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orellazalonia · 2 months ago

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Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Sequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” You said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #unhinged!reader #fluff #james buchanan barnes #earth’s mightiest headache

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ozzgin · 11 months ago

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Some more dick-related brain rot…😘

We take the self serve dick bar and use monsters for the monster hotel. We are going to have that full “continental breakfast.” So we have a forest entity cumming maple syrup, a Minotaur cumming milk/creme, a yeti who cums slushies, a slime who cums various jams depending on whatever fruit we feed it, and any more monsters who we can utilize ☺️

When you were talking about your rats, it made me think of some rat-hybrid monster where reader can steer him via. his dick, like a reverse Ratatouille scenario 🐀

Having a robot/android partner, I could use his dick as a literal joy stick when playing video games. Also, if I have to charge robot/android, do you think his dick acts like a giant extension cord I could just plug into the outlet in the wall? Also does that mean he technically “eats” with his dick? I assume when traveling with him internationally, I gotta get a lot of compatible adapters so he can get plugged in successfully🕹️

A Hydra monster would be kinda funny to have sex with, cause maybe if you cut its “head” down south, two more will grow back 🤔

I think that’s all for now. Tell your man that he is very much appreciated, and it’s nice he’s in this club of debauchery 😉

-👘

This amount of thirst and depravity is exactly what the monster guests would come up with just to have Reader employee touch them. 😭 Content: gender neutral reader, rancid NSFW!!! (more white sauce I’m afraid), monster smut

The latest fad your centaur manager has been into is food cooked with bodily fluids. This has had several implications, all of them regrettably involving you.

While the idea has been gripping at his mind like a great plague, he can't possibly ask you to just...let go over his breakfast toast. He can already see how exhausted you return after being used by the starved guests. They stuff you just enough for you to wonder if you'll survive it, then make sure to clean up their mess, politely aiding your speedy recovery, almost as if they weren't the cause of destruction to begin with. The manager has heard it one too many times that your nether regions are numb from all the monstrous tongues and appendages.

Maybe a change of scenery will help.

"Kitchen staff? I thought I'm supposed to clean the rooms", you inquire, somewhat confused by the sudden proposal.

"It's not quite...kitchen duties, per se. We need someone to help with the hotel's breakfast. We have a new experimental menu, though not enough...hands."

You should've expected it. How bad could it possibly be, you told yourself, pouring some orange juice for the seated guests? You had your first suspicions from the big, flashy sign now propped outside the room: service provided by our esteemed and loved human employee. You didn't need to ponder much on its meaning. Once inside, your task became painfully clear. You were to milk the guests for the required ingredients.

Having their way with you is a treat in itself, but seeing you struggle with your small, human hands, trying to figure them out? Priceless. Well, for them, anyways. Despite your protests, you have left your morning shifts with a ridiculous number of tips. Maybe it's the way you look up through your lashes as you explain: "Of course I know your weak spot. You're one of my- our regulars." Or maybe it's the way you tease your favorites, wondering out loud, with a grin, if you should have some of the generous release for your own lunch later.

Your hard work has not gone unnoticed. The centaur head manager recently made the sheepish suggestion of having you at the receiving end of this new service, trying his best to sound convincing, and hiding the fact it’s been his most ardent wish for the past couple of weeks. Maybe he will get his breakfast topping, after all.

[Monster Hotel] | [More Monsters]

#monster hotel #monster x reader #monster x human #monster smut #monster imagines #monster fucker #terato #👘 anon

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clairewritesfanfics · 3 months ago

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Villain Creation System Chapter 1

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Synopsis:

You died. Literally. The process itself was nothing special. The interesting part is what happened after. Instead of the abyss or paradise, a mysterious voice strikes up a deal with you in front of your fresh corpse.

[I am the Villain Creation System, if you want a second chance at life, then you must corrupt the souls of various Mark Graysons across the multiverse.] “Do I have a choice?” [Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.] [ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ] “...okay, sold.” [Yay!]

You successfully destroyed the lives of different versions of Mark Grayson, but when it's time to claim your prize, something goes wrong and you are stuck in this godforsaken timeline. What's worse was that they have found you.

"Come with me and we will rule the universe together." "Be my wife and bear my children. No harm will ever come to you." "After you died, no one could compare to you, not even your own corpse."

You: (•_•)

General Trigger Warnings: you are literally dead, death in general, dark humor (e.g. necrophilia jokes), innuendos, mild swearing, mentions of violence and bodily harm, toxic relationships, the Marks are their own warning

The problem began when you died.

You didn’t save a kid from a speeding truck or get murdered, no, you died just as you lived: in a remarkably boring, somewhat embarrassing fashion. You fell down the stairs.

In your defence, you just finished a brutal exam and your Red Bull:Coffee cocktail could only do so much for a brain running on 2 hours of sleep. Your eyelids were barely holding on. You didn’t see the “wet floor” sign, slipped and cracked your head on the bottom steps of the stairs.

On the bright side, you didn’t have to study anymore. On the other hand, you were young, barely half a century old, you had a bucket list that reached the triple digits but you only got to cross out five things. You didn’t get your dream job. You didn’t even purchase your own house yet, never painted and decorated it the way you wanted. You haven’t said your goodbyes. You haven’t experienced love, real, actual, can’t-live-without love.

It wasn’t fair. You always knew that life was unfair, but it was only when you died did it really hit you. You wanted so much more.

You stared at your corpse, with its elbows and knees twisting into awkward positions, growing colder and stiffer by the second.

Life wasn’t fair, you knew this. But it wasn’t until you saw yourself at the bottom of the stairs did you realize that life was a bitch.

Now, there was only one question left. Where do I go from here?

You weren’t an exceptionally good person, but you really hoped you weren't going to end up in Hell.

Before you could fear for your eternal soul, a disembodied voice, as robotic as it was sweet, greeted you with all the cheer of a kindergarten teacher: [Congratulations on your death! You are the first person to be chosen by the Villain Creation System!]

“...”

[I can tell from that dumbfounded expression that you are confused. Please, let this system explain. Open up your ear holes because I will not repeat myself!]

The thing cleared its throat and a light screen hovered over your dead body, displaying a series of stick figure illustrations.

[As your ancestors have found out, most souls are moved to limbo after death, where they are judged.]

The stick figure in this ridiculous powerpoint presentation died, had its soul enter what seemed to be a judicial court, and was presented with two doors.

[Depending on the verdict, the soul may reincarnate as another human or a different species, or if they’ve fulfilled all the requirements, they can enter Paradise.]

A third door appeared between the existing two.

[In special cases, one soul out of 300 trillion is chosen to bind with systems such as I. You already know, but let me reintroduce myself, I am Villain Creation System No. 00001. You see, many fictional worlds are very much real and alive in their own pocket universes. It is a system’s job to ensure a safe and steady existence, preventing the collapse of each dimension.]

The third door moved towards you and you found yourself floating in what resembled the vacuum of space, surrounded by infinite light projections of the Milky Way.

[Unlike your reality, these special worlds live closely to the void, because its creators–its writers tend to be finite creatures, mere mortals cosplaying as gods.]

One by one, each galaxy turned to dust and you were back at the bottom of the stairs, standing right next to your dead body.

“I think I’ve read about this before…” When you used to have a lot of free time, you would binge read Chinese web novels about protagonists who jumped from world to world, completing tasks and granting wishes, whether it be getting back at cheating husbands or avenging dead relatives.

“I have several questions.”

[It would be odd if you didn’t.]

This thing sure could talk. “Why me?”

[You mortals truly do love that question.] The thing sighed, as though it was shaking its head at you that very moment. [There’s nothing special about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. We rolled a hypothetical die and got you.]

“ Okay.” Ow. It wasn’t like you believed in life having inherent meaning, but to be outright told by a supernatural creature that you weren’t special still stung.

You pushed the feelings of hurt aside and asked, “Why do you exist? What’s the point?”

[What a boring question. If I told you that “it is fate,” will that be enough? If I say that it is “merely for a petty god’s entertainment,” will you be satisfied? Please don’t bother yourself with such questions, you will only end up hurting your own head.]

“I feel like I’m being insulted.”

[Surely, you’re imagining it.]

You inhaled, more out of habit than anything else because your lungs were decorative now. You calmed yourself. You’d rather not piss off a mysterious entity that seemed happy with your death and had souls dancing at the palm of its nonexistent hands. “All right. What do I have to do?”

[It’s just as my name suggests, you will be sent to different so-called fictional worlds to help create the villains, after all, what’s a story without a great villain? That is a rhetorical question, by the way.]

“You make it sound so simple.” Creating villains, huh. You have watched enough cartoons, read enough books to know that there would be a lot of pain involved.

[Ding. Allow me to add: your efforts will not go unrewarded; should you complete your tasks, the Almighty One will grant you a redo in your life. If you do everything perfectly, THEY might even give you special privileges.]

“Such as?”

[In addition to your rebirth, you could freely modify your appearance to your liking, or you may ask for knowledge unparalleled in your generation.]

You glanced down at your feet. The blood from your broken skull pooled around you as you weighed your options.

“Do I have a choice?”

[Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.]

[ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ]

“...okay, sold.”

[Yay!]

A second chance at life.

Divine boons, to boot.

It sounded way too good to be true. If anything, rather than speaking with an agent of God (or God’s equivalent) you felt like you were about to shake hands with the Devil.

You totally should have known better.

The whole thing was fishy from beginning to end, but what else was there to do? Pray?

***

[Mark Grayson of Alternative Universe No. 444 has achieved 100% Darkening. A villain is born.]

[Congratulations on another successful corruption, Host!]

This version of Mark pulled you into his arms. Those who hurt you have become meat paste on the ground around him.

He touched your cheek, begged you to stay with tears falling like rain on your lashes. It was too late. Often, he was too late.

“Please,” he cried, holding your face. “Please come back to me.”

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. The system pulled on your soul like the tide returning to the sea.

[Initiating extraction … ]

[Prepare for a meeting with the Main System. We will calculate your grade and remaining reward points then.]

Finally… You could go back home. You already knew what you were going to ask first, a memory wipe before your second chance. You used your reward points early on and bought a “system cheat” to help alleviate the guilt of everything you’ve done, along with something to diminish the weight of certain emotions, but these cheat codes couldn’t be transferred to your world, the real world.

[ERROR. ERROR.]

Pain shot through every nerve and cut through every vein of your soul. This has never happened before. You writhed in the void until–

Your eyes shot open.

You gasped and sat up. Your heart hammered in your chest and you struggled to regulate your breathing.

You looked around you. A bedroom. Your bedroom. One of its many variations.

“What’s going on?!” You demanded from your system.

You were done. You had just finished your last mission, the final Mark Grayson had been converted, and the system promised that it would send you to speak with its boss and its boss’ boss. You were finally going to get your second chance, free yourself from this damned multiverse.

However, when you opened your eyes after the extraction process, you could instantly tell that something was wrong.

For one thing, you have awoken in this same bedroom in at least three other parallel dimensions. The posters and pictures on the walls might’ve changed and the bed was next to the window instead of the door, but you knew that this was your room in the many worlds of Invincible.

You yelled at the air and in your mind, “Zero-One? Zero-One, where the hell are you? Hey!”

No answer.

You fell forward and screamed into your mattress.

You should have prayed.

CHAPTER 2 Series Masterlist

Author's note: As someone who still hasn't finished two other works about world-hopping, I feel a bit ashamed (it's been over three years T.T) but YOU CANNOT STOP ME. Anyway, I shouldn't be doing this, but the hyperfixation gods have their claws deep in my shoulders and I can't study without publishing at least the first chapter. For those who have read my Origin series for the Mark Variants, you may or may not think of this as its direct sequel. I got a crappy memory so continuation would be hard to keep up with. But if you have any questions, feel free to message me. For those who read by my Obey Me fanfic, yeah, this system and the Secondary Character Grievance Delivery System are basically co-workers, lol.

322 notes · View notes

horny-marbles · 2 months ago

Note

Hi Beautiful!! I’ve been following your work and I love it soooo much :) Could you possibly do some sort of smut with EJ? My idea is the female reader convinced him to get a matching eyebrow or tongue piercing with her, and she’s the one piercing him? Or if you wanna mess the concept , I’m totally cool with that! Thank you so much, hope you have a lovely day <3 (sorry if that didn’t make sense, English isn’t my primary language)

hi angel!! thank you so much teehee 🫶🏻🫶🏻 this is so fucking hot and fun, pierced/body mod jack owns about 80% of my brain and the entirety of my heart, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe <3

Balltongue (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: needles and piercing tongues duh, unsafe piercing handling, dry humping, oral (f receiving and giving), sloppy toppy fr, throatpie :P

word count 3.9k

You weren’t even sure how you got him to agree. You begged. Bargained. Maybe pouted a little. Maybe muttered "please let me pierce you so we can match" every time you sucked his dick, thinking that if you caught him off guard he would relent. He didn't.

But after a month or two of stubborn, stonewalling deadpan refusals - based on medical risks he listed to you more times than you could count - and attrition warfare, Jack finally caved with this heavy, world-weary sigh like he's doing something awful instead of agreeing to be hot and slutty for you.

Which brought you here, perched in his lap on his bed, thighs bracketing his hips and the mattress creaking under both your weight and his patience. Elbow deep in prep like you’re about to perform minor surgery instead of pierce his tongues; a pair of his gloves snapped tight on your hands and a tray of tools laid out beside you like you know what the fuck you’re doing. Which, let’s be real, you kind of do. You pierced your own tongue months ago. It healed by the time he resigned. Perfectly centered? No. Hot as fuck? Absolutely.

Jack, for his part, looks like a man walking calmly toward the gallows. Not that he’s anxious, just unimpressed. Still steady on his idea that this is unnecessary trauma to a perfectly functional part of the body. But here you are.

“Remind me again,” he muttered before spitting out the mouthwash in the same cup you handed him, grimacing like the taste offended him, “why the fuck I need three piercings when you got one?”

"I have one tongue, babe," you grinned, "you're the freak with a trifecta of slimy muscle in your mouth. It's only fair."

"What's fair," Jack grunted, leaning back against the headboard with a flat look, hands heavy on your thighs like he was bracing for execution, "is anatomical equality."

"Exactly. That's why you're getting three," you quipped cheerfully, leaning over him with the piercing needle hovering close to his face. "Stop glaring at me and stick one of them out."

"I don't have eyes," he exhales through his nose, the sound low and even more annoyed than usual. But he tips his head back obediently anyway, throat bare, mouth opening like a drawbridge lowering with military precision, offering the first tongue with a robotic kind of patience.

"I can feel it," you huffed a laugh, adjusting your position with a small roll of your hips, just enough for your heat to rub into his lap. He doesn't comment. "Ready?"

"No." he muttered, blank, but he didn't pull away.

You even went as far as to flip it up to check the placement of the veins on the bottom - real proffessional - before placing the tip of the first needle on the seam in the muscle and pushing through. Jack didn't even blink. His hands tightened on your thighs when the needle sliced through tissue, but there was no sound and no protest. Just that slight pull where skin meets metal, and then a quieter exhale when you thread the bar through.

You pulled back to inspect your work before he retracted his tonge and clicked the piercing against his teeth to check the new weight, and the throb between your legs was near instant.

"You already look so fucking hot," you bit your lip, tossing the needle in the trashcan at the foot of the bed without taking your eyes off his mouth, "you okay?"

He paused, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch under you, hardening. Or maybe your imagination was starting to get away from you with the mental image you conjured up; his mouth between your legs like he's nosing into fruit, piercing balls rubbing over your folds, catching on your clit, like having more to work with meant using all of it.

"Ask me when you're done assaulting all three."

You reach for the second tongue, knees planted firmly into the mattress, barely controlling the urge to grind down on him again. He extends it with a slight roll of his jaw, letting the others stay curled behind his teeth. You admire the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the muscle moving in his jaw, how together he looks even now, like no matter how turned on he gets, no matter how wet you’re getting on his lap, he’s not gonna crack until he wants to.

This time, his hips jump under you when the second needle goes in. Just a reflexive jolt. But it’s enough. Enough to make your cunt pulse around nothing and to make you bite down on your bottom lip, the curve of your mouth twisting up around it.

“You’re being such a good boy for me,” you croon mockingly, leaning in so your breath ghosts over his mouth. “So quiet. So obedient. Is it turning you on baby? Letting me sit in your lap and poke holes in you?”

You quickly give up the restraint you barely had to begin with and you grind down again, slow and deliberate, dampening spot on your crotch rubbing right against the thick press of his cock under you, now rock solid.

The second needle is still threaded through his tongue when his brows furrow - deep, offended, like you just personally insulted him. And maybe you did a little. He's sitting here with his tongue pinned by a glint of steel and you're dry humping instead of finishing the job. The nerve.

But he can’t say shit. Literally. So instead, his palm smacks firm and sharp over your ass, fingers curling tightly in the aftermath, claws stinging where they poke through your leggings. Not playful. Not punishing. Just directive.

Your breath catches, stomach tightening in knots. “Jesus,” you mutter, laughing a little, “Okay. Impatient.”

You hold the barbell up to his mouth like a lollipop, gently guiding it through the second tongue as you hum, voice thick with syrup and bite, "Can't wait to feel these on my pussy, baby."

He doesn't react, but he does breathe heavier through his nose. Barely. But you catch it, another sharp throb under you. You glance down and smile, sharp and vicious. You keep going, because you fucking got him. And how could you turn down the opportunity to rile him up when it presents itself?

“Thinking about how it’s gonna feel when I sit on your face,” you murmur, soft and sultry as the barbell slides into place, “how you'll make me cum all over your mouth with these decked out babies."

Jack’s hands twitch against your hips like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just exales again, slower this time, and flexes his fingers. You can feel how wound up he is, tension coiled tight under his skin like he's moments away from going off like a firearm.

He sticks out the third tongue on command, calm again, like he’s not actively dying to pin you down and fuck you stupid. When it slid forward, it trembled slightly at the tip.

"Aw," you crooned softly. "This one’s scared."

"No," he croaked flatly, "it's smarter than the other ones."

You snorted and leaned closer, mouth brushing his ear. “Want me to fuck it better after?”

His chest moved with a shallow breath, sharp and controlled, voice holding a hint of bite. “Pierce it.”

The third needle went in harder - the muscle more dense, tense - and he moaned. Just a little, low and choked. Not dramatic, but genuine. It slipped out of him like it wasn’t meant to. Just a flash of pain, edged in something that sounds dangerously close to pleasure.

Your grin is instant. “Oh?” you tease, breath warm and fanning over his tongue as you screw on the last ball. “You like pain now?”

He doesn’t answer.

His hand fists into your hair, palm wide and hot against your nape, and drags your mouth to his without a sound. No warning, no question. His lips crash into yours like he’s been starving for it for hours.

You struggle to slip out of your gloves, rubber sticking to your skin, catching on your thumbs in the haste, and kiss him back with everything in you, sterile tray forgotten, needles and pain and aftercare all abandoned because fuck.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging, and the kiss turns molten fast, sloppy wet and needy. You can taste the faint metallic tang of blood, metal clinking faintly as your piercings clash, his hot breath puffing over your upper lip as he hisses with the fresh sting.

It's not long before you’re grinding again, no longer teasing, just needy, quick friction, his palms kneading at your ass, guiding the motion of your hips against him like he's sculpting it, perfecting it.

You’re soaked through. You feel it, damp heat clinging between your legs, begging for attention, the way it smears over the rough front of his pants with every motion. Jack keeps you moving, pressing you down, up, down again, grinding you into the shape of his need like he’s etching it into memory.

When he drags one of his tongues along your neck, you shudder. The muscle is slick and warm, still throbbing from the needle, and the ball drags slow and shaky over your skin, leaving a trail of spit and heat that makes your knees tighten around his hips. He doesn’t moan. Doesn’t groan. But his hands grip tighter when he tastes the sweat there, claws flexing like he’s anchoring himself.

“F-fuck,” you breathe, voice already wrecked.

He hums against you, lips open and plush on your throat. Then he’s moving, lifting your shirt, not ripping it, not frantic, but hurried. Hands steady, movements smooth but impatient.

“You’re smell like you're fucking soaked,” he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges, slightly slurred around the new weight in his mouth. “Are you a sadist now? Getting wet while you pierce me?"

You grin. “Can you blame me? Fucking listen to yourself, baby."

Jack growls, quiet and breathy like a broken exhale, and suddenly he’s pushing you back. His thumbs hook into your shirt and he bunches it under your arms, then it goes flying somewhere behind you. He gets your bra up fast, one hand groping your tit while his mouth descends, tongues and lips and that raw, new pressure from the piercings all swirling around your nipple until you arch and moan right into the crown of his head.

It’s so wet. Lapping, licking, sucking, each new flick from his tongues leaving trails that cool too slow, making your skin burn. He sucks a little harder - sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud just once - and when your breath stutters and hips buck, he grins against your chest, all teeth and silent heat.

He moves down, lips dragging over your sternum and down your stomach, tongues flicking in tandem, tasting every inch of skin like it matters.

And as you lift your hips off the bed like instinct, to help him get to the main course faster, he licks a slow stripe over the crotch of your leggings. Straight through the soaked fabric where it sticks to your pussy.

You jerk in surprise. “Oh my- fuck-”

“You taste desperate,” he says simply, monotone as ever. Like his aching cock isn't sandwitched between his stomach and the mattress, hips rocking where the friction's mounting

He presses his face in again. The heat of him radiates through you like a furnace. His tongues spread as they lap, tasting slick through cotton, brows twitching with a low grunt when the piercings catch into the seam, sending a flash of sting through the muscle. He doesn't seem bothered though.

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” you whisper, but you’re laughing, breath hitching as he noses into the curve of your pussy again. "You're gonna get an infection."

"Should've given a shit when you were riding me five minutes ago."

You can almost hear the eye roll in his voice as he yanks the waistband down to your knees with firm finality, claws scraping the outside of your thighs, and he exhales right over your cunt - drenched, flushed, throbbing in the open air.

His mouth drops to it like he’s starved.

You gasp the second his tongues make contact, not just from the heat of him, or the obscene way he moans into you like he needs it, but because fuck, those fresh piercings burn as they drag over your folds.

The metal’s cold at first, sharp pinches of chill against slick heat, but then it’s just sting. You twitch when the bead of the bar in his middle tongue bumps against your clit, just a little too firm, and you flinch, more from shock than pain.

“Jack- fuck,” you breathe, hips jolting.

He huffs against your cunt, an actual scoff that vibrates through you, like it’s fucking offensive to him that he doesn’t have total control over the movement. Like his own pain is an inconvenience he’s choosing to ignore out of spite.

He's always so precise. So devastating. But now he’s raw and a little unsteady, dragging the ball of a barbell over your clit again and missing a bit. Slips too far to the side.

You laugh, a breathy, broken chuckle that barely escapes your lips.

“Ohhh, baby,” you coo, drunk on it, “what’s the matter? Not used to the new hardware?”

His hand slams up across your chest, hot and firm and absolutely done with you, and presses down on your throat. Holding you down, fingers splayed under your jaw in a firm warning.

Then, he spits right on your pussy. A fat, wet glob lands just above your clit and trails down, hot and slick and disrespectful. And he's back on you with a vengeance.

He doesn’t slow this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just dives in, two tongues pushing inside you with a wet squelch that punches the air from your lungs. Middle tongue licks you from slit to clit, flicking in messy, aching little swipes, metal catching on your clit, just barely, but enough to make your vision spark. Cold metal followed by heat and saliva and the scrape of textured flesh, enough to make your toes curl.

“Jack-”

You choke on his name and the hand on your throat tightens enough to make you feel your pulse against it. The other runs hot and wide over your stomach, down your thigh, then presses under your knee and hauls your leg up, opening you with no mercy. He plants your thigh over his shoulder, locking you in place.

His brows twitch with effort, mouth full of cunt and face buried so deep it’s like he’s trying to breathe through your clit. He groans when your walls flutter around his tongues, and the sound makes your thighs shake like it's rattling your soul. Each movement of his mouth is sloppy, uncalibrated, but it doesn’t matter. The heat, the wet, the way he’s fucking you with two tongues and torturing your clit with the third, piercings dragging over every soft spot- you cum without warning.

It hits like a fucking grenade going off in your pelvis. You cry out, fingers locking in his hair as your thighs clamp around his head. Your cunt clenches helplessly, fluttering around his tongues, grinding into his mouth and nose with desperate, twitchy movements.

He doesn’t stop. You twitch, you sob, you whimper, and he just holds your legs up and your throat down and slurps through it, drinking it in like it’s holy.

He groans as he pulls back once your voice finally breaks on his name and your nails scrabble at his shoulders, licking his lips like he’s trying to soothe the sting - but you can still see the way his jaw tightens. Still feel the heat of it on your thighs.

“Fucking-” he mutters, voice hoarse, gruff, still wet with you. “Hurts like a bitch.”

You huff a laugh, fucked-out and breathless, legs still twitching. “Yeah? You’re the one who kept going.”

He runs a hand through his hair - messy and damp with sweat. His mouth twitches, not a smile, but something halfway between annoyed and pained. “If I get sepsis, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You’re gonna die with your face buried in pussy?” You grin, still panting. “What a way to go.”

He doesn’t even respond. Just unzips his pants and grips his cock at the base once it's free, hard and flushed, and gives you a flat look.

“Come suck this dick.”

Your whole body reacts,knees already folding under you as you crawl between his legs. The mattress creaks beneath you both, the air still thick with sex and heat and that sharp tang of metal and alcohol. Your tongue flashes over your lips as you settle on your stomach between his thighs, elbows propped and ready.

You curl your fingers around the base of his cock, thick and heavy in your palm, and lean in.

Spit hits his tip before your mouth does. You drool for it, tongue flat and spreading slick along the vein on the underside, swirling just under the crown like you’re kissing it. Then you flatten your tongue and drag your piercing right over the slit, collecting pre-cum and humming at the taste.

“You’re fucking leaking,” you murmur, voice all sugar and spit. “Like you liked eating pussy with those things.”

He grunts. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

You hum and open your mouth wide, taking him in deep, wet, hot, sloppy from the start. You don’t bother being pretty about it. You drool around him, eyes fluttering as spit pools at the corners of your lips and drips down to his balls.

Your free hand cups them, slick with your own spit, and you pull them into your mouth too, rolling your tongue around one, then the other, morning high and sweet like they’re candy. His hand sinks into your hair, gentle only for a moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rough and low.

You pull back with a wet pop, smear your tongue up his shaft, then flick it hard against the head again. The metal of your piercing taps his tip just right and he groans low in his chest, hips flexing up to chase your mouth.

