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stinkyturd · 29 days

Text

Your Fragrance

Pairing: Romeo Lucci/Reader

Comments: It's Romeo, so it's gonna be a little possessive and weird. If that makes you uncomfortable, this probably isn't your cup of tea. Also, I absolutely hate naming throwaway characters, but I did here to avoid confusion, haha. So, if for some reason you're second guessing if you're misremembering a canon side character, you're not. 🙂‍↕️

Working for Romeo could be exhausting.

The Sinostra vice-captain always had something for you. Be it helping out with casino security, sending out reminders for outstanding loans, or doing menial errands like fetching him various products he may need to keep his skin hydrated or his hair in mint condition. Sometimes he'd even message you at ungodly hours when you were tucked away, seconds from slumbering at your cathedral.

Overall, you didn't mind. It's not like you HAD to do it. Darkwick hadn't been quite as needy with sending you out on inspector related errands, so you had the time, and you didn't mind Romeo's company. Sure, his personality is completely abrasive and an acquired taste, but underneath it all he had some redeeming qualities. And for some reason he chose you to hire as an assistant. You didn't get paid much. In fact, it was lower than minimum wage. You're pretty sure you could get a part-time job around the campus that would be far more fruitful with less work.

And now that you were on consistent speaking terms, it was a lot easier to find ways to get under his skin. It was kind of fun pushing him to that level of irritation just before it all boils over. Oddly enough, a scrunched up scowl really highlighted his devastatingly pretty features. You're not sure you've seen anything quite like it on anyone else before.

Right now, you are sitting next to him on the massive sectional sofa in the VIP room, listening to him rant about trivial anecdotes while you check his email for him.

"I don't want to deal with these degenerates speaking to me any longer!" Romeo huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need to establish a precedent in this place that no one should talk to me without pre-approved incentive!"

Your eyes remain locked on the laptop in front of you as you attempt to read over a document sent to you by one of the vice-captain's subordinates, while still acknowledging Romeo's ramblings. "I can give it a shot. What happened this time?"

"A fool from Frostheim came in this morning. That USP told me that the new cashmere divan I purchased for the lobby is tacky! What the fuck does he know about quality luxury...?! That buffoon probably washes his face with hand soap, if he does at all!"

You smirk a little at that, clumsily scrolling the page in front of you with just a trackpad. "Is he a regular?"

"Yes, it's that idiot that always sits at the table by the high limit slots! The one with those shitty, thick-framed, square glasses!" Romeo leans back into the sofa, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh...?" Your lips tug into a mischievous smirk. "I think I remember that guy. Dark hair, super clear skin? Has good taste in cologne?" The student he's referring to does actually have dark hair. You remember because it's not the first time Romeo has complained about him. The rest of the description you gave is entirely fabricated.

You catch a glimpse of the vice-captain's reaction in your peripheral vision. If looks could kill.

Romeo narrows his fuchsia eyes at you. "Have you lost your mind?! Clear skin?" The vice-captain leans in close, jabbing a gloved finger to his face. "This! This is clear skin!"

"Oh, for real?" You don't look up as you suppress a shit-eating grin, tapping away at the keyboard in front of you.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, nitwit! I can't have my BB of an assistant prancing around thinking that some Frostheim pig's face even compares to mine!" Romeo removes the laptop from your lap, setting it on the low-profile table in front of you.

You flick your gaze over to his face that's less than a foot from yours. Placing a hand on your chin, you pretend to examine his skin. "Hmm... really? I don't see the difference."

You did. No one's skin glows as much as the man in front of you.

Romeo clenches his jaw so tightly you're almost concerned he's going to grind down his perfect teeth. "You don't see the difference...?! Perhaps we should get your eyes checked! And you're supposed to be the one surveying the EITS?!"

"But you agree his cologne is pretty solid?" Your lips twitch as the vice-captain's face comically becomes more animated with each snarky comment you make.

"That fool may as well be rolling around with a wet dog! Whatever bootleg fragrance he wears does not match his pH! How far away were you from that imbecile to draw that conclusion?!" Romeo shouts indignantly.

You're no longer able to keep up the act, your lips peeling into a full on grin as a giggle escapes you.

This only seems to irritate Romeo further. "And what's so funny?!"

"I was only teasing you. I've never been close enough to smell him. Definitely not close enough to see his pores."

"Y-You...!" Romeo's face flushes in a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "For what purpose, fool?!"

"You look cute when you're all mad," You say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Sorry, Boss. You make it too easy."

"Do you know how much my collagen cream costs? If you expedite the rate in which I obtain wrinkles, you will be my servant until the day you die to pay me back!" Romeo growls.

"How scary," You tease, tearing your gaze from the man shouting at such close proximity. If he stays like that any longer while you face him, you may actually start blushing. Reaching forward, you set the portable computer back in your lap.

"Fucking right, it's scary! I'll make sure your income is so low that you'll be taking residence in my private office," Romeo huffs, finally sitting back as he was before.

You snort. "Are you going to make me stay in my underwear too, like you did with Kaito?"

"You'll be lucky if you are even granted that amount of decency," Romeo spats.

Heat crawls up your neck at the implication.

"...Wow. Pervert." You're barely able to say it without your voice nervously cracking.

"Tch...! Don't flatter yourself," Romeo counters. A vibration, followed by a ringing sound emanates from his dress pants. The vice-captain stands, pulling his cell phone out. Before he answers it, he shoots you a glare. "You're in need of some serious TLC in order for that to be any concern of yours."

"Oh? That's okay, you're not my type anyway," You lie, as you return your attention to the email in front of you.

"Excuse me...?!" Romeo flits his furious gaze from you then back to the phone. "This conversation isn't over! Just you wait…!" The Sinostra vice-captain drags a finger across his phone's screen, then brings it to his ear. As if the caller on the other end is physically present, Romeo relaxes his face with his tone before replying. "Hello...? Right, when…?"

The vice-captain paces around the room mumbling vague replies to the mystery receiver. After a minute or so, he hangs up and stalks back in your direction.

You pretend you don't notice him as you continue working, anticipating verbal outlash. Instead, you feel a weight sit alarmingly close to your side. Your hand stills on the track pad in front of you when Romeo wraps an arm around your backside.

"(Y/N)~" The vice-captain speaks so close to your ear that involuntary chills run up your spine.

You weren't that startled by the gesture. Romeo did this occasionally when he wanted something. Trying to act all sultry to fluster you to the point of accepting his request. That was further confirmed by the rare use of your actual name rather than an acronym disguising an insult.

Usually, you would do whatever he wanted anyway as long as it wasn't too out of your comfort zone. Any time that you'd decline he'd have a fit about it and ignore you for a while after.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to ask me to do something ridiculous?" You ask with a sigh.

"Oh, it's nothing too crazy. But do you think you could get a permit and make a delivery for me outside campus, pretty girl? I know you have enough rapport with the Chancellor to do it by now," Romeo drawls, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

"What are you trying to get me to deliver? And where?" You ask, flicking your gaze to his suspiciously.

"It's not important, I will give you the address. All you have to do is drop it off in a mailbox. It's not too far from the station," Romeo explains coolly, his minty breath tickling your nose.

"Hmm..." You hum contemplatively, turning your head back to the laptop. "I dunno... sounds kinda sus. I don't want to lose my honor student privileges, you know?"

"...There is nothing sus about it! And you won't. Just say you want to make a delivery to a friend." The demanding impatience in Romeo's tone is already starting to rear its head as you continue to question him.

"I dunno. What's in it for me?" You persist nonchalantly.

"Continued employment and my approval, obviously! What more could you want?" Romeo argues.

You weren't stupid. He was probably fully intending on sending you off with illegal substances. It would be easy to do it and not get caught, but it's not like you were gung-ho about making runs like that. And it's not like Romeo could do it himself with Sinostra's suspension. What could you request in return that he would be deterred from ever asking you again?

"I might consider it if you do something for me," You reply as another impish grin threatens to peel back.

Romeo clicks his tongue impatiently. "Asking me for favors now? What could you possibly want?"

"Kiss me," You request, making a point to sound as deadpan as possible.

The room becomes uncannily still for several moments once the words fall from your mouth.

You smirk, taking your time before you look back at Romeo to assess the damage. The Sinostra vice-captain is boring a hole through you with his eyebrows furrowed. You watch his smooth lips part marginally, as if something is just on the tip of his tongue.

It's almost hilarious. The way that he just came onto you with the intention of coaxing you to do his bidding, but when the tables are turned he's at a loss for words. You let out a short laugh, deeming this to be your victory as you refocus your attention on the laptop in front of you yet again. "Looks like my hands are tied, Vice-Captain. Maybe you can blackmail Kaito into doing it."

Romeo clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Imbecile, did I say no?"

Well, you can't say you were expecting that.

You laugh awkwardly, looking at him like he just lost his mind. "What, you're going to agree just like that?"

Romeo nods. "If you wash your face and do a proper skin care routine beforehand. And make sure your mouth is entirely scrubbed clean, if I taste anything foul on your lips, so help me god...!"

"Woah, woah, woah...! I didn't say anything about the lips," You reply, your voice slightly panicked. "Also, you gotta kiss my face as is. It's part of the stipulation. And I haven't washed it in, like, five days. I probably got blackheads galore. You seriously wanna go through with that?"

You had washed your face and put on products previously recommended to you by Romeo this morning. The more affordable ones, anyway. Not that he needed to know that.

Romeo squints his eyes as he closes in on you, stopping just inches from your face. "You're lying. Why? I don't have time for these games."

How did he immediately call on your bluff?

When you struggle to formulate an excuse, Romeo leans forward, cupping his gloved hand on your chin. You don't have time to react before he presses his plush lips against your cheek. The vice-captain stays that way for a second too long, the kiss past the point of being chaste. When Romeo pulls back, he's quirking a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you.

"I'd recognize that scent anywhere. Did you put on Tatcha cream this morning?"

You can feel heat gather at the apples of your cheeks as you gawk at him wordlessly.

"I suppose you're not entirely hopeless after all." Romeo smirks approvingly as he gives you the backhanded compliment.

"Shit," You mutter, sighing in defeat.

"Looks like you will be my delivery girl. Don't fuck it up, BB," Romeo says derisively, before getting to his feet and walking off to retrieve the parcel.

Days pass after you begrudgingly follow through with the delivery without anything particularly eventful happening. Currently, you're seated at a bench in the courtyard just outside of campus helping Kaito prepare for an upcoming test in a class you both had. Your phone has been vibrating in your pocket for a hot minute, but you're so determined with focusing on helping Kaito, you ignore it for the time being.

"Jesus effing Christ! I don't get this shit at all, I'm totally gonna bomb this," Kaito whines. The Frostheim student has his fingers wound in his hair as if he's ready to yank it out in clumps.

"If you hold that attitude the entire time, you just might. A lot of this test is going to be memorization. If anything, I can whip up some flash cards really quick for you," You offer, shooting him a sympathetic glance.

"Hah... y-you'd really do that? You're seriously an angel." Kaito's voice cracks and he dramatically begins to sprout tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Pffft, it's nothing. If anything, I still owe you for helping me out so much when I first got here." You pull out a stack of blank index cards from your messenger bag and peer over at the highlighted material in the notepad settled in Kaito's lap.

Picking up a pen, you begin scribbling the most important bits on the cards that you presume will be on the test. It takes you around ten minutes, but when you finish you hand the stack over to the Frostheim student.

"Just study it before bed for at least twenty minutes every night until the exam. That's what I always do when I don't retain enough," You remark with a reassuring smile. "Easy peasy."

"T-Thanks so much, (Y/N)." Kaito looks at you with a melting expression, his lower lip puckered into a pout. "I'll get a permit and take you out to my favorite ramen place if I pass this thing, for real."

"Oh? I'll hold you to that," You quip, smirking at him.

Kaito holds out his pinky, nodding fervently. "Pinky swear! It'll be super fun."

You latch your own finger with his. "I bet. I've been craving those marinated eggs lately. It's like you read my mind. Maybe we could bring Lucas, too?"

"Uh... m-maybe. Or it could be..." Kaito giggles nervously, scratching his blonde mop. "Like a d-d-date...?"

"A date...?" You tilt your head, eyeing your friend curiously.

Before Kaito can present his case, a black gloved hand swats his out of yours in the blink of an eye.

"A date?! Don't make me laugh, leech! If you don't pay EPB you will be lucky to be still breathing come the day of your exams!"

"GYAAAAH...!" Kaito stumbles back from his seat, landing butt first on the stone ground. "W-What the hell are y-you doing here...?! And how long were you listening?!"

Romeo places a hand on his lip, glowering at Kaito with disdain. "Long enough." The vice-captain briskly snaps his head in your direction. "And just how long did you think you would continue getting away with ignoring me, BB? While fraternizing with this fool who owes me money? You want to take permanent residence in my private office that badly?"

You blink at Romeo owlishly. "Huh? Ignoring you? Since when?" Then it dawns on you. Your phone was vibrating in your pocket like crazy earlier.

"Don't play dumb! I know your phone is on you!" Romeo yells, jabbing an accusing finger in your direction.

You snort at that. "How do you know that? Maybe I left it at my dorm."

"Are you so daft that you think I'd let my assistant frolic around OTG?"

You avert your gaze upwards, pondering what the acronym could possibly mean. "...Alright, you lost me. OTG?"

"Off. The. Grid...!" Romeo retorts, enunciating each word with biting emphasis.

You stare at his sour face blankly for a few seconds as you belatedly digest the implication. Scratching your cheek, you quirk an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you're tracking me, Boss?"

"Of course I am!" Romeo admits shamelessly. "And don't even think about finding the application and removing it! I made sure that your access is restricted from such tampering!"

You sigh, not particularly perturbed or surprised by the revelation. "You're a real weirdo, you know that? If this were a legitimate job with human resources I could totally report you if I wanted."

"S-Since when did you start working for this nut job?!" Kaito asks, now scrambling to his feet. "Jesus Christ, just work at the campus!"

Romeo glares daggers at the blonde. "Unless you'd like to spend the night being hung up by your toes, I suggest you make yourself scarce! And I expect a money order by 12pm sharp tomorrow, or I will be making an appearance at your dormitory."

"Urk...! F-Fine...!" Kaito hastily grabs his messenger bag from the bench. "I'll see you later (Y/N)! Text me...!" The blonde flicks a wary glance in Romeo's direction before scampering off.

"Now that the fool has left, you are coming with me, BB! I have a job for you. And turn your audio notifications on for my number, FFS!" Romeo orders.

You roll your eyes before getting to your feet. "Fine, fine, I hear ya."

After announcing that Romeo had your location tracked, you swore that you had begun to notice that he was making more frequent appearances where you didn't usually see him. When you went to eat at the weird diner Ren works at with Lucas, Romeo showed up in the middle of your meal, requesting you return to Sinostra as soon as possible. A day later you saw him on the main campus in the second year wing of the building to fetch you after class. Another day, you went to help Alan with some paperwork and the Sinostra vice-captain was there, too. Romeo had claimed that he was just there to speak with Leo, but then insisted that you come with him once you had finished up, anyway.

It's not like you had a set schedule to work. Sometimes you wouldn't help him for a day or two in the event that Darkwick needed something that took priority. Who knows? Maybe it really was all a coincidence.

You sat in the VIP room again, a few of Romeo's goons were talking amongst themselves across the room, while you were waiting for whatever task the vice-captain had planned for you that evening. Romeo had texted you earlier in the day, and he had made it seem as if it were something urgent.

Eventually, the double doors burst open and Romeo made a beeline for you.

You lift your eyes to meet the Sinostra vice-captain's as he approaches, stopping to a halt right in front of you. “Heya, Boss,” You smirk up at him. “What's good?”

“(Y/N),” Romeo starts, his voice as sweet as molasses. The vice-captain is looking down at you with a jovial smile. ”Just In time~”

“Ugh…” Your expression falters to a tired one in an instant. Standing up, you make an attempt to slide out from in front of him. “Just realized, Cornelius asked me to do some stuff at Frostheim, so if you'll excuse me–”

Romeo holds your waist firmly in place, narrowing his eyes sharply at you. “The Chancellor sent you no such notification. I should know.”

“C'mon now you're hacking into my phone to read my messages?” You ask in disbelief, irritation rising in your voice. “I'm starting to think you're in love with me.”

“Idiot! Now you're just blowing smoke up your ass! I have my reasons,” Romeo counters vaguely. The vice-captain is close enough that you can smell every fragrant product he had on today.

