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jungkookstatts · 7 months

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All Over Again

[Summary]: Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back.

[Theme]: Dad!Jk, CEO!Jk, Married Couple AU, Parent's AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes. Marking, kissing, nipple play, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up y'all), dom!JK, mentions of another pregnancy, talks of pregnancy and getting pregnant, etc.

[Word Count]: 4,274

[A/N]: This is a pure result of the urge my body suddenly gets to want a child right before my period smh. Anyway, felt cute, might delete later once I am sane.

It’s been a long ass day. Jungkook’s white button-up feels stapled to his skin, his pants folding uncomfortably with every step he makes as he exits his office. A long finger comes up to his neck, digging underneath his striped tie, wiggling it a little to loosen the chokehold it has around his neck. His other hand feels bound to his briefcase, which carries so much importance in his life but yet so much burden at the same time.

It’s his first day back at work after his baby boy was born. The briefcase he holds reminds him of the duty he has to his family — of his passion and his support for you and your baby. But it also reminds him of the time it has ripped away from spending with you. He clutches it with so much strength at the thought of you, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button so hard, that he thinks he almost might just break it.

With a deep breath, he takes off his tie and tosses it in the passenger seat along with his briefcase. He’s ready to go home. That picture of you, him, and your son that you insisted on framing and Jungkook bringing to work has been a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to at the end of the day. If only his paternity leave could have been longer. You and his son are all he’s been able to think about. How you were doing, if you needed his help, if Jaemun was being feisty, how the cute crinkle on his nose resembles yours to a T.

It’s late January, and the winter air is unforgiving. He wonders if you have the heat on high enough; if Jaemun had enough blankets, or if the tip of your nose was cold like how it always is in the winter months. He can imagine you holding him close, swaddling him as you sing to him delicately. The thought makes his whole body warm, even though the air is so cold that it feels like glass is cutting against his skin.

He’s convinced he will take more time off. He’s the CEO, after all. He could take months off and it not matter. He wants to be with you always — at all times of the day to hold you and be there for you like he should be. If only the world had been that easy to where passions didn’t have a price. He got lucky, his passion having a heavy penny attached to it. But he wonders where that passion took something more valuable away from him — time. He finds himself now strapped between the choice of time and passion, and he fights the fact that he cannot choose both.

The door to your home is welcoming to his eyes as he pulls up to it. It’s not big by any means. Just homey and enough for the three of you. Even with the snow covering almost every inch of it, the reminder of how warm it is on the inside makes his drive to enter it even greater. He does so with a shiver, coming up to your shared home with a stomp of his boots to shake off the snow just before he enters.

To his surprise, he’s met with hushed music coming from the kitchen as he puts his winter coat on the hook, places his briefcase on the wooden floor, and shimmies out of his shoes. He looks at his watch first, making sure it’s not Jaemun’s nap time, to which he finds out it is. The soft music makes sense now, and he smiles when he makes his way down the hallway to the source of the noise.

The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen-living room area that you and your baby rest in. Jaemun is peacefully sleeping in his bassinet by the couch, cuddling his dinosaur blanket, while you are by the stove, stirring something.

You look over your shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps, and your heart immediately softens at the sight of your husband in the doorframe. He smiles back tiredly, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted attempt to pull himself together before he makes his way over to you. He looks relieved, like he’s finally received what he’s wanted all day. You’re happy to see him, knowing all too well that that’s what you’ve been waiting for all day, too.

Big, warm hands slide around your waist, a heavy chin rests on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek softly. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your presence as he releases the tension from work off his shoulders. You tend to have an instant effect on him — he missed you so much.

“You’re stirring water?” he laughs as he stares at the pot of water on the stove, unboiled, as you stir it as if it is.

“I’m trying to get it to boil quicker,” you explain with a defeated sigh. “Doesn’t seem to be working. I feel like I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes.”

He hums from behind you, taking your stirring hand and stopping your motions. You’ve never been a big cooker, but he knows you’ve been trying lately. “Just let it be, love. It’ll get there.”

You do as he says, putting the ladle down on the countertop and turning around in his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring at the tall man who holds you close against him. You’re met with a tired Jungkook who rests his forehead against yours as you play with the hairs at the back of his head.

“How was work?” you ask gently.

He groans, wrapping his hands around your waist and holding you tighter against him. It causes you to rest your cheek on his shoulder, hugging him in full.

“That bad?” you chuckle.

Your husband just sighs against your neck. “It’s too early to go back, Y/n,” he candors.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of his face behind his ear. “We’re ok, Kook,” you comfort. But he only shakes his head, making the tucked strand fall out of its place again.

“I’m not,” he says. “I want to be here with you. Spend time with Jaemun before he’s suddenly 25.”

You chuckle at that. It does feel like that sometimes. It’s been three months since your son was born, but it feels like it was just yesterday that you were holding him for the first time.

You can only hold his cheek in response, running your thumb slowly against his soft skin. You feel for him, you really do. He’s such a good father. It makes your heartstrings tug and twist and pull every time you see him with your little boy. It’s only a matter of time before you have to go back to work as well. The thought makes your stomach turn, and you can completely sympathize with your husband dreading going back to work and leaving you and Jaemun.

“Your water is boiling,” he breaks you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you turn around. You smile, knowing he was right before. “I’m making pasta if that sounds ok?”

Jungkook kisses your neck in response, a gentle thing that has your tummy flipping for a second.

“You could also probably wake up our son,” you check the time on the microwave. “He’s been a little sleepy today, so I let his nap go for a little longer than usual.”

You add the pasta in and turn the water down, moving over to the greens left on the cutting board. You start chopping until your husband’s lips move lower.

“Our son,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone. The statement makes him jittery. It feels unreal still, even after nine months of waiting, and another three of actually having your little family here with him. You’re his wife, the mother of his kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. You gave him something he can never find an equivalent to giving back to you. You gave him your heart and a family, and there’s nothing that can replace or overcome what that means to him. His soul lives for yours; it’s overwhelming what you’ve done for him. It’s overwhelming how you make him feel.

He kisses your collarbone softly once again, his heart full. You tilt your head to the side for more, and he gives it to you, kissing up your neck with slow wet kisses.

“Kook,” you exhale gently. You feel him hum against the skin just under your ear. Large palms cup your waist, his body moving closer to yours, trapping your hips against the countertop. Your knife feels loose in your hand when he bites at your skin gently, his tongue brushing over the bite mark afterward.

He stirs something within you. Something that you’ve missed terribly for the past few months. It makes your thighs tremble as he gently caresses your skin under his fingertips.

“The baby—“ you begin, but Jungkook’s motions cut you off yet again when his fingers slowly slide down your front. He’s unsure, his hand hesitating over your skin as his breath stops momentarily in thought.

“Is this okay?” He asks you genuinely. You nearly fall to your knees, dropping your knife onto the board, when his fingers put pressure over your clothed mound. It’s subtle, and much more gentle than what you’re used to with him. You know he’s being cautious, but god did you miss him. “If it’s too much, I’ll pull away.”

You shake your head.

It’s been a long time since the two of you have gotten intimate. Childbirth wasn’t easy, and your doctor just recently gave you two the “ok” for sex. The first time you tried since then wasn’t like what you’re used to with your husband. It was slow and painful, ending with a lot of apologies, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s safe to say that you have to get used to sex all over again.

“No,” you lean against him. “J-Just be gentle. I’m still a little sore.”

“Ok,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly. “Just relax for me, baby. I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

You nod, loosening your nervous shoulders as your husband takes control. He stops swiftly for a second, turning the stove on the lowest setting before looking over his shoulder at his son to ensure he’s still fast asleep. Once he sees that he is, he immediately returns to you.

“So good for me,” he says, slowly circling your clit over your sweats. His other hand squeezes your waist before it moves up, sliding under your shirt and trickling over your breast. You’re wearing a soft bra today—one without an underwire—which makes it easier for him to slide his fingers under.

You whimper when he softly massages your boob, his fingers playing with your nipples gently. Your body, especially your breasts, has become 10x more sensitive since birth. You can feel everything, and everything either hurts or feels really really good. Whenever your husband seems to hold them, you’re a whimpering mess, melting like putty in his arms as he plays with you.

“Sensitive,” Jungkook smiles. His fingers rub harder against you, and you subtly buck your hips against him. His lips graze against your skin, his hair tickling your collarbone as he assaults your neck over and over again.

“You’re so cute when you’re pregnant,” he rasps against your cheek before planting a sweet kiss upon it. “Wanna see you like that all the time. So full of me — carrying our babies.”

“Jungkook, I—” you whine, grasping onto his wrist. You’re unsure what to do with yourself, wanting him to do so much to you, but not knowing where to start.

The man behind you takes his hand away from your mound, and he chuckles when you whine in protest. But his thumbs hook on your pants and underwear, slowly pulling them down.

“Relax, baby,” he asks again. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides around your waist again, smoothing over your skin until it’s sliding between your folds. The back of your hand comes up to your mouth as your other grips the countertop for support as he plays with you.

“So wet,” he moans, feeling the effect he’s had on you with his fingers. “This all for me? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You nod, feeling completely at the mercy of the man behind you. His other hand plays with your nipple again, and you feel another wave of euphoria go straight to your pussy.

His fingers gather your slick generously, smoothing it over your clit before circling it gently. He plays infinities over it, making your knees go weak. It’s getting harder to stay quiet, especially when he pinches your nipple gently, making you gasp at the soreness and pleasure it causes.

“K-Kook,” you whine, but he only chuckles, quickening his motions on your clit as he presses further into you. You can feel his dick strained against his work pants, and the thought of him inside you again makes you feel so needy for him. “Want you,” you pant. “Please.”

“Patience,” he shushes you, kissing your neck surely. “I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Wanna cum with you,” you whine in protest.

“You will,” he promises.

You gasp as he switches his finger, his thumb trading places with his middle. It circles over you just the same, except this time, it’s joined by his middle finger slowly inserting itself between your folds.

“Oh,” you exhale, feeling weak when he pumps it in and out of you slowly.

He lets himself test your reactions, seeing if the insertion is too much — if it hurts or feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to be, and he slowly lets his ring finger join with his middle, causing you to roll your eyes back slightly.

“So good for me, baby,” he encourages. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply almost immediately.

He kisses your neck. His lips leave hot, wet marks all over your skin as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. His other hand quickly comes to your waist, stabilizing you as you whimper against the back of your hand, trying your best to keep quiet.

He circles his thumb faster, his fingers circling and brushing against your g-spot in tandem with his movements. You feel your orgasm looming over you, and with a certain pressure against your clit, you’re coming undone just as he said you would all over his fingers.

“There you are,” he coaxes you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you falling apart on his fingers. He helps you ride out your high, his fingers very gently brushing over your clit as you come down.

Once you're calmed down, you reach around you, playing with his belt loop as you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. He looks back down, hesitating again knowing what you want but unsure if it’s too much for you to handle yet.

“What,” he smiles teasingly with a kiss to your forehead.

“I want you,” you candor, looking at up him with pleading eyes.

He kisses your nose. “Are you sure? You said it hurt last time.”

You nod. “Please, Koo,” you beg him.

His chest rises, and he takes a deep breath before he nods, kissing you gently as he unbuckles his belt. He places it on the counter before unzipping himself and pulling his pants down. It springs up, pressing itself against your skin gently. But he takes himself in his hands, hesitantly letting it slide down over your folds.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He says, lining himself up to you with a few strokes of his cock. God, was he nervous. The last time sex hurt really bad for you, and that was just a week ago. He wonders if the prep was enough; he hopes it was, he really doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You nod, holding onto the countertop again as his tip rubs against your entrance. Your coat his cock in such slickness, even you’re surprised at how much you leak onto him. You miss your husband. You need this bad, and so does he.

“Oh, and try to stay quiet, yeah?” He says with a push of his hips. The motion has him covering your mouth with his hand, shielding your moans quickly. “The baby is still sleeping.”

His dick slips past your folds so smoothly, it has you gasping for breath at how good it feels. It’s nothing like the last time. He’s gentler, but still so so big, he fills you up just right.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck once he sheathes himself fully inside of you. The man behind you stills, completely overwhelmed with the feeling of you. He, too feels like he’s had to relearn sex all over again. How to please you right now that your body has changed, how to make sure that you are comfortable with his pace and size. You two haven’t had sex like this in so long, he feels overwhelmed when you feel almost too good for him to control. A part of him is embarrassed by how quickly he thinks he’s going to last.

“How are you still so tight, hm?” he asks with a firm grip on your hip. “Y-You okay?”

You can only nod, pushing your hips down against him. The motion forces him further into you, to which both of you grunt at the feeling.

Testingly, Jungkook pulls out slowly, before pushing back into you a little quicker than before. You coat him generously, creating a motion that makes it easy for him to repeat.

He develops a pace, fucking you against the kitchen countertop with your juices leaking all over his cock and down your thighs. The stove is on and your baby still sleeps; there are uncut vegetables in front of you and your husband still wears his work shirt. But he fucks you as if none of that matters. As if his only priority is to make sure you feel good, to let yourself go as he fuck you deep and just how you like it.

His hand comes off from your mouth and settles on your hip. His other hand wraps around your front, holding you impossibly close against his body.

You moan softly when he bends you over slightly against the countertop, the new angle making it hard for you to stay quiet. But you push your hips against him anyway, telling him without words to go deeper.

The action causes him to moan, following your request with a snap of his hips.

“You like it that much, hm?” He grunts, cock ramming into you. “Like it when I knock you up good?”

“Y-Yes!” You whisper. “I love it so much, Koo.”

“Y-yeah?” He leans over you. A tattooed hand cups over yours, palm embracing the back of your hand as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Gonna let me do it again?”

“Mmhm,” you squeeze his fingers. “As many times as y-you want.”

“A-Ah,” he pants, mind going into a frenzy over your words. The fact that he is yours, that you are his. That only he can hear you say that. That only he can make you feel this good. That only he has the privilege of calling you his wife. It makes his heart warm and his cock twitch.

“God, I’m going to ruin you if you say things like that, Y/n,” he warns. But you are relentless, leaning your head back on his shoulder, giving yourself to him further.

“W-Want you to,” you whimper. “I love you.”

Your legs shake, completely weak from your past orgasm and your new one forming at the pit of your stomach. His cock makes you feel so full, like you’re stretched to the max capacity as he fucks you good. You know he’s close when his dick twitches inside of you after your words, which only encourages you to gain some strength and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he grips your hips tightly. “M’ gonna cum.”

He quickly reaches around you again, drawing infinities over your clit with his middle finger. His eyes roll back as your cunt naturally tightens at the feeling. Your hips jolt and the knots in your tummy slowly start to unravel themselves onto his dick as you come undone. Just as he had promised, with a final twitch, he’s cumming inside of you with hot, thick ropes filling you up with whispered exhales of your name on his lips.

He lets the two of you catch your breath, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he’s pulling out, shared cum leaking down your thighs and onto the floor. Quickly, he grabs a paper towel from the roll next to the stove and cleans you up a little.

With gentle hands, he helps you back into your sweats before he helps himself into his boxers. He still lingers behind you when he reaches a hand around you and turns the stove on a higher setting once again.

You turn around, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “I love you,” you whisper against him again. His hair falls onto your skin, dark locks intertangling with yours as his fingers come up to hold your face against his. Soft lips sear over yours, telling you things that simply cannot be put into words.

“I love you, too,” he brushes his nose against yours. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You pause, looking up at his dilated pupils. He looks at you like you're his world; like he's given you his heart with the full intent of never receiving it back from you. You nod, kissing him softly again.

“You should probably wake up your son now,” you poke his cheek.

Looking at the time on the microwave, he snaps out of his daze. “Oh fuck,” he says as his fingers leave your side. You watch him leave you with a chuckle, turning back to your pasta wondering how in the world you go so lucky to marry and mother a kid to this man. You’d truly give him anything he wanted.

***

[Bonus]

With gentle hands, so big against his baby’s frame, he picks Jaemun up in his arms, holding him against his chest. His dinosaur blanket swaddles him softly, and Jungkook does his best to make sure he’s correctly supported and held despite the extra fabric over his small frame.

Jaemun stirs, and Jungkook places a soft kiss on his tiny head before he gets the chance to freak out and cry. The baby seems to know exactly who is holding him, and he nearly falls back asleep at the familiarity of his father’s arms. But Jungkook bounces him against his chest softly, slowly waking him up for dinnertime.

He makes his way over to you, making unnecessary airplane noises, from what you assume is Jungkook pretending to be an airplane and his son the passenger.

“You know, babies can’t laugh until they’re about 4 months,” you shake your head with a laugh.

“False,” your husband comes behind you again. “I swear he’s laughed before.”

You chuckle, taking the pan off the stove and pouring the insides into a strainer. Just the noodles are left in the strainer now, and you realize that you haven’t thought past the part of boiling the noodles. You ignore that you have no idea what kind of pasta you’re making when Jungkook rests himself against the kitchen island.

Jaemun catches sight of you, and his arm reaches for you in Jungkook’s hold. You come over, giving him a kiss on the forehead before kissing your husband.

“Were you serious?” your husband asks you suddenly.

“About?” you raise your eyebrow.

“You know,” he gulps, holding Jaemun a little tighter. He rests against Jungkook's shoulder, his eyes tempting to fall back asleep again. “More kids.”

You raise both your eyebrows again, looking at him as if he was serious. His heart beats faster when he realizes what you’re thinking, quickly rephrasing himself.

“N-Not now, of course,” he gulps.

You turn around, opening the fridge for some milk for Jaemun as you listen to him. You take out a pot, take the cased breast milk from earlier, and pour it in, turning on the stove afterward.

“I just mean, like, in the future,” he explains.

There’s a long pause as you wait for the pot to heat up enough. The man behind you is weak, and you don’t know if you want to be mean and give him the blunt answer, or soften the blow. Watching how he cradles your son makes you want to go with the first choice.

“Don’t you worry Jeon,” you start, as you stir the contents in the pot. You can hear him gulp behind you. “I planned on giving you as many babies as you want. But at least wait until Jaemun is in pre-school or something. I don’t think I can handle two infants at once.”

You hear little from him at your answer, leaving you smirking knowing full well that you put the man behind you in a frenzy imagining the future you just laid out for him.

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

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starrystevie · 8 months

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hurt/comfort | mentions of anxiety and trauma | crossposted to twitter

"what's that?" eddie murmurs into the quiet darkness of their bedroom.

dread piles into steve's stomach. he wants to tug his sleeve over his hands so eddie can't see the writing on his palm anymore. wants to hide the pen marks by holding onto his hips instead.