“You like that?” you breathe, licking slow and wide over him. “Feels good with the piercing, huh?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, deep and strained, “like getting head from a fucking rattlesnake.”

You laugh against his cock, and he growls again, like it’s offensive that you’re laughing while you’ve got his dick in your mouth.

He leans over you and slaps your ass once. Loud. Sharp.

“Lift it.”

You blink up at him, smile tugging your lips. “You can’t even see it.”

He shrugs.

"I can imagine it.”

Still, you do it. You arch your back a little, tilt your hips so your ass is up and your legs are spread, letting him imagine the mess between them. Because he knows exactly what it looks like when you’re like this. Helpless. Hungry.

He fists a hand in your hair and guides you back down, slow.

“Open up,” he rasps. “Show me that filthy mouth.”

Your lips are already swollen, chin soaked, hair a mess as you glance up at him with that smug little glint, but you obey. You always obey when he talks like that.

You roll your tongue out slowly, lewd and lazy, the ball of your piercing glinting with spit, strings stretching from your teeth down to your chin. Drool leaking, soaking the sheets under your tits. You're grinning, humoring him, teasing, even though he can’t see the sight you’re giving him.

Doesn’t matter.

Jack feels it. The heat of your breath, the hunger in the way you whine a little under your breath just from holding still, waiting for him.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rough and low, “just like that. My pretty cockdrunk slut."

He slaps his cock down on your tongue, thick and hot, over and over. Drags the tip over the metal to feel the obscene slide of it, lips parted and bitten, and shoves himself into your mouth.

“Open,” he snaps, voice low and taut with restraint that’s already slipping.

You choke instantly, mouth crammed full, his cock hitting your throat before you’re even ready , but he doesn’t stop. He fists both hands in your hair and uses you, fucking your mouth like it’s just a hole to bury himself in.

You can barely breathe. Sucking in what little air you can through your nose between each harsh thrust of his hips. His hips drive forward again and again, slapping against your face, your nose mashed into the now damp, trimmed thatch of hair at the base. You gag, spit gurgling in your throat, leaking out your nose and dripping onto your chest, but you stay there. Because you fucking love it.

Love the burn of the stretch, love the animal growls you suck out of him, love the way his usually emotionless face contorts in pleasure for you — so deep it looks like agony.

He knows you love it.

His grip gets tighter, claws scraping scalp.

“Take it,” he snarls, voice cracking. “Take it like you fucking mean it, sweetmeat, c'mon-"

You gurgle a moan around him, useless tears stinging your eyes as you look up at him through your lashes, throat tightening in response, and that's what gets him.

He thrusts in deep, deeper, stays there.

You feel the twitch first.

Then the burn.

Then the flood, thick and hot, salty, gushing straight into your throat.

You choke, swallow, slobber running down your chin in fat ropes as he fills you up. A guttural moan tears out of him, something feral and fucked, and his hips shake with the force of it.

He doesn’t pull out until he's sure you're not breathing.

Then he yanks you back by the hair, wet strands clinging to your cheeks, your mouth falling open on instinct to gasp for air, spit and cum trailing out in shiny ropes, and with a gentleness you never expect no matter how many times you see it, his claws rake through your hair to push it back without as much as grazing your skin.

The following weeks? Hell.

Jack didn’t get a tongue infection. He got three. His entire mouth was a battlefield. No amount of salt water gargles were saving him from that fate. By the end of the week, he was grunting through swollen tongues, crusted studs, and the kind of fever that made his skin clammy and his will to leave nonexistent.

You made the mistake of laughing the first time he tried to growl at you and it came out all gurgled and wet, and he flipped you off so hard his wrist popped.

Still, you helped him clean the piercings. Blended his organs into chunky soup he grimaced at every time, somehow more revolted than you.

He healed, of course. Bitched and sulked through the worst of it. Refused to kiss you for a week.

But he didn’t take them out.

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wisteriashouse · 2 days ago

Text

like gravity.

pairing: phainon x f!reader

word count: 10k

synopsis: pacrim!au. big robot punch big alien monster. khaslana mode phainon. anyway i just wanted to write phainon shouting at me. toots. (i will still eat shaoji if he doesn't come back)

chapters: part one | part two | part three

I. ENTROPY

He finds you in the same jail cell.

An hour and twenty seven minutes. That’s the time that it takes him — from the moment that you’re put behind bars (again) until you hear hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor — to get to this little confinement center at the edge of Marmoreal. Doesn’t pause when he rounds the corner — just moves, long strides eating up the distance between the two of you. He must know this place by heart now.

“They let you in again, huh?” you ask, as he comes to a stop outside your cell. His white hair, muted beneath the shitty lighting of the basement, is slightly damp with sweat, stubborn strands sticking to his temples. Did he run? And, does it matter, even if he did? “Of course,” you tilt your head, propping your chin up on your knee to look at him. “You’re Amphoreus’ darling, after all.”

Twelve drops, fourteen kills. Fourteen kaiju, fourteen cities — it equates to millions of lives saved. He’s the most effective Jaeger pilot on record in history. So it’s no surprise that everyone bends over backwards for him — to them, he’s more than just a man. A symbol, just like the sun tattooed on the side of his neck.

Deliverer, they called him. Still call him now, even though he hasn’t stepped foot inside a Jaeger for three years. Saviour of humanity. Hope of mankind.

The man on the other side of your cell looks nothing like any of those things. Phainon doesn’t speak. Instead he just stares at you through the bars, lips pressed together and arms stiff at the sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His eyes, still too blue even in the murk of the basement, flicker with something that you can’t quite decipher.

Haven’t bothered to, for quite some years now.

“How long has it been since we last saw each other?” You yawn, slouching against the wall. “Two months?”

Nothing.

“Guess they still haven’t found someone compatible with you, huh? Or you wouldn’t have time to visit a small-time criminal like me.”

Still no response.

“Maybe, next time I’ll ask the guards to bet on—”

Phainon breathes out, and you fall silent. Despite everything that’s happened between the two of you, there’s still a gravity to him. It’s like a law of nature — unlike poles attract, apples fall, and people listen when Phainon speaks. Even you, apparently.

“How many times are you going to do this?” he says at last. His voice is quiet. Tired.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “How many times are you going to keep coming back?”

Phainon’s jaw shifts at your words, fingers curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t answer the question. You don’t think that even he knows the answer, himself.

After a while, he exhales and takes a step back. pulls out the military cap from under his arm, runs a hand through his hair and fits it onto his head in silence. He doesn’t say anything — there’s nothing left to say between the two of you. Phainon has tried, of course, with his whys and hows and pleases. They’ve been exhausted in encounters far earlier than this one. Repeated over and over again.

Nothing ever changes. Your answer, too, has always been the same.

“I don’t need to be saved.”

Phainon turns around. “I’ll speak to Aglaea,” is all he says, before he leaves. You wave to send him off — it’s a long way back, after all — leaning against the bars of your cell as he goes.

“See you around, Phainon,” you call after his fading footsteps, faintly echoing down the corridor.

You hope you don’t.

Pan Pacific Defense Corps: The Pan Pacific Defense Corps (abbreviated PPDC) is an organisation created by the United Nations. The Defense Corps represents an international alliance of twenty one different countries across the rim of the Pacific Ocean and the IPC, bound together by the shared goal of containing, combating and eliminating the kaiju.

You’re usually out within a day or two. Sometimes even hours, if you’re lucky — and that’s without Phainon’s interference, even. He might have his friends in the upper ranks of the military, but you’re not without your own connections down below. Besides, you’re only ever detained under suspicion, never arrested. You like to think that you’re more experienced than to be caught with evidence.

So, you’re understandably startled when the next visitor to your cell eight hours later is not the guard who makes photocopies of your release paperwork, but a tall woman with hair like spun gold and eyes that make you feel like you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun.

She’s dressed in military uniform. The formal kind, not the ugly green fatigues that Phainon sometimes shows up in (as though the kaiju would be fooled by basic military camouflage, but you suppose old habits die hard). Tailored, from the way the dark fabric hugs her figure. With a kind of elegance so potent that it’s straight up domineering.

And there are four gold stars decorating each of her shoulders.

“You’re Aglaea,” you say, before you can stop yourself. She smiles.

It’s beautiful. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You’ve heard of me.” Neither here nor there, but the statement is laughable in and of itself. Who in Amphoreus hasn’t heard of the General Aglaea? The entirety of the Okhema shatterdome is under her authority, and by extension every jet fighter, soldier and Jaeger in it. Enough military power to destroy a small country, all vested in a single person. And she's standing here in this dingy little jail cell, doing what — looking for you?

“Is there something I can help you with?” you ask, warily as your brain tries to compute a possible reason why a four star PPDC general would be making house calls to a no-name prison and failing miserably. Whatever it is, it most definitely spells trouble for you.

“I just wanted to see the face of the one who’s been causing my Lieutenant so much trouble.” Your eyes narrow. She’s talking about Phainon. “Three times in eight months? And it’s not even Christmas…” She taps a finger against her lips, smiles. “Either you’re not very good at your job… or you’re deliberately seeking his attention?”

You bristle at that. “Not my fault you gave your hound too long of a leash.”

Aglaea only laughs. The sound makes uncertainty crawl around in the pit of your belly. And the unease only grows when she steps across the cell to take a seat on the prison bench opposite you, crossing one leg over the other under her pencil skirt.

You glance at the cell door and briefly contemplate making a run for it. You’d have felt safer being locked in here with a rabid tiger — at least it wouldn’t toy with its food like this.

“Three counts of identity fraud. Five instances of dealing kaiju biomaterial to criminal and terrorist organisations. Two counts of murder.” Someone’s done her research.

“Suspected murder,” you correct, folding your arms across your chest. It’s not. “What’s the point of this?”

Aglaea tilts her head to the side, golden curls falling across her cheek. “My point is, it would be easy to make you disappear.” A cold weight settles in your chest, like a sinking stone. She says it with the tone of someone stating a matter of fact, not a threat. You can see it in her eyes — she can, and she would. “You’ve been a distraction to Phainon, you know? Not to mention a PR headache to keep under wraps. Humanity’s most admired Ranger, complicity in releasing a criminal from prison?” She tuts lightly. “Not exactly what people want to see from someone they regard as a deliverer.”

There’s a distinct undercurrent of mocking to her words, pointing the finger of blame at you. “I’ve never asked him to do that,” you grit out. Aglaea raises a delicate brow.

“And yet both of us know that he will, anyway. It’s a fatal flaw of his, isn’t it?” Her eyes are piercing as she looks at you. “Being unable to leave people behind.”

You want to retort, but force your mouth to stay shut. Something about the way the General speaks gets under your skin more easily than you’d like, a needle that knows exactly where to poke and prick. You suppose that’s one of the reasons she became General so young.

Aglaea must be able to tell, too, because she smiles and leans against the wall. “Now, I’m sure that you’ve guessed that I am here for a reason. The reason is this: I have an offer to make you.”

An offer. It almost scares you more than the threat. “It’s not much of an offer when you’re practically holding a gun to my head, is it?” you mutter. She just laughs, holds up both hands.

“What gun?” Her voice is infuriatingly breezy. “But if you’d like me to speak in plainer terms, then I shall oblige. I’m recruiting you into the Jaeger program.”

“I didn’t know the PPDC had started branching into illegal activities. A bit ironic for the military, huh?”

“No.” Aglaea looks at you. “I want you to become a ranger.”

You stare at her for a few moments, scrutinising her expression. Nothing about it reveals that this is a joke. And yet you start laughing despite it anyway, like a hyena barking in ridicule. Aglaea does not respond — she merely waits for you to finish, green eyes imperturbable. Your laughter dies in your throat when you realise that she’s serious.

You cough, wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes. “You’re not joking.” You don’t know which scares you more.

“I’m not.”

“You want me,” you jab a finger at your own chest, “to be a Jaeger pilot?” You can barely keep your voice from rising. For all the preparations that the General made — digging up past records, coming all the way here — this is the plan that she had in mind? “You think the world needs someone like me in a Jaeger?”

Aglaea lowers her gaze. And for the first time, you think you see the briefest flicker of something flash in her eyes.

“No,” she replies, blunt. She’s looking straight at you now. “Phainon is the one the world needs. But what he needs, unfortunately, might just be you.”

Okhema Shatterdome: The Okhema Shatterdome is the primary headquarters of the PPDC in Amphoreus. It is under the authority of the Marshal Cerydra, although General Aglaea has been acting in her stead for the past year and a half. It consists of factories for the construction, repair, maintenance and launch of the Jaegers. All operations, Ranger training and experiments regarding the kaiju are carried out within their respective Shatterdome bases. There are currently three combat active Jaegers stationed in Okhema.

The helicopter is loud. Too loud and moves like it’s drunk when the turbulence hits, not loud enough to distract you from the fact that you’re in a glorified, overengineered tin can fighting the laws of physics every second to stay in the air. You guess it’s not that much different from a plane, in theory. But knowing where you’re headed still makes you want to throw yourself out of the nearest window despite the thousand foot freefall into the ground.

Aglaea explains the rest of her ‘offer’ to you while you’re in the air. She wants you to test drift compatibility with Phainon — as though the entirety of the Ranger program has tried and failed for the past three years. And now, she thinks a handful of childhood memories might somehow make you different from them.

But you’re not in a position to complain. Or refuse. Or do anything other than agree, really. You’re extracted from the confinement center with nary a peep from the guard, and the General just… takes you with her, like a parent picking up her child from preschool. No papers signed, not even a single phone call to make. Fucking Pan Pacific Defense Corps. She’s jumping over every legal line drawn in the sand like it’s an Olympic sport.

You find yourself missing your prison cell when the chopper hovers over what you assume is the Shatterdome. It’s enormous, like take up half the skyline kind of enormous, which should be expected considering that the Jaegers stationed inside are basically small skyscrapers that can throw punches. But you don’t realise just how much until you see the people dotting the runway that stretches along the entirety of Okhema’s coastline, the size of ants.

There must be dozens down there, hundreds or even thousands more inside just to keep a base this size running. All that for three Jaegers. Six pilots. No wonder why people idolise Phainon like he was chosen by God himself.

There’s a small welcome committee waiting for you when the chopper lands on the heli-pad. Aglaea disembarks first, tucks a lock of golden hair neatly behind her ear as she steps off with more grace than her heels should allow. You follow suit, faltering momentarily when the frozen sea air whips at your face like a thousand icy knives. It’s cold.

“Lovely weather we’re having today,” Aglaea comments, before turning towards the pair gathered at the edge of the heli-pad. “Why is the apocalypse on our front porch this morning?”

“Just a bad storm passing through, ma’am.” A tall, slender woman steps forward, tablet cradled in the crook of her arm. Her burnished gold hair is swept back into a tidy bun. “But there is a bigger storm brewing on your desk, I’m afraid — Marshal Cerydra has a few things that you need to get back to her, and I quote her words, ASAP.”

Aglaea sighs. “Wonderful. So long as she hasn’t threatened to bayonet the UN secretary again… thank you, GM.”

Sudden movement catches your eye — a flicker of red darting behind the woman. Your brain stutters. A child? Here? Before you can speak, the girl steps into view, small fingers curled into the woman’s uniform skirt. Wide, curious eyes lock onto yours.

“Is this the new recruit, Aggy?” — Aggy? — she asks, tilting her head upwards to look at you. The top of her head doesn’t even come up to your elbow. Red hair, blue eyes… you squint at Aglaea. Half siblings, perhaps? Cousins? The General smiles at her, reaches down to pat her head.

“If all goes well, hopefully.” She straightens up, glances at the gold watch gleaming on her delicate wrist. “Trianne, be a dear and ask Trinnon to prepare some tea in my office, will you? I’d like to show our guest,” you bite back a snort, “a proper welcome.”

The child beams — a stark contrast to this backdrop of war and military machines. “Of course, Aggy!” She runs off in the direction of the Shatterdome, only to suddenly whirl back with a wave that makes her whole arm bounce. “See you around, Miss New Recruit!” You raise a hand weakly in response, and she darts off again between the stone faced soldiers and armoured jeeps.

Aglaea gestures at you with a wave of her hand. “Come, now.”

People stare. You can feel their eyes as you follow her down the tarmac, past the lines of stationed fighters and military people doing… whatever it is that military people do. Part of you knows that it’s nothing out of the ordinary — an unfamiliar face accompanying the General must warrant some measure of curiosity — but you can’t help the feeling that someone might recognise you. You pull your jacket together around you, duck your head and pick up the pace.

She leads you to an elevator, hits a button at the very top labelled BRIDGE — COMMAND CENTER and waves a keycard over the scanner. The doors shut behind the two of you.

It’s a long way up, but the elevator doesn’t stop even once. General privileges, maybe? It deposits the two of you into a corridor. And just like the runway earlier, there are people everywhere. It’s like there’s a heartbeat pumping through the entire facility, pushing everything inside it along. Everyone here seems to have somewhere to be, something to do, walking fast with papers in hand. You follow Aglaea to a door at the very end of it.

Marshal’s Office — General Aglaea.

She flicks the same card over the reader and it slides open. There’s a china set laid out neatly on the desk in the center of the room, stacks of files and papers pushed precariously to the sides. Little swirls of steam are still escaping the teapot’s spout.

“Trinnon’s a little shy. You might see her around, if you’re lucky.” Aglaea gestures for you to sit and you do, in a leather chair that seems just a little too big for you. She takes a moment to pour out the tea — flowery and subtly fragrant — into two cups and slides one over to you. You stare down at the coppery liquid in the cup, suspicious.

Aglaea only looks amused. “I wouldn’t waste all that time and effort bringing you here if I wanted to kill you. There are easier ways to make that happen,” she says candidly, before taking a sip of the tea herself. “Ah, a perfect brew. Now, as I was saying earlier, there are three things that I want from you.”

Three? Her demands just keep increasing. “You want me to test drift compatibility with Phainon.”

She nods, tapping a nail against the rim of her cup. “That’s one. The second is this: if the two of you are drift compatible, become a ranger.”

There it is again. Become a ranger. She says it like it’s nothing — as though piloting a giant mech to slug it out with an alien monster that could flatten a city in under an hour is the equivalent of taking a car out for a test drive. As though there aren’t actual soldiers who’ve trained their entire lives to get into the Jaeger program and still fall short. Digging for needles in haystacks, is how Drift-Tech had described it.

And to pilot a Jaeger, you need two.

You lean back in the chair, trying to be rational about this. The odds. “Let’s be real here — what are the actual odds that I’m drift compatible with Phainon? After hundreds of failures?”

“Statistically?” Aglaea asks. “Near zero.”

You hadn’t expected her to admit it so candidly. “Then why waste my time? Why waste yours?”

“Because miracles can happen, unlikely as they are,” she counters, and slides a folder across the table. “Succeed, and you walk away with a Ranger’s commission. Full benefits, hazard pay, the works. Some might even say it pays too well.” She mutters that last part under her breath.

You push the folder back. “You mean a front row seat to getting eaten by a kaiju.”

Aglaea doesn’t even blink. “Fail, and you’ll still get a clean record.” You look up at that, mouth suddenly dry. Clean record? “A new identity in any country you’d like. I heard the Xianzhou has some beautiful scenery. Or perhaps Penacony, if you prefer the nightlife.”

It sounds too good to be true. “There’s a caveat to that, I’m guessing.”

“Phainon can’t so much as hear your name again.” Aglaea’s voice turns steely. “I can’t have him distracted chasing ghosts or getting tangled in…” her eyes sweep over you, “unfavourable associations. The program’s reputation is hanging by a thread as it is.”

Unfavourable associations. Right, that’s how she sees you. “You’re going to a lot of lengths for one washed-up Ranger,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest. “What’s he to you?”

“Not to me. To the world.” Aglaea taps on her tablet, slides it over to you. You glance at it. It’s a news feed, showing protestors outside a Jaeger research center. They yell, wave signs around furiously. “Two failed drops in Belobog last month. And after Janus and Georios fell…” Her lips press together in a grim line. “Public approval ratings have never been lower. The Wall Initiative gains traction every day we don’t have a win, and that damn concrete won’t save a single city when the next Cat IV comes through the Breach.”

She sounds like she’s sure. Then you remember, before she became General, she had been a pilot too — for Phagousa, if you remember correctly. And her co-pilot…

“And you think Phainon can?”

“He’s the symbol this program needs. In the people's eyes, he's the only pilot who’s never lost.” Aglaea laces her fingers together. “Get him back in a Jaeger, and people might remember why we built them in the first place.”

You glance down at the folder on the table again. A clean slate. A blank record. No more hiding, no more looking over your shoulder. Wasn’t that what you’d been working towards, this whole time? And yet… “It doesn’t have to be me inside that Jaeger.”

“If I had other options, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Aglaea says, bluntly. “But at the moment, you’re all we’ve got.”

Oh, joy.

“You’ll keep looking?” you press.

Aglaea’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “The second we find someone who doesn’t make the compatibility readers spit error codes, you’re free to go.” She reaches for her intercom. “I’ll have the NeuroSync scheduled for tomorrow. Tribbie will show you to the testing room first thing in the morning.” You exhale, and Aglaea leans forward. “And, while we’re being honest? Don’t even think about trying to escape. It won’t be worth it.”

She doesn’t continue, but the unspoken threat hangs over your neck like a guillotine. I’ll find you, and this time, I won’t be so kind.

Before you can respond, the door crashes open.

Phainon stands in the doorway, breathing ragged like he’s just sprinted across the entirety of the Shatterdome. The overhead lights catch the blue in his irises — the same eyes that you’ve stared down in every Ranger recruitment poster in Marmoreal.

Hero. Saviour. Deliverer.

“Aglaea, I heard you—” His voice cuts off abruptly as his gaze lands on you. Every muscle in his body goes rigid, all at once.

You watch as a dozen different emotions flicker across his face — shock, anger, confusion — before his composure slams back into place. It doesn’t look as though Aglaea let him in on her grand plan, which is surprising, considering that he’s the main character in it.

“Ah, Phainon. Perfect timing,” Aglaea says, just a hint too pleasant. She rises, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from her uniform as she does. “I was just telling (Name) here that the Shatterdome is huge, and not to get lost. Would you show her to the guest quarters?” Aglaea slides a keycard over the table. “She’ll need some rest before tomorrow’s NeuroSync.”

Phainon’s jaw works. He glances at you again. “We need to discuss—”

“That can wait till later.” Aglaea’s voice is smooth as silk, but could cut through steel. “Unless you’d like to explain to Hyacine why our only viable candidate passed out from exhaustion before we even begin?”

The two of them lock eyes for a few seconds before Phainon steps aside reluctantly, movements stiff with barely-restrained tension. “No, General.” He holds open the door for you as you gather your things, but his eyes remain on the ground. He doesn’t look at you.

You make a point to finish all the tea in the cup before you leave. Aglaea only smiles as the door shuts behind you.

“All the best to you, (Name).”

Ranger: Ranger is the rank given to Pan Pacific Defense Corps officers assigned to the Jaegers. They are commonly referred to as Jaeger Pilots. Prior to piloting a Jaeger, all rangers are required to undergo multiple rounds of psychological evaluation and rigorous military training.

The walk to your quarters is silent. Phainon walks ahead of you without looking back. The silhouette of his shoulders are rigid beneath the dark fabric of his uniform, the golden sun at his neck barely peeking out over the folded collar. It’s clear that he isn’t in the mood to talk.

So you do. Let the quiet stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before you break it.

“So,” you drawl, deliberately quickening your step to keep pace with him. “How’s it possible that the great Deliverer can’t find a single partner? What, does your charm and pretty face not work in the Drift?”

Phainon’s shoulders tense, but he keeps walking. Maybe even speeds up a little.

You press harder, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. “Or is it that no one can stand being in the same head as that hero complex of yours? Must be embarrassing. Aglaea’s scraping the bottom of the barrel so hard that she had to dig me out of a prison cell—”

“That’s enough.” He whirls around so suddenly that you nearly collide face first with his chest. Up close, he’s all sharp angles and controlled anger — eyes almost molten golden under the harsh lights. There’s a hint of a bruise at his jawbone, faint, barely there, but there.

You don’t remember that from the news reels. What’s he been fighting, the Loch Ness Monster?

“This isn’t some game,” he bites out, voice low enough that the techs passing by glance over, exchange glances and hurry away. “Hundreds and thousands of lives are in danger. People die. Every day we don’t have a Jaeger in the field is another city in Amphoreus on the brink. But no, you wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I understand,” you interrupt, stepping closer. The scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic — oil? blood? — clings to him. “You need this. The Deliverer title must be getting rusty, huh? That’s why I’m here.”

His breath catches. You see it — the minute fracture in his control, the way his fingers twitch at his side like he’s physically restraining himself.

“You think I want you here?” His voice is rough, stripped raw. “I didn’t even know Aglaea went to look for you. I didn’t have a—”

“Choice?” You laugh, sharp and hollow and humourless. “You’ve always had a choice, Phainon. You just hate the one that you have left.”

For a heartbeat, you think his composure— that perfect, polished, military composure — might finally snap after all those years. But then his jaw clenches, and he turns on his heel with surgical precision. “Your room,” he mutters, gesturing at a nondescript door like he can’t stand to look at you another second.

The space inside is, at least, a little nicer than what you’d expected. A cot, wide enough for you to stretch out on. Sheets in the same, standard shade of military regulation green. The hint of a lingering sting of disinfectant in the air. Aside from that, the room is bare. Impersonal. Empty.

You sink onto the mattress, springs groaning in protest, and stare at the ceiling. Outside, Phainon’s footsteps fade down the hall.

“Guess I’m stuck here,” you mutter to the blank walls, “because you still can’t stop playing the hero.” As usual, they don’t bother replying.

At least some things never change.

An hour after he leaves, Phainon returns to Aglaea’s office.

She barely glances up from her dossier when he does, takes a sip from the teacup in her hand. “Good afternoon, Phainon,” she says mildly, flipping a page with deliberate calm. Like she’d expected him to show up again. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You brought her here.”

Aglaea doesn’t seem bothered by his accusatory tone. “I did,” she admits easily. “You asked me to get her out of prison, didn’t you?”

Phainon runs a hand through his already dishevelled hair, grimacing in frustration. “You know that this isn’t what I meant. A ranger, Aglaea?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Aglaea finally sets down the dossier in her hands, looks at him — really looks at him. She gestures to the wall of monitors displaying report dashboards — kaiju attack patterns, evolving faster than they can keep up, the steadily dropping public approval ratings ever since three years ago. “The numbers don’t lie, Phainon. The Jaeger program is expensive, and the people are not seeing the payoffs they expect. We’re losing this war on two fronts, now.”

