wonder why the Chief thinks so highly of your abilities.”
“Flattery’s a part of your tool kit as well, Trey?”
He raised his eyebrows. “… You’ve worked long enough with us to figure these things out. Nothing gets by you, it seems.”
“UGIGIGIGIGGGGHHHH!!”
The remainder of Yuu’s drink sloshed around in its cup, set into motion by the bloodcurdling scream.
A familiar man with orange waves erupted from the chief’s office, hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him. His typically relaxed features were arranged in panic, his hair frazzled.
“How did trying to calm him work out, Cater?” Trey inquired half-heartedly. It was a courtesy more than genuine curiosity.
“What do you think?” the senior officer groaned, sinking where he stood.
Yuu quickly finished their drink, tossing their trash—the evidence they had been there—away and then stood, adjusting their jacket. “That sounds like it’s my cue.”
“Yeah, it is.” Trey sighed, frowning. “He’s in a tough spot right. Be kind to him, will you? That’s all I ask.”
“You got it.” Yuu tipped their baseball cap as they passed the officer. “Thank you for the pick-me-up. I’ll be seeing you, then. Officer Diamond—get some rest.”
“Good luck.”
“You’ll need it, Yuu-chan! Brace yourself.”
The Police Chief was a small but serious man.
His character came through in his office space: books on law and order neatly arranged on shelves, papers and files alphabetically organized in their cabinets, and pens evenly spaced apart and arranged in rows. A crystal vase with deep red roses was poised beside his writing implements. A plate polished to a fine shine was propped up at his desk, reading: Riddle Rosehearts, Chief of Police.
Perched imposingly despite his short stature in his seat, he impatiently tapped a finger on an arm. Riddle’s face was a telltale red and veiny, proof of his earlier outburst, but was beginning to cool into a faint, smooth pink.
There was already another man in the office, sitting across from the Police Chief. He was pale and jittery in a suit the color of the night and sewn with blue sequins and glitter. A top hat rested upon his raven locks, the brim of it shading his hauntingly golden eyes.
Yuu removed their hat and, keeping it to their chest, gave a shallow bow as they entered. “Sir.”
One move out of line, one hair out of place, and they suspected he, in his volatile and vulnerable state, would explode anew.
“Welcome, Detective. I’m glad you could join us today.” Every word was a gruff puff of air, a leash with which to wrest control of his rage. Riddle gestured to the empty chair beside the nervous man. “Sit.”
Yuu obeyed, sinking into the seat offered. They casted a glance at the stranger adjacent to them, who was fiddling with his velvet-lined gloves.
“Mr. Crowley, this is the independent detective from Stray Cat Investigations that I had previously mentioned to you. The force has collaborated with them for a number of difficult cases in the past. Their wit and strategic skills have made them an invaluable asset. I thought it prudent to have them return to join us for your case as well.
“Yuu, meet Dire Crowley. He is the esteemed director and curator for the Sage’s Island Museum, and he’s come to us with his woes.”
“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” Yuu said politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He responded with a tired attempt at a smile. “Yes, you too.”
“Now that we’re all acquainted with one another...” Riddle produced a file from beneath his desk and placed it before himself. “Do you care to explain, or shall I?”
“I-I’ll elaborate!” Crowley crowed. He picked at a collection of keys belted to his waist, glistening gold under artificial lights. “The Sage’s Island Museum is planning a new exhibition on the Great Seven. As part of the exhibit, we are having many priceless artifacts flown in from all over Twisted Wonderland. We have donations from even Briar Valley’s royal family!!
“There will also be a great number of important VIP guests present for the grand opening of the exhibit. Royalty, wealthy benefactors, important diplomats, businessmen, celebrities... All individuals who wish to see their history on display! This is very important, you see!! M-My reputation--er, I mean, the museum’s reputation--is on the line here!!”
“Right.” Yuu nodded as they parsed through the information. “I’m following what you’re putting down. And where does your problem arise, Mr. Crowley?”