"it's nothing," he whispers back, attaching his lips to the underside of eddie's jaw. he knows his boyfriend melts at the kisses he puts there. knows it will distract him from asking any more prying questions.

the ink is smudged, hardly legible anymore after a day at work. between washing his hands and shuffling papers and rubbing subconsciously at his palm when that certain type of anxiety knots into his gut, the pen marks from earlier are halfway to disappearing until he starts it all over again the next morning.

steve can't help it. he thought that moving in with eddie, having his support, would make it easier to cope with it all. thought that having someone else to help hold him accountable was the answer.

yet here he is, writing a list on his hand every morning, just to help him remember simple things.

he turns on the coffee pot in the morning, makes a note of it on his palm, crosses it out when he turns the pot off and tells himself over and over that it's actually off and he's not imagining it.

he locks the door and writes "LOCKED" in all caps so he doesn't come home halfway through the day to check and make sure it's actually locked.

he brushes his teeth, he feeds the dog, he puts his wallet in his briefcase, he closes the refrigerator door after breakfast and writes reminder after reminder on his palm in sticky black ink.

it helps, really it does, when steve's mind starts to wander in a boring meeting and he gets that hot rush of guilt of forgetting something burning through his veins. he'll look at his hand under the table and scan over the notes, find what's looking for, and try to breathe.

he'll read it over and over, the crossed out "coffee pot" or the "wallet in bag" or the "fed duke", until he feels like it sinks in, blinking back into real time to focus.

it's some strange mix of anxiety and lack of control and head trauma, robin thinks.

steve can't talk to a lot of people about it, embarrassed that he can't remember doing simple fucking tasks, but robin gets it. gets him. robin lets him swing his legs into her lap and pulls his hand up to her face so she can inspect the notes from the day to piece them all together.

it was her idea in the first place to write on his hand. she had suggested paper first but that was too easy to lose especially if he couldn't remember setting it down. she traces over the ink and lets him vent about feeling like a failure or stupid or some type of broken, reminding him gently that none of them got out hawkins without scars.

but steve hasn't let eddie see that yet, too afraid of breaking whatever they've made together, too afraid of scaring him off with his cracked brain and clenched jaw. too afraid of being built so wrong that he'll look like a once shiny penny covered in rust-colored problems.

so he digs his fingers into his palm, nails slicing into flesh & ink, and presses his lips fiercely into eddie's jaw to stop him from spilling any secrets. lets his tongue sneak out as an apology for not showing him his jagged edges. lets his teeth bite against the words he wants to say.

"baby," eddie whispers, his gentle callused hands trailing over steve's arms to settle on his clenched fist. he shakes his head against eddie's chin, bites at his neck again, ignores the way the love of his fucking life is trying to peel his fingers open to see it. see him.

steve feels raw, a live wire, one second away from snapping into sparks of electricity. he shakes his hand free and curls it around the small of eddie's back, tugging him closer, hiding his shame.

"it's nothing," he repeats, voice shaky and rough against eddie's skin.

if he just slots his leg right, if he just presses into eddie right, if he just tips his head and rolls his hips and plays his cards right, he can avoid all of this all together. he can take eddie's mind away from the writing on his hand and convince them both everything is okay.

but it's not that easy, it never is, because there fingers wrapping around his wrist at an awkward angle to pull his hand back and heat flares up in his cheeks. eddie's going to see, going to ask, going to figure out that steve is broken beyond repair and it's all thanks to one too many blows to the head & one too many times of fucking up & one too many times of leaving the goddamn door unlocked.

"i just-" he bites out, trying and failing to pull his arm out from eddie's grasp. maybe some part of him wants to come clean and get the inevitable over and done with. "-they're just some notes okay?"

and now eddie's looking between him and his palm with those eyes that hold love and the pity that he hates, so he blinks away, jolts to get his arm free again. he doesn't want pity, he doesn't want puppy dog eyes, he doesn't want the reminder that he can't-

but then there's lips pressing oh so gently to the hand he rubbed raw earlier when he could have sworn he didn't triple check that he paid the water bill. there's the flutter of eyelashes against his fingertips as eddie trails kisses over the thing that makes him feel less than.

steve doesn't fight to pull his arm back anymore. his shoulders drop, his muscles relax, and that ball of dread in the pit of his stomach eases away into something that feels more like acceptance.

"that's smart," eddie mutters against his palm. "to help you remember?"

and just like that, it isn't secret anymore. just like that eddie's peeled back the layers of bravado and nonchalance and seen steve for the mess he is.

he kisses the notes like it's the easiest thing to do and maybe for eddie it is. maybe taking a piece of steve's hurt is what they found each other for. maybe eddie was made to understand every inch of steve from the inside out like the way a vine instinctually knows to follow the sun.

steve resettles his face in eddie's neck, nods and breathes him in so he has him deep in his lungs. "it was robin's idea."

"she's smart too, then." eddie hums and drops steve's hand gently, letting it wind back around him so he can tangle his in steve's hair. "does it help?"

"yep," steve mumbles.

"how have i never noticed you scribbling on your hand everyday?" eddie asks with his lips pressed into the crown of steve's head.

"i didn't want you to see. i'm pretty good at hiding."

he can feel when eddie takes in a deep breath. feel when his chest expands and collapses before whispering "start adding 'eddie loves me' on there."

steve shakes his head with a small grin, his heart beat slowing from an anxious jack-rabbiting speed to something more eddie paced. "i never need a reminder of that one."

#this headcanon is brought to you by my own head trauma and anxiety causing me to forget literally everything!!!#zoom in on the 4 photos i took of my curling iron this morning to prove it was off #steddie #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie hurt/comfort

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queers-gambit · 6 months

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Fine Line

prompt: ( requested ) going after the same silver briefcase, you and Tangerine exchange more than a few blows. pun intended.

pairing: Tangerine x female!assassin!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 5.2k+

note: got a little outside my comfort zone with this one, so, hopefully it's not 1000% trash but you've been warned now.

warnings: codename "Peach", basically the request with a FEW tweaks here and there, so, some spoilers, cursing, (shitty) slutty smut [spitting, squirting, mean!Tan, PIV, male receiving oral, degrading behavior, talk of tops and bottoms], Tan is a switch i do not care, is this enemies to lovers? yes. depiction of canon-typical physical violence, blood, injury.

There was a fine line between love and hate.

You love your family, but God Almighty, did you hate their behavior in most public settings. You love homemade cake, but hate the entire baking process, especially the dishes. You love getting your nails done and feeling pampered, but hate sitting still in one place for that amount of time.

And you love getting fucked, but hate dealing with people.

The whole meeting someone, getting to know them, getting to a place of comfort to bring them home. It was a hassle, it was annoying to you; akin to an inconvenience and disruption. You didn't mind Tinder, actually - thinking of it as "Dick on Demand", never really needing the awkward stages of acquaintanceship. You didn't like going out places "to meet people", too busy with your work to truly put forth effort. Plus, your job didn't exactly allow for romantic entanglements to become knots; you had to keep loose and available.

This is what made your job ideal: it was remote, kept you busy, on the move, without the weight of baggage attached to people. Plus, it didn't give time nor room for anyone to become attached to you - something that always made you impossibly uncomfortable. A job such as this made life impossibly lonely, but you operated better this way - without anyone needing you, worrying about you, keeping tabs, being in your business. You liked being on your own, it was just easier. It made sense. There was logic behind it.

Didn't mean you were 100% alone, however. You had "coworkers"... Sorta. You had employers, though you were unsure where exactly they were stationed. You, yourself, resided mostly in London, but operated globally, wherever you were needed - or more like wherever you were sent to. These "coworkers" of yours had similar jobs, and while you hated putting a label on basically anything, in laymen's terms, you were a contract killer. Those you interacted with, typically, were other contract killers - but usually working different jobs.

Rarely were multiples from the same organization sent on the same job, yet it still happened.

On the off chance, you encountered a few individuals that were employed by other organizations; making them rivals instead of coworkers.

You were unsure which this all was yet...

You had been contracted by an invisible, anonymous employer to retrieve a silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle, your handler encouraging you to get off the bullet train the moment it was in your possession. But there was a problem: you weren't the only one working this case, if the Ladybug twat and Twins was any indication.

When you located the case, you were instantly engaged by the blonde man with thick, black framed glasses; honestly getting the shit kicked out of you.

Currently, you were in possession of the case, but that was sure to change since it had already switched hands multiple times that chaotic night. You had come to a skidding halt, panting heavily, bent over on your knees in a vacant first class train car after escaping (momentarily) from Ladybug. Spitting blood from your mouth, you dialed your handler with shaking fingers; heaving a deep sniffle.

"You still alive?"

"I'll fuckin' choke you myself, Susan, I swear t'God," you groaned, sliding to the ground in exhaustion; wiping the trail of blood from your nose with a grimace.

Susan chuckled, "What's happening, honey girl?"

"Y-You didn't tell me I wasn't the only one workin' this!"

"Well, I heard rumor the Twins might be on the same case, but you usually beat them to the punch, don't you?"

"Yeah, but not this time," you winced.

"I'm sure Tangerine was happy to see you," you could hear her grin.

"Fuck off."

"He's into you, you know."

"The man snapped my tibia, punctured my kidney, and broke my nose - don't think that constitutes as anything romantic."

"Oh, you're into it," she laughed. "And don't act as if he ever walked away, scot free. If I remember correctly, you've shanked him twice?"

"He deserved it," you coughed. "Listen, fuck Tangerine - "

"I know you want to."

"Susan! Fuckin' listen to me!" You snarled. "They're not alone - there's another guy. For fuck's sake, Susan, I just got my arse kicked by a dude with a manbun!"

"Another guy? With a manbun? They're still in style?"

"Oh, my God - does it even mat - YES, they're always in style. Listen, this guy goes by the name Ladybug. Who do we know that uses codenames like that? What org?"

"Hmm," Susan thought aloud.

"What?" You spat blood from your mouth again, licking at the split lip.

"Could be KBS? They use animal codenames on rotation."

"Fuck all," you groaned. "Well, Mr. Ladybug can throw a fuckin' punch. Think he cracked a rib. But you know what? He's handsome. Almost feel bad for knockin' his lights out."

"Where are you?"

You looked around, "Emotionally? Physically?"

"You know what I mean, Peach. Where's the case?"

"With me," you assured, "uh, and I, uh... I'm not 100% where I am, I missed a couple stops fightin' these dumbfucks. Might be four stops from Kyoto? Five?"

"Get off before the end of the line," Susan warned. "At this point, I don't care if you have the case or not."

"Wait... Susan, what's that mean?"

She paused and sighed deeply, "All right, fine, time to get serious. Some intel came in, Peach... And the White Death bought out the train until the end of the line. I actually care about your safety and this just screams danger, so, get off before Kyoto, Peach, my girl. Hear me?"

"I hear you, mamas," you agreed. "I'll get off next... Stop... Oh, you've got t'be joking! Fuck me!"

"Gladly," Tangerine smirked and jokingly reached for his belt with perked brows, standing in the automatic doorway; looking beat to hell, similar to you.

You glared at him and offered your middle finger, his hands dropping as he surveyed the train car.

"Peach?"

"I'll call you back, Susan," you deflected into the phone, quickly hanging up and deflating. "Jesus fuck, look, I'm really not in the mood, Tan. Can we just make this quick? The fuck you want?"

"Do I look like I'm here t'play fuckin' games, Peach?" Tangerine asked, stalking slowly towards where you were slumped in the aisle, mid-train car, while dripping in his own blood.

"Still look like a clown t'me," you quipped. "I'll ask again: the fuck you want, Tangerine?"

"Gonna need that case, sweet peach."

You scoffed. "Seriously? You're after it, too?"

"'Fraid so."

"How many of us are on assignment? For this one fuckin' case?" You snipped, kicking the case a little.

"You look like you've seen the Ladybug fucker, haven't yah, doll?"

"He with you?"

"Fuck no."

"Where's Lemon, then?"

"Few back," He gestured back over his shoulder, pausing when you got to your feet. "C'mon, love, don't do this," He warned, mustache curling as his lip did. There was a deranged look in his eye, something stirring in your gut; seeing the shine of tears never shed, the anger, a high-strung energy filling the space around you.

"I just want off this train, Tan," you begged quietly. "Look, call it whatever you want, but something else is goin' on here - shit ain't right. Be honest, how much more difficult has tonight been? Why have we all been sent after the same briefcase? When it's supposed to just be a fucking grab job?"

Tangerine cocked his head, "Nah, no, we're on delivery."

"What?"

"Yeah, supposed t'deliver this kid and the case t'his father in Kyoto," his brows knit together.

You scolded, "You dumb fuckin' idiot!"

"I beg your pardon, sweetheart?" He leered, stepping another step closer; knotting your stomach.

"You workin' for the White Death?"

"How'd you - "

"Susan got intel, said he bought out the train, Tan. Fuck's really goin' on?"

Tangerine's jaw flexed, sighing through his nose, "Guess cat's out the bag now, innit? Yeah," he sighed, shrugging a bit, "we're doin' this job for him."

"Which means he's gonna kill us at the end of the line - why else ensure there's no other witnesses?" There was a long pause, both staring into each other's eyes without shifting attention. You shrugged and whispered, "You know, we could just jump off the bloody train. Grab Lem, get off the train before Kyoto, just fuckin' go."

"Who gets the case?"

"Where's the kid you've gotta deliver?"

"Dead - murdered, actually."

"Then you're already fucked and your job's done," you shrugged, "so, I keep the case and we all three keep our lives."

Tan sighed through his nose, offering, "You drive a temptin' bargain, love. Always enjoy our li'l run-ins," his hand extended to rest on your waist, freezing time. "But I can't walk away without that case. Lemon's down, he's been drugged, so, trust me, I'm all for just jumpin' ship, but I need the case, darlin'."

"So do I, I have somewhere else to deliver it."

"Then we have ourselves a Mexican Standoff, then, yeah?"

"No, that'd require a third."

"Kinky, but I prefer t'keep things between us, wouldn't you?" He purred against your lips, not quite kissing you as his hand tightened over bruised skin.

"Tan, don't do this," you breathed in the space between you.

"For whatever it's worth, I do usually feel bad after kickin' your arse - though, I'd much rather prefer t'kiss it."

"We can arrange that later," you smiled prettily, surging forward to kiss him fully. It was sweaty, cruel, bloody, and rough - everything you knew Tangerine to be. Yet right when he seemed entranced enough, both his hands caging your hips to his, you bit his lip in time to bring your knee up into his groin.

It sparked your fight, both exchanging blows without hesitation. You could feel your adrenaline propelling you, but it was quickly dwindling as Tangerine seemed renewed and invigorated by your fight. You, however, fought dirty; you had to - you had no other choice. He was physically bigger, stronger, but you were faster, and dare you say it, smarter. You didn't need integrity when defending yourself, easily using Tan's strength against him to add to the collect of bruises, cuts, and blood smears. But he still managed to manhandle you, sending you careening into empty seats and giving you whiplash.

You managed to swing on his back, preventing him from reaching his gun; legs coiling around his arms and flexing your abs to yank backwards. You grunted when you hit an empty bench, his head bouncing between your breasts; holding him hostage for a brief moment before you felt his hands grip your thighs in an innocently provocative way.

The moan from your lungs was unintentional, Tan flipping you both so you were on your stomach; him hovering over your back with a grunt. But there was a familiar feeling pressed into your bottom, head lifting slightly to struggle under Tangerine's grip; his reaction being exactly what you wanted as he pressed further into you.

"Just - fucking stay still!" He barked, trying to pin your hands behind you.

"Oh, you'd like that, huh?" You snapped, still struggling. "Some submissive li'l bitch?"

"Oh, darlin', I love me a top," he growled in your ear, grinding his swelling cock further into your ample arse cheeks, "but only good girls are so lucky. But don't worry," he chuckled, "I usually have cuffs on me for the bad girls, hey?"

"Fuck off, Tan, get off," you grunted, wriggling; grinding your hips up into him to try and dislodge him. He breathed deeper, and your mind played tricks on you because you swore you felt him grind back.

"I quite like this position, though, love."

"Thought you liked a top?"

"Doesn't mean I can't enjoy my own moments, huh? And you seem like you're far too used t'gettin' your way."

"So, which is it, then? You wanna fuck me or get fucked by me?"

"That an earnest question?"

You paused, "If it means I get the case, fuck yeah."

"That's not what it means, doll, but if what Susan says is true..." He nuzzled your neck briefly, lips ghosting your ear, mustache tickling your skin as he finished, "Might not get another chance."

You know he loosened his grip to let your arms snap back under you; groaning in relief. After panting for a moment, you lifted your head again, feeling his cheek brush yours and pausing to relish in the oddly intimate position. "We can always get the fuck off this train? Find a hotel in a nearby city?" You offered. "Can get me all night if you play your cards right."

"Know I can't, sweet peach," he whispered.

"Then why waste more time?" You mused, hissing when his mouth instantly fell to your neck in an open kiss that scraped his teeth into your soft flesh. "Hey - no! No ti-ime," your word hitched when he licked the sensitive skin in-sync with a roll of his hips, thrusting his hardening cock into the crease of your cheeks; making your spine shudder when his teeth scraped again.

"We got a li'l time," he promised. "Enough for a taste? You as sweet as your name, baby? Huh?"

"Tan, oh, my God," you breathed in disbelief when he reared back and manhandled you so he could unlatch the buckle of your belt and start shucking the material from your hips. "What if someone - "

"Shut up," he snapped, freeing your thighs. "Got me too fuckin' worked up t'worry 'bout someone walkin' in, yeah? Both know what's waitin' for us, don't we?"

"The White Death," you felt him yank your pants to your ankles and then shove your shoes off, pants following to the floor. "Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he roughly fingered your slit over your newly exposed panties, hearing his belt buckle jingle.

"Oi, no - "

"Fuck off," you snapped when you turned over suddenly, forcing him to pull back and glare, "I wanna watch - might as well give me a show, right? Since you're 'bouta get us all killed?"

He scoffed, "You're gettin' off the train, darlin', you're not meetin' the White Death tonight."

"Damn straight," you hooked your panties with your thumbs, lifting your hips, yanking the garment down as Tangerine continued to unlatch his belt, peel down his zipper, then pull both his boxers and trousers down in one motion.

"This isn't gonna be soft and sweet, love," he warned, standing over you on the train seat; pumping his cock to full mast while never lifting his eyes from you. "I've wanted you longer than I'll ever admit, I've got some ideas."

Your eyes rolled and fingers skated down your dampening cunt, "You're on a time schedule, maybe shut the fuck up and just fuck me already?"

He scoffed, lowering himself over you and making you gulp in anticipation; hands gravitating to his blackened waist. "You sure got a fuckin' mouth on you, don't'cha? That's all right, doll, I got somethin' for yah." His hand rose to pop a few buttons on your blouse, exposing your bra, asking, "You got a safe word?"

"Tangerine."

"Hmm? What?"

"No, that's my safe word."

"You fuckin' shithead," he hissed over your mouth, lips parting in a silent gasp when his hot cock dropped over your cunt in a tantalizing tease. "Be serious for once, yeah?"

You shrugged, "How's about 'pineapple', or is that one of your buddies names?"

"Pineapple it is," he grumbled, descending to your lips in a searing kiss that stole your breath and made your nails curl into his flesh. But a whimper emitted when he pulled back suddenly, standing over you, and moving towards your head. "Open," he demanded, holding his cockhead at your lips. "Don't give me shit about time, you need t'learn. Open your mouth."