Her tone is grim. Behind the cold eyes, the calm exterior, Phainon can see the worry. Everything she says is true, and Phainon wants — needs — nothing more than to be out there in a Jaeger. And yet…

“She didn’t sign up for this.” He’s not sure what means Aglaea used to persuade you, but Phainon is pretty sure that you’re not here by choice.

“None of us signed up for alien monsters to invade our world, but they did anyway.” Aglaea sighs, her expression softening marginally as she rises from her desk. “There are bigger things at stake here than you, or me, or…” she pauses, choosing her words carefully, “your past acquaintance. The people need a deliverer to put their hopes in, Phainon. They need to believe in something.”

Phainon’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists at his sides. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the sound of the distant thrum of the Shatterdome’s machinery, the muffled buzz of people with things to do to keep the world from falling.

“I know,” he finally mutters. The words taste bitter in his mouth.

Aglaea nods, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal a hint of sympathy. “Just one NeuroSync test,” she assures him, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll let her go unharmed. You have my word.”

The muscles in Phainon’s jaw work as he struggles with his own reservations. Finally, he snaps to attention and offers a sharp salute. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies for my… insubordination.”

Aglaea gives him a faint smile. “Go get some rest, clear your head,” she orders him as she settles back in her chair. “Big day tomorrow, hm?”

Phainon presses his lips together. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the door slides shut behind him, Aglaea sighs and returns her attention to her reports. The display flickers ominously as another red alert pings in from the coast. Strange readings in the seabed, exotic matter, negative mass-energy density readings, blah blah blah. She glances down at her teapot, finds it empty, and switches over to a coffee pot instead.

Just another day, pushing back the end of the world. Doing what needs to be done.

NeuroSync: Jaegers are controlled by two, or rarely, three pilots stationed inside the Conn-Pod through a system called the Drift. To provide a more comprehensive estimate on drift compatibility, Dr Cyrene developed the Neural Handshake Synchronicity (NeuroSync) Scale with Professor Anaxagoras.

The knock on your door comes just after seven. Or 0700 hours, according to the clock next to your cot. Damn military… You’re already awake — the unfamiliar environment and bed had seen to that. You’d spent the night staring at the ceiling fan whirring overhead, replaying every word Phainon had said yesterday in your head, counting down the minutes until this farce began.

Which is now, apparently. You throw your keycard at the door and pump your fist when it hits the scanner, makes a little beep, light flashing green. “Come in.”

Instead of the stone-faced soldier you’re expecting, the door swings open to reveal… a child. She can’t be more than ten, looks uncannily similar to the other girl you’d seen at the runway yesterday — Trianne, was it? — and her blue eyes wide under the brim of a comically oversized PPDC cap. The sleeves of her miniature jumpsuit are rolled up to the elbows, exposing arms dotted with illegible marker stains.

She beams at you, and it’s like staring straight on into the sun. “Hey!” She waves at you, still sitting on the edge of your bed. “I’m Tribbie, and I’m here to bring you for your NeuroSync!” She announces this like she’s taking you on a field trip to the amusement park and not what will likely be the most violating experience of your life. “I’ll show you to the K-Science department so you won’t get lost. The Shatterdome is huge!”

You open your mouth to question every workplace safety regulation in existence before clamping it shut. You should know better than to question the military by now. “Let me guess — you’re Trianne’s sister?”

Tribbie smiles, wide. It’s… adorable, really. “Yup! There’s three of us — Trianne, Trinnon, and me!” She holds up three fingers. “But Trinnon’s a little shy, so it’s hard to find her sometimes. She hopes you enjoyed the tea she made yesterday, though!”

You follow her through the maze of interconnecting corridors. Every door looks the same, every hallway it opens too looks like an extension of the one just came from. But Tribbie walks through all of it with the easy confidence of someone who knows that they belong here. The janitors pause in their work to return her waves. A grizzly mechanic slips her what looks like a candy from his pocket.

“You’re popular,” you observe aloud. “Did you grow up here?”

Tribbie just shakes her head. “Only since Mama and Papa died. Aggy took us in after Januspolis fell.” She skips ahead to press her tiny palm against a biometric scanner before you can ask any more.

The scanner flashes green, and the doors to K-Science slide open. There’s a funky smell in the air — chemicals, formaldehyde, something else. The floor tiles, which look like they were once supposed to be white, are stained a permanent yellow. It’s slightly sticky underfoot. Ew.

The lab itself is an organised chaos. Wall screens flicker with rotating kaiju anatomy models — you recognise a few. Cocolia, the Cat III that had attacked Belobog a few years back. They zoom in on Hoolay’s claws, each one as long as a school bus. It had taken two of the Xianzhou’s Mark-3 Jaegers to finally put that beast down, and even then, it’d taken hours and the city of Yaoqing had taken significant damage. Last you heard, they were still trying to repair the Caelorum Venti Pavilion.

You glance at the sides. Specimen jars line the shelves, murky fluids preserving an uncountable range of tissue samples. And at the center of it all, a pink haired woman in a stained lab coat stands over a dissection table, her goggled face uncomfortably close to the wrinkled grey mass in front of her.

“Dr Hyacine! I’ve brought the test subject!” Tribbie announces.

The scientist — Hyacinthia, it says so on her lab coat — doesn’t look up. “One moment, just… there!” There’s a wet squelch, and she straightens up, holding a glistening strand of tissue from the mess. “Beautiful. Tribbie, would you label this for me? Thermoreceptor nerve cluster, sample K-425.”

As Tribbie scrambles onto a stool to reach the labelling machine, Hyacine finally notices you. She pushes her goggles up, leaving a comical ring of clean skin around her eyes. She’s pretty. And cute. Pretty cute. And that blue stuff doesn’t look like kaiju blue, at least… “Oh, you must be the new candidate that Aglaea was talking about!” She holds out a gloved hand, glances down at the mystery mix of chemicals staining the rubber and retracts it. “Sorry for the mess. We’re prepping samples for the Penacony lab.”

You glance at the dissection table. “Secondary brain? From how well it’s been preserved, must have been a recent one… Terravox?”

Hyacine blinks from where she’s tossing her gloves into the bin. “You know kaiju biology.” She sounds surprised.

You shrug, suddenly awkward. Your experience with the black market harvesters had taught you to identify the valuable parts quickly. “Just a side interest of mine,” you mutter, glancing at the secondary brain again. You wonder if anyone has tried Drifting with a kaiju brain before. “So, um. How does this NeuroSync thing work?”

“Right!” Hyacine claps her hands together. “Well. The NeuroSync equipment’s set up in the clean room.” She gestures to a sealed chamber at the back of the lab. “We’re just waiting on—”

The doors slide open again with a hiss of compressed air. Phainon is standing there, in the doorway. Speak of the devil.

“Phainon!” Hyacine smiles brightly, and you catch Phainon’s lips twitch upwards — he still smiles??? — in response. “Good morning. Ready for your NeuroSync?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” And you count two seconds before his eyes find yours and he just frowns, like it’s instinctive. You square your shoulders and stare back at him, refusing to look away. He doesn’t say hi. Neither do you.

The silence stretches. Hyacine’s smile falters as she looks between the two of you, before she awkwardly claps her hands together. “Perfect timing! Let’s get the two of you started.”

Hyacinthia: Hyacinthia, or Hyacine for short, is a kaiju biologist who works in the K-Science lab of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. She is also the head of the Okhema Shatterdome's Psychology Department, holding degrees in both Neurology and Psychology.

The clean room is anything but. While free of kaiju viscera, the space bears the scars of countless experiments — scorch marks on the console, a patched hole in the ceiling. And there’s a persistent smell of burnt wiring…

Two medical chairs, like the kind that you’d see at the dentist, sit in the center, headpieces a trailing nest of cables. You eye it suspiciously as you take a seat on the one closest to the door. Not that running would do you any good. But still, it’s the damn principle of the thing.

“Don’t worry,” Hyacine says, as she rushes around to set up, fingers fluttering over the settings on the main console. The screen lights up. “This is just a compatibility estimate. Think of it as mental speed dating.” Phainon coughs. “Or… like a high-five instead of a handshake.” At your blank look, she amends. “A lightweight neural connection. No full drift, just enough to measure potential sync levels.”

Tribbie, upon seeing the look on your face, tries to reassure you, bless her heart. “It doesn’t hurt! Or, well, that’s what I heard, at least.”

You close your eyes and wonder if your health insurance covers brain damage from drifting with your childhood friend turned enemy.

Phainon takes his seat with that same calm composure, his jaw set. Says his pleases and thank yous and even smiles as Hyacine carefully fits the neural sensors to his temples. It’s like they’ve got a whole different man in that chair.

Only when Hyacine goes back to check the readings on the console that you see his fingers twitch on the armrests — the only outward sign of his discomfort. You stifle a snort. Still trying to play the hero.

“Problem, Deliverer?” you ask, sarcastically.

His gaze flickers over to you, but he doesn’t respond. Just fixes his eyes forward again with that stubborn determination of a man who hasn’t given up for the past three years.

Hyacine steps over to you next, her touch surprisingly gentle as she positions the sensors. The electrodes stick uncomfortably to your skin. “This might feel a little strange at first. Like someone’s standing a bit too close in an empty room. Or like someone’s whispering directly into your ear.”

None of those things sound very attractive or comforting to you, but Hyacine is already stepping away, fiddling with the controls. The system initialises, and you start to feel a low hum building in your skull. It spreads outwards like seismic waves, until there's a high-pitched oscillating whine vibrating through your molars. You barely have time to register the discomfort before it—

Pressure.

It shifts, expands. Not against your skin, not against your head, but directly into your mind. Like it’s pressing against the boundaries of your very self. And you feel it there, Phainon’s consciousness on the very edge of that territory, lingering.

Hesitant.

Before you can figure out why, the drift surges. Like waves beneath your feet, a riptide yanking you out to sea. Your breath catches in your throat. And suddenly, you’re—

— standing in a crowd. Blue and white balloons rain down all around you, in the packed plaza. Cheering so loud, you can’t hear your own thoughts.

A sea of faces in front of you — no, him? — indistinguishable. Phainon grips Cyrene’s hand behind the conference table, feels her pat his sweaty palm reassuringly. His heart is a raging wardrum in his chest—

— You see him, both of them, golden and gleaming in their new Ranger uniforms. The reporter hands him a microphone, you watch his mouth shape words you can’t quite make out. One drop, two kaiju solo, first mission.

His eyes scan the crowd. The reporter asks him a question he doesn’t remember responding to. Surely if you were still alive, then surely, you would—

— The crowd surges, cheering. “Heroes!” You stare up at the stage. Elevated. Unreachable. That hollow feeling in your chest clenching around nothing.

Where are you? Fear wraps itself like a fist around his throat, burns like the sun tattooed into the side of his neck. A reminder. A promise. Please, where are you—

— And then you turn your back on him, on them and—

The memory fractures like glass as you slam your mental defenses shut with enough force to make the neural feedback alarms wail. Your whole body jerks out of the seat as the connection severs with a sound like tearing metal in your head.

Across from you, Phainon gasps, his pupils blown wide. He’d seen it too, that fractured moment of you walking away. But not why. Never why.

Hyacine panics in her mother tongue as three different monitors flatline all at once. “Gods! I said neural high-five, not neural warfare!” Her hands fly over the keys.

Tribbie, wide-eyed and mouth open, points at the main screen where the compatibility readout flickers erratically. You rip your headset off your head, look up to see the results with your heart pounding in your chest.

[NEURAL COMPATIBILITY: 26% — LOW SYNCHRONIZATION]

[SYNC STABILITY: LOW]

You’re panting like you’ve just sprinted a mile, taste copper on your tongue. The afterimage of that press conference, the dirty back alleys that you’d retreated back into, still pulses behind your eyes. The way you’d—

No. That memory stays buried.

Phainon pulls off his own headset, staring at you with something dangerously close to realisation. He doesn’t even look at the screen. “You were there,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His voice is low and certain.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Everyone in Okhema was there, Deliverer.”

His blue eyes burn with an emotion you can’t quite decipher, but he doesn’t press. The not-quite lie hangs between the two of you, thin as the neural gel still dripping from the sensors. He knows. Not the whole truth, not the reasons that still ache like a bruise against your ribs, but too much.

It will always be too much.

You’re really starting to get sick of Aglaea’s office.

It feels like the kind of place where warmth goes to die. And now, you feel like you might just keel over from the trepidation too, as Aglaea studies the results on one of the displays behind her desk, arms crossed over her chest. Her expression is inscrutable — you can’t tell whether she’s surprised, excited, disappointed, anything. She doesn’t even speak.

You decide to break the silence first. “26% scores in the incompatible range,” you manage to scrape up the courage to say. “I did what you said. Now let me go.”

Hyacine shifts uncomfortably next to you. Her fingers twist in the hem of her stained lab coat. “To be honest?” She gestures at the neural readouts. “No one’s maintained a neural link with Phainon for a minute before…”

“Which further proves we’re incompatible—”

Aglaea finally looks up from the display, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone else barely managed twenty seconds in the Drift with him before the neural feedback knocked them out cold.” What? Fuck. She swipes through a few readings, expands a graph that looks like waves and turns it towards you as if you can make sense of any of it. “These readings don’t indicate incompatibility. In fact, the NeuroSync was gaining until this point,” she taps at a drop in the graph, “which shows an active deliberate rejection.”

The blue light reflects in her eyes as she leans forward. “Tell me — is it the idea of seeing into his mind that scares you? Or are you more afraid of what he might see in yours?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to leave crescent marks when you suddenly feel the phantom warmth of a hand on yours — a memory, perhaps? But not yours.

“I don’t want him in my head,” you repeat through gritted teeth, louder this time. “That should be enough. Don’t I have rights?”

“A civilian would, perhaps,” Aglaea concedes, sitting back in her chair. “But you’re not just any civilian, and this isn’t just a civilian matter.” She steeples her fingers. “We’ll try again in forty-eight hours. In the meantime, I advise you to consider taking a walk around the Shatterdome. Perhaps some of the people who work here will inspire you. Tribbie will show you around tomorrow.” The redhead beams, gives you a thumbs up that feels out of place in this grim atmosphere. “You may return to your quarters for now.”

You stand up stiffly. Not like you have much of a choice, now.

As the door opens, Aglaea speaks one more time. “Think carefully. The world needs Phainon in a Jaeger. And right now, whether you like it or not, you’re the only key we have to make it happen.”

The door slides shut behind you, sealing Aglaea’s decision in like a stone rolled over a tomb. You stare at it for a few seconds before you exhale sharply, rolling the tension from your shoulders — only to freeze when you see him.

Phainon stands against the wall opposite, arms crossed, blue eyes tracking your every movement. He must have been waiting the entire time. For you?

Everyone else barely managed twenty seconds in the Drift with him before the neural feedback knocked them out cold, Aglaea had said. What exactly had been so bad about it? It can’t be because the two of you are actually drift compatible, can it? Or did you just not hit the threshold needed for all his… hero complex trauma to bash your subconscious to pieces?

Neither of you speaks, for a long moment. The hum of the Shatterdome’s machinery fills the silence between you, a low persistent thrum that vibrates through the building, like the breathing of a giant, concrete beast.

And then—

“Would it really be so terrible?”

His voice is quieter than you expect. Not angry, not demanding. Just… hurt. You stiffen.

“What?”

“Having me in your head.” He pushes off the wall, taking a single step towards you. Too close. “You fought the drift like it was poison. Like I was—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “I just want to know why.”

The question hangs between you, raw and exposed like a live wire. You don’t have an answer.

Or perhaps you have too many. But the words stick in your throat, choking you. Nothing comes out.

You turn away, towards the hallway’s dim lighting. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.”

Phainon’s hand shoots out, catching your wrist before you can leave. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm — enough to make you stop. His skin is warm against yours. So, so warm. He looks at you, something almost resembling pleading in his eyes.

“It matters to me,” he whispers, his voice low and fierce.

For a heartbeat, you almost believe that.

Then reality crashes back. Right. Of course it matters to him. Not because of you— not because of whatever broken history you’ve shared between the two of you, but because he needs a co-pilot. Because not even the great Deliverer can save this world alone.

The realisation hits like ice water being dumped over your head. You wrench your wrist out of his grip, his warmth lingering like a molten brand against your skin.

“Then you should’ve been more compatible with someone else,” you say flatly.

His expression crumples — just for a second, you see hurt behind those blue eyes — before the mask of a perfect soldier slips back into place.

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and walk away, shoes echoing in the corridor. The hallway stretches endlessly before you, shadows pooling in the corners like ink.

Behind you, Phainon doesn’t follow.

The Ranger baths are one of the Shatterdome’s few luxuries — a concession for the pilots who regularly climb into giant machines to beat up giant aliens in the name of saving the world. Steam curls in thick tendrils along the vaulted ceilings before being sucked out through the vents, a constant hum. The water, treated with salts and minerals to replicate the composition of EdoStar’s famous hot springs, glow faintly blue under the light.

Some swear that the baths have healing properties, that they can leach even neural fatigue from a pilot’s mind. Phainon isn’t sure he believes that — Professor Anaxa certainly doesn’t — but right now, he’ll take any reprieve he can get.

He sinks deeper into the scalding water, letting the heat work its way into his tight shoulders. But no amount of steam or heat can soften the way your words had cut earlier, like a knife sliding between his ribs.

“I don’t want him in my head!”

The memory of your voice, sharp with revulsion, echoes in his skull like a bad neural feedback loop. He exhales sharply, smacks the water with his fist, watching the ripples distort his reflection on the surface.

The door creaks open without ceremony.

Mydei stands in the entrance, dressed in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, crimson tattoos on full display. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of Phainon.

“You’re here,” he observes, tone flat as if commenting on the weather.

Phainon attempts a smile of acknowledgement, barely gets halfway before he fails and just kind of… grimaces. Mydei’s other eyebrow joins the first.

“That bad, huh?” He steps across the wet tiles, a smaller towel draped over one shoulder, and sinks into an adjacent bath with a splash that sends water sloshing over the edges.

For a long moment, the only sound is of the distant hum of the filtration system, and the steady drip of condensation from the vents above. Then Phainon’s watch chimes. A message from Hyacine flashes across the display.

[Second round of NeuroSync scheduled two days from now.]

It’s followed by:

[All the best! Don’t let today get you down!]

Phainon throws his head back, feels the migraine building in his skull. No amount of forced tests will change the fundamental truth: you don’t want him in your head. And the thought of having to coerce you into it sits like a stone in his gut.

“Heard they NeuroSynced you today with someone Aglaea scraped off the streets,” Mydei says, leaning back against the stone edge casually and golden eyes watching him very, very carefully. Phainon sighs, sinks a little more into the water.

“I’d forgotten how fast word travels around here.”

“Thousands of people jam packed into a single building…” Mydei shrugs, sending ripples across the water. “Not like there’s much else happening in the Shatterdome.” His eyes flick to Phainon. “Though the General was… vague, about the results.”

A beat. Phainon stares at the ceiling, where the droplets gather and fall in a slow rhythm. Again and again.

“It didn’t go great,” he admits.

Mydei studies him. “You sound… reluctant. That’s odd. I thought you’d be clawing at the chance to get back in a Jaeger.”

He exhales through his nose, watches the steam curl along the water’s surface. “It’s… complicated.” The word feels inadequate, but nothing else quite fits.

Mydei’s expression shifts ever so subtly — a slight narrowing of his eyes, the barest tilt of the head. He’s always been quick to catch on, to understand. Too quick, sometimes. “Ah.” He leans back against the stone edge, arms spread along the rim. “So it’s that person.”

Phainon grimaces. “Too obvious?”

“You’ve only ever called one thing in your life complicated.” Mydei rubs at the stubble along his jaw. “Can’t say I’m surprised Aglaea went digging for her. With your track record, I thought she’d have better luck finding a kaiju that wanted to drift with you.” That familiar smirk returns. “So? How was drifting with the hero of your heart?”

The old nickname lands like a poorly thrown punch. The hero of his heart. Gods, he had used to think that way of you. You were the reason he’d ever joined the Ranger program in the first place, after Aedes Elysiae had fallen and taken everything he’d known and loved with it. And now… now it all just…

“Pretty terrible,” Phainon murmurs, the confession escaping him before he can think of any other way to put it. “She rejected the neural link before we could even establish a proper sync.”

The memory surface, unbidden. The press conference after that first victory in Kephale, the parade through Okhema’s streets. The desperate, foolish hope that had lodged in his chest, like something fragile pushing through concrete: if you were out there, you would see this. They were on every television screen, their faces plastered across every news report in Amphoreus. You would see them. You would come find them, and—

You hadn’t.

Phainon had only found you years later.

They’d been rumours first. A skilled kaiju parts smuggler working with the Theoros Lygus, who had been one of Aglaea’s biggest headaches — still is, actually. Just another criminal, they’d said at first. Except this one had a wicked expertise in dismantling kaiju. Except this one was sniffing dangerously close to international levels of crime. Except this one…

Had a name he recognised.

He’d gone to see for himself. The prison’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the sound like static in his skull. And then, you.

Alive.

The realisation had hit like a shotgun round to the chest. They’d mourned you. Held a memorial with an empty casket just for the two of them — everyone else who’d known you was long gone. And yet, here you sat, on the cold cement floor, face bruised black and blue and still smiling sharp enough to draw blood.

“Phainon,” you’d said upon seeing him, voice so familiar yet utterly changed. It’d wrapped like a noose around his name. “Fancy meeting you here. Seeing each other like this… fate definitely has some sense of humour, eh?”

He’d gripped the bars until his knuckles turned white, trying to reconcile the ghost from his memories with the reality in front of him. The hero of his heart… Where was the kid who’d patched his scraped knees with chimera bandaids when he’d fallen chasing kites? The one who’d pretended not to be scared of spiders to comfort Cyrene as she cried?

The softness was gone, the spaces left behind filled with something sharp, jagged. Leaving behind someone he could barely recognise. Maybe you did die that day Aedes Elysiae fell. Just… not the way he’d thought.

“Look at you now,” you’d said, gestured at him in mock presentation. “All grown up and shiny and heroic. The great Deliverer, gracing us common criminals with his presence.”

The words had hit him like punches. Your eyes — gods, they were the worst part. Still the same colour, but hardened into something cold and glittering. Unrepentant. Unrecognisable.

The words had tumbled out before he could stop them. I can get you out of here. Come— come with me. We can give you a fresh start.

Please.

You’d looked at him then — really looked at him — with eyes that held none of the warmth he remembered. “I don’t need any saving,” you’d answered. “Especially not from some PPDC poster boy playing hero.”

But now, he knows. You’d been there. The drift — however brief, disjointed, fractured it was — had shown him that much. That fractured moment: you, standing at the crowd’s edge, just… watching. Then, turning away.

Why? Why do this? The question burns hotter than the waters, clinging like the steam to his skin. He doesn’t understand.

Mydei’s voice pulls him back to the present. “That’s normal, isn’t it? Not wanting someone in your head.”

Phainon blinks. He’s gotten lost in his thoughts again. “Eh?”

“Drifting is… intimate.” Mydei’s face contorts at the word like he’s bitten into something sour. “I don’t think anyone wants a stranger poking around in their head. Hell, I barely wanted Cassie in mine, when we first started out. That’s probably not something you’re familiar with, considering that Cyrene knew what you looked like in diapers.” Phainon opens his mouth and Mydei holds up a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m aware that this one happens to be your childhood friend too. But I wouldn’t exactly call the two of you friends now.”

He’s right. Phainon stares at his distorted reflection in the water for a few moments, watching the way steam warps his features. “How did it go? For you and Castorice?”

Mydei almost grins at that. “I was your typical hothead ranger recruit. Volunteered for the initial test phases of NeuroSync. Cas was a nerd from the Neuroscience department. She was so soft spoken, I thought she’d crack under the pressure.” His smile turns into a smirk, almost proud. “Turns out she has the stubbornness of a kaiju and the patience of a saint. Don’t think we would have made it work otherwise.”

Phainon’s fingers twitch against the tiles. “Still hit 82% sync, though.” He hasn’t seen a number higher than twenty in months.

You have baggage, Hyacine had told him, during one of his monthly psychology evaluations. Gods, he knows. But everyone has some kind of baggage, some way or another. Phainon just needs to find a way to stuff it away, bury it until he can be useful again. There are people out there who need him.

“Eventually. Took some communication and effort, too.” Mydei’s smirk softens into something more genuine. “Wasn’t about liking each other. Just… understanding.” He taps his temple. “She sees the shit up here and doesn’t flinch. I see hers and don’t judge.”

“Guess Cyrene and I had it on easy mode,” Phainon murmurs. They’d been as tight as siblings long before they’d ever stepped foot into a Conn-Pod.

Gods, he misses her. Her easy humour, the teasing. The way she’d known exactly when to push and when to comfort. Cyrene had always been the smarter, more emotionally aware one of the two of them — she’d have had you both laughing over drinks by now.

She would have been so happy to see you here, too. But the opportunity has passed, sailed on by on the river of time. And there’s no point in crying over something that has already happened. The only thing he can do is what’s in front of him right now.

The silence stretches, only punctuated by the quiet sound of water rippling. Mydei watches him for a few moments, before he suddenly speaks up.

“Fifty credits says I can outlast you in this bath.”

Phainon blinks, and then huffs a laugh. It’s hardly a subtle attempt to take his mind off things, but… “That’s not a fair bet and you know it. I’ve been stewing here since shift change.”

“What’s the matter, Deliverer?” Mydei’s grin turns sharp. “Scared of a little heat?”

The challenge makes Phainon snort. He rolls his eyes, but settles deeper into the water until it laps at his chin. “You’re on.”

For the first time all day, the weight in his chest feels a little lighter.

#phainon x reader #hsr phainon #honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #phainon #hsr #pacific rim #pacrim #wys.txt #in every tag i dedicate this piece to microwaving lygus #i will not rest until i see that robot's head spinning in a dish

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no-144444 · 10 months ago

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temptations- m.verstappen

Day 11 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and max are on break and things get out of hand. Nothing like tmz to mess things up, right?

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You stepped into the villa with one idea in your mind, relax.

The season had been full of highs and lows, and Max needed to get his mind off racing for a while, and you needed to get your mind off your work. You needed him, to be honest.