“Ah, now that,” Riddle smirked, “is the question of the hour.”
He opened his file, pulling out...
A single playing card, its back facing Yuu.
“I trust you’ve been keeping up with the news?”
“As any good detective would. There have been several robberies lately. Terrible, really.” Yuu’s expression clouded with concentration. “Hmm... but if it’s a potential robbery that you’re concerned about, Mr. Crowley... Doesn’t the Sage’s Island Museum boast a state-of-the-art security system from Olympus Corp.? I doubt the average thief would be able to bypass it.”
“That’s just the trouble,” Crowley loudly lamented.
“We are dealing with no ordinary thief,” Riddle clarified.
“It’s not?”
“No. Far from it.” The Police Chief exhaled sharply. “The string of robberies from before--they’re connected by a single thread, perpetuated by the same lone culprit. And now that scoundrel intends to continue his crime spree.”
“I’ve never heard of this before.”
“You shouldn’t have. It was a top-secret operation within my force since the first of its kind.”
“Why am I being told of it now?”
“Because, loathe as I am to admit it, the culprit has managed to outwit us and elude capture each and every time, He employs a bag of cheap parlor tricks and smoke and mirrors like the coward he is,” Riddle confessed begrudgingly. The blue-grey of his eyes were steely and stubborn. “A case as important as this needs the additional man—and brain—power, Detective.”
He placed the playing card down and slid it toward the detective. “This arrived in the morning at Mr. Crowley’s desk, the same as all the prior robberies. It gave him quite the fright. He rushed all the way to the station to beg for our assistance.”
“This is...” Yuu gingerly turned the card over, revealing a message scrawled on the other side in bright red gel ink. Each letter was big and bubbly, bursting with cheek and pomp.
Their heart jumped.
To the Old Crow that safeguards the Museum,
Heyo~
Your pockets look a lil’ heavy there, so I’ll help you out. (Aren’t I so kind?) Three days from now, I’ll claim one of your most prized treasures at the stroke of midnight.
Stand back and watch as I perform the greatest magic trick you’ll ever see... and make the portrait of the Queen of Hearts vanish before your very eyes. It’ll be a show-stopper!!
Until then,
Phantom Thief Knave of Hearts <3
P.S. Send the cops my regards, they can’t catch me lol (especially when their teapot tyrant’s patience is in SHORT supply geddit)
“They’re just flat-out announcing what their intentions are,” Yuu realized. They were half impressed, half shocked at the gall. “You said all of the victims received messages like this?”
“Calling cards, yes.” The fury had returned to Riddle’s features, causing his voice to spike and strain. “It’s infuriating!! What does he get off on, misappropriating magic as cheap parlor tricks for crime, writing notes in such a cocksure manner, taunting us to pursue him?!
“Not only is he poking fun at my height and committing a crime, but for mere SPORT?! For the THRILL of it?! He’s making a mockery of the good people of this island and of my men and our efforts to secure the peace!!”
The Police Chief slammed a fist down on his desk, rattling his glass vase and setting his perfectly straight pens askew. Crowley shrunk back in fear. “That Knave of Hearts...!! He must be stopped at all costs!!”
“Y-Yes, absolutely!!” Crowley chimed in. “For my--er, I mean, for the museum’s sake, this criminal must be put behind bars!! That’s why I’ve come to you, my good people!
“My taxpayer dollars help fund the police force, so I’ve come to collect on what its promise to protect and to serve the community!! Well, here’s the community at your doorstep asking you to protect and to serve!!”
“That’s why you want to put me on this case,” Yuu concluded, clasping the calling card to their racing heart. “To prevent this from going down tonight.”
“And furthermore,” Riddle added, “to investigate the identity of this so-called phantom thief once the museum is safely secured.”
“That’s a tall order, sir.”
“You’ll have access to our force’s resources, and to my officers. You will assist in overseeing this operation, with maps and outlines of the museum’s security detail from Mr. Crowley. We’ll cooperate to create a plan of attack to apprehend the Knave.”