You obediently opened your lips and Tan wasted no time in thrusting himself into your mouth; not too deep, not too rough, but enough to make you inhale sharply and readjust your position. Your one hand pumped what couldn't fit in your mouth, the other holding his thigh for balance; choking from the awkward position, but it made Tan smirk.

"That's it, see? Not so hard," he mocked. "Just gotta keep your mouth busy." You whimpered, cradling his balls; giving a playful squeeze that made him moan lightly. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he reached for your cheek and jaw, gently moving his hips - making you pause yourself to let him move. "Oh, fuck, that's - fuck," he seethed, "just let me do whatever I want t'you, won't you? Take a li'l more, good, good, just breathe," he guided, mouth opening in shock when he watched more of himself disappear in your mouth. "Oh, Jesus - you're such a dirty fuckin' girl, look at yah - so eager, willing," he nearly choked when he hit the back of your throat. "Shit - baby, don't," he paused to grunt, hunching over slightly and holding himself up on the back cushion of the train's seating. "Don't hurt yourself," he whimpered, your jaw opening just a fraction more, throat constricting when his cockhead slid against your uvula.

"Oh, my God," he praised, testing the waters and trying to thrust - but your gagging and choking made him pull back. "Okay, okay, too much, sorry, love. Oh, shit," he gasped when you didn't let him pull out all the way, still sucking him as if you were getting paid for it. "Yeah? 'S like that? Oh, you Godsend angel. Gonna be good fa' me? Huh? Keep quiet?" He asked gruffly, making you swallow around him; earning a hiss. "You're fuckin' dangerous, aren't you?" He scoffed, "Too bad I won't get t'take my time, innit? Fuck."

You hummed as he retracted his hips fully. His eyes caught yours as he spread your saliva around his swollen member, hearing you mumble, "Can still get off with me."

He sighed, "Isn't that easy, doll," as he lowered himself back onto the bench over you. "There's more at stake - "

"I know," you nodded, guiding his forehead to yours as you pet his cheeks; the cut he earned smearing against your skin. "Just an offer, ain't it? Just thought if yah did come, could actually have yah in my mouth - like I want." You both paused, you telling him in a whisper, "Can choke me with your cock - hmm?"

He groaned, nuzzling your nose once before kissing you swiftly, deeply. His tongue swept against yours, tasting himself briefly; rubbing his warm cock into your inner thigh as he swallowed your moans of budding pleasure. So caught up in the way he made you feel, you squeaked when his hand suddenly rose and clasped around your throat, eyes popping open as your own hands dropped to his waist in shock.

"Choke me with your dick, Tan," you reminded.

"This works, though, still shuts you up."

"You're so fuckin' bold for this," you accused, gasping when his hand tightened.

"Then maybe shut the fuck up, girl, Goddamn," he seethed, biting your bottom lip, reopening the split, tightening his hand another degree. "You're gonna be a good fuckin' girl, aren't you? Huh? Think you can manage that? Know you got a problem with authority, doll, but you're gonna do as you're told, aren't yah?"

You glared but didn't answer.

"Yeah, that's real good," he mused when you had no words. "Now open your fuckin' mouth again."

When you did, he dribbled a line of spit onto your tongue, squeezing his hand around your throat and jaw when he wanted you to swallow. His smirk was something sinister and devious, peaking down to then paw your blouse the rest of the way open and tug your bra down until your breasts were exposed.

"Fuckin' knew you had great tits," he grit while gripping, twisting, tweaking your breast meat and nipple; not letting go of your throat to ensure your silence. "Not good for much else, huh? Are you?" He sneered, "Only sent on a grab job, weren't you? But look at you now, so fuckin' ready for me, so needy, excited, all distracted, desperate for my cock - aren't you? Answer me right fuckin' now," he growled.

"Yes," you croaked, gyrating your hips up into his; feeling his bare cock drag over your cunt and salivating.

"Good," he spoke to himself, shoving your hips back down as one hand rose to hold his cheek to keep yourself grounded. He chuckled to himself, "Just pathetic, innit? The way you crave me? Dumb fuckin' girl, can't even focus on a simple mission, can she? Huh? Can you?"

"No," you whimpered, "need more. Please, please."

"Shut up, I got you," he rolled his eyes, "but you don't really deserve it, do you?"

"I do, I swear - "

"Told you to shut the fuck up, though, yeah? Can't even do a simple task, got your head all stupid, do I? 'S good t'know, if we survive this."

You glared, seeing his grin widen before he was descending onto you again. You licked through the seam of his lips, being granted access; exploring the other's mouth in feverish motions that made your head spin and cunt contract. He still toyed with your tit, then abandoning the ministration to scale down your bodies to where you needed him most while your hand slid into his hair to grip his bloody scalp. You were so close to begging, yet you'd never give a man the satisfaction... Yet if Tangerine requested you to beg, beg you shall.

"That's my girl," he praised when he pet swiftly up your slit; gathering your slick in a single motion to spread around your clit. "Yeah, there's my girl, look at yah," he laughed over your mouth, "already so fuckin' dumb and I ain't even touch yah yet."

You whined a little, his hand readjusting his grip.

"Oh, fuckin' fine, you greedy bitch," he rolled his eyes, sinking a single digit into your heat; earning a high-pitched moan of relief. Tangerine laughed again, "Yeah? So desperate that just me fuckin' finger gets you like that?"

You tapped his wrist when he held a little too tight, him instantly loosening his grip around your throat. He rewarded you with a few pumps of his finger before adding a second, grinning when you had enough airflow to moan loud and clear.

"You make such pretty noises," he praised, "stupid, but pretty noises. Lemme hear you - that's all I wanna hear, not your fuckin' words, princess. Huh? Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, ready to cry from the anticipation he built in your body. With your bottom lip between your teeth, you let yourself clench around his digits, moaning when he massaged that spongy good spot of your inner walls.

"Wait - Tan - wait, wait," you begged and released his waist to reach for his wrist while he grinned.

"Aht," he let go of your neck to lay across your hips to keep hold, "stay there, be a good girl. Lemme see you - c'mon, love, get there for me," he pumped harder, faster, a small sweat coating your skin. The sounds were obscure and messy, sloppy and frantic, wet and pornographic; his breathing deep and huffy while yours was high-pitched. "So fuckin' pretty like this, under me like this. There's a good girl, yeah, chase that feelin', 's all right, don't run from me."

"Tan-Tangerine, shit, please," you babbled, unsure of yourself. "I-I don't - I don't - oh, fuck!"

"Let it happen," he encouraged, leering over you; only briefly aware of his cock leaking precum on your thigh. "Let that feeling take you, there's a good girl, you're right there - good fuckin' girl," Tan broke his mean streak to praise you briefly, feeling the familiar flutter. "Open, hey, hey, eyes on me, princess," he waited until your half-lidded eyes met his, watching him nod, "open your mouth." You were so blissed out, you didn't think, just doing so and accepting more of his spit. He grinned at you when your eyes rolled back, encouraging, "Go for it, pretty girl, fuckin' soak me, don't hold back - c'mon, wanna fuckin' feel you, need t'fuckin' feel you cum - ohh-hoo, yes, yes, yes," he chanted when you squealed, squirmed, and released a stream of squirt that splattered over you both.

But that wasn't all.

Tangerine was mesmerized, never relenting his efforts and before you had time to recover, he was forcing another wave of cum from your core. His thick body held yours in place, desperately squirming to try and get away from the overwhelming feeling; but he had you and wouldn't let go. "One more, one more, one more," Tan panted, hovering over you as his bulging bicep kept hammering into you without relent. He kissed you messily, "One more, baby, c'mon, I know you got it in you."

"I can't," you sobbed, trying to squirm away under him.

"You can, doll, you're right there, I fuckin' feel you - such a good girl, c'mon," he encouraged, offering a few messy kisses to your lips while you wantonly moaned without control. "One more, just for me, c'mon, baby, you can do it - just fa' me - there she is, yes, oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes," he laughed when you, for a third time, came in his hand and over his crotch.

"FUCK!" You yelped when he used the messy slick of your orgasm to line himself up and plunge directly into you. "Oh, shit - just - a minute, baby, hang on - fuck," you panted, holding his hips tightly with your legs spread. Slowly, you let them fall around his own as you relaxed.

"Got you, baby, 'M right here, take yah time," he whispered, flattening his tongue up your neck as he adjusted himself between your legs.

Half a minute later, you gave him permission to move - and it was the beginning of the end. You were sensitive, tight, gripping Tangerine to a new degree he hadn't felt before; his head spinning and mind short circuiting. You were nearly constrictive, webs of your stickiness coating him as he moved stiffly for the first few thrusts. As you loosened up under him, he gained momentum; your hands directing his face back to yours as you clung desperately to his hulking form.

He kissed you like it was the last thing he'd do (and maybe it was), holding your hips so he could drill into you easier; lifting one hand to pet your throat before gripping it, like before. The other then drifted to hike your leg up his hip, the new angle making him shudder lightly. "I'm there, love," he grunted, looking concentrated and borderline in pain, "right fuckin' there - ah shit, you feel so fuckin' good."

"Yes, yes, don't stop, Tan, please," you moaned, locating your clit to apply pressure and rub in harsh little circles.

"Ah, my greedy girl," he chuckled, "three wasn't enough?"

"Wanna cum with you," you whimpered, gasping into his mouth as you were overly sensitive and careened off your cliff. Your orgasm triggered Tangerine's, who plunged completely into you and held still while his balls contracted; mouths left gaping open against the other. In complete bliss, you shared a laugh of disbelief with sweaty foreheads pressed together - both forgetting reality for a bit.

At the moment Tan opened him mouth to confess something to you, Lemon decided to stumble in through the automatic door, yelling, "Bruv! Oi! Where you at!?"

"GET OUT!" Tangerine roared, barely visible over the top of the benches.

"The fuck you doin', mate?"

You latched your legs around Tan, keeping his cock planted snuggly inside you; rocking upward to hold onto his neck and spy his brother over the back of the seating. "Hi, Lem!" You chirped.

"Peach? Oh, fuck me!" He laughed. "Or - fuck you, ammirite?"

"Give us a minute, honey, would you, please?"

"Only a minute?" He laughed again. "'Cause that's all you need, right, Tan?"

"Fuck off, Lemon," Tangerine snapped. "We got the case, we're gettin' the fuck off at the next stop - just - fuck off a minute."

Lemon shrugged, "You make the plans, mate."

"Be out inna bit, love, thank you," you smiled prettily at Lemon, who finally nodded, held his hands up in defense and backed out of the train car. "Well," you mused when Tangerine leaned back into the seat but kept a firm grip on your hips, "that was only mildly embarrassing."

"He's seen me in worse positions," Tan shrugged, blinking when he realized how that sounded, exactly. "Not like that - no, just, I mean, as my bruva, you know, he's seen - you know what?" He sighed. "Don't fuckin' matter."

"So," you smirked, grinding your hips over his public hair, "you're taking my advice? Gettin' off the train?"

"I knew you were greedy, but this naughty, too?" He groaned, slapping his hands to your hips and guiding your motions. "Just filled you, love, and you want more?"

"That an issue?" You smirked, feeling him swell in you again.

"Not a bit," he smirked.

"Answer me," you demanded. "You seriously gettin' off?"

"Why the fuck not? The kid's dead and whatever's in the case should cover however pissed off this makes the bosses, right? Though..." He trailed off when one of your hands reached around to give a gentle tug on his balls.

"Keep goin'," you whispered with a growing smirk, hips swirling.

"Though," he cleared his throat, "don't think we've ever not finished a job before."

"This is different," you promised.

He gulped harshly, encouraging your motions; stretching up to squeeze both breasts and making you falter slightly into him. "All three of us are gonna get off, yeah?" He whispered, bringing you in closer as your hips began to rise and fall with steady tempo. "Got somewhere fa us t'go?"

"I'll get it arranged," you promised swiftly, arms coiling around his neck to hold yourself in position as you increased your speed. "But we're giving my employer the case."

"Fine with me," he nodded, "just wanna stay alive at this point." You chuckled with him, raising up to keep riding him; his eyes glancing over your shoulder and stiffening. "Uh, love? H-Hang on, hang on," his arms encased you suddenly, making you stop all ministrations.

"W-What's wrong? You okay?"

"Where's the fucking case?"

Your waist twisted to snap your torso around, peering over at the empty benches you had once sat in front of. Your blood was left behind... But the silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle was missing.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Six train cars up, Ladybug shuddered and told Maria, "Christ, they were at it like rabbits. And, hey, like, is it cool to be mean during sex now? 'Cause he was kinda mean, but she seemed into it, so... That's cool, I guess?"

"Some people like that," Maria eased.

"Do you?"

"You don't want that answer. Do you have the case?"

"For now," he sighed. "How much you wanna bet they haven't noticed, yet? Bet they're still goin' at it..."

"You sound jealous."

"They're both very attractive people... Hm, you know, maybe I am a little jealous."

"Of which one?"

"Not entirely sure yet."

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

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stylesloveclub · 9 months

Text

Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today.

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing.

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock.

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards.

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him.

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking.

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her.

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly.

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses. “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond.

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life.

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank.

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?”

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought.

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand.

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head. “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms.

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be.

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?”

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.”

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…”

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein.

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better.

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season.

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather.

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry.

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her.

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor.

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.”

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open.

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60.

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night).

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet.

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though.

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself.

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket.

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you?

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes.

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about. “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.”

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in.

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him.

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already.

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together.

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…”

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?”

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.”

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning.

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite.

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye.

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks.

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours.

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks.

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely.

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time.

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door.

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly.

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.”

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager.

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.”

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers.

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus?

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl.

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down.

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face.

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation.

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff.

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more.

It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up.

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry.

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing.

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry.

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included).

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek.

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?”

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is.

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n.

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her.

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod.

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?”

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth – take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.”

His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face.

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.”

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out.

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.”

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry.

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?”

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.”

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting.

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street.

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs.

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles.

It’ll be their little secret.

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

#harry smut #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry fanfic

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femscottlang · 1 year

Text

S & M

Part Two

Aaron Hotchner X Fem! Reader

Summary: The new BAU agent has been very reserved. You rejected the offer to go out with the team on a friday, already promising your friends you’d go out with them. Turns out you all ended up in the same club and Hotch sees a completely different side of you

Warnings: 18+, suggestive language, drinking

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This is completely inspired by the song S&M by Rhianna and fleabag, I hope u enjoy the reference

my suggestions are open !

Sitting at your desk, finishing up the last bit of the paperwork that you had to get done today, Emily approached you and leaned against the side of your desk. “Hey, the whole team is going out tonight, you in?” she asked, giving a kind smile. The team hasn’t pushed you to open up yet, giving you time to understand the different dynamics and where you fit in. You enjoy the team's company, but getting drunk around them before you're able to have a non-work related conversation with them that isn’t small talk sounds like your worst nightmare.

Especially being drunk around your very stoic, extremely attractive boss. You gave her an apologetic smile “I promise my girlfriends I’d go out with them tonight, but next time it's a yes” you said

She nodded and pushed herself back onto her feet “Im holding you to that, newbie” she said, giving you a wink before walking over to morgan shaking her head to tell him that you said no. you let out a sigh and stretched your arms above your head, shutting off your computer and packing up your briefcase. You waved goodbye “have fun guys!” you said before making your way to your apartment

You traded your conservative turtleneck, slacks, and courthouse heels for a tight backless mini dress and black stiletto pumps. You took out the low bun and shook your head before looking in the mirror and deciding it looked fine after running a brush through it. You looked in the mirror with a smile on your face.

This was the first time you got to go out and destress since joining the team 6 months ago and it was desperately needed, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what hotch would be like drunk. Relaxed? never. You thought about the rare moments that he smiles and lets his dry humor shine.

Now you kinda wish you went so you could see what he would do. Maybe he’d wear that quarter-zip he wore in Alaska. Maybe a tight polo, or even better, a tight button-up without a tie, sleeves rolled up to show his arms. You bit your lip to hold back a smile and shook the thought out of your head, slapping your cheeks as you heard your friends knock on your door.

After pregaming at your place, you and two of your friends took an uber to a club you had never heard of before, but the girls hyped it up so you gave in and agreed to go. “I'm so glad we got you to go out. We thought we would never see you again” one of them said, dramatically leaning against you in the cramped backseat.

You scoffed and pushed her back up giggling “I work at the FBI, your office is like ten minutes from HQ,” you said “still” she pouted before you put a hand over her face “This is the first time I’ve even been home on a Friday night and haven't been completely exhausted! So stop complaining and let's have fun,” you said

The three of you walked in, immediately heading to the bar and ordering a round of shots after deciding that you needed a little bit more liquid courage before hitting the dance floor. Scrunching your face and letting out a huff, you relaxed and let the heat spread from the apples of your cheeks to the tips of your ears and down the rest of your body.

You closed your eyes, trying not to cringe at the taste as you were grabbed and dragged out to the crowded dance floor as S & M by Rhianna came on over the speakers.

You grinned, swaying along to the music and running your hands over your body, glaring at the guys who dared to try and approach you. You lost interest in one-night stands a while ago, knowing you just get too attached too quickly.

“I might be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it, sex in the air I don't care I love the smell of it” you and your girls sang to each other, grinning. One of them spun you around as she did you made eye contact with the last person you expected to see, Aaron Hotchner.

“sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me” Once you were able to drag your eyes away from his you saw the whole team looking at you with amused smiles. Your eyes went wide like a deer in headlights, your stomach dropping “oh no.” you turned back around immediately, suddenly feeling sober

“Okay don't look at the same time but my entire team is here. Like. everyone.” you said as their heads both snapped to your team, “I said not at the same time!” you hissed, putting your hands on your face “This is my literal worst nightmare. We gotta go to a different club, they cannot see me drunk,” you said, pacing in your small space of the dance floor

“is that the boss that you were talking about? I understand why you have a crush on him” you looked at her with wide-eyed “shush! I told you that in confidence!”

“Whos the one with the long hair and the sweater vest? Can you introduce me?” the other said. That pulled a laugh out of you

“Dr. Spencer Reid. and absolutely not keep your paws off my colleagues, you minx” you joked before looking at them again, seeing them smile at you and whisper to each other.

“Stay here, I'm gonna close our tab,” you said, walking back towards the bar. The worst part was that Hotch was wearing a tighter button-down with no tie, switching his usual white one for black. No one should look that good. It's unfair to the other guys at the club.

Aaron wasn’t keen on the idea of being in a club, claiming he was too old for it, but Jessica had Jack for the weekend and he didn't want to go back to an empty apartment right away. He sipped on his second neat bourbon of the night, knowing that the rest of the team would be drinking more and he’d have to make sure none of them did anything too stupid.