You click your tongue, sitting back down with your arms folded over your chest. Debating with Romeo was like talking to a brick wall, so you weren't about to waste your breath. “Fine, what do you need?”

Romeo turns his head to the group of his lackeys behind him. “Fools! You better have that box with you.”

“Sorry, right here, Boss!” One of the students hurried over to Romeo's side, handing said box over to him.

Romeo takes it, then tosses it in your lap. It's not that heavy and it has a white lid. “Here! This will be my gift to you, should you do what I ask.”

You eye him skeptically, to which he nods. Despite the usage of the word gift, knowing him, there was a pretty big catch. Hesitantly, you reach out and lift the lid in front of you.

The scarlet fabric immediately catches your eye. Silk?

You lift the item out of its box, extending the piece of clothing enough to where you can really judge what you're looking at. It looks to be some type of halter neck evening gown. Formal, yet not too formal. The way the fabric feels against your fingertips tells you that this is worth several months' pay at least. Just beneath the dress is a set of accenting jewelry at the bottom of the box. You don't know enough about that kind of thing to even begin to guess it's worth.

“...What the hell is this?” You ask, completely bewildered.

“A dress, obviously. Do you have eyes?” Romeo snaps.

“Okay, but why?”

Romeo exhales, steeling himself like he's about to make a sales pitch. “...Tonight I have a guest. A former colleague of mine, for lack of a better word. I have a list of tables I need you to lead him to and goad him into playing. The fool likes to bid high.”

“And I gotta wear this to do it?” You prod, creasing your eyebrows.

“That GFNS has a type and if I work my magic, you will fit that,” Romeo explains, placing a hand on his hip.

“You can't seriously expect me to flirt with some rando. And what, are you gonna cheat him out of money? I thought you were against that!” You argue.

Romeo clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You don't need to seduce him, just act as you normally do. Pretend you recognize him. The idiot has a meager amount of fame in the outside world, so it won't be odd. As for cheating him– the piece of shit deserves it. He did the same to me and still believes I am unaware. It's a wonder I haven't killed him already.”

You pause, taking a moment to process everything. “How the hell am I supposed to convince him to follow me around?”

“Start by offering him a drink, and tell him you're my cousin. I will provide you with a list of what to do from there. The majority of men are simple meatheads,” Romeo states matter-of-factly. “Throw a pretty woman in front of them and they will fold like a deck of cards.”

You roll your eyes. “So now I'm pretty? What happened to ‘basic bitch’?”

“...You're not repulsive,” Romeo admits, averting his gaze.

“Such a charmer,” You say sarcastically.

“So, will you do it?”

It didn't sound like the most fun task in the world, but if you weren't pressured into behaving a certain way, it really wouldn't be so bad. Plus, you kind of want to have Romeo doll you up. The vice-captain has referenced it enough in passing, but had yet to follow through.

“I really don't have to hit on him?” You reiterate.

“Be friendly, that's it,” Romeo insists.

“Do I get another kiss for this?” You joke, wiggling your eyebrows.

Romeo's flicks his gaze over you fully, as if he's genuinely considering your question. “...Ask me again when you clean up.”

You nearly choke on air at his nonchalant reply.

“Joke! That was a joke!” You insist with a nervous laugh, waving your hands wildly in protest. “My next kiss, face or otherwise, will be reserved for my future partner!”

Romeo's lips pull slightly downward and his expression wavers like he has more commentary to throw back at you. Instead, the vice-captain pushes out an exasperated sigh as he turns on his heel and waves you off dismissively. “Go and put that on. Don't keep me waiting.”

“Okie dokie. You got it, Boss.”

When Romeo handed you a mirror after he applied makeup on you and styled your hair, you almost didn't recognize yourself. It's not as if you hadn't dressed up before, but it never came out quite this well. As it turns out, the vice-captain wasn't all talk with his stylistic choices.

You were thoroughly impressed. Romeo had also brought shoes to you before he had gotten started on your makeup, that matched the dress and accessories. Everything fit perfectly, too. Which, you did wonder how that was possible without Romeo somehow invading your privacy again. You didn't bother touching on that subject.

“Woah, you really know your stuff,” You compliment Romeo, as you admire the rouge lip color he had applied to your face. It complimented the dress perfectly.

“I am offended that you ever doubted me,” Romeo retorts. He's sitting on a stool in front of you and the couch in the VIP lounge. “I have a feeling this will go according to plan. Just look over your notes beforehand, got it?”

You nod, lowering the mirror onto the table in front of you. “By the way, is this guy really going to make up what it cost to get me this stuff? This looks crazy expensive.”

“Of course,” Romeo insists, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You think I intend to support a charity case? As long as you do what I say, this will be a miniscule dent in the return.”

“That's good at least. I almost started to feel bad.” You stand up, with the intention of getting the ball rolling.

“Hold on,” Romeo stands with you, pulling a golden vial out of the pouch of makeup that rests on the table. The vice-captain opens it, a strong, but inviting fragrance permeates your immediate surroundings. Leaning in close, Romeo dabs some of the liquid from the wand that's attached to the lid onto your neck.

“Oh, that smells nice…” You murmur, pretending like the close proximity of your gorgeous tyrant of a boss isn't making your heart beat rapidly.

“As it should. It's of high quality.” Romeo brings a pale hand to your neck, spreading the oil-like perfume across the expanse of your neck gently with his fingertips.

The Sinostra vice-captain's expression is completely unreadable at the moment. And for reasons unbeknownst to you– you struggle to take your eyes off of him. Maybe it's because he looks more peaceful than usual? If you had to guess, this kind of thing might be fun for him.

“Thank you,” You say impulsively, beaming at him.

Romeo removes his fingers from your neck, flitting his gaze to meet yours. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “What are you thanking me for?”

“I dunno, this is kind of fun. I think it's better than you making me go on a drug deal,” You tease.

“I never admitted to making you do anything of the sort,” Romeo counters.

“Never admitted,” You emphasize with a coy smirk. “Even if you're doing this for your own agenda, I still appreciate your creative efforts. So, thanks.”

Romeo stares at you with an indiscernible expression for a few beats, his face alarmingly close to yours. It feels strange. Since when was he so comfortable being this close without reason? Especially when he's not visibly pissed about something.

“...Thank me by doing your job correctly,” He finally says.

Romeo increases the distance between the two of you, placing the now closed vial of perfume back where he got it. “Now scram. I have things to do.”

It feels like you can finally breathe. What is this strange feeling?

“Yeah, sure thing…”

The guest Romeo had told you to tag along with was turning out to be a seemingly decent guy. He had dark hair and was handsome enough, but compared to the ghouls at Darkwick, he didn't particularly stand out. Based on the information Romeo wrote down for you, he is well known on social media for creating and promoting a pretty successful clothing line. His actual name was lost on you, but Romeo just told you to refer to him as Zomo. You weren't sure if it was a public nickname for him, or one given to him by the vice-captain himself.

Everything Romeo had told you to do had seemingly worked. The influencer initially had been confused by you approaching him, until you labeled yourself as Romeo's close cousin. From there it was relatively easy to converse with him. You showed him around and you didn't have to try very hard to get him to participate at the table games. The first table the list told you to take him to was a game of roulette. And you couldn't help but notice a familiar red-headed captain seated at the gaming table.

You knew basic casino etiquette, courtesy of Romeo. Since you didn't intend on playing, you observed from behind Zomo's chair.

“Say… don't I know ya from somewhere, Kitty?”

You glance over at Taiga. He's leaning on the table in a languid posture, his head resting on his fist. The Sinostra Captain is smirking at you impishly.

“Yeah. Don't you remember? It's me, John Titor,” You joke, though you intentionally keep your expression serious for the bit.

“...That what it was?” The smile never leaves Taiga's face as he stares at you, likely trying to figure out if it's actually the truth. After a long pause, he starts laughing. “...Gyahaha! Ya don't seem like a John. Feel like ya gotta have a beard for that one!”

Romeo's guest looks between the two of you skeptically. You wonder if he knows Taiga already. If not, you could only imagine the confusion, especially considering you introduced yourself with your real name.

“I'll just call ya Johnny for now, how ‘bout it?” Taiga holds a fist out to you, like he intends to hand you something. Curious, you reach your palm out to him.

Without warning, Taiga slaps several orange chips directly into your hand. A familiar tingling sensation lingers on your palm at the contact. You blink, meeting Taiga's gaze dubiously.

Was it part of Romeo's plan for Taiga to use his stigma, then? Guess it only makes sense if they're trying to screw this guy.

Taiga grins at you wolfishly for a moment before pulling back and leaning onto the table again. “Get me a drink will ya? Think I'm in the mood for an Old Fashioned.”

“...Sure,” You say. Looking down at the Zomo guy, you speak up again. “Want anything?”

“Same thing, thanks,” He replies.

Hours went by of spectating as Romeo's guest fails each and every one of the games he participates in. A constant throughout the evening was Taiga making an appearance at every table that you influenced Zomo to play at. If you had any doubt that Romeo and the Sinostra Captain had collaborated in the scheme together, that was long gone.

Throughout it all, Zomo continued requesting drinks, and you retrieved them every time he asked. He was either so trashed that he didn't realize how much money he lost, or he just didn't care. By the time you reached the finale of the last game on your list, Zomo was completely out of chips.

“Damn… lost again, eh? That's embarrassing.” Romeo's guest lethargically scratches his head at the Baccarat table. The rest of the players had already made themselves scarce, leaving the two of you alone for the moment. Aside from the dealer who was busying himself in idle chatter with another casino employee.

“Oof, damn!” You say, doing your best to feign shock for the umpteenth time. “That sucks, buddy. Maybe next time?”

“Buddy…?” Zomo repeats, his brow creased. You hear him curse under his breath. And only seconds after that, you feel a hand grip your wrist and yank you forward.

“Woah…!” You trip over your feet and nearly butt heads with the man seated at the table. Zomo stretches a hand out, stilling your shoulder in time with his free hand.

“Here I thought you were gonna cozy up with me for the night. Turns out you're just a fuckin’ tease, eh?”

Oops, looks like you made the wrong dialogue choice. Creeper alert!

You attempt to yank your hand back, but the man's grip is firm. Zomo's face is just inches from yours, and his breath reeks of brown liquor. Taking a deep breath, you narrow your eyes at him. “Let me go, fuck face.”

“Don't think I'm gonna do that,” He says, his voice slurring over his words.

“Dude, seriously!” You growl, moving your other hand forward to attempt to peel the man's fingers off.

The sound of a gun bolt sliding back and locking into place sounds from your right.

You glance up. The Sinostra vice-captain is training a rifle less than a foot from the man's head. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his finger linger dangerously close to the trigger. “W-Wait Romeo, don't–”

“Get the fuck out,” Romeo seethes, his words come out far more venomous than you ever thought possible. “Unless you'd like me to contact Darkwick's medical facility to relay details for your death certificate.”

“W-Woah, chill man…! I w-wasn't gonna do anything,” Zomo sputters out as he releases your wrist to hold his hands up in surrender.

“Not only are you a thieving weasel, you're lying through your teeth,” Romeo balances the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, using his free hand to wave over a member of security. “Escort this BFL out.”

The security member quickly makes his way over to grab Zomo's shoulder and carries out Romeo's orders. The vice-captain's old acquaintance doesn't make a fuss as he's led towards the door. If he did, you may actually think he's insane. You wouldn't put it past Romeo to actually pull the trigger. The Sinostra vice-captain had shot at Ritsu before, after all.

Romeo lowers his gun once Zomo's out of sight, and turns his head to look at you, his gaze cold. “VIP room, now.”

“Uh, sure.”

You follow Romeo back to the room you can never seem to stay out of nowadays. The vice-captain says nothing the entire walk there. It was a little unsettling not hearing him rant angrily about one thing or another. You weren't sure what to expect when you watched Romeo close the massive double doors behind the two of you. A distinct clicking noise makes you double take in his direction.

Did he just lock the door?

A brief surveillance of the room tells you that you're the only two people inside.

“Sit,” Romeo demands, waving in the general direction of the sofa. The vice-captain doesn't wait for you to reply before he stalks off towards the back of the room with his rifle, presumably to stow it away.

You make your way over to the sofa, plopping down. Deciding it's been weirdly awkward for long enough, you speak up. “You're being quiet. Are you mad?”

You hear something click shut from behind you, and a few moments later Romeo walks back into view. The vice-captain makes his way over to you, taking a seat relatively close to you. He looks at you with a hard gaze.

“Would it kill you to take my word and just follow the script I gave you, moron?” Romeo finally reprimands. Though, he sounds almost nice compared to how he usually berates.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that ‘buddy’ would set that weirdo off?” You argue. “You really know some odd people.”

“...You should be grateful I was using the EITS to watch over you,” Romeo spats, his arms folded over his chest.

“It's okay, I would have karate chopped him,” You insist, holding your arms out in a playful representation of what you imagine a proper karate pose would look like.

“Don't make me laugh,” Romeo starts, though the agitation in his tone tells you he's not actually in a laughing kind of mood. “You couldn't even peel that pig's fingers off of you!”

You pivot your body to face him, leaning your cheek on the back of the couch. “You worried about little old me?”

“Worried…?” Romeo repeats, his intense gaze burning a hole through you. “The only one who should be worried is that weasel. So long as you are in my LOS, no one will touch you.”

You feel your cheeks burn at Romeo's words. “Uhm… line of sight?”

“Obviously.”

“Geez. Can’t tell if you sound delusional, or romantic,” You mutter, averting your gaze to a random spot on the couch.

Romeo scoffs. “I said it exactly as I meant it. Attributing further sentiment is a waste of time.”

You laugh a bit, in spite of yourself. “Yeah, don't I know it. I'm getting ahead of myself, sorry Boss.”

“You should be. Now make up for it by canceling your extracurricular plans this week to work for me.” Romeo's lips peel into a devilish grin as he makes the absurd request.

“That hardly seems like a fair shake,” You say with a snort. “What are you gonna do when I'm not around one day?”

Romeo's expression slips into a puzzled one. “What do you mean?”

“Well, one day I'm gonna return home if I break my curse. I doubt Darwick intends on giving me permanent residence here. I'll have to help you find someone to replace me when that happens,” You explain, flashing him a bittersweet smile. “You forget?”

Romeo frowns, eyeing you dubiously. “I don't plan on forking my assistant over so easily.”

“I didn't realize that you had any real say in it,” You tease. “Are you going to convince Hyde that I will be a valuable asset for the foreseeable future?”

“If that's what it comes to. That DOF owes me anyhow, always nagging at the most inconvenient of times!” Romeo pauses, holding your gaze. “...Don't tell me you actually have been looking forward to going back to your mundane life?”

Did you?

Maybe in some ways. Though, Darkwick and the people in it have become your second home. Initially it wasn't a choice, but for the moment you wouldn't trade it away. Not yet.

“...There are things I miss. People,” You admit, doing your best not to sound like a sad sack.

“Like who?” Romeo persists, the frustrated look on his face not budging.

“Family and friends,” You reply vaguely. “I miss the normalcy sometimes. The routine, being able to put time into things that aren't important, and going out when I want with whoever.”

Romeo clicks his tongue irritably. “...What a stupid sentiment. You can basically have all that here. Why not just stay here and visit there?”

You snicker at his persistence. This might be the most interest that the Sinostra vice-captain ever showed in how you feel. Though, the bar is still low considering he's using that information to try and manipulate your actions.

“Why not just visit me if I can't stay here?” You counter.

“I have far more important things to do.”

You sigh, feigning a wistful expression. “Well, that's alright. I guess I'll just invite Kaito over.”

“What…?” Romeo sits forward, his fuchsia eyes glaring daggers at you. “You intend to let that blubbering fool into your home alone?!”

“Sure, why not?” You ask, your lips curling into a coy smirk.

“That leech still owes me money! If he's around you with that much freedom the hormonal fool will spend my cash impulsively,” Romeo explains.

“Oh, right…” You mumble, wearing a pensive expression. “...Then I guess Alan could visit.”

“That behemoth will cause a mess bumbling around in your dinky home,” Romeo argues.

“Hm… Towa, surely.”

“Have you lost your mind? Do you have flood insurance?!”

“Okay, Boss. Tell me– who is suitable for me to invite into my home?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“No one,” Romeo answers with conviction. “So stop considering it, BB.”

You sigh. “You know this ongoing territorial Boss bit is totally gonna scare away any potential love interests for me in the future.”