“You misunderstand me. I never said I wouldn’t take the job,” Yuu coolly informed the Chief. Their mouth cocked upwards with confidence. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Oh, blessed day!! From the very bottom of my oh-so-generous heart, thank you very much!!” Crowley cried tearfully.
For the first time the entire briefing, Riddle smiled back at Yuu. “Hmph. That’s what I like to hear. Happy to be working with you again, Detective.”
“Likewise, Chief.”
The sun had already set when Yuu exited the station, the stars blinking into existence. Several hours had been spent picking the museum curator’s brain with a fine-toothed comb, looking over layouts, and memorizing security detail. The information had been well-stocked, and now came the time to let it marinate and bloom into plans.
Stuffing their hands in their pockets, Yuu shuffled down the sidewalk and past rows of parked vehicles. Ahead, neon lights flashed in and out, and the trains rattled on their well-worn tracks, buses and cars honking at each other, the chatter of street vendors filling the air.
And something different than the usual tonight.
The city never slept, always buzzed with energy. Yuu had become accustomed to its sights and sounds, finding them even comforting. Their best ideas were conceived against the hum of the cityscape. It was just soft enough to not fully distract, but just noticeable enough to tug at their thoughts for long enough to stray into new territories and concepts.
Light from lonely streetlamps created tears in the darkness, illuminating the path to their favorite downtown thinking spot: the Mostro Lounge. A good (albeit overpriced) drink would chase away their tiredness.
Yuu continued with that promise in mind, every step catlike. First quick, next slow, then quick, moderate, slow, quick, slow, quick, moderate. Their speed, ever alternating.
Their ears strained against the sounds of the city, slowly parsing through the individual elements.
Trains, buses, cars, chatter… and the soft footsteps masked by them. Footsteps which matched Yuu’s pace.
There was no mistaking it now.
I’m being followed.
They didn’t look to see who it was—the first rule of tailing a target was to never alert them to your awareness. Yuu would know (as oftentimes they were the one in the position of tailer).
They cast their eyes across the street, which was busy with bodies. Once Yuu merged with the crowd, they could easily shake off their stalker.
Their feet picked up their pace again, hurrying to the crosswalk. It was a glaring red, advising pedestrians to stop.
Shoot, Yuu cursed.
They felt a presence step up beside them. From the corner of their eye, they could make out a dark form--clothes. Yuu pretended to check the time on their phone, and glimpsed him in the reflection.
He was in a hoodie, with the hood pulled up and head down to conceal his features. His hands, too, were out of sight, a sea of baggy fabric hiding identifying features, save for his frame. Lanky, but reasonably packed with muscle to keep up with Yuu.
The man shifted, and his sight grazed theirs. His eyes were hard and icy, a silent threat.
Yuu quickly focused on the crosswalk light. Their heartbeat became as loud as the surrounding sounds. Screeching above the vehicles, shouting from the rooftops. THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP.
At last, the light turned from red to white.
Walk.
They started--and so did he.
“Excuse me.” A hand came upon their shoulder. The other pulled at something with a sinister glint. “Do you have a second?”
No walking, Yuu corrected themselves. Run!!
They sprinted down the crosswalk, jostling pedestrians with a hasty “sorry!” thrown back at them. As Yuu weaved through the crowd as fast as they could, they could not completely shunt out the man after them.
“Hey, please wait!! Where are you going?! C-Come back, I need to talk to you!”
His voice carried above the others. People jolted back, the crowd parting to make way for the man to charge forth. His volume swelled louder and louder as he gained on them.
Towering apartments seemed to bear down on Yuu. Their windows, glaring.
A shop. Find a shop and get inside!!
Yuu pumped their arms, pleaded for their legs to move more efficiently.
Again, a weight fell upon their shoulder. It was a clamp, fingers biting Yuu’s skin through their jacket as they dug in and held firm.