The villa was just on the coast, a beautiful stone dock with a small boat sat at the end of the garden, giving way to the gorgeous views of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Max had done well to find a place on the Amalfi coast on such short notice. Minori was gorgeous at this time of year, and you weren’t letting it go to waste. Your days were filled with good food, good conversation, great wine, fun activities, and good company. As much as you enjoyed spending time with your friends or Max’s friends, you both needed some time with each other. The season had been heretic, and Max had started panicking a few weeks back about whether or not he’d win again. Of course, you’d been there to tell him that it’d be alright either way, and he shouldn’t listen to that awful voice in his head that his father planted at the ripe old age of 4, and, of course, he tried as hard as possible, but he slowly fell further into his spiral over losing. You needed to get him away from it all, just let him be Max, not Max Verstappen, 3 time World Champion.

The sun slowly set over the ocean as you sat on the patio after another long day of swimming, visiting the local sights, and just enjoying each other's company. “More wine?”

You smiled up at him and nodded. He topped off your glass and sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissed your head. “Thanks baby.”

He took a deep breath, one of relief. You hadn’t seen him so calm in months. It was refreshing to remind both you and him that he wasn’t a racing robot. “I miss the cats.”

You chuckled. “I’m sure Lando is taking good care of them, he sent me some photos earlier and they’re not dead yet, so that’s a plus.”

He rolled his eyes. “What a high bar,” he replied sarcastically.

“At least he didn’t lock them in a room,” you teased and he rolled his eyes yet again.

“It was an accident,” he groaned.

You pressed your lips to his in an unspoken apology.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you chuckled. “I love it here.”

“We should buy a place here,” he thought out loud. “Regular vacation spot?”

You nodded. “It’d be nice.”

Suddenly, his phone started ringing, Lando. “I’d better take this.”

You nodded, letting go of him. You thought over the past few days. From the dreamy mornings to the blissful nights, there was one thing you two hadn’t done yet, that you just had to do. On your 3rd date, over 4 years ago, he made an off-handed comment about the fact that he ‘would never go skinny-dipping’.

Yeah, you were changing that tonight.

You quickly pulled off your dress, your panties and bra, and waited in the warm Italian air for Max to be done speaking with Lando.

When he came back out, it was safe to say he was shocked. “Are you becoming a nudist?”

You burst out laughing, taking his hand. “No! We’re going skinny-dipping.”

He shook his head. “Why would we do that? If you want to go swimming i can get your suit-”

“You can’t fuck me through the suit, can you?”

Again, too stunned to speak.

“Come on Max! You’re 27 and you’ve never skinny-dipped? That’s ridiculous!”

You slowly watched him become motivated (aka, your tits were in his face), and he smirked, pulling off his top. “This is so stupid,” he commented before pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You two walked down to the pier, Max shredding clothes as you went and stealing kisses. You both jumped in, the water a comfortable temperature over both of you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

You nodded. “Are you?”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, kissing you hungrily. He pushed you up against the stairs kissing down your neck as you both let the world fall away. All you were thinking about was his lips on your skin and the heat in your core.

He ran a finger through your heat, smirking. “Wet already?”

“We’re in the ocean,” you smirked, he shook his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it-”

A camera click. A motherfucking camera click.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Instinctively you both rushed to cover yourselves. This was private property, private land, and you could sue them for posting those pictures. But they’d still be on the internet. For anyone to see. It was you who they could see, Max had his back to the camera.

Your career was over. Your family would disown you. Your life would be over. Shit.

Max reached over, grabbing a towel you’d left out to dry on the stairs and wrapped it around you and you quickly ran inside, rushing to shower and get into pyjamas. You loved Max, you loved his passion for the sport, but god did you hate the attention it gathered.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms as you sat in bed. “We’ll deal with it.”

You let out a pathetic chuckle. “Easy for you to say, it’s not your tits that will be sprawled all over the papers tomorrow.”

“They aren’t mine, no. But they are my girlfriend’s.”

You nodded, he had a point. “Fair.”

He brushed a hand through your hair. “Whatever happens, we can handle it, yeah?”

You nodded. Maybe it would be alright.

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yourusername

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen, and 6,873,939 others

yourusername: god forbid a girl has hobbies tmz.

comments

landonorris: didn't realise being fucked in public was a hobby? -> yourusername: IT WASN'T PUBLIC WE WERE IN OUR PRIVATE VILLA

user55: oh she's serving CUNT

user22: not her hitting back, slay.

oscarpiastri: I fear this may be an original experience. -> maxverstappen: thanks for pointing out the obvious osc 👍

charlesleclerc: Never needed to see those pics 👍 -> yourusername: bro is SO jealous right now. -> user43: ????? -> yourusername: I HAVE MAX AND U DON'T HA HA -> user43: OHHHHH

georgerussell: Do we go to the FIA about this? -> maxverstappen: what can they do? give her a penalty for showing off her tits? -> yourusername: my GORGEOUS tits* -> landonorris: buddy is in the dog house.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula one #f1 fluff #formula 1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 smut #smut #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine

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pikp0kcas3 · 1 year ago

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The Hazbin Hotel fandom’s issue with accepting aromanticism and asexuality

Now that it is officially Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week, I want to talk about this!

I find that, as an aroace myself, I am constantly grasping at good representation and coming up empty— it usually ends up in one of two ways.

One: the character is portrayed as emotionless, cold, and robotic in nature. It’s the question aromantic and/or asexual people are often asked: “Are you heartless?” The answer is no, of course, but general media makes it out to be the opposite.

Or two: Their lack of attraction is seen as something to “fix” because they “haven’t found the right one yet”, and they end up with a partner as a “happy ending”.

It frustrates me greatly because of how little people actually see aromanticism or asexuality as a true part of the LGBTQIA+ community.

So when I watched Hazbin Hotel, and I found out about Alastor being aroace, I was over the moon. I was on cloud nine. I also saw how his voice actor has looked up the term as an attempt to learn about aroaces, which makes me OVERJOYED?? Amir is truly a blessing, and I love that he’s proud to embody a character that’s part of our community. It’s so beautiful to finally have a proper character, a fan favorite at that, who just so happens to be aroace— and that’s another thing I love about this.

It’s never explicitly stated in the show (though it is stated in interviews), but it’s rather clear when you’re watching, isn’t it? Alastor’s aversion to any sort of sexual advancement, coupled with Rosie’s blatant “I know you’re an ace in the hole” comment sort of spell out his asexuality pretty clearly, as well as what side of the spectrum he falls upon. In addition, his Valentine’s day card was strictly platonic, which caters to his aromantic side. It feels so validating to finally be represented, to finally have a character in media who shares the same lack of interest in romance and sex as I do.

When I entered the fandom to look for more content, I kind of expected to see the same respect for Alastor’s orientation there too. But that… wasn’t the case? I am fully aware that aromanticism and asexuality are both spectrums— of course, aromantic and/or asexual people can enter those kinds of relationships. I’m not denying that and they belong in the community as much as anyone else on the spectrum.

But, the more I see the same line again and again and again, the more it feels like an excuse to just ship what you want.

Usually I don’t mind shipping? I’m often a firm believer in people shipping what they like as long as it’s harmless and they don’t go crazy over it. I also know for a fact that Viv doesn’t have a problem with people shipping her characters. They are fictional, after all.

But in this case, people are ignoring the very thing that makes Alastor a part of the aroace community! People are ignoring his lack of romantic or sexual attraction!

Is this not the same as changing a gay character’s orientation to suit a straight ship? If not, how so? I’m told that we are a part of this community, so why aren’t we being treated like it? Why is it so hard to accept the people on the end of the spectrum who aren’t interested?

Something I’ve been noticing throughout my life is that society has not exactly progressed very much on the idea of accepting asexual or aromantic identities. Maybe we have, a little, since the old days— but hell, people in “the old days”, which in truth wasn’t very long ago, believed that asexuality was a medical condition to be “fixed” by taking the right medication or having sex. That’s a pretty low bar to clear. And on the romance side, you’re seen as a “late bloomer” or “boring” if you don’t express interest. These days, being friends with someone is treated like a gateway to them possibly becoming a lover. Not getting married, not going on dates, not wanting a partner— it’s all treated like a crime when it’s not.

Maybe I’m selfish, or sensitive, or I’m butthurt over nothing, or I’m making it all about me. Maybe I’m gatekeeping or whatever the term is. But please, please, please, I just want an aroace character like me who simply is not interested in sex or romance.

And I want fandom to respect that. I admire the creations that fans make— the art, the animatics, the writing and the character analysis. And I want people to keep creating because creation is indeed a beautiful thing.

But I really would like people to treat aroace identities like they’re important. Like it’s more than just a spectrum to get wiggle room to wrangle in another ship.

#aromantism #aromantic #aroace #asexual #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #lgbtqia #alastor aroace #PLEASE i just want people to LEAVE HIM ALONE #“but it’s a spectrum” STOP USING IT AS AN EXCUSE #RESPECT AROACE PEOPLE WITH ZERO INTEREST IN ROMACE AND SEX #let us have this #we barely get anything as it is #but just to clarify i don’t believe that most people are being intentionally rude about it #nor am i discouraging people from creating fan content because it is FAN CONTENT and you can express yourself #i just would like people to understand a little more that #yes it is a spectrum and it covers an extremely wide range of orientations #yes ANYONE who identities as someone on the spectrum is completely valid #if you wanna argue with that i am showing you the door and kicking your sorry aphobic ass out #my point is that the spectrum is not a loophole. it is not an excuse and it is NOT okay to just use it willy nilly for your convenience

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revelboo · 7 months ago

Note

Greetings, could we please get more of "My Favorite Accident"?

I really love this fanfic!!!

Sure!

My Favorite Accident Pt 6

TFP Knockout x Reader

• “You’re scaring off the business.” Scowling at you as you wash glasses, you just arch your brows at him. And yeah, he has a point with that look. The guy that had been hurling in a bush when you’d arrived had wandered inside and fell asleep, head on the bar, his toupee long since in the floor, looking like a dead squirrel. And he’s the only holdout, your two other drunks having wandered back home. Or at least somewhere else. For all you know, they’re passed out outside in the gravel, but as long as they’re outside, they’re not your problem.

• “I keep waiting for you to explain the joke,” he mutters, his patience slowly fraying watching you go about your ‘job.’ Because at this point, he’s more angry than anything else. And this has to be a joke, one that’s already run far too long. It’s insulting that you work here. Part of him wanted to just leave you here to figure out your own way home, but he’d stayed out of morbid curiosity and because, after defending you from being groped three times, he’d realized you’re too oblivious to survive without someone watching over you. Feeling someone pinging him, he growls.

• “Bills are no joke,” you say, banging a glass on the bar hard enough that the remaining patron nearly falls off his stool when he startles awake. “Last call.” Tone all saccharine sweetness as he blearily looks around and then struggles to get down and get to the door, legs spread like a man trying to keep his footing on a heaving deck in rough waters. He’s definitely going to go water those poor, dead azaleas again, chunky style. “So, mind explaining why you camped at my home and then stayed here all day? I’m assuming you have some important, secret alien robot agenda. You know, something better to do than slum it with me?”

• “You have no idea,” he grumbles, hesitating as that ping comes again. Dividing his attention between the holomatter avatar and his real body, he hears your disgruntled ‘are you kidding me right now’ as the avatar gets glitchy. And half listening to your tantrum, he answers the ping. “Where are you? Megatron’s hunting for you,” Breakdown’s voice growls at him and he shifts on his shocks. Because if the big boss is on the warpath and needs something, he can’t be kept waiting. Or he’ll take it out on his hide with his big fists.

• Watching him have a conversation with himself, that weird, expressionless avatar staring with dead eyes at nothing. Creepy. Still can’t figure out why he’d hung out with you when he really must have better things to do. You don’t think it’s that he’s lonely. Only that he’s decided you need him to watch after you, though how he’d reached that conclusion, you’re not sure. You’ve done fine on your own for years. You’ll be fine after he gets bored of messing with you.

• “Stall,” he says. “I’m coming.” Aware that he and the avatar are both saying the words when you lean away from him, frowning and he ends the communication. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to find a different ride home. Try not to die while I’m gone,” he adds, glancing around to make sure there’s only the two of you in the bar before letting go of the avatar, hearing you screech about security cameras before he goes. You’ll be fine. After he pacifies Lord Megatron, he can come back. Make sure.

#transformers x reader #knockout x reader #tfp knockout

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hannieween · 2 years ago

Text

charmer | heartbreaker series | c.sc

The thing about Seungcheol is that when he loved, he loved with a fervent force that nothing could ever stop it. When he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to get it. He was passionate like that. And he loved you. Past tense. Loved.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✧ word count: 12.7k ✧ aus: boss seungcheol, exes to lovers

₊🎧: habit - i.m ♡ | not over you - taemin [pls, this song is absolutely perfect]

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

✧ warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol and drug use, coups engages in illegal activities such as hosting a gambling house (that's it but still illegal), sexual tension, dirty talk, sex in the workspace, angsty unprotected sex, oral sex (f), masturbation (f), marking (f), a bit of overstimming (f) multiple orgasms (f, m), bigdick!cheol, softdom!cheol, hints of daddy kink, pet names: love, angel, baby (hers) daddy (his)

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part i

You arrived at a job interview in a bar.

It's been a week since you started to job hunt. With bills piling up and mediocre PhD student income, you took a chance and picked up a server job at a busy bar on near your neighbourhood.

Although the position seemed at odds with your rigorous PhD student program, you were very capable of managing your time. Plus, you could take the opportunity to increase your income thanks to your ability to get sizeable tips from your old jobs.

This bar, though located a few minutes from your apartment, you had never been. It is not unusual that you have not been to this bar, or any other. As you are busy surviving other jobs and doing research for your PhD research, you barely have time for yourself.

The bar was called The Spot. Nothing more, nothing that differentiated this Spot from other Spots. Whoever thought of that didn't think too hard.

As soon as you walked through the front door, you were hit by the smell of tobacco and dust. But there was no one smoking, in fact, there was only a lone person sitting in a booth at the back of the bar. It seemed to you that the place might be so old that the walls reeked of cigarettes.

You walked to the bar, and thought of maybe sounding the bell that was neatly propped on one corner beside the register. As you lifted your hand to sound the bell, the only other person inside the bar spoke:

"If you're here for the interview. It's with me."

You looked back towards the booth, the guy who spoke to you wasn't even looking in your direction. He seemed busy reading notes in a worn notebook and scratching something on a separate sheet of paper.

"Oh, yes. Hi," you answered awkwardly.

"Have a seat," he said flatly, he pointed with his pencil to the seat in front of him.

The booth, though worn, was clean, when you slid your body into the booth, the guy was in front of you. He wasn't much older than you, from his tired look you estimated a year or two or so, however the glasses he was wearing plus the black sleeveless t-shirt and yellow beanie made you think that he was way too young to be in charge.

"I'm-"

"Yes, I know. I'm Wonwoo," he put down his pencil and extended his hand to shake it with yours awkwardly. "Do you want a glass of water?"

You thought of the way he made his offer, even his handshake was almost robotically.

"Uh, I'm fine thanks. Here's my info. I know you didn't mentioned it when we talked on the phone but I thought you might want to take a look."

You placed your documents on the table. That made Wonwoo lift his eyes from the papers he was scratching absentmindedly.

"Keep it. I'll just ask a few questions," he put down his pencil and started cracking his fingers and wrists at the same moment he suppressed a long, eye watering yawn.

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"Sorry. Had a long night," he said after seeing your incredulous expression.

You wanted to laugh. "It's okay."

You found it funny, but at the same time it was giving you major red flags. Is this guy supposed to be interviewing you? Well, can't ask too much from a place job this, right?

"Why do you want to work here?" Wonwoo asked, glancing at a page on the battered notebook.

You decided to drop the act of being the most eager candidate and answered naturally.

You shrugged. "I need money."

The guy almost, almost rolled his eyes. His hand grabbed the folder and skimmed through your resumé. "Here it says you have past experience English teacher. Why not just teach little kids?"

"I didn't like being a teacher, is way too much work. I figured I can do my research during daytime and work on a late shift."

"You could work part time on a coffee shop," he countered.

"I have tried it before. Didn't like it."

"And why is that?"

"It didn't suit my needs. Besides, I like the shift hours you offer," you added a smile, hoping he would be persuaded.

He blinked slowly, totally not convinced. "Have you ever worked at a bar?"

You decided to ignore the derision on his tone. "A few years ago. I know what I'd be up against."

He eyed the first page of your resumé again, his sharp eyes skimming fast. "So let me get this right. You're here because you're doing a postgraduate degree, you know that this isn't an easy job because you have experience... where does that leave you time to actually study or whatever it is you do?"

"I only have one course, and I spend most of my time writing. The stipend is no longer enough to cover my expenses, so I need additional income. Luckily, I have experience earning good tips," you explained, fed up with the questions he kept asking.

"Mmm, right."

Then Wonwoo stood up from the booth and stretched his long arms over his head, letting out a sigh.

"I expect you tomorrow, by... four? Yeah, four'll be fine. Gives time for you to get around," he said with another yawn.

You blinked. "Wh-what?"

He gave you a shy smile. "You have the job," he said with a slight shrug.

His entire demeanour had changed, he looked more relaxed and even a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry, I acted like a complete jerk," he said as you stood up, feeling perplexed. "It's a thing I have to do as part of the filtering."

"Why?"

"Well, you'll see. Our boss is a bit... demanding, to say the least," he muttered.

You blinked slowly. "So... you based your act on your boss?"

His eyes opened in an alarmed expression. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't get me wrong. He's nice. But he can be bossy."

"I'd expect that from any boss," you reassured, tilting your head slightly to the side.

"Well, you haven't met him," he countered, a hand massaging the back of his neck. "Anyway, can I get your details so I can add you to the system and stuff?"

You sighed, almost feeling like laughing again. Wonwoo now seemed boyish in contrast to how he behaved during his questioning.

"Sure thing," you stopped for a moment, "Can I ask why I got the job?"

His lips pursed and shrugged. "You were honest, and didn't break under my jerk persona."

"Well, I actually found it funny. But I was almost sold, though."

"Oh, dang it," he smiled shyly. "I might have to work on it."

"If you want any pointers, I can help," you pressed your lips into a smile.

His smiled quivered slightly. "I'd like that."

"See you tomorrow, then. Uh, is there any dress code?"

Wonwoo studied your frame from your head to your feet. He shrugged carelessly. "Just look a bit more relaxed."

Your brow furrowed. You were wearing a white button up, jeans and snickers. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. Wear something you like. There's no dress code. Boss doesn't care, I don't see why you should either," he brushed it off and started to turn around to walk away.

"Uh, okay. Will I get the boss' name?" you asked, feeling that it was a bit ridiculous the mystery around the boss.

"See you tomorrow, newbie!" he said as he disappeared behind a door marked in red with, 'STAFF ONLY'.

You hoped that you were wearing something appropriate.

Choosing what to wear was something you didn't think was difficult. You were used to wear the same combination of things, so your style was safe, comfy. At least that's what you thought, since all you ever did lately was attending class, work on your research and that was pretty much it.

So, ripped jeans, snickers and an oversized black t-shirt might suit the general vibe of the bar and also what you got from your new partner, Wonwoo.

You parked your old car out back of the bar, and didn't know if you were expected to use the back entrance yet so you used the front door again.

Ah, the smell of old tobacco.

"Oh, the newbie is here," you heard Wonwoo's low voice coming from the same a booth he used on your interview.

"Hi," you waved at the tall lean figure of his as he stood up, and noticed he was looking a bit nervous.

"Let me introduce you," he gestured you over with his hand.

From the booth, a second figure rose, a man of bulkier frame with tousled blond hair that partially hid him from your gaze. He brushed it back with one hand, finally revealing his face to you.

The whole world froze for a second. You almost didn't recognize him, but it was obviously him.

The moment passed in a blur, almost too swift for your mind to process. Yet, in that fleeting instant, you witnessed it all. His deep, searching eyes locked onto you, as if he were scrutinizing every detail–your face, your hair, your hands, your whole body.

It was as though he had stumbled upon a ghost, and you could feel your own disbelief mirrored in his eyes.

"Boss, this is-"

"This is our new recruit?" he asked, his tone not one of anger, but rather filled with genuine bewilderment.

Despite Seungcheol's demeanour, you found it hard to muster up any offense. You were too shocked to speak. Maybe even more shocked than he was.

Wonwoo seemed genuinely lost, his mouth agape. "Uh, yeah. She passed your filters and has some experience," his eyes darted toward you, looking for clues. "What's wrong with her?"

Seungcheol looked ready to explode at any moment. You recognized all the giveaway signs: the way he ran his hand through his hair while taking a controlled breath through his nose in an effort to contain his impending anger.

Given your actions two years ago, you would not be surprised if he decided not to contain his anger. You fully understood the damage you had caused him, and the possibility that his resentment would be unleashed was all too likely. And deserved.

Apparently, after two years, you could still read him like the palm of your hand.

"We'll talk later, Wonwoo," Seungcheol said, appearing to calm himself. "Show her around, the basics and stuff. I'll be out back making a call."

Seungcheol stared at you once and turned to leave, slamming the door shut on his way out.

"What the hell?" Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Well, you met him, that's our boss."

Oh, of course it would be him.

"A charmer," you said, trying to play it cool.

But deep within you, there was an uproar of emotions. Memories flooded your brain and just seeing him for a minute made your heart race, your whole body felt elated, all of this made you feel a little dizzy.

After two years of not seeing him, Seungcheol still has the same effect on you.

"I dunno what got to him. He's always nice with the newbies but..." he shook his head again. "Whatever, sorry 'bout that. Let me show you around."

You were eager to change the subject and start doing something else. Wonwoo signalled you towards the door where Seungcheol had disappeared moments before and pushed it open, revealing a long hallway with four other doors on each side.

"This leads to where we store crates with beer, whisky, vodka, everything bottled and such," he pointed at the first closed door and then to the next, "this is the utilities room. And this, you never go in here, got it?"

He pointed to the door behind you. It had extra locks and looked newer than the rest of the doors in the hallway. The last door was the back exit.

"You'll get a keys for all the doors except that one." Wonwoo said promptly, turning to the door that led to the bar.

"What's in there?" you asked slowly, pointing to the newer door.

Wonwoo stopped and turned to you. "Boss' room," he said simply.

Your heart stopped. "He lives here?" you asked a bit too horrified.

"Oh, God, no," he laughed stiffly. "Well, he might as well. But no, he... does general management stuff there."

"Management stuff," you grinned, spotting a lie.

"Don't ask more questions, it's easier. Believe me."

The two returned to the bar, where the space was neither too large nor too cramped. The place had four tables and an equal number of booths, all with a western charm. The vintage look of the tables and chairs indicated their origin, which seemed to date back to the 1980s.

At the opposite end of the back room, a large pool table occupied the space. The walls were adorned with posters of various rock bands from the eighties and nineties and red neon signs.

Between the tables and the pool table was the bar, which was arranged in a U shape against a brick wall, which also had a large red neon sign that said 'Heartbreaker'.

But surprisingly enough, everything was squeaky clean.

"There's the register, which you can handle if I'm too busy," he pointed. "Mingyu sometimes helps with the register, but he's mostly on the other side of the bar, or dealing with drunkheads."

"So is it just you two handling the drinks?" you asked curiously.

"Yup. We manage just fine, if you're wondering," he smirked and added a proud nod with his head. Then he pointed to the other side of the bar. "Sometimes we move the pool table to make room for the band. We host gigs almost every thursday."

"So, tomorrow," you added.

"Yup. And we're planning on adding stand up nights, but I... differ. Boss is a bit ambitious."

You huffed. That he is. "And does he... is he around much?"

Wonwoo eyed you. "D'you mean does he get his hands dirty?" he smiled. "Yeah, if it's too crowded he helps which is most weekends."

You nodded slowly. "O-okay."

Wonwoo made no further comment. He cocked his head to the side towards the door that was after the pool table. "Come, let me show you the kitchen, and then we get to work."

Most of the things that Wonwoo showed you, you already knew how to work and that made him happy because it, "Is a good thing that I won't be behind you teaching you things."

Wonwoo gave you the task to read the menu before opening for public.

You were sitting at the usual booth, reading in silence as Wonwoo took the task to turn all the neon signs on the walls, and the lights from the ceiling, and soon the room was dimly lit in red and yellow lighting. It was a bit hard to read under the red lights and the hard rock music, but most of the menu was normal stuff you'd find at a bar.

In the corner of your eye, you saw someone occupy the seat in front of you.

"What are you doing here?"

Seungcheol's voice jolted you off the menu and made you turn your head back with a surprised gasp.

The back of his head was resting against the back of the seat, his jaw clenched and his intense gaze piercing through his thick set of eyelashes.

A sharp pang of remorse tugged at your heart. Despite the years of no contact, the intensity of your feelings for him remained as powerful as ever.

Upon getting no response from you, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"I work here now," you put in simply.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. "Don't try to play games with me."

"I didn't know you worked here," you justified weakly.

"I own this place."

"Whatever. I had no idea that you'd be here."

He scoffed, and looked to his side at nothing in particular, his cruel smile vanished. "Right."

Did he actually think you had deliberately planned your arrival to his bar? Perhaps he believed you were intentionally trying to inflict him more pain, a calculated plan to further drive in the pain left over from the aftermath of your messy breakup.

"It's true," you insisted. "Why would I want to work with my ex?"

That made him visibly cringe, his dark eyes setting on your face again. "I thought that mommy and daddy were keeping you well off," his eyebrow jumped slightly again.

You sighed. "Well, not anymore. My parents cut me off."

"Again?" he quipped dryly.

"It is definite this time though," you said as you scratched an imaginary freckle on the back of your hand.

"What did you do this time? Got a tattoo? Cuss them off? Got another boyfriend they didn't like?" you could tell that there was disdain in his words, but he tried to deliver them offhandedly.

You recognised that the things he said were not innately bad, but your upbringing had been conducted by extremely strict parents. As a result, almost anything could seem outrageous to them.

As an additional result, you had become somewhat rebellious when you were younger. It was at this stage of your life that you came across Choi Seungcheol.

You hummed and smiled bitterly. "I might've told them some things they didn't like hearing. Anyway, that was over a year ago, haven't talked to them since."

Seungcheol smiled the way he did when he thought of something he didn't dared to say aloud: the tip of his tongue would slide on his front teeth. He quickly put in: "But why work here?"

Deciding not to probe into what he really wanted to say, you felt a peculiar relief that he was open for a conversation, despite the venomous comments he had made.