“Oh my god.” He heard Penelope screech “Look! Newbie!” she said, pointing at you on the floor. Hotch followed her finger and watched you move to the music completely relaxed and smiling, a complete 180 of your usual professional rigidness and tightlipped smile. His lips parted as he watched you, not looking away once you met his eye. His ears burned as you sang along to the suggestive lyrics. He coughed and looked away, finishing off his drink and getting up to get another silently.

You stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish making his drinks as you reached in your bra for your card, tapping it against the counter to the beat of the music. You looked back at your friends to make sure nothing happened to them and they looked at you with shit-eating grins, pointing behind you.

You gave them a confused look before you looked to your right, seeing Hotch inches away from you. He waved over the bartender and you prayed that he didn’t see you standing there. “I'll get another bourbon neat and” he looked at you “what would you like?” he gave a small smile.

A rare sight that sent shivers down your spine as you pulled down the short hem of your dress to try to appear a little more modest.

“Oh no worries, Sir, I-I was just going to close my tab.” you explained, reaching over to hand your card to the bartender, he grabbed your wrist and put on back against your chest “you don't have to leave because we’re here. You deserve to relax with your friends.” You looked down at his large hand wrapped around your wrist and trailed your eyes from his hand to his rolled up sleeves displaying his veiny arms and across his chest, the shirt emphasizing his physique with the first few buttons left undone. Your breathing sped up as you finally made eye contact with him again.

Give it to me strong, meet me in my boudoir make my body say-

“Alright, uh I'll just take a whiskey ginger,” you said, finally breaking eye contact, he nodded at the bartender, who just set down hotch’s bourbon. He released your wrist “and a whiskey ginger for the lady” he gave him a curt smile and picked up his drink.

"you look nice with your hair down, you should wear it that way more often.” he said, his eyes looking over your figure in a way that you'd never seen him do before as he brought his drink to his lips. You reached up and touched your hair, looking down at it “Thank you, sir” you said, twirling a strand around her finger in a nervous manner

He scoffed and shook his head “oh fuck you calling me Sir like it doesn't turn you on just to say it.” he chuckled. You let your mouth fall open, the corners of your mouth turning up as you looked at the team and then your friends to see if they are watching what was happening. The only person seemed to be Rossi, who gave you a thumbs up which only added to your confusion.

"Sir, how much have you had tonight?” you asked, nodding a thank you to the bartender as you picked up your drink. You held the straw and took a sip, not breaking eye contact with him.

He looked away, sucking in his bottom lip to stifle a smile “I see the way you look at me. Cmon. we’re all profilers” you studied his face for a second to see if there was even an ounce of anger.

There wasn’t.

“I thought we didn’t profile each other.” you said, smirking at him. He leaned against the counter, his forearms holding him up “We always profile the Newbies a little bit. You’re lucky no one else has caught on. You’re not exactly subtle.” he said, looking up at the ceiling.

You leaned in closer “And? Go ahead. Profile me. Tell me how I look at you.” you taunted.

He looked back at you, his eyelids hooded. “It's not how you look at me. It's what you look at. I see you looking at my arms. Especially when I am not wearing a blazer. I would have assumed you just didn’t to make eye contact because of my position of authority but you have no problem looking Rossi in the eye. Then I thought maybe you just like strong arms, but you rarely look at Morgan’s, whose arms are bigger than mine.” he said, leaning in closer, his face inches from yours.

“Everyone else calls me Hotch but you only call me sir.” you ran your tongue over your teeth and titled your head, feigning innocence “So?” you said, tilting your head.

“Doll, you’re smart enough to piece it together,” he said, not daring to move any closer.

“What are you gonna do about it, sir ?”

#hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner #cocky! hotch is my favorite #aaronhotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch fanfiction

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bestbriefcasesformen · 29 days

Text

#leather briefcases #satchel #attache #suitecase #laptop bags #handbag #leather bag

0 notes

postoctobrist · 2 years

Note

hey I'm moving to a state with lax knife laws, and I use a cane. it's clear I need a sword cane, any recs?

I don’t have any because a sword cane is a special, even more different kind of illegal in the UK. This is because in 1988 the Thatcher government was psychologically obsessed with scary VHS movies and therefore banned every possible cool kung-fu movie weapon. Here’s the complete list of cool illegal weapons:

a knuckleduster, that is, a band of metal or other hard material worn on one or more fingers, and designed to cause injury, and any weapon incorporating a knuckleduster;

a swordstick, that is, a hollow walking-stick or cane containing a blade which may be used as a sword;

the weapon sometimes known as a “handclaw”, being a band of metal or other hard material from which a number of sharp spikes protrude, and worn around the hand;

the weapon sometimes known as a “belt buckle knife”, being a buckle which incorporates or conceals a knife;

the weapon sometimes known as a “push dagger”, being a knife the handle of which fits within a clenched fist and the blade of which protrudes from between two fingers;

the weapon sometimes known as a “hollow kubotan”, being a cylindrical container containing a number of sharp spikes;

the weapon sometimes known as a “footclaw”, being a bar of metal or other hard material from which a number of sharp spikes protrude, and worn strapped to the foot;

the weapon sometimes known as a “shuriken”, “shaken” or “death star”, being a hard non-flexible plate having three or more sharp radiating points and designed to be thrown;

the weapon sometimes known as a “balisong” or “butterfly knife”, being a blade enclosed by its handle, which is designed to split down the middle, without the operation of a spring or other mechanical means, to reveal the blade;

the weapon sometimes known as a “telescopic truncheon”, being a truncheon which extends automatically by hand pressure applied to a button, spring or other device in or attached to its handle;

the weapon sometimes known as a “blowpipe” or “blow gun”, being a hollow tube out of which hard pellets or darts are shot by the use of breath;

the weapon sometimes known as a “kusari gama”, being a length of rope, cord, wire or chain fastened at one end to a sickle;

the weapon sometimes known as a “kyoketsu shoge”, being a length of rope, cord, wire or chain fastened at one end to a hooked knife;

the weapon sometimes known as a “manrikigusari” or “kusari”, being a length of rope, cord, wire or chain fastened at each end to a hard weight or hand grip;

a disguised knife, that is any knife which has a concealed blade or concealed sharp point and is designed to appear to be an everyday object of a kind commonly carried on the person or in a handbag, briefcase, or other hand luggage (such as a comb, brush, writing instrument, cigarette lighter, key, lipstick or telephone);

a stealth knife, that is a knife or spike, which has a blade, or sharp point, made from a material that is not readily detectable by apparatus used for detecting metal and which is not designed for domestic use or for use in the processing, preparation or consumption of food or as a toy;

a straight, side-handled or friction-lock truncheon (sometimes known as a baton);

a sword with a curved blade of 50 centimetres or over in length; and for the purposes of this sub-paragraph, the length of the blade shall be the straight line distance from the top of the handle to the tip of the blade;

the weapon sometimes known as a “zombie knife”, “zombie killer knife” or “zombie slayer knife”, being a blade with—a cutting edge; a serrated edge; and images or words (whether on the blade or handle) that suggest that it is to be used for the purpose of violence.

the weapon sometimes known as a “cyclone knife” or “spiral knife” being a weapon with—a handle, a blade with two or more cutting edges, each of which forms a helix, and a sharp point at the end of the blade.

#no fun allowed

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hai7ani · 10 months

Text

SPARKS haitani rindou

nsfw (smut) mdni, hurt/comfort, family dynamic

home collection | playlist

part iii / but i promise you this; i'll always look out for you.

5:30pm. Haitani Rindou is tapping his foot on the marble floor impatiently as he waits in the very long line of . . . eight people, to clock out of work. He checks his watch and eyes the clock on the wall.

Can time move any faster than this? Can everyone just hurry up already?

He's checking his phone every second too. Are there any more messages from you? Have you called? Oh, you didn't.

His heart fills with worry as he chews on his lip and bites off the dry, peeling skin. He internally facepalms a little when he realises what he'd just done -- you'll nag at him when he comes home with a chapped lip later, he thinks, and that has somehow made him feel a little bit better of being stuck in this situation. Though he's not angry, because he's got a good reason to leave.

Rindou always goes home at 6pm -- the main reason being he can't stand queuing up for the sake of going home at clock out hour sharp. The line is always so long and he has to stand there for at least fifteen minutes carrying his heavy briefcase with at least ten people ahead of him? He doesn't do that.

Haitani Rindou doesn't do that but for one exception.

Wife (stink)

honey

pls pick baby up later

i cant do it today

One missed voice call from you at 5:13pm

One declined voice call from Wife (stink) at 5:15pm

You

R u ok?

Need me to pick u?

Wife (stink)

im ok

i'll c u at home

Rindou sighs and locks the screen, worried eyes taking a quick glance at the Always on Display of him carrying his bubbly daughter in his arms, you're standing beside them with a bright smile and the three of you are wearing matching Minnie Mouse themed headbands (that Sakiya insisted with chubby hands that you all buy -- and of course, her father could never say no, despite the little hesitation of being put in the spotlight). The photo was taken at USJ last summer and his heart warms at the sight along with the memories that came with it.

He shoves the phone into his pocket and blinks tiredly.

It's unusual for you to only text him; you always call first then subject to texting if he doesn't pick up, unless it's for dumb little things like teasing him for taking the wrong car to work or leaving behind his bento on the counter.

(you: y u take my car 😾 *photo attached of your Volkswagen missing from the basement parking* him: Lazy to change the keys 🦤 Take my bmw)

(you: did u not wanna eat it. *photo attached of his bento on the counter* him: Forgot to take *next message* 🧎🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️🙏🏻💔😢)

(him: Forgot to turn off the lights you: haha dumbass him: 😑)

So for you to text him to pick up your daughter for the day is very out of the ordinary and you've also declined his calls too. Sakiya is usually your responsibility to pick up after work at 5:30pm sharp, mainly because Rindou gets busy easily and you are more flexible with the timing at work. It’s a last minute notice that he has to suddenly leave the office earlier than usual and he thinks of his baby who is waiting patiently for him to come at daycare.

“Hi, this is Haitani Rindou, the father of Haitani Sakiya. Can you pass the phone to her? It’s urgent.” He says into the speaker while shoving his belongings into his briefcase in a rush.

“Please wait a moment, sir.” The woman on the other line puts him on hold and looks behind at the sea of children that are running around the field. Rindou hears the screams and cheers of little children and figures it is outdoor playtime now.

“Daddy?” The soft voice of his daughter echoes through the speaker after a moment and he immediately perks up at it. “‘Kiya, did mommy call you?”

“No, why?” “I will pick you up later, okay? Mommy is busy.”

“Okay.”

“But I will be a bit late, wait for me 'n don't follow anybody, okay?"

“Okay, Sakiya will wait.”

Rindou clears his throat and slots in his employee card when it's his turn at the machine. He's in the process of clocking out of the system when a soft voice sounds from behind.

"You're leaving early today, Haitani-san?" He glances at the direction of the voice and sees Ōe Saya -- Saya-san, the bookkeeper of his department holding her bag with two hands and wide eyes.

"Yeah, gotta pick up my kid now." He says while waiting for the loading screen and she grins wider at the mention of his daughter. "I see. How old is she again? The last time I saw her, she was about 2 right?"

"Yeah," Rindou is instantly reminded of the marking you made just yesterday on the wall of the living room that is labelled 87cm, Sakiya, Spring 2023.

Though a short girl, his baby's grew up so fast.

"She's turning 4 this year."

He doesn't want her to.

"'My God, she's so big already. Kids grow so quick these days, right, Miya?" Saya-san turns around to beam at Sasaki Miya, his other colleague and also the mother of Sakiya's daycare friend, Kazu-chan.

"I know . . . My boy is already 5 this year, it all happens in just a blink of an eye!"

He exits the screen and pulls out his employee card, stepping out of the way for Saya-san to move forward when Miya-san questions his quiet figure, "isn't it your wife that usually picks up Sakiya-chan? What happened today?" He briefly recalls that you and Miya-san are close acquaintances because of your children's little friendship in daycare.

"Something came up, so she can't go." Rindou says, voice quiet with a hint of worry and she picks up on it. "I see . . . Is she okay?”

Rindou answers her with a scratch to his forehead. "She's fine . . . Probably."

After a thirty-minute delay from being stuck in the gruesome jam, Rindou finally manages to park his car in front of the daycare center.

He swiftly turns off the engine and rushes out of his BMW the moment he spots a familiar light pink jacket sitting on the front porch. Rindou’s feet brings him closer and he sees a woman, probably the teacher, sitting beside with an arm wrapped around his daughter as she cries softly. Her little hands are hidden in her jacket and he spots the ears of her worn out bunny plush toy he bought for her when she was a year old peeking from beneath.

“‘Kiya.” Her father calls. The little girl looks up through her lashes and the tears come running down like waterfall at the sight of him. “Daddy.” Sakiya runs on her little feet and hops into his warm arms. Rindou kisses her head while unconsciously covering her tiny body with his coat.

She’s so, so cold.

Rindou feels at peace when he finally has his daughter in his embrace. He shushes her softly with a rock and she slowly quiets down upon hearing her father's gentle voice.

“I’m really sorry for having her out in the cold. She wanted to wait outside and wouldn’t go in. ‘Said she wanted to see you when you’re here.” Her teacher apologises with a deep bow. “It’s okay, thank you for being with her.” The little girl who is clinging onto him for dear life feels a warm breath blow into her neck. She whimpers at the contact, “Sakiya waited.” and babbles between sniffles.

Not outside for me, silly girl.

“It’s okay, I'm here now. Don’t cry.” Rindou coos while wiping her tears away and readjusts her jacket -- her favourite one that you bought for her at a trip to Yokohama a few months ago -- to keep her warmer and he vaguely sees the resemblance between his baby and her mother.

Both a crybaby. He chuckles at it.

Rindou figures she's crying because she isn't used to not getting picked up on time. The sky is already dark out and she is probably worried sick as she waits and waits and waits.

He feels his chest tightening.

“Let’s go, baby.” Rindou shields Sakiya from the cold spring wind and she buries her face into his thick coat while the two hurry into his car. He turns on the heater and eyes his daughter through the rearview mirror who is sitting quietly in her carseat, hugging her bunny while sniffling.

Rindou feels bad.

". . . 'Kiya, do you want dango?"

Her ears perk up at the sound of her favourite, favourite snack.

But a beat passes and Sakiya is blinking at her father -- probably pondering whether or not Mommy would approve of this. "Daddy, Sakiya just had dango at school."

But her father smirks a little through the rear view mirror. "Mommy won't know."

She shows her father a toothy grin.

"Okay."

And he starts driving.

That's my little girl.

It's around 6:40 in the evening when Rindou steps out of the elevator with his bubbly daughter holding an almost-finished dango stick in her hand.

"D'ya wanna help me with the dishes after?" "Yes!"

The duo are having a short conversation on their plans for the night when they hear Baa-chan, the friendly widow who lives next door push her front gate open while holding a heavy trash bag in her hand.

"Oh, Rindou-kun, you’re home." She greets with a warm smile. "Hello, Sakiya-chan." The said man puts his daughter down on her feet and the little girl runs forward to bow to her favourite grandma, "hello, Baa-chan! ただいま！"

Rindou takes the trash bag from her hand, “I’ll get it.” while grabbing the now empty dango stick in Sakiya’s hands to throw it in the general bin a few metres away.

When he returns, he sees Baa-chan handing a strawberry daifuku in a white plate to Sakiya and she hugs her legs in gratefulness. “For you, sweetie. Eat this after dinner, okay?” The girl nods feverishly while admiring the pretty dessert held in her little hands.

“Have you eaten, Baa-chan?” Rindou questions softly while unlocking his front gate with the keycard. “Not yet. I haven't had the appetite." He frowns at her reply. "Eat now, otherwise you're gonna have stomach pain again." He nags at the older lady and she simply laughs while patting his arm. "Okay, okay. You nag so much, boy. I'm starting to think you are my son."

He smiles a little at that. Baa-chan reminds him a lot of his late grandmother who used to take care of him and Ran when they were younger in their Roppongi home. Perhaps it is why Rindou is always caring for her in subtle ways, either nagging at her to take care of herself or helping her with the lightbulb she wanted to change.

Baa-chan and Sakiya are chit-chatting about their day as Rindou gets down on one knee to help Sakiya take off her little shoes. Her Hello Kitty bag is threatening to fall off his shoulder and his daughter helps him to readjust it properly with sticky fingers.

"I learnt how to write Katakana today!" "Oh, really? Which one is your favourite?" "Ummmm, I only remember ア and ワ . . ." "That's okay, sweetie. Take your time."

Sakiya steps up onto the platform of the entrance and Rindou hands her her own shoes, "you wanna put it up?" She balances her plate of daifuku in one hand and grips her white shoes with the other, before placing it down on the mini rack that is made for all her footwear. "Done!"

Rindou is about to stand back up when Baa-chan hurriedly pulls on the sleeve of his thick coat, suddenly remembering about the thing she wanted to say.

“Oh, before you go, Rindou-kun,” he looks at Baa-chan who has a worried expression on her face. “I was reorganising my shoes earlier and saw your wife come home, around 6. She didn’t look too good, but I didn’t ask. She did give me some Meiji biscuits and Ocha to enjoy, though.” She points inside with a chuckle and Rindou blinks. “Did she look sick?”

“Oh, I know it when a girl is having a bad day. Poor baby cried, I can tell.”

He stands back up on his feet and scratches his head. Baa-chan giggles at his antics before pointing to Sakiya with a soft voice only meant for him to hear. "You can bring her over for the weekend if needed, I can use the company. Have a little break and take care of your wife first."

Rindou understands what she is hinting at. To take care of you before doing anything else.

He nods at it.

“Okay, thanks for tellin' me.” He unlocks his front door and ushers Sakiya inside.

“Goodnight, Baa-chan!" The little voice shouts from the entrance and the grandma laughs with a wave to her figure.

After Rindou has made sure she has entered her house and locked the door, he kicks off his shoes and enters his home.

His heavy briefcase drops on the floor with a thud with Sakiya’s bag on top and he dumps his car keys and keycard beside yours that is scattered messily on the counter.

Rindou's purple orbs scans around.

The house is never this quiet when you’re home.

He hears the soft padding of Sakiya’s sock-clad feet and watches as she heads straight to the fridge to put in her melting daifuku. “Daifuku, daifuku~” She sings and Rindou leaves her to it. He checks around and sees your bedroom door slightly ajar.

"'Kiya, wash your hands 'n take off your jacket 'n socks, okay?" He says while heading over to your bedroom. "Okay."

He pushes the door open with a creak,

and Rindou finds you crying in your bed.

The room is dark, you're laying on your side with nothing on except for your underwear and thick blankets are bunched up around your waist. Rindou hears the little cries and sniffles sounding from you and hurriedly hovers over your limp body on the bed.

Rindou calls your name twice, testing the waters as he grabs at your shoulders to get you to face him. You continue sobbing and don't look at him but instead hide your face further into the pillow, black mascara tainting the white sheets and he frowns.

You're not conscious.