The other hand wielded the same shining object that it had before. Yuu looked more closely this time, and the unease in them dissipated. It was not the pointed tip of a knife, but the glint of a familiar officer’s badge wreathed in golden roses.
The man tore off his hood with a sigh--though Yuu noticed that he wasn’t one bit out of breath. Navy bangs fell across his forehead, his eyes a peacock green-blue, much friendlier under the streetlamps than the crosswalk signs.
He smiled at Yuu as though he were greeting an old friend. His grip turned into a tender squeeze. “I finally caught up with you!”
The detective awkwardly pulled away, confusion scrawled on their face. “Um... Sorry, who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“Oh! Uh...” The man jumped, retracting his hand. “That’s because we haven’t! Er, not officially anyway, but I’ve heard a lot about you!!”
Yuu pointed to his badge. “That. You’re an officer?”
“Yessir!” The man offered the proof of his identity and stiffly saluted. “Officer Deuce Spade, sir!! I’m a new recruit...!! I just joined the force a few weeks ago!”
Yuu mustered a faint smile. The darned fool was going to give them away. “... Am I in trouble, officer?”
“Nossir! Not at all!” His entire face shone with eagerness, earnest, and a slightly nervous energy. Maybe Yuu would have found it adorable (in the same way that a child trying hard was adorable), were he not blasting your occupation to the public. “Why would you be in trouble, sir?! You’re working with...”
“Okaaay, that’s enough out of you!” Yuu slapped a hand over Deuce’s mouth, silencing him.
Curious onlookers murmured amongst themselves. Some had taken to halt and full-on gawk. Children pointed, adult narrowing their eyes with suspicion.
Yuu frowned, removing their hand to shoo pedestrians away. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just a misunderstanding. Move along, Wonder Boy and I can settle this ourselves.”
“Wonder Boy?” Deuce, in a daze, pointed to himself. “Is that... me?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” Yuu folded their arms. “I assume you’re free now?”
“I am, sir! I was just let off my shift a little while ago, sir!”
“First, drop the ‘sir’. It’s giving me a headache,” Yuu instructed. “Second, if you’re free, then you’ll be joining me for a drink and a chat. We have things to discuss--chief among them being why you were following me.”
Ring-a-ling!
A bell sounded as the door to the Mostro Lounge swung open. Deuce stepped into a new world, Yuu at his side.
The interior itself was dim, but glass lights fastened in the shape of jellyfish projected swimming incandescent lights in purple, blue, and pink. Velvet booths lined one half of the eatery, the other, a glossy bar with tall, narrow stools, the shelves behind it healthily stocked with bottles in jeweled tones. Strangers poised with drink took residence in most of the seats.
The entire back wall had been repurposed into a massive aquarium teeming with aquatic plants and exotic creatures. Seaweed and coral gently swayed to the rhythm of the smooth jazz floating through the lounge, fish frolicking among them.
“Whoooa,” Deuce gasped, craning his head to drink in every detail. “I’ve never been to a place as classy as this. It looks so expensive. You think my salary’s enough to cover at least an appetizer?”
“Hang on tight to your wallet,” Yuu warned. “This place will squeeze you for every thaumark you’re worth and then some—and they won’t feel a bit of remorse about it.”
The detective raised an arm, flagging a nearby waiter.
Their uniform was simple yet sleek: dark dress pants, a white bow tie, spotless gloves, and a cummerbund and suspenders over a lavender button-up shirt. It allowed for slight variation—one waiter skidded by with his shirt buttoned as low as food safety regulations deemed safe. Another jotted down orders with a jacket thrown over his shoulders and a pair of glasses tucked into the crevice of his buttons.
The waiter Yuu called out to approached like a shark fin cutting through still water, neatly bowing to greet their waiting customers. He was prim and proper compared to the other servers, not a button out of place.
When he raised his head, Deuce marveled at his mismatched olive and gold irises, the teal of his hair marred by a stripe of black. Three diamond-shaped scales dangled from his left ear, as sharp as his eyes.