"Things got difficult. The stipend it's not enough to live on and I need some quick cash, so here I am." You eyed him again. "You can't fire me just because it didn't work out between us."

"Nobody said anything about firing you," he said rolling his eyes as he straightened up, placing his hands firmly on the table between you. "But I do want to make something very clear."

He leaned forward.

"I'm your boss now, not your ex. We won't talk unless is strictly for work. And I don't want the boys to know about us, got it?"

"Works for me," you muttered.

The fleeting thought of quitting had dissipated, replaced by a new determination to stay, motivated by a sense of defiance. Now you were determined to see how far his 'I'm your boss' stance could go.

You knew you were being childish. You didn't care.

Seungcheol nodded and patted the table twice. "Good. Now, get ready, people might start coming soon."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't catch that.

The other staff members that worked in the kitchen were already getting to work. It was a small kitchen, so there were few people working it.

Since it was a space mostly occupied by men, you'd expected that they would speak freely. That included very intimate talks and banter.

Mingyu, who was just introduced to you some moments before, was leaning on the bar hearing what atrocities came out of the kitchen. "Guys, keep it down!" he shouted back. "The newbie doesn't have to hear the atrocities you do off work."

As you returned the menu to its initial position, you reassured Mingyu: "No worries. I'm fine with it," mustering a smile, though the effort felt forced.

"Mingyu is just scared that you won't last long here," Wonwoo chimed in with a devious smirk.

The accused gasped dramatically. "Now, you might be projecting Hyung."

"People don't last long here?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh... not really, no," Mingyu said simply. And started to resume with his task of preparing a sour mix, he had a dish cloth thrown on his shoulder.

"May I know why?" you asked slowly.

"Like I said," Wonwoo replied with a firm tone. "Boss is a bit demanding sometimes."

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "It's not normal for everyone who comes here to work to leave after a couple of weeks," he countered. "Obviously it's because the women who come here to work all fall in love with him and he has no choice but to turn them away."

"What?" you gasped.

"Boss is a bit of a heartbreaker," the taller man shrugged. "But he's persistent on hiring pretty servers."

Mingyu's words were nonchalant, almost as though they held no significance, yet you couldn't help but feel a faint blush rise to your face in response

"But why would they fall in love with him?" you asked with an awkward laugh.

"Well, you had the bad luck of meeting him on a bad day," Mingyu mused.

"He's always having a bad day," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, thinking no one would hear him.

"Dunno, 'suppose he's hot? Manly?" Mingyu continued, aloof. "Your guess is better than mine."

"You two are hot too," you blurted out, feeling flustered under the pressure of thinking someone falling for your ex.

The two bartenders exchanged a flat look.

Mingyu coughed up a chuckle. "Newbie, I appreciate the half compliment. But I'm already taken and Wonwoo... well he's a mystery."

"Can we not talk about that right now?" Wonwoo suggested pointedly, just as the front door opened to a handful of customers.

Admittedly, viewed from a somewhat skewed perspective, it made sense. The clientele was predominantly male, and it was an unspoken rule that waitresses tended to get the highest tips, especially in these types of establishments.

As the night progressed, the bar became more crowded, forcing him to constantly move from place to place, juggling multiple tasks, such as taking orders, delivering drinks and clearing tables.

Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. And you thought it was better this way. But you did find yourself glancing at the STAFF ONLY door a few too many times, expecting to see him walk through it.

Apparently, the bar had a special discount on Wednesdays. That's why it was packed with people from the office buildings near the block. And it was a minor detail that Wonwoo casually remembered to tell you when you started to wonder why so many people in uniforms came in packs around 9 PM.

But you managed all the tables by yourself just fine. The orders were simple, and as Wonwoo said, they did work with an efficient dynamic. The two bartenders communicated almost without a word, their coordination seemed to be something they had been trained in for years.

Four hours into your shift, all the tables were occupied. You felt sweaty, your hair stuck to the back of your neck, but the good thing about your first day was that you were kept moving and had no distractions.

That was until you turned around towards the bar, to find Seungcheol on the left end, near the backdoor. He was leaning forward, elbows propped on the lacquered surface of the counter. His heavy gaze was set on you.

The feeling of being watched was really hard to shake off. You felt it on the back of your head as you tried to get to the remaining hours of the shift. But it was nearly impossible. The tight knot on your stomach was so persistent that you sucked air every few minutes in an attempt to get rid of the anxiety that Seungcheol's scrutiny had imposed on you.

He just watched you move through the black and white checkered floor of the bar. You thought it was a tactic to make you feel intimidated, so you decided to continue as normal as you could.

But being watched by him also meant that he saw you smile sweetly to the customers, he saw you bend forward to talk to them over the music, the way you'd bite the tip of your pen as you listened to the customers. When you'd turn around, flicking your hair over your back.

When you mustered the courage to glance his way your eyes met. The red lights over him made him look dangerous, his hands tightly clasped over the counter, his head slightly inclined forward his eyes focused on you. You looked away anxiously, hoping he didn't see how you reacted under his eye.

The rest of the shift was like that.

"Good god," Mingyu said at the end of the shift while counting the tips jar. "We'd never had this much on a wednesday night."

You smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Seungcheol was still on the bar, but at least now he was helping around. Bringing in boxes of utilities to restock while Wonwoo cleaned the area and Mingyu managed the income for the night. You knew that he was avoiding you, but that was fine by you.

"Please, newbie, last longer than the others," Mingyu sighed dramatically.

Someone shushed. You didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Sorry boss," Mingyu mumbled, but he was smiling contentedly as he continued counting coins and bills.

It was 3 AM. when you pulled out into the parking lot, the slippery pavement reflecting the faint red glow of the bar's neon sign. Leaning against the car, you took a long drag of the blunt that you had been saving only for stressful moments such as this.

"You still smoke?" Seungcheol's asked as he came out of the back exit, his hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie.

Something tightened in your stomach. You saw him walk up to you, feeling marvelled at the sight of him after so many years of not seeing him, years of wondering what he might be up to and here he was, standing in front of you.

You tried to bite back a snarky comment about 'not talking unless is strictly for work', to yourself. As you noticed he wasn't trying to chastise you anymore, you decided to chime in for a conversation with him.

"Sometimes," you admitted.

Seungcheol stood in the rain washed parking in front of you, he looked at you as if you were some kind of lost memory to him. The yearning in his eyes matched what you felt in your heart.

"You?" you asked, lifting your head to meet his dark eyes.

He shook his head silently. The features of his face looked more relaxed now.

The rattling noise from the back door broke your silent scrutiny of your ex's face, and you adverted your gaze to see Wonwoo and Mingyu coming out of the bar.

"See you tomorrow, newbie." Mingyu called and placed two fingers to the crown of his head, saluting. "Bye, boss."

Wonwoo just raised his hand to wave goodbye. The two bartenders got in a car and drove away.

"Can you drive like that?" he asked, still not chastising but it did make you feel a little optimistic that he'd worry about you.

"Yeah, it'll start making its effect by the time I get home," you tried smiling reassuringly.

"Mm'okay. But be careful, okay?" he seemed to roll his eyes with annoyance. "I don't want to start interviews again."

You chuckled and you started feeling a sense of normality in the conversation. However, you noticed that there was something unspoken written in his gaze, implying there was something that he was not willing to say.

"Are you staying?" you asked, noticing that the lights of the bar were still on.

He blinked lazily and you noticed he tried suppressing a yawn, the dimple of his right cheek deepened a bit.

"Have to finishing a couple of things. They can't wait till tomorrow."

"Don't stay up too late, Seungcheol," you mustered up a kind smile, turning your back to him as you opened the door of your old car.

As you drove away, Seungcheol remained standing in the faint reflection of the red lights from the bar. His figure disappeared from your rear view mirror as you changed directions.

The next day resulted a bit more challenging.

The bar was so packed it was difficult to move, the counter was surrounded by customers sitting on barstools. Tables and booths were occupied too.

As Wonwoo had mentioned, there were live shows every thursday.

The group, known as Midnight Haze, consisted of three members: a drummer, a bass player and a singer who played the guitar skilfully. Their performances had gained them a large following, and some customers frequented the bar solely for the pleasure of watching their performances, they were mostly groups of women.

And the loud noise from the live music was filling your brain and making your bones vibrate but it was nice to feel something other than the anxiety of being under your ex's relentless scrutiny.

You opted for an outfit that matched the mood of the night: black shorts and fishnet tights, paired with a black and red tank top. The side slits of the shirt, gave a small glimpse of the lacey bra you wore underneath, a deliberate nod to the energy in the warmth of the bar, despite the cold outside.

The blush on your cheeks could be partly blamed on the crowded atmosphere, but you were also aware that your own behaviour had something to do with it. You recognized the calculated flirting you employed with customers, a strategy aimed at getting higher tips, even if it made you feel a little foolish from time to time.

Every now and then you would catch Seungcheol eyeing you. Noticing how his gaze would momentarily linger on your lush lips whenever you turned in his direction or walked by, you decided to make it a performance for him.

Whenever you were talking with clients within his view, you would playfully tuck the tip of your pen between your lips, offering a coy smile. You'd twirl your fingers on lose strands of your hair while greeting customers, well aware that he was likely watching.

Again, childish. But who cares.

There was no denying that you liked the fact that Seungcheol kept a watchful eye on you. It reminded you of your time together, when you were so in love you could barely tear your eyes (or hands) off each other.

You had to bite your lower lip down as you worked on the tables. Going down on memory lane when Seungcheol used to be so clingy to you that he'd find a way to drag you to any corner where he could fuck you. And he'd do it so good you'd see stars.

You let out a silent groan. Feeling your body grow hotter just with the memory of him.

Goddamnit.

The band finished playing their last song after an hour and a half without interruptions. They had already started to pack up their stuff when you approached the singer, a tall guy with raven black hair and big doe eyes.

Shouting over the hard rock music playing now on the speakers, you said, "Boss says whatever you want is on the house."

It wasn't really Seungcheol who told you that. Wonwoo informed you beforehand that band usually get freebies, specially the lead singer of Midnight Haze, for some reason you didn't ask.

He turned to you, looking you in the eyes took off the strap of his guitar to leave it aside. "You're new," he pointed with a polite smile. "I'm Joshua."

"Hi," you returned the polite smile and told him your name. "And yes, I'm new here."

He let out a sigh, a faint smile playing on his lips as he attempted to conceal the fact that his gaze darted up and down your figure. "Well, let him know I'll have the usual, please," he responded.

"I trust he knows what your usual is," you replied with a smile.

Joshua jumped off the small stage and walked up to you. He was a beautiful man, even without his flashing smile or without the fiery energy he brought on stage while playing his guitar.

Suddenly you understood why there were so many groups of women on the bar tonight.

The Midnight Haze front man was hot as fuck.

"He knows, don't worry. And tell him that I'll take a table out back too, please."

One of his eyebrows was adorned with a silver piercing, and his lips, which he was pushing into a small smile were reddened.

You tried to smile at his kindness, totally not what you were expecting. "Uh, don't know what that means but... sure thing."

"Kay. Thank you, sweetheart," he replied with a content smirk, darting one final look at you before walking away.

You thought nothing of it, really. You returned to the bar, noticing that Wonwoo was watching your exchange with Joshua from afar. He leaned forward when you motioned to him that you were going to tell him something.

"He said he wants his usual," you informed. "And he said he wants a table out back."

Wonwoo's eyes glanced over to where Joshua was standing, chatting with some girls with a charming smile. "I'll tell boss about the table," Wonwoo turned to Mingyu. "One corrido prohibido for a table out back."

"Right away!" Mingyu nodded his head, and grabbed the sour mix he concocted earlier, a shot tequila and a beer.

Wonwoo exited the bar and went through the staff door. And then Mingyu pushed the drink towards you and swiftly rung the bell twice.

"Mingyu, I'm right here, you don't have to ring the bell," you chuckled.

He slapped his hand on the bell repeatedly, his lower lip trapped behind his teeth.

Ding, ding, dingdingding.

"Stop. Stop it, Kim Mingyu," you hissed and he giggled when you slapped his hand playfully.

You went to grab the drink, but as you turned over to where you last saw Joshua, he wasn't there anymore.

"What should I do with this?" you pointed to Joshua's drink.

"Boss wants you to take it to his office," Wonwoo told you, he was returning from the backdoor. He looked somewhat baffled.

Mingyu's eyes shot open. "Huh?!"

Wonwoo shrugged. "I don't ask questions," he said under his breath and pointed with his nose at the drink. "Go. I'll cover you."

"Uh, okay. Sure," you muttered, grabbing drink and turned to the backdoor.

The doorknob of the door that led to Seungcheol's office was unusually cold when you turned to open it. As you pushed in, you were received with a cool breeze that smelled like cigarettes, vape and alcohol.

It wasn't an office. Not really. Yellow lamps hung low on the ceiling, just above a few round black tables, surrounded by foldable chairs which were all occupied. The walls were bare, except for the three fridges were beer and other drinks were stored and the uncovered windows at the top of the opposite wall.

The faint echo of the music back at the bar was drowned by the mixed sounds of cards shuffling, clinking of poker chips, the finger taps on tables and constant chattering.

There was a desk on one corner of the cramped room, where you saw that Seungcheol was sitting, observing you make your way inside his room.

You closed the door behind you quietly. And quickly found Joshua sitting on one of the tables, accompanied by his bandmates. He was shuffling some cards, with a devious smile on his face.

He eyed you up and down again swiftly when you walked up to his table and handed him his drink. "Thank you, sweetheart," his lip curled into a smirk. "Don't stay too far."

Your breath caught for a moment, and though your typical response would have been dismissive, you managed a smile to the hot singer.

"Sure thing, hun," you chirped in your usual customer service voice. And turned to the door.

When you turned to the door, walking through the tables and chairs you eyed over the desk to see that it had been vacated. You opened the door to go back to the bar, feeling deeply confused about the secret gambling den on your boss' 'office'.

But as soon as you exited to the hallway that led to the door of the bar, you found Seungcheol leaning against the wall.

"Shit. You scared me, Seungcheol," you hissed.

He remained silent, and you briefly considered walking past him to head back to the bar. However, the expression on his face told you that he had something on his mind, yet he seemed set to not speak about it without some prompting from you.

"What is that room?" you started, pointing back to the door behind you.

Seungcheol crossed his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet. "It's my office," he replied in a simple tone.

"So what, you run a gambling house now?" you laughed dryly.

"It's just between friends. No one enters without my permission," he put in flatly.

"But I do?"

He blinked again, rolling his eyes with a hint of annoyance. "Joshua asked for you," he said through his teeth. "Normally I'd say no, but I wanted to see what you'd do."

"And what is that?"

"Don't try to play innocent with me," he warned, throwing a dark look at you.

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about," you shrugged, trying to look serious.

"Do you honestly think I don't know what you're trying to do?" he demanded, taking a step towards you.

Suddenly you felt small under his gaze. And now that you realized how close his body was to yours, you took the opportunity to really see him. He had gotten bulkier, his arms were more muscly, and his chest and shoulders were wider, more voluminous.

You swallowed hard.

"Flirting with customers, with Joshua?" his face was dangerously close to yours.

Your eyes narrowed as you scrutinized him for a split second. Seungcheol wasn't angry. If he were, you'd now it for sure. He was playing a game with you and you were to slow to catch it.

"I didn't flirt with him," you muttered, playing his game now. "And why do you care?"

"I don't care," he remarked, rolling his dark eyes. "Just quit it."

You scoffed at him. "You're not my-"

"Boss?"

Your breath caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol smiled cruelly. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"You can't tell me what to do, Seungcheol," you snapped.

"Fuck yes I can," he bit back.

Whenever Seungcheol was angry, he could be downright scary. But he wasn't angry, he was just annoyed, running a hand on his pale blond hair, looking at you as if he didn't know what to do with you.

Seungcheol was jealous.

A sigh escaped your lips trying to suppress the rush of emotions you felt at that moment. Whatever judgement you had on your mind slipped away when with a sudden movement, you grabbed your ex's face in your hands at the same time he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer his body.

Your face was so close to his that you could feel his breath landing softly on your chin. Then your lips brushed, not kissing. Waiting for either to push away. Until your mouth was clashing with his followed by a groan from Seungcheol.

The first kiss was heated. Your lips were clasped tightly on his and a small snap came out when you separated from his face.

Seungcheol didn't say anything at all, but his widen eyes were reading your face. He looked troubled for a second, and that almost shattered you. The ache in your heart robbed the air from your lungs.

You knew that kissing your boss was a terrible decision, but kissing your ex-boyfriend was an even worse decision. But, fuck, you missed him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," you whispered, retracting your hands from his face.

His thick eyebrows arched in response. "Why?" he inquired, his voice sounded small, vulnerable.

Hearing his question made you notice that he was genuinely curious. As if the past between you never had happened. And as if you weren't his employee now.

"Because it's not right," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"Why?" he prodded again. Seungcheol's dark eyes drooped from your eyes to your mouth and wandered back up.

"Exes don't kiss," you whispered.

A grin appeared on his lips along with a sigh, as his warm hand crept up the nape of your neck, making you shiver.

"Yeah, right," he whispered in your lips before kissing you again.

This kiss was greedy, as if he was making up for lost time. His lips locked in yours, the hand on your hip moved up your back so that his arm was encircling you, pulling you closer to his body with a groan on your mouth. His tongue swiftly slid inside your mouth, finding yours, knowing well what would elicit a moan from you.

He had missed you too. He didn't need to say it either.

Kissing Seungcheol again after so two years was so brutal that it left your head buzzing. But who were you kidding? You knew this would eventually happen. His arm around you, his other hand on the nape of your neck, the taste of his lips. It was deeply familiar, all of it.

"Do whatever you want," Seungcheol mumbled, breathing heavily in your lips. "Just don't flirt with him. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, boss," you whispered with a playful smile.

He laughed softly, but now his eyebrows arched up. "I mean it. He's my friend."

"Okay," you mumbled, not caring to contradict having flirted with Joshua. "I won't."

Even though Seungcheol was your ex, there was something in the way he made his request that made you feel sympathetic.

"I need to go back," he mumbled reluctantly.

"Me too," you replied.

But none of you moved.

He smiled again and pressed his forehead on yours gently. "Come on. We're almost done for the night."

You stole one final glance at his eyes before kissing him softly and turning away from him, not daring to look back as you made your way to the door.

As you returned to the bar, you noticed that it was not as crowded as when you had left. Many of the tables were still in use, but there were noticeably fewer people.

But as soon as Wonwoo saw you returned, he groaned: "Thank god," he threw a dishcloth over his shoulder. "What took you so long?"

Wonwoo returned to his initial position, behind the bar. He looked sweaty and stressed up from tending to your tables.

"Sorry, Wonwoo. B-boss needed to talk to me," you lied stuttering a bit. It wasn't much of a lie since you two did talked a little.

"Oh. Really? Everything okay?" he raised his head to look at you.

You sighed, still feeling flustered but it made up for the lies you were trying to tell Wonwoo. "Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine," you pressed your lips in a smile, and continued checking up on tables.

You returned to Seungcheol's office to check on the table Joshua was with his friends. They have resorted to drink from whatever was offered on the fridges but asked for a bottle of tequila, since they were playing an friendly game of black jack.

You returned with the bottle and placed it on the centre of their table.

"Thank you," Joshua smiled sweetly, you could tell by his glazed eyes that he was already tipsy. And you thought that might be the reason why he had dropped the flirtatious act.

"No problem," you replied and turned away.

Seungcheol wasn't observing you this time. He was sitting at the desk, counting a big pile of chips and putting groups of them in separate piles. At least he could busy himself, you thought.

You tried not to think too much what had happened, but just couldn't help it. It was driving you insane. Your skin felt ablaze still, like it was patiently waiting to feel Seungcheol's touch again.

The rest of the night went by quickly. And you were eager for your shift to end quickly so you could return home, have a cold shower and scream into your pillow until you fall sleep.

When you were finishing up your activities by the end of your shift, the noises coming from Mingyu's voice counting money, and Wonwoo running a list of things needed for restock slowly turned into a background noise for you.

It was hard to concentrate. You found yourself deep in thought, remembering over and over again the feeling of Seungcheol's lips on yours.

"Newbie, come to collect your tips," you heard Mingyu calling from the cash register.

"How much did we make?" you asked, aloof. You were just trying to divert your attention elsewhere.

Mingyu told you a number and you feigned surprise by seeing his big content smile.

"Nice, isn't it?" he giggled at the same time he bounced on his knees.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Very nice."

The bar felt really eerie when the lights were off. It was your turn to get the neon signs and lights because, as Mingyu put it, "The last one to get out gets all the lights."

Thankfully Wonwoo stayed behind and helped you out to get the neon signs, since you didn't know where all the switches were.

As you were going out, you made an additional stop to the restroom to wash your face, since nothing seemed to fully snap out from the constant overthinking. Nothing seemed to be able to put the buzzing in your head to rest.

When you came out from the restroom, the hallway was dark except for dim source of light came from Seungcheol's office, which had the door wide open.

The people that occupied the gambling tables had long evacuated the place, so it was all quiet and empty. You stepped under the doorframe. Expecting to see Seungcheol deep in work.

But he was leaning back on his desk, a leg crossed, hands resting at his sides on the edges of the desk. As soon as he saw you by the door of his office, he smirked, lifting his triumphant eyes to see you.

"Did you know I'd come?" you asked, walking a few steps up to him.

"I hoped you would," he replied simply.

A long silence filled the room. You felt hesitant about touching the subject of what had happened earlier in the hallway, but you knew that in reality, you and Seungcheol had to talk about many other things that went down between you.

But instead, you dropped your bag at your feet to then close the distance between you and your ex. Grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull him yet again to another fervent, needy kiss.

Seungcheol was expecting that as well apparently, locking lips with you almost instantly, his hands quickly found your hips, pulling you as close as he could to his frame.

"We need to talk, Seungcheol," you gasped in his mouth.

A groan in annoyance came from him as he captured your lips again. Then his hands moved from your hips to your lower back, ignoring the t-shirt you were wearing. His hands making contact with your bare skin sent a shiver up your spine.

"We'll talk later," he replied with a hoarse voice.

Then Seungcheol was back on your lips, fully knowing that you would make no real effort to make your demands happen. Hungrier this time, when his lips slid in yours he did it with more impatience, the hands on your body pressed you towards his body tightly, earning a soft noise that coiled in your chest.

It was almost as if you remembered perfectly the way he used to kiss your lips and your mouth parted just exactly when his tongue slid in your mouth, a soft moan coming from him in approval as his tongue lapped yours.

Soft pecks landed on your lower lip, to your chin and jawline. You angled your head to give him access, a mewl escaped your lips as he reached the tender spot beneath your earlobe.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole to you," he said in a raspy tone, pulling away so that he could see eye to eye with you. "I was just so angry. Seeing you again just brought everything back."

You could say the same. You never imagined you would see him again. For the past two years, your ex had been a living ghost in your mind, making you wonder constantly if he had ever found it in himself to forgive you. Above all, you wondered if he thought of you as often as you did of him.

"I should be apologizing to you, too. For everything that happened."

He shook his blond head once. "Later," he commanded before his lips sealed yours again.

Then he took you in his arms, turning you around to sit you down on the edge of the cold glass surface of his desk. Slotting himself between your legs, he removed his arms encircling you to cup your face before he kissed you fervently.

The muscles on his back felt hard as your hands slid on his white t-shirt from his waist to his shoulder blades, your hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangled on his soft blond hair. You used that hand to push him closer to your face, earning a throaty moan from him.

Then the tip of his tongue dragged on top of your lower lip, finding your tongue to stroke yours as his hands dropped from your face to roam on your body. His fingers squeezed your waist, grabbing the fabric of your top to lift it up slightly to dip his hands under it. Greedily roaming your skin.

Deciding it wasn't enough, he yanked the tank top from your body and you willingly lifted your arms for him. His dark eyes marvelled on your body for a second, tracing an invisible line with ginger fingers over your neckline.

You swallowed up a whimper at the gentle touch of his fingers.

"You looked so fucking hot tonight," he uttered in a raspy whisper. "Prancing around my bar in those shorts. Everyone had their eyes glued to your ass and all I could do was stand and let it be like a fucking idiot."

You smiled shyly, feeling flustered that Seungcheol actually fell in your little game. "What would you have done?"

One of his dark eyebrows arched up. "Given my way?" his hand moved from your neck to the back of your head, a fist tightening on your hair at the scalp. "I would let everyone know that you're mine. Mine to look at, mine to kiss, mine to fuck."

Your breath hitched, eyelids fluttered when he pulled your hair softly to angle your face for him to look in your eyes.

"But I'm not," you breathed. "Not yours."

His lips brushed beneath your jawline and you could tell he was smiling. "Really?" he placed feathery kisses on your neck, so gently that it tickled, but he continued making his way to your mouth.

"Yes," you whispered, feeling his lips on yours now as you spoke, you wanted more. "You'd have to make me yours."

You stole a glance at his eyes, a faint smile of victory appeared on his cherry lips. "What are you saying?"

Seungcheol's eyes looked at your face attentively, as if absorbing every movement and gesture you made. Taking advantage of the moment, you scrutinised the features of his face. A lock of pale blonde hair had fallen over his forehead, covering one of his eyes.

"Make me yours," you breathed and with your fingers you gently brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch caused his eyelids to flutter briefly. "Fuck me, Seungcheol."

You weren't sure what overpowered your mind in that moment. But every cell, every inch of your body felt an unbearable ache for him, it made your heart race, rushing blood in your neck and face. Harder to ignore was the throbbing pain, pooling in between your legs, demanding his undivided attention.

A groan escaped his mouth as he clashed it on yours again, demanding, suffocating. His hands slid down your back, unclasping your black lacey bra skilfully, removing the straps from your shoulders as he threw it aside. The cold of the air bit at your now bare skin as your breasts were now exposed to his view.

"Lie down," he ordered in a low tone.

You lied back on the cool surface of his desk, which was empty now so you had enough room for your body. Seungcheol wasted no time, busying himself in removing your sneakers swiftly to then take your shorts off. So now you were wearing fishnets and panties only.

His hands caressed your legs above the fabric of your fishnets, your body flinching when his fingertips reached your inner thighs, so close to your crotch. You let out a broken sigh when two curious fingers slid down your clothed pussy, pulling the fabric of your thong aside to dip the pad of his fingers in your entrance.

"God, you're soaking wet already," he smiled and then pulled his lower lip in between his teeth.

"I've been wet for you all night, Cheol," you confessed with a muffled whimper.