"Come on, love." He pulls at your body again. "Look at me." And when he finally sees your messy face, Rindou places a warm kiss to your forehead with a hand behind your neck, the other holding your trembling hand. You immediately cling on to him at the familiar feeling of your husband and cry into his neck.

"I lost my job."

What?

"I lost my job, baby. 'M sorry, 'm so sorry."

Your cries are so loud. You are so sad. You're babbling apologies to him and he doesn't know what's going on.

You? Losing your job? All of a sudden? How?

His own breaths are getting ragged too as Rindou attempts to calm you down with two strong arms wrapped around your frail figure and his kisses to your face don't stop.

The last time Rindou has heard you cry like this was when he raised his voice at you during a fight and immediately got on his knees to apologise. That was five years ago.

"I'm home. You're okay. It's okay." He assures and brushes your messy and sweaty hair away. Rindou helps you to sit up only for you to plop back down and bury yourself in the blankets.

You don't want to move. Your cries don't stop either.

He observes you and feels his heart shattering. It's one of the very few times where he is clueless on what to do, what to say.

He comes up with a plan quick and pulls a wet tissue from the nightstand and wipes your face with it. Your snot, your tears, your ruined makeup . . . He wipes them off one by one patiently.

Your fingers are hooped around his tight and he sits on his knee. You want him to stay and he knows. Rindou really wants to, but he also acknowledges the little figure that's standing by the door to your bedroom.

"Daddy." You pull on his hand with a sniffle when he moves to get himself standing and he bites his lip. Sakiya is holding her bunny while looking at the two of you with wide eyes.

"Is mommy okay?"

He knows Sakiya is hungry, but you need him too.

"Wait a little, baby." Rindou says to his daughter and she nods at his words, standing there and watches her parents with careful eyes -- her father rushes into the bathroom to wet a small towel and wipes her mother's face with it.

She hears him whisper so softly to you.

Rindou noses at your rosy cheeks.

"'M sorry, pretty, I'll be back." He pecks your wobbly lips twice while cupping your face, his actions gentle when holding you. You whimper. "Gotta feed 'Kiya first. I'll be back." He kisses his promise to your lips.

You nod and he hops off the bed before throwing the towel into the laundry bag. If he stays a second longer, he doesn't think he'll ever get moving.

He eyes you one last time before carrying a confused Sakiya up from the ground and into his arms.

"Mommy will be okay. We'll eat first, yeah? Don't worry."

Rindou's heart tears apart into two when he hears your cries grow louder as he closes the door.

I need you.

I know. I'll be back.

And Rindou did, in fact, fulfil his promise.

Because after feeding Sakiya dinner and helping her get cleaned up for the night, he quickly tucks her into bed and goes straight into your bedroom where he sees your pouty figure unclasping your black bra and aiming it to the bathroom.

"Hey." Rindou walks over with a sigh and sits down. You scratch on the skin underneath your breasts with yawn. It's been a long day. He looks at you and notices your red, puffy eyes with the remains of dried up bits of mascara sitting on your eyelashes. His fingers move to pick them away.

"Hi." Your voice cracks when you crawl into his lap. You don't say anything more but listen to his calming heartbeat as you unbutton the top of his dress-shirt, revealing the prettiest tattoo that you have ever seen in your life. Your pointer immediately moves to trace on the black patterns inked into his perfect sun-kissed skin.

Rindou cups his palms on your pantie-clad butt and his dry lips grazes your collarbone. ". . . Wanna talk 'bout it?"

You're silent as you think about the weight of your words.

"I got laid off." Few of his rough, calloused fingers scratches its fingernails up to your itchy bra-indented skin and you sigh at the relief. "Why?"

"They terminated my contract. On a Friday too. Somethin' 'bout the company not needing so many employees right now, so they picked a few 'n terminated us. Effective immediately. They also agreed to pay us a hefty 'mount as compensation, but . . ." You wet his neck again with a trembling pout. "I actually liked my job, baby."

Losing a job is hard. Feeling like you're not needed and appreciated when you enjoy being there is also hard. You think of the risks your family will be facing now that only one parent is bringing in active income and you cry harder.

It's gonna be hard looking for a career now in this economy, in this city. Other than working as a part-timer when you were still in schooling age, office work is all you've ever done. You don't have any prior experiences in other industries.

Until then, you don't want to burden Rindou.

"'Sokay, you worked hard." He kisses your neck and pats your back while rocking your body up and down, back and forth softly. You feel like a baby in his arms. At ease, calm, and peaceful. "You done your best."

"Stay home for now?" He asks.

You nod.

"'M so tired." You blink away the tears. Though not wanting to burden Rindou by staying home, it is all you feel like doing for now. You don't think you have the mental and physical capacity to move anymore. You just want to spend the rest of your days warming up in his embrace and patting your daughter to sleep. "'Don't wanna move."

"Then stay home. You've been working your entire life."

"But I don't want to burden you."

"You won't." He knows the exact thoughts that are running through your mind and is quick to shut them down. "Take a break, nothing wrong wit' 'dat. 'M fine with whatever you wanna do from now on."

Your look at him while he continues whispering subtle words of affirmation in your ear and to your neck where he presses kiss after kiss on the skin; a habit he's picked up ever since Sakiya was born and the little girl will only stop crying after she hears her father's soft 'I love you'.

Tired fingers move to feel the skin on his face. Every growing wrinkle, every acne scar, every permanent memory he's gotten from fighting, you feel them one by one with love and slowly, they finally land on his lips that has triggered you to raise a brow.

"You peelin' your lips again?"

He bites on one of your fingers and you yelp. "Old habits never die, baby."

This man is trying to play it off.

Prepare yourself for it, big guy.

Rindou closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Tsk, I told you to quit it. It's either you stop peelin' on it or you sleep on the couch tonight. Did you even use the lip balm I bought you? My guess is you didn't."

You continue to nag and his mind runs back to last week when he discovered that the same exact balm you mentioned was missing. It was nowhere to be found; his car, the house, his office . . . It was gone. And so he secretly used yours after shower and kissed you on the lips so sweetly that you didn't even realise.

"See, 's all flaky now." Your frown as your finger grazes on it and you physically cringe at the feeling. "Sorry, love." Rindou apologises with a smirk and you grow suspicious, so you inch away only for him to keep you in place. "My lips' been dry all day 'cause they were missin' yours." And he leans in to capture them in his and you smile into the kiss while swatting him away.

"You cheesy old man."

Loud laughter echoes in the bedroom while he carries you in his arms to the bathroom.

No matter ten years, five hundred years, a millennia, eons . . . Rindou's dry, flaky lips will always continue its pathway in searching after yours.

Rindou babies you the entire night. He bathes you, feeds you dinner (vegetable soup, rice and some side dishes), and helps you with your nightly routine -- the anti-aging Shiseido moisturiser you've started using since last year, the drugstore-bought body lotion you absolutely adore, the expensive hair oil Miwa recommended you use . . . He's never missed a single step.

You bury yourself further into his body when he dries your slightly wet hair with a soft towel.

Rindou feels like he's forgetting something.

"When is baby's next appointment with the doctor?" His voice is quiet when he asks.

Just what am I missing?

Your mind runs at his question, "'think it's this Sunday." You grab your phone and check the calendar.

Sakiya has been struggling with sensitive skin lately. It itches and gets flaky and she's always scratching at her cheeks and hands. She has random appointments every few weeks to check in on her condition and the doctor assigns her vitamins or creams depending on how severe it is.

At first you thought it was just the weather that's causing her this issue, but after a trip to the doctor it's revealed that her condition is caused by genetics. You both figure she's followed after Rindou because he used to struggle with sensitive skin when he was younger too.

You remember how Rindou got so guilty when he found out because Sakiya got his condition too and is always doing what he used to do back then -- scratching at the itchy skin until it's red and peeling. It'll leave scars. He knows her feelings which is why he's always taken charge of taking care of her skin.

His eyes flicker to the various Cetaphil and Sebamed products for Sakiya to use and a small container of cream sitting on top of the cupboard next to the dresser.

Oh.

It's crossed his mind today.

"Fuck, I forgot her cream."

You blink. "I'll do it."

You hop off his lap and fix the loose strap of your silk nightgown before grabbing the container off the cupboard and pad to your daughter's room.

You find that she isn't sleeping and instead, playing with her toys with the lamp on her nightstand in a dim setting. Rindou must've taught her that. She's a quick learner, too.

"Mommy," Sakiya calls out softly when you enter and you sit down beside her on the carpet. "Hi, baby."

She immediately crawls into your lap, her toys long forgotten and rests her head on your soft mounds.

To you, it seemed like she was simply resting her head there, but to Sakiya . . .

"Mommy okay?" She starts pushing her left ear to your chest. Then the right one when she doesn't find the thing she wanted. "Let Sakiya hear." You grow confused. "Hmm? What do you want to hear?"

"Sakiya hear if mommy is okay. Sakiya can know."

Tears accumulate in your eyes and you press a kiss to her forehead and brush her soft hair back.

My silly little girl.

"Mommy okay?" She asks again with wide eyes.

You don’t like lying to her.

So you don't.

"Mommy will be okay."

You never lie to Sakiya.

"Soon?" "Soon."

"C'mere." You say and she looks up again with pretty wide eyes. Eyes that look a lot like Rindou's. You spread the cooling cream gently on her dry cheeks and hands, not wanting to trigger the itch. "Did you scratch again?" You check on her skin and she pouts, "itchy."

"Mommy told you not to scratch." "Itchy." She repeats and you pinch her nose. She giggles at it.

You observe your baby who's sitting quietly in your lap, hugging her favourite bunny and blinking at you.

Raising Sakiya as first-time parents was hard, especially when she was still a newborn. You remember how she was crying all the time and Rindou and you didn't know what was the issue. Slowly, by time, as Sakiya grew up, she learnt how to regulate her emotions better through your patient teachings and is always a quiet, well-behaved girl when in public. She latches on to her father when you're not around and speaks in short little sentences when needed.

When you're done, you cup her chubby cheeks gently and smile when she looks up at you with those pretty, purple eyes. Her red, pouty lips shimmer under the nightlight and you peck her there.

"You look more and more like your daddy every day." You say that with another kiss to her soft, soft cheeks. You don't mind that some of the cream are getting on your lips, all you care about is showing your affection to your daughter who is happily drowning in it. You hold her hand and kiss her palm, her fingers, and she grins brightly.

"Really?" "Yeah. Look at your eyes. You're daddy's girl, aren't you?"

"I'm mommy's girl too." Sakiya babbles in her sweet voice and you pull her close to sniff on her scent. You don't think you'll ever get tired of smelling her. There's a certain smell to babies that is so, so endearing, you're sure every mother in the world agrees with you. Though faint, it is still there, and it is proof to you that this is your baby.

"Of course you are. You're my baby."

"I'm mommy's baby."

Rindou is busy fighting back his own tears while listening in on the two of you by the door. Neither of you notice he is there and he doesn't make his presence known. He continues to observe the two of you whispering little words to each other with a warm heart and soft smile.

He doesn't want this moment to end and prays to Heavens that he'll carry on this memory forever.

When you return to bed after tucking Sakiya in, Rindou is already getting comfortable and waiting for you. "She's asleep?"

"Yup, went to Dodo-land like the speed of light." You mimic her use of words with a little laugh before hopping into bed and into his arms. "Won't be wakin' up anytime soon, I think."

"Daddy, I think I want Dodo-land now." Sakiya mumbles with droopy eyes and he stifles a laugh before carrying her to bed.

"Who the hell taught her that?" Rindou laughs when he returns and sits down on the couch beside you with the TV playing. You shake your head with a chuckle, "dunno. But my bet is on Miwa."

(He never tells you but you just know it is his daughter's use of the term 'Dodo-land' that has sparked his interest in the dodo bird emoji which he now frequently uses in text. Also, Miwa did in fact teach your daughter the term 'Dodo-land.' But Rindou accused Ran when over at his house and got a smack to his head when he jokingly confronted Ran about it.)

Your dress sways with you when you move around to get comfortable in bed.

Rindou immediately wraps his long limbs around your body and travel a sneaky hand up under your nightgown to grip on your thigh, then your ass and he lands a slap on the fat.

"Tsk, 's cold, don't." You shiver when the cold air hits your skin and he pinches your ass. "No worries. I'll get you warm real quick." He smirks, nosing at your cheeks.

"We've got the whole night, don't we?"

The pretty nightgown you're wearing is one he chose for you on a shopping date. You were looking to buy for something comfortable to sleep in until he held the silk in front of you, hanging from his hands. "Try." And he immediately told the sales lady to wrap it up for you after you came out of the fitting room looking like an absolute Greek goddess.

You know it drives him nuts to see you in it every time. And you like using it to your advantage.

You bite your lip with lustful eyes staring at up his that mirrors your gaze.

It's been a while since the two of you have shared any form of intimacy (other than kissing and hugging), with work taking up most your time, and having Sakiya around and more intelligent now harbours a very risky risk. Every time the two of you are about to get it on, Sakiya will be knocking on the door asking for either her father or you.

". . . My kid's a cockblocker." He grumbles one night when you both got interrupted again because Sakiya couldn't open the door to her toilet. He comes back moody and his dick soft. "Don't say that, Rin!" Though mean, you can't help but laugh loudly at his statement.

It's been a while, and he knows. Which is why he isn't rushing into it despite your constant sleepy whines and babbles of him hurrying it up.

He kisses your pout away, "patience, baby."

There's a teasing smirk plastered on his lips and you feel his thumb rub around slowly on your pussy, spreading the growing slick everywhere before pushing it up to your clit.

You moan loudly when he gently presses down on the sensitive, sticky nub. The littlest frictions and touches can send you straight into heaven and it makes you blush.

You haven't felt like this in a while.

"Rin . . ." You reach down and attempt move his hand, to make him do something more -- anything. Anything for him to pull down his joggers and fuck you already.

"I know, baby. I gotta prep you first."

He admires the stretch marks and scars on your lower abdomen from when you had Sakiya. He thinks it's so, so pretty and he tells you just that. You blush, face growing even redder when he kisses on the skin before he sinks down to face your pussy and wraps his arms under your thigh, pulling and adjusting your body before swiftly diving in to make out with your cunt.

Rindou hums and groans and moans as he gives little kitten licks, shoves his tongue in your hole and tastes your sweet nectar in his mouth and he cums in his pants when you tug on his hair and mewl his name as you reach your euphoric high.

Your husband kisses you to sleep after three mind-blowing orgasms later.

It's a Saturday noon when Rindou returns back from Baa-chan's after sending Sakiya over for the day. Taku-chan -- Baa-chan's grandson and Sakiya's playmate since they were babies -- is over as well and she immediately lightens up when she spots the boy drinking a glass of milk in the kitchen. "Taku-chan!" "Hi!"

You have just woken up from a nap and he could tell it's one of the best based on the sleep marks indented on the side of your face and neck.

"Hey." He plops down on his left side beside you with a hand massaging your back, waiting for you to wake up slowly.

He moves his hand down and taps beats on your ass and it jiggles with each pat. He squeezes one into his hand and you smirk tiredly, “‘sup, big guy?”

Your voice after waking up is always so sexy. Rindou finds himself growing hot when he sees your half-lidded eyes peering up at him through your lashes. It's not the first time yet it makes his palms clammy and breath stuttering.

He feels like a teenage boy again.

"Sakiya's next door. Taku-chan is over too." He clears his throat while taking a quick peep at your soft lips. "So?"

"Whole day free." He flashes you a boxy smile that always makes you laugh and you chuckle into the pillow. "Okay."

Rindou helps you regain your senses first before softly tugging you from the bed. You hum confusedly and he nods his head to the window.

"Weather's nice. Let's go out."

That afternoon, Rindou heads to the car storage unit he rented somewhere in Akihabara and drives out his adored GTR he used to flaunt around when he was younger. You sit in the passenger -- your seat, or your throne, as Ran liked to call it -- as he drives you both over to Ginza for shopping the whole day.

Rindou buys you whatever you touch and feel and smile at. You insist you don't need them but in the end you still happily swiped his card and walked out the luxury stores with thick, nice-feeling paper bags worth at least ¥200,000 in them anyway.

You're especially hoarding at the bag of Mikimoto when he offered to help you hold your stuff. "I'll hold this." You dump the heavy bags of Burberry, Issey Miyake and Cartier in his hands and he lets you off with a smirk. You simply rush off to the next store with a blush.

It's dinner time when you pouted at him that you were hungry after a whole day of shopping and he doesn't tell you a thing about your next destination despite your very annoying questions until you start to notice the familiar road he's taking and soon, you see the beautiful skyline of the city you have long loved emerge.

You are back in Roppongi.

You admire the scenery you have deemed precious since you were young through the tinted windows and he observes you from the corner of his eyes. "It's changed a lot here." You murmur and he hums. You haven't been back here in ages.

The growing buildings and skyscrapers, the pretty night neon lights flashing brightly and you see so many people having the time of their lives.

It makes you feel so nostalgic.

When Rindou parked his car at a familiar sidewalk, you hurriedly exit the car and slam the heavy door shut before running over to the busy man who is still there after all these years.

"Taka-jii!"

A man in his early 60s looks up from the pot of stew he's cooking with wide eyes when he hears a mature yet so familiar feminine voice yelling at his nickname. A nickname he hasn't heard since a very long, long time ago.

Everyone else simply calls him Takabe or Ji-chan. And only one person ever calls him that.

He immediately grins when your coat-covered body waddles over to him with a bright smile.

"Taka-jii, I'm here!"

Takabe-san, or Taka-jii as you liked to call him, is the old man who runs the night ramen stall you and Rindou both frequented when you were still teenagers. Takabe-san was younger back then, of course.

"いらしゃいませ！How long has it been, you two?"

"Six years, I suppose." Rindou answers while you're busy snooping around beside Takabe-san behind the stall and grabbing at a lone fresh stick of dango the moment you land your eyes on it. Takabe-san lets you. You've been doing this since you were young and he grins at the flashing memory.

"You wanna know something, girl?" You raise both brows at him while munching on the matcha flavoured one. "I stopped selling dango a few years ago, but something in my head said to sell just one today. I have just made this and you came. Guess this is my answer as to why." He pats your head like a child and you grin.

"It's my daughter's favourite too."

"Good Lord, and you have a kid now? You never told me that!" His eyes flicker to your husband who is smiling brightly while busy searching for a photo of your daughter on his phone to show the man.

You and Rindou spend hours catching up with Takabe-san and finally, when it's time to leave, you hug the man like he is your father. "Food's on me, kiddos." You sniffle at the nickname and he laughs airily with a warm arm around your shoulder. "Go on! Don't cry. Jii-chan will always be here when you guys come, now that's a promise from me, alright?"

You two leave with warm hearts.

It's late into the night when Rindou drives you to the spot in Roppongi. Not much people knows about this place other than the two of you, Ran and Miwa, and a few of their other friends.