“I bid you welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guests,” the waiter said smoothly. He gaze immediately cut to Deuce. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you, today, Yuu-san. How delightfully rare.”
“Acquaintance. We just met outside under… less than ideal circumstances.”
“Oya, how quick you were to seize on that chance encounter. I may even deem you a bigger opportunist than our dear manager.”
“… Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Deuce inquired.
“Perhaps you will find the answer to your question, should you act as a patron at our establishment for long enough.”
“Quit toying with him, Jade. You know what we’re here for,” Yuu grumbled. “My usual.”
“If that is what you wish. And for this gentleman acquaintance of yours?”
“Just ice water is fine, sir!”
Jade maintained his polite smile. “Very well. One glass of ice cold water for you. I will bring you a menu as well, in case you begin to feel peckish late into the night.”
“Oh, thanks!”
“Right this way then.” Jade gestured for the two to follow him.
“He’s upselling you, you know,” Yuu pointed out under their breath. “Hoping that you’ll buy something when presented with the opportunity to spend.”
“E-Eh, he is?! I didn’t even realize…”
“Fufufu. Please, do not let your worries consume you. You have come to relax, correct? We at the Mostro Lounge ask that you put your fins and your feet up and enjoy yourself while the night is still young.”
They were escorted to two empty stools in a (relatively) quiet corner of the bar. The glass jellyfish lights were clustered in the center of the main dining area, leaving the corner like a slice of dark, uncharted waters. Jass music and conversation filtered into a muffled melody.
Yuu plopped down with relief, followed by an apprehensive Deuce. He slowly sank into the cushy seat.
“I will be right back with your drinks. If you will excuse me.” With another bow, Jade rounded the bar and rolled up his sleeves—the transition from waiter to bartender. Presenting his back to the duo, he set to plucking bottles off of the shelves.
Deuce blinked. He still hadn’t taken to fully processing his new surroundings. “Are we really going kick back and have drinks when there’s a serial thief on the loose?”
“We can’t talk about that in public, or risk blowing my cover. It’s safe to talk here,” Yuu reassured him. “What happens in the Mostro Lounge stays in the Mostro Lounge. Say what you want about the slimy staff, but they know how to keep their patrons’ secrets. Client confidentiality and all.”
The young officer brightened. “Ooooh, I get it!”
“… You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Yuu remarked bluntly. They slipped off their baseball cap, letting loose their hair. “So? Let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“Your reason for following me.”
“Oh!! That.” Deuce nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s kind of…”
The detective drummed their fingers on the polished counter. Methodical, deliberate. “You mentioned that you recently joined the force. However, only senior officials in the police department and myself were privy to this operation. How did you come to learn about it?”
Deuce stiffened, thrown off his beat (if he had any to begin with). “Th-That’s…!”
“I’m asking you a question, Mr. Spade. Please answer me truthfully.”
“I… um… Truth is, I…” Deuce stared at his lap, unable to meet the detective’s eyes. “I might have eavesdropped when I returned from my patrol shift…”
“Go on,” Yuu coaxed.
“There was a report I had to submit to the Chief, but it sounded like he was busy in his office. It’s hard to not notice him when he raises his voice, sir. I decided to wait outside until he was done, and… well, I got curious.”
“Wasn’t Assistant Chief Clover also present? He just let you do that without a single protest?”
“Assistant Chief Clover was very nice to me! He laughed a little and said ‘make sure you don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar’!”
Darn it, Trey!! You could’ve been a LITTLE stricter with this guy…! Yuu groaned, massaging the bridge of their nose. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get a better picture of what went down. You followed me wanting to learn more about the operation.”
Like a curious child chasing after a white rabbit. Still immature, still wondering, and still way over their head.
“Yes, but that’s not all!” Deuce insisted. He abruptly stood from the table. “There’s an even more important reason than just satisfying my curiosity, sir!”