Seungcheol sighed under a bitter smile. "Flirting with other guys hoping to make me feel jealous gets you horny. Is that it, love?" he asked in a feigned sweet tone.

That made you blink and try to protest at the same time you felt his fingers on the sides of your hips, yanking down your panties and fishnets all together.

So he was jealous, but at the same time all too knowing that you were doing it on purpose.

A rush of warmth and eagerness flooded all over you just as his fingers ran down between your pussy lips again, skipping all build up, but it was just what you silently desired: his index finger sliding inside your wet core. You gasped and closed your eyes again when his finger was joined by his middle.

"I asked you a question," he purred as his fingers massaged your inner walls.

"Mmm, thinking about you makes me horny, Cheol," you gulped hard, giving up the last bit of your sanity at the delicious thrust of his fingers. "I saw you looking at me and that alone got me wet."

"Really?" he asked, just before running the tip of his tongue down your neck, making you moan and blink to see him bending down on you, his fingers buried in your wet cunt, pumping in and out.

It was a little game Seungcheol liked to play. You remembered it too well. He would tease you, pleasure your body while making you either beg or show him just how down bad you were for him. He loved it, like a cat playing with its food.

"It made me remember..." you breathed as he placed open mouthed kisses along your collarbones. "M-made me remember when you'd fuck me so good I'd see stars."

That took him off guard, his breathy chuckle brushed your skin softly, making it prickle. "So you were going around my bar with your panties wet because you'd think about us?"

You nodded. "Mmm-mmph."

He hummed as his mouth kissed one of your nipples, lapping around your areola just before his fingers crooked inside you, eliciting a loud moan from you.

What followed then were wet sounds coming from your cunt, while Seungcheol worked his fingers inside you and his tongue slid across the underside of your tits, to then suck harshly at your skin. The skin around your nipples started to flare and prickle as you whimpered and writhed under him.

"What would you think of?" he asked in a gentle tone. Then his teeth grazed at the soft underside of one of tits, causing you to whimper and grab his hair by the scalp and tug softly.

"Anything, really. I thought of your hands, your lips..." you whimpered as he repeated the same process with your other breast, leaving a trail of drool on your skin. "The night of your twenty-fifth birthday," you muttered.

"You thought of that?" he asked, lifting his head to catch your gaze. "While working? Angel, you can't be doing that on the clock..." he cocked his head to one side slightly.

He wasn't actually reprimanding you, but the tone he took when he said that was almost as if he were concerned. Seungcheol was well aware that you liked it: being told off by him while his fingers were still plunging inside your cunt and the palm of his hand pressing down on your swollen clit.

Your whole body tensed up. "I think of that night when I touch myself," you confessed, looking at his face through your lashes.

"You do, love?" he asked in a sweet tone.

"It's the only thing that does it for me," you replied in a broken moan as he continued to fuck you with his two fingers inside your cunt, his palm pressing hard on your sensitive bud, pushing you further to your release.

And in fact, you almost confessed that you haven't been able to cum with someone else since you broke up with him.

But he doesn't have to hear that.

Seungcheol hummed thoughtfully and turned his attention to the hand he was using to fuck you with to start using more speed and force on your cunt, causing the sounds of your arousal to splash on his hand louder.

"Oh, shit," you hissed. "Cheol, I-I'm, oh–,"

The veins in his forearm flared up, as he appeared to be determined to do it for you again. You knew what he was trying to do, and you got your body ready for it–your swollen clit pressed under his palm and his fingers twisting inside your walls, as he moved his hand harder on your cunt.

Whimpers and incoherencies came out from your lips, feeling the thrusting of his hand forcing an orgasm out of you. You cried out, stirring your back on the cold surface of Seungcheol's desk, hearing your own lewd cries and moans reverberating across the dark room.

"Mmm, that's it baby, cum all over my hand," he hummed softly, as his hand continued to move inside you mercilessly despite your walls clenching hard around his fingers.

Coming down from the rough orgasm, your body twitched and coiled, giving deep shaky breaths you opened your eyes to see him.

"That reminded you of something?" he asked in a gentle tone, but you could see in his face that he was tense: pupils blown in lust, the tip of his tongue dragging on his lower lip. And then pulled his fingers out of you, they were coated in your arousal, almost dripping to his knuckles as he took them to his mouth, licking them clean.

You nodded silently, and shuddered at the sight of him licking your slick off his fingers.

One of his eyebrows rose, a sigh escaping under a sweet, genuine smile. "Only the memory of us can make you cum yet you say you're not mine?" he tilted his head to one side and clicked his tongue. "Now, you might be lying to yourself, love."

You returned him a shy smile. "Maybe I just want to relive the memory."

Bingo.

He only hummed in response, his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers reaching your scalp as he bent down to kiss you, his tongue sliding inside your mouth. You tasted yourself in his tongue and that made him moan sweetly before pulling away.

You felt restive under his lust-ridden gaze, impatient for him to just keep going. But you knew better than to pressure him, you knew when to beg for it and now you knew he was taking his time.

"I never imagined I'd see you here like this," he muttered in a low voice, taking a step back from his desk and his dark eyes studying your naked body splayed on the heavy glass surface. He ran his fingertips over your abdomen, tracing a line from your bellybutton to the middle of your clavicles, prickling your skin.

You bit your lower lip hard when your ex knelt down before you, taking your thighs in his large hands. You knew exactly what would follow next, because if Seungcheol knew what made you had you begging for him faster was his tongue lapping on your folds, licking your arousal from your core.

You cried out when you felt his tongue glide on your sensitive clit, your hands grabbed at his pale blond hair. Thrashing, you glanced down at the lower half of your body wholly naked on his desk, his blond head between your lush thighs.

Seungcheol hummed softly as his the tip of his tongue made a trail from your core up to your clit, giving it broad and generous strokes at your pussy, not neglecting a single inch. As he licked your arousal from your entrance, the tip of his nose bumped gently with your clit, knowing that would make you moan louder.

You arched your back on the cold surface of his desk, crying out his name and his calloused hands immediately slid on your lower abdomen, pressing his palms down on you before his tongue focused on your clit.

The tip of his tongue flickered at your already swollen clit, to only give it a few swirls around it and start nibbling at it with his lips. The movement almost sent you over the edge, just before his pointed tongue started flicking your clit as he moved his head up and down slightly, giving more motion to the movement of his tongue on your clit.

His hands pressed down on your lower abdomen, knowing well that would elicit more cries and whimpers from you. Your body grew tense and you let your body savour it. Your mouth parted, letting soft gasps out, your body twitching uncontrollably on his desk.

You jolted up, propping your upper body up on your elbows to see his face buried in your pussy, his mouth on your clit and folds as if he were making out with it. The image was almost sinful to watch. The lewd sounds coming from the interaction of his mouth on your cunt plus the whimpers and moans coming from you.

"Ohmygod, Cheol," you cried out, grabbing his hair tightly and your other hand found one of his that was pressing down on your lower abdomen. "'m going to cum, I'm going to–," you whimpered, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

As your cries of pleasure echoed across the room, you heard Seungcheol hum softly with you. Your body relaxed into your orgasm, mind going completely blank, eyes rolling back so hard that you saw colours behind your eyelids while you let your orgasm take you in waves of pure bliss, moaning his name over and over again.

He planted soft kisses on your pussy lips and one last kiss on your swollen clit, humming softly as he pressed his lips on your pussy lovingly. Your legs went limp as you felt him place them back on the cold hard surface of his desk.

"Cheol," you called in a lazy groan, still recovering from your high with shaky thighs and blurred vision. "I need you."

Seungcheol smiled at your soft pleas and whimpers, but his hand cupped your chin, his dark eyes locking on yours. "Are you still on the pill?" he asked while his other hand brushed a lose strand of hair from your forehead.

"Yes," you whispered and nodded with your head. Your hands searched for the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up his back and he pulled away to help you take it off.

You sat up on his desk again, hooking your fingers on the hem of his jeans to pull him closer, your legs framing his body as you unfastened the buckle of his belt, hearing him sigh. You darted a look at his face, finding the ghost of a smile on his chapped red lips.

Seungcheol had definitely buffier since you last saw him. You noticed that he had accumulated more muscle mass, his lean chest showed more mass around his pectorals and shoulders, the muscles of his abdomen that would tighten softly when he breathed out at the touch of your fingers.

He placed a small kiss on your lower lip, making you smile as your fingers rushed to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. He helped you get rid of the rest of his clothes, standing completely nude before you in the middle of his 'office'.

"Remember when we used to do this in your bedroom at your parents'?" you asked sheepishly, a hand cupping his face as he kissed your face and lips fervently. "We'd pretend to study."

Seungcheol's lips rose in a bittersweet smile. "I remember everything, baby," he replied in a raspy tone. "We could barely keep our hands to ourselves. We didn't care if we got caught."

You placed impatient, rushed kisses on his wet lips. "I miss that," you muttered. "We'd fuck anywhere. In your brother's car, the park, the school library."

Seungcheol laughed as his hand snuck in between your bodies, grabbing his cock with one hand to guide it to your core. He gently dropped his forehead on yours and you whimpered when you felt his cockhead pushing on your entrance.

"We were so crazy about each other. So fucking in love," he whispered.

A sob coiled in your throat second before Seungcheol slid inside you slowly, his cock buried in you so deeply that you had to bite his shoulder to not scream. Your legs were wrapped around him as he started thrusting his hips on you, fucking you hard on his desk.

You groaned loudly when you felt his cock fill you up so nicely that you almost forget where you were, and everything that had led you to that moment.

Seungcheol fit in your body so perfectly that nothing–no one had even come close to making you feel like he did. Your breath hitched and you closed your eyes when you felt tears of pleasure brimming in the corners.

His hands held you close to his body, a hand placed in one of your glutes and the other flatly on your spine–holding you in place as he plunged his cock deep inside you, fucking you open so good you couldn't think of anything else.

"You feel so fucking good. So tight around me. Just how I remember," he whispered in your ear, pushing so deep in you as if to make his point across.

You shuddered against his body at the same time you nibbled his shoulder with your teeth, drowning your cries of pleasure as Seungcheol plunged in your walls with little heed for being careful, but he knew you liked it just like that. You liked it hard, you liked that his cock was so big for you that it made your eyes water.

"Look at me, love," he commanded and you pulled your head back to face his dark eyes. "You're okay there?"

He read you so well.

You nodded, blinking lazily. "'m okay. Jus'keep going, Cheol."

Past tense. Loved.

Now, you were sure that he was trying to relive the memory of what you had together, his desperate kisses and moans as he pushed his cock deep in you. His arms holding you as if you were a product of his memory, torturing him, kissing him softly.

Soft whispers of incoherent mumbles brushed in his lips, and you could make out your name in between broken sentences as Seungcheol appeared to be so lost in you that he could barely breathe.

"Fuck," he muttered through gritted teeth. You saw him shut his eyes tightly, his mouth parted a little, forming a little 'oh' but not quite uttering anything. Small giveaways that he was about to cum.

You used a hand to cup the side of his face to angle his lips to yours. "Cum in me," you whispered on his lips. "I want you to fill me up, Cheol."

Usually, he was the one telling you when to cum. Never the other way around. But the way he was trying to resist his release made you want to take control for a second.

Your hand slid on the back of his head, grabbing his long hair in one fist as he blinked and found your eyes. His hips buckled a second before he plunged them so hard and deep inside you, gasping for air as he came inside you.

His chest was so close to yours that you could feel the stutter of his heartbeat against you. A long second happened between you, exchanging longing glances as he breathed hard on your face, trying to calm himself down.

But then he made a motion for you to lie back down on his desk again, confused you followed his silent command and understood when he started plunging his cock inside your walls again.

Your brow furrowed, noticing how tired Seungcheol looked. "W-what–,"

"I'm not done with you," he explained and you could feel that his cock was still hard inside you.

Then he placed the palms of his hands flatly on the surface of the desk, his eyes wandering all over your body before stopping on your sopping cunt where his cum had already mixed with your juices.

You saw the features of his face as he pulled his hips back until the tip of his hard cock reached your entrance again and then he slammed his hips back in.

Seungcheol sucked in a breath and then bit his lower lip and muffled a long strangled moan in his mouth, sending a shiver along your spine.

"You look so fucking gorgeous," he groaned, his lust-lidded eyes looking at you.

The wet sounds that the movement created made him sigh in pleasure and throw his head back a bit, the enjoyment on his face was so arousing that had you moaning with him.

"So fucking wet and tight on my cock. Like its made for me," he sighed.

Your walls fluttered around him in response. Because probably he was right and your body was made for his. The way your body responded to the sound of his voice, the touch of his hands, when you felt his eyes on you, all for him.

Seungcheol shuddered as he pushed inside you before bending down and place open mouthed kisses on your chest. He hummed along the trail of kisses he started making while plunging inside you, his lips stopping on the soft skin of one of your tits to start sucking.

"Cheol," you whimpered.

The pressure on his lips against your skin intensified, leaving a trail of red spots all over your tits as he continued moving his hips mindlessly on yours.

A loud moan escaped your mouth and your body started trembling in pleasure uncontrollably beneath his weight, barely holding on for him.

"Shit," you hissed at the feeling of him marking you and your hand tangled in his hair.

A small snapping sound came from his lips when he finished marking hickeys in your skin, lifting his head to see you. His lust blown eyes found yours, a faint smile stretching on his chapped lips.

Then, you felt a hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit immediately to start rubbing fast and hard with his thumb.

"Cum for me, baby," he instructed, already knowing that you were nearing to your third orgasm.

"Cheol–Daddy!" you called in a high keen whimper; the pressure from your release taking you over and washing you into uncontrollable waves of joy and ecstasy that roamed all over your body, leaving you breathless.

"I'm here, baby," he groaned and watched your face as you cried and thrashed under his body, the merciless plunging of his cock in your throbbing, aching walls.

Then his thrusts became shallow for a second before he slammed his hips against yours so deep and slow that you cried out and bit your lip, your body still twitching from your high.

"You're mine," Seungcheol said in shaky breaths as he came inside you again, blinking slowly but never looking away from your face. "You've always been mine."

Sharp breaths left your mouth, trying to regain conscious under the weight of his body as he too appeared to be trying to compose himself. You blinked away some tears, reaching for his face to kiss his face.

While panting, he pressed lazy kisses on your lips and you returned every single one.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too," you replied, pushing a blond strand of hair away from his face.

He shook his head once, his eyes glinting with anguish. "You left. We could've find a way to work it out but you just left."

The pain became more and more intense. You couldn't shrug off the feeling that everything had changed, that the person in front of you was not the same person who had loved you so fiercely.

"I'm sorry, Seungcheol," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "I really am. I made a mistake. It was really stupid of me to leave."

Your hand returned to his cheek and he pressed his face towards it, shuddering under your touch. Your lip quivered as your eyes started to well up in tears again, so you thought to make an attempt to remove yourself from his desk and search for your clothes.

He pressed his body down on yours, trapping you between his frame and the desk beneath you. "Don't."

"Seungcheol–,"

"I'm not over you," he muttered, then he laughed bitterly. "As if this wasn't proof. I saw you again and I knew I was fucking done for."

"N-no, you fucked me because you can, Cheol. To prove a point to me–," you stuttered, trying to make sense of it all.

His big teary eyes drooped with disappointment, his brows knitted. "Baby, I tried to move on. For two fucking years I tried... and look where that's got me."

He made a gesture with his head, signalling to your naked bodies. You were so tightly pressed beneath the weight of the upper half of his body, his chest flatly pressed against yours that you barely had any space to breathe.

"Can you take me back after what I did? How?" you asked in a weak voice from swallowing your tears.

"I just want you," he whispered. "We can figure out the rest."

You swallowed thickly. "We're so different now. You're my boss now, Cheol. And I'm..."

He licked his chapped lips, his lower lip getting caught between his teeth as he seemed to run through his options in his mind. "I don't want you to quit. We can find a way to make it work."

Your eyes locked with his dark brown ones. "So what happens now?"

"It doesn't matter right now. All I want is us," he whispered, his hands moving to cup your face, a desperate look in his features. "Please, baby, just trust me this time. I know we can work it out. I'm ready now."

A sharp pang stabbed into your heart as you heard him practically pleading for your return. It was a sound you had never dared to wish for, something you would have only imagined in your most fervent dreams.

Tracing an invisible line along his lower lip with your fingers, Seungcheol sighed softly, his heavy eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes. You knew you couldn't say no to Seungcheol.

After all, you never stopped loving him.

✧ a/n: uuuggghhh i feel like a hypocrite cause i've always said that blonds aren't my type but i literally go feral for blond seventeen, oh well. if you liked reading this show it some love pls pls pls. stay tuned for part 2! taglist is open! tehe ₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎

PART TWO

#seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #svt smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #choi seungcheol x reader #seventeen smut #scoups fanfic #choi seungcheol fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups imagines #ff:heartbreaker #hannieween

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senseiofbullshit · 3 months ago

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Lots of Porco Galliard NSFW headcannons for you nasties.

Minors do not interact. Not spell checked because I'm lazy (as usual)

Average length but girthy. It’s heavy.

Groomed but not often. He’ll grow it out if you let him. He doesn’t care whether or not you have hair as long as it’s not bushy but he’s a hypocrite because he’ll let his get bushy

As I’ve said before, he’s a freak. He can get very kinky if you let him

Because he’s so kinky, consent is a big thing for him. He’s mastered the way of asking for your consent without ruining the moment while you’re in the middle of things.

”You want me to [explicit activity]? Tell me you want it.”

You joke around one day and say ‘omg spit in my mouth’ and Porco is like ‘oh, word?’

He's nasty and we love a nasty man around here

He’ll try everything at least once and if you both like it, he’ll put it in your rotation, but he’s firm about it needing two yeses. Not a maybe. It needs a firm yes and both of you have to be fully on board.

“Damn, that sounds weird. Wanna try it?” He’s game for anything

At some point in your life with him, you’ll be upside down in the midst of doing something wild and you’ll ask yourself how you got in that situation

He eases you into things you’re trying for the first time. He takes all appropriate measures to make sure you feel safe and comfortable the entire time. He may be mean but he’s not a monster. As soon as you’re uncomfortable with something or use your safe word, he immediately stops without another word. No convincing to keep going or try again. He’s done. He’ll immediately check in with you and initiate aftercare. The last thing he wants is to hurt you or break your trust.

If you want to keep going, he will dial it back a lot and finish the session with gentle missionary to ensure you guys connect and your needs are met.

Porco is a pleasure dom even though he hates being called that. He is the textbook definition of a pleasure dom. He edges you and makes you beg but he makes you cum until you can’t anymore. You won’t be able to walk when he’s done

“You wanted to cum so fucking bad, right? Well, I’m going to make you fucking cum.”

”Come onnnnnn. Cum for me. I know you want to.”

Really into overstimulation. He finds it to be a better punishment than orgasm denial but he likes both.

He fucks you every time like it will be the absolute last

Hand on your throat while the other is doing the rocker sign with eye contact

Thumb on your clit while three fingers of his other hand are knuckle deep with eye contact

Head between your legs while two of his fingers curl inside you with you contact

At first, he was against using toys so you took it slow, but once he got comfortable with it, he uses them on you all the time. His favorite thing is when you’re on your back and he uses a vibrator on you while he fucks you. He just watches you writhe, whine, and whimper as he wrecks you in quick succession. He likes how he is able to look down and see you squeezing and cumming on him due to the double stimulation. If you’re low on time, he likes this method because he can get you off quickly but in multiples.

He likes it even more if you’re restrained.

He appreciates a good spreader bar equipped with handcuffs

If you've really been working his nerves, he’ll just hold a vibrator against you until you’re begging him to let you rest (safely and with your consent of course)

He's also not above ruining your orgasms if he's feeling especially mean

Though he likes using toys to get you to cum, he feels much more satisfied by doing it manually. To him, it ensures that he’s not losing touch with you and your body. He will not let the robots win.

He isn’t always rough with you though. Sometimes he just wants to see your face and be with you. He enjoys those slower, milder moments just as much as when he’s being wild and kinky.

He can degrade you. “Filthy little slut.”

He can praise you. “You’re doing so good. You take me so well.”

Or he can do both. “You’re doing so good. You take me so well, you filthy little slut.”

See? Range

Definitely a “stop running from me” kind of man and he’ll pin you down and make you take it (with your consent of course)

Porco does all the things he told you he’d do when you were teasing him earlier. So don’t talk to him crazy and then expect him to take it easy on you when he gets home. He will call you out on it later when he’s beating your back in.

“Huh? What happened to all that shit you were talking earlier? ‘Oh Porco, when you get home I’m going to [explicit activity] and I’m going to [explicit activity]’. Now look at you. Can’t even see straight.”

He firmly believes that dick can fix your attitude. He’s right.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna fuck that attitude right outta you.”

Porco will have your knees near your ears. Do not play with him.

What makes him dangerous is that he’s so chill and relaxed when you’re in public. He seems so nonchalant when yall are out together. People don’t peg to be the freak that he is. He blushes when you playfully tease him in front of other people. He blushes when you’re super affectionate with him in other people’s presence. If you back it up against him in public, he won’t react. He’ll just put a hand on your hip and hold you there, continuing with conversation like normal. But then he gets you alone behind closed doors and he immediately locks in.

When he’s about to cum, he moans then lets out a little whine before letting out a final drawn out, gravely moan. Sometimes you get a “fuuuck” or “babyyyy”. It’s super hot.

He likes being in control. If you’re a pillow princess, at least pretend to put in the effort or else he will make you work for it. Ride him every once in a while and put in the effort even if it’s only for a few minutes. When your legs start to fatigue, he’ll take over with a chuckle. But if you whine about how it doesn’t feel as good as when he’s fucking you, he will make you work even harder.

“Come on, baby. Show me you can make me feel good,” as he looks up at you with that condescending smirk.

Do not say “I can’t” because he will tell you that you can. And you will.

He'll let you take control. Not during a session where he has already initiated control, but if you're laying on the couch together and push him onto his back, he'll smirk and let you have your way with him.

It's a soft control though. He'll still tell you to look at him and go faster. He'll still guide your hips and touch you to make you cum all over him, but you're in control. He'll do whatever you say. He'll moan and whine for you. He'll let you kiss him and say/do whatever you want. If you pin his hands down, he won't fight it or struggle against you even though you're both well aware that he can easily shake out of your control.

#in other words Porco is a freak your honor #he will make you contemplate your life choices #you'll be blowing up his phone when he takes too long to answer #he's a menace to society #it's why the toxic Porco headcannons work so well #because he will freak you out and then go about his business #he's a nasty man and I need that #he will have you TWEAKING #porco aot #porco galliard #porco x reader #porco galliard x reader

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finnjareau-prentiss · 21 days ago

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Secret Relations (For Now)

This is my first time ever writing fanfiction so it's probably not very good but I am hoping to get better and build from this. If you have any feedback please feel free to share and if you have and prompts you want to see then please let me know, I write jj x reader, emily x reader, and jemily x reader

Emily Prentiss x Reader fic:

summary: Emily and Reader are secretly dating until that secret comes out, basically just a bunch fluff and 2 idiots in love <3

Minimal use of y/n, no pronoun are used for the reader, 1407 words

Warning: mentions of alcohol, and drinking, and being drunk

Today was a paperwork day for the BAU, which ultimately meant slow. Although you would never call it that out loud, no, saying the word “slow” outloud in the Bullpen is like saying the word quiet in a fire station.

You were working on another consult when Emily waltzed by your desk as she walked to her own, but not before dropping off a fresh cup of coffee on your desk. You gave her a quiet “thank you” so as not to draw too much attention to her small but loving gesture and as you took a sip you glanced over the rim at Emily whose desk sat right across from yours, giving her a look with a touch too much love in your eyes for the workplace. Especially since you had somehow found yourself in a secret relationship with the stunning woman.

~~~~~

6 months ago you and Emily had stopped dancing around the question and she finally asked you out. 5 months ago you and Emily had made your relationship official. To avoid the obvious teasing and to allow yourselves to truly figure out what was between you two, you both made the decision to keep what you were to each other a secret.

Now here you were madly in love with the woman across from you and surprised with just how oblivious the famous team of profilers were to the fact that 2 of the team members could not help but find each other in every room.

~~~~~

Finally as the clock hit 5 pm you wrapped up your files and started gathering your things while making small talk with JJ who was doing the same. And of course just as you pick up your bag Derek Morgan walks in with a huge grin and Penelope Garcia on his tail. “That look means trouble”, Emily says to you and JJ as she sighs knowing that it means everyone was about to be roped into drinks. Your only response to Emily’s remark was “it always does”.

An hour later you were walking into the bar with your girlfriend waiting outside for a couple minutes to make it look like you didn’t arrive together. “Omg Yay! You’re here!!” Penelope exclaimed the second she laid eyes on you, and while giving you a very strong hug which you returned, “How much have you had to drink already?” you responded trying to figure out if this was just Super Excited Penelope or Drunk Penelope.

She quickly pulled you over to the table where Hotch and Rossi were in conversation, JJ was trying to absorb some of the words Reid was spewing about robots, and Morgan was at the bar already trying to get some girl's number. Just as you finished saying hi to everyone you saw Emily walk in ‘This girl will be the death of me’ you thought because even though you had seen her just minutes ago, she still took your breath away (and caused some feelings down there but she doesn’t need to know about that yet).

Once Emily had sufficiently greeted everyone you had returned from the bar with a beer for yourself and a whiskey for her, when you handed it to her she quietly said with a smirk “You’re looking a bit flushed there love, everything okay?” “mmm well if I am then it's all your fault” “My fault? How do you say that?” she says still with that goddamn smirk and nudging your hip with hers. You rolled your eyes but before you could respond Derek came over “Prentiss! What do you say about being my wing woman with the ladies out there? Maybe we could even get you a date?” “I think I’ll do ‘the ladies’ a favor and not” she says with a chuckle, but Morgan stubborn as ever “Come on, We’ll find you a date and I’ll even buy you a drink!” “Alright how about this I wing woman you for an hour, you buy me 2 drinks, and no trying to set me up?” “But you need to get out there and date people, I'm sure I could find you the perfect woman tonight! Hey Y/n you think prentiss should try getting someone's number tonight, right?!” you being incredibly amused went along with him before Emily finally said “Hey wing woman or not, take it or leave it” “Fine fine, Come on”

In the hour Emily had promised him you decided to play pool with JJ as Reid and Garcia kept you both company, which was mainly just the three of you asking Reid whatever random questions came to mind. Eventually Garcia had convinced you and JJ to do shots with her, and she tried to get Spencer to join you all but he was more happy to read his book than to participate. Which is how when Emily found you again you were extremely drunk, rambling about how much you loved her and how hot she was to Garcia and JJ who were equally wasted and Reid who just looked confused.