This spot gives the viewers a very wide scenery of Roppongi and nothing leaves their sight. The Tokyo Tower shines brightly in the night and you sigh happily while leaning your head on Rindou's shoulder.

This place has so many memories. It is the place that you and Rindou first met back in 1999 (both of you 11; he had nothing to do, and you were running away from home), the spot he takes you to whenever you have time to spare, and also the very place he asked you to be his wife.

You run through your memories one by one until Rindou breaks the silence.

"What was it that I told you the day I decided I wanted you together with me, for life?"

He's referring to the time he proposed to you.

Just a simple work night sitting on the hood of his previous Mazda, both of you still clad in your professional clothes with you in between his lap rambling about a bad day at work and he decides to shut you up with a very pretty ring to your finger that you have never once taken off since.

You cried like a baby the entire night.

"Hmm, dunno. What did you tell me?" You trace along the ink on his forearm with a teasing voice. You remember exactly what it was. You just want to play with him a little while longer.

"You tell me." He intertwines his fingers with yours.

"You said you'll take care of me forever. You want me for life. And you'll be always here when-" "-you need someone to depend on. I am yours. Please trust me. I love you."

Rindou kisses your crown.

"And that's exactly what I'm doing now, no?"

You nod. The waterworks come next.

"Crying again?" He teases and you bite his forearm with a sniffle. It doesn't even hurt because your lips are trembling. "You're a crybaby, mama. Sakiya gets your attitude, you know that?"

It's okay. I'll be here to wipe your tears away then.

"Asshole. Stop making me cry." You blink away the tears and he cups your face in his palms. Two thumbs move to swipe them away and he coos gently.

"Depend on me." Rindou noses at your chin softly, "I'm here." and lands a peck on your jawline.

"Okay."

And you spend what feels like an eternity kissing him. You hear fireworks going off somewhere in the city but neither of you break the kiss to look up at it. You chose to relish in the euphoric moment and neither of you regret it one bit.

"We'll be fine."

You hear it and smile.

When it ends, you both start whispering. Whispering like two little children who are sharing secrets. You whisper to him things like the past events that has happened at this exact spot so many years ago. Rindou whispers back his hidden motives when he lured you here one day in the middle of the night with an excuse saying he has something to give you when really, all he wanted was to just see your pretty face.

And he did give you something, though. A very shiny and expensive necklace that he won't tell you how he got while he clips it around your neck. It still hangs on the jewellery stand sitting on your dresser to this day.

(Rindou bought it by saving up cash from doing gigs at random clubs in Roppongi over the course of three months. The necklace was so expensive even Ran wouldn't buy it for himself. But Rindou did, for you.)

"It's our anniversary soon."

"Yeah." He thinks about the three two-way tickets to Taoyuan Airport stored in a folder neatly and hidden in the drawer of his desk with a lock.

"What are we doing this year?"

This year. The most recent year out of 20. That's how long you've been together. 7 years of marriage and 13 years of relationship.

You're never too old to love.

God, how Tokyo Manji Gang's Haitani Rindou have dreamt of a life like this. If you were to tell his younger self that in 15 years or so, he'll be holding his wife in bed every night with a daughter asleep next door at home, he'd laugh in your face and call you a fool.

"It's a secret."

"Oooooh, you have sum' planned, don'tcha?" Your accent slips and he laughs when you pinch his cheeks, "sneaky guy. What is it?" He pats your thighs.

"'Said it's a secret." "Okay. So what is it?"

He clicks his tongue. "You're so annoying." He tickles you subtly and you flinch away from his hands, though your arms don't let go of his neck. "You're annoying for not telling me."

"It's a secret! How can I tell you now?" He frowns while gripping your waist. "You can tell me! 'M not gon' do anythin' 'bout it."

"Then das' no surprise anymore."

Your teenage boy is back. The stupid boy who can't lie or keep secrets to save his life.

". . . A surprise, huh?"

You mind player.

". . . 'M not gon' speak anymore."

"Baby!"

At just a short distance away is another pair of visibly young couple sitting on the hood of the guy's modified Honda Civic. They both gape with amused and longing eyes at the married couple's banter while sipping on some cheap Lawson beer.

"Will we get to have this, Chishiya-kun?" The girl tugs on her boyfriend's jacket.

"You want it?" He asks.

"Yeah, I want it." She answers.

"I'll give it to you." He kisses her hand.

Though faint, you heard them two loud and clear.

And it reminded you of the conversation you had with Rindou at their same exact spot 17 years ago, both of you in your highschool uniforms at the ripe age of 18 sitting on the hood of Rindou's GTR with so much love to give and ready hearts to explore the world together.

"I really like you, Rindou."

"You told me that 3 years ago."

"And I really want to be with you. Forever."

He says nothing but puts down his can of beer at the side and slips out one of his many rings. But when you look closer, you realise it is the ring his mother gave him when he was a baby. Ran has one, too, but the design is different.

And he looks at it a little, admiring it before he slips it on to your fourth finger with a blush. The ring looks prettier on you than it is on him.

There wasn't any hesitation in his actions.

"Okay. Wait for me. I'll make more money and get a proper ring. Til' then, wait for me, babe."

Rindou speeds over to Musashi Shrine at 8pm after a curt notice with the engine of his GTR echoing through the night. The people gathered there are instantly aware of his arrival and makes way as he holds your hand tight and walks up to a confused Mikey, an awkward Takemichi, a quiet Draken and a shocked Chifuyu.

Though aware that Rindou is not available for grabs and has a girlfriend on the down-low, none of them have ever met you before and you shy away under their serious gazes. You see the girl you recognise as Kawaragi Senju gape at your figure. "She's so pretty." You hear her mumble to a smiley Tachibana Hinata with Sano Emma beside them grinning. You instantly blush and Shiba Yuzuha not so discreetly snaps a quick photo of you and Rindou.

Ran is equally as confused as Mikey because he doesn't know what Rindou is doing. You shake your head at him, mouthing the words "I don't fuckin' know." and Izana and Shion laughs, "What's this lil' shit up to now?"

Haitani Rindou of the Eighth Division quit Tokyo Manji Gang on the very same day.

And today, both of you at 35 with a daughter at home together, hugs and sways each other under the bright moonlight as you whisper your affection to one another.

Only dear Heavens would know how much the two of you love and mean to each other.

It makes him angry sometimes that people underestimate him when it comes to you, but you're always there to sooth it away with a soft voice.

"It's okay. It's nice when it's something only we both know. It's just us."

You hug Rindou like he is the force that holds all the atoms in you together.

Without him you'd crumble to nothing.

"I love you."

Rindou hugs you like you're the very last thing he has in the world.

He'll never let you go.

"I love you too."

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა reblogs are appreciated!

thank you for reading <3 i hope you have enjoyed this!

#r1988 #home collection #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tr #haitani brothers

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promptthebear · 7 months

Note

I love your writing so much - can I request 🐰 Arron Hotchner for number 13? I hope you are having a good day :)

Aaron Hotchner x Reader- Special kind of honey

Prompt: This is stupid...and kind of fun

Summary: Hotch just got back from a tough case. You've got a nice little homecoming surprise for him. Unfortunately things don't go as planned.

CW: A little bit spicy but not explicit. Some mild swearing. Established relationship between reader and Hotch. Reader has low self esteem. I can't think of anything else that needs to be tagged but please let me know if it does.

A/N: I am so very sorry this took so long and also that it kind of stinks. I really struggled with this prompt but what the hey, I tried.

Aaron wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, coming home from a case well past midnight but it certainly hadn’t been this. Standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom, gun holster still attached to his belt and briefcase still in hand, it was all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open as he stared at the display in front of him.

“Babe? What do you think?”

You were spread out on the bed, waiting for Hotch like an all you could eat buffet. The lingerie ensemble you’d chosen was one of his personal favourites, a royal blue chemise and thong set made almost completely out of lace that showed off the very best of your assets while still leaving something to the imagination.

This alone would’ve been a treat, but it was the swirls of golden pigment that decorated your arms, legs and collarbones that caught his attention. You’d seemed to have paid special attention to your inner thighs and breasts, with those two areas sporting the highest concentrations of gold. Each time you moved, the light from the bedside lamp made your skin glitter with an almost magical lustre. You looked inhumanly beautiful, like a piece of living art.

“Babe?”

Hotch opened his mouth to answer you, only to close it again seconds after. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was making it difficult to think, let alone speak, and the fact that all the blood in his brain was now rushing straight to his cock wasn’t helping matters.

“Sorry, this was a bad idea. Let me get cleaned up and then we can just forget about the whole thing”

Not waiting for a response, you started gathering up pillows and blankets off the bed in a frantic attempt to cover yourself up. It was only when Hotch’s line of sight to your bare skin was interrupted that his few remaining neurons sparked to life.

Cursing softly under his breath, he dropped his briefcase and rushed over, hoping to catch you before you could flee into the bathroom. His fingers missed your wrist by inches, closing around thin air as you scrambled across the bed and slid off on the other side.

“Honey, wait!”

The sound of Hotch’s voice made you pause long enough to allow him time to catch up with you. As soon as you were within reach, he anchored one hand on either side of your hips and pulled your body flush against his. You offered no resistance, coming willingly into Hotch’s familiar embrace even though you kept your gaze trained firmly on the floor.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, save for the sound of your laboured breaths and fluttering hearts. Hotch wondered if you were waiting for him to speak, to offer some kind of explanation for the reaction you’d misread as a rebuff.

Though you worked for the FBI, you weren’t a profiler. You wouldn’t have been looking for micro-expressions or subtle shifts in body language the way he did almost on instinct. At best you’d probably assumed he was too tired after his case for sex and just wanted to go to bed. At worst, you were now thinking he was a complete asshole who no longer found you attractive. Either way he’d dug him self a pretty deep hole and the only way to get out of it was to explain himself , but once again Aaron Hotchner was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that you were upset, he cared so much it almost hurt, but that didn’t change the fact that pulling you up against him like this had been a mistake. Because now, instead of coming up with an apology, his brain had become entirely too focused on the subtle brush of your hips against his to think about much else.

“Are you going to let me go, Aaron?” you asked, finally breaking the silence

“That depends,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse “Do you want me to? Or are you just asking because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

You sighed, the sound coming deep from the pit of your stomach, and blew a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Hotch watched it flutter in the air for a moment, before reaching up with one hand to tuck it behind your ear. You leaned against his palm, some of the tension leaving your expression as you did.

“I missed you.”

A smile played about Aaron’s lips, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and he had no doubt you were intentionally avoiding giving him one, but he was too intoxicated by the scent of your shampoo to care. He’d only been gone for a week, and yet he’d spent every day yearning for you like some lovesick teenager. Now that he finally had you in his arms again, he wasn’t about to let that be ruined by a foolish misunderstanding.

“I missed you too, honey. Now, are you going to be honest with me or are you going to make me chase you around the house a little first?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, as Aaron’s comment brought up memories of wonderful nights past. It would be a lot of fun to squirm free and play the brat for a few hours before finally giving in, but your ego was still too bruised for that. All too quickly the smile fell from your face, and you began to bite anxiously at your bottom lip, a sign that Hotch knew meant you were far more upset than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart? Talk to me, please”

“I just-”

Your voice cracked slightly, and Aaron’s heart almost broke along with it. There was hardly ever a good moment to be a horny idiot, but this one was probably worst than most. You had gone out on a limb for him here, done something spontaneous and outside your comfort zone so he’d have a memorable homecoming. You’d been vulnerable with him and even though he hadn’t intended to, he’d all but thrown it back in your face.

“I…do you think this is stupid?” you continued, pulling back so you could look down at the golden sheen that adorned your skin.

“Well no, considering I’m not entirely sure what this even really is yet.”

“It’s…it’s edible body powder,” you blurted, your cheeks starting to turn pink “Honey dust, to be more specific. Penelope gave it to me. I wanted to…mix things up a bit. Make them exciting for you. I should’ve known you’d think it was dumb and-and vapid and-”

Any further self depreciation vanished the instant Hotch’s tongue touched your skin. It was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling as he licked a stripe up the column of your throat. His mouth was blazingly hot, and if the noises he made were anything to go by, he approved much more than you initially realized. The sensible thing to do now was to let him keep going until he’d licked every inch of you clean and fucked you six ways to Sunday, but unfortunately your brain wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

“Aaron hold on- Aaron, baby- could you please just-”

You had to grab a handful of Hotch’s hair and tug before he finally extracted himself from your neck, grumbling softly under his breath as he did. The way the heady sweetness of the paint combined with the salty tang of your skin was potent. He’d barely gotten a taste, and yet Aaron knew he was ready to get down on his knees and beg if it meant he could have more.

“You’re not stupid”

“I never said-”

Aaron brought a finger up against your lips, gently but effectively silencing you so he could continue. Biting back your annoyance, you let him, your sense of curiosity overcoming your wounded pride.

“Look, you’re welcome to spend all night arguing with me about it if you want, but I also know there’s plenty of other things we’d both rather be doing so I’ll make sure I’m clear about this. You’re. Not. Stupid. You’re brilliant, and gorgeous, and I am so incredibly lucky to have someone like you to come back to every night. ”

You thought about protesting again, putting Hotch in his place and demanding to know why he’d been able to walk in, find you waiting for him as you were and not crack so much as a smile. He was smiling now though, looking like the cat who got the cream while his eyes roamed freely over the golden shimmer that decorated your cleavage and neck. His hands were also doing their fair share of roaming, trailing across the lace of your chemise and slowly working their way lower. It was only when you felt him cup your ass that you relented slightly, letting out a small moan and dropping your forehead against his shoulder.

“Besides,” Aaron’s voice was soft and low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin “You worked so hard to set this all up. The least you could do is let me thank you properly.”

“I like the sound of that,” you replied, offering Hotch a warm smile as you brought your hands up to rest against his chest “Only…”

“Damn it, sweetheart, you’re going to kill me. What is it now?”

You laughed quietly, not even bothering to hide how much you enjoyed working big, mean Aaron Hotchner into a tizzy. If only the other agents at work could see him now.

“You still haven’t told me what you really think.” you said, as one of your fingers started to twirl around the end of his tie “About the honey dust, I mean.”

Aaron groaned, and affectionately rolled his eyes. The fact that you were being stubborn really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

“You’re still on that? I thought it would be obvious by now. I love it, though I’d love it if you were wearing a brown paper bag.”

At the sight of your furrowed brows and the hard line of your pursed lips, Aaron let out a sigh and gently grabbed hold of one of your wrists.

“Still don’t believe me? Look.”

With that, he pulled your hand down and brought it firmly to rest against his crotch. You gasped softly, feeling what was very clearly a massive hard on straining against the zipper.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, your eyes going so adorably wide Aaron had to fight the urge to smother you with kisses then and there. You’d been together for almost three years now, and somehow you were still oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“See? The reason I didn’t say anything before is because honestly, you had me too turned on to think. If I had been able to come up with anything besides “guh” and some drool, believe me I would’ve.”

For a moment you stood there, stunned and trying to process what Hotch had just said. Then, the laughter came. It bubbled up out of you like a freshly popped bottle of champagne and there just seemed to be no stopping it. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were clutching Aaron’s shoulders, trying to stay upright as your body shook with mirth.

He held you through it, his own laughter, rich and warm, soon joining your own. When the two of you were finally able to settle down, you found yourselves sitting on the floor, still holding each other for dear life. Your tears had carved a path through the honey dust on your cheeks, creating dull stripes in between the swaths of gold. Aaron was also covered in the stuff, with most of it on his lips and nose from when he’d had his mouth on you earlier. The sight set you off in a fit of giggles again.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry,” you said, breathlessly between suppressed laughter “What a mess, and the bed’s probably a whole lot worse. This really was a stupid idea.”

You reached up and tried to wipe some of the gold powder off Aaron’s face, but only succeeded in dusting it down onto the lapels of his suit jacket. That didn’t seem to bother him too much though, and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He pressed a kiss against your palm, deep and reverent, before licking up the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. You shivered with pleasure in response, and let out a soft moan.

“This is stupid,” Aaron agreed, moving to stand and gently tugging you to your feet as he did “And also kind of fun. Besides, we can always do laundry later and after the week I just had, frankly I could use a little fun.”

You gave Hotch a sympathetic smile, and allowed yourself to be lead towards the bed without any further resistance. Sure enough, you could see gold dust coating your navy sheets and comforter, most of it concentrated in an outline of where you’d been laying. Aaron shook his head fondly at the sight, before scooping you up in his arms and laying you out like you’d been when he’d walked in earlier.

As soon as your back hit the bed, you reached for Hotch, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. He lent into it eagerly, letting out a hum of appreciation as he felt your tongue brush against his lips. This was your first taste of the honey dust, and right away you understood the appeal. It was sweet. but not over powering, a nice little addition to Aaron’s already delectable kisses. With any luck, you’d be able to talk him into letting you cover him with it later on. The bottle said it could be put anywhere on the body, which had given you more than a few ideas you wanted to try out.

Despite the rough start, it seemed like the evening was heading towards a much more pleasant end. However, instead of climbing into bed and straddling you like you’d expected, Aaron suddenly broke off the kiss. Your eyes flew open and you propped yourself up on one elbow, watching has he turned away to walk back towards the bedroom door. His absence was already felt, your lips and body now caressed by the cold air instead.

“Aaron? Sweetheart?” you called out after him, trying to keep your voice calm “What are you doing?”

“Call it a do over,” he replied, flashing you a wide grin over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob “An enthusiastic welcome deserves an enthusiastic reception.”

#easter event 2023 #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagines #if you can tell me what the title of this is a spin on I will love you forever and ever

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femdomdiaries · 9 months

Text

Kinktober “Day 2”: Roleplay

Sub!Satan x Reader Drabble

Warning/Desc: 700+ word drabble, electro stim, general narrative violence, 18+ nsfw content, hand job, sex toys, edging, bondage, dom/sub relationship, is gender neutral but mentions heeled boots

Synopsis: You and Satan roleplay as a dirty detective and a crime boss.

A/N: Took a bit longer but that’s cuz it’s a bit better than the first. Next one will likely be just as slow, if not slower bc i don’t have any ideas for it smh. And I call these drabbles cuz they don’t feel like fics but they also feel a bit too long for drabbles? Idk. Format later.

The heels of your boots click heavy against the linoleum, echoing through the dimly lit room, catching the attention of the blindfolded figure seated in the center. Frustration etches his face as he tugs pointlessly against his restraints, which have him completely bound to the chair. His voice trembles as he demands, "Who's there?"

You approach without a word, closing the distance until you're within arm's reach. When you're finally close enough, you run your fingers through his sweaty blond locks, feigning it as an affectionate touch before roughly yanking his head back. The resulting sound from him almost makes you break character. Almost.

"Do you know why you are here, detective?" You ask him, your voice taking on an authoritative tone. You move your free hand to slide his blindfold down and lift his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

After locking gazes with you for just a tad bit longer than necessary, he jerks his face from your grasp. "What's the meaning of this, MC? I demand an explanation."

The dim lighting accentuates the eerie shadow cast across your face as you curl your lips into a sneer. "You don't get to make demands, traitor." When Satan's eyes widen in surprise, you nod affirmatively. "That's right. We've had eyes on you for a long time. Ever since Lucifer uncovered your little embezzling operation. Thought that was off the books, didn’t ya?"

Satan barely manages to stifle a laugh at your choice of backstory. You make a note to punish him a little extra for that.

"I haven't done anything," he retorts, voice laced with defiance, "You don't have any proof."

You respond with a skeptical raised eyebrow before sliding a hand beneath the waistband of your pants. His gaze fixates on you, and a flush gradually tinges his cheeks. "What are you doing?" he stammers, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

With deliberate slowness, you withdraw your hand, bringing with it a pack of meticulously rolled documents. His eyebrows furrow, and he starts to object, "Pockets have a purpose—"

"Silence, traitor." You slap him across the face with the rolled paper, earning a lip bite. "This is the proof. Documents, photos, all of it evidence of your crimes, of your betrayal."

You fail to hide your excitement, and Satan's eyes widen further, realization dawning on him. "...You've been planning this."

You shake your head and manage a disappointed expression. "I was hoping you'd come to your senses. I vouched for you time and time again but now it seems you've left me no choice."

Satan replies with resignation, "What are you going to do, kill me?"

"Unfortunately, you're of no use to me dead," you explain, moving with deliberate slowness as you circle around him, the echo of your footsteps only adding to the rising anticipation. Reaching the table behind him, you slide a sleek black briefcase towards you and pop open the clasp. You brush your hand over its contents, hand lingering on the arrangement of electro stim toys. "However," you continue, "your crimes will not go unpunished."

***

Satan whimpers as you stroke him again, flinching back when the shock transfers from your finger attachments to the shaft of his cock. Your other hand maneuvers a wand across his body, lingering on his chest and dancing around his nipples. Physically, he’s a mess. His demon form manifested involuntarily about four ruined orgasms ago, and now his tail lashes out aimlessly around the legs of his chair, mostly because he knows you’ll worsen the punishment if he tries to touch himself with it. His hair clings to the sweat coating his forehead, eyes once again blindfolded but failing to conceal the tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.

When his breath gets irregular and he starts bucking his hips against the restraints, you pull back all at once. He cries out at the loss of touch and moans in discomfort, a sign that you have once again effectively ruined his orgasm.

With a predatory smirk, you lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “How about this: I’ll let you go, but only if you can count up to the exact sum of money you embezzled. Starting at one and ending, hm, somewhere around a couple hundred thousand?”

Satan’s hips give one last weak thrust, which you discourage by slapping his cock and watching it bounce back against his abdomen. He whimpers. "Please, M-MC, I—I need to come. It hurts. I—"

You make a shushing sound, effectively quieting him. "You're breaking character, detective. Now let’s hear those numbers. One…" You start stroking him again.

#satan obey me #obey me smut #obey me #obey me! satan #obeyme!satan #om! satan #satan x mc #satan x reader #kinktober 23 #kinktober 2023 #sub!satan #sub!obey me #sub obey me #sub satan

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captainremmington-13 · 3 months

Text

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova, her father, and Kallista. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: When Bellova and Coriolanus make their first appearance at an elite Capitol event, Coriolanus notices that some people aren’t buying his “loving fiancé” act…

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains manipulation, mentions of depression and not eating, swearing, and mild verbal abuse

A/n: The first section of this chapter describes what has occurred in the time between Bellova’s father’s death and the event they’re attending at the end.

Coriolanus had always imagined that dating Bellova would be like walking on a path littered with nails, broken glass, and acid.

However, it was quite the opposite. Having her as a girlfriend and fiancée was like caring for a depressed, clingy pet.

Her father’s death had affected her greatly. For weeks afterwards, she hardly functioned. She refused to get out of bed half of the time. She hardly left her room. Avoxes would bring her meals, but she didn’t eat unless Coriolanus was there to persuade her to. When she was up and about, she looked dazed and sullen. If someone asked her if she was ready to begin attending University classes again, she would burst into tears and leave the room.

Coriolanus had told Grandma’am and Tigris that Bellova had pleaded with him to stay at her estate until she got back on her feet.

“She needs someone to hold her while she processes her grief,” he had explained to them. Grandma’am didn’t question this, but the look on Tigris’s face had told him she was suspicious. She knew Bellova well enough to predict that she wouldn’t let Coriolanus just waltz into her home.

Coriolanus had a difficult time adjusting to the “boyfriend” role. And Bellova’s unstable condition made everything ten times harder. He still attended his University classes and meetings with the Gamemakers, but as soon as those were over, he went straight to the Reginelle estate.

The staff became familiar with his presence in the house, and respected him just as much as Bellova. As soon as he set foot in the foyer, an Avox would take his coat and briefcase for him. Then he would make his way to Bellova’s bedroom, where he would spend the evening and following morning.

Coriolanus had some difficulty suppressing his annoyance regarding Bellova’s behavior. She either sobbed her heart out, went completely silent, or spoke in a monotone voice that sounded robotic. But he pushed his frustrations aside and was gentle with her, affectionate almost. He stayed with her while she cried, persuaded her to eat enough to ward off illness, and held her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep.

In turn, Bellova became very attached to him. She only seemed truly alive when he was with her. She was still riddled with despair, but she spoke to him more than anyone else, and would cling to him like he was a lifeline.

To his surprise, Coriolanus had actually started to enjoy how much Bellova depended on him. After weeks of spending his evenings and mornings at the Reginelle estate, he had decided that dealing with Bellova’s grief-induced meltdowns was worth it.

He needed her to love him. If she loved him, she would never leave him or fight against his wishes commands. Her beauty and newfound innocence would captivate the Capitol’s elite, further enhancing his own reputation.

And if he wound up inheriting her family’s abundant wealth…well, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞’𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

“Coryo?”

Bellova’s voice snapped Coriolanus out of his thoughts. He pried his gaze away from the marble floor to look at his fiancée, who was staring intently at him with a small frown spread across her lips.

“Yes?”

Bellova stepped out of the dressing room, revealing the fifth gown she had tried on so far. She had insisted on buying a new dress for the Jiloria’s Annual Gala tonight.

“I want to make sure I look good,” she had said, giving Coriolanus a pleading look.

Just last month, Bellova had finally begun to function for the first time since before Coriolanus had sedated her. No longer overwhelmed with constant sadness, Coriolanus was formally introduced to the new Bellova without all of the tears and meltdowns. He already knew she was sweet and obedient, but he was surprised to find that her preferences had completely changed. She was no longer interested in novels, academics, or anything that could be considered violent. She found much more pleasure in jewelry, fashion, and spending time with her fiancé. The old Bellova had been quite interested in couture, but now, it seemed to be her favorite topic of conversation.

She had already begun renovating of her bedroom, getting rid of the gothic decor. She replaced her black curtains with sheer light pink ones. Her walls had been light grey, but had been covered by white floral wallpaper. The ebony chandelier that once lit the room was gone, and a new crystal chandelier hung in its place. The room resembled the quarters of a princess more and more every day.

Just a few days ago, Bellova decided she wanted a complete makeover of her wardrobe. She complained that her clothes were “too dull and not unique enough”. And Coriolanus, who liked the idea of having a pretty girl attached to his hip everywhere he went, agreed.

They didn’t need to worry about spending too much, for their Coriolanus’s pockets were deeper than ever. The House of Snow was rich once again, thanks to the generosity of the Plinths. Tigris was doing well for herself, and Grandma’am was happier than Coriolanus had seen her since before the war. And now that he and Bellova were to be married, he would officially inherit Julio Reginelle’s fortune. He had already asked Bellova for several financial favors, and she never hesitated to approve any bank transactions, no matter how exorbitant.

“What do you think of this one?” Bellova asked him, gesturing to the luxurious garment she was wearing. The satin fabric was the purest shade of white imaginable. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were made of organza, and sewed into the shape of flowers. The same flowers adorned the bottom of the gown, making her appear as if she was perched on a cloud.

Coriolanus smiled. It reminded him of the dress she wore to President Ravinstill’s Fall gala just last year. Oh, how things had changed.

“It’s gorgeous, my love. I think you’ve found exactly what you’re looking for.”

Bellova sighed in relief, smoothing out the skirt. “It’s not too much?”

“I don’t think so. It isn’t obnoxious, but it will certainly catch everyone’s eye. Having such a stunning fiancée accompanying me will undoubtedly increase my chances at impressing the political leaders of the Capitol.”

Not realizing that she was essentially being used as a human prop, Bellova grinned happily. “So, shall we tell the salesman we’re buying this dress?”

Coriolanus nodded and stood up, pulling his wallet out of his pants pocket. “How much is it?”

Bellova checked the tag. “Two-thousand, three hundred dollars.”

A year ago, that would’ve given Coriolanus a heart attack. But now that he was filthy rich, it didn’t seem like an unreasonable price.

The salesman stepped into the room. “Buying that one?” he asked, looking at Bellova.

She nodded, and glanced at Coryo, expecting him to hand the salesman his credit card. Instead, Coriolanus picked up Bellova’s purse.

“I’m going to charge the purchase to your family’s account. This is an investment solely for you, after all.”

Bellova looked at him blankly. “Okay.”

Giving the salesman Bellova’s credit card, Coriolanus made a mental note to transfer every last cent of the Reginelle fortune into the Snow’s bank account as soon as possible.

The couple left the shop, an Avox carrying the dress concealed in a protective bag following closely behind. They were escorted into one of Bellova’s family’s cars, and headed back to the estate.

Coriolanus didn’t attempt to spark any conversation with his fiancée. He only talked to her if it was necessary. She wasn’t very interesting to converse with now that she was less intelligent. He very occasionally missed the witty banter, but reminded himself that she was better this way.

She was much easier to control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coriolanus checked his watch, adjusting his tie anxiously. They really had to get going soon, or they’d be late to the gala.

“Bellova!” he yelled up the stairs, not caring enough to hide his frustration. “Hurry up!”

“Coming!” Bellova called back, clearly a bit shaken by his harsh tone. Coriolanus heard the clicking of her high heels grow closer, and soon, she appeared at the top of the steps.

She looked perfect. The very image of a young, eligible, wealthy Capitol woman.

She hurried down the stairs, gripping the rails tightly. “I’m so sorry, Coryo,” she said, giving him an apologetic look. “I-I just lost track of time.”

“You can’t afford to do that,” Coriolanus said angrily. “You’re going to make a fool of me.”

For a brief moment, Coriolanus swore he saw a flash of anger in Bellova’s grey eyes.

But it was quickly overtaken by a guilty look. “I won’t be late ever again, I promise.”

“Good,” he said, turning towards the door. “Now come. We can’t afford to waste another second.”

Trailing after him, Bellova clutched her expensive purse, desperately suppressing the tears threatening to appear in her eyes.

When the couple arrived at the Jiloria Mansion, the ballroom was already full of elite guests. Coriolanus greeted countless people, giving them his infectiously charming grin. He handed out compliments like it was second nature, which it was. Flattery went a long way in the Capitol.

He maintained a tight grip on Bellova’s hand, ensuring that she didn’t wander off. He didn’t want to lose her in the crowd, or let her slip away from his line of sight. If she left his side, she could end up conversing with someone who triggered memories of her past.

Bellova said nothing as they walked through the room, simply giving people polite nods. She was very obviously nervous. After all, she hadn’t attended a social event in almost a year.

“I don’t know any of these people,” she whispered, gripping Coriolanus’s arm tightly. “But they all seem to recognize me. What’s that all about?“

Coriolanus quickly glanced around. Sure enough, many people who he knew had connections to Bellova and her father were looking their way. Some of them simply looked confused. But others looked suspicious. He could feel their piercing gazes following him, demanding to know how he’d managed to make Bellova his fiancée.

“You alright?” Bellova asked, inspecting his expression.

“I…” Coriolanus’s breath caught in his throat as he spotted Kallista Philo staring at him, murder in her eyes.

“What’s going on?”

Coriolanus frantically scanned the room, looking for his mentor. He spotted Dr. Gaul conversing with the Dovecote family, and marched Bellova over to where they were standing.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, hoping she would detect the urgency in his tone. “Can you watch Bellova for a bit while I handle something? She needs someone to ensure she doesn’t wander into any danger.”

Coriolanus knew full well that Bellova was scared of Dr. Gaul. Even if she hadn’t said it out loud, he could tell by the way she would coward behind him when she was nearby.

“Of course,” the doctor said, taking Bellova by her wrist and giving her a terrifying grin. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I don’t bite.”

Giving the doctor a knowing nod, Coriolanus placed a parting kiss on Bellova’s cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

Stuffing a hand into his coat pocket, he felt around until his fingers touched a metal vial.

He had to tie up all the loose ends before they let something slip.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! It may take a few days for me to finish the next chapter, but I promise the wait will be worth it!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x oc #the hunger games #tbosas #thg prequel #the capitol #original character #dr gaul

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universitypenguin · 4 months

Text

Chapter 26

Summary: Princess makes a worrying discovery while looking through Lloyd’s briefcase. Zach and Lloyd search Copper Ridge Quarry and have an argument. Meanwhile, Princess becomes entangled in the issue of a spy operating inside of Bishop & Howard.

Word Count: 5,024

Warnings: This story contains content that is intended for those who are at least eighteen years old, such as explicit sexual content, strong language, references to spying, murder, kidnapping and criminal elements.

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I did get this chapter published today as promised but editing took a really long time because it snowed here today, which was really depressing for me (come on, it’s March, give me sunshine) so I was feeling very unmotivated and lazy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Twenty-Six

As promised, you reviewed the footage of Nguyen’s interrogation. Two moments raised red flags. The first occurred when Lloyd mentioned Tate Corbin’s witness statement. From his previous interviews and court testimonies, you knew Nguyen wasn’t easily drawn into speculation, but the topic of his neighbor’s observations caused an abrupt change in his demeanor. Suddenly, he was eager to speculate. You marked the timestamp and wrote a note for Lloyd. The second red flag was more significant. As an interrogation subject, Nguyen was usually willing to answer questions, though the quality of his responses varied. That said, an outright refusal to respond was rare; in fact there was only one instance where it cropped up.

When questioned about his former colleague who testified against him at trial his evasion stood out sharply in contrast to his typical style of guarded cooperation. It caught your attention, so you annotated that spot as well. Nothing in particular jumped out at you as significant in the rest of the footage, but watching it all together, it irked you that Nguyen hesitated to challenge his colleague’s testimony. Most murder suspects protested vehemently when confronted with false accusations.

The fact that Nguyen didn’t was unsettling.

A staccato rap of knuckles on your door startled you from your musings. Landon stepped into the room and raised an eyebrow when he saw you massaging your temples.

“Headache?”

"Yeah. Re-watching Nguyen's interview is driving me nuts."

"Skip the aspirin this time."

You snorted. "Never again. What's up?"

"Jake and I have a stakeout. Need a ride home?"

"No. Lloyd's my ride, whenever he gets back."

"Text if you need us. Remember the silent alarm triggers are under the receptionist’s desk and in Zach’s office. He showed you?"

"Yeah, he did. Thanks."

- - - - -

After the guys left, the office was silent. You finished reviewing the interview footage and made an attempt at Lloyd’s strategy of listening to the interview audios alone, which proved fruitless. The audio alone was too dull to be endured. After saving your notes to the shared drive, you strolled around the office to stretch your legs. It was nearly nine o’clock, and there was still no word from Lloyd or Zach. You opened the tracking app on your phone and verified their location in the woods near Copper Ridge Quarry.

You needed a distraction, so you poked around in the share drive and read the report Lloyd had filed on his meeting with Tate Corbin. When you clicked through the attachments for his handwritten notes nothing came up. There were no attachments anywhere in his last few uploads so they hadn’t been filed mistakenly. Your gaze landed on the hazelnut leather briefcase he’d left beside your desk. After a brief debate, you decided he wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t snooping if there was a purpose, right? You lifted the briefcase to your desk and took a deep, steadying breath. As you unzipped the main compartment, your phone rang, making you almost jump out of your skin.

Jen’s face flashed on the caller ID.

You sank back against the cushioned backrest of your chair and answered. “Hey, Jen. What’s up?”

“Not much, just checking in. How’s working from home?”

"It’s different. Kind of boring, but I’m getting a lot done.”

“I haven’t seen much of Lloyd around the office lately. Is he working from home, too?”

“He’s been doing a lot of field work,” you said, ducking the question.

“Mmmhh, really throwing himself into it, is he?”

Knowing Jen as long as you had, the dry tone of her voice tipped you off that she wouldn’t let the matter of Lloyd's absence go. She’d poke and prod and side-step you down the garden path until she had an explanation. You should’ve anticipated that the cover story Bishop had spread around the office, spinning your attack as a slip and fall by the pool, wouldn’t pass the smell test with Jen.

“Yeah. Things picked up a bit in the investigation… uh, new leads….”

“I’ve always appreciated that Lloyd goes after things like a force of nature.”

“Have you?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching into the front divider of Lloyd’s briefcase and pulling out a stack of files. The third degree was coming, and you knew it.

“He takes the bull by the horns,” Jen said.

“Interesting. Are you developing a soft spot for Lloyd?”

Jen snorted. “He’s right up there with Hawaiian pizza in my book.”

You laughed, flipping through the files. None of them were related to the Harmony case, so you set them aside and searched the second pocket in the briefcase.

“Wanna know something else about Lloyd?” you teased, hoping to distract Jen.

“Hmmm?”

“I only found this out recently, but he actually was a cowboy.”

“Are you for real?”

“Would I lie to you? He called me when he was in Idaho and told me about herding cattle and roping and my ovaries almost exploded.”

“I love that for you. Did he bring you pictures? Also, does this have anything to do with his odd choice of facial hair?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Right, you’re too young to remember Westerns. You know the old movies about Doc Holliday, The Sundance Kid, Wyatt Earp…? I could go on, but you get the point.”

“I’ll have to ask him,”

“How’s your neck?” Jen asked.

“A lot better.”

You cringed, waiting for the attack to begin.

“Mmmhh. Glad to hear it.”

There was a long pause and you held back, distracting yourself from the temptation of talking by opening the next compartment of Lloyd’s briefcase. There was a padfolio and a few more files. You opened one of them and found insurance paperwork for a 1971 Mercury Cougar.

“Listen, I heard about your fall by the pool from Bishop, and I know it was bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t really talk about it, Jen. I’m sorry.”

“Talk about what, exactly?”

“Jen… I can’t tell you what’s going on, okay?”

“Is it personal? Professional? Does it have something to do with Lloyd?”

You blew out a breath, considering your answer. The stalking was personal, but the IP address that the stalker had used to hack your work laptop was definitely professional. If he’d hack your laptop, who was to say he hadn’t tapped Jen’s work line, too?

“I’m dealing with some personal stuff.”

“And you were in the hospital twice this past month. There was an ER visit at Georgetown University Hospital and another in Harmony.”

“How do you know about those?” you demanded.

“Your apartment building forwarded over a stack of mail. I saw the medical bills and figured they were ER visits, thanks for confirming, though. I didn’t actually open them.”

“I can’t share it yet, but me staying out of the office is what’s best for right now.”

“Why were you in the hospital?” Jen asked.

You rubbed your forehead and wondered why you chose to develop friendships with people who had the personalities of Jack Russell Terriers. “I hurt my neck, just like Bishop said. The other one was for a medication reaction, but it turned out fine.”

“Fine? But who picked you up from the hospital? Did you call your Mom? Never mind, don’t answer that, I know you didn’t. Have you told your Mom what’s going on?”

Jen meant well, and you knew that, but she’d never comprehend that your Mom didn’t take her responsibilities as a parent to heart the same way Jen did.

“I didn’t tell her I was in the hospital because it’s just not something she could handle. She’s kind of high strung,” you gently reminded her. “Lloyd drove me home both times.”

“So, Lloyd is taking care of you? Adequately?”

You rolled your eyes at her suspicious tone. “Yes, he’s shockingly good at playing nurse. And he can cook.”

“Thank goodness, I’ve been worried that you were subsisting on takeout alone.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” you said.

“Mmmhh. Well. I’m not trying to be pushy, honest. I just… worry about you.”

“I know that, Jen. Give me some time, okay? I’ll tell you everything when I can and hopefully I won’t seem like such an asshole then.”

“You’re not capable of being an asshole except when you’ve been provoked to it,” Jen said. “That’s why I’ve been so worried.”

“Thank you.”

You picked up another file that had been in Lloyd’s briefcase and leafed through it. Once you realized that it was a copy of Joe Hansen’s will, you snapped it shut. Jen’s voice morphed into the background as she turned the conversation to a recap of current affairs at the law firm. Why was Lloyd still carrying a copy of his father’s will? On a scale of one to ten, how much of a violation of privacy would it be to read… maybe just the first page? The first few pages? Your internal debate was interrupted by a gasp from Jen.

“I almost forgot to tell you! I met Mr. Howard the other day!”

“Mr. Howard?” You drew a blank, having been more preoccupied with the will than the conversation.

“Wilson Howard? The other half of Bishop & Howard? The infamously silent and absent founding partner of B&H…?”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, it was crazy, like stumbling on a unicorn on a jogging trail. He actually came into the office.”

“Why did he come in?”

“Because of you,” Jen said.

“What did I do?!”

“Remember the emails that you forwarded to HR? The ones from Westin Tafferty? According to the grape vine, they made their way up to Bishop, who responded by siccing Mr. Howard on Westin.”

“Oh, shit.”

Jen chuckled at your dismay. “He was here all morning and met with paralegals to get the tea on Westin before coming to visit me. He asked about you.”

“This is not good.”

“Relax,” Jen said. “He just wanted to know if Westin had harassed the whole paralegal department, or if he’d focused on you. And you’ll never guess what else I found out…”

“I’m afraid to ask,” you said.

Jen snickered. “Per Mr. Howard, there was a conversation between Mr. Bishop and Lloyd a month ago where Lloyd threatened to ‘use the Geneva Conventions as a to-do list’ if Westin kept bothering you.”

You buried your head in your hands, groaning, while Jen laughed.

“Anyways, after he’d interviewed the team he went down to HR and had a two hour chat with Westin, who denied everything, but given that it was a two hour meeting, I think we can guess how that went.”

“No one called me about this.”

“You’d already done your part by reporting him,” Jen said. “Also, according to my sources, Westin left that meeting looking very rattled.”

“I almost feel bad for him.”

“Ugh. Get a grip and cut that out, girl. You have no idea how incredibly therapeutic it was for the whole paralegal department to vent about Westin. The best part was that Mr. Howard just listened and took notes. If a man ever listened to me that attentively on a date, I’d jump his bones.”

You commiserated with her about Westin, and let the conversation drift back to the latest gossip from the office. When you finally hung up, you stood over the mess on your desk and examined the damage. It was littered with a treasure trove of mundane artifacts - five khaki file folders, a tin of mints, sticky notes, a travel tube of cologne, a power bank and phone charger, airpods, reading glasses, and three hundred dollars in cash. The files were what drew your eye.

Curiosity was killing you, especially about Joe Hansen’s last will and testament, but you forced yourself to set them aside. It would be a betrayal of trust and if the situation were reversed, you’d be offended if Lloyd went through your private documents without asking. You surveyed the items you’d strewn over the desk from Lloyd’s briefcase and sighed, dipping your hand into the last, smaller back pocket of the briefcase in search of the missing interview notes. Your fingers brushed against paper and for a moment, excitement surged, but instead of papers you pulled out an envelope.

Inside were three laminated bookmarks.

They were delicate and beautiful. One featured a bold splash of golden petals with a dark center like a miniature sun in bloom - a long stemmed Black-Eyed Susan. The other two flowers weren’t familiar. You inspected the bookmark that contained pale lavender flowers with tinges of blue, then examined the third marker, which featured pink petaled blossoms. Frustratingly, it was another flower you didn’t recognize. The pink flower reminded you of Prairie Phlox and Fire Pink, except to the best of your knowledge, no one had ever crossed those plants. There was no receipt in the envelope but when you flipped it over, the outside read: “Josephine.”

Your eyebrows raised. Josephine? Who the hell was Josephine? Why had she given Lloyd pressed flower bookmarks, and more confusingly, why had he accepted them?

It crossed your mind a second later that the floral bookmarks might be a gift for you. That was a logical enough explanation but it didn’t hold up to closer inspection. Lloyd took pride in being an excellent gift-giver. He knew your tastes, interests, and preferences. The bookmark with the Black-Eyed Susans would be the kind of gift he would give you, but the other two were decidedly not.

Using the plant identification app on your phone, you scanned the bookmarks to identify the flowers. The lavender flower was Common Camas and the pink was Elkhorn Clarkia. You didn’t recognize either name and when you checked the map of their native range, it made sense why you wouldn’t - they were native to the upper Northwest. Lloyd must have gotten these in Idaho. Frowning at the bookmarks, your mood slid from confused to suspicious, then darkened.

Your chest was tight and your heart pounded out a chorus of eighth notes, turning your skin hot. The floral bookmarks weren’t something Lloyd would keep without a good reason. On the envelope, you inspected the handwriting of the name ‘Josephine’ and confirmed it was Lloyd’s. Who was Josephine? Did she live in Idaho or had she traveled there for his father’s funeral? Did they spend time together while he was there? Was she the real reason he’d neglected to call you while he was gone? There was a horrible feeling in your gut that you couldn’t ignore.

The realization that there were parts of Lloyd that you were completely closed off from hit like a slap in the face. There were sides to him you’d never seen. He had a past that transcended the three years you’d shared. Of course that was normal, but the utter lack of awareness you had of Lloyd’s past wasn’t normal at all. If you knew who Josephine was, maybe these bookmarks wouldn’t make your heart slam against your rib cage. You’d know if she were a matronly ex-neighbor or an ex-girlfriend. That was something you ought to know, and the fact that you didn’t have a clue made your stomach churn. It seemed that beneath the veneer of trust you had in Lloyd there was an abyss of uncertainty. While your friendship had been built on healthy habits, it was painfully obvious that your romance lacked the same sturdiness. The dawning awareness that all it took was three flimsy bookmarks to fracture your relationship burned.

You took a deep breath and tucked the floral bookmarks into the envelope and returned it to the same pocket. Then you began methodically returning all the items back to their original position, careful to order them exactly how you’d found them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A strange chemical scent hung in the air. Lloyd wrinkled his nose and swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste of rotten eggs. He stood with Zach at the chain link fence that sealed off Copper Ridge from the rest of the world, looking up at the double rows of twelve-foot high razor wire topped fencing. The sight reminded him of prison.

Decorating the fence were brightly colored posters signaling danger lay ahead.

Zach coughed into his elbow. “This place smells like my grandmother’s garden, but way, way, worse.”

“What?” Lloyd asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Her garden plot had alkaline soil, so she treated it with Lime-Sulfur every spring.” Zach coughed again, then examined the warning posters. “Arsenic, sulfur, lead, benzene, radiation… What did they do? Nuke this place?”

“That probably would’ve done less environmental damage.”

“Check those security cameras,” Zach said, tilting his chin at the gate post.

“We can assume the killer isn’t just driving up to the main gate.”

“Given what they’re containing up here, those cameras probably aren’t new.”

“He must have a more discrete method of accessing the site,” Lloyd agreed.

“So, we’re hiking the perimeter?”

“It’s due diligence. The three bodies we have prove that we’re looking for an experienced hiker who isn’t afraid of moving his victims over rough terrain.”

“The perimeter is thirteen miles and the sun’s about to go down.”

“Got an extra flashlight?”

Zach smirked, and quipped, “one is none.”

Their flashlight beams were necessary under the thick canopy of vegetation, even with the sun still shining overhead. The trees cast long shadows and stretched their fingers across the forest floor. Recently fallen leaves squished under their feet as they followed the fence line, still too wet to crunch. Crisp air whipped against his neck and Lloyd flipped up the collar of his jacket.

“I hope Princess doesn’t intend on letting your genes into her bloodline. Not after this.”

“Shut up,” Lloyd muttered.

Zach snickered. “Touched a nerve, eh?”

“You’re getting exposed to this shit right along with me, asshole.”

“Not really. I had a procedure in the 90s to ensure none of my swimmers were medal contenders.”

“For the love of all that is holy, please shut up.”

“Why didn’t you bother with a vasectomy? Nervous about someone poking around down there?” Zach asked.

“Getting clipped has never been on my agenda.”

Zach stopped abruptly. “You want kids? Really?”

“Fuck no! You of all people get why.”

“I do. Hence, the vasectomy I got at twenty.”

“I don’t want kids,” Lloyd stated.

“Your actions say otherwise,” Zach said.

“No, they don’t. All my actions say is… Why are we having this conversation?”

“What about Princess?”

“What about her?”

“Does she want kids?” Zach asked.

“How should I know?!”

“You’re dating her.”

“This is what you want to talk about right now?” Lloyd demanded.

“Does she?”

“Come on, we’re in the middle of something. Now isn’t the time.”

“What are your intentions towards Princess in the long term?”

“Zach, are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“Why would I bother digging a grave when I know this place exists? Answer the question. Where is this thing with Princess going? Are you serious about her?”

“She’s important to me, of course I’m serious.”

The blond man’s eyes sharpened. “Serious is different than being serious about her. Are you going to move in together? Get married?”

“Move in where? The townhouse? Her place? She was nearly strangled in my backyard and Aiden planted a camera at her apartment.”

“Fine, sell both places, combine funds and get a house with a yard for the kids. I’m in Thursday night golf league with a couple realtors. You want me to hook you up?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” Zach agreed cheerfully. “Look, the past three months are the happiest I’ve ever seen you. Princess, too. But I also know your track record with relationships so I need to know that you’ve got your head screwed on straight when it comes to her.”

“I appreciate that,” Lloyd said.

“Good. When are you going to talk to her about moving in together?”

“Have you always been this pushy?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know, damn it!”

“You’ve been dating for three months. Figure it out,” Zach said.

Lloyd sighed. “Three months isn’t very long.”

“Sure, but the math is different for you two. You were friends first.”

“She’s my best friend. I don’t want to see her hurt. Not by a stalker, or anything else.”

“Look, Lloyd, Princess is a good friend to me, too. I don’t want to see her hurt either. She’s going to need a commitment from you soon and what I’m trying to ask is this: how close are you to giving her that?”

“You know my track record with relationships,” Lloyd deflected.

“I also know your track record with Princess. You’ve never disappointed her before and I’d prefer not to see you screw that up.”

“I care about her, Zach. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and I don’t want to lose her or hurt her.”

“But you’re afraid you will.”

“My issues with women are legendary.”

Zach snorted. “Let’s not pretend they’re just with women. You’ve got issues with everything.”

“I’m not the white picket fence happily ever after type of guy.”

Silence descended, lingering in the air, as if Zach was waiting for Lloyd to continue. He gritted his teeth and held his peace, refusing to add fuel to the conversation.

“Figure it out, man. Lay your cards on the table soon, because Princess deserves to be with someone who’s all in.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but-”

“What? You’re waiting for the right time to make up a bullshit excuse and end things with her? Once we catch her stalker, and we will, you can’t just turn around and break her heart-”

“Shut up.”

Zach sneered. “Like hell I will. Don’t tell me-”

Lloyd grabbed the Texan by the collar and covered his mouth, silencing him.

“Shut up and listen, damn it!”

Zach froze, alertness sweeping over him in an instant. They waited, silent. From somewhere ahead of them in the woods came a rustling sound.

“You heard that?” Lloyd murmured.

“Yeah.”

Lloyd reached into his jacket and pulled out a Glock 19 while Zach took a .38 pistol from his boot. The gun clicked as Zach chambered a bullet.

“Turn off your flashlight,” Zach whispered.

From ahead there was a flurry of rustling accompanied by the sounds of breaking twigs and branches.

“An animal wouldn’t make that much noise,” Lloyd muttered.

“Whatever it is, we’re not alone out here.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You struggled to focus on the computer screen. It was 10:30 and your eyes stung from too much screen time. Blinking against the dryness, you watched the rapidly moving footage flashing on the monitor. You’d shut off the lights in the office and re-played Nguyen’s interview at 4 times the normal speed. The rapid fire images helped to exaggerate changes in body language, which was what you’d decided to focus on.

After attempting Lloyd��s technique of listening to the interview without visuals, you’d come to your senses and realized that while Lloyd could listen more accurately than anyone you’d ever met, you needed visuals, especially body language. Therefore, you turned off the audio and sped up the footage, watching Nguyen speak, noting his facial expressions and movements.

Your eyes watered in protest at the excessive amount of blue light they were enduring and you squeezed them shut.

When they opened again, the laptop screen wasn’t as bright. You tapped the trackpad and the screen brightened. The laptop was plugged into the wall socket next to the desk. You leaned down and double checked the connection, then looked at the icon menu on the bottom right corner of the screen. The battery was at fifty percent and the plugged-in symbol was conspicuously absent. Your eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall and found its dial frozen, displaying the time as 12:00 AM.

Your stomach dropped.

No electricity. Shit. How long? You had no illusions that the source of the electrical disruption was anything other than man-made. There was no heat wave, thunderstorm, or high winds. You moved to the window and peaked through the blinds to see that the lights were still functioning in the shopping mall. Zach’s suite appeared to be the only one without electricity.

You grabbed for your phone, only to find that the spot where it had been was bare. Goosebumps broke out on your skin. The room was eerily silent. Your heart raced as you scanned the deep shadows and debated whether to run or scream.

“Sorry to drop by after visiting hours.”

The voice from the darkness was calm, almost conversational, but laced with an undercurrent of humor that was more terrifying than malice. You lurched back, eyes focused on the barely discernible silhouette of a man standing in the corner of the room.

“Who are you?” you gasped, the catch in your breath turning your voice into a whisper.

The figure moved and you lept backwards, then screamed when your back slammed into the solid barrier of the wall. A man stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light from the east window. He had sandy blond hair and cerulean eyes. Something about him triggered a wave of recognition, but you struggled to place him in your memory.

“Hello, Princess.”

Your muscles bunched and your nostrils flared at his casual use of your nickname. The man raised his hands in surrender. Despite his overture of peace, you didn’t relax.

“My name is Court Gentry. We met briefly in Singapore.”

“When and where?” you challenged.

“The casino bar. It was your birthday.”

The memory came flooding back. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

Hair rose on the back of your neck, but you defiantly tilted your chin.

“I know Lloyd,” Court said, taking your lack of response for confusion.

“Yeah, I’m aware. Why are you here?”

“Because Lloyd refused to help me.”

“Sorry?”

“I need someone to help me get into Bishop & Howard,” Court said.

“By ‘get in,’ I’m going to assume you actually mean ‘break in.’”

Court’s lips twitched into a split second smile that faded into seriousness.

“There’s a spy in the firm,” he said.

“And you know this, how?”

“I keep tabs on Lloyd. I assume you’re aware of why?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“A few months ago I was on a job and… came into possession of a laptop. There was a reference to Bishop & Howard on the contents of that device, so I followed up. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I’d uncovered a plot to steal top secret information from the U.S. military.”

“You thought Lloyd was behind it, didn’t you?”

Court inclined his head, conceding the point. “It wouldn’t be the first time he betrayed his country, Princess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That’s why you were in Singapore.”

“Yes. Events in D.C. from the law firm proved Lloyd innocent, so I approached him and asked for help. His answer was a very vehement ‘no.’”

“He doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

Court nodded. “But that puts me in a bind, because the spy is making his final transmission tonight and I need someone to help me get past security. That’s all I’m asking, Princess. If you can get me to the sixth floor of the firm-”

“Bishop is the spy?!”

“No. He’s not behind this. I already cleared him as a suspect.”

“Executives and administration are the only departments on the sixth floor. What kind of government secrets would they keep up there?”

“There’s another department on the sixth floor,” Court said. “Patents.”

“Right. I knew that, but there’s only like five people in the patent department. They keep to themselves and everyone else kind of forgets they exist.”

“Will you help me?” Court asked.

“What, exactly, am I helping you with? You never told me what these secrets I’m supposed to be protecting were.”

The blond man studied you, weighing his words, before he spoke.

“It’s a Department of Defense project called Project Prometheus. Whenever the government enlists private groups to develop top secret technology, they allow them to file patents on their inventions with a private firm. Only once the technology is de-classified do the patents become public record.”

“What’s Project Prometheus?”

Court sighed. “If I tell you, will you help me?”

“Maybe.”

“Project Prometheus is next generation jet fuel. It’s designed to power the upcoming F-37 Valkyrie fighter planes. The spy at B&H already sent information on the chemical structure of the fuel and how to synthesize it. All that’s left for him to transmit is the engineering specs of the jet’s fuel system.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think the cat’s already out of the bag if they have all that.”

“It’d be more accurate to say that they have the cat, but no bag. Without the right bag to put the cat in… ka-boom,” Court said, illustrating an explosion with his hands.

“Why are you reaching out to me now?”

“Because the spy contacted his handler today to let him know that he’d be sending the rest of the documents at midnight tonight.”

“All I would have to do is get you past security?”

“You have access to the sixth floor,” Court said.

“What about the security around the patent department? I’ve seen their door. It looks like Fort Knox.”

“Doors, plural. I have a plan for that. All we need to do is get in, set up some equipment and hole up in your office while we wait for the spy to show.”

“Are you going to turn him in or capture him?”

“My goal tonight is only to block his transmission and learn his identity. Once I have that, I’ll go to the FBI. Confronting him on my own would be counterproductive. If the authorities can get him to flip on the Chinese, that would be the best outcome.”

Lloyd would kill you for even considering this, but at the same time, you felt compelled to help Court. He’d go after the spy with or without you and his chances of success were a lot higher if you went along.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

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Next - Chapter XXVII

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Masterlist

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