Yuu quirked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“I had to talk to you—without the Chief around. I had to. That’s why I followed you in secret.” The officer nibbled his lower lip, as if biting back something harsh and bitter from coming up.
“Out with it, Mr. Spade.”
“Pardon the intrusion,” Jade coolly interjected. His tone was nonchalant but his bemused smile was a telltale sign that he was relishing in every second of the hot gossip. “Your beverages.”
He slid two glasses between Yuu and Deuce before departing. One was tall and slim—a highball—loaded with carbonated water and fruity gummies. Yellow for jeweled pineapples, red for ruby berries, green for frozen mint, black for floral cacao, and blue from pure azure salt. It was Yuu’s usual, the famed Mystery Drink. The other glass was, by comparison, an ordinary drink of water, a single large, clear cube of ice floating in it.
A bead of sweat ran down Deuce’s jawline. Condensation forming and racing on his glass of water.
Suddenly, the officer slapped both hands on the counter, slamming his face down upon its surface. His navy hair splayed, forehead touching the table in a display of humility.
Yuu almost spilled their drink. “What are you doing?”
“I’m begging you, sir!! P-Please put me on the mission!!” Deuce pleaded, his voice shaky but resolute. “I… I want to help catch the Knave of Hearts too!!”
“If that’s all you wanted, why ask me? Go through the proper channels to…”
“I can’t!! The Chief would never allow it.” His expression creased with shame. “He says rookies need to work their way up from meter maid to working on cases.”
“He’s right. You need to grow into these things, not rush in head-first in a burst of passion.” Yuu made to take a sip of their drink—but the officer’s fist collided with the counter, the liquid inside the glass sloshing overboard. Seltzer water splashed onto their pant leg, leaving a sticky wet spot on a thigh.
“P-Please reconsider! I know how to handle myself in a fight! I’m fast, I could easily catch up with him if it’s a race on foot!”
“Look,” the detective said irritably, “I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here. Fact is, no matter how much you ask, I wouldn’t want to take you on for this case. You’re too green behind the ears—and sorry, but I just don’t see you as an asset.
“You may be strong and quick on your feet, but it’ll take more than strength and speed to catch the Knave of Hearts. There’s a reason he hasn’t been caught yet.” Yuu tapped at their temple. “It’s this. He’s got smarts, and we need to combat that with smarts of our own.”
“I-I can be smart!! I can try to, at least! Please, just let me try…!!”
Frustrated, Yuu scrutinized the young man again. Their eyes roaming, searching, for detail wrong, a hair out of place.
Years of sleuthing had built up a great amount of cynicism and distrust in the detective. How many times had they pulled back the curtain, revealing the ugly truths hidden out of plain sight? How many bruised egos--both clients and coworkers--had they encountered? People seeking status or to feed their own pride.
Yet when they looked at Deuce, none of that ugliness or ego came through. Here was someone who stubbornly stared right back at Yuu, unwilling to back down, even when his dignity lay in tatters on the floor the instant he prostrated himself.
Another selfish bid for recognition? They ventured, toying with the idea. Maybe personal ambition, looking to climb up in the world.
“... One reason,” Yuu said, holding up an index finger. “Give me one good reason why I should take you on. Convince me.”
Deuce recoiled--as though even he hadn’t expected to have made it this far, or to be taken seriously at all. His brows creased with effort as he racked the recesses of his mind to find the right phrasing.
A second later, he let out a piercing shout.
“GAAAAAAAAH!!”
With a grunt, Deuce grasped his cup of ice water and lifted it to his lips. He hammered the drink in a single swig, releasing a satisfied hoot. The liquid courage had revived the man, returning the spark to him.
In a voice as clear as the drink he had just downed, Deuce said, “It’s for my mom. She’s just about the sweetest, most hard-working person I know.”
He hung his head and slammed his empty cup down, shaking the entire table.
“She raised me as a single parent. Mom never once complained, only wanted the best life for me.” Deuce glared into his glass, speaking with scorn and anger--not at others, but for himself. “And how did I repay her? I... turned to delinquency.