“And have you seen her arms!! I really am lucky to have her!” you say with a dopey grin on your face while leaning on your 2 friends who giggle at your clearly love struck face. That's all of the conversation that Emily is able to hear before you notice her and exclaim “Emmy!! We were just talking about you!” “Oh yeah? What about me, love?” she lets the pet name slip only because she is well aware of how much you love them in your drunken state. “Your girlfriend was just telling us how hot and amazing you are” JJ answers for you with a very obvious teasing tone, and at that Emily was sure the whole team would know by tomorrow.

You had no care to the fact and simply needed to be as close to your girlfriend as possible when the thought occurred to you, “how do people *hiccup* cheat on their partners when *hiccup* they’re drunk? All I can do *hiccup* is talk about you” Emily just looked at you whilst holding you up because not only are your inhibitions shot but so is your balance, and all she could say was “You know I am so unbelievably in love with you right?”. At that you were more than happy to let the topic go and melt into your love's arms. “I’m gonna call us a cab so we can get you home, alright baby?” “Home to your apartment?” you quietly questioned even though neither of you have spent the night without the other in almost a month “Yeah love, we're going home to mine”, at that one Garcia can't help but say “Aww” which is apparently enough to remind you both that they are still right there.

Not long after you both get in the cab and end snuggled together in bed, exhausted and in love.

~~~~~ The Next Day

The next day you wake up on Emily’s chest with a massive headache, and Emily grumbling above you about the alarm. You both moved slowly in a practiced ease to get ready for work. Miraculously, you were dressed before Emily and handed her a cup of coffee along with a sweet lasting kiss, you pulled away with a smile that reminds Emily of last night, “I may have forgotten to mention something” she says sort of sheepishly. “What did you forget?” you said confused, “So here's the thing..” “Emily.” “Our secret might not be so much of a secret anymore” she says with a slight grin before explaining everything from last night in the car ride to work, you spend the rest of the ride with your face in your hands.

When you do finally park in the building and get out of the car you stop just before the doors to the elevator, “it's not like we weren't planning on telling them ever, they were bound to figure it out eventually” she says to you, “it's not that I don't want them to know because that's not it. At all. I’m just kinda embarrassed about how it happened” you reply.

After that Emily grabs your hand in hers and walks the two of you into the elevator with confidence before saying with a big smile “Well I’m just happy I can finally show off my amazing girlfriend now”. And into the bullpen the two of you walked, hand in hand, together.

#emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau team #wlw fanfic #wlw #emily prentiss #idiots in love #fluff #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #arron hotchner #david rossi #first fanfic

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whowrotethenote · 4 months ago

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Warnings // Angst // Grief // Profanity // Talk of death and murder

Word count // 7.8k

Disclaimer // The Tribal Killer Masterlist // Chapter One // Chapter Three // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Main Masterlist //Join My Taglist

The atmosphere in the dimly lit cigar lounge was nothing if not grown and sexy. Seductive and luxuriate. The exact space where surgeons, finance guys, CEOs and anyone else who wore designer suits to work—ironed to a trace of no flaws—went to bide their unwinding after a stressful day.

The usuals scattered about. At the bar, seated in the booths or standing at the high tables that were dressed in pristine white cloths vacant of any stain or wrinkle. White collar hustlers and whoever they report to. Men and women in pantsuits of all colors. Black, brown, blue, grey—and sleek as all hell despite the wear and tear that comes with working enduring hours in the city. Suit jackets most likely hanging off the back of their chairs or left in the car altogether. Dress shirts unbuttoned and ties loosened.

Cathedral-like ceiling with nostalgic decor and timeless paintings splattered on the walls. The buzz of enlightening chatter and glasses clinking on the bar top, being dished out in almost a robotic fashion—all leveled out by the live jazz band. That earthy and almost leather scent of Mayan Cigars, mixed with the cologne and perfume you could only find in stores where the workers get paid on commission.

In a less than quiet corner of it all, sat two young women. Breaking through to their late twenties, and trying to navigate in a world where the odds were stacked against them. They clinked wine glasses for the third time that evening, drawing attention from nearby patrons. A bustling force they were. They could have been as quiet as church mouses, and still would’ve captivated the attention of the room. Young, vivacious, and hungry as hell in spirit.

A single lamp and two lit candles set up on the table before them, illuminated their exotic beauty.

“So,” Naomi started. Cheeks burning with anticipation as she set the wine glass down. “I met another guy.”

She had been waiting all week for this. It’s tradition. Every Friday night, they’d meet. Same spot—same time if their schedules allowed it.

Their worlds collided in law school just five years prior. Both interpreting the world through roseate eyes, despite being two women of color sneaking through the backdoors of a predominantly white-male dominated field.

They yearned for the same things out of this little life. Access, a bank account that was never in short of commas, and to earn a name for themselves that would supersede the surnames of their fathers. Two paths that outside of law school, would’ve never intercepted one another in the way it did—despite them growing up just two hours from each other. Naomi pushed to the outskirts, due to her heritage—loved to hear the recounts of how Juno grew up. In the big and kinetic city of Detroit. But as of late their roles had changed. It was now Juno who became the listener. She marveled at the endless tales Naomi would relay to her about the men she intertwined herself with—for almost every reason outside of love.

Juno’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. She should’ve been used to this by now. It's not an abnormal confession coming from the lips of Naomi. In fact, it's usually the ritual that comes before the night takes that juicy turn. Right after the routinely and courtesy, how have you beens—what’s new at work—or how’s your family questions.

Every man that tangled themselves within her web was different from the last with only one shared trait amongst them. Wealth.

“Another one? I thought we were happy with the law guy?”

Naomi waved a French manicured hand. “Oh, he’ll be fine. He won’t even notice if he shares me. Believe me, he has more than enough on his plate.”

“So what does this one do? Or should I say which skyscraper does he work in?”

They never addressed her collection of men by name. Always by occupation instead. Mostly because the bulk of them were either unhappily married or just too high-risk for Naomi to proudly attach herself to. Controversial and problematic politicians. High ranking officials who over the years earned themselves a significant amount of enemies. Men seeking out the company of a young beautiful woman who didn’t mind cutting ties at any given moment. Naomi was a middle-aged man’s dream.

She grabbed her friend’s hand after another sip of wine. “That’s the thing, friend. There is no skyscraper.”

Juno’s perfectly lined eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Excuse me?”

Naomi nodded with a cheeky grin. “That’s right. This one is…different. Definitely not my usual type.” She quickly surveyed the room. The band and consistent chatter concealed anything being transpired between the two, but still a girl could never be too careful. So, she leaned in closer. “He’s a truck driver.”

“A truck driver.” She repeated the words back to her in a flat tone, waiting for her to reveal it was a joke, but all she got back was that equally wicked and innocent grin only Naomi could give. “And where the hell did you two cross paths?”

“He was bringing in supplies and stuff for the office.”

Juno entertained the idea, but she knew her friend. She was into prominent men. Men whose last names held weight. Men who could get her to where she dreamed of ending up. Normal guys—normal anything wasn’t Naomi’s taste. It just wasn’t in character. Whatever spell the ordinary truck diver had enchanted her with, would be gone in a matter of time. A few more good quick fucks and she knew it’d be back to regular programming.

Judgement wasn’t a factor within this friendship. Understanding took its place. As a black woman, Juno recognized the struggle of having to break down doors that were locked and always being looked at as if she didn’t belong. Naomi being a Native and growing up on the Isabella Reservation, these same adversities had attached themselves to her life. It seems the rest of the world got away with mediocracy, while they had to be exceptional just to be considered. The game was rigged. So, if her friend had to cut corners and break rules, then so be it. She was standing ten toes behind her.

“When I saw him,” she continued, “I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off of him.” Her big lakes of brown seemed to grow wider as she relived the first moments of seeing him. “I could see his back muscles through his shirt. Ju his arms—oh my god, you would’ve melted. He looks like one of those fallen Demigods kicked out of Olympus or something. The literal definition of tall, dark and handsome.”

“He sounds like a literal character. You sure you didn’t imagine him?”

“I thought I was imagining him. Until he caught me staring and said something to me.”

“What did he say?” Juno teased in a hushed tone.

“‘You must like what you see, sweet butt.’”

“Ugh!” Juno recoiled earning a hearty laugh from her friend. “Fantasy over. Fucking forget it.”

“I know—I know. But trust me—I couldn’t even focus on what was coming out of his mouth. I was too busy picturing him naked. And his eyes—oh, his eyes, Ju. There’s something very dark and dangerous about them, yet so innocent and luring. I don’t think I ever saw a more beautiful man up close like that.”

“He’s from the Reservation?”

She shook her head. “He lived there for a while he said, but he was born not too far from you.”

“Miss Nodin, are you dipping into chocolate again?”

A red hue casted over her small face. “No, he’s not black,” she confirmed. “I’m not sure what he is actually. Maybe from the islands? He has tribal tattoos. He’s older too.”

“Of course. How much older?”

“Late thirties,” she answered. Juno bore a hole into the side of her face. She was going to make her ask.

“I know you hit already.” Naomi failed miserably at trying to conceal the grin with another sip of wine. “On a scale of one to ten?” She pressed.

“…Fifty. The scale has been broken.”

“God bless you—and the truck driver.”

“It was weird though.” Naomi’s energy shifted from her natural ray of sunshine to something else, as she picked at the left over Caesar salad on her plate. “He wouldn’t let me touch him.” Juno’s eyebrows turned down. “He tied my hands up. At first, I thought it was just this kinky thing. BDSM and all that. But then after when he untied me, I tried to touch him and he almost lost his shit.” Juno’s face cinched as she listened intently. Naomi shook her head and waved. “I don’t know. Men are weird.”

“That they are. Remember Reese?” Both women burst into a fit of laughter.

“Yes! How could I forget? Neat Freak Reese. He used to make me shower before and after.”

“I told you your labia was going to fall off from all that damn scrubbing.” They leaned in closer, releasing the last of their giggles.

“Oh god,” she expressed. She grabbed the wine glass once more—the corners of her lips lifted like her spirit as she eyed her friend.

“What?” Juno battled a smile of her own.

Naomi shook her head. “Nothing. I just love you. That’s all,” she confessed at a whisper. Even though it wasn’t a secret. She just had grown so enamored with their bond in that moment. She hadn’t felt her best that week. Work was—well work. And she was having the normal battle with her mother that all girls do at that age eventually. When are you going to settle down and get married? Jumped with all these questions surrounding her future. Naomi had no longing in her heart to start a family. She had trouble most days just getting out of bed and doing for herself. A silent battle she kept hidden. To everyone else, she was the ray of sunshine tasked with lighting the entirety of Michigan up. She couldn’t fathom the burden of having to get up everyday and cater to children and a man she vowed to love forever. It was too far fetched.

She thought most of her adulthood that something might’ve been wrong with her. Why was she always running into so many more hurdles unlike her peers who seemed to be gliding through life? Why didn’t she dream of the perfect white dress and walking down the aisle to the man she couldn’t live without? Why didn’t she daydream of what her face might look like on a little girl? Maybe she just wasn’t made right. She chalked it up to her wires just getting crossed during childbirth. That was until she met Juno. The other half of her.

She had everything she wanted right at that table. A girl who understood her—seen her. To be seen and understood is to be loved. She didn’t need nor want for anything else except that which she already found in Juno. Men were just these beings to have fun with and satisfy her sexually and financially.

They clinked glasses for the fourth time that evening. Hearts full and worries emptied for the time being.

“I love you too.”

Juno wiped the hot tear like it was made of acid and burned her cheek. And she was burning up—inside. Her soul. Her conscience. She felt responsible. She knew the lifestyle that Naomi carried on with and she knew it would inevitably catch up with her. She just figured she had more time. More time to convince her that there might be another way—a safer solution to all of her problems.

And now she was dead. Memories. That’s all Juno had to show for the near five year friendship she shared with one of the most exhilarating human beings she had ever met. Her smile could’ve brought life back into a funeral home. Whoever sought out to end it was nothing short of pure evil. And Juno felt in her soul that she wouldn’t know rest until she sought him out.

That memory alone was enough fuel to light her fire back up. She had been sitting unmoved like she was paralyzed for nearly thirty minutes inside the parking garage of the Oakland County Prosecuting Attorney’s office. Engine still running in her Honda Accord coupe—trying to build up enough something to just go in.

Memories of the two of them—full and making something out of nothing. Laughing until their stomachs ached and reaping the benefits of their hard work in spaces others didn’t think they belonged—was like the electric shock of a defibrillator. She was doing this.

She hastily pulled the mirror down to clean up any mess she had made from crying tears she hadn’t meant to. Nothing Nars concealer couldn’t hide. She slammed it shut, grabbed her LV Neverfull and the car door slammed not long after.

Head held high to the sky—she implanted Naomi’s boisterous laugh in her membrane the whole way through the lobby—past the older receptionist that usually greets her with the warmest smile and ‘good morning,’ whose head was bowed down today instead. Heels clicking on the marble floors in pursuit of the double elevator doors. The whole way up she pictured her friend lying on the floor of her home—lifeless under the hands of someone she trusted. Not even knowing that day was going to be her last.

And when the ding of the steel doors sounded and they separated—it was Naomi’s voice whispering ‘I love you,’ that pushed her to keep walking. In the buzzing hallway—despite it being seven in the morning—amidst the ringing phones, people moving about with coffee and paperwork—it was the crime scene photo of all those poor young women that shielded her from the nasty and apprehensive stares. The chatter. People she used to go out for drinks with after a long night in the office, covering their mouths with a stack of papers to talk to another colleague, as if the papers and shifty eyes were any less indication that she was the topic of conversation.

In her own office, she rested the left over empty box on the desk, amongst the overflowing ones she had started to fill some days ago when she came in for her exit interview. She packed everything up mostly that day. All she had left was to clear the glass desk full of ornaments that gave insight to who Juno was as a person—not just as an attorney. The framed graduation picture. She stood all smiles, cap and gown, with the mock degree in hand—in between her mother and father. Her older sister beside their father with her oldest niece on her hip—pacifier stuffed in her mouth.

The sun shone down on them that day. One of the most memorable days of her life. Everyone in the picture had cried at least once that day—even her hard ass of a mother. Tears for Juno and all her hard work and how much further she vowed to go. Graduating from Howard wasn’t the finish line. It was the starting point to a new race.

She wondered what everyone in the picture would think of her now. Would they still be proud of her? Would they support her? Would they think she was making the worst decision of her life? Would they disown her? Doubt and the cousin of fear crept into her mind everyday since she went in to interview Roman and came out as his defense attorney. None of it had hit any of the news outlets yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

Especially now—after today, as she came to collect her things and move out of her office. This made it official. The exit interview and the resignation letter was one thing. Blanch had kept making it a point to remind her that it wasn’t too late to change her mind with every day that passed her by. The offer more daunting and threatening than it was comforting. But she was determined. Some called it stubbornness. Since she was younger that same bug had affected her. People doubting her and already counting her out since she was a girl. It was all the push she needed to keep going. Even if in the middle of her persistence, she realized that she may have went the wrong way, it didn’t enable her to turn back. She just couldn’t. Ten toes down was the mantra she lived by.

She laid the frame face down at the bottom of the last empty box, not entirely sure where the picture would end up now. She wouldn’t be strong enough to look at their proud smiles until she was able to bear fruit of this drastic change and present it to everyone who had a helping hand in getting her this far.

The elaborate holder of pens, pencils, highlighters and sticky notes came next. With every little movement she could feel their eyes on her. All sides of the office were glass. A change that came with Blanch’s reelection some years ago. Transparency was his motive—and transparent she definitely felt.

Three knocks had her lifting her head up from the tedious task of packing. In the doorway stood the man she spent many days in this office with. They had been hired within a year of one another. He aided in her basic training. Partied together—shared war stories from law school and failed in this very office together—while also learning from said failures together. Her colleague and who she would like to consider a friend—but she knew that ship was sinking considering the circumstances. Myles Baldwin.

“Baldwin,” is all she said after a beat. Continuing her pursuit of packing after dismissing the pity on his face. The nasty stares she could manage, but pity? No—she despised it.

“Accardi,” he greeted back. “He wants to speak with you before you go,” he informed.

“Of course he does.” She tucked her bone straight hair being her ears, scanning the room for any strays of her belongings, until she felt his presence growing closer.

“Don’t.” She didn’t even spare him a glance. She knew him all too well.

“How long, Ju?”

Her arms lowered slackly at her sides, dreading eye contact. “How long what?”

“How long have you been cooking this up?” He spoke in a hushed tone. Eyes weren’t just everywhere. There were ears too. “I know you.” His light eyes accentuated under the bright lights of her old office mixing with the natural daylight from the window—pierced her in a way she had grown immune to. “You are not a spur of the moment girl. You think about everything before you do it.”

It's not that she felt compelled to explain herself to anyone—especially no one inside these walls. She was now the enemy. But her and Myles shared a bond that transcended work hours. She felt a sense of loyalty that she only hoped he did too.

Rubbing her forehead she breathed deep. “I knew Naomi…she was my friend,” she confessed.

“Wait.” He stepped closer, closing the space between them and shielding her from anyone who was watching. “Naomi? As in Naomi Nodin? The latest victim?”

She nodded. “We went to law school together. We took two different paths afterwards, but still friends nonetheless.”

“Holy shit, Ju.” The wall of apprehension he had built before speaking to her was now decimated.

“This is personal,” she continued with a hardened jaw. “Blanch is ready to close the whole thing because of one man that knew a couple of the victims. Yeah, he was fucking Naomi. Big whomp. And I get it. Roman Anoa’i is as sketchy as they come. He’s the perfect suspect. But that’s why I’m not convinced. It was too easy. I can feel it in my heart that he’s not our guy. And I won’t stand by and watch an innocent man be executed. I couldn’t help Naomi.” She swallowed the tingle threatening to restrain her words. “But that—that I can help.”

The hand previously rested on his hips, extended outward to invite her small frame into his much larger one. No more words needed. So she accepted it. It felt like a sip of hot chocolate on a snowy day. The hug of a lover after a long stressful day at work.

Their bodies conformed to one another. His woody cologne wrapping her the same way his muscular arms had. Juno didn’t want to let go, but the reality of it all hit her. Her eyes popped open as she peaked over to the right through the glass.

“They’re staring,” she mumbled into his arm.

“So, let them. I made it very clear last week that I won’t tolerate any Juno Accardi slander in this bitch.” He pulled back with two big hands still planted on her shoulders. “You’ve done too fucking much for this office. They all know it. Regardless of how they feel about this—they can’t deny that.” After his words settled in like lotion on the skin—Juno finally nodded and he mirrored it. “He’s in a meeting now. That’s why he sent me out here to get you.”

“I’m not even his employee anymore and I’m still waiting on him. Lovely.” For a white man, Hunter Blanch sure does run on CP time. Every department meeting delayed in anticipation of his arrival. Mornings where he’s jogging in an hour behind everyone else, tie not all the way done, with the Starbucks emblemed cup serving as evidence to his tardiness.

Myles revealed his perfect smile, snickering. “Just consider it his final act of love.” In his stride to the door he looked back one final time. “Good luck, Juno.” He offered what he could now that they were officially playing for opposite teams. A minute grin and words of encouragement even if they were in vain. Because he knew just like she did, that this was not the office anyone wanted to go up against.

Juno sat in the cold and sterile waiting area outside of Blanch’s office. The grandest and most intricate of the whole building. She could see him through the glass. Hands going, glasses on the brim of his nose as he spoke with whomever was on the HP monitor.

His controversially young, Russian and very blonde, executive assistant sat behind her extensive desk—not offering any words to Juno since she sat down. It didn’t bother her. They never got along. It was no secret amongst the office that Hunter Blanch had a thing for young assistants and secretaries that his wife so redundantly made him switch out every few months. A pointless enforcement if he was going to hire a young and exotic one to his liking every time. Even if he didn’t do anything with them, everyone knew they at the very least, served as eye candy for him throughout his more than stressful workdays. It's cheating to some degree.

Juno didn’t get into anyone’s business in the office, but one too many sly remarks from the twenty-one year old new hire, implying that Juno had gotten her job from offering something to her boss, was enough to put a bad taste in her mouth about her.

No one knew the real reason she was able to snag this job so swiftly, so fresh out of law school and even after her incinerating first trial as a defense attorney. That’s how she preferred it. That reason opened a completely different door of even more controversy.

The phone rang causing Juno to jolt a little in the quieter than usual enclosed space.

“Yes…she is… okay.” She hung the phone up and continued her game of solitaire on the double monitors before her, that anyone watching would get tricked into thinking was actual hard labor. “He’s ready for you,” she announced. Not even sparing Juno a glance.

Juno laughed to herself before rising up to enter the glass doors of his office, but not before stopping to give her one last piece of her mind. “If I were you babygirl, I’d take a break from the games and start building that LinkedIn profile.” She cheesed and held her Apple Watch up. “According to Mrs. Blanch—your time is almost up here. Looks like we are both out of a job.”

“Juno,” Blanch called out with more enthusiasm than what was necessary—considering the circumstances. Something of a smirk danced on his mouth as he relaxed in his desk chair. He held a hand out. “Please, have a seat,” he offered.

She was temporarily distracted by the floor to ceiling windows behind him that gave view of the entire city. His office housed the best view in the building. Absolutely breathtaking. The exact motivation one would need to carry out the heavy burden of governing freedoms and juggling the lives of the innocent or guilty.

Concrete jungle designed with skyscrapers full of Oakland County’s finest. The hub of the working class. Everything moving and functioning as intended—only it was Juno’s life that had taken a slight pause.

Easing into one of the two leather chairs stationed in front of his desk—something dawned on her. She had faced everyone today, except the giant she dreaded most.

“Where’s Leah?”

“Well,” he started. A hand came up to relieve himself of the glasses he only used under his wife’s advisement or rather her enforcement. The name plate on his desk and on the outside of his door read Attorney General Hunter Blanch, but everyone knew who really ran shit. “She took the week off.” She nodded feeling the pang of guilt again, making her shift in the seat.

In Juno’s entire time in the DA’s office, Leah Williams had only taken off for two occasions. A mandatory leave after her breast augmentation and her late father’s funeral. Now a third time presented itself. When the young girl she took under her wing betrayed her and made her to be a fool. “It seems your new ambitions has everyone on…edge.”

A deafening silence took over his spacious office. Horns from cars intermittently filling the void of their words but the silence was louder. Juno bowed her head to fool with her manicure. Lips twisted to one side as she thought of what she would say to Leah when she saw her again. She prayed it wasn’t in the courtroom. Leah Williams was the Chief Deputy Prosecutor for a reason. She was a beast in the courtroom. Only one loss in her current role under her belt. No one had slain the beast and lived to tell the story really. That’s what made Juno’s unforeseen move that much more agonizing. She was studying under Michigan’s finest. Anyone else would’ve quite literally killed to be in her shoes and she took them off with ease it seemed. God, she really hoped someone else was taking her place. Please, anyone but Leah.

“You really are sure about this?”

“I am.” She met his intense gaze once again.

“I hope so. Cause after today…” His shoulders went up and then down with raised brows. “I can’t extend any more olive branches.”

“You keep them for someone who actually needs them.” She sealed and signed her fate.

Another long and uncomfortable silence crept into the room. Blanch squinted and rested an elbow on the armchair to smooth his growing dark beard. He analyzed Juno like he would a case study. She was exceptionally smart, ambitious and her curiosity was unyielding. She was always the one in meetings asking the questions no one else thought of. The cross her I’s and dot her T’s, no corrections needed, can recite the case front to back, kind of student. None of it meant anything in their world.

“Do you remember what I told you on your first day?”

“You told me a lot that day.”

“Well, what stood out the most?” He quizzed.

She thought long and hard abut her answer. It was no secret that Blanch was one of the most cutthroat attorneys Michigan had ever seen. He—unlike most of his peers—had actually earned the title he claimed. He and Leah were like Shaq and Kobe. They obliterated their enemies and left no space for remorse. The verdict almost always in their favor. They dealt in facts and effortlessly swayed the jury. How many of those verdicts were in line with the truth? No one will ever really know. It’s irrelevant.

“Sometimes the bad guys win.” He snickered and tucked his bottom lip in to control it. Only, Juno wasn’t amused. “Not what you had in mind, huh?”

He shook his head and leaned forward on the desk between them. “No—not at all.”

Her head tilted to one side. “So tell me, Blanch. What do you think the most important thing was that you told me that day?” She probed. Oh so ready to get the fuck up out of there. She was in enemy territory now. She could feel it. No matter how many olive branches he extended or deep chuckles that escaped his throat. They had different agendas now. One’s success meant the other’s failure. No way around it.

“Courtrooms don’t weigh morality. They balance reality.” The room grows colder. Goosebumps form on her smooth skin. His eyes, dark and enticing, are like pins—holding her in place. “What can be seen. What can be heard,” he continued. The pace and ease in which he was able to go from warm to ice cold was off putting. Made her second guess every smile he ever flashed her way. “Your soul has no place in the house of justice.”

Suddenly, Juno was uncomfortable. She thought ethics to be the foundation of law. She was wrong.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her eyes bounced around the office, no longer able to play tennis. “Anything else?”

“Good luck, Juno.” While Myles’ words were encouraging with an undertone of grief for the brief moments they shared as colleagues—Blanch’s was sinister. He spoke like a man who had already seen the verdict.

Leaving Juno is suspense of two things. If the bad guys would really win this time—or if all morality had been compromised in this office.

Juno sat in the mess of all the new paperwork she had to obtain since transitioning from the prosecution to the defense. All case files had been returned to the Prosecuting Attorney’s office and in their place were the generic untouched ones. Files absent of her and her previous team’s notes. She was literally starting from scratch.

Pulled an all nighter to get everything somewhat organized to the way she had it before. If anyone walked in, they’d be floored at what she considered organized. Papers and files everywhere scattered about. On her coffee table, the couch, some on the island in her kitchen, and decorating the floor to the point where you could barely see the pebble-colored vinyl flooring.

The first rays of morning—coral and apricot lines—danced over her apartment through her white sheer drapes. Reminding her of how sleep-deprived she really has been. It didn’t start with the switch up. It started the night her phone rang in the dead silence of one in the morning. Her apartment pitch black. Alarm set for four hours later, but the ringing shocked her awake before her time. It was Leah calling to inform her that they had another victim. Juno’s heart ached at the thought of this bastard taking the life of another woman. Her blood had ran cold when she received the address of the latest crime scene. A home she had been plenty of times before and didn’t need to utilize the GPS for. A home she had spent countless nights—cooking, drinking, playing cards, binge watching Law & Order, and gossiping about everything under the sun.

Walking up to the house full of strangers—absent of the owner she knew and loved—flashing lights of blue and red dancing on the outside of the single floor cabin-like house and the pine trees surrounding it. Windows grand enough to see inside the residence. The burnt orange ceiling lights giving way to the interior—specifically the kitchen. Juno’s car door shut as her stomach went hallow. Lump in her throat, making it nearly a task to just breathe and swallow normally. The small rocks crackled under the weight of her Uggs as she put one foot in front of the other, through all the people crossing paths in front of her. Men and women in uniforms—all oblivious to the very discombobulated Juno.

That’s when she saw her. Sprawled on the kitchen floor. Shiny, black tresses extended over her face. Stiff as a board.

Her knees went weak as she barely made it back to her car and emptied out whatever was in her intestines and more. Bile, sweat and tears mixed as she hyperventilated on the side of her Honda.

She stayed crouched over like that for too long. She had a job to do. Rearranging herself back to as normal as possible—she walked back up and inside the house on autopilot. Everyone speaking to her, asking her questions, and she could barely hear a thing. She avoided the corpse like it was a mini fire in the woods.

Juno sniffed, shaking the worst memory she’s ever conjured back to its rightful place. Locked in a dungeon of her psyche. Her phone ringing aided in helping her brush it off.

“Hello—” She quickly cleared her throat to mask the cracking of it. “Hello?”

“Please tell me what they’re saying about you on the news isn’t true.” Her older sister tumbled through the speaker of her phone. Her and the rest of her full house already live and moving about.

“Good morning to you too, Jamila.”

“Juno, I’m serious—” A banging followed by a guttural cry. “Oh, fuck me.”

“What is going on over there?” Juno tried her best to suppress a laugh. Every time she spoke to her sister it sounded like she was the ringleader of a circus. It was safe to say her circus was running her this morning.

“She fell off the bed. That’s her new thing. And we’re teething now.”

“That sounds fun.”

“The news, Ju? Please tell me they have the story wrong?” She pressed.

“Well, what are they saying?” Juno only halfway listened as she thumbed through more files seated on the plush rug in her living area. Hair tied up in a loose bun and glasses constantly slipping to the end of her nose.

“You left the DA’s office?!” She sounded like she might burst into flames—or tears. Juno could never tell. “To defend that nigga that killed all those women? I don’t understand—I thought Naomi was one of the victims? Have you talked to Mommy? And what does Papa think? Didn’t he get you that job?”

Juno continued to read with her sister’s mild crash out as background noise. Jamila wasn’t just the ringleader in her own household. First born girl of her original family had made her the stick that kept everything and everyone around her in place. Her younger sister always serving as her toughest challenge. Juno didn’t follow rules that went against her own will. Stubborn little thing she was from birth. The two girls always clashing because of this.

Petty fights over dolls and who got the last bit of cereal turned to arguments about who would get the car for the night or stolen clothes from either’s closet. All escalated to Jamila chastising her sister for not wanting to settle down or her dangerous career path. It wasn’t jealousy. Most people who didn’t know the girls personally would think so. Jamila settled for a quiet and simple (not so quiet and simple) life of marrying rich and defaulted to a stay at home mom. Four kids later she seemed to be working the same strenuous and chaotic hours Juno had. She couldn’t imagine doing any of it while trying to maneuver a career path. So she eased up on her little sister after growing up a little and realizing the necessity of choosing one or the other. In adulthood, a newfound respect for the newborn she remembered holding in the hospital with a toothless grin, ripened.

So, yeah, it wasn’t jealousy. It was genuine concern rooted in unconditional love. Jamila loved the fuck out of her baby sister. Every time Juno didn’t answer the phone she thought of all the crime shows she watched while her kids were off to school—where the convicted yearned for payback from whoever was responsible for putting them away—and thought the worst. She was well aware that her sister’s career called for her to piss a lot of folks off, but she also knew her sister had a calling for justice. She was gifted. So, she let it be.

“It's still on. Turn on Fox.”

Juno reluctantly grabbed her remote. Fox being left over from the previous day and sure enough there she was. It was footage from the press conference held on the steps of the holding facility just a couple weeks before. Blanch gave his statement to all the microphones of the world while she and Leah stood on either side.

“Former Assistant District Attorney, Juno Accardi has resigned in her role as the lead prosecutor in the state of Michigan vs Joe Anoa’i. Anoa’i has been the number one suspect in a nineteen count homicide and sexual assault case. He’s been in holding for the past month awaiting trial. Not only has Accardi resigned but she has taken on the role as Anoa’i’s defense attorney amidst her departure from the DA’s office…”

Juno watched, not even blinking as they zoomed in on her frame. The voice of the news reporter fading to black. Heart beating erratically. She knew it was coming. No amount of preparation could tranquilize this feeling. They switched abruptly to a more recent press conference. Blanch in the forefront as usual. Black hair sleek and luscious, dressed in an expensive designer suit—but, no Leah. She could tell from the background it was held on the steps of her former job.

“We just want to assure Oakland County and Michigan as a whole, that the priority amidst the chaos— is and always will be, the pursuit of justice. We are confident that we have all we need to bring clarity and a peace of mind back to the victim’s families and the rest of the young women of Isabella. The recent loss of one of our own does not deter from that. If anything it’s given us the extra push we need to flush out anymore bad apples in preparation for trial…”

“Bastard.” She heard Jamila spit. “—No, Tootie! You don’t repeat mommy!”

The news woman carried on as a picture of Roman’s mugshot presented itself next to the footage of him being taken into the holding facility the day of his detaining. Cameras flashing, more than enough microphones shoved in his face as he tried his best to conceal himself with a broad shoulder amongst the swarm of reporters and belligerent patrons. SWAT team trying their best to keep everyone at bay and off the unsolicited superstar.

His eyes—just as Naomi exemplified. Dark and dangerous, yet innocent and luring. Paradoxical. Nothing about this man made sense to Juno. The news broadcast rocked her. And for the first time since this whole thing—she questioned if she had made a mistake.

"Ma'am we ask that you stay at least six feet from the cage at all times. He shouldn’t be in the possession of any items, but in the unusual case that he—”

“Do you mind if we skip the formalities? I’m kind of on a time schedule here.” Juno fished a plastic smile for the guard ready to read the list of protocols off and bore her to death. She came here with a purpose and she had more than enough already stacked on her plate.

The familiar shiver from the arctic atmosphere of the room they held the beast in, greeted her the minute she took her first step on the concrete. She found him the same way as last time. Hanging from the bars pulling himself up. Jumper hanging loosely above his hips. Hair clinging to his broad shoulders. Back muscles slick with sweat—waving at her.

Leaning all her weight on one foot and crossing her arms, she stood by as he finished his last set and released himself with a thunderous thud. His dark eyebrows knitted together and chest heaving as he turned to focus on her.

“Juno.” The upper corner of his lip turned up as he tried to bring his breathing patterns back to normal. “So the rumors are true.”

“I’m a woman of my word.”

“I can see that.” His menacing eyes made a trail from the two open buttons of her black jumpsuit, down to her red bottoms. She cleared her throat. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, I’m working on getting you moved to a better facility. Something not as secluded and closer to the city.”

“And how long will that take?”

“I don't know. Could be weeks. A month.” She shrugged. “When I left the DA’s office, I left all my connections so—pushing paperwork is gonna be a bitch.”

“You did all that for me?” He got comfortable, leaning his back into the corner of the cage closest to her. All his attention on her.

“I did it for me—following that voice in my head,” she confessed. The voice was Naomi’s, followed by a horrific montage of all those girls, pale-faced and bleeding out. “I did it for them—all those girls he murdered. And yeah—yeah, I guess I did it for you too.”

He used his long fingers to smooth the unkempt beard down. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your secret. Lil’ Juno has a soft spot for Roman.”

Silence enveloped the two strangers whose lives were now inevitably entangled and dependent on one another. Juno was the first to break.

“Is there anything that I don’t already know, that I should?”

His lush bottom lip poked out. “Nope. You know as much as you should,” he lied. He bit his lip looking her up and down again. He was seeing her with a different pair of eyes. This wasn’t the same woman from weeks ago. That girl was timid. Unsure. This one housed fire and she was a force. It turned him on as much as it intimidated him. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she could see through his cracks—his flaws that weren’t so obvious. “You and I have a long road ahead of us. We are going to have some fun, sweet butt.”

“I have two rules.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Never lie to me.” The first rule landed like wrecking ball. “The only way this works is if we have full transparency. Whatever I ask—I need an answer. None of that cat and mouse bullshit from the other day. We’re officially on the same team now,” she declared. “Doesn’t matter how big or small. Anything. It all means something. We have attorney client privilege. Anything you say has to stay between us. I can’t judge you for it.”

His head bowed as he pursed his lips. “Yeah as my attorney you can’t judge me. But as Juno? The person? You’ll definitely be judging…” There was weight in his words that made Juno’s heart feel heavy. “What was the second rule?” He requested, pulling her from whatever rabbit hole she was ready to go down.

“Don’t ever call me sweet butt again.” The deep tenor of his laughter filled the vast room and she couldn’t help the grin that painted over her face.

But as it settled she slid off the temporary cloud and was faced with reality. The air around the two growing thick. He could sense it as he looked back in her direction.

“Last chance,” she warned. Jaw tight. No more games. “Did you kill Naomi Nodin?” Her nose burned as she remembered her. Full of life and light. Reduced to a corpse. She had so much life left to live. So much more to offer this world.

Roman’s perfect teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he regarded Juno. His emotional intelligence whispering to him that this was not the time for his smart ass remarks or deflective riddles. So he told her flat out, “no. No I didn’t.”

She nodded. Accepting it for what it was. She didn’t know why but she trusted that he was telling her the truth.

“Same time, same place tomorrow?”

He nodded once. “I’m here all day and night.”

She turned to leave but halfway she’s halted in place due to her name being called. “Juno,” his baritone voice hurdles through like a boomerang. She turned. “Thank you.” He stared not blinking. The gratitude was intense. Still, Juno didn’t think of herself as deserving just yet. All she had done was follow her heart like she was taught. Selfishly, it had more to do with her and not him.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

This is what her life had become. Unpredictable the sharp left turn it was, but it was now her new normal. She didn’t believe in coincidences. She believed she was exactly where she needed to be. A character in an already well written story. She didn’t believe in miracles. She knew in order to get to the other side she wouldn’t be unscathed, but she had to put the work in. The journey ahead was long just as Roman professed. It had twists, turns, boulders and barricades placed intentionally with thorns and potholes to add insult to injury. And as someone who was no stranger to grievance—it still strained her to think of. It was like locking the last piece of a Lego house just for someone to come and kick it down. Yeah, you can start from scratch and familiarity of the process once done, should make it easier—but easier is subjective. Especially when they’ll always be someone lying in wait to come kick the Lego house down again at any given moment.

She couldn’t save her friend. Naomi was dead. She wasn’t coming back. That much would haunt her until her mind was dust. But she could salvage one life and that was Roman’s. So she focused on what was possible to fix and buried—literally and figuratively—what wasn’t.

A/N // If you read this or even a portion, I am extremely grateful. As always feedback is welcomed💗

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mabelstone · 1 year ago

Text

Why would you be loved?

hozier x f!reader

part two of lullabies <3 | part one | masterlist

cw: teeeeeny bit of violence at very beginning ... also 18+ ok if u are unfamiliar with me... this is my thing. this character is FICTIONAL before u attack me for sexualising THE hozier

word count: 3.2k

*i've decided i'd like this to be a slow burn... but don't worry! i will add things to keep u interested (or attempt to)

The sticky slap of their skin echoed through the room, my heart thudding loud enough in my ears to deafen the noise.

I lurched forward, grabbing the leggy blonde from the bar by her hair, yanking her off of Joe and slamming her naked body into the wall. She gasped loudly, falling onto the ground where she watched on in horror. I grabbed the nearest object I could reach - his bedside lamp - smashing the ceramic over his head, screaming in his face about how he's fucked this up for good.

Except that's not what happened.

I opened the door to the same scenario, except I didn't lose my temper and tear the two of them to shreds. My heart still pounded harder than ever, but I simply backed out into the hall without a sound. My eyes must've been something of a Tim Burton character as I walked back outside, leaving the front door wide open. I didn't even grab anything as my handbag was still over my shoulder. I dug around for my phone, finding nothing but an old gum packet, some lipgloss, and some loose change.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, running my hands through my hair. I had my phone in the bar. Did I leave it in Andrew's car? Fuck, did I leave it at the bar? I began to panic, frantically walking down the street. As if I could walk all the way back! It was at least 15 kilometres from my place. I didn't care though, continuing to pace in the cold in clothing more suited to warmer weather. I kept replaying what I saw over and over in my head. I'd usually call my mum, but...

The way his hands were digging into her skin, the way she kept repeating how good he was making her feel. I felt sick to my stomach, and the alcohol wasn't helping. I'm not sure they even saw me, but once he finished (judging by the sounds he was making, wouldn't be too long) he'd see the doors open and connect the dots.

I turned my head as I heard someone whistle from across the street, inexplicably grateful to see Andy's car. "What're you doin'?"

"Do you have my phone?" My voice sounded foreign to me, robotic and desperate at the same time. I crossed the street, heading straight for the passenger side.

"Your lifeline is right here, hence why I am," he laughed, holding my phone out to me. I just stood at the door expressionless, and he probably thought my drinks had been spiked or I'd gone mad. "You... alright?"

"Joe is cheating on me," robotically sounding again. Though saying the words out loud made it suddenly real. Joe is cheating on me.

"What?" His eyebrows shot up, dipping his head to see my face better. "What? When?"

"Like, literally right now," I laughed. I began to laugh hysterically, having to rest my hands on the top of his car to steady myself. I laughed so hard, tears began to stream down my face and my stomach hurt.

The next thing I knew, that familiar warm hand was on my back, followed by a soft, "c'mere". I turned to face Andrew, immediately bursting into tears. Real tears this time. He pulled me in close to his chest, one arm easily wrapped around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head. I sobbed into his shirt, likely accidentally digging my nails into his back as I clung to him. If I did, he didn't comment on it. He held me tight, rubbing soft circles into my spine with his palm. I don't know how long we stood there for, but when I pulled away, his shirt was soaked and covered in mascara.

"I'm so sorry," I gave a half hearted laugh, gesturing to the stained cotton. "I will wash it for you, I'm good at getting stains out."

"Don't be ridiculous," he smiled that poor you smile he always did, but this time it felt like a comfort as he shook his head. "You can come back to mine and shower. Then we can figure this out."

"No, no, I don't want to put you out." I protested, wiping under my eyes, undoubtedly smudging the black into my hairline. I sniffled, wiping my snotty nose onto the sleeve of my cardigan. If Joe was right about Andy being infatuated with me, I definitely just destroyed that in one simple, snotty gesture.

"I insist," he smiled, leaning against the side of the car. I was exhausted, and a nice shower in a house that didn't reek of infidelity sounded too good to reject. I nodded and climbed into the passenger seat for the second time tonight, switching on my phone to see no new messages. Maybe he didn't see me after all.

I slipped into an oversized hoodie of Andrew’s after my shower, steam on the mirror and condensation on every surface from the amount of time I was in there. I felt guilty using his water, but time slipped away from me by the time I realised. He had real shampoo and conditioner, not that pathetic 3 in 1 bullshit Joe used. I stole a hair tie and hid my messy curls in a bun. I honestly looked like a mess, but it was definitely an improvement from before. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Most of the alcohol had fleeted my system, so now I was just exhausted and forced to bask in the reality of the situation.

I walked into his living room where he was sat, one arm slung over the back of the couch while the other flicked through Netflix. It was strange to see him in his space, so comfortable and… domestic. No, we’re not doing this. Yet.

I looked down and saw a black border collie mix strewn across his lap. “Oh my goodness!” I swooned as I headed straight for the dog. Andy mustn’t have heard me, jumping slightly and cursing under his breath. “How rude of me. Who’s this little angel?”

“The breaking of my heart,” he began, hand over his chest as he stared lovingly down at his dog. “Elwood.”

“Elwood? Really?” I quirked an eyebrow, looking up to Elwood’s owner.

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy, I don’t understand the issue?”

I rolled my eyes, going back to snuggling the dog, kissing his face all over. “He is beautiful. Yes you are!” Elwood wagged his tail excitedly, slobbering happily all over my hands.

Andrew chuckled down at us, averting his eyes back to the TV, a soft smile lingering on his lips.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower, Andy,” I smiled, sitting beside him on the lounge, feeling like the human embodiment of the calm after a storm.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all," he grinned earnestly, playing the pilot of Breaking Bad softly in the background. He lulled his head to the side, eyes glistening in the soft golden lighting of the lamp in the corner of the room. "Want a tea?"

"Please," I nodded, Elwood now snuggled into my lap. The moment he left the room, I was left with the crushing reality of what'd just happened. The horrible sound that plagued my phonic memory, as if it were played through headphones at a deafening volume. I tried to focus on the TV, Breaking Bad had always been my favourite. It was no use, the gut wrenching ache within me only multiplied by the minute, tears welling in my eyes, daring to fall.

"I wasn't sure how you take it so I bought everything with me," he placed two tea cups onto his coffee table, along with a carton of milk and a canister of sugar.

"So adorable, you remind me of my gran," I teased, desperately trying to blink away any trace of sadness before he had a chance to see. I didn't need to burden him with any more tears.

"You know, I've been called far worse," he shrugged, taking his tea black, sitting beside me on the couch. "So I'll take it."

I hummed in response, mixing in my milk and sugar.

"So... maybe a redundant question, but, how're you feeling?"

"Well," I chuckled bitterly, sipping from my tea. "Probably feeling as you'd expect. Actually, that's a lie. I don't know how I feel honestly."

His eyes studied my features, and I deliberately avoided his gaze. His dog snored away in my lap, the TV just loud enough that any amount of silence couldn't be awkward.

"Has... anything like this happened to you?" I asked, despite the voice in my head telling me not to.

"Ehm, yeah. Not too long ago, actually," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his chocolate curls flicking up at the ends, framing his face beautifully in the light. "We were together for three years. She was sleeping around with a friend of mine. She broke it off with me when she decided she'd rather be with him."

"Her loss," I mirrored that same pitiful look he always gave me, the slight drop in his expression making me feel guilty for even asking. "You make a mean cup of tea."

"If only she could appreciate the art of English Breakfast," he sighed, a sad smile lingering on his lips despite the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Andy," I sighed, tempted to reach out for him but deciding against it in fear of breaching some unspoken boundary. "I'll get out of your hair soon."

"You can stay- only if you'd like," he offered awkwardly, eyes flickering to mine as he fiddled with the handle of his cup. "There's a spare bedroom."

"No, no. You've been so kind tonight, I don't want to push it," I shook my head, misjudging the height of the coffee table, my cup hitting it with a sharp clank. Elwood startled, throwing his head back to look at me. "Sorry, buddy."

"You're not pushing anything," he laughed, shaking his head now. "It's late. The decision's all yours. But I must say, that bed might be nicer than my own."

"Quite persuasive, aren't you?" I grinned, throwing my head back against the couch, weighing up my options. Well, I can't go home. "Okay. I'll stay... if you're sure that's okay?"

"Well, because you're twisting my arm..." He joked, that bright, happy smile making its glorious return. "I'll get you a spare toothbrush and a bottle of water. You've had a big night."

"Yeah," I breathed, rubbing at my burning, no doubt bloodshot, eyes. "I am exhausted."

"Come, I'll show you to your room," he got up from the couch, extending his hand to me. I took it in mine, warm and calloused; so large, his fingers reached my wrist as he helped me from the couch. I followed behind him, the soft padding of our feet up the stairs slowly becoming the only sound audible. Elwood trailing close behind, of course.

He showed me to the guest room, nothing special, but somehow a massive comfort. A navy blue, fluffy duvet with a bedside table, a simple lamp and a copy of Inferno by Dante Alighieri atop it.

"Oh, I'll grab that toothbrush," he waved his hand as if he were finally able to dismiss the thought. I chuckled at the way he hurried out of the room, the exhaustion rippling through my body as I sat on the edge of the bed. He was right. This might be the comfiest bed I've ever had the pleasure of sitting on. I zoned out, staring at the carpet as I finally sobered up. These past few weeks had been fucked, and I knew they'd only get worse. My phone started buzzing rapidly as Andy came back into the room, a bottle of water, a toothbrush still in the packaging, and a sheet of panadol in his hands. He silently placed them onto the bedside table, both of us just watching my phone ring. It was Joe.

Against my better judgement, I picked up on the last ring, raising the phone to my ear.

"Where are you?" His voice was hoarse, unsuspecting. Idiot.

"Doesn't matter," I sighed, nauseated at the sound of his voice.

"Well, it does. I've been worried sick about you, you're meant to be home now. How would I know you hadn't been kidnapped or gone home with some creep?"

"That is ironic," I laughed, though there was no humour in my tone.

"The fuck are you on about? Get home right now." He was getting angrier by the second. Andrew could hear every word, his brows knitted together in disgust as he listened on.

"I did come home. You were a bit busy," I swallowed harshly, my voice failing me, beginning to shake.

There was silence on his end for a good thirty seconds, all air in Andrew's small guest bedroom thinning at once. "...Babe. We will get through this."

"I don't think so."

"Don't say shit like that. I love you, Y/N. We'll get through this stronger than ever. Just come home, baby. I'll make it up to you," he was speaking fast, panicked almost.

"I need some space," I replied weakly, eyes filling with tears again.

"No. I love you. Come home. Please, babe, pl-"

I hung up on him before he got the chance to manipulate me straight back into his arms, Andy watching me with a frown. Suddenly, it was all too real, and I was breaking down in front of him for the second time tonight.

He didn't say anything. I felt the bed dip beside me, his warm arm wrapping around my shoulder, pulling me in close. We stayed like that for a while - my head leaned against his shoulder as I cried, his head atop mine - until I felt like there was no water left in my body. I heaved a massive sigh, sitting up straight again.

"Oh, Andy, I'm so s-"

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he hushed me, sincerity written all over his face, kind emerald eyes revealing that he wasn't doing anything for secondary gain; he was just a beautiful soul. "Get some rest."

"Okay," I agreed, pulling back the covers with his help. I wanted him to stay, I didn't want to be alone. I wished he could've just laid with me, no meaning attached, but just to have the warmth of another to occupy the cold, empty bed. Instead I thanked him again, pulling the covers up to my chin.

"You know where my room is. I'll be there if you need anything," he smiled earnestly, flicking off the light before walking out.

Goodnight, Andy, I almost said, but sleep washed over me quicker than I could form the words.

I woke early, bathed in velvety caramel coloured sunlight, slowly beginning to register where I was. I made my way down to corridor to Andy's room, his bedroom door barely ajar. I put my ear to the door, not wanting to wake him if he were still sleeping. I heard soft pants escaping his lips, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

I gently pushed the door open, revealing the glow of his milky skin in the same light. His beautiful halo of curls sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he worked himself beneath the covers. I couldn't suppress the noise of surprise that escaped my lips as he whimpered my name.

"Fuck-" He gasped, pulling his hand from under the cover. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Keep going," I encouraged, slowly making my way to him. Confusion plastered all over his face, he obliged, slipping his hand back under the cover. I sat before him, our eyes locked on one another as he picked up the pace. "Gooood, that's it."

His brows furrowed as he continued to worked himself, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow. I slipped into bed beside him, my hand replacing his. His breathing pattern grew irregular, every vowel of my name dripping off his tongue, igniting a fire deep in my core. I began placing wet kisses along jawline, making my way down to his neck, then his chest, then-

And then I actually woke up, heart beating at a million miles an hour. What. The. Fuck. Shame immediately coursed through my veins, burying my face into my pillow as I replayed the dream over and over until it was committed to memory. Am I an awful person?

I could vaguely hear Andrew singing along to Let's Fall In Love by Ella Fitzgerald in the kitchen, cautiously making my way down the stairs. I was disgusted in myself for even thinking of him in that way, let alone loving every shame filled second of it.

"Mornin'," I made myself known, sliding onto one of the stools at his breakfast bar.

"Good morning," he chirped, sliding a cup of coffee toward me. He had his glasses on this morning, his hair pulled back into a bun. "How're you feelin'?"

"Good," I lied through my teeth, concealing it with an enthusiastic nod. "Better, yeah." I just gave you a handjob in my dream and now I want you to pin me to the couch and make love to me all day. Oh, and I'm supposed to be grieving a near 6 year relationship, but now I'm just really fucking confused. "How are you?"

"Hungry. And I hope you are too," he grinned, revealing a big stack of pancakes he'd just cooked for us, as well as a bowl of chopped strawberries.

"I am, that looks lovely," another lie. I had no appetite. But I also couldn't say no to a man so sickly sweet. He sat beside me, soft jazz serenading us from his record player.

"What've you got on today?" He queried, plopping a pancake onto each of our plates.

"Might visit my ma, update her on... everything, I guess. Then I've gotta get my car. Maybe some clothes. Fuck, I don't even know what to do," I laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of my coffee. "You performing tonight?"

"Hoping to," he nodded, taking a bite of a strawberry. "You know you're more than welcome to spend the night here again."

"I couldn't possibly burden you for another night," I deflected, mirroring his actions and popping a strawberry into my mouth.

"You actually don't have to fight me each time, you cay just say no," he chuckled, shaking his head at me.

"I love spending time with you," I confessed, resting my hand on his arm, then retracting it just as fast. "I just don't want you to think I'm using you."

"Nonsense," he waved me off, scoffing. "It's nice to have some company. Plus, Elwood has taken a strong liking to you."

"The feeling is mutual," I laughed, breaking off a piece of my pancake for the dog happily wagging his tail by my feet. "I'm sure you have lady friends come and visit."

"Only ones who ruin their tea with milk and barely touch their pancakes," he remarked with a wide grin. I felt my cheeks turn hot at his stupid comment, finally digging in to my breakfast.

Maybe things weren't going to be so bad after all.

i don't love this... but this desperately needed an update. feel free to send requests of some stuff you'd like in the next chapter xx

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier smut #andrew hozier

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