“Good,” Romeo remarks impassively, narrowing his eyes at you. “Let there be no other distractions.”

“That's totally not fair. Unless you're planning on doing the charity work of being my boyfriend, I think I'll pass,” You retort, puffing your cheeks. “As a hopeless romantic, there's some things I won't sacrifice.”

“I will do it,” Romeo declares pointedly.

Your eyes widen and you lift your head from the back cushion of the couch, gawking in disbelief. “...What?”

The vice-captain's expression is serious. Romeo's words are not to be taken lightly.

“I said I'll do it, idiot,” Romeo insists. “But I will write up a list of guidelines you must follow consistently in regards to hygiene and skin care routines. And for outings together you will not give me any push back when I select your outfits, or how I choose to style your hair. And you must be prompt when I invite you out, no excuses.”

You gape at him in shock. “...You're serious?”

“Does it seem like I'm joking, nitwit?” Romeo snaps.

“Okay… what about, uh…” Your cheeks turn bright red, you can just feel it. “Intimacy? Physical touch? Is that really something you'd be open to…?”

“So long as you're not filthy, I will accomodate,” Romeo answers, like it's the simplest question in the world.

“Er… But is that something you want or just something you'd be willing to do just to keep me here?” You prod, brows tented.

Romeo gives you a prickly stare. “Obviously, my intention is to keep you here.”

Ouch.

There's a couple ways you could interpret that, if you think hard enough about it. But since it wasn't the answer you were looking for, it was difficult to not take personal. You weren't particularly interested in trading intimacy with someone who just wanted you around for business purposes. Even if it seemed like it could be fun, it would inevitably be a disaster in the long run. But it was Romeo, what did you expect?

Shifting your gaze off to the side, you speak in a near whisper “...I'm sorry, that's not really something I'm interested in. I'm gonna have to pass on this one. I like you and all, but I think this is seriously gonna blow if I get attached to you romantically, ya know?”

Romeo stares at you pensively. Even as you shoot up from your seat seconds later.

“I'm gonna head home now!” You announce, somehow managing to keep your voice steady. “You can call me whenever you need me in the morning though, since there's no classes tomorrow.”

Just as you wave Romeo off and turn heel, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you backwards.

“W-Woah…!”

In the blink of an eye, you're sitting back on the couch, with your thighs overlapping Romeo's. The Sinostra vice-captain is gripping one of your wrists and his left arm is looped around your backside.

You stare up at him in surprise, and he's glaring daggers back at you. His pretty lips pressed into a thin line.

“I cannot believe you have the audacity to reject me,” Romeo says, his jaw clenched as if he's struggling to maintain his composure.

“Hey, reject?” You echo, your eyes wide like saucers. “T-That's not my intention.”

The vice-captain's eye twitches in vexation. “Not your intention? How else could I possibly interpret that?! Do you have any idea how lucky you should feel that the thought even crossed my mind, THD?”

“I do feel lucky,” You argue, your brow creasing. “I-I just don't think the way we feel about each other is the same.”

“If that's the case or not, what difference does it make? There is no one better suited for you, I can assure you that,” Romeo asserts.

Heat rises to your cheeks at the bold statement. You open your mouth, but find yourself grappling with your brain and heart to the point where nothing slips out.

“Is there someone else? Is that what this is about? One of the fools you rattled off earlier? Do tell me their name,” Romeo rants. Despite the vice-captain's voice not being as elevated as it usually is, his expression isn't any less venomous. “If you try to weasel your way out of it, I will find out eventually.”

“No…!” You nearly shout in disbelief. “C'mon, you're being completely unreasonable! How would there be? I'm with you during most of my free time!”

Romeo lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “On four separate occasions this week, you were spending time with other ghouls. And I've seen the way those Frostheim fools look at you!”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, Romeo it's not like that…!”

“Don't! Don't call me that…!” The vice-captain tears his gaze from yours, his eyes settling somewhere on your lap. “...Take some responsibility, BB! You're the one that started this shit with that idiotic kiss nonsense!”

Huh…?

“That's what this is about…?” You ask, your jaw slack as you stare at Romeo's conflicted expression.

As far as you could tell, the Sinostra vice-captain had been completely flippant about the interaction. Was that really the catalyst for his possessive behavior? Your attempt to mess with him?

“It infuriates me,” Romeo starts, his posture tense. “You had remnants of sweat on your face, and you looked as if you just rolled out of bed, putting no thought into your appearance whatsoever. Other than that moisturizer, there was no fragrance lingering on you.”

You give Romeo a tired look, wondering where he could possibly be going with this.

“...It infuriates me that I didn't hate it,” Romeo admits, his grip on your wrist tightening marginally as the confession leaves his mouth.

Oh…

“...You mean you like the way my natural skin smells?” You ask, eyeing the vice-captain curiously.

“Must I repeat myself in another language, fool?” Romeo snaps, his steely eyes darting up at you.

It wasn't that unusual to like the smell of someone's natural oils. But you suppose for someone as finicky about scents and hygiene as Romeo could be, it was probably pretty important to him.

A giggle slips past your lips involuntarily.

“And what about this is so funny…?!” Romeo snaps.

You smile at him, finding the beautiful ghoul in front of you particularly endearing right now. “That's just the best compliment I think I may ever receive from you. And it's super common. Science might say that it means you're attracted to my pheromones. You're so cute.”

“Cute?” Romeo repeats, looking at you like you've lost your mind. “I have been reduced to falling prey to primitive behavior that does nothing to serve me! There's nothing ‘cute’ about this, FFS!”

So, Romeo likes your smell so much that it's been making him act like a possessive basket case all week? That explanation didn't entirely track.

“Do you like me, Boss?” You ask, sporting a lopsided smile.

“Like? Who fucking knows,” Romeo grumbles, leaning back into the couch as his grip falls from your wrist.

“Well…” You look down at your legs that were still on top of his. “I gotta say, I don't think I would have ever thought you'd let me be on you like this. You want me to move?”

Romeo doesn't give you a verbal reply, but the arm around your waist stiffens.

“No, then?” You prod.

“You're not leaving. Not like that. Not now,” Romeo decides. The vice-captain looks at you like he's daring you to go against his orders.

“I won't go if you don't want me to,” You reassure.

Romeo must believe you because his arm relaxes slightly.

“...Hey,” You start. “If you're not sure how you feel, can I try something? Maybe it will help you determine your feelings. And then we can discuss the whole dating thing again.”

“...Try what?” Romeo asks, raising an eyebrow.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for a potential adverse reaction. “Okay, here me out. And feel free to throw me off for my brazen stupidity if you're against it…”

“Spit it out, idiot.”

“Okay, okay. Can I kiss you…?” You blurt out, wincing preemptively.

Romeo stares at you with an unreadable gaze, and your stomach flips with anticipation.

“...Fine.”

“Oh, for real?”

“Do it before I change my mind, BB,” Romeo demands.

“Oh, yes. Of course. So, uh… like before?” You meant the cheek kiss. Hopefully the vice-captain would catch on to save you the embarrassment of explaining.

Romeo clicks his tongue. “Do I have to hold your hand through everything? Just do it.”

Okay, cheek kiss to be safe. That shouldn't be too intimidating. You've kissed your friends and family members cheeks, nothing but a cinch!

You sit up and inch your face closer towards Romeo's. It doesn't help your nerves that he's staring at you expectantly. Has this guy ever been on the receiving end of a kiss before? Couldn't he at least close his staggeringly pretty eyes so your heart would stop pounding against your chest like a jackhammer?

Knowing how bothered Romeo would be if you chickened out now helps you regain your composure. You shut your eyes and close the distance, pressing your lips against his devastatingly plush cheek. After an appropriate length of time, you pull back and assess the damage.

Romeo shoots you an unimpressed look. “What? That's it?”

You twiddle your thumbs nervously, an awkward laugh spilling from your mouth. “Uh… what, you want me to do it again?”

“Yes! Would you like me to write it in crayon?” Romeo snaps, the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

“Okay, okay!” You impulsively reach for Romeo's gloved hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

The vice-captain shows no sign of protest at the gesture, so you proceed with the second kiss, this time landing your lips closer to his temple.

By the time you pull back, Romeo looks nothing short of impatient. “Are you so caught up in the role you played earlier that you forgot we aren't actually related? Is this supposed to entice me?”

You puff your cheeks, your face burning from his criticism. “You're such a turd! You really want me to kiss you for real?”

That's the only conclusion you could draw from the vice-captain's words. If your lips were even slightly chapped, or breath even a little off there would surely be hell to pay. You don't recall eating anything sinister.

You don't have time to make any further advances, nor does he grant you the courtesy of a verbal reply. The arm around your waist effortlessly draws you closer, to where you're sitting fully on the vice-captain's lap. Romeo pulls his hand from your grip, drawing it towards your shoulder.

You nearly gasp when you feel the wandering hand ghost over the expanse of your collar bone. “What are you–”

“Quiet,” Romeo interjects softly. His fuchsia eyes rake over you in admiration as his fingertips travel upwards towards your neck. You feel his thumb gently brush against the length of your throat, eventually tickling your jawline.

“Exactly as I pictured it,” Romeo murmurs vaguely. “...Don't wear this around anyone else.”

“...W-Well, to be fair I was already seen in this by countless people,” You argue, struggling to hold his gaze. If someone would have told you just hours before that the Sinostra vice-captain would be leering so suggestively at you right now, you'd surely laugh in their face.

Just what did you do to catch the attention of the most self-assured and vain man you'd ever met in your life?

“A severe lapse in judgment on my part. Don't anticipate it happening again,” Romeo retorts bitterly.

Without warning, the Sinostra vice-captain cups his hand against your neck and pulls you forward. Your eyes flutter shut unconsciously and the warmth of his lips reach yours.

In spite of the intense nervousness you felt just moments prior, the kiss has you melting on impact. Maybe it's the way his touch is so characteristically deliberate, yet delicate at the same time. You knew his lips were soft, it's obvious at just a glance. But it was clear to you now that having them pressed against your own is far more satisfying than you could have ever imagined.

You wrap your arms around Romeo's neck in your mindless search for a closer touch. A passing insecure thought that you're doing too much materializes, but is quickly quelled when you feel his lips part and reconnect with yours again. You feel a hand grip the side of your hip, his digits going in for a tight squeeze. Involuntarily, you whimper against Romeo's mouth.

The Sinostra vice-captain pulls back from the kiss, his face beautifully flushed. His right thumb strokes the contour of your jaw languidly as he surveys you with half-lidded eyes. “I've made up my mind.”

You feel completely malleable under his deceptively soft gaze. Drawing your arms back ever so slightly, you press him further. “...And?”

Romeo regards you voraciously, his lips curling into a smirk. “You're mine, (Y/N). It would be in your best interest to remember that.”

#tokyo debunker #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #romeo lucci/reader #fluff #romeo lucci #taiga hoshibami

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bandgie · 8 months

Text

Desire

President!Jongho x fem!reader

Synopsis: The company dinner was meant to destress your busy corporate life, but it seems like you'll have to make room for dessert.

warnings: slow burn? public fingering, cum eating/swapping, pussy play mostly, intoxication mentions but everyone is pretty much sober

song! 3.7k words

Choi Jongho is not necessarily hated, but he isn't liked either. There's an air around him that screams dominance and demands authority. He strives for perfection and expects everyone to give their all. As stubborn as he is, even with as much unwarranted fear he instills in everyone, you respect his drive.

You're on the opposite spectrum of Mr. Choi. A bit more lenient with the staff, not as ambitious, not as...scary as Seonghwa has once said. Despite the differences, you hardly bump heads with Jongho. Working so close with him, you the director and him the president, you've got to see sides of him others don't.

A more human side.

Working in a corporation may be exhausting, especially in a law firm, but connecting with your subordinates is what makes it enjoyable. Though Mr. Choi doesn't share the same sentiment, you think he secretly enjoys the fruit basket you leave on his desk each time he secures a client.

You may not be able to buy Jongho another one of those baskets this time though. Stress eats at you from the most recent decisions of a particular client. They go against your financial advising, blaming you for the bankruptcy they will most likely endure. It'll make a bad name for the firm and you don't want to imagine Mr. Choi's displeasure.

"What a bunch of fucking idiots," you groan under your breath.

Yunho lifts his head from his computer at your mumbling. He peers over the little wall that divides your desks and waits until you notice him. When your eyes meet his brown ones, he raises an eyebrow, "Who?"

You scrunch your nose as you answer, "That Dreamy Day company. They're complaining about losing money, but it's literally their fault. Putting stocks when they shouldn't and over-drafting loans. So they hire us to make sure they don't go out of business right? But they do the opposite of what we're advising them to do. So they're wasting even more money and blaming me! Me! You should see the emails, Yunho. They're a bunch of fucking assholes too."

From the stunned look on Yunho's face, you think you've said too much. You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Sorry. I'm just stressed." Yunho nods understandingly and shrugs, "Aren't we all? I think you'll be happy to know that Mr. Choi said he'll pay for the company dinner tonight."

This makes you perk your head up, eyes wide open. "Dinner? Tonight? No no no I can't do that. I have too much work and-"

"And you'll have to save it for tomorrow. Boss's words, not mine." Yunho smiles at your defeated look, an innocent gaze in his eyes. "You need this." He continues. "We need this. At least one day to relax. If Mr. Boss can tell you're overworked, then there's a problem."

You sigh again, though it's not as heavy. Since you've been working overtime to create a business strategy for Dreamy Day, you've only been eating takeout and convenience store food. Maybe it would do you good to eat something cooked with someone else's money.

"I guess there's nothing I can do then. What restaurant?"

The restaurant, Arriba, smells of spices and meat. The warm lights make you feel cozy and you enjoy the subtle chatter from the people around you. An abundance of food sits in the middle of your table, already halfway gone. Yunho's face is flushed from alcohol, but he still takes another swig of his drink.

"Damn Seonghwa! I didn't think you'd eat this much. You're so thin!" You chuckle as the said man blushes from the attention. He shoves another piece of cooked meat in his mouth, "I eat well."

"Ah, that's nothing," Jongho gestures to Seonghwa's plate. "In college, Park used to apply for cook positions just to eat the nightly leftovers. He used to purposely make the customers' food wrong so he could remake it and eat the one they sent back."

That sputters a laugh from you. One reason is that Seonghwa's gluttony runs deeper than you thought, the other now knowing that the senior associate used to flip burgers.

"No way," you manage to subdue your laughter. "Did they ever find out?"

Seonghwa, even slightly tipsy, doesn't like to be the center of attention. He picks up his bottle and takes a strategically long drink just to avoid your question. However, he can't escape your curious eyes waiting for an answer. He finally sets his drink down and swallows loudly, "Yes...I didn't last longer than four months."

Yunho laughs at the honesty, wrapping an arm around Seonghwa's shoulder. "It's okay Hwa. We don't want to pay for leftovers anyway."

You chuckle at their interaction before glancing at Jongho beside you. Only his ears and what's exposed on his neck are flushed. Rather than the serious look you're used to, his eyes are softer. There's a sense of calamity rolling off him that makes you look at him in a different light. Even if he's working in such a high position, you can't help but notice how young he is in a moment like this.

"You too Jongho, you can handle your liquor pretty good." You notice your mistake a bit too late. Your boss is pretty stern about properly addressing him and even outside of work you think he might correct you. Instead, he turns his head to you and his lips twist into a smirk.

Your heart flutters.

Jongho raises his shot glass to eye level and looks at it almost affectionately, "Alcohol is a man's best friend." He brings the glass to his lips and shoots it back. He licks his lips and lets out a satisfied sigh once he's gulped, "Every good president should know how to drink well."

The night continues with drunk laughter and playful banter. Though you've worked with these men for years, you feel as though you're finally getting to know them as they share stories of their youth. Yunho is obsessed with Harry Potter, Seonghwa prefers Star Wars and Jongho...Jongho...

Was he always this handsome? Did he always have such a cute, gummy smile? It has to be the light bouncing off his tan skin that captivates you. It's the warm food and cozy environment that makes you sit hip-to-hip with him. That yearning for contact is because of the soju. The way you shiver when his hands brush against yours when he reaches for seconds is because you're just hyper-sensitive.

It's anything but him, you remind yourself.

It's a mantra you repeat while Jongho pays for bills, while he holds the door open for you four to shuffle out of, as he asks if everyone wants to go to a bar.

You blink yourself out of your thoughts, "Huh?"

"It's a shame to waste the night. Plus we don't do this often. But I understand if it's too late for you guys," he looks amongst the three of you, waiting for an answer.

Even if you weren't suddenly crushing on your boss, it would be foolish to turn down a higher-up's offer. Yunho and Seonghwa seem to think the same thing as they agree quickly. "I could go for another round," Yunho nods.

Jongho smiles in a way that makes you tremble so violently that Seonghwa asks if you want his jacket.

"Sounds good," Jongho claps his hands a few times. "I'll keep a tab open, but do your best to remember we have work tomorrow.

It's a completely different environment in the bar compared to Arriba. Seonghwa mentioned the place MATZ his old friend runs to go to. Maybe you expected some level of decency, but you're shocked to see what feels like hundreds of people standing, drinking, dancing. Then the foul smell of beer and what you hope isn't vomit fills your nose. You cover your mouth and blink away your tears.

The crowd eyes the four of you judgingly as you push your way to an empty booth. It's mostly likely because of your attire. While everyone wears either skin-tight or little clothing, you four wear business casual.

You jump when a hand settles on the small of your back. You're about to, not so nicely, tell the perv to keep their hands to themselves when it's Jongho you see close behind you. He doesn't so much as look at you when you peer up at him, face heating. You whip your head back around and let him guide you to a dirty, but empty table.

''I think this is a club rather than a bar, Mr. Park!" Jongho shouts over the loud music.

Mr. Park...oh he's pissed.

Seonghwa's eyes widen in fear as he sneaks glances at you. Help!

You would rather not risk enduring the anger of Jongho, but Seonghwa has such a begging look in his eyes that you cave. "Maybe this is a good thing!" you shout in Jongho's ear. "I mean, you took us out to relax, right? And like you said, we don't do this often."

Jongho raises an eyebrow as he turns to face you. Since you were leaning in his ear, his face is mere inches away from your own. You swear you can feel his warm breath on your lips. Jongho looks at you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl. He isn't just looking at you, he's observing you. You think he's debating on demoting you when he laughs instead, "Using my own words against me, huh? Shouldn't expect anything less than my director."

Seonghwa visibly relaxes at the diffused situation, but now you're the tense one. All you can stare at is Jongho. Different lights, different smells, different places, yet he still captivates you. You tremble at his intense stare, feeling the way his eyes eat you.

His tongue pokes out to moisten the side of his bottom lip.

"Imma gets some drinks," Yunho's announcement breaks the stare-off. Jongho turns his attention to the tall man and reaches into the pocket of his coat. You watch as his nimble fingers dig through his wallet to pull out the company card and hand it to Yunho.

"Just put it under my name," he instructs.

Yunho scoots until he's out of the booth, leaving you three at the table before someone catches Seonghwa's eye.

"Oh!" He quickly shuffles to his feet. "I see my friend. I'm going to say a quick hi. If you'll excuse me." Jongho gives a nod before Seonghwa disappears into the sea of bodies.

Then there were two.

You don't know where to look, where to pretend to look. You choose the dance floor where people shamelessly rub against each other, spilling drinks and hollering with deaf-tone singing. It's somewhat overstimulating to your semi-sober mind, but it's better than the burning presence of Jongho beside you.

"Do you like to dance?" that burning presence speaks. A part of you wants to pretend that you didn't hear him over the loud atmosphere, but you know better than that.

"Yes!" You yell in his direction but refuse to meet his eyes. "I don't go out anymore, but I danced when I did." You see the outline of Jongho nodding. Awkwardly, you meet his eyes, "Do you like to dance?"

He shrugs, "I don't care much for it. I prefer singing."

A look of surprise molds into your face, "Singing? Since when?"

"Since forever," he smiles. "I should have chosen a karaoke bar instead. Not this shit fest." Jongho laughs at his crudeness, waiting for your response.

"I mean, it would have been more quiet. That's for sure!" You smile at his joyful expression. "But I don't mind this. When Yunho comes back with drinks, I think we'll be having a much better time."

Jongho nods, but there's a somewhat youthful expression in his eyes you don't think you've ever seen.

"Maybe we should go dance," you propose. "Just until Yunho comes back." There's an immediate feeling of regret when the question slips from you. You want to blame the atmosphere for getting to your head, the drunk energy making its way to your veins.

But when you see him smile curiously when you see him nod, when you grab him by the wrist and lead him to the middle of the floor, you're buzzing with excitement you know is far from those things.

Jongho is a better dancer than he claimed to be. He runs his hands up and down your torso, pulling you close or moving his hips with yours. He even trails the tips of his fingers down your neck when you tilt up to the ceiling.

Yunho and Seonghwa are more than likely back at the booth, wondering where you two went. If they were to see you dancing like this, to see Jongho's moving against you this way, you think they'd never let you hear the end of it.

You can't seem to find the energy to care though. Not when Jongho's letting you grind against his thighs. He encourages it, keeping his hands at your waist to help you ride him. The two of you have already crossed so many lines by doing this, you might as well see how far you can get.

You can feel his erection through his work pants, poking your leg. As much as you want to twist a hand between and 'help,' it would be too obvious. You settle with feeling your wet underwear rub against your cunt, staining your pants.

Good thing it's already dark out.

Jongho lets you rest your head in the crook of his neck. He can hear every pant, every whine, feel the way your tongue laps at his sweat. He can feel your warm cunt through the fabric, but he doubts it'll be enough for him.

He snakes a hand between your bodies undo the button of your slacks and finds the zipper.

"Jongho!" You gasp in his ear. You glance down to see him working his fingers down until they cup over your clothed mound. You tremble in his hold, softly moaning at the contact before you come to your senses.

"There are people!"

"There are."

"They're gonna see!"

"They might."

You're going to reply when his hand rubs up and down. Your hips rock before you can think, chasing the pleasure Jongho so willingly gives you.

"I don't know why you're worried." He shakes his head. "You're so wet. Did you want me to ignore that?"

The only response he gets is soft moans in his ear. He giggles at your desperation, opting to move his palm in circles.

"I saw the way you were looking at me during dinner," Jongho admits. "At first, I thought it was because of the drinks. You know how some people get like when they have one too many. But now that we're here, I wonder if you've been wet this whole time."

Were you that obvious? Could Jongho see you eye-fucking him? Could he feel the desire that wrecked you these last hours? He must, even if it weren't for his confession. Jongho must feel the same way if he's letting you hump his hand without care.

"Mmm sorry. Sorry," it's all breathy against his skin when you speak. "D-don't fire me."

That sputters a laugh out of him. You grip onto him a little tighter by the shoulder. His hand is drenched, and it's so easy to slide back and forth on it. But the fabric of your underwear is starting to get irritating. It's too rough on your sensitive flesh and you're trying to slip his hand inside your panties.

Once his laughter subdues, he smiles down at your frenzied state. "I wasn't even thinking that. I'm sure HR would get a laugh out of my director humping my hand like a bunny."

You whine in his neck, both from embarrassment and need. Even as he teases you, Jongho relents and slips his fingers past your panties. The feeling of his bare fingers rubbing against your cunt makes you shiver, humming in satisfaction.

Jongho runs two of his fingers up and down your slit, getting familiar with how your body reacts to his touches. He moves the pad of his fingers up to rub circles over your clitoris. You let out an airy moan, thankful for the loud music concealing your mewls.

"I won't tell them," Jongho promises. "A little secret between us two."

The people around you have gotten the clue that you two are more than dancing. Some move to a different spot, others giggle at the desperation, but most roll their eyes as if this is a common occurrence at MATZ. Either way, you don't care. Not when your boss's fingers dip between your folds, spreading your lips and using his thumb to apply pressure on your clit.

You could cum from how Jongho plays with your pussy alone, but your walls keep clenching down on air. It leaves you feeling frustrated with nothing inside you. His fingers feel thick, they can do the job.

"Can...can we keep another secret?" You bite on your lower lip, looking up at Jongho whose eyes never left your face. The colors of the strobe lights bounce beautifully on his face, capturing his already-knowing smile. "Depends. You have to tell me first."

Strategically, you trail kisses from his neck to his ear, biting on his earlobe as you whisper, "I wanna feel your fingers in me. Creaming around them. God, fuck, I just want to cum on them."

That playful air around Jongho seems to darken, turning into something akin to desire. He teases your entrance with the tips of his fore and middle finger. Circling and barely dipping them in before pulling away. "I thought there were people?" He flashes a gummy smile.

"Jonghooo."

He smiles wider at your whining, but it's what makes him oblige. Two thick fingers finally make their way inside you carefully. He slides them in with ease from how wet his entire hand already was and with how relaxed your body is. He slightly wiggles his fingers to find a comfortable position for both of you, adding to the already stretching stimulation.

You clench around his digits eagerly, loudly moaning from finally being somewhat filled. Everything about him is warm, from the fingers finding a pace, to his palm that smacks against your entire pussy. Slick drips down your thighs, collecting onto the fabric on your work pants. If you thought they were soaked before, they are utterly drenched now.

Jongho doesn't bother with a slow pace. He can tell from how you're bouncing on his hand that you need more than what you started with. With his free hand, he hooks one of your legs up to rest on his hip so he has better access. With this opening angle, it's easier for him to piston his fingers in and out of you.

It's loud, it's wet, it's obscene.

You should feel disgusted or ashamed at the very least. But Jongho's so good at finger fucking you. He doesn't seem to mind your loud whines, your rocking hips, and his dirty sleeves getting wetter by the second. After all, a good subordinate follows in the footsteps of their superiors.

His fingers aren't necessarily long, but they still build that fire in your belly. Your orgasm approaches, affecting how your riding turns into messy humping; How you make a conscious effort to try and quiet your louder moans. Your walls repeatedly tighten around Jongho and he drives it home.

Harshly, Jongho drives his fingers as far as they can go, wiggling just the tips to prod that rough spot in your pussy. It feels as though it's in your stomach, reaching even deeper than you know is possible. Your hips come to a complete stop, opting to spasm uncontrollably.

A few more harsh pumps, some clit play with Jongho's thumb, and you feel yourself coming undone. The tightly coiled pleasure blossoms in your stomach, spreading its heat to your legs, your chest, and your sensitive cunt. You gasp in his ear, torn between staying awkwardly slightly or embarrassingly loud.

Jongho decides for you. He captures your parted lips in a messy kiss, eating your wails and moans. You pant in his mouth, trying to match his stroking tongue with yours. It's difficult to kiss him back when your orgasm floods your senses, but Jongho hardly seems to care about your tired lips.

You squeal when he gently pulls his fingers downwards. The drag makes your eyes roll, still delicate at every move. Jongho doesn't take them out all the way, but instead drives them forward. He maintains a slowly pumping speed to help you ride off your high.

It's overwhelming to have both your lips occupied, so you make the difficult choice to pull away from Jongho's kiss and rest your head on his chest. He frowns at first, but upon seeing your droopy eyelids and constant moans, he accepts that he's drawing your orgasm too far out.

That doesn't mean you don't whine when he finally pulls his fingers out, cunt cold and empty.

With hazy eyes, you watch as he brings his fingers up to eye level, glistening in the artificial lighting. Wordlessly, he traces those same fingers across your bottom lip, wiping your essence in the process. You open your mouth so he can further push them between your lips.

"How do you taste?" Jongho questions, eyes stuck on where your tongue swirls around.

You hum in response, leaning forward to reach his fingers to the knuckles. Slowly, you pull away, letting his fingers out with a 'pop!'

"Try for yourself."

You snake a hand around his neck and bring him forward, putting your tongue in his mouth immediately. Jongho groans at the taste, cupping your face with both hands as he pulls you closer. He digs his tongue deeper and sucks on yours to get every drop of cum you have. It's not until you're gasping for air that he pulls away, licking his lips.

"Fuck," he swears. "Hiding that from me all this time, huh Director?"

With glossy, cum-stained lips, you smile. "Didn't think it was part of the job."

As if on cue, Jongho's phone begins to vibrate between your bodies. He removes a hand from your face to reach his pocket and look at the caller. He glances at you and then at the phone before silencing the call.

"We should find our table."

a/n: omfg I have been so dry im so sorry school is kicking MY ASS I have like 1000 words due every week for one class then 300 a week for another and there's so much articles to read omfg ANYWHO I hoped you all liked this one!!!

#smut #ateez smut #atz smut #smut atz #jongho #Jongho smut #jongho x reader #jongho ateez #jongho atz #kpop smut #smut jongho #atz #ateez #ateez jongho #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #choi jongho

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Intuit: “Our fraud fights racism”

Tonight (September 27), I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

Today's key concept is "predatory inclusion": "a process wherein lenders and financial actors offer needed services to Black households but on exploitative terms that limit or eliminate their long-term benefits":

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2329496516686620

Perhaps you recall predatory inclusion from the Great Financial Crisis, when predatory subprime mortgages with deceptive teaser rates were foisted on Black homeowners (who were eligible for better mortgages), resulting in a wave of Black home theft in the foreclosure crisis:

https://prospect.org/justice/staggering-loss-black-wealth-due-subprime-scandal-continues-unabated/

Before these loans blew up, they were styled as a means of creating Black intergenerational wealth through housing speculation. They turned out to be a way to suck up Black families' savings before rendering them homeless and forcing them into houses owned by the Wall Street slumlords who bought all the housing stock the Great Financial Crisis put on the market:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

That was just an update on an old con: the "home sale contract," invented by loan-sharks who capitalized on redlining to rip off Black families. Back when banks and the US government colluded to deny mortgages to Black households, sleazy lenders created the "contract loan," which worked like a mortgage, but if you were late on a single payment, the lender could seize and sell your home and not pay you a dime – even if the house was 99% paid for:

https://socialequity.duke.edu/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Plunder-of-Black-Wealth-in-Chicago.pdf

Usurers and con-artists love to style themselves as anti-racists, seeking to "close the racial wealth gap." The payday lending industry – whose triple-digit interest rates trap poor people in revolving debt that they can never pay off – styles itself as a force for racial justice:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Payday lenders prey on poor people, and in America, "poor" is often a euphemism for "Black." Payday lenders disproportionately harm Black families:

https://ung.edu/student-money-management-center/money-minute/racial-wealth-gap-payday-loans.php

Payday lenders are just unlicensed banks, who deploy a layer of bullshit to claim that they don't have to play by the rules that bind the rest of the finance sector. This scam is so juicy that it spawned the fintech industry, in which a bunch of unregulated banks sprung up to claim that they were too "innovative" to be regulated:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

When you hear "Fintech," think "unlicensed bank." Fintech turned predatory inclusion into a booming business, recruiting Black spokespeople to claim that being the sucker at the table in the cryptocurrency casino was actually a form of racial justice:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/07/business/media/cryptocurrency-seeks-the-spotlight-with-spike-lees-help.html

But not all predatory inclusion is financial. Take Facebook Basics, Meta's "poor internet for poor people" program. Facebook partnered with telcos in the Global South to rig their internet access. These "zero rating" programs charged subscribers by the byte to reach any service except Facebook and its partners. Facebook claimed that this would "bridge the digital divide," by corralling "the next billion internet users" into using its services.

The fact that this would make "Facebook" synonymous with "the internet" was just an accidental, regrettable side-effect. Naturally, this was bullshit from top to bottom, and the countries where zero-rating was permitted ended up having more expensive wireless broadband than the countries that banned it:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/02/countries-zero-rating-have-more-expensive-wireless-broadband-countries-without-it

The predatory inclusion gambit is insultingly transparent, but that doesn't stop desperate scammers from trying it. The latest chancer is Intuit, who claim that the end of its decade-long, wildly profitable "free tax prep" scam is bad for Black people:

https://www.propublica.org/article/turbotax-intuit-black-taxpayers-irs-free-file-marketing

Some background. In nearly every rich country on Earth, the tax authorities send every taxpayer a pre-filled tax return, based on the information submitted by employers, banks, financial planners, etc. If that looks good to you, you just sign it and send it back. Otherwise, you can amend it, or just toss it in the trash and pay a tax-prep specialist to produce your own return.

But in America, taxpayers spend billions every year to send forms to the IRS that tell it things it already knows. To make this ripoff seem fair, the hyper-concentrated tax-prep industry, led by the Intuit, creators of Turbotax, pretended to create a program to provide free tax-prep to working people.

This program was called Free File, and it was a scam. The tax-prep cartel each took a different segment of Americans who were eligible for Freefile and then created an online house of mirrors that would trick those people into spending hours working on their tax-returns until they were hit with an error message falsely claiming they were ineligible for the free service and demanding hundreds of dollars to file their returns.

Intuit were world champions at this scam. They blocked their Freefile offering from search-engine crawlers and then bought ads that showed up when searchers typed "freefile" into the query box that led them to deceptively named programs that had "free" in their names but cost a fortune to use – more than you'd pay for a local CPA to file on your behalf.

The Attorneys General of nearly every US state and territory eventually sued Intuit over this, settling for $141m:

https://www.agturbotaxsettlement.com/Home/portalid/0

The FTC is still suing them over it:

https://www.ftc.gov/legal-library/browse/cases-proceedings/192-3119-intuit-inc-matter-turbotax

We have to rely on state AGs and the FTC to bring Intuit to justice because every Intuit user clicks through an agreement in which we permanently surrender our right to sue the company, no matter how many laws it breaks. For corporate criminals, binding arbitration waivers are the gift that keeps on giving:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/24/uber-for-arbitration/#nibbled-to-death-by-ducks

Even as the scam was running out, Intuit spent millions lobby-blitzing Congress, desperate for action that would let it continue to privately tax the nation for filling in forms that – once again – told the IRS things it already knew. They really love the idea of paying taxes on paying your taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/20/turbotaxed/#counter-intuit

But they failed. The IRS has taken Freefile in-house, will send you a pre-completed tax return if you want it. This should be the end of the line for Intuit and other tax-prep profiteers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/17/free-as-in-freefile/#tell-me-something-i-dont-know

Now we're at the end of the line for the scam, Intuit is playing the predatory inclusion card. They're conning Black newspapers like the Chicago Defender into running headlines like "IRS Free Tax Service Could Further Harm Blacks,"

https://defendernetwork.com/news/opinion/irs-free-tax-service-could-further-harm-blacks/

The only named source in that article? Intuit spokesperson Derrick Plummer. The article went out on the country's Black newswire Trice Edney, whose editor-in-chief did not respond to Propublica's Paul Kiel's questions.

Then Black Enterprise got in on the game, publishing "Critics Claim The IRS Free Tax Prep Service Could Hurt Black Americans." Once again, the only named source for the article was Plummer, who was "quoted at length." Black Enterprise declined to tell Kiel where that article came from:

https://www.blackenterprise.com/critics-claim-the-irs-free-tax-prep-service-could-hurt-black-americans/

For Intuit, placing op-eds is a tried-and-true tactic for laundering its ripoffs into respectability. Leaked internal Intuit memos detail the company's strategy of "pushing back through op-eds" to neutralize critics:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Intuit spox Derrick Plummer did respond to Kiel's queries, denying that Intuit was paying for these op-eds, saying "with an idea as bad as the Direct File scheme we don’t have to pay anyone to talk about how terrible it is."

Meanwhile, ex-NAACP director (and No Labels co-chair) Benjamin Chavis has used his position atop the National Newspaper Publishers Association to publish op-eds against the IRS Direct File program, citing the Progressive Policy Institute, a pro-business thinktank that Intuit's internal documents describe as part of its "coalition":

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/6483061-Intuit-TurboTax-2014-15-Encroachment-Strategy.html

Chavis's Chicago Tribune editorial claimed that Direct File could cause Black filers to miss out on tax-credits they are entitled to. This is a particularly ironic claim given Intuit's prominent role in sabotaging the Child Tax Credit, a program that lifted more Americans out of poverty than any other in history:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/29/three-times-is-enemy-action/#ctc

It's also an argument that can be found in Intuit's own anti-Direct File blog posts:

https://www.intuit.com/blog/innovative-thinking/taxpayer-empowerment/intuit-reinforces-its-commitment-to-fighting-for-taxpayers-rights/

The claim is that because the IRS disproportionately audits Black filers (this is true), they will screw them over in other ways. But Evelyn Smith, co-author of the study that documented the bias in auditing says this is bullshit:

https://siepr.stanford.edu/publications/working-paper/measuring-and-mitigating-racial-disparities-tax-audits

That's because these audits of Black households are triggered by the IRS's focus on Earned Income Tax Credits, a needlessly complicated program available to low-income (and hence disproportionately Black) workers. The paperwork burden that the IRS heaps on EITC recipients means that their returns contain errors that trigger audits.

As Smith told Propublica, "With free, assisted filing, we might expect EITC claimants to make fewer mistakes and face less intense audit scrutiny, which could help reduce disparities in audit rates between Black and non-Black taxpayers."

Meanwhile, the predatory inclusion talking points continue to proliferate. Nevada accountants and the state's former controller somehow coincidentally managed to publish op-eds with nearly identical wording. Phillip Austin, vice-chair of Arizon's East Valley Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, claims that free IRS tax prep "would disproportionately hurt the Hispanic community." Austin declined to tell Propublica how he came to that conclusion.

Right-wing think-tanks are pumping out a torrent of anti-Direct File disinfo. This surely has nothing to do with the fact that, for example, Center Forward has HR Block's chief lobbyist on its board:

https://thehill.com/opinion/finance/4125481-direct-e-file-wont-make-filing-taxes-any-easier-but-it-could-make-things-worse/

The whole thing reeks of bullshit and desperation. That doesn't mean that it won't succeed in killing Direct File. If there's one thing America loves, it's letting businesses charge us a tax just for dealing with our own government, from paying our taxes to camping in our national parks:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/30/military-industrial-park-service/#booz-allen

Interestingly, there's a MAGA version of predatory inclusion, in which corporations convince low-information right-wingers that efforts to protect them from ripoffs are "woke." These campaigns are, incredibly, even stupider than the predatory inclusion tale.

For example, there's a well-coordianted campaign to block the junk fees that the credit card cartel extracts from merchants, who then pass those charges onto us. This campaign claims that killing junk fees is woke:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

How does that work? Here's the logic: Target sells Pride merch. That makes them woke. Target processes a lot of credit-card transactions, so anything that reduces card-processing fees will help Target. Therefore, paying junk fees is a way to own the libs.

No, seriously.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/27/predatory-inclusion/#equal-opportunity-scammers

#pluralistic

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soliloqueeer · 2 months

Text

Daniel Malloy sits back against the couch, the TV casting a blue glow over the room as the special on Lestat comes to a close.

“Riveting,” he remarks. “But it doesn’t look like you need me. You’ve already got the whole world talking about you."

Across from him, Lestat de Lioncourt lounges on a leather couch, a cigarette in hand. He’s a vision in leather pants and a purple velvet blouse, unbuttoned to reveal his lean, well-sculpted chest, while his eyes are lined tastefully with smoke and glitter. He smirks, leaning forward to tap his cigarette on the ashtray on the mahogany coffee table. Extending his hand, a book from the bookshelf flies across the room through the air and into his palm. He places it on the table, his black-painted nails tapping the frayed cover. The title reads ‘Interview with the Vampire’ by Daniel Malloy.

"I think you owe me a favour,” he purrs.

Daniel remains unphased. "I don’t owe you anything. I don’t know you."

"Ah! But you write as if you do, no?" Lestat exclaims, eyes gleaming.

"I conducted the interview. I merely recorded your ex-husband’s account of events and corroborated it with evidence. What is that phrase? Don’t shoot the messenger?"

"Daniel,” Lestat chuckles, uttering his name in an overfamiliar way. “I’m not here to shoot, as you say. Besides, you’re already dead."

Daniel gives him a dry look.

"In more ways than one, too, I see. Your lifelong journalistic career - over after claiming these outrageous fables as the truth. And, of course, the dark gift… Gifted from a mutual friend of ours, isn’t that right?"

Daniel tries to appear impassive but shifts imperceptibly in his seat. He takes his glasses off. "Was it the eyes that gave it away?” he asks, clipping his glasses on the neck of his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt. “I’ll admit it took some time to get used to. The shades might make me look like a prick, but shit like that doesn’t really matter when your joints feel like butter, and you can see like a fucking hawk."

"The resemblance is uncanny, yes, but no,” Lestat says, gazing into Daniel’s copper eyes with a peculiar expression. “It’s not difficult to parse these things out, especially when they remain in the forefront of your mind."

Daniel's brow furrows. "Get out of my head."

Lestat’s mouth curls mischievously. "You need to get better at hiding your thoughts,” he replies, staring at him thoughtfully. “But I guess that would be difficult. Your Maker left before he could teach you all these things."

Losing his patience, Daniel pinches the bridge of his nose and leans forward. "What do you want, Lestat?"

"I already told you. I want you to help me write my autobiography."

"And get it published before your little finale in San Francisco. Yeah, I know. It’s a little over-ambitious, even for you."

Lestat leans forward with a graceful elegance to ash his cigarette, his movements embodying a captivating blend of femininity and masculinity, from the delicate dance of his fingers to the poised hunch of his broad shoulders.

"Did you not sell eight million copies of this?” He asks, waving to the book on the table. “Are they not begging you for a sequel? You might be doing me a favour, but you’d get one in return."

Daniel smirks. "I drove here in my new Porsche with the top down on the PCH. I’ve already paid off my daughters’ student loans and mortgages, and they still won’t talk to me. I’m not exactly in this for the money.”

"What are you in it for?” Lestat replies, tilting his head curiously. “Do you plan on sitting by, holding your tongue as the world makes its way around the sun? I doubt you’re capable of that, even in death."

"Well, I’m interested in stories that matter—"

"I matter, Daniel,” Lestat proclaims with an air of arrogance, opening his arms as if to say, Just look at me. “The world knows it. You know it. People want to know about me. You can give them that…Plus, I know you’re dying to know as well. You conducted two interviews with a vampire who whinged endlessly about Lestat de Lioncourt. And you were three-quarters of the way through the second before you realized both of your memories had been altered. Who knows what is or isn’t real? Don’t you want to know the truth? Figure out who I truly am?"

For a long moment, Daniel stares at him, eyes narrowed. “The truth. It’s funny… “ he muses. “It’s actually far less static than most people think. Even scientists don’t know the truth. Science is just the closest thing we can get to it. As for recollection, things happened as they did, and all we get is a memory. And as you probably know, seeing as you read my book, memory is quite the monster."

Lestat tilts his head, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Okay. So I cannot provide you with the whole truth. But I can get you closer."

Daniel shrugs apathetically. "Sure."

After taking a long drag from his cigarette, Lestat adds, "I can also tell you where he is."

A heavy silence fills the room. Daniel searches Lestat's gaze, waiting for the punchline, but it doesn’t come.

"You know where my Maker is,” he said, not as a question but as a statement.

Lestat nods. "I do. He hides well, that one. But when you’ve been around for as long as we have, the world becomes quite small. He cannot hide from me."

Daniel shifts again, unable to mask the flicker of emotion across his face.

Lestat seems to notice this, and for a moment, all bravado and mischief are replaced with a quiet solemnity. "It is cruel what he did to you—"

"You don’t know what happened."

Lestat smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. "Mm. Yes, I don’t. Curious. But I’m not referring to him turning you but to how he left you."

Daniel's voice is steady but tinged with bitterness. "I lived seventy-two years without the gift. I’m not exactly a newborn calf trying to use its legs for the first time."

Lestat's expression turned serious. "It doesn’t matter how long your mortal life was. In the beginning, we are all infants of immortality. What he did was cruel and cowardly. I know firsthand of the ache you are feeling now, Daniel. I would not wish it upon anyone."

Daniel doesn’t agree, nor does he deny it.

A series of images flit across his mind - Louis leaving the penthouse, Armand crumpled against the concrete wall - the man who had, at one point, tortured him for five days, who had invaded his mind and altered his memories. Then, another image - of Daniel, for some inexplicable reason, extending his hand to that man—an olive branch, which Armand had examined with deep perplexity before tentatively accepting it.

Lestat’s eyes narrow curiously as the scene plays across Daniel’s mind. To block his thoughts, Daniel quickly glances down at his hand, now resting against the thigh of his jeans. The gift did not rewind the clock, but his skin is less textured, less lined, and just slightly less imperfect. His nails gleam like glass beneath the light of the chandelier, a detail of his new body he’s still not used to. It's just one more thing to give him the appearance of someone going through some sort of end-of-life crisis.

Daniel spent much of his mortal life chasing a high, first with drugs and sex and then from particular thrills that only come from poking bears, digging for things that don’t want to be found. The Dark Gift did nothing to temper these inclinations; instead, it magnified them, heightening his cravings and amplifying his desire for that chase.

“Okay.”

The word was out before Daniel decided to speak.

Lestat lifts a brow expectantly.

It was probably fate that he would accept his request, just as he had with Louis in San Francisco and then again in Dubai fifty years later. He says yes, like he’s digging his own grave. But this time, he’s already dead.

“Okay,” Daniel says again.

Lestat regards him carefully. “You will help me.”

A moment passes, and then Daniel gives him a reluctant nod.

And then he watches as a wolfish grin slowly spreads across Lestat’s face.

#iwtv #interview with the vampire amc #interview with the vampire #daniel malloy #lestat de lioncourt #lestat #rockstar lestat #iwtv fic #iwtv fanfiction #devil's minion #armand #daniel molloy #iwtv s3 #the vampire lestat #iwtv season 3 #the vampire chronicles #daniel x armand

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scotianostra · 3 months

Text

June 10th 1768 saw construction start on the Forth and Clyde canal, it was to take 22 years to complete.

The building of a canal across Scotland was first discussed during the reign of Charles II. It was not until the mid-1700s that the building of the Forth and Clyde Canal or “The Great Canal” as it was referred to then, became an actual possibility with funding being raised to carry out the work. The canal was to be built across the Central Belt of Scotland from east to west. The first spadeful was dug out in June 10th 1768 and the construction continued for 22 years including a 7 year period when no work was carried out due to lack of funds. It was the Canal Company’s policy to try to recruit locally to provide employment in the areas the canal crossed.

The work was hard and was manual labour with the use of picks and shovels to dig out heavy wet earth. Wages were about 10d (£0.04p) per day and the workers were a tough lot. Discipline was often hard to maintain and drink was cheap and plentiful causing various problems. Theft of tools and other equipment was common and often the workers were seasonal due to also working in the agricultural land surrounding the canal works. None the less the work was done and the canal was dug. Water was first let into the canal in 1773 when it was filled as far as Kirkintilloch, which increased this town’s profile with additional trades appearing in the area. It was 2 years later that the canal opened as far as Stockingfield, Maryhill. A cut was also made towards Glasgow as far as Hamiltonhill and then funds ran short and worked stopped for 7 years.

In 1784 work resumed when the Government of the time approved a loan of £50,000 to the Canal Company, the money coming from the Forfeited Estates Fund (a legacy of the Jacobite Rebellion in 1745) and this allowed the canal to reach Bowling. The Forth and Clyde Canal was opened from the Firth of Forth to the Firth of Clyde in the summer of 1790 with the first boat navigating its channel in August of that year.

The length of the Canal from eastern sea lock to the western sea lock was 35 miles. In 1791 the Glasgow Branch was extended from Hamiltonhill to Port Dundas giving it a length of 3.5 miles. There are 39 locks to navigate on the canal with 20 locks on the eastern section the firth of Forth to Wyndford and 19 on the western section from Maryhill to Bowling on the Firth of Clyde. The canal was crossed by many bascule bridges and made use of aqueducts such as the one over the Luggie at Kirkintilloch and the river Kelvin in Glasgow.

The canal served three main purposes. It allowed seagoing vessels passage from east to west or vice versa, therefore avoiding the long passage around the north of Scotland. It provided the fast movement of goods. Agricultural produce, mineral resources and locally produced goods could be transported more easily across Scotland. It also acted as a way for travellers to move across Scotland using “Swift” boats that linked to coach services.

The Forth and Clyde Canal had an active life into the years of the Second World War though by this time railways were carrying more goods around the country. Trade was slowly falling away though transits through the canal and day tripping continued. Eventually on 1 January 1963 the Forth and Clyde Canal closed to through traffic.

As part of the millennium celebrations in 2000, National Lottery funds were used to regenerate both canals. A boat lifting device, the Falkirk Wheel, was built to connect the Union and Forth & Clyde canals and once more allow boats to travel from the Clyde or Glasgow to Edinburgh, with a new canal connection to the River Carron and hence the River Forth. The Falkirk Wheel opened on 27th May 2002 and is now a tourist attraction. The Helix project, which includes the magnificent Kelpies is also part of this ongoing regeneration.

#scotland #scottish #history #canal #waterway #transport infrastructure

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

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Underneath the City Lights, Part 1

Summary: When your father dies, and the Dirty Martini is ran by your brother, all hell breaks lose. And the one person who knows the secret to the newest mafia family in town is you. Forced to perform, and bought by August Walker. Who knew it was going to take an old family friend to save you? Hiding you away from the families is where the two of you start to fall....

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, nipple pumps, forced dancing, forced nudity, dry humping, teasing, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.2K

Series Masterlist

Ari clears his throat, standing up from his table as he looks amongst his closest and most trusted members of the family. Smiling with a curt nod, and ready to go home for a drink. This business could be draining at the best of times, and at the worst it was miserable, and right now was one of those times. Acquiring businesses was his least favorite part. He massages the bridge of his nose, waiting on the room to clear out when someone still remains.

“Sir?”

“What do you need Jonathan?” The bookkeeper and Ari’s personal assistant was loyal and efficient if not annoying most of the time.

“The Dirty Martini, it could be time to cut this loss.”

“Fine, you have my blessing to do what needs to be done,” he closes his book, ready to stand, but the other man doesn’t leave.

“It’s just that…well, Calvin and his family have a long standing with our…business,” Jonathan was getting better at not calling this a mafia, or worse, the mob. He was learning.

“Oh, The Dirty Martini, that burlesque club? Calvin. This is the Newton family’s business?” Jonathan nods his head, and Ari taps his finger on the table. “We can’t get rid of it.”

“Sir?”

“Let me check it out. That family has old standings with us. Maybe they just need an update. We’ll give them a business loan, come up with a plan on how to engage their audience,” Jonathan’s mouth starts to open, but with a hand raise from Ari it closes even quicker. Snapping his teeth together, because you don’t argue with him. “My family has a long standing relationship with theirs. They have a year to improve. Then we cut ties. I’m going tonight, and you can join.”

“Yes, sir. But this business…if I’m to believe their numbers should be much more profitable. They’re also debuting a new girl.”

“Good. I love some fresh meat. See you in an hour. Dress like you’re going to a cocktail party,” with Ari’s head held high, he struts out of this office. It had been many years since he had met with the Newton’s, even though the families were quite close. His father had always taken special interest in them, and also the business, so Ari would extend the same courtesy.

“No!” You scream, throwing a glass over towards August. “Get away!”

“Candy,” he says your name through gritted teeth, holding up those stupid cylinders. “Be a good girl, and let me put these on!”

“No!” This time a vase is hauled towards him and your handler Rita walks into the room, groaning more at August than yourself. “I’m not wearing those!”

“Rita!” Rita looks at your costume, smoothing everything out. “She needs to wear the nipple pumps for thirty minutes. Tell her that.”

“She’s right there, sir. Can you not tell her?”

“I’m not taking my top off!”

“You insufferable little brat! Your fucking nipples will be pumped, because you’re body is all you have to offer this world. You’re also being put up for private dances. Get used to your nipples being swollen and engorged. Just the way clients like them. Rita,” random bits and pieces from your vanity get thrown at August, as he tries and remains calm. “One of these days, you’ll get what you have coming to you.”

“Rita, you calm her down,” he slams three pumps into her hand, looking towards you with a sneer, “You either put on the pumps, or I’ll tie you up and pump your clit as well. You’ll be doing more than just dancing. Why don’t you ask Cassie or Jezabel what goes on behind the curtains. We’ll turn you out like the rest of the girls. You get pity because you have a voice and you’re a Newton. Don’t think your brother won’t sell your cunt for a buck. Get her fucking ready, Rita! She’s the star tonight.”

He walks out, slamming the door shut when Rita looks at you regrettably. “You really know how to piss him off. Almost got your costume for the night dirty. Now, help me clean up.”

“No,” you stub up, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Help me clean up, now,” she never raises her voice, but the look she shot at you meant that you should help. You bend down, trying to collect the larger pieces. Grabbing a broom for the smaller glass. “What is your reason for not wanting the pumps?”

“Why do my nipples need to be larger?”

“Oh they’re getting makeup on them, too,” you groan. You wanted to sing. That was all. “Your top will come off. They’ll look at your titties, and the ones further away can see just how perky they are because your nipples are swollen and darker. Should you give a private show, you’ll have to put them on again.”

“This is stupid.”

“With the right person, they’re quite nice. Makes the nipples more sensitive,” you roll your eyes, flopping yourself into a chair. “No, up up. Time for you to get laced up. At least, your tits aren’t in this corset.”

“That makes it better,” you stand up, turning your back towards her as she wraps the beautiful white corset around you. “The diamond,” it was a curse for you. Pretending to be something special because your father built the theater. But to August and your brother, you were just like the rest of them. Meat.

“Spin,” you turn around towards her, your tits just hanging out, you don't care anymore. “Lick it,” she holds up the pump to your mouth, and your snarl.

“Ew.”

“It needs lubrication.”

“Can I just do it myself?”

“Are you going to?” You lick the mechanism while she pushes it up against your nipple. Turning the knob, and you stare horrified at your nipple being sucked up into it. “It’s normal. That’s the point. Swell the nipples, so they’re nice and hard for your performance.”

“Ow! That’s too much. Oh my god, look at it,” you lick the other one, while Rita spins it on you. “They’re just sticking out. And not moving,” you flick the one a couple of times before Rita slaps at your hand.

“Find you a man that will do this, and put a tiny bullet in one or a vibrator on it,” you stare at her with your mouth opened up in a wide smile. “Don’t be such a prude. Your ass and tits are about to be hanging out in front of tons of people. Having it on your clit is quite nice, too.”

“How long do they have to stay on there?”

“August said thirty minutes,” you shimmy your shoulders, watching them flap around. “Maybe forty minutes is a better time frame.”

“No! This is just weird, and slightly uncomfortable.”

“It’s a constant suck. Have you never had anyone suck on your nipples?” You shake your head no, watching as she gathers the rest of your costume. “Has…have you had sex?”

“Yeah. No one sucked on anything though.”

“Such a pity. Go on, step into the bottoms, so you can cover your twat up. How come you act like this with me, but when it’s August…”

“He makes me uncomfortable, okay? Told me the other day he could get a free performance anytime he wanted to. I just want to sing.”

“Burlesque, sweetheart, you can’t go up there with jeans and a t-shirt. Look at it as the art it is. Celebrating the woman’s body. It won’t be men just out there. It won’t just be singles out there. Couples come here to enjoy this. Watch as a woman moves, her curves on full display. Completely in touch with their sexual prowess. Sing, but perform. You have more to offer than your body, so prove it.”

“Can I take these off now?”

“Has it been thirty minutes?”

Ari runs his finger over the table at The Dirty Martini, taking a sip of the house drink, and looks over at Jonathan, “Cheap liquor, and not enough. Let’s hope the entertainment is better. Are you writing this down?”

“Yes, sir. On the menu tonight is a new performer. Their Diamond. Goes by the name of Candy Jane.”

Ari leans back with a belly laugh, “What could they possibly have to offer as their Diamond? This is her debut performance, correct?”

“Yes, the talk in the bathroom is that she's going to be put on auction for a private show.”

“Oh, they’re that confident, huh? Where is she on the lineup?”

“She’s the first one out. Very cliche, but she’s singing Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” Ari rolls his eyes, trying to sit back comfortably. “The seats need updating.”

“I agree. They have not put any of their money back into this dump. They have to be making some form of a profit. I doubt these girls are being paid staggering amounts. Lights, props, costumes, and…” he stops his talking as the curtains start to draw. Only you are holding feathers around your body. Looking down to see your removable piece was still covering your breasts when you start a slow singing of the song.

Letting the feathers drop as Ari sits up straighter in his seat, “Is she going to take the mask off?”

“Are you interested?” Jonathan looks at his boss who was leaning so far forward. “I’ll go put in a bid for the private show.”

“Whatever the cost,” he gulps when the flap is removed and you're left topless with your swollen and tinted nipples, a roar of the crowd has you getting more into the routine, “Remind them of who is asking, and that they owe quite a large sum to the family. They’d be making quite a profit.”

“Yes, sir,” between the corset framing your tits perfectly, and the barely there panties, Ari was entranced. You were not like the usual performers, you were something special entirely. A bit nervous, and definitely new to this life. He wanted to kick himself for being too far away from the stage, but also didn’t want to alert anyone that he was here. He needed to see how much the club had fallen, but you were perfect.

He takes a sip of the disgusting house martini, enjoying the show. You would definitely look better without the mask, completely naked, and in his bed. Letting him spoil every inch of you.

“Sir, you can go ahead to the room.”

“I will finish this first. I want her to stay in white.”

“Oh…I’ll let them know.”

“I want her without the mask.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll send an usher to lead you to the room after she’s finished,” Ari nods his head, watching as you shimmy your shoulders, letting your tits recoil perfectly. You deserved much more than this club. You deserved to be put on a pedestal, worshiped, spoiled, and in return, you would spoil him.

“I don’t want to wear those again. They’re sensitive,” Rita tightens the pump on your nipple, as August smirks in the corner, turning back to find you a different outfit. “I thought I said I didn’t want to give a private show.”

“Yeah, well, the cost was much too great to refuse. You have a fan,” he hands Rita the lingerie set, making sure that there was nothing to cover your tits. “They certainly do look pretty all big and juicy on that stage. You were a natural.”

“Can you leave?” Rita shoos you behind a partition, handing you the lingerie instead of helping you.

“No, I need to make sure the club’s asset makes it to the room. He’s waiting. Keep the mask on, until you get there. Let him take it off,” Rita looks back at August, giving him a questioning look. “He was entranced. Obsessed. We may end up getting him on the regular. I could tell when your top came off that he would bid for you. Been watching him the moment he walked in,” that was odd for August to follow someone around the club. You figured he must have been a pretty important client.

“No. I can’t see someone regularly. They were still big. Can I not just…take them off, and cover myself with a robe?”

“You will have them on for less time, Candy,” you hated that name, but understood why the need to be anonymous there. “We don’t want to bruise your tits. Not like that anyways. He’s going to be wearing a mask as well.”

“Why?”

“You can take it off. Why do you ask so many questions?” You don’t answer. There wasn’t a point with August. Calvin’s friend and business partner was one of your least favorite people. But sending him in for these occasions was less weird than your brother coming in here. “Go ahead and pull them off.”

“Break the seal.”

“I said to pull them off. Give them an extra suck. I can help if you like,” you do as Rita asked, she seemed to know more about this than August. “Alright, let me see.”

“She’s fine. They were still swollen from before. They’re plenty big. Robe on, sweetheart. August is going to lead you to the room.”

You step from behind the partition, and August’s eyes linger on your chest for a bit too long, spinning to lead you down to the private room. Stopping at the door when he smirks at you, “Don’t get attached Candy. And do everything he says. I’ll be watching,” he gives you a wink, reminding you there were cameras in the room, for ‘the girl's safety’. But everything he said was a warning. This man could ask you to do anything.

Gulping you walk into the room. The man was comfortably sitting on the center of the couch, his legs spread as wide as they could go while his hand rubs up and down his thigh, “Lose the robe. But let it fall down slowly.”

You give the silk robe a bit of a push, letting it drift down your body, pooling at your feet, “Well, come on. Have a seat,” both his hands move over his thigh, and you try to keep eye contact, but fail.

“Wouldn’t you like a dance?”

“I would like for you to sit in my lap while we get to know each other better,” with a deep inhale, you move closer. One step at a time. Painfully slow, “I don't need a performance for you to sit in my lap, Candy Jane. Sit in my lap.”

Finishing up the distance, he guides you to straddle him. Shoving you down onto his covered hard cock, “Your little song did that to me,” he removes your mask, giving you an odd look as you take his off. Gasping up at him.

“Ari?”

“Who are you?”

“You and your dad always called me Dulce. Said I was as sweet as candy.”

“Oh my god,” he looks down at your chest, unbelievingly at what just transpired. When did you grow up? When did you get these perfect tits? When did this happen? “Oh my god. You’re…you’re Scott’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you end up in a dump like this? Surely your father wouldn’t have you doing…doing this,” he starts shoving you off him a moment, but your eyes flick to the corner. “There’s cameras?”

“Yes.”

“Sound?” You shake your head no. “What’s going on?”

“My dad died. Calvin took over. He needs the money.”

“He? Not the business?” You nod your head, and Ari’s hands slide up your thighs, pulling you completely flush to his body. “Start grinding,” you move your hips over him, and Ari can’t help but to moan. He needed some relief, and while this felt wrong, it definitely was feeling so right. Looking down at your perfect tits, he takes a deep breath. “What do you know? My personal assistant brought this place to my attention.”

“I can’t talk here.”

“Why?” Ari moves his thumb, and it grazes over your nipple, and you whimper, “You’re sensitive,” smirks up at you, doing it again. “Keep moving,” he pushes himself further down onto the couch, moaning when your nipple is touched again. “This feels…”

“Good,” you answer for him. It was wrong that he was formerly in business with your father. That you had known him since you both were quite young, and he was just learning the business. But it felt good. Ari had grown up and filled out, and still was attractive as when you had a school girl crush on him. And even more attractive.

“Yes,” he moans out, his eyes moving all over your body and face. “Very very good. What else?”

“Ari, you gotta get me out if I tell you.”

“Why?”

“Promise me,” you move even faster over him. Your mother had told you before her untimely death, men make stupid decisions during sex. I mean, Ari wasn’t inside of you, but his cock was throbbing. “Promise me, you’ll get me out.”

“Promise.”

“Oh!” Arching your back, you bring your tits right to his face, and he captures one with his mouth, holding it with his hand as he sucks on the swollen bud. His tongue flicks over it, and he smiles at you over your tits.

“Keep moving,” he says as he moves to the other one. Giving the abandoned nipple a hard pinch as you race for the two of your finishes. Ari stares up at you like you seriously were this precious diamond. Moving between your tits, before pinching both of them hard, and giving your breasts a shake.

“Ari!” You whine out, working your hips over him. “A-A-A-Ari!” Stuttering out his name as his cum soaks through his jeans, and you allow yourself to let go. Resting your head on his shoulder. And he trembles at your heated breath on his neck.

“I can’t take you out for a while.”

“Why?”

“It’ll become too suspicious.”

“You’re a liar,” you lift up off him, and he gives you a smile. “You lied.”

“I haven’t. You haven’t given me any information. I will take you from this place. And until then, I will come to your shows, and will keep you from having to whore yourself out to disgusting men by buying out your room for the evening.”

“So, we’re staying in here all night?” He shakes his head no, looking down at your tits. “Quit looking. August is watching. He makes me wear these pumps until they’re swollen and sensitive. Now that he knows you can’t keep your eyes off my tits, he’ll make me wear them longer.”

“It’s a good look,” he smirks, cupping both your breasts in his hand, letting his thumb rub over the overstimulated peaks. “Don’t change whatever you’re doing. Everything has to be just like tonight.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a way for you to eventually fuck me?”

“Believe me, I won’t pay for sex. If I wanted sex from you, I could get it. We’re in a business agreement. Go on, let these pretty nipples calm down. Fuck a pillow, fuck a dildo, I really don’t care. I paid for you for the whole night, but you might be better served getting some rest and self care.”

“What makes you think I want sex?” His hand goes to cup your barely covered mound, smiling, “I came. And some of that is your cum.”

“You’re still throbbing, and…is that clenching of your pussy I feel?” Ari chuckles, removing his hand, lifting it up to show the strings from your arousal stretch between his fingers, “Is it me or just the fact you were getting off? Has it been a long time?”

“No,” you stand, grabbing your robe, and start to head out.

“Have fun, Dulce,” he smiles, lifting his hand to look at it again. It was incredible. You were responsive. His fingers were coated in your sticky slick. He takes a moment to lick off your honey, moaning at the taste before he stands. Wearing the wet spot on his pants with pride.

Giving a nod to Jonathan as the two of them head out of the club, and in the safety of his car. “Just like you thought. There’s more going on. Looks like a former business partner’s daughter is giving us all the information.”

“I take it the private show went well?” Jonathan cocks up an eyebrow looking at the soaked jeans. “Who was she?”

“An old friend. She’ll be Calvin’s undoing. You were right this time, buddy. Calvin Newton and August Walker are not to be trusted. But I also need the Diamond out safely in less than a month's time. But, I’ll need to make regular visits to make sure she’s safe.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with getting your dick wet.”

“It didn’t get wet. It stayed in the jeans. She’s got a sloppy cunt.”

“How delightful. Is she going to become one of your toys?” Ari smiles, starting the car. Oh, he could definitely play with you alright. But he wanted something more than just a warm body for the night. Your father had been too good to his family for you to become disposable.

“She’s going to become my Diamond. She’ll need my protection at any cost. It’s time she realizes her value is far more than what’s in between her legs.”

“Or bouncing on her chest,” Jonathan looks over towards Ari, grinning so big. He knew Ari had a soft spot for a good set of boobs. “So what you’re saying is we need to get her a passport.”

“Exactly. A month’s time, she will be out. She will divulge exactly what is going on in that club. I want her to have respectable clothes. Bathing suits, dresses, jewelry. Have it all waiting at the Italy house.”

“Sir?”

“Have it all waiting at the Italy house. Don’t question my process. She’s not a toy. She is valuable.”

“Yes, sir,” and Ari meant it. Your father was a good man. Calvin was trash. Anyone that made August Walker be around their sister was trash. Anyone that offered their sister up for men to ogle at, and grope, and even shove themselves into her was disgusting. Sex work was admirable when it was their choice. This wasn’t. He would get you out. And you would have his complete protection.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @buckysteveloki-me @whimsyplaty92

#underneath the city lights #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x you #mafia!ari levinson #mafia au #fanfiction #chris evans #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson fics #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fanfic #red sea diving resort #rsdr #burlesque!reader #burlesque au

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justabigoldnerd · 17 days

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Thank you so much @pippinoftheshire for the tag!!!!

My Words: Suspicion, Heart, Wonder, Flight

Your Words: Charge, Positive, Sport, Know

Suspicion - "Which Side Of The Wall Really Suffers That Cost?"

Regrettably, the hand dropped from Illya's shoulders, and he cringed at the defeat in Solo's voice when he conceded, “Okay. I won't push you. Do you….still want to walk to the office together?” Illya worked his jaw. If the KGB had solid evidence on him, there was no point in changing routine. What would happen was inevitable. But if they only suspected that his newfound affiliation with the Western world went deeper than being on loan, then there were bound to be eyes on him twenty-four seven. Would it be smarter to cease contact with Solo to distance himself from being associated with his antithetical ideals? Or would doing so effectively confirm their suspicions, dooming him anyway? “Da,” he decided after a moment, “Come on.

Heart - "To Be Built Back Up Again" [Flufftober Day 14: Fantasy Au/Mundane AU]

“Whenever you're ready,” Solo repeated gently. Peril beat his wings once, twice, three times, then leapt. The owl plummeted like a rock in a blur of feathers and Solo's heart sank. He tried to pick him up again, but Peril shrieked and scrambled away, still furiously beating his wings. “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay, calm down,” Solo pleaded, to no avail. He swore and closed his eyes, his hands held out in front of him. Pulling from the increasing static of the storm around him, Solo hummed a calming spell meant for Elven children. Peril's rage filled shrieking quieted to short, sharp barks, then finally settled into an unhappy growl. Solo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, the air crackling around him. Rain began to fall and black clouds blotted out the moon. He was drained, but Peril was still and out of danger. He checked over the injured wing to make sure he hadn't worsened it, then tucked the owl into his cloak. “Now that was a little dramatic,” he chided half-heartedly.

Wonder - "Flufftober Day 18: Bewitched"

“You do so much talking, but it does not mean anything, most of the time. Just–,” he smiled lazily and made a “talking” motion with his free hand, “–all the time. Nonsense.” “Your point?” Solo rolled his eyes affectionately. “Try to say something you do mean. Like this,” he lifted their intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of Solo's, “I love you.” Solo watched his face for a long while, the back of his throat burning like hellfire. Illya's cheeks were dusted in primrose. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was easy and bright. The seemingly permanent crease in his brow was gone, for once. Solo tentatively reached out and ran his thumb over the spot where the fold would usually be. He wondered if Illya had ever had a chance to be this free, if he was looking into a past version of his partner, or a version that neither of them had met before.

Flight - "Isle of Flightless Birds" [Collaborative 5+1 TMFU Wingfic (We're still looking for one more author!!)]

That is where the poignant smell of decay was originating. A pit opened up in his stomach and he retrieved his flashlight from his belt. Solo flicked it on and curled the fingers of his left hand around its handle, holding it tight to the side of his gun. He waited until Gaby had followed suit, then stepped into the cavern. Immediately, the wretched stench hit them like walking into a brick wall mortared with rotting viscera. Gaby gagged violently and covered her mouth and nose with her upper arm. The combined beams of their flashlights swept back and forth, what little light they provided glinting off damp, bare rock. Then a flash of red caught Solo's eye and he focused his light on it. It was a flight feather– cardinal-type, judging by the color. He almost crouched to investigate further, when a horrified whisper from Gaby made him look up. “Oh mein Gott….”

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @bighandsforabigheart

@kcscribbler @yallwildinrn @cha-melodius @the-golden-comet @thattripleabattery

@too-young-to-fall-in-love @times-up-alone-tonight @vnyu73 @nicijones

And anyone else who wants to join!!! 💕💕💕💕

#tmfu #the man from uncle #tmfu movie #illya kuryakin #napoleon solo #gaby teller #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #find the word game #tag game

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clandestone · 1 month

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[ florence pugh, cisfemale, she/her ] — whoa! LOUISE DELANEY just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 9 YEARS, working as an ARCHIVIST. that can’t be easy, especially at only 27 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit GUARDED and CYNICAL, but i know them to be WITTY and LOYAL. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to THE BRONX!

the basics

Name: louise delaney Aliases: louie, delaney Borough: the bronx Gender/Pronouns: cisfemale, she/her Sexual/Romantic Orientation: bisexual/biromantic Age: 27 Occupation: archivist at the new york historical society Faceclaim: florence pugh Marital Status: single Pets: a black cat named king arthur, adopted from the local human society

aesthetics

Inspiration: henry detamble (time traveler’s wife), marianne sheridan (normal people), princess fiona (shrek), dana scully (the x-files), wanda (the mcu), bella swan (twilight), belle (beauty and the beast), louise (arrival) Animal: mourning dove Tarot Card: the chariot Zodiac: gemini Element: air Song: Revolution 0 - boygenius

the essentials: Louise is a workaholic, but she’s working on it. It’s hard for her to let people in, and it isn’t uncommon for her to keep even her closest friends at arms length. Her guarded nature can come across as a bit bitchy, but it's not her intention, and once you get to know her, she’s really quite soft. When she’s not working, you can find her swimming laps at the local gym, taking herself on dates to new cafes, or sitting in the corner of a smokey jazz bar, sipping on whiskey.

backstory: parent death tw Much of Louise’s adult life has been spent reconciling the dreamy, sun-dappled memories of her childhood with the chaos and instability of her adolescence, and trying to find some peace in a life that exists between the two. The way her childhood ended wasn’t anyone’s fault, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to make it any easier, it was just an inevitable part of her story. Her life began in the simplest, All-American, suburban way. Hot dogs and ice cream on the Fourth of July, soccer practice after school, riding bikes with her friends on her quiet street until the streetlights turned on. Her father was an artist, and the studio in his garage was always brimming with music and whatever painting, sculpture, or pottery work he’d dreamed up. Her mother was a high-level executive in Boston, and while her work demanded long hours and short stints away from home, the love for her daughter was so overwhelming that it bridged the absence. It was a simple childhood, devoid of strain or worry and marked only by the love surrounding her. A tragic accident took her mother away, flinging Louise and her father into the unknown. No longer able to afford their comfortable life in the suburbs without her mother’s hefty income, the two moved to a small, shoebox apartment in a small town. They survived for a time on the life insurance money, but when it ran out, they began to struggle. Her father was a stubborn man, unwilling to accept that his lifestyle as an artist was entirely dependent on his late wife’s income, and he made a living selling what little art he could and painting houses. Louise struggled with the move and the loss of her mother. Her father was eclectic and misunderstood by the community, and many of the kids at her new school were warned by their parents to keep a wide berth from the Delaneys. After a few months, she managed to make a few close friends, but all she wanted to do was keep her head down until she could go out on her own. She was studious and intelligent, and when the time came to graduate, she was top of her class. With her academic record, some local scholarships, loans, and the small pile of money her mother had begun to put away for her education, she was able to leave her small town and attend Columbia University. New York was a new beginning, and god did it feel good. She excelled, made a small, but close circle of friends, and fully came into her own. After she graduated, she took a scholarship for an MA in public history and archival studies at NYU, and eventually took a job at the New York Historical Society as an archivist. For the last three years, Louise has kept her head down and worked incredibly hard, taking any and all opportunities. Her dreams are big, and she has high hopes for her future. Communication with her father is strained, and while she worries about him and occasionally sends him money, she can’t bring herself to return home for a visit. Her past is a touchy subject, and few people are welcomed into that part of her history. Louise was recently promoted and has begun to look at other factions of her life. While she was busy in the archives, she began to neglect parts of her life that were previously important to her. Her friendships were weak, and she had absolutely no love life to speak of. The dust had begun to settle on the hobbies she once loved, and even it felt like the dust had started to settle on her. Louise is trying to start again, and make a life that feels whole, balanced, and happy.

#boroughs.intro #louise #might make some adjustments as i get to know her!

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typingdyslexiaisathing · 5 months

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An Unexpected Return (Obey Me!) fic

summary: The brothers get their exchange student back much sooner than planned. Due to the Human World being more than this one human expected. Content includes depression, stress, feelings of inadequacy, comfort and fluff.

The text had been simple enough. One that was sent to Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Lucifer. The one sending the text being their beloved human exchange student, Myra. Who had gone back home to the human world last month. But this text proved that things were not okay with Myra. At all. "I hate to bother any of you right now. But I don't have a place to live here in the human world anymore and can't make it to the homeless shelter before closing. Someone please come and pick me and my few boxes of stuff up?"

It only took a minute before a portal opened in the Demon Lord's Castle. Solomon soon escorting his very miserable apprentice over the threshold as several cardboard boxes floated through the portal after them. Diavolo there to lift the goth wearing college student into his arms for a tight hug. "Lucifer is on his way right now. My word, you're as cold as ice." Barbatos approached with a warm blanket for the butler and the ruler of the Devildom to sit Myra down and wrap her in the blanket. While Solomon saw to moving what few possessions Myra had with her from the human World and into the entranceway of the castle.

By the time Lucifer arrives, Barbatos has given Myra a cup of hot tea to sip as Solomon and Diavolo sorted the boxes and bags. The Avatar of Pride walking forwards to stand before Myra and cross his arms. His words deep but hinting at worry as he sighs. "Myra Fordola Albaroiz. You have some explaining to do." The goth college student rolled her eyes to mutter out, "I wish to so many powers that no one had ever introduced you to 'I Love Lucy' last year. May we please do the short version of the story for now?" Lucifer nodded for Solomon to close the portal and sit himself beside Myra to pour himself a cup of the still steaming tea. So Myra had the time to speak openly. "Turns out my family weren't too happy about me going off to a school they never heard of. So when I got back, I found out they had packed all my things into a storage container. They refuse to talk to me and just tossed me a bill for the storage unit. So the money I made here to use there got burned into real bad. I paid off my old student loans. Since my old friend from high school said I could go back to my old job at data entry. But they decided to do a company overhaul last week and canned half the staff. So I was left with no job, no place to live, and the storage unit telling me to get lost."

All the men in the room go deadly quiet. So Myra sips her tea to make a point with her words that follow. "I already hexed the company building before I left. My family also have a convenient curse in the form of rotting shrimp hiding in the poles that hold up the window blinds through the entire house. The storage unit company is now under federal investigation after someone gave them a tip about a dead body in the unit next to mine. So I made sure to burn my bridges before I texted for a portal out of dodge." Solomon chuckles to look highly pleased with his apprentice. While Diavolo is trying very hard not to laugh as Lucifer smirks at the human exchange student. His words melted and full of warm approval at this woman of silent revenge. "That world doesn't deserve your pure wicked genius. Yet you should have been telling us all of this news as it was happening. For that I will scold you later."

Myra smiled to then finish her tea and huff. "Oh spare me, Lucy. I may adore you and all that. But I am a fully grown human woman with magic and seven pacts with demons that are considered ancient forces unto themselves. I only texted in the first place because I knew if I didn't you would slow roast and force feed me my own sculpted ass if I didn't." Solomon chokes on his tea to cough and try not to laugh. While Diavolo and Barbatos cover their moths to hide their grins. While Lucifer chuckles to then shake his head. "Now is the time for you to say how you really feel for the open air. So go ahead, lamb." Myra set the tea cup down to then clench both hands into fists. Her words flinted and aching with pure hate and evident sorrow. "My own family had the outright nerve to say I'm not worth all the time and investment raising me was. Something that never would have flown if my grandparents were still alive. So they heel stomped my worth into the muck and ground their heel besides. I pray they spend the rest of time paying for that. As for that executive bastard that fired me... He had the sheer audacity to state my job performance wasn't good enough to keep me around. When my performance numbers were third best in the entire company. Just because I'm a woman with a backbone. It took every bit of my will not to punch his smug face in with a enhanced fist jab. But I didn't. I'd rather do that to the piece of shit called life instead. I. Am. Not. Worthless!"

Myra rubbed at her eyes as a sob came out. Yet in the next second, Lucifer had swept Myra out of her chair to hug her tight and envelope her in his wings. Those ebony feathers tickling her frame as Lucifer placed a kiss to her forehead before he spoke words of rich conviction. "You are priceless! Fools would only dare to even think otherwise of you! Let those ignorant swine roll in their own stupidity without another thought! You belong to us! You are our most cherished soul in all three realms! Myra! There is nor will there ever be anyone like you!"

Lucifer soon eased up on his hug to then hand Myra over to Diavolo. Who was smiling bright to take Myra around for a spin like they were waltzing. His gaze to her full of love and favor. "We will never let you linger in such lies. You are flinted darkness and yet hold radiant light within. The sun itself cannot compare. Since you have been left to forge on without those fools, I vote we have you stay with us for a bit. At least until Solomon might set up a new place for you to dwell in back in the Human World. perhaps in a new country for you both to go on a trip to travel and see the sights." Myra perked up at that idea to then sigh. "After I see all my family here and get my head back on straight. So for now, I say we have a good meal and perhaps a movie or two."

#obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me! fanfiction #obey me! fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Obey Me! One Master To Rule Them All #Obey Me: One Master To Rule Them All #Obey Me! Shall We Date?#Obey Me: Shall We Date?#Obey Me! OC

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demure2 · 1 year

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Blood is Thicker Than Wine _ FOUR

> BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WINE [MASTERLIST]

— 1930s au

— yandere neighbor!chanyeol x reader || ft. best friend!sehun

— genre: angst, suggestive

— warnings: language, alcohol use, cigarette/substance use, mental illness, watching from afar, anxiety, gun, blood, older fella chanyeol

— word count: 3.5k

— note: hey guys, sorry i got caught up in schtuff. final smut chapter after dis one and then i will FINALLY BE ABLE TO START NEW WRITING. smut chapter IS coming soon. um YAY…!! open to suggestions and criticisms always :)

“Would you stop doing that, Chanyeol?” Your voice can’t help but come out small and innocently, not sure if he even hears you. You’re inundated by the pressure of his gaze beating down on you, the embarrassing urge to cry tugging relentlessly on your soft features.

“Baby, doing what?” His face softens. The gash across Chanyeol’s nose bridge looks more salient than ever, the dried blood glistening in the sodium light. His boastful posture deflates.

He inches dangerously close to you, until you can feel his emanating body heat. Blood on his lips threaten to spill over from teeth marks branded deep into his skin, eyes blown out and impatiently waiting for your response. A simple-minded man, he’s always been unsure of how to confront feelings meaningfully. If he could make himself think harder of anything better than easing it all with a smoke, he’d do it, but he can’t.

The yearning is sudden and impulsive on his fingertips, creeping down into his jacket. He’s ready to balance a cigarette between his forefinger and middle, but his pocket is vacant no matter how many times he runs the pads of his fingers over the patch of surface. Fuck.

“Stop telling me stupid things. Responsible for the death of Park Yoora? Sehun’s a mailboy and author, working part time as a mechanic. He’s never maimed anyone, never hurt a soul, let alone someone from your bloodline, Chanyeol,” it comes out harshly from your throat, crudely. “I have no reason to believe you and your lies anymore.” As if watching Chanyeol’s face falter and fall dramatically was too much to bear, you lazily shut your hooded eye, which have no problem sticking together easily due to the air’s stagnant moisture. The words are oddly visceral in his ears, cold and unforgiving all at once.

The townsfolk would agree that they’re used to, maybe unsettlingly too used to, Chanyeol’s eyes being void of much emotion. That’s the kind of man he is, after all, no one else can ignite unexpected life in them besides you.

And so, the gleam of betrayal in his eyes tonight is suddenly immediate, catching you off-guard nonetheless. His fitfully soft gaze hardens and his eyebrows scrunch angrily, watching your irises amplify with fear beneath him. “What’s so unbelievable about that, [Y/N]? Believe me, your little boyfriend’s maimed whether you want it or not, and he’s maimed my sister. Her husband couldn’t pay off a car loan and she was dead, just like that. Accept it, like I have.

You don’t have to be best friends with a murderer, you can come keep me company, bring me pastries or bake me an apple pie every weekend — I’ll take care of you. He's not your best friend. Don’t want him to be,” Chanyeol’s voice breaks, the weight of his acidic jealousy and grief awfully agonizing. He pauses to watch your stoic face carefully, searching for regret, but he won’t find any more than his own. “There’s bathtubs of our moonshine in front of you, aren’t there? Then what’s so hard to believe about that? Can’t you just believe me?” His firm tone becomes desperate, tender and divulging of his feelings.

“When it’s Sehun doing dirt, you don’t bat a pretty eyelash, you don’t think he could ever do it. When I tell you, you’re quick to deem me incredulous. You just don’t know everything like you think you do, bunny,” Chanyeol’s complexion toughens up just enough for him to not break down, an almost-sneer. The words come out in fragments, bits and pieces, his eyes still eager for validation in yours. The distance between your bodies makes you anxious.

You attempt to save your case, beginning to look crazed going back and forth. “Your lies are in poor taste. Let’s not forget that you’re villainizing Sehun, when you’re just as worse, Chanyeol — you’re jealous, aren’t you? You can’t bear the thought of me hanging out with him, because your filthy mind is convinced he’s fucking my brains out over the hood of one of his flivvers,” you hiss, voice tight and indignant. Chanyeol’s jaw clenches, teeth gritting together in his guise of red-eared anger.

“My ‘little boyfriend,’ Chanyeol? You think I’m a damned slut? He’s still my best friend, and I won’t let your apparent matters get in between us. And you said you'd take care of me? With what, with the criminal cash you’ve laundered? Why do you even do this filthy work? Where did you fuck up, Chanyeol? Tell me! What went wrong with you?”

The confrontation reminds Chanyeol of his roots. He bares his teeth, putting his hands up defensively. “No. Don’t talk down to me. I’ll take care of us. I will.”

“No, really, Chanyeol. Why else would you be working for bootleggers? You fucked up, and then you try to make it all better by making me think my best friend is just as bad.”

“I wouldn’t say that I fucked up. Would you rather have not known that he was doing those things? Would you have rather lived in euphoric bliss all your life, hanging out with a murderer? You should be thanking me, [Y/N]. Are you upset, baby? Maybe I did make you hate your little boyfriend and you’re afraid to admit it.” You flinch as he gets in your face, mere inches away. But the smell of ash is unusually absent from his breath, and on nights like these, where you’ve wandered too far away from home, it’s more unsettling than comforting.

Chanyeol feels his words pile on top of each other in front of you, unable to withstand his anger. Despite this, sweet relief merely washes over his anger for a second, like a crisp breeze. He hopes you can sense it, too. More or less, he’d tasted victory. He knows you’re sort of unsure now, insecure of your accords with Sehun and who you thought he was.

Men like Chanyeol are stupid, so he takes the chance to finally close the distance between you, taking you into his arms and murmuring into your hair. “You don’t like him anymore, do you?” Chanyeol is hopeful and gentle with his words, softly in your ear. “You don’t love him more than you love me,” he repeats. “You love me.” The feeling deep inside you that Chanyeol was right is acidic in your mouth, and it eats at you tenaciously.

You push him off of you and wipe your mouth, as if being that close to him was depraving, although you’d been pressed up to him before.

Over and over again, countless times before, but never close enough.

Sehun still occupied your mind without a doubt — how could he not, having known you for 4 years? You’d deeply cared for him since you first met in highschool — you, a junior, and him, a second year college student. Brought together by your close-rooted excursions home from school, he’d been your older brother figure. You remember it clearly, he’d bring along his two college friends with him to walk you home some days — Junmyeon and Yixing. They both had a crush on you that winter, red noses and all.

JUNMYEON’S ETHYL & GARAGE WORK’s formation was starting to make a lot of sense. Especially regarding their choice of hired hands.

By your senior year, Sehun had already been close to dropping out twice, but for some reason, stayed. Your momma liked Sehun all the same, wishful thinking that he’d end up somewhere.

You start hesitantly, worry etched into your expression. “I didn’t know he was like this. I didn’t know both of you were involved in this, Chanyeol, and if I did, I wouldn’t have decided to know you. I’m compliant. I am sorry, but I cannot love crooked men like you.” Again, the words reverberate twice as cruel in Chanyeol’s large ears, echoing over and over. He can’t find a solution.

Still feeling the phantom trace of both of your hands pressed up to his chest, pushing him away, Chanyeol doesn’t like the feeling of defeat. “Talk about compliance? With what, laws or rumors? Was it so compliant of you to loiter and trespass into my house at midnight? Are you so compliant when Sehun asks you to use your pretty skirt to sneak a few cigarette packs out from the store? Who cares about what we do for cash, I know sure as hell that you of all people fucking don’t, [Y/N].”

You’re stunned, defensive and cold, so the words blurt out of your mouth before you have the chance to fully apprehend them, swiftly and fleeting. "I have a right to care, do I not?”

But they’re nothing of swiftly and fleeting to Chanyeol, repeating over and over in his mind in your gentle voice. You almost clasp your hands over your mouth, feeling your teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Gravity had pulled your senses together too late, long after the words had left your mouth. Chanyeol releases his heel, ready to turn around just seconds before.

The lull in his voice isn’t deceptive for once, something of a catharsis. “You’ve never cared. Aren't you scared of me, [Y/N]? You don’t think I notice? You don’t think I’m self aware? Of course I’m jealous, I know that I’m fucking sick, I’m in love with someone who I’ve watched for weeks." He says this in a tone matter-of-factly, but shameful in its meaning. He can’t help but feel allured to the thought of protecting your sugary elation from his potent, black tar of a psyche, despite eagerly desiring its corruption. “I just can’t help it, anymore. Men like me are stupid,” he says, and you notice that he says that a lot. “I always want what I can’t have," Chanyeol exhales, catching his breath. "You’ll never get it, [Y/N].”

Unsure of what to say, you look up at Chanyeol with demure eyes, tears threatening to fall at the motion of a blink. The cellar air is still cold yet saturated against your skin, harsh and unforgiving. You're just as destroyed, turning away from him.

You don’t think he does, but of course Chanyeol takes notice of you eyeing the stairway carefully, the center of each step slightly depressed in crescents after years of crude weight. You take one more look behind you at him, eyebrows still furrowed and focused on you. Then, holding your skirt down, you run as fast as possible. “I’ve gotta go.”

Chanyeol stays still, watching your form retreat up the stairs.

Making it back to the intermediate EMPLOYEES ONLY desk room, your eyes meet Jongin's. He's breathing heavily, his body already backed up against the door, barricading it with muscular leverage. Jongin smiles gently at the sight of you, sweat from the parching tension condensing at his cupid's bow. His eyes curve upward as he smiles. "Why don't you stay with Chanyeol, instead."

The sound of steady footfall echoes in the stairwell behind you, creaking the wood underneath. Desperately, you run up to Jongin. "Let me out, I have to leave." You whisper thinly, pushing Jongin's hair back to reveal his pink flushed ears. He pauses for a moment, allowing the stairwell noises to reverberate louder. Quickly, voice hitching in his throat, he quietly urges. "Relax. He’s gon' go mad if he sees you this close to me, sweet stuff. Let's back up, ‘kay?”

Discomfort vaguely reflected in your expression, you back away slowly, turning your gaze to the stairwell. You watch intently as Chanyeol's torso slowly emerges from the stairs, holding onto the left railing.

Your eyes grace each other instantaneously, doubtful and ashamed. He approaches you first, although timidly, head down. Then lowly, pulling you toward him so only you can hear, he murmurs a pitiful "I'm so sorry."

Chanyeol looks up to press his lips together into a quick smile, glancing at Jongin — slang for thanks! Jongin nods, subsiding his body from the door. "Sehun's in the back again tonight. Still working on that flaming ‘32 Buick."

When you two meet the night air outside, his smile collapses again, everything inside of him falling in on each other. “Let’s bring you to him, now. He can drive you home tonight,” Chanyeol asserts coldly, angry at himself. He didn't mean to tell you all of that, especially before he’d told you that he’d loved you. He didn’t mean to tell you all of that for weeks, but stupid men like me aren’t good at thinking before we speak. His hands are rough and calloused, the functional arm brushing against your shoulder before quickly retracting.

You make your way around the back together to the rows of vehicle hoists in the large outdoor garage, moments of stillness and night peeking through the open air on the sides. Feeling pissed, you make sure to walk in front of Chanyeol, so he can see the perfect ellipse your hips sway in when you walk. You know he likes it.

You see it all at once; a vibrant and lousy red car with stained white wheels, and beneath it, a quietly focused but normally lousy boy. Black hair pasted to his forehead with sweat, and eyes thin at practice.

“Sehun!” you call eagerly, desperate for his familiarity. His narrowed eyes snap to you in an instant, then darts to the taller man next you.

You run towards him, even against the emanating smell of gas and motor oil from his work station. Then, you fall to your knees on the rough asphalt, meeting him eye level as he sits there in baggy denim, one knee up and the other leg stretched out like a cat.

“He took you here, doll?” His voice is shaky and concerned for the both of you, glaring at Chanyeol from a distance. Sehun’s face is covered in sweaty dew from exposure to the close heat, hands diligently buried in the car’s hind suspension beam and axle.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you work with him?”

Sehun’s gaze hardens intensely, his dark brown irises piercing the scene behind you. You turn around quickly, realizing Chanyeol was now close to the car as well, having walked to where you two were.

Sehun draws back his hands from the machinery and hoists himself up to the other side, out from sitting underneath the raised car. He dusts off his knees, standing up to reach Chanyeol’s height, separated only by the flaming red Buick between them — and you, sitting at Chanyeol’s feet. They stare at each other menacingly in the dim garage light momentarily. Their mannerisms are similar in this way; backs straight like soldiers for war, eyebrows furrowed and heaving chests. What could you do?

Chanyeol breaks the silence. Snarkily, he’s unphased, unmoving and still. “Just wanted to show your sweetheart what you were up to. Car fixing, wine selling, killing innocent families for patriarchs’ loans. She actually really missed you, Sehun. I’m so jealous, really.”

“Still caught up on big sissy? That happened months ago, don’t be so brash in front of [Y/N], now. Does she know that you taint the liquor you sell, Chanyeol?”

“She knows what my tongue feels like,” Chanyeol cocks his head to the side, sticking out his tongue to bite down on it. A taunting demonstration in Sehun’s face, the mockery is jarring. He’s taken aback momentarily, but that doesn’t stop him from putting his arms down onto the Buick’s hood, triumphantly. “What’s your fucking problem?”

“That someone I’m forced to work with keeps fucking with things I care about.” Sehun fucks up on the job, and he gets away kindly with a lengthy talk from Junmyeon about not killing innocent people for fear. Sehun fucks up off the job, and he’s got no one left to clean up for him. These things are still foreign to Sehun, still young and unsure of trivial matters. Like if the way his dick curves to the right will make him die sooner, or if he’ll ever grow any facial hair.

Your eyes dart between the two men and their exchange, though its difficult to see Sehun from your position, so you stand up.

Sehun throws his denim jacket to the garage’s floor, nothing underneath except skin slick with grease. The buttons make contact with the cement, clicking and clunking. Their eyes are locked, not parting for a second.

“You wanna go? Fist to fist like men?” Sehun clenches his fists with bruising grasps. Chanyeol laughs, “not really.”

He’d lose anyway, with one functional arm, the other in a sling to his side.

Sehun seethes, seconds away from lunging at Chanyeol anyway. “What’s got you so pent up? The girl here has your panties in a twist?”

“Every man’s own right to go and have his own wife.”

Then, Sehun frowns upon reaching an epiphany. “So pitiful of you. You dragged [Y/N] along so she would hate me.” Chanyeol smiles shamelessly, not completely a lie. “Some of it.”

Sehun begins to make his way around the hood of the car, nothing in between you now to shield against his vexation. The denim jeans he wears are dirty and caked with dirt at the knees, and the baggy fabric folds between his legs at every motion.

“Why don’t we put this in the past, Chanyeol? You always let all your emotions get the best of you, except anger. You always let the anger bottle up! Even now I know you’re not angry at me, even though I can’t bring Yoora back for you,” Sehun contends, strangely assertive behavior for him. “Let’s start over, Park Chanyeol. I’ll hang out with [Y/N], and you can go back to that Mélis doll. We’ll work together from now on, I’m not bargaining with you, now.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Chanyeol raise his hand up from his hip, slipping into his coat.

You almost would have missed it if it weren’t for the proud blood splatter on the cement, the vehemently loud noise over in the span of a blink.

Sehun jerks his body away from Chanyeol’s at once, your heart thundering in your chest. You watch stock-still and he wretches an agonizing groan, clutching his lower abdomen and collapsing onto the bloodied cement. Sehun calls out your name faintly, but you try not to look. His stomach makes an obscene sticky squelch.

Your scream makes Chanyeol wince with an eye closed, though the gloating smile tugging at his lips is harder to hide. “He’ll be fine, ready to work in a week. Just in the hip. Jongin and Baekhyun heard it, it’s nothing,” nonchalantly, he returns the hand to his side.

You rush to Sehun’s side before you have the chance to puke all over the pavement, holding his face in your hands. His eyes are hazy, but eyebrows still furrowed in a fit of silent rage, teeth hissing. “Hurts so bad, [Y/N]. You need to run,” he pants in your ear, tucking his head in between your neck and your collarbone. He’s lightheaded because of the blood loss, blooming through his denim jeans. His eyes plead, and he manages a small “love ya.”

“You’re gonna be okay, Sehun, I’m here.”

The silence makes you twist your head to find the older man, quickly. “You did this to him! You sick creep, he’s bleeding out, he’s hurt, he’s in pain. He’s going to die!” But Chanyeol is already leaning on a concrete pillar haphazardly, without a care in the world, “let him.”

You take off your slip-on coat quickly, then your tight, long sleeved blouse. The tourniquet you make resembles a bloodied kitchen rag, but it will make-do until Jongin and Baekhyun flood the scene. The slip-on coat makes it back on your form before they arrive.

When the men reach Sehun’s side, they work hastily and efficiently, before hefting his weight onto their backs.

You slip next to Chanyeol, still gazing at Sehun’s disheveled form. He’s still conscious, but in shock and daze held up. “You still want him to take you home tonight?”

“What is wrong with you?”

Chanyeol had gotten into the illegal trade while youthful, following his discharge from the militia. A jarhead, blunt and unsure, he’d reluctantly majored in business. When it all came crashing down in the midst of the roaring 20s, he’d decided that he’d work in law enforcement customs — an easy job that brunt men could understand, watching the crime rate reach an all time high. During these times, he observed Mr. Kim Junmyeon, a sophisticated industrialist, audaciously bringing in wooden crates of illegally distilled liquor crossing between Montreal to Manhattan. He wasn’t worried, because he knew it would work out in the end — and he was good at networking, even with the authorities.

Really, he admired Junmyeon’s work and dedication to the craft, lacking his own ambition. He'd let Junmyeon slip through easily, beginning to lack integrity. Junmyeon knew this, so he’d go back and forth with new bottles every two weekends, sparing Chanyeol a few for his kind gesture. Now, they hand out laundered money together at the pubs like candy, and crash autos like they’re nothing more than just carnival bumper cars. Sell wine like water, corrupt what you need to in order to get what you want.

Out of all, though, they don't meddle in each other’s businesses.

#by demure2 #chanyeol angst #sehun angst #yandere exo #exo yandere au #yandere chanyeol #exo au #exo x reader #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol au #sehun au #yandere au #yandere!chanyeol #yandere!exo

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