“I acted out because I wasn’t man enough to do the mature thing and work on myself!! She blamed herself for my stupid decisions! I made mom worry for me so, so much...”
Plip, plip.
Deuce faltered, letting quiet tears dribble down his cheeks and landing on the cube of ice left in his glass. Once they made contact with the frozen block, it was impossible to tell what was water and what was salt.
“I swore to myself that I would turn my life around... to show mom that it’s not her fault, that she did all she could to raised someone who could contribute to society!! So I studied really hard at the police academy, and even though my grades were crappy, I managed to graduate...!!”
He choked up, a concoction of fiery passion infused in his stuttering words. “I can finally be that model officer and make a change in the community! But I haven’t done a damn thing...! I just play meter maid while bad guys are out there running free, when I could be out there making this city a safer place for mom and everyone that lives here...!!”
The noises of the lounge seemed to fade into a stoic silence around Deuce. His declaration reverberated loudly. “I have to do this. I need to do this.”
He bowed again, his forehead pressed hard against the surface of the table. The single word he uttered was hoarse, desperate.
“Please.”
Deuce pried himself up almost painfully. The eyes were aquamarine, wet with hot tears. Something shone through them in shades of blue and green, priceless as any treasure: an honesty that burned like an eternal flame.
Yuu startled, striken by a single, haunting revelation: He’s telling the truth.
“... I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before,” they said cryptically. “I don’t doubt your story—but as touching as it is, I don’t know if...”
Hesitation reared its head, and Yuu forced themselves to look away. Couldn’t bear to see him, that wide-eyed sincerity.
Emotion clashing with their sound logic. Two things that shouldn’t have belonged together colliding.
Wait... things that don’t belong together? Things I didn’t expect, surprises and twists to the tale...
A ex-delinquent turned into a policeman. A selfishness turned selfless. An anticipated lie turned into a truth. Something there that hadn’t been before.
The detective’s mind raced, quickly outpacing the words leaving their mouth. A solution which subverted expectations, a trap laced with honey for a man with sticky fingers.
That’s it. We’ll pull a trick of our own.
“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” Yuu abruptly announced. “You’re in on this operation, Mr. Spade.”
“R-Really?!” Deuce’s face nearly tore in half, his volume revving up like a motorcycle engine. “You mean it?!”
“I do.”
Yuu took a cool sip of their Mystery Drink. Flavors from all over Twisted Wonderland cascaded over their tongue—a triumphant, fleeting pleasure.
They set their glass down and bent over, gripping Deuce by the strings of his hoodie. Yuu tugged, bringing the policeman lurching forward.
His clammy forehead against theirs. Centimeters away, his eyes widened. A flushed heat climbed to his cheeks, his voice set in a stammer.
“S-Sir, what are we...”
“You’ll have to follow my instructions very carefully,” Yuu replied with a devious grin. “Listen up, rookie: cuz you’re going to be the star of this show. Here’s the plan...”
The ambience of the lounge drowned out Yuu’s whispers. From afar, their words could only be read through the shapes of their mouth, the increasingly confused and alarmed expressions that Deuce pulled.
Jade observed them patiently, chuckling to himself. “My, my, it seems like our genius detective has found yet another solution.”
CLATTER, CLATTER!!
A tray piled high with empty plates and dishes was slammed down. Jade’s twin peered around the stack, leaning lazily against the bar.
“Eeeh, but I bet against them this time.”
“Playing the contrarian runs its risks.” Jade picked up a glass, staring at his brother through it. The golden orb called his left eye was clear as a topaz. “As for myself, I’m excited to see how this plays out.”
PLAP.
A notepad came down on the table as a third waiter joined them.
“Both of you need to stop gossiping and get back to work,” their manager chided, sliding the notepad—scrawled with fresh orders—to Jade. “Leave the customers to tend to their own business. We’ll soon know the outcome.”
[To be continued...